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inzuinzudesu · 28 days ago

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Please zoom in to see small Kakashi! 😭 He kinda disappeared 😭😭😭

Text translation: "Infinite Tsukuyomi" (無限月読)

Drew these in mid-July - when I started doing digital again actually 🤔

Took inspo from the Balut - a street food in my country; I hear a lot of people are grossed out by it?? Don't know if this is controversial, but I personally love the dish. Essentially grew up with it after all!

Wanted to draw something that feels a bit creepy but still has a sense of mysticality to it???

Meh, don't know if the feeling got across or not

I thought since Halloween is coming up, might as well post this haha

About the process of drawing these!

These were very fun to draw! I messed around a lot with photoshop to achieve this glowy dusty effect?? From the brushes to the blending options, and maaan the filter gallery 😭😭 Such fun tools to play with.

The main brush I used to achieve the dusty effect is called "KYLE Bonus Chunky Charcoal", in the Kyle Dry Media brush set. If you can, I recommend checking it out! There are definitely other ways to achieve this sort of effect, though. You can probably just use some sort of scatter texture brush and it'd work just fine. Studying is all about trying things out, right? This is like my first experiment with this type of effect, and I was happy at the time. Now looking back, these could most definitely turn out better, no? I really went overboard with just the effect and forgot everything else. The blood and the plate looks horrible man. If you look closely, you can see the sketch lines haha! I got lazy!

Also, for Obito's pose, I relied heavily on a reference I found on pinterest 😭 I wish I'd changed the pose more tbh, it looks really boring.

And I gotta say, these just look underwhelming in this smaller size. Like reaaaaaally underwhelming. Would love to show you the big version, but oh well! 😭😭😭

Brain vomit time!

I love the prospect (??? is that the right word) of Obito being all god-like and powerful after Tsukuyomi, having control over everybody's dream worlds?? And like he jumps from dream to dream, but stops at Kakashi's and picks it apart???? Observing and tormenting Kakashi with his childhood form that has both sharingan???????

Kakashi would probably be confused with Obito's appearance at first, asking questions like "What are you up to this time, Obito?", but then wouldn't receive any answers??? Like little man would just stare at him creepily, and Kakashi would push this to the back of his mind for a while???

Umm below is the technical stuff, I guess??

My headcanon is that the time span in the dream world is the same as the real world. Meaning, 30 years in the dream world feel incredibly real, with no gap of memories. It's essentially a different timeline. Whether this makes sense or not, who knows haha!

Let's talk about the dream events and how they affect Kakashi! Due to Sakumo and team Minato still living, this Kakashi probably wouldn't be as lax nor sad as in canon?? The relationships and personalities would be different huh???? I'm having a headache thinking about this, so let's just say that: 1. Sakumo lived because the villagers weren't as harsh, but the animosity still remained. Kakashi still developed this obsession with rules, but he doesn't blame his dad as much. 2. Kannabi happened, Kakashi was given the sharingan, along with Obito's ninja way. Team Minato thought that Obito died for a while, but Obito is 'rescued' by Madara, same as canon. 3. Rin would still be targeted by Madara, but Obito came in time to help with the situation, blocking Kakashi's chidori from connecting with Rin's chest, but also knocking Kakashi away. Then, a Mist enemy took advantage of the situation to attack Kakashi, injuring him gravely, to the point where everybody thought he died. With this, Obito activated his Mangekyou and exploded on the Mist enemies, killing them all. Meanwhile, Rin tried to heal Kakashi, just barely saving him. As Obito had dealt with the enemies, there was no need to rush back to the village, and the Sanbi wouldn't be released till then. And so, they waited for Minato to come and help with Rin's seal. (About Obito's Mangekyou activating with Kakashi's death - would that be too far-fetched? My reasoning is that Obito would think that it was his fault Kakashi died, because it was Obito who knocked Kakashi away into the enemy, no?) 4. Because there's no one to become 'Madara' now that Obito came back to the village, Naruto is born, Minato and Kushina live.

5. The Uchiha massacre doesn't happen.

(Everything is incredibly convenient, because I don't have the brain power to make it otherwise, please help 😭😭) -> In conclusion, this Kakashi resembles the Kakashi of the real world, but less depressed and self-destructive??? He loves his living comrades. My man still has a massive obsession (more like crush lol) with Obito by the way, just like in canon. He just doesn't show it.

-> About Obito of the dream world (I'mma call him Dreambito), he is all sunshine and brightness, but he exhibits some dark thoughts and deep rage from time to time due to the residual effects of Madara's seal on his heart. The seal has been removed though. And he has this obsession with Kakashi's safety, as he almost pushed him to his death once, albeit accidentally.

-> I was debating whether to just start this dream world at the point where Obito got crushed, or to start it at the beginning of Kakashi's life. In the end, I went with the latter, cuz ya know, I like the idea of Kakashi living through a whole life all over again, just to finally come to the realization that it's all a dream. Does that make any sense at all??

Obito (child form - 13) first appears in front of Kakashi at the start of the Naruto series, when Kakashi has officially become the teacher of team 7. (Let's not change this okay, my brain would fry haha I'm not gonna deny that the idea of Obito and Kakashi becoming co-teachers of team 7 isn't incredibly fun though)

After the first encounter with this child Obito, Kakashi begins to have flashes of memories from the real world, and he hallucinates about people's deaths - mostly about the members of team Minato. This young Obito is always in the corner of his vision, most of the time silent, sometimes saying things like "You trash" to Kakashi whenever he encounters Rin, who is whole and grown up in this world.

Kakashi exhibits more destructive behaviors as this goes on, the line between the dream events and the real events slowly blurring. He takes more dangerous solo missions out of the village, and shows strong signs of PTSD, just like in canon.

The two Obitos would contrast each other?? Like Dreambito would be all concerned with Kakashi's decline in health (both mental and physical) and goes to confront and comfort him, many times over because that's how it is with them??? Dreambito might even move in with Kakashi, being the obsessive and protective Uchiha that he is. Meanwhile young Obito would be an absolute asshole, saying all these horrible things to poison Kakashi's mind haha

At this point, Dreambito'd be in the last stage on the journey of becoming Hokage, gaining the all the trust from the Uchiha clan, the village elders and the villagers as a whole. I don't know about Rin, though? Should she be romantically involved with Dreambito or no? Would Kakashi dream that??

I think Kakashi's dream would somewhat focus more on Dreambito being happy and satisfied, to be honest. I know there's Sakumo and team Minato as a whole, but as a degenerate shipper, I love the obsession between them🥺

I don't think Obito would directly interfere with what Kakashi is dreaming about, i.e. changing Dreambito's behavior, or like the political situation of the villages (?). But he would most definitely insert himself in Kakashi's psyche, no? Mess it up real good.

Kakashi would slowly realize that he is living a dream world, after all the flashes of memories that Obito generates in his mind. He would most definitely deny it at first though, I think? And then it would reach a point where Kakashi remembers everything from the real world, but he has also lived through 30 something years of the dream world, meaning he'd be in his 60s?? Does that make sense or no?

And so, while Kakashi now knows that everything is a dream, his feelings for everybody in the dream are real. If that's the case, is it really that important anymore that he escapes the Tsukuyomi? Can this dream world really be called fake at this point? Is there even anything in the real world for him to return to?

What's to say 'the real world' isn't a dream at this point?

-> Kakashi would completely close in on himself after this. He still does things that he would normally do, but it'd be all an act. He would feel completely isolated.

-> Dreambito would notice and confront him again, now that they live in the same house??? Kakashi would like say everything is fine and try to act more convincingly, but Dreambito would still know something's wrong????

-> Obito is observing from afar, who knows what his motivation is at this point.

Because this is Kakashi's dream world, I suppose he would have the power to change this world to his will, now that he's aware? This is like a lucid dream situation???

The people in the dream have their own will up until this point, but Kakashi can somewhat change their behavior if he really wants to, whether it's subconsciously or not??? Example: He can probably will Dreambito to kiss him or something lol

So on and so forth!

Man, I'm having waaay too much fun imagining the pain. There are probably like a thousand things that doesn't make sense haha! I do wonder how this sort of storyline should end though, does anybody have any ideas? Personally, I prefer slow burn with a (sort of) happy ending, but ya know, angst all the way is good too! I can't write, but I love thinking about all the things that could happen 😭😭 English isn't my first language, so this might have felt weird to read at some point haha

If anybody wants to develop this, please feel free to do so! And if you've read this far, thank you for reading this absolute brain vomit of mine! I love to yap, as you can tell haha Have a good day!

#naruto #naruto fanart #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #オビト #カカシ #obito x kakashi #obkk #obikaka #man i am gonna cringe so hard reading this back #but hey i had lots of fun getting all of this out #so it's all good!#don't have a proper halloween here but #meh whatever #happy halloween!#even though it's like way too soon!

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nimnia · 1 month ago

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𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── you're so hopelessly in love with her, and yet she doesn't feel the same. it was your fault. your fault. now you ended up throwing the prettiest yet dangerous flowers in all universe.

contains ── pure angst, non-idol au, sensitive topic, hanahaki disease, blood roses, vomiting, sister hyein

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

── ── ꒰🥀꒱ ── ──

you stare emptily at the bloodied roses on your bathroom floor, unaware of tears falling and the numbing on your bottom as you sit on the tile. your hair feels sticky, your hand is covered with your blood, and the huge hole in your heart is incurable.

you feel so exhausted. you couldn't think straight, but all you could think of is her. you can't feel anything properly, but all you can feel is your heart breaking into pieces. you can't understand yourself why— why you still continue to love her.

she's married. she's happy now, and doesn't care about your hidden feelings for her. 'because why would she?' you thought mockingly to yourself. you never revealed how you felt for her, and this is your consequences. your karma.

it hurts. it hurts so much to see her smiling with someone else other than you. it hurts to see her lovingly kiss someone she truly loves. it hurts to know that the love of her life isn't you, and it only broke your heart even more.

you let out a shaky short breath, fluttering your eyes shut slowly and letting the anguish pain overwhelming you more. your blood that covers your hands and some parts of your body burns so much. it feels so hot and painful.

but it's normal. this is nothing compared to the first day you had this disease— a disease called hanahaki.

─────

"y/n, please get it removed. you have to live!"

you glared at hyein, who didn't mind your glare and only glared back. you felt annoyed, and you made it clear in your face. hyein sighs deeply, shaking her head in disappointment.

"you know, you're so annoying!" she scowls at you, but couldn't help feeling more worried about you and your disease.

you sigh tiredly, wiping the tiredness from your eyes. "hyein, please. can we not do this today?" you start. the younger girl grimaces at the raspy sound of it. "why not? you're not going to change your mind if i don't remind you about it."

you scoffed, "hyein, i'm tired, okay? i just finished work and i want to rest. i don't want you nagging at me today, so please." you pleaded, covering your eyes as you dropped onto your bed while hyein stood by the door frame with crossed arms.

"you're a stubborn person, unnie." she sighs, "if you're too cowardly to confess your unwanted feelings for her, then get surgery! you," she points at you, still glaring at your form. "better get it solved or else i'm making an appointment for your surgery."

you groaned frustratedly, "fucking hell, hyein. can't you just leave me alone?!" you can't help but feel so frustrated. you feel so irritated. you just couldn't tell why she couldn't leave you alone for a second.

you removed your arm from your eyes and scowled back at her. "unwanted feelings? you have the audacity to call my feelings unwanted? i can solve my problem just fine, hyein. stop trying to provoke me."

hyein wordlessly rolls her eyes, before throwing you a small paper bag. you barely caught it because your mind couldn't process anything properly, but it landed on your lap. you raised one brow.

"what is this." it wasn't a question that came out, but you didn't care. you hold it up and watch your little sister scoffing unkindly. "your medicine, idiot. take it now before you vomit more."

then she leaves you alone, not even closing your door for you.

somehow, your eyes softened a bit at her aloofly kindness towards you. even with your ridiculous and stubborn state, she still cares about you and takes care of you.

you were grateful. you appreciated her more than anything else. you look down and open the paper bag to see the certain medicine for your disease. unfortunately, it was only a painkiller, but it was enough to ease the painful ache and constant vomiting, along with terrible headaches.

you take it out and stare at it absentmindedly before you glance at the cup filled with water on the side table by your bed. you let out a small sigh, ruffling your hair before walking up from your bed to take the cup.

you throw one painkiller pill into your mouth and drink the water afterward.

─────

seeing her again tightens your chest painfully, but you tried to keep holding onto your smile on your face as she approached you excitedly. "y/n!" she calls out, lunging at you with a tight hug.

you wordlessly hugged her back, your hands didn't hold her waist like you used to. you were giving her space and respect, and considering that you still hold feelings for her, you tried not to have as much skin contact as before.

"hey, minji." you greet, smiling as you pull away and she holds your arms with a gentle gummy smile. your heart flips, and you feel your ears burning under her gaze.

"how's the start of your married life? was it spicy or what?" you teasingly asked, ignoring the burning ache of your heart as you asked that question. she laughs heartily and sneaks her hands from your arms to your hands.

you wanted to pull away, but she kept drawing you to her. it was unfair. she's cruel, so cruel and horrible. the way she gives you a smile— you knew it wasn't for you. it wasn't always for you. that's why you have to stop being so hopelessly hopeful.

"my married life is fantastic. it was.. really beautiful." you couldn't look away from the red hue coating her mesmerizing face. your heart kept flipping and turning, in every way it was starting to hurt.

you tried to keep your smile natural, "that's amazing, minji. i'm glad you're enjoying your life with her now." you yearn for her. you yearned every piece of her. you wanted her to know how you feel for her, but you just feel so— terrified.

her eyes softened, pursing her lips smiley. "thank you. how are you? are you still doing the job and college?" she asks, still holding your hands in which you desperately wanted to pull away before you start feeling the flowers growing inside your throat.

you coughed slightly, your smile slowly turning strained but you kept it strong.

"yeah. i'm doing just fine! it was a bit difficult managing my job and college, but overall, it was..." you feel the particular cough coming, inhaling once. "it was amazing." you ended, feeling tortured and terrible after lying to her face.

but she didn't seem to notice it, only her smile widened and nodded understandingly. the fondness and affection in her eyes glows, "i'm happy for you. i'm happy that you are doing so well, y/n."

you only nodded. then minji remembers that she was holding you back from your shift, "oh, are you still having your break? maybe i'm disturbing you," she said out of concern, tightening her grip with yours.

you shifted awkwardly. you shake your head, "no, not really. i still have a few minutes of break, so you're good."

she sighs, "i think i should let you go for now." i should say the same. you cry internally, still feeling the cough building up in your throat. you wanted to go to the restroom.

"i guess so. my manager is a bit strict, cuz you know..." you laugh awkwardly, trying to loosen your hands from hers. eventually she releases you and smiles at you sheepishly, "right, sorry about that. i guess i'll talk to you soon?"

minji questioned, watching as you wear your apron once again, pulling your hair up into a bun. you had long averted your eyes away from her, not wanting to make eye-contact with the married woman as you finished tying your hair.

you pat your clothes, "yeah, talk to you soon. you can wait for her in a bit, since she's almost done." you quickly informed her before walking away, unaware of her reaching her hand to you as you leave her alone.

on cue, the bassa nova music plays in the background as the lights dim gently inside the bar area. walking around the counter, you let out a sigh before noticing your co-worker looking at you with gentle eyes, resting her chin on her hand as she leans her elbows on the counter.

you gave her a smile, "hi, hanni." you softly greets.

she returns the smile, much softer and gentle. "hey, love. is your break finished?" she leans away from the counter and stretches, letting out a little noise of satisfaction. you nodded, working already on the drink your customer orders.

she greets the customer with a smile, and goes to assist the other approaching customers, though she was still talking to you. "how's big dillyman? is he doing good?" she asks, a bit far from your spot but you can still hear her question.

a small smile sticks on your lips, "yeah, he's doing great... that dog is big, so there's no way a cancer can defeat him just like that, y'know?" hanni laughs fondly, nodding as she shakes the metal bottle together with the drinks inside with ice rattling.

"right, right. he's like 20 pounds? man, i really remember how he made me fall on the floor when he lunges at me, it's crazy!" your smile widens, laughing with her as you gave the drink to the customer, who thanked you genuinely before sipping on it.

"20 pounds might be too much for him, hanni. he's just as big as a toddler, i guess." you responded, assisting the next customer who sat on the bar stool, patiently waiting. you took his order and immediately worked on it swiftly.

"hmm~ maybe, maybe not. whatever, he's still a big dog and a good boy at that. you raised him so well!" hanni giggles and gives her customers the drink before wiping the counter where she makes a little mess.

you chuckle, squeezing the slice of lemon over the juice you made before serving it to your customer, who sniffed on the drink first and hums in satisfaction. he gave you a thumbs up and you returned it with a shy one before turning to hanni who was removing her apron and loosening her hair tie.

you smile sadly, "your shift is done?" you asked as she hangs the apron over the hanger, turning to you with a large smile and a nod. she walks over to you and kisses your cheek playfully, before squeezing your cheeks, cooing as she does.

"yep! i'll be back tomorrow morning though, since the mingle manager is out to have a day with his family. understandable but he should raise my salary just a bit, like bro." she jokes as she pats your head before leaving the counter with her bag.

you watch her as she turns to you and waves at you with a smile, "i'll see you tomorrow, love! stay safe once you get home!" you nodded with a small smile and waves calmly, watching as she left the counter area.

your heart clenched to see her jumping on minji and kissing her cheeks, giggling as minji scolds her playfully before kissing her forehead. your throat felt much tighter than before, and you could truly feel the cough coming up as they leave together with hands interlocked.

you could see a glimpse of their wedding rings glimmering under the lamp lights on the entrance door.

─────

after your night shift, you immediately head home and as soon as you landed inside your home, you suddenly collapsed on the floor and violently coughed up bloody roses. you heaved heavily, trying to catch oxygen but it didn't stop the coughing at all.

blood drips from your nose, and your heartbeats increased the pace that it was starting to feel overly suffocating. it hurts so much. it hurts to breath. you buried your face onto the floor, continuing to cough blood and flowers.

then you laid there, heaving for air desperately. tears never stopped falling, mixing onto the blood you had violently coughed up earlier. your limbs quivers in pain and shock, chest raising and lowering rapidly. blood had stopped dripping from your nose, but it was still burning hot.

you wanted this to stop, you wanted to stop this madness. this pain. you couldn't bear doing this anymore. you wanted to breath, but you couldn't. you wanted to think, but you couldn't.

it feels so painful.

you can only cry silently on the floor, drowning in your pool of blood and red flowers. your consciousness slowly tries to fade away, your sight dimming little by little and the feeling on your limbs have felt numb.

you couldn't hear the door opening and a scream erupting from your little sister, hyein.

'hyein... i'm sorry you had to see me like this. i'm sorry.' was the only thought in your mind before you completely passed out.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

#newjeans #뉴진스 #newjeans minji #newjeans hanni #newjeans hyein #minji x reader #minji x you #hanni x you #hyein #lee hyein little sister #hanahaki disease #angst #pure angst #no fluff ever.#just... bbangsaz sneaking thru....

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dojimakaichou · 6 months ago

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★. ―

Sebastian's words were answered with low, non - committal grunts — the sort of noise that suggested Daigo had heard but was not agreeing. Another knuckle popped, and he sucked in a breath. If not for the gentle pressure applied by the detective, he may have broken his own fingers. In protest, he pulled back his forehead and bumped it into the back of Sebastian's shoulder with a dull thump.

The only point that seemed to finally reach Daigo was Sebastian's promise to cut the thing out of him tomorrow. Behind the detective, he froze. His hands abruptly fell open, showing the minute cuts that he had dug into his palms with his nails. In the shadows behind Sebastian, the strange glaze over Daigo's black eyes, so much like that of an abandoned corpse, thickened.

That would do it — Sebastian would pull out the thing and bring Daigo's intestines with it or Daigo would bleed out from the botched attempt. Either way, the detective would be set free, free from the metaphorical noose that Daigo had around his neck.

"It's there," he said, voice distorted with that soft growl lingering beneath it.

For the first time since their latest reunion, Daigo's arms went slack. He inhaled deeply, mouth open against the detective's shirt. Sebastian wouldn't find it, but he would release them from it. Without Daigo, the rot in his belly would have nothing to feed on. No one to resent. No one to wish for.

Were Daigo in a clearer state of mind, he may have realized that the terrible darkness inside of him had not come from this place. It had been inside of his thick skull for years, buried under half - awake nights, excuses of timing, and the dull roar of a news anchor announcing the death of a city detective's daughter in a fire. Daigo broke a glass in his hands that night, he might have remembered. Seeing the name. The little scars from those cuts were still etched into the skin that Sebastian's thumb rested on.

I hate you, Daigo wanted to yell. I hate you for what I did to me.

The thing that was driving him mad wasn't inside of his torso — it was here, in his grip. Steadying him. It smelled like cigarette smoke, leather, and good coffee.

Suddenly, Daigo laughed. He had never done so quietly ; every peal that left his lips was always more like a loud bark. The ex - renegade slumped into Sebastian once the sound died, eyes closed. His insides twisted sharply, and Daigo swallowed back a mouthful of blood.

"I'll sleep, if it means you keep your word — though I am going to break your damn back if I try it like this," he quipped. There was just enough of a bite there to make him almost sound normal, as if he didn't have frothing scarlet running from the gaps in between his teeth and dripping onto his ruined clothes.

Daigo is so clearly unwell that if Sebastian stopped to think about it-- to really consider it, and the ramifications of it-- he might shut down in panic. The world they've found themselves in is bad enough, and the worst part of it isn't even the creatures. It's the oppressive sense of pounding in his head, it's the feeling that someone's driving nails into his skull, it's the phantom sensation of barbed wire around his throat and arms, it's the heaviness that comes with every sweep of a lighthouse a thousand miles away, it's the way his skin crawls and his blood boils and his veins are full of venom and everything here makes him so angry, so scared, that sometimes it feels like it'll bubble through his skin, and--

They put a thing inside of me, Daigo says, and Sebastian can't think about what that means. Even if the sympathetic pain is instinctive-- in his cursory examination of Daigo when they met again, he'd seen all the new marks he's made, and they sting on his own body even without his having them-- he can't dwell on the why. The moment he feels helpless is the moment he's lost. He's seen too many fall prey to that to pretend any different. And just as he's certain of his own downfall, Sebastian knows that the moment he gives up on him Daigo will be lost, too.

So he ignores the ache in his chest at the way Daigo pleads with him. He pretends he doesn't hear the stark difference between this shadow of a man and the bastard he used to write about every other night in report after report after report.

Though he's never seen Daigo so vulnerable, Sebastian denies him without hesitation: "I'm not gonna do that."

If nothing else, at least even in this world Sebastian is as stubborn as ever.

His hand slips over Daigo's clenched one, feeling the tension there and trying to ease it away in circular rubs with his thumb. "Doesn't matter if you end up hating me. Doesn't even matter if you try to hurt me, too." Sebastian's head turns, glancing over his shoulder at the top of Daigo's head. "I'll beat the shit out of you and win." There's not an ounce of hesitation there. "Way that you are now, I guarantee I will.

"And then I'll carry your dead weight the whole way."

He takes a moment to let that sink in, then scoffs and shakes his head. "So don't give me bullshit about 'leaving you behind'. If you really don't want to be a pain in my ass, you'll come with me willingly so I don't have to drag you."

Still, the thought of the creatures in this world setting a parasite in Daigo's body continues to eat away at the box Sebastian's shoved that insecurity in. The fear he might not be able to fix it lingers, threatening to spill out.

Wouldn't it be better to try and fail than to give up entirely? Sebastian thinks about the first-aid kit he'd taken with him since finding it in his solo exploration-- trying isn't impossible. Undoubtedly unsafe, but not impossible.

"Listen, after you get some sleep, I'll look for that thing in you tomorrow." Sebastian's brows furrow. "Maybe I'll be able to find it for you. Maybe I'll feel it wiggling or... God, something.

"Then if we're sure it's there then I can cut it out."

Hysterically, Daigo wouldn't be the first person he's sliced open in this nightmare, either.

#ooc. I'M FINE. THIS IS FINE.#⤿ VERSE. ✕ SEBDAI ✕ I WOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOUR SINS (INSTEAD I JUST DIED INSIDE)#vomiting tw #self mutilation tw #medical gore tw #blood tw #violence tw #antielevator

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girlgenius1111 · 9 months ago

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young, drunk, and alone

putellas!reader, infuriates her sister when she sneaks out and gets drunk with her friends. alexia comes to realize that maybe, this is a result of her pushing you too hard.

angst + fluff. brief mentions of blood and vomiting. and alcohol consumption. this is literally 6k word essay on how silly sisters can be.

-----

Sneaking out hadn't been your best plan. Was it really sneaking out if you slipped right out the front door? You weren't sure. Alexia and Olga were heavy sleepers, and because you had the following day off, you figured it was as good a time as any. You were planning on meeting up with some friends from school and going to a club. You didn't drink much; a combination of being a professional athlete, and someone named Alexia, who happened to be your very strict older sister.

You probably should have paced yourself. You also probably should have not run away from your friends, especially when you were blitzed out of your mind. You weren't quite sure where you were, or how long it had been since you'd bolted from the club. Or how many drinks you'd had.

You'd broken one of your... well, one of Alexia's heels, and you carried both shoes in one hand. You were really sleepy all of a sudden, and you spotted a bench a few meters ahead. You headed there, plopping down on the bench before pulling your phone out of your pocket. The screen swam in front of your eyes, and you couldn't figure out if your hand was moving, or if your head was moving. Something was, that was for sure.

You were somewhere. Somewhere in the city of Barcelona. You needed some help, though.

And you knew just the gal to come get you. Alexia could find anyone, but especially you; she had your location.

The phone began to ring, and you heard your sister's grumpy voice come over the line shortly after.

"Why are you calling me from inside the same house?" She said groggily.

"Aleeeeexiaaaaaa!" You sang, proud of yourself for solving your problem all on your own, especially while the earth was spinning so much faster than normal.

"Nena. You better be in your room right now." Alexia said through clenched teeth. You could hear her shuffling, and Olga speaking to her quietly.

"'M not in my room, Ale, sorry." You heard your door bang open, then, and Alexia confirm what you'd just admitted.

"I am going to kill you to death." Alexia warned. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm not totally sure where I am. There's a road... ooo and a bench. And I think a building. D'you know where I am?"

"My god. You don't know where you are?" Alexia cried, shaking off her girlfriend's advice to calm down.

"Nope. D'you?" You slurred.

"How would I know where you are!?!?" Alexia shouted. There was more shuffling, and Olga's soothing voice replaced Alexia's.

"Nena, Ale has your location. We're going to come get you now. Stay where you are, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." You said, saluting to the thin air in front of you. You hung up then, though you forgot to say goodbye, and awaited your sister eagerly.

-----

"I am going to kill her." Alexia seethed, driving well over the speed limit on the way to your little dot on her screen.

"You can kill her later, let's just make sure she's safe first." Olga sighed.

"This is Alba's fault. Or Mapi's. Or Pina and Cata's. I will find the culprit, and I will make them run so many laps..."

"She's right there," Olga interrupted, pointing to the park bench where you were sitting, looking blankly at your sister's car.

Alexia threw the car and park, and moved to throw her door open, but stopped when her girlfriend grabbed her arm.

"Alexia, she's drunk. She's not going to remember any of this tomorrow, so be nice now. You can yell later, yes?"

"Fine." Alexia sighed. She got out of the car, as did Olga, and they approached you carefully.

"ALE!!" You cheered, standing and tripping forward dangerously as you tried to tackle your sister in a hug.

"Hi." Alexia said evenly, easily catching you and helping you back upright.

"Thanks for comin' to get me," you slurred, slumping into your sister.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get you home nena."

"OLGA!!!" You yelled suddenly, turning and seeing your sister's girlfriend biting back a smile at the sight of you. You were gone. Completely gone.

"Hey nena." Olga said kindly, opening the door to the backseat for you. Alexia barely got you buckled in before you toppled completely over, now laying horizontally across the back seat.

"Ow." You said quietly. Again, Olga had to try really hard not to laugh, turning to her girlfriend, who just look exasperated.

"Maybe I should sit back there with her." The brunette suggested.

"I think that might be best." Alexia agreed, walking around to the drivers side and getting in. She looked in the rearview mirror, seeing you completely slumped on her girlfriend's shoulder, eyes already shut. It melted her heart, just a little, how much you loved Olga, and how much Olga loved you. Still, her overarching feelings right now were anger and frustration.

-----

Once Alexia had carried you from the car, deposited you on your bed, and placed a trash can and a bottle of water within your reach, she grabbed your phone, texting your friends that had clearly not been keeping an eye on you that you were home safe. She then stomped back into her room, throwing herself dramatically onto her bed.

"What was she thinking? Is she stupid? Is she the stupidest person on earth? She has to be."

"Ale, calm down." Olga said, following her in and shutting the door behind her. "Go to sleep. Deal with it tomorrow."

Alexia sighed, laying back down under the covers, before looking over to her girlfriend. "Thank you for coming. And for taking such good care of her." She said quietly.

"Always." Olga promised, pressing a light kiss to Alexia's lips.

-----

The next morning found you not laid in bed until the afternoon like you would have hoped. Instead, Alexia had dragged you out of bed at 9am, which she felt was pretty generous, threw some training clothes at you, and drove over to the Barça grounds. She had to pull over once for you to get out and throw up, but even though you were sweating, exhausted, your head was pounding, and your stomach churning, Alexia was unrelenting.

Olga was still asleep when Alexia had left with you, and you had wondered if you could text her discreetly to put an end to this before it started. Alexia had taken your phone hostage though, so that was a no go.

Now, Alexia had you running sprints. You thanked god above that it was a chillier, cloudier day, but running while you were violently hungover was still... a form of torture. She'd found a whistle, somewhere, and anytime you stopped running, she blew it at you, making the pounding in your head worse.

You managed to last 15 minutes before you stopped a few feet away from her, looking at your sister pleadingly.

"Ale, I'm gonna throw up," you warned.

Alexia's was unflinching, sunglasses down over her eyes as she stood, hands on her hips, watching you.

"I'm not stopping you." She said coldly, gesturing for you to do so.

"Ale, please," you whined.

"If you didn't want to run sprints hungover, you shouldn't have snuck out and gotten drunk." Alexia told you.

You turned away from her, throwing up what little water you'd managed to drink so far. When you were done, you turned back, finding Alexia directly behind you, holding out a sports drink.

"Drink." She instructed. You took it, chugging the whole thing as you held back a gag, knowing if you could keep any of it down, it would be somewhat helpful.

Things continued like this for another 10 minutes, until you were sure Alexia was going to keep you going until you passed out.

In fact, Alexia was just about to call it, not wanting to completely kill you, when she heard her name being shouted from just behind her.

"Alexia, what are you doing to that poor girl?!" Mapi yelled, marching towards her friend, while Ingrid broke into a run, heading towards you. You'd fallen to your knees, retching pathetically onto the grass, even as nothing came up.

"She snuck out and got drunk." Alexia dismissed, looking concerned at the sight of you on the ground, trembling violently in Ingrid's arms. Mapi grabbed her wrist, spinning her back around.

"Alexia. This is really harsh, even for you."

"Good. Maybe she'll learn her lesson." Still, Alexia couldn't help her gaze flicking over to where you were. You were okay, she was sure. She knew what you could take, and what you couldn't. You'd drink some water, take a cold shower, and sleep the rest of the day.

Mapi looked disapprovingly at her captain. "Maybe that would have taught you a lesson. I'm sure there are more effective ways of talking to your sister about this, than attempted murder."

"She's fine. I know her limits, and so does she. If she was really not well, she would have just stopped."

You wouldn't have. You knew your sister was furious, and you would have done anything to fix that. Anything. If it meant running until you dropped, so be it. Alexia didn't think you'd push yourself that hard, though. She way underestimated the lengths you would go to for her approval.

"Anyway, what are you doing here? It's an off day." Alexia questioned, beginning to walk towards you.

"Ingrid wanted to work on a few things." Mapi said.

They reached your side, and Ingrid looked up sternly at your sister, a glare set on her face.

"Ale, can we go home?" You asked pathetically. You were completely pale, covered in sweat, and you were shaking all over.

"Yeah. Let's go." Ingrid helped you to your feet, holding you steady as Alexia wrapped an arm around you, and began walking you towards the exit.

"Should we call child protective services?" Ingrid wondered sarcastically, watching Alexia drag you back to the car.

"Nah. She's 19. And Alexia will have to deal with Olga when she gets that poor kid home."

----

And have to deal with Olga, Alexia did.

She helped you into the house, the AC in the car and the endless supply of water Alexia had for you helping tremendously. You felt more alive now, and honestly, you must have sweated out a lot of the alcohol, because you didn't feel that bad.

You were still shaking, though, still pale. Alexia cringed internally when she heard Olga's feet quietly making their way towards the front door, as she helped you pull your shoes off.

"Alexia." Olga gasped. "What did you do, take her to get run over by a truck?" She walked forward, easing you away from your sister, and towards the living room, shooting her girlfriend a harsh glare over your shoulder.

"No. We had a workout to do." Alexia said casually.

"Nena, are you okay?" Olga asked softly.

You smiled up at her, relaxing back into the couch. "Yep. I thought she was going to kill me for a bit, but she didn't."

Olga sighed. You were back to joking, back to pretending that Alexia's behavior didn't bother you. Back to acting like you didn't need more support from her. This needed to stop. Now.

"Drink some water. We can try to get some food in you in a bit. Alexia, come with me." Olga's tone left no room for conversation as she headed up the stairs towards their room. Alexia didn't listen immediately to a lot of people, but Olga was one of them.

She trailed after her girlfriend a little hesitantly. She knew she'd taken it too far. She hadn't done any damage to you, but it was still too far. And Olga was about to give her hell for it. Which likely, she deserved. Alexia was stubborn, though, and she wouldn't admit to being wrong without a bit of a fight.

"Are you crazy? What were you trying to accomplish, Ale? Whatever you made her do was overkill. You didn't need to take it so far-"

"NO. She is my baby sister, and she is off getting drunk and getting lost, and-" Alexia interrupted, suddenly furious again.

"Alexia, she's 19. This is what 19 year olds' do." Olga defended.

"Not HER. She is supposed to be responsible. She is an athlete, she has responsibilities, she has people relying on her-"

Olga cut her off again. "God, amor, I cannot imagine why'd she'd feel the need to go get drunk. That doesn't seem like a lot of stress on a teenager at all."

Alexia was quiet for a moment. "If she was stressed, she would tell me. If it was too much, she would tell me." She said, though she sounded suddenly unsure.

"Would she?" Olga wondered. "You're pretty strict with her, baby. Maybe she doesn't need Stern Alexia, and tough love all the time, maybe she just needs love." This had been swirling around in Olga's head for the past few weeks, though she wasn't sure how to bring it up to her girlfriend. She'd watched as you would wilt when Alexia would give you a simple 'good job' after a game, directly followed by all the things she thought you could improve. She watched you do things, and instantly turn to your sister, to see if she was impressed or not. If Alexia was, she never let it show.

For Alexia, sternness, rigidness worked for her. She didn't need people to be soft with her, to tell her all the time that she was doing a good job, so she assumed you didn't either. Olga could tell, though, that every time Alexia ruffled your hair instead of giving you a hug, shook off your request to something fun instead of reviewing match footage, it crushed you, just a little bit.

Olga wasn't surprised that this had happened, not at all. You were acting out, trying to burn off some stress while also trying to get your sister's attention.She hoped it would finally make her girlfriend understand that you needed more from her. You were young, living away from your mom, and you needed someone to care for you, not just push you. You wanted that from your sister, too, although you were always appreciative of everything that Olga did for you.

Their argument fizzled out, and Olga realized Alexia needed space to think. She left her there to do so, heading back downstairs to check on you.

-----

You and Alexia didn't speak of the incident in the days following. You could tell something had changed, Alexia was being... different with you. Less intense.

You thought she was just really angry. Which was fair. You'd been stupid and irresponsible. She had every right to be angry. You decided to let it pass, to not push her into forgiving you sooner.

You didn't realize that Alexia was rethinking the entire dynamic she had with you, the role she played in your life. She noticed, suddenly, that you weren't as affectionate as you had been before. You didn't sit close to her on the couch when you watched TV together. You didn't pull her into a hug when you saw her. You didn't talk to her when you were upset after a game. You didn't immediately look for her when you got hurt. She'd been so focused on being the coach that she thought you needed that she'd forgotten to be the sister that you'd actually needed.

She could be your mentor without pushing you so hard, Alexia had realized. You didn't need another coach. You needed your sister. Alexia just wasn't sure how to fix what she'd broken.

When she did figure out how to fix it, it came naturally to her. It was suddenly instinctual, again, the strong feeling within her to take care of you, not push you to be better.

-----

The first time you got some idea that Alexia was making an effort to be different was a few days after The Incident, as you and Olga had named your adventure. You were coming back from seeing your friends; the very same friends you had gone out with. It had started off fine, everyone joking around about your disappearing act. As the conversation continued, though, it became clear to you that a few of them had seen you leave by yourself, and not bothered to go after you. And they had all been significantly less intoxicated than you were.

They tried to excuse their behavior by telling you they were distracted by various people they'd met up with at the club. When you pushed, asking why no one thought to keep an eye on you, or go after you when you ran out, especially after they'd been pushing drink and drink on you, enjoying how increasingly absurd you got, they got defensive. They lashed out, going on and on about how you should have been responsible, and it wasn't their job to babysit you. You knew that, but at the same time, anything could have happened to you when you ran out of the club. It was a miracle that nothing did. The argument escalated into a full blown fight, until you were shouting back and forth at each other, bringing up issues that were long resolved.

Eventually, you stormed out, walking the 15 minutes back to your sister's house, angry tears falling from your eyes. Your friends weren't the best friend's a person could have, you knew this. They were your only friends outside of football, though, the only friends that were truly your's and not also your sister's. That's probably why you kept them around so long, and you never would have thought they would care so little about your safety.

The words exchanged had been harsh, and you knew as you neared home that there was no salvaging those relationships. You were upset, everything hard about the week catching up with you. You just hoped that when you walked through the front door, Alexia and Olga would both be too busy with various tasks to notice how upset you were. Alexia hated your friends, and you knew she would tell you that what happened was for the best. That was absolutely not what you needed to hear, now, though.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, slipping your shoes off and carefully placing your keys down on the little table near the door. You turned to walk up the stairs, jumping slightly when Olga was suddenly standing directly behind you, looking at her phone.

"What do you want for dinner? Your sister and I can't agree," Olga asked, growing quiet as she looked up, spotting how upset you were. "What's wrong?" The brunette's face grew sympathetic, and you ignored how it made you want to cry.

"Nothing." You told her, dodging her attempt to rest a hand on your shoulder, and slipping up the stairs. You shut the door to your room. It was a mess in there, it was past time you cleaned it; and, anyway, you needed to do something to get your anger out, and furiously cleaning seemed like as good of an idea as any.

-----

Downstairs, Olga was conflicted. Normally, she would take this, as the more emotionally available adult in the house. She knew that you didn't want her comfort, though, not in the way you wanted your sister's. And Alexia had clearly been taking to heart what her girlfriend had told her, being noticeably different with you, even if she hadn't figured out quite how to act. So, Olga slipped off to the office, knocking and entering when she heard her girlfriend's voice beckoning her inside.

"Hey, beautiful," Alexia said, smiling from behind the desk. Olga smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Your sister just got home from seeing her friends and I think something happened, she was really upset."

Alexia rolled her eyes. "They suck, I'm not surprised. Is she okay?"

"She ran off to her room, but she was crying." Olga replied, watching her girlfriend's expression carefully. Alexia looked conflicted, like she wasn't sure what to do.

"I'll go check on her." The blonde said finally, receiving an encouraging smile from Olga. She stood and headed towards the stairs, pausing when Olga stopped her.

"Just a tip. Telling her that her friends suck probably won't make her feel better. Even is she's mad at them. Just try to be nice." Olga suggested.

Alexia nodded, continuing on her way. Her girlfriend was more than a little amused at how nervous the blonde seemed. It was just you.

For Alexia, though, she didn't really know how to make you feel better. What would have worked for her was clearly not working for you, she saw that now. You were so different from her, so much more sensitive. She was nervous because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She didn't realize, however, that any attempt she would make would be greatly appreciated by you.

Alexia knocked on your door, feeling a little ridiculous at how nervous she was, opening the door tentatively when you told her to come in. You were pacing around the room, folding clothes and putting things away, even as a few tears remained falling from your eyes. You looked furious as you cleaned rather aggressively, not acknowledging your sister when she walked in the room.

"Hey, nena?" Alexia called after a minute of watching you fold a shirt like you would have preferred to set it on fire. You hummed in response, still not looking towards her. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." You snapped, moving on to another shirt, throwing the recently folded one down on the bed, huffing in frustration when the action messed up your meticulous work.

Deciding not to second guess her instincts, Alexia strode forward, taking the shirt out of your hands and setting it on the bed. She turned you so that you were facing her, placing her hands on your shoulders. You still wouldn't meet her eyes, and you were a good few inches shorter than her, but she could still see your angry resolve cracking, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

You didn't want to cry in front of her, not over the friends of yours that she hated. It was a waste, and you knew she wouldn't give you the sympathy that you wanted. That just wasn't how Alexia was.

"C'mere," Alexia said softly, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you into a tight hug.

Until this point, Alexia wasn't sure she quite understood what you needed from her. The second you melted into her arms, though, like a hug was all you'd needed, it became very clear. Olga was right; you'd just needed love.

Your shoulders were shaking with silent cries, as if you were trying to keep them quiet, and Alexia frowned, arms squeezing you tighter.

"You can cry, cariño, if you're upset. It's okay to cry." She whispered. Admittedly, expressing emotion wasn't something she was good with. She hadn't realized the effect this had on you expressing your emotions before now.

You cried into your sister's shoulder, no longer holding back after her words of encouragement, for a solid 5 minutes. Alexia didn't shy away from the display of feelings like you expected her to. Instead, she sat you on the side of your bed, carefully wiping the remaining tears off your face with the sleeve of her sweater.

Still sniffling pathetically, you looked down at our hands, not sure if you should tell her what happened, if she'd want to hear. Alexia caught your hesitation, sitting down next to you, and bumping your knee with hers. "Tell me what happened."

You took a deep breath, before launching into the story. Alexia grew tense next to you, clearly with anger, but you weren't sure who it was directed at. If it was at the reminder of how irresponsible you'd been, or if it was at your friends. When you finished, Alexia was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

"They suck." She said finally, before shaking her head at herself. "No, Olga told me not to say that. You deserve better friends than them, especially if their are so unconcerned with your safety and wellbeing. What if you hadn't had your phone? What if something had happened? I wouldn't have known where you were, you could have been hurt." Alexia went on, growing more agitated.

"I'm sorry, Ale," you told her.

"No, no. I am angry with them." Alexia said earnestly. "For being so careless with you. They should have been looking out for you. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you, but I probably would have started with ruining their lives."

Protective Alexia wasn't a side of your sister you'd seen in a while. Not since you were 11 and you'd told her that a boy had tried to kiss you on the playground. She'd skipped training to march to your school, asking you to point out the boy. You had, and she'd held him up against the brick wall of the building by the collar of his shirt, warning him to never so much as look at you, ever again. He was appropriately terrified, and no one tried to mess with you again after that.

It was nice, feeling protected by your sister. It felt safe. It made you feel loved.

-----

Even after the conversation about your friends, Alexia still didn't acknowledge that something had changed.

Until after a rather rough match against Atlético. You were having an off day, your passes not connecting, your shots just barely missing the back of the net. She could tell you were frustrated, and she wasn't sure how to make you feel better. Normally, she'd give you a pat on the back, tell you to push through and focus. Alexia realized now, though, that you didn't need that from her.

Still, it was the middle of the match, and there wasn't time for a pep talk. She'd have to wait until the match was over, and then she could figure out what to say to you. Now, she needed to focus.

Alexia did focus. She focused on taking the corner, watching the ball sail towards your head. She focused on Lola's gloved hand extending towards the ball, and connecting squarely with your face. Alexia saw you drop to the ground, clutching tightly to your nose. The whistle blew immediately, and half the team was looking down at you uneasily, waving urgently for the medical staff. Lola was crouched by your head, clearly making repetitive apologies.

Normally, when you got hurt, Alexia kept her distance. She didn't want to suffocate you, and she didn't want to act unprofessional. On the pitch, you were teammates. Appearances didn't matter, though, not really, and she could be your older sister too, she knew.

Alexia sprinted to you, shoving players of both teams out of her way in her quest to get to your side. Lola saw her barreling towards her, and wisely backed up, leaving the spot just above you open, while the medics were arriving on either side of you.

You were still on your stomach, clutching tightly to your face, feeling hot blood seep into your hand. It was broken. You'd heard the crunch. And, like always when you got hurt, you wanted your sister to come hold your hand. You knew she wouldn't. She had to be professional, she had a reputation to protect. You were surprised when her soft voice met your ear.

"Hey, nena, can you roll over for us?"

Although your position smushed into the turf felt like the most comfortable you could get currently, you slowly rolled onto your back with a groan.

"Oh, honey," Alexia whispered, taking in the sight of your very broken nose, blood pooling all over your face.

"Broken," you mumbled, the movement of speaking hurting, blood filling your mouth. So as not to allow you to choke, Alexia and one of the medics carefully sat you up, tipping you forward, allowing your nose to drip into the towel being help against your face.

"She's right, I heard it break," Lola added, still hovering near you. It had been completely accidental, what she'd done, and she felt guilty. She backed up, though, when Alexia shot her a harsh glare.

"Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Are you going to pass out?" Alexia asked anxiously, knowing that you weren't a fan of blood. The medics exchanged amused looks at your suddenly overbearing sister, as you looked at her, less amused, and slightly comforted.

"No. Fine. Hurts't talk." You got out, closing your eyes as the pain intensified. Alexia's hand rubbed circles into your back, and you were floored when she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, right in front of the entire stadium, before looking to the medic for permission to help you to your feet. When he nodded and grabbed your other arm, they got you up, supporting you all the way to the sidelines, where another medic took over for you sister.

"Should I tell Jona to take me off?" Alexia asked you, still glued to your side, even as you neared the tunnel.

"No, go win." You spit some blood onto the ground, barely managing the words, and Alexia agreed uneasily, watching you all the way back inside.

The rest of the team was looking at her like she had two heads. Never before had they seen her be so nurturing with you, so outwardly worried. Alexia loved you, no one doubted that. She was just normally much more reserved about showing affection for her youngest sister.

-----

By the time Alexia got back to the locker room post match she was startled to see that you weren't in sitting in front of your locker waiting for her, or with the team doctors. They informed you that Olga had taken you home. You had a slight concussion, and your nose was broken, but didn't need to be reset, and you didn't want to wait for most of the second half to finish for your sister, so when Olga offered to take you home, you took her offer gratefully.

She sped through her shower and her post match routine, continuing to ignore the surprised expressions on her teammates face, and the rather satisfied one on Mapi's; the defender was finally seeing the return of the Older Sister Alexia she knew.

Alexia arrived home, abandoning her bag in the car and rushing inside. She wanted to make sure you were okay, more than anything. More than anything. It was like she'd just remembered that she was your sister, not just your captain, and her instinct to protect you was overwhelming her.

She marched right into the house, finding you laid on the couch, your head resting in Olga's lap an ice pack held over your nose by your sister's girlfriend, who was telling you an animated story about the crazy fan she'd run into in the stands today.

"Nena," Alexia sighed, feeling slightly better at the sight of you, more or less in one piece.

You sat up, still rather confused at the complete 180˚ your sister had done. "Hi." You had a rather disconcerting lisp to your speech, your lip swelling from the contact with the opposing goalkeeper's glove.

Alexia sat right next to you, removing the ice pack, and inspecting your face carefully.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Not as much now. The ice is helping."

"Have you eaten? Taken anything? You should drink a lot of water, and ice every 15 minutes, and make sure you sleep propped up on a pillow, and we should go to the dentist tomorrow, just to make sure your teeth are okay." Alexia rambled, gently nudging your lip up to look at the swollen gums surrounding your upper front teeth. "Are they loose? If they're loose, we should go to the dentist now."

You exchanged a look with Olga. You were rather confused, while she just looked pleased with herself.

"They're not loose. I feel fine, Ale, and I ate some pasta. I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm really tired."

You stood, keeping the ice pressed to your nose, catching the slightly frantic look on your sister's face. "You'll wake me up if it hurts, or if something is wrong, right?" She questioned.

"Yeah, if you want me to." You told her.

She nodded, relieved. "I would like you to."

"Okay. Goodnight, guys." Before you could step away from the couch, Alexia was standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, being extra careful with... your entire face. She kissed your forehead, before shooing you off towards the stairs.

Bewildered but pleased with your sister's odd behavior, you headed for bed, hoping that Alexia would be more normal, if still just as caring, tomorrow.

-----

You knew that was out of the question when your door opened softly an hour after you went to bed. You turned, not having fallen asleep yet, seeing your sister stood in the doorway, a blanket in hand, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"What's up?"

"Can I sleep in here? I'm worried about your face, I can't fall asleep." Alexia admitted, taking one step forward before pausing, looking anxiously at you.

You blinked at her for a minute, wondering if this was some kind of bizarre dream where your sister had undergone a personality transplant, before nodding.

"If you want," you agreed, scooting over to make room for you sister. She climbed onto the bed eagerly, smiling at you. You smiled back, wondering if it was possible that your sister was on drugs. She took several minutes to get comfortable, settling under the covers before turning on her side to face where you lay on your back, eyes closed. You could feel her watching you.

"Alexia you can't sleep in here if you're going to stare at me all night like a psychopath." You said, not opening your eyes.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just worried. I'll stop now." Alexia promised, rolling onto her back too.

You didn't say anything for a moment, not wanting to ruin the very sweet moment you were having with you sister, but also feeling curiosity burn through you.

"You're being really weird." You said finally.

Alexia sighed, like she'd known this was coming.

"Am I dying or something and no one bothered to tell me? Is that why you're being so nice to me?" You were only half joking. Alexia sighed again, and somehow, it sounded guilty. "Am I?" You asked, opening your eyes and looking at the blonde.

"No, idiota, you aren't dying. I'm just... I'm trying to be a better sister."

You heard all the time that your sister was awkward, but you'd never really gotten that vibe from her until now.

"Oh. Okay. You're a good sister already, Ale." You said gruffly, looking away from her.

Alexia blinked at you. "Well, I'm glad you think so, but there is always room for improvement. You shouldn't be surprised when I'm nice to you, or take care of you. That should be normal."

"Thanks." You said after a minute, clearing your throat. You hated when Alexia was so nice it made you cry. Hated it.

"You don't have to thank me. I love you, hermanita." Alexia said, and there was no mistaking the vulnerability in her voice.

You were so going to tell Alba about this, and make fun of Alexia endlessly for being so bad at human emotions. For now, though, you rolling into her side a little, resting your head on her shoulder.

"I love you too, Ale."

Alexia smiled to herself. God, she normally hated when her girlfriend proved her wrong, but this time, it had been so needed. She was greatful for Olga, and for you, for being so forgiving. It was very youngest sister of you, never holding a grudge. She loved you. A lot. She was going to be better about showing it.

-----

this got out of hand i won't lie.

hope you enjoyed :)

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #putellas!reader #platonic #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader

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downbadf0rficppl · 10 months ago

Text

you're on your own kid

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You had a rough childhood, what with an absent father and a piece of shit mother. When a family dinner goes wrong, how do you stop your brain from spiraling? How do you convince yourself you're not alone? A certain blue-eyed, metal-armed avenger, of course.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Eating Disorders/Weight Related Talk, Blood, Injury, Kinda Self Harm, Child Abuse [PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE TOPICS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!!!]

You squirmed in your seat, fidgeting with your sleeves. It was awkward being at home after so long. You hadn't been home for four years almost - and it had probably been even longer since you'd sat at this table. Your mother sat across the table from you - her gaze heavy on your head. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, your brother had joked.

He was sitting next to you, his knee gently brushing against yours. A placating movement. He was trying to keep the peace - enjoying the first meal that you had had as a family in a long while. You don't know what it was that made you seek them out. Maybe if you had waited a week, you would have thought about the facts, rather than the feelings. Maybe if you had waited a week, you wouldn't be sitting here with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You sat in silence, playing with the food on your plate. Your mother was of the almond variety, weighing out plates before passing them around the table. You didn't have much to talk about. Things hadn't ended well the last time the two of you spoke.

Your brother chimed in with the odd question - 'How's your gardening coming along, mom?' or 'How's the new job, sis? What's it like working for the Avengers?'. You'd humour him until your mother's disapproving stares became too much and then you'd shut up. He'd give you a sad sort of pitying smile, before returning to his food.

Dinner was long - even it was less than the traditional three courses. Your brother packed up some extra food, and took it home - he only lived about a half mile away so it made sense for him to go home. You made to go with him but your mother insisted you stay with her. "I made up your room, just the way you like it."

You doubted it. But you smiled anyway and hugged your brother tightly. He whispered that 'you would be fine' and 'it's only one night' and maybe for a second you believed him. As soon as he left, you headed to bed, claiming that 'The trip was long, ma, I'm super tired.'

The look on her face screamed that she didn't believe you. But she waved you good night and headed to the kitchen to find her favourite bottle of scotch.

You opened the door to your childhood bedroom to find it almost the same. The pink walls and bedcovers were suffocating, the blinds drawn shut to create this overwhelming feeling of being trapped. You were. Trapped.

You took your jumper off, laid it over your vanity chair, and jumped onto the bed. It was comfortable, but lying there staring at the ceiling brought back all the horrible memories you tried to suppress. Diet pills and weighing scales, small plates and vomiting, screaming and crying, sirens and hospital bills. Tears streamed down your face as curled up onto your side.

It was almost midnight when you heard your mother walk up the stairs. You knew she was drunk - her steps were loud and out of sync, and the bottle in her hand frequently tapped the banister as she tried to stabilise herself on it. You half expected her to keep walking, cross the landing, and fall dead asleep on her bed.

Instead, your door creaked open and you came face to face with her. Her glassy eyes were rimmed with red - she'd been crying too. Her eyes raked over you and suddenly you wished you'd never come back at all.

"Such a shame," she whispered, "You could have been so much more."

"Ma?"

"You were always... the best. The prettiest. The skinniest. You could have been incredible. Instead, you are... nobody."

Her words cut deep but you tried to ignore them. You were somebody. You worked for the Avengers, you were a top-level agent for SHIELD. You helped save the world.

"I tried my best. To help you. But you were ungrateful," Your mother stalked closer, her sadness giving way to anger, "conceited, convinced that you could be anything more than what I made you. But you were wrong. I created you. Without me, THERE IS NO YOU." She launched the bottle at your head and it shattered at the wall behind you.

She kept screaming, but you tuned her out, slipping off the bed and grabbing your jumper and keys. You ran past her, shoving her hard as she tried to grab you and ran out to your car. She watched you go screaming abuse after you, telling you to 'never step foot inside her house again.' You weren't planning to.

You drove like a madman back to upstate - traffic was pretty light considering the ungodly hour. You parked haphazardly - Tony would probably murder you for it in the morning but you couldn't find it within yourself to care. You trudged upstairs, footfalls far too heavy for someone is literally a superspy, but this was your home. You weren't running from anyone in here.

You were so stuck in your own head that you didn't realise that Bucky was sitting in the living room, watching as you walked into the kitchen. He'd heard your footsteps and he was worried. You never walked that heavily.

"Everything ok, doll?"

You looked up at him, not registering a word he said. He stood up and walked over to you, fingers reaching up to stroke your face.

"You good?" He whispered, his forehead almost touching yours.

You pulled away from his touch, even though your body was screaming for you to collapse into his open arms. "Yeah, Buck, fine. See you in the morning for training." You stepped past him, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah, doll. See you in the morning."

The morning came around far quicker than you'd hoped. You had barely slept, tossing and turning all night, your mother's words ringing through your head.

Eventually, you realised it was a futile effort. You might as well get up and be productive. You found yourself in the gym just as the sun came up, face to face with a heavy bag. You clenched your wrapped fists before shaking the sleep out of your system.

Your hits were precise, measured, calculated. If there was one thing no one could fault you for, it was your skills. You were an impeccable agent. If only your mum could see that. You took your rage out on the heavy bag, pouring every ounce of resent in your body into your punches. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the exertion making your breaths heavier and your knuckles sting. You kept punching, time slipping away from you.

You heard the door to the gym open, and someone was talking. Their voice was muted, almost as if your head was underwater. Between the punches and your tiredness, nothing registered in your foggy mind. From the distance you could hear footsteps, getting louder almost as if they were walking towards you.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand brushed against your shoulder. You spun around ready to cuss out whichever stupid rookie decided to bother you so early in the morning. You were surprised to see familiar eyes boring into yours.

"I called your name, you know," Bucky said, his hands moving to rest on your waist, "twice. I even dropped my bag next to yours to get your attention."

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"I can tell," Bucky's thumbs drew circles on your waist, absentmindedly, "Where's that pretty mind been at lately?"

"What do you want, Barnes?"

"I'm worried. About you. You haven't been yourself lately. What's going on?"

"Nothing." You sighed, removing yourself from his grasp, "Missions, reports, meetings. It's tiring."

"Maybe you take a holiday? Try and relax a bit?" You could hear the genuine concern in his voice but you still rolled your eyes.

"Maybe you mind your own fucking business, Barnes? Don't you have other shit to be doing apart from hovering over me?" You grabbed your stuff, refusing to make eye contact with him, and walked out.

"I'm still seeing you for training right?" You hear him call after you, but you keep walking. You let out a shaky breath as soon as you got into the elevator.

He didn't see you for training. Or after.

You'd skipped training in favour of going on a run with Steve and then you had to file a few mission reports. You'd holed yourself up in your office, manila files piling up on the corner of your desk your fingers brushing over the keys with seasoned speed. Bucky had wanted to stop by but given your odd behaviour in the morning, he'd decided against it.

You were glad. You hated that Bucky could see right through you, even when you tried your best to hide it. Especially because you were irrevocably in love with him.

You'd been in love with him ever since you'd started working at the compound. Bucky was one of the few people to notice you and your efficiency. You became one of his preferred mission partners, a fact of which you were very proud. You quickly became one of his favourite people, period, and Bucky even went so far as to blow off Steve to spend time with you.

It hurt you to keep him at arm's length but you knew it was for the best. You remembered what your father told you the night before he left. You're on your own kid. You always have been.

You were given a mission assignment in the evening, with strict instructions of 'wheels up at 0600.' The early pickup time wasn't strange and you were itching to get out of the compound. You packed your bag up, leaving it by the door, and headed to bed.

Another restless night of sleep was the last thing you needed, but you were up and at the hangar waiting for Captain Rogers by 0600. He smiled when he saw you and handed you a coffee. You smiled. Your first real smile since you visited your parents.

"Good luck out there." A voice calls from behind you. You freeze. Bucky jogs towards you both, his eyes betraying his tiredness. Steve's face breaks into a grin at the sight of his old friend. Steve throws his arms around Bucky.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Steve says, his joking tone making Bucky laugh.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

You want to smile at the sight of the two of them together but you held yourself back. You walked towards the quinjet, ready to get this show on the road when you hear Bucky clearing his voice behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Onto the quinjet?"

"Not without a hug, you're not." You sigh but trudge down the steps to give him a half-arsed side hug. He pulls you in tight, and whispers into your hair, "When you get back, we're gonna talk. Okay?"

You don't respond, brushing him off and climbing into the jet. Steve follows you in, dropping his bag next to yours, before turning back to wave at Bucky.

"Don't worry, Buck, I'll take good care of your girl."

His girl. That sounded nice. You shook the thought away before elbowing Steve in the sight. Jokingly of course, but he still doubled over for effect. Bucky burst into laughter.

That was the last thing you saw as the door went up.

The mission was hard. Not terrible - no one died, which was a win in your book - but it wasn't fun. Multiple shootouts, car chases, and three hours of hiding in a dumpster later, you were ready to nap for a week. But, alas, Fury had set a debrief at 8 the next morning, which meant that you had - you checked the clock on your microwave - 6 hours at best.

You dropped your bag on the sofa and headed into the bathroom. You unzipped your utility vest, dropping it on the floor. You needed to disinfect it - god knows what had stained that vest. You pulled up your compression shirt, wincing as the flecks of red came into view. You quickly stripped it off, dropping it in the washing basket, before whipping back around. You caught your own reflection in the mirror and tilted your head, taking in your reflection of your body. Your mother's words played back in your head. Maybe your mother had a point.

You quickly shook your head, dispelling those horrible thoughts from your mind. But still, you continued to stare at your body, scrutinising every feature. I mean, sure you weren't as skinny as you used to be, but that's because you had muscle now, right? And the hamburger you had for lunch was a treat - you know for completing the mission? The super important mission that you were on because you are important and you are somebody and you have value and you are someone without your mum. Don't you? And it's ok that you can't see your ribs because actually you have abs now and that's way more attractive. Right? And.. and... and....

SMASH.

Broken glass was shattered all around you, fragments piercing your skin. Your mirror now had a fist-shaped hole in the middle, from where your sadness had quickly bled into anger.

You cradled your bloodied fist in your hand, sinking to the ground as sobs racked through your body. Glass dug into your knees as they hit the floor and you curled your hands into your chest. Hurtful 'what ifs' swirled through your head, stealing your breath and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Pounding on your door broke you out of your thoughts. You tried to regain your bearings. It was 2 am. You were in your apartment, the apartment that was miles away from the compound, that you lived in alone. Who the hell would be at your door right now?

You were silent, breath bated as you waited for the stranger to go away. They banged on the door again.

"Doll, I swear to god, if you don't let me in, I'm going to break your fucking door down."

You knew that voice anywhere. The knowledge that you weren't alone, that he was here for you, that Bucky wouldn't make you suffer alone brought new tears to your eyes. Fresh sobs burst from your chest as you tried to move. Glass shards were stabbing into your legs, and one of your hands was bleeding profusely. Bucky, your safety net, was so close and yet so far.

"Doll? Doll, I can hear you. Doll, please, please let me in." You could hear the panic in his voice as he struggled with his conscience. You tried to move but the pain was excruciating. A pained scream erupted from your lips.

A loud bang came from your front door, followed by heavy and fast footsteps.

"Where are you, doll? Come on, just come and talk to me." He said, sweeping through your living room. You whimpered from the bathroom, his enhanced hearing focussing on even the smallest of sounds.

He quickly found his way into the bathroom, his eyes raking over your hunched figure, before flitting to the broken mirror and the shards of glass on the ground.

"Oh doll," he whispered, bending down to scoop you up from the floor. He cradled you gently as he carried you from the bathroom into your bedroom. "What happened, doll? Talk to me."

You looked up at him, trying to figure out where to start. You blanked. You couldn't find a good place to start the story that would cause you the least pain. Your mouth opened and closed a few times with no sound coming out. Bucky rested his hand against yours, trying to reassure you to take your time, but the sound of your wince drew his attention to your hands.

"Doll, your hands." He grabbed your hands gently, peering at your knuckles. They were mauled, glass sticking out of torn-up skin, "What did you do?" He stood up, walking into your kitchen to grab the first aid kit he knew was under the sink. Watching him walk around like he owned the place made some small part of your heart happy - it was almost as if your dreams, your darkest-held fantasies, were coming true.

Bucky kneeled in front of you, placing the first aid kit beside him. He brushed all the glass shards off your legs - luckily none of them had been embedded into your skin. He cleaned any small scratches before turning to your knuckles. The sight of your knuckles made him wince and you started to pull them away. Bucky leveled you with a look that said, let me take care of you. You let him. He sterilised a pair of tweezers and got to work pulling the shards of glass out of your knuckles. You sat in silence for a while, Bucky diligently working on your knuckles, and you watching the swiftness with which he worked.

"Why did you punch the mirror, doll?" Bucky asked after a while.

"I was angry," you whispered, your voice deathly quiet. Now that the rage was gone, all you had left was embarrassment.

"And why were you angry?" Bucky coaxed, his eyes pleading for some answers. He pulled out the last shard of glass before swiping an alcohol wipe over your knuckles and bandaging them up. He packed up all the items back into the first aid box and went to put it away and wash his hands.

You were still sat on the bed contemplating your answer when he got back. He knelt in front of you again, before he rested his hands on your face, "Why were you angry doll?"

"I didn't like it." You whispered, pulling your body away from him.

"What didn't you like?" Bucky's eyes stared into yours and you suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. You tried to remove yourself from his all-seeing, mind-reading gaze, but he didn't let you. He pulled you into his lap, and you hid your face in his neck. His beard tickled your forehead as you nestled into him, trying to seek out the comfort you so desperately needed but didn't know how to ask for.

"Me." You said, your head turned away from him as you stared at your hands.

"What?"

"I didn't like me." Your voice started to shake as you tried to find the right words to tell him the truth, the whole honest godforsaken truth, but you couldn't.

Bucky seemed to read your mind, "It's ok, take your time. We don't have to talk about this today. We can come back to it later, when you're feeling up for it, okay?" You nodded, burrowing further into him, "You wanna sleep?"

You nodded again, and Bucky shifted, wrapping his arms around you so he could gently place you down on the bed. He removed his arms from underneath you and tucked you into bed, gently kissing your forehead as you turned to leave. You whined.

"Pleasedon'tgoBuck-" You mumbled, sleep quickly pulling you under. He smiled, perching himself on the end of the bed.

"You sure you want me to say, sweetheart? Not sure you'll ever get rid of me if I stay?"

"I promise. Never want you to go." You said, clinging to his arm and pulling him back into bed.

You slipped into an easy slumber as Bucky shuffled around in your room. Maybe you didn't have to be on your own anymore.

fin.

buy me a coffee

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky imagine #no y/n #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 6: I'm The Resident Leader Of The Lost And Found]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading! It will be available for 1 week 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace...unless...??

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “St. Jimmy” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.2k (she's a little chonky)

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

What happens to the people who turn? You know because you saw it back at Saratoga Springs, an EO from Oklahoma named Greg Flurry—Equipment Operator, he spent his days driving a forklift, everyone called him Snowflake—who returned from weekend liberty with a bite on his left wrist that he said was a gift from some drunk girl who attacked him outside of a 7-Eleven. You had all laughed and taken turns poking at the wound, making him wince: a ring of tiny bruises, not deep at all, the skin only punctured in a few spots, corporeal gemstones of trapped-blood amethysts and sapphires and rubies. Snowflake rubbed it down with a splash of Grey Goose vodka—the same kind your Mama always drank—and didn’t think of it again for the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, he felt fine; but the bite mark, paradoxically, was not healing. On the contrary, it was turning dark and angry, maroon trails along the paths of veins that shuttle blood back to the heart. Snowflake got a shot of antibiotics at the med clinic and was back in the driver’s seat of his forklift before lunch.

On Wednesday, he had a headache and nausea that wouldn’t go away. Snowflake attributed this to particularly questionable chicken fried steak from the chow hall. At night he tossed and turned in his bunk, and when Rio went to check on him, Snowflake was burning up with fever, sweating through his sheets, staring blankly through pupils like pinpricks. You, Rio, and Parker carried him to the med clinic.

On Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, Snowflake began to decompose. But he was still alive. His skin turned grey and sloughed off, his body purged itself: vomit from his throat, diarrhea from his intestines, blood beading out of his pores like sweat. His corneas went cloudy. His lungs flooded with decay-dark mucus. Snowflake sobbed and shrieked as you and Rio sat with him and held his disintegrating hands, as the corpsmen phoned every hospital they could to try to get him transported. All the ambulances were unavailable. All the hospitals were already overwhelmed. They gave the corpsmen peculiar guidance: Palliative care. Prepare to restrain him if he becomes a danger to others. The virus appears to be transmitted via bite wounds.

“Virus?” Rio had said, dropping Snowflake’s hand. “What the fuck kind of virus does this to someone?”

The corpsmen had shaken their heads—We don’t know—and attempted to administer narcotics intravenously. Snowflake received no relief. His blood vessels were collapsing, dissolving, turning to a noxious soup beneath what was left of his skin. Becoming a zombie is not unlike radiation sickness. It rots you from the inside out, and you can feel everything.

As the sun was rising, Snowflake died. And by then you were glad; it was the most merciful outcome. The corpsmen covered him with a sheet and called around for a morgue. They were full too. As you all stood in an exam room trying to understand what had just happened to Snowflake here, what was going on in the world outside Saratoga Springs, the fresh corpse sat up on the table. You had screamed and clutched for Rio; he shoved you behind him. The corpse, still covered with the sheet stained with black and brown and red, followed the noise of your voice and staggered towards you, snarling and groaning, arms outstretched, teeth clicking as they gnashed beneath the sheet. The corpsmen tried to grab him, then shrank away when the ghoul clawed at them, putrefied fingers peeking out from beneath the linen. The zombie lurched closer, and Rio struck out: colossal knuckles to a soft skull, the monster sent hurtling headfirst into a wall. The body plunged to the floor and, enveloped by a puddle of its own bodily fluids, died for the second time.

And Rio had glanced down at where Snowflake had been bitten—now indecipherable on his black, gangrenous wrist that jutted out from beneath the sheet—then turned to you and said: I guess it only takes once.

~~~~~~~~~~

You doze against Aemond’s shoulder as Baela drives the Honda Odessey across Indiana, goldenrods and dogwood trees, green weeds growing tall and wild, red bloodstains on pavement. Visions of the past come to you in spider-thread thin fragments of dreams.

Building dams of sticks and pebbles in the swamp-colored creek that runs along Kentucky State Route 1087. Balancing atop rusted railroad lines that once connected coal mines like ligaments link bones, bare feet, box turtles and milk snakes, autum leaves falling into your hair. Scratching black-ink battleships into the pages of your fifty-cent Walmart notebook as teachers drone on about things that mean nothing to you, things that will not take you away from here, Shakespeare, the Krebs cycle, the Tet Offensive, Spanish words for colors and animals. Mama glancing up at you as she scrubs dishes in a sink nearly overflowing with bubbles, too nonchalant to intend to be cruel: You’re lucky you ain’t too beautiful. Do you know what happens to beautiful women? Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Anna Nicole Smith? Horrible, horrible things. And then they die.

Once in a while you pass a car or truck or SUV coasting east as you roll west, strangers who wave and give you nods of grim, transient greeting. Good luck. I’m sorry you’ve lost people. I hope you live. At a Speedway outside of Kokomo, Aemond, Aegon, Rio, and Luke draw Uno cards to see who will attempt to siphon gas from the three vehicles you find there with closed fuel caps. Aegon loses with a blue four. The Kia and Toyota are empty; there’s almost a full tank left in the Ford. You refuel the Honda Odessey and scrounge through the convenience store for supplies. Helaena seems to have developed a sort of fixation with pain pills, hoarding Advil and Tylenol. Aegon finds a few more packs of Marlboro Golds. He puffs on them, windows down and breeze blowing, neon green plastic sunglasses shielding his eyes, as Baela skirts around Indianapolis. Even from fifteen miles away, you can see the billowing smoke from the fires, hear the manmade thunder of explosions.

“Bet people are having a great time there,” Aegon murmurs as he takes a drag, embers glowing and blonde hair thrashing in the wind.

Baela follows the course he plotted, swinging just south of Peoria, Illinois to avoid the nuclear power plants between there and Chicago. You cross the Mississippi River and into the southern tip of Iowa over the Fort Madison Bridge, the toll booth occupied only by a carcass that buzzards are pecking apart, a zombie that someone else already put a bullet in…or perhaps the man did it to himself. Maybe he didn’t see a point in sticking around to watch the dead inherit the earth. You cannot agree. Each day you find more reasons to stay alive in this treacherous new world. It’s like when you were back in Soft Shell, Kentucky. You can’t give up, you can’t surrender. The only way out is through.

The black Honda Odessey—a good soldier, having taken you six hundred miles and into the vast flat vacancy of the Midwest—at last runs out of gas as you are approaching Bonaparte, founded in the 1830s as a lumber mill on the banks of the Des Moines River. You unload the minivan and trek into town; you will find somewhere to spend the night and then in the morning head south to Route 2, which you will follow all the way across Iowa to the Nebraska border.

The first house you try is at the edge of town, eggshell-colored vinyl siding and an empty gravel driveway. Rio tries the front door—locked—then tells everyone to back up. He kicks it once, no dice, gets ready to try again. Then the door opens. A woman with wide fearful eyes stands there with two boys cowering behind her, maybe ten and twelve.

“Please don’t break the lock,” the woman says softly. “We need it. Sometimes they try to get in.”

“Oh hey, lady, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone was home. You okay in there?”

Her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her. “Please leave us alone.”

Aemond climbs the steps of the front porch, taps Rio’s shoulder to tell him to back up, and kneels in the doorway so he isn’t so tall. He asks the woman: “Do you need supplies? Food, medicine?”

“Please leave us alone,” she says again.

“My name is Aemond, and those two are my brothers Aegon and Daeron, and that’s my sister Helaena, my cousin Luke, and then Rhaena and Baela. The big guy is Rio, and the girl over there…” He smiles as he gestures to you. “We like to call her Chips. Everyone is healthy, and everyone is here by choice. We’re going to the West Coast, Oregon and California. Do you want to come with us?”

But the woman shakes her head almost violently. “We’re safe in the house. We have to stay. My husband is a long-haul trucker, but he’s on his way back to us.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

“Go away. Please just go away. Before they see you.”

The woman shuts the door and you hear her throw the deadbolt. You leave like she asks you to; but not before Aemond collects an armful of supplies you can spare and places them in a pile on the porch for them to take inside once you’ve vanished.

The sun is sinking into the west as Helaena lights candles in Bonaparte Baptist Church and Rhaena shakes out dusty, mothball-smelling tablecloths to use as blankets. Luke finds gallons of grape juice and bags full of tiny flat bread wafers in the cabinets of the kitchenette, once used for sinless communions. It’s Daeron’s turn to stay awake for first watch. If Jace was still alive, it would be his too; instead, Aemond takes his place and refuses all offers of relief. You lie down on a pew with thin violet cushions and are thinking that you’ll never get comfortable enough to fall asleep when you are abruptly swallowed by omnipotent, black nothingness.

You jolt awake sometime in the middle of the night, a bad dream you don’t remember and don’t want to. Daeron is perched on the altar and using a hunting knife from the cellar back in Distant, Pennsylvania to sharpen the sticks he’s gathered into arrows. Baela is sitting with Aemond, their backs against the wall and voices hushed so as not to wake the others. Aemond is telling her that everything is going to be okay, that he’s still here, that Jace is gone but he’s not going anywhere, and candlelight is flickering across his scarred face, and he’s afraid but he doesn’t show it. He can’t. Too many people need him.

Oh, you realize; and it doesn’t feel awful at all, doomed or apocalyptic, a curse or a plague. It feels better than anything you knew existed. I might fall in love with him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aemond, take a look at this,” Luke says, offering him the binoculars. You have walked several miles on Iowa State Route 2, an asphalt atoll in an ocean of emerald green flora, buffalograss and prairie roses, ash trees growing over defunct power lines.

Aemond peers through the binoculars. It’s a small farmhouse about a quarter mile off the road, rugged and weatherworn, besieged by a flock of zombies. There is something large and rectangular flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. “Hm,” Aemond hums sympathetically. “It’s a shame. Poor guy.”

“What do you see?” you ask, and he gives you the binoculars. The zombies, approximately thirty of them, do not appear to have breached the interior; they shuffle through the yard and up and down the steps of the porch, smack their palms against the wood siding, leave stains of gore on the boarded-up windows. None appear to be aware of you yet. The bedsheet that hangs from the attic window has a message painted on it in something dark and viscous, perhaps motor oil:

One alive inside

I can hunt, fish, and fix things

Please help me

God bless you!!!

“We should be able to get to Cantril before dark, it’s about twelve more miles,” Aegon mutters, pondering his map. “Boner-party. Who names a town something like that?”

Aemond stares at him. “Bonaparte. Like Napoleon.”

“Who?”

You pass Rio the binoculars, then say to Aemond: “We’re going to help him, right?”

“We sure as hell aren’t,” Rio replies as he studies the farmhouse. “You want to risk our lives killing all those bastards? I don’t.”

You turn to Aemond, incredulous, but he concurs with Rio. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s going on?” Baela says testily from where she’s sprawled on the pavement sipping a half-full plastic gallon of bruise-colored grape juice. She’s already exhausted, but you have no way of transporting her.

Rio points across the field. “There’s a sign saying someone’s trapped inside that house. Tough fucking luck, ain’t it?”

Baela stares at the farmhouse uneasily, her brow furrowed. Rhaena fans her with a paperback copy of Catching Fire. Daeron has wandered off the road to collect more sticks to sharpen and fill his quiver; Helaena is with him picking wildflowers.

“That was us,” you tell Rio. “We were stranded on that transmission tower and we would have died if we’d been left there. But we weren’t. Someone saved us.”

“Things were different then,” Aemond says, unemotional, uncompromising. “We had the Tahoe. Now we’re on foot, and we’d have to kill each of them individually. And there’s no way to make a fast escape if something goes wrong.”

“So we’re just going to leave him?” Aegon says doubtfully, his large ocean-blue eyes flicking between you and Aemond. He stuffs his map back into his shorts pocket and scratches at the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

Rio groans. “Come on, man, we don’t even know if anyone’s still alive in there! What if he’s dead already? What if he got bit or starved to death or fell down the steps and snapped his neck or something?”

“What if he’s not a good guy?” Aemond adds.

“There’s a Trump 2024 sign in the front yard,” Luke says. He has the binoculars again. Aemond opens his hands, an I told you so sort of gesture. Luke amends: “Not that anyone deserves to get eaten alive or transformed into a walking corpse. But, you know. I figured I’d mention it.”

You are not swayed. Had you stayed in Soft Shell, Kentucky, you might have believed the same things. “People deserve to have the chance to start over.”

Aemond’s eye is on you, narrow and seeking, desperate to understand. “Why are you so fixated on this stranger?”

“He hunts, he fishes. What are we going to do when we get out into Wyoming and Nevada where towns are fifty miles apart and there’s hardly anywhere to scavenge for food? What are we going to eat when the beef jerky and Skittles run out?”

“You said everyone hunts where you’re from.”

“Not literally everyone. I don’t hunt.”

“You can shoot.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to track animals. And even if I killed a deer, I wouldn’t know how to dress it.”

Aegon blinks at you. “To what?”

“To remove the skin and organs and everything.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aemond repeats. Rio is nodding in agreement. Baela’s lips are pressed into a thin, thoughtful, rigid line. Daeron and Helaena have returned to the road to see how the discussion unfolds.

“There are about thirty zombies out there,” you say. “I can take fifteen. I just need you guys to do the rest.”

“Everyone here is my responsibility.” Aemond is severe, but he isn’t angry.

“Then you’re responsible for their humanity as well.”

“I can’t justify risking our lives for this.”

“I’ve killed people, living people, and I didn’t like how that felt. Make no mistake, this is killing too, just by omission instead of with bullets. We’ll all have to carry that weight. The man in that farmhouse hasn’t threatened us. He’s helpless, and he’s trapped, and if we don’t save him, who else is going to do it? What if it was you in there? What if it was me?”

Aemond, frowning, contemplates the house that has become a prison. Rio looks at you, one eyebrow raised. You gaze stoically back. He sighs. “Okay, what the hell, let’s rock,” Rio says.

Baela holds up her Ruger in one hand, slips her hammer out of a belt loop of her shorts with the other. “I’m on board.”

“You shouldn’t be on anything except bedrest,” Aemond tells her.

“I can take fifteen of the zombies myself,” you say again. “I have two M9s, thirty bullets total. I won’t need more than that.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron says.

“Shut up,” Aegon replies, though his tone is gentle. “You can’t even donate blood.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron insists, clutching his compound bow. “At least ten.”

Aegon swings his golf club around. “I can take…like…probably approximately three.”

Rio grabs his face and squeezes his sunburned cheeks as Aegon giggles and slaps at him. “You won’t get the opportunity, Honey Bun. Stay in the kitchen and bake apple pies until Daddy comes home from work.”

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Aemond asks you. It’s not a challenge, only a question. He’s at war with himself, you can tell. He’s trying very hard to treat you like someone he’s not terrified to lose.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulls his Glock out of its holster. “The gunfire will attract more of them.”

“Then we’ll have to move quickly.”

Aemond turns to Baela, still wilted on the pavement. “You, Rhaena, and Helaena will follow behind us with Luke and finish off any zombies we missed.”

Baela gives him a weak, acquiescent thumbs up, breathing heavily. “Got it.”

“Helaena, you still have your Ruger, right?”

“I won’t need it,” she murmurs, wildflowers tucked into her long blonde hair, watching a ladybug skitter across her knuckles. Aemond is exasperated.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Luke promises. He’s using his binoculars to scout for any threats on the horizon, additional zombies or approaching strangers. Evidently, there are none.

“The grass,” Helaena says. “It makes it hard to see the snakes. Watch your step.”

Aemond replies distractedly: “I think we have bigger worries at the moment, babe.” As Rio pumps his Remington and Luke fumbles nervously with his Marlin .22 to make sure it’s fully loaded, Aemond walks a few yards away from the others and gestures for you to follow him. Aemond’s voice is low, the blue of his eye river-clear and blade-sharp. “I want you to stay near Rio.”

You give him a small, teasing smile. “So you won’t worry about me?”

“So I’ll worry slightly less.” He brushes a piece of buffalograss from your hair, his fingers lingering there longer than they need to. “Rio’s the biggest, he’s the best fighter. And if one of those things catches you by surprise, he’ll be able to crack its skull no problem. So keep close.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.”

“Please work with me. I’m giving you what you want.”

To be useful, to be merciful. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Thank me by not letting anything bite you. Not today, not ever.”

“Well, except you of course.”

He laughs, the tension in his face breaking; he skates his thumbprint over your cheek and kisses your forehead, swift like a reflex, unthinking, instinctive.

“Good to go?” Rio asks with a grin, holding his Remington with both hands.

Aegon’s golf club is resting across his shoulders, and you have a sudden vision of Jace doing the same thing with a baseball bat, a vengeful ghost peering out from beneath his curls with cunning dark eyes and a smirk. “Yeah, Chipotle, you’re leading the charge here.”

“No she’s not,” Aemond says, striding to the edge of the road. Across the field is the farmhouse, the white bedsheet S.O.S. still whipping in the wind. “I’m in front. Everyone else is behind me.”

“Oh yeah? Then who’s gonna watch your blind side, huh?” Aegon jogs over and whacks Aemond’s left shoulder with an open palm, beaming up at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get to be the hero. I was born talentless.”

“You have talents, Aegon,” you say. “You can sing.”

“Not relevant in a zombie-riddled apocalyptic hellscape, Cow Chip.” He and Aemond start across the field, then you and Rio, then Daeron, darting around in your peripheral vision, nocking sharpened sticks like arrows. Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena trail at a distance.

You have closed half of the gap between the road and the farmhouse—and Daeron has already felled several zombies—before the beasts begin to turn around and notice you. They do not understand danger; they only understand hunger, and they lurch towards you with teeth gnashing and claws outstretched, strips of decaying flesh hanging like sleeves from their arms. You hate the way they move, like they’re trying to imitate life, like they are receiving some sinister transmission that reverberates inside them, like they are soulless vessels to be used in the darkest ways.

You stop, plant your feet in the earth, and raise one of your Beretta M9s. Your eyes find the sights; your finger settles on the trigger. You are rusty at first: a miss, a bullet in a rotting shoulder instead of a skull. Then you click into a rhythm and the zombies drop as they stumble towards you, infected dark blood spewing, brains pouring out onto the soil. When your clip is empty, you shove the first M9 back into its holster and pull out the other.

Daeron is putting his makeshift arrows through eye sockets, Aemond is firing his Glock, Rio is erasing entire heads with the grotesque power of his Remington. Aegon is swinging his golf club around wildly. His Marlin .22 hangs from its strap across his back, but he’s hopeless with it; his aim quite literally could not be worse. You hear other gunshots too, maybe Luke. A stranger appears from the front door of the farmhouse: red flannel shirt, roomy jeans, tan work boots, long messy russet hair pulled back in a man bun, almost as big as Rio. He is carrying an axe and begins helping to cut down the remaining zombies. Rio realizes you’re no longer with him and turns around to find you.

“I’m good!” you shout, waving him forward. “Go, go!” Rio nods and takes off again towards the farmhouse, blasting his Remington 12 gauge like a cannon.

Your ankle snags on something, a gnarled root, an old piece of farm machinery. You fall hard, hitting the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs. Your M9 is flung from your grasp. You roll onto your back and sit up to see what you’re caught on. It’s the grasping hand of a zombie, an old man, long white hair and dead milky eyes, only a torso, nothing below the ribcage except a tangle of dirt-coated intestines. It is scrambling towards your legs, jaws rattling, teeth covered in the blood of the other people it has eaten.

You shriek and try to kick it away. You reach for the empty M9, rip it out of its holster, and hold it by the barrel so you can use the grip, the heaviest part of a pistol, to bash the zombie’s skull in. But you aren’t Rio; when you strike the zombie’s head, it keeps hissing and scrabbling towards your flesh that sings to it like a siren, irresistible, divine.

I can’t let it bite me, I can’t let it bite me—

There is a boom and the zombie drops face-down to the earth. You are saved; you are free. You turn to see Rhaena standing beside you, clutching her tiny Ruger in trembling hands…but her eyes are closed. Slowly, petrified, they come open, one after the other.

You gape up at her. “Did you aim?!”

Rhaena shrugs guiltily. “I don’t remember how.”

“Jesus Christ. Well thanks, I guess. Glad you missed my pelvis.”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah. Me too.” Rhaena holsters her Ruger and helps you to your feet. By now, everyone else has realized you’re in trouble and are sprinting over, including the new guy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, holding up your arms and skimming your palms down your bare legs to show them you haven’t been bitten. “No need to despair. Rhaena rescued me.”

Aemond gets to you first. “Can I see?” he asks breathlessly. You give him your hands and with his fingertips, he reads you like Braille: palms, forearms, throat, jaw, gingerly turning your face away from him and then back again. He exhales, relieved. “Good job, Rhaena,” Aemond says, and she smiles. Baela uses her hammer to smash the skull of a zombie that’s still squirming. Aegon yanks a snarling toddler to its feet—Pokémon t-shirt, left leg missing, wearing one of those child leashes—and swings his golf club so hard its whole head pops off and rolls away into the buffalograss with sick wet thumps.

“I thought you couldn’t kill the kids,” you say.

Aegon spits on the corpse’s collapsed, headless body. “It’s different now. These monsters ate Jace. Fuck ‘em all.”

“I can’t thank y’all enough,” the axe-wielding stranger says. “I was sure I was going to die in there like a rat in a trap. There’s a hog farm on the property behind mine, and I think the…you know…all the meat attracts zombies. A pack of them saw me in the yard and followed me to the house, and when they’re in a group like that, they seem…well, I just couldn’t get rid of them. Alone they wander wherever, but a hoard has structure, it has a mission, and they were waiting me out. I didn’t have my guns, I didn’t have my truck…”

“What happened to them?” Rio asks.

“I got robbed, that’s what happened.”

“No!” Baela says. “Really?”

“A week ago, five men I’d never seen before broke in while I was sleeping. They must have drugged my dog, who knows with what—she slept for twenty hours, have you ever heard of something like that?—and locked me in my bedroom. By the time I kicked the door down they were gone, and so were quite a few of my earthly possessions. It was nice of them not to murder us, I guess. I have a couple boxes of ammo left, but that’s all. Mostly 9mm.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” you say.

The stranger gives you a curious, appraising glance. “I’m very glad to be able to assist you, ma’am.” Then he finally gets a good look at Aemond, who is glaring at him. “Lord almighty, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A piece of sheet metal fell on me.”

“He stitched it up himself,” Luke says. “I watched. It was wild.”

The man is impressed. “You’re a doctor?”

“No, no, no,” Aemond amends. “Just an intern.”

“He’s basically a doctor,” Baela says.

“Well, you’ll be useful to have around, I expect.” The stranger offers his hand and Aemond, somewhat unenthusiastically, shakes it. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Targaryen?! That’s a heck of a name, sir.”

“It’s Greek,” Aegon says.

“Where are y’all headed? Not all the way back to Greece, I hope. That’d be a hike. And a swim too, I guess.”

Aemond smiles tightly, polite but guarded. “Not that far away. We’re on our way to the West Coast, California and Oregon.”

“And you’re on foot?! You need horses.”

“We haven’t come across any that are still alive.”

“Do you want to travel with us, Cregan?” Luke asks amiably.

“I reckon I would, for now at least. I got nowhere else to be and no one to care for.” Cregan looks to Aemond. “That alright with you, doc?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously.

“My folks got a trailer over towards Cantril, and a truck parked out back too if nobody’s stolen it yet. We can stay the night there if you want and then drive west in the morning.”

“Cantril! That’s on our route!” Aegon exclaims, he of the map and the gel pens.

Aemond narrows his eye at Cregan, suspicious. “If your parents are so close, why aren’t you staying with them? Why didn’t they swing by to check on you and see you were in trouble here?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re dead,” Cregan says, and Aemond is abruptly remorseful. “When all this started, I went over to get them and they were out in the front yard, just bones. All the flesh was chewed right off. But I found their wedding rings in the grass, and Mama’s pearl necklace that her Grammie gave her when she got married, Mama never took it off as long as she lived. It looked like a string of rubies.”

Aemond swallows noisily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do about it now,” Cregan says, staring out over the field and biting his lips so they don’t quiver.

“Did your parents have guns?” Rio asks hopefully.

Cregan chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’d be swell, wouldn’t it? Daddy got all his guns taken away when I was in high school.”

“Taken away…?” Baela echoes.

“Yeah,” Cregan says casually. “After the methamphetamine conviction.” He whistles, and a dog comes loping out of the front door of the farmhouse. It’s huge and mean-looking, fur the color of ashes or smoke. It goes directly to Cregan and noses his hands; you are reminded of how Aemond searched you fearfully for injuries. “She’s half-German Shepherd, half-grey wolf. Her name’s Ice.”

“Does she bite?” Aemond asks tentatively.

“My little princess?! Hell no! I wish she did, then maybe those robbers wouldn’t have gotten what they wanted. But she knows when those things are around.”

Aegon pats her angular, steel-colored head. Ice puts back her pointy ears and closes her eyes, basking in the attention. “Hey, fuzzball. I’m going to call you Blue Raspberry Icee.”

“You can call her whatever you want to as long as she’s allowed to come with us.”

“She’s welcome if she sniffs out zombies,” Aemond says.

Baela is struck by a thought. “Cregan, what kind of truck did your parents have? I hope it’s big. We’re a lot of people.” She’s resting her hands on her belly. And we’re about to add one more.

“A Chevy Tahoe,” Cregan says. You all begin chattering excitedly, then have to explain why.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’all like fishing?” Cregan asks. He’s cooking dinner for everyone with his dead parents’ Coleman butane camping stove, only one burner, each course prepared individually. You are all seated around him on the living room floor, sipping cans of Coke and Sprite—what Cregan calls “pop”—and eating turkey-flavored instant stuffing that came out of a cardboard box. Now Cregan is working on Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, tiny white flakes like snow that puff up in boiling water. Rhaena is staring at the pot with horror. Baela scarfs down her stuffing like she’s been starving to death. Flashlights illuminate the room in dim ocher like a setting sun, the roof vents open to let in cool night air. The trailer smells like cigarette smoke and dust and mildew. Piled haphazardly in corners are old newspapers, mounds of unfolded clothes, empty boxes and plastic bags, VHS tapes—Star Wars, 80s rock concerts, Clint Eastwood movies—and unwashed cups.

Aemond chuckles like it’s preposterous. “No.”

“Garth Brooks?”

“No.”

“NASCAR?”

“Who watches NASCAR?!” Aegon says.

You smile. “Everyone’s got a driver where I’m from.”

Cregan, vindicated, thumps a closed fist against his chest. “I was a Jeff Gordon guy. His car reminded me of a box of Froot Loops or something.”

“My brother Denver covered the inside of the garage with Dale Earnhardt Jr. stuff. I got obsessed with Juan Pablo Montoya for a while, he was cute.”

“So you chase the dark-haired fellas,” Cregan says, grinning, still stirring the potatoes. Everyone else’s wide, perplexed gazes fly between you and Cregan as they eat their Stove Top stuffing from Styrofoam bowls.

You titter nervously. “I don’t usually chase anyone.”

Aegon notices a taxidermied largemouth bass mounted on the wall, approximately fifteen pounds. “What the fuck,” he whispers, dismayed.

“WWE?” Cregan asks you.

“Oh, Rey Mysterio, no question. He was cute too.”

Cregan snorts. “He literally never took off his mask!”

“He was cute underneath it. I could tell, I have a sense for these things.”

“I’ll let you live in delusion.”

“I thought wrestling was real back then. When he’d get beat up and covered in fake blood, I’d start crying because I figured he’d die. Who was your favorite?”

“John Cena.” Cregan waves an open hand back and forth in front of his face. “You can’t see me!” You both burst out laughing. No one else gets it.

“It’s John Cena’s signature move,” you explain.

“Hm,” Aemond says, but he’s watching you and Cregan with deep grooves in his forehead and a solemnness in his lone blue eye, tapping his chin restlessly.

“Now, we might not have any butter…” Cregan picks up one of the containers scattered around him, a plastic jug of Great Value powdered coffee creamer. “But this makes for the best potatoes on the planet.” The others watch, stunned, appalled, as he adds several heaping spoonfuls to the pot.

You smile wistfully. How is it possible to be so nostalgic for a place you once believed was killing you, wringing you dry until all your blood dripped onto the floor and you were left a husk, a ghost, a myth? “My Mama always did that. She put it in mac and cheese too.”

Cregan serves you first, taking your empty stuffing bowl and returning it nearly overflowing with Hungry Jack instant potatoes. “Here’s a taste of home.”

And he’s right; you take a bite—hot enough to burn your tongue, smooth, rich, soupy in texture—and it’s just like being five or ten or fifteen again, when this was your idea of luxury, a good day, lounging on a sagging couch torn to hell by the cats and watching The Simpsons or Malcolm In The Middle with your brothers. Cregan scoops Hungry Jack into all the bowls. Baela digs in enthusiastically. The others, following your lead, take cautious tastes, shrug, and decide it’s tolerable for one night. Cregan grabs a new pot and dumps a box of Rice-A-Roni into it, along with the packet of seasoning, a bottle of water, and a single spoonful of coffee creamer for good measure. As the rice cooks, he distributes one can of barbeque-flavored Vienna sausages to each guest. Rhaena pops hers open and immediately begins retching. Aegon feeds his to Ice.

After dinner, Cregan compiles all the extra blankets and pillows he can find, then supplements with bath towels and bedsheets from the closet in the hallway. The trailer is small, only one bedroom; you all agree Baela should get it. She will share with Rhaena and Luke, as she always does now. She doesn’t like sleeping alone. Cregan offers to take first watch, a gift in return for being rescued from a slow death by deprivation. Aemond agrees, but only because Rio—with a wink and a knowing smirk—volunteers to stay up too. Rio will keep tabs on this almost-stranger; Rio is the only one big enough to knock Cregan around if such an occasion ever arose. Aemond tells them to wake him up halfway through the night so he can take over and let them rest. You say you want to do the second watch too, and this time Aemond doesn’t argue.

Helaena gets the couch and Daeron curls up on the olive green carpet beside her, Aegon claims the tattered old recliner, you arrange your pillow and blanket—thin, scratchy, a weak blue mottled with dark stains you can’t identify—against the wall on the other side of the living room. Rio is teaching Cregan how to play Uno on the small plastic folding table by the kitchen, only spacious enough for two. Ice is stretched out beneath the table with her grey muzzle resting on her paws. At the moment, Aemond is supervising; he’s still trying to decide how much he can trust Cregan.

Aegon wanders over to you then bends down, his hands on his knees. “This place is revolting,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“Where did you grow up? Alcatraz?” You laugh, and Aegon gives you his pink CD player, Ava still written across the top in rhinestones. “Just in case you need to get away for a while. It’s wasted on me. I’m going to be unconscious about two seconds after my head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“If you see any meth lying around, you let me know. I’m always in the market for new ways to shorten my life expectancy.”

“I’ll keep any such discoveries to myself. I enjoy you too much.”

Aegon recoils, lets that sink in, then beams as he saunters back to his creaking recliner.

“Hey, Chips?” Luke says, approaching you shyly. He’s holding his Marlin .22. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my rifle was shooting way to the left today, and I don’t think my aim’s that awful.”

“No problem.” You take it and remove the remaining bullets so there’s no chance the gun will accidentally fire, then examine the sights. “Can you get me Baela’s hammer?”

“Sure.” Luke dashes off and then returns with it moments later.

“You said it was skewed to the left?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

You take the hammer and tap the rear sight a few times. Luke watches you, fascinated, troubled. When he speaks, his voice is soft and miserable.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at everything.”

“You know, this is the only possible scenario in which someone like you is worth less than me.” You give him an encouraging smile. “I didn’t go to a fancy school. I work with my hands.”

“But you’re smart, Chips. You could have gone to college if you wanted to.”

How would I have paid for application fees, or to take the SAT? How would I have gotten Mama to fill out the FAFSA? What school would have given me a scholarship with my mediocre grades in standard-level classes? Who would have driven me to school and helped me move in? How would I have bought books, shampoo, tampons, a laptop? Where would I have gone if I had trouble finding a job after graduation? What if the people there saw through me? What if they shrank away from the frayed threads I’m built of? There is no point in saying these things. The gulf between you is too great; it will only confuse Luke and hurt you. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” You reload the Marlin .22 and pass both the gun and the hammer back to him. “I think it’ll work better now.”

“I bet you wish Jace was here instead of me,” Luke says, and it shocks you. “Everyone does, except maybe Rhaena.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jace was a good fighter, and he was smart, and brave, and capable, and I’m just this…this weak scared loser who only knows how to write screenplays. And what goddamn use is that? Hollywood doesn’t even exist anymore! Scraps of Tom Cruise are probably stuck in some zombie’s teeth right now!”

“Luke, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left Jace,” he whispers, distraught. “I betrayed him. He was always protecting me and I couldn’t even save him once.”

“We did everything we could. And we all left Jace, not just you. It was me and Rio who said it first. You haven’t earned the blame.” If Jace’s ghost comes knocking, it won’t be your door he opens, Luke.

“Okay,” Luke replies softly.

“Baela is very, very grateful to still have you and Rhaena, Luke. She told me.”

Luke stares at you, doubtful, hopeful, wanting to believe. “Really?”

“I swear she did. I think you two are keeping her sane. The world, the baby, Jace…sometimes what’s most valuable to people are simple things, kindness, gentleness, compassion, support. I can kill zombies, sure, but I’ve never been good at knowing the right thing to say. You are.”

“Okay,” Luke says again, but he seems more at peace now; perhaps even the tiniest bit proud. “I guess I should go make sure Baela has everything she needs before I go to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Luke walks a few steps, then turns back towards you, smiling. “I think you know the right thing to say once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Luke insists, then disappears down the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

Aemond arrives at last with his blanket and pillow, arranges them beside yours, then joins you where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You didn’t stay with Rio today when we rescued Cregan,” he says; not an accusation, a statement, a surrender of sorts.

“No. I didn’t.”

You must be visibly preoccupied. Aemond asks: “What are you thinking about?”

You decide to tell the truth. “How you were never supposed to meet me.”

“What do you mean?”

You point to him. “Rich boy with a beach house on a cliff.” Then you tap your own heart. “Poor girl who grew up playing with sticks and box turtles.”

“And that’s why you like Cregan so much.”

“It’s nice to have someone around who speaks the same language, sure. It’s nice to not have to explain things or think up lies so I can fit into other people’s idea of what the world is. But I don’t like Cregan more than I like you. Not even close.”

Aemond smiles, a warm glow like fire from under his scarred skin. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” Someone sophisticated, seductive, experienced, bewitching. “I’m sorry I don’t already know how to do everything.”

“I don’t care. I would have liked you however you were when I found you.”

You look up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Zero boyfriends or ten or twenty, I would want you the same way I do now.”

It hits you so suddenly you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, the shimmering tears in your eyes. “Aemond, please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifts the CD player from your lap and offers you an earbud. You accept it and slip it into your right ear as he puts the other into his left, then clicks the play button on Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. What you hear are the opening ukelele plucks of Riptide, and you are spirited back to 2013: middle school, oversized hoodies and ripped jeans, hair you have no idea what to do with, the librarian letting you browse music videos on YouTube during lunch because you never cause any trouble, taking bites of your sandwich—one piece of Wonder Bread folded in half, a glob of Skippy peanut butter—and chewing slowly to make it last longer.

Aemond lies down and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you both with his blanket, circles his arms around you and pulls you in closer; and through the music you hear him mutter: “I wish this disgusting Hoarders trailer had two bedrooms.”

You laugh, burrow deeper into him, let his warmth and the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into darkness, still and serene, a place that exists beyond the world and the fear that it is ending.

When you open your eyes again, Aemond is up and speaking in hushed voices with Cregan and Rio in the kitchen, but he hasn’t tried to rouse you yet. I shouldn’t be awake, why am I awake?

Because someone is shining a flashlight directly into your face. You blink and swat at the blinding yellow-white gleam, your eyes aching, your vision hazy and distorted.

“He must check below the racks,” Helaena says. She is on her hands and knees and peering down at you like a bird of prey, like a goddess on Mount Olympus.

“What…?”

“He’s tall, so he won’t look, but that’s where it is. Below the racks. He must see it. Promise me you’ll make him see it.”

“Who’s tall…?” Aemond, Rio, Cregan?

“Promise me!” she hisses fiercely.

“Okay, Helaena! Okay. I promise.”

She crawls away without another word, climbs onto the couch, clicks off the flashlight, and tumbles back into the abyss of sleep with her back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Chevy Tahoe—2001 instead of 2023, a dull rusty red instead of glossy dark blue—barrels down Route 2 past fields of soybeans ravaged by deer and rabbits, high feral weeds, tree branches entombing power lines and houses and barns, leaves freckled with cicadas and caterpillars, hay bales and archaic churches, life in shades of peridot and malachite and bloodstone and jade. Baela is driving, Ice has her big shaggy head hanging out of an open window, Cregan is examining Aegon’s map…and meanwhile, Aegon and Rio are singing along to the Enrique Iglesias song blasting through the speakers as one of the mixtapes spins in the Tahoe’s CD player, pretending to serenade and propose marriage to each other.

“Bailamos, let the rhythm take you over, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, bailamos

Gonna live this night forever, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, te quiero!”

Up ahead there is something in the middle of the road. No, not something; someone, parked across the double yellow lines on a small black motorcycle. As you approach, this person—made blurry by the distance—removes their helmet and seems to wait for you.

“What’s up with that?” Baela asks apprehensively, slowing down from her previously brisk eighty miles per hour.

Aemond frowns at the figure and then scans the fields on either side of the road. “I don’t know. Luke?”

Luke stands up through the sunroof to get a better look with his binoculars. “Oh my God, it’s…it’s…”

“Jace!” Baela screams, and slams on the brakes. She bolts out of the Tahoe before remembering to put it in park; the SUV rolls along sluggishly until Rhaena yanks the gear lever into the proper position. Now everyone is pouring out of the doors and rushing to him. Jace is laughing; he embraces Baela as she crashes into him and sobs into the curve of his neck. Jace is wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the heat, safety precautions for the motorcycle. If he were to fall off, he’d keep most of his skin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you guys. I didn’t know if I was too far ahead or falling behind.”

Aegon gawks at him, sputtering. “How did…? How are you…?”

“You showed me your map, idiot,” Jace says; but he sounds relieved. “Route 2 all the way across Iowa, that part was pretty easy to remember. I figured if I could get here, I might be able to find you. If not, I’d just surprise you in California.” He grins, huge and teasing, ecstatic tears glittering in his eyes.

“The river,” Luke says, thunderstruck. “We thought you were dead…we left you…Jace, I’m…I’m so sorry we left you…”

“Hey, I get it. The bridge situation was fucked, there was no way you guys could fish me out. The river washed me miles downstream, way too fast for the zombies to keep up. I eventually got dumped on the shore near where some people had set up camp for the night. They were living out of a school bus, about fifteen of them. They heard me coughing and moaning, hunted me down, and dragged me back to the bus. Super nice, right? I told them about the zombies, and we relocated in a hurry. They were headed for a town up near Chicago, Rockville or something, so they took me with them and then one guy gave me his bike and taught me to ride it so I could go west. It’s a Honda Rebel 300. It can get 70 miles to the gallon. I’ve barely had to siphon any gas! And the siphoning hose my new friends gave me is the kind with a pump. No more Uno roulette, bitches!”

“I can’t believe you’re okay,” Baela whispers, tears flooding down her face.

“Don’t cry, I’m here, I’m back, everything’s the way it should be again. Now how’s my baby doing…?”

You, Aemond, and Rio exchange astonished glances. Luke snaps out of his shock and runs to hug Jace and Baela, and Rhaena follows him. Daeron searches the horizon for movement, for danger. Helaena rips the pristine white petals off a bloodroot blossom one by one.

For the first time, Jace notices Cregan. Ice stands beside the flannel-wearing Iowan on the pavement, wagging her long grey tail. She barks at Jace uncertainly. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Cregan Man Bun Stark,” Aegon says. “And his anti-zombie wolf Blue Raspberry Icee.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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asdfghjklmals · 1 year ago

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ACCIDENTS✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff, angst. no smut. mentions of pregnancy, sex, injury, blood, and abortion. suggestive comments. WORD COUNT: 4.5k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, boyfriend!gojo, pregnant!oc, established couple.

SYNOPSIS: during oc gojo girlfriend's yearly check up with shoko, she finds out she's pregnant. how will satoru act when he finds out? AUTHOR'S NOTE: i did make some changes to the beginning compared to the preview that i posted! thank you @mdnxghtjj for staying up late with me to try to make up scenarios on how oc gojo girlfriend would be pregnant by accident lol my google search probably thinks i'm the pregnant one. here is the official start to my version of dad!gojo and the official start to the baby gojo chronicles 🥹 REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions, instead please do!

your least favorite time of the year was when shoko had everyone visit her office for a yearly check up. that was a full examination for everyone.

“here, pee on this.” shoko handed you a pregnancy test. you looked at her with confusion written all over your face.

shoko saw your facial expression and reassured you, “it’s just part of the protocol, (y/n). would you rather pee in a cup? last time you told me you hate peeing in cups because you don't want to accidentally pee on your hands.”

“fine... it’s gonna be negative anyways.” you said confidently. you took the test from her hand reluctantly and went to the bathroom.

as shoko gave you a thorough examination, you couldn’t help but peer at the white and blue pregnancy test sitting in the corner next to the sink. it wasn’t your first time using one, but it was always strange taking one. especially for no reason.

"alright, you're done. have you been feeling better since you caught that cold?" shoko asked as you hopped off the examination able. she went back to the sink to remove her gloves and wash her hands. you had caught some horrible cold or stomach bug over a month ago, and it left you with fever, chills, and non-stop vomitting for weeks. you were so sick that you told satoru you wanted to write a will to leave everything to megumi and tsumiki because you didn't think you were going to make it.

“yeah. i haven’t been that sick in so long. i was vomitting like every other hour. satoru thought he was going to die when i wouldn’t let him sleep in our bed. he slept in tsumiki's old room for two weeks, poor guy. i didn't want him to catch whatever it was,” you chuckled at the thought of your 6’3” boyfriend sleeping in a baby pink decorated room.

“(y/n)…”

“yeah?” you turned to face shoko.

shoko asked you cautiously, “are you on birth control?”

suspicion filled your eyes as you peered at the amber-eyed doctor, “yeah, i’ve been on birth control since i was 21… why?”

“your pregnancy test came back positive.”

you stared at the digital screen. the words “pregnant” screamed at you inside your head. were you really pregnant? this was something you never thought would happen, at least not right now.

“that’s not possible, shoko.” you laughed nervously in disbelief.

“according to the test, you are.” shoko looked confused. as a doctor, she was determined to figure out how one of her bestfriends, who was on birth control, got pregnant. she studied your charts and medical records as she chewed on the tip of her pen.

you tried to retrace your footsteps for the past month. you had a very specific routine, and you took your birth control every morning after brushing your teeth and washing your face. your package of pills sat in your bathroom drawer just below the sink as your daily reminder to take your birth control.

shoko folded her arms and cleared her throat, “uhm, i hate to ask you this because i truly don’t want to know, but when was the first time you and gojo had sex after you got sick?”

you thought it was a strange question because wouldn’t shoko want to know when the most recent time you were intimate with satoru was?

“well…” you looked at her sheepishly, a face full of embarrassment, “we had sex right when my cold symptoms went away.” it would’ve been uncomfortable for your aching body, so you made satoru wait. and yes, he complained about it for two weeks.

shoko massaged her temples as she realized what the problem was, “god, (y/n). remember you were literally throwing up all the time when you were sick?”

your jaw dropped, “does that mean i threw up my birth control…?”

“that could’ve been the case, but if you throw up 1-2 hours after taking your birth control, your body might not have the chance to absorb it. your body was technically missing dosages since you were vomiting almost every day for a week…” shoko explained.

you stared at the doctor. your heart was racing and your mind had a million thoughts running through your head. you couldn’t believe that you were pregnant. there was just no way. as much as you and satoru joked about having kids, you knew deep down that satoru wasn’t ready. and you didn’t think he’d ever be. but you were okay with that. you had spent most of your young adult life raising two kids, so you felt like you weren't missing out on much.

“please, don’t tell satoru.” you quietly pleaded with shoko.

“don’t tell gojo-sensei what?” megumi asked from the office door. he dropped his backpack and his gym bag on the floor, walking towards you and shoko.

your eyes widened as you discreetly shifted the pregnancy test under your thigh, “hi kiddo, don’t tell gojo-sensei that i bought him his favorite kikufuku as a surprise.” that was a horrible lie, you're usually better than that.

shoko cleared her throat to try and change the subject, “hi megumi! you’re early for your exam.”

“yeah, i finished jujutsu practice early.” he replied back to shoko as he reverted his gaze back at you, “(y/n), what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just finished my exam. shoko says i’m as healthy as a horse!” you laughed nervously.

“you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” megumi asked you straightforwardly, “you were complaining about your boobs hurting the other day, you felt sick yesterday morning at breakfast, and you complained about being bloated at lunch today. not to mention, you’re always throwing up in my bathroom at home.”

you stopped to think about the symptoms that megumi just listed. you didn’t even consider that being pregnant was the reason why you were experiencing those symptoms. you always thought you were in the clear with those stupid tiny birth control pills.

you sighed, lifting your thigh to grab the pregnancy test. you showed it to megumi. “satoru doesn’t know… and we’re going to keep it that way.”

“why don’t you want to tell him?” he asked you, “are you guys fighting?”

“no, we're not fighting. this whole thing was an accident because of my cold last month... and to be honest, i don't know if your sensei even wants kids.” you smiled halfheartedly at megumi.

“i won’t say anything.” megumi promised. he couldn't imagine satoru gojo not wanting to reproduce and to have mini-satorus running around to terrorize the jujutsu world.

you warned him, “that means you can’t tell tsumiki either, i don’t want her to rush back home from her study abroad program just because of this.” (read 'wherever you are' here)

megumi reached his pinky out to you and you locked yours with his, both of you kissing your thumbs to seal the seal. he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug. you needed that comfort right now.

“if i do the math, you’re about 5 weeks pregnant, (y/n).” shoko said, “so stop taking your birth control if you want to keep your baby.” megumi’s green eyes peered over at you, interested in what you had to say about that.

“what if i want to get an abortion…?” you asked quietly. megumi’s eyes now wide in horror. 'how could you even think about abortion?' he thought.

shoko sighed, “i think that’s something you should have a serious talk with gojo about. it would be unfair for him not to know.”

you weren’t sure if you should feel excited, nervous, or scared. you were excited because who wouldn’t want to have a child with the love of their life? you were nervous (and scared) because you didn’t know how satoru would react if you told him. you were scared because your unborn baby would be a target to all rival clans, inheriting all of yours and satoru’s enemies. not only that, but also a target for all intelligent curses as well.

later that night: the gojo/(l/n) household

“how was your yearly check up?” satoru asked as you poked at your medium rare steak that you probably shouldn’t be eating now that you were pregnant. he watched you as you rolled a roasted baby potato around your plate with your fork.

“it was fine. healthy as a horse.” you recycled your joke from this afternoon. satoru furrowed his brows, he sensed something was wrong. you were fine this morning, so what happened between the time you went to work and the time you got home?

“are you sure…?” he started to pry.

annoyance starting to rise in your tone. you kissed the back of your teeth, “i just don’t feel well… and the steak is too rare.” you lied. you always ate your steak medium rare. rareness did not bother you, the cow could still be mooing and you’d eat it.

“i can always put it back on the grill, babe. want it medium?”

“well-done, please.” you mumbled, “thanks, sweetheart.”

satoru picked up your plate, extremely confused on why all of a sudden you would eat a well-done steak. it was very unlike you. he kissed you on the cheek to try to ease whatever it was that was bugging you. you wanted to tell him so badly that you were pregnant. you never kept secrets from each other. you watched him slide on his slippers, opening the door to the patio with catoru following behind him. he slapped your steak on the grill again while looking out at the tokyo skyline.

during this time, you wondered what kind of father satoru would be. you imagined he would be the carefree type of dad. he would be the fun, loving, lenient father while you were the one to lay down the rules. that’s how it was when you were both raising megumi and tsumiki. your eyes started to well up with tears at the thought of satoru possibly becoming a father. was this the pregnancy hormones getting to you?

you quickly wiped your tears as satoru made his way back into the apartment with your steak. he closed the door behind him and sat down next to you at the dining table.

“why were you crying just barely?” he asked softly. he could sense your cursed energy wavering from the patio. he knew every mood you were in just because of how your cursed energy looked to his six eyes.

“i wasn’t crying,” you said adamantly, “my eyes were itchy.”

satoru understood that whatever was bothering you, you didn’t want to talk about it. normally, he would pry and pry until you would finally tell him what was wrong, but tonight, he felt that he shouldn’t. he cut your steak into bite-sized cubes for you, just like how you always did before you started eating.

you caressed his cheek with your hand, giving him a soft smile in appreciation.

“should we go get some ice cream with the kids tomorrow? i promise i’ll treat.” he asked, knowing that ice cream always made you feel better after a shitty day.

“yeah. i need that dairy-free double scoop of chocolate ice cream right now.” (read ‘seeing red’ here)

the next day

you had taken half a day off to meet satoru, nobara, yuji, and megumi in shibuya to grab the ice cream that satoru promised you last night. you and satoru walked next to each together as your spirit birds flew overhead. the students were following behind you with their ice cream cones.

“i still can’t believe gojo-sensei has been dating (y/n)-sensei for over 10 years.” nobara hissed at her two partners as she watched you and satoru walking together in front of them.

“why is it hard to believe? sensei is a pretty good looking dude.” yuji said nonchalantly.

megumi sighed and explained, “that’s not the point, itadori. the point is that (y/n)-sensei is way out of his league.”

“you seem pretty close to her, fushiguro.” yuji pointed out, noticing that megumi always defended you no matter what the topic was.

“i kinda owe her and gojo-sensei my life.” megumi grumbled, “they took me in when i was five.”

nobara looked at him, wide-eyed, “you mean… they adopted you when they were 18?! and (y/n)-sensei is basically like your mom?! oh my god! he needs to put a ring on her immediately for all he puts her through!”

megumi knew the reason why you two weren’t married yet. it was for your safety, not because gojo-sensei didn’t want to. he would’ve married you right after high school graduation if that was the case.

you giggled to yourself as you scooped chocolate ice cream to feed to satoru. he grabbed the spoon from you, licking it clean.

“their conversation is so funny.” you said to him.

“are you listening to them with your shikigami? you’re so nosy.” satoru playfully chastised you.

you called back your birds with your hand signal as they flew closer to you and satoru. they seemed to be flying happily as no danger was around. “your students are wondering why we aren’t married yet.”

“you already know why.” satoru put the spoon back into your ice cream.

“you don’t want to make me a target.” you recited back to him. satoru gojo believed that if you were to marry him, you would be a target and gain all his and the gojo clan’s enemies. that would make you the achilles' heel to the strongest sorcerer known to man.

“it’s not like people don’t know that we’re together.” you rolled your eyes, “i can take care of myself, satoru. i'm pretty sure the kamo clan is out for my head as we speak.” (read ‘love at first fight’ here)

“i know you can take care of yourself. i just think it’s safer this way.” he shrugged.

“but i want to have kids too. i’m not getting any younger.” you inserted, hoping he’d take the bait to talk about having kids.

“what are you talking about? we have two kids, megumi and tsumiki.” satoru said nonchalantly, you wanted to face palm your forehead to how oblivious he was.

digging deeper, you added, “i want kids with white hair and blue eyes running around.”

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but they won’t be getting blue eyes. there can only be one six eyes in a lifetime, you already know that.”

“what about your white hair?” you tip-toed to ruffle his hair as he laughed, grabbing your hand.

“what about your black hair and beautiful green eyes that i love so much?” satoru grinned at you, “if you want, we can practice reproducing later tonight?”

you threw an ice shard at him, hitting his infinity. “no inappropriate jokes around the students, please.” you chastised him as he winked at you. you scooped another bite of ice cream into your mouth as you frowned.

“so feisty… i’m in for a world of trouble if our future kids ever get your attitude.”

“if that’s the case… you better get ready.” you muttered under your breath.

satoru didn’t hear your comment. “hmmm? what’d you say?” he asked.

“nothing, eat your ice cream.” you replied, quickly shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

"ouch, brain freeze." satoru grimaced.

one week later

time was ticking as the baby in your stomach was growing. you had to tell satoru you were pregnant.

your morning sickness was horrible. you didn’t want satoru to catch onto anything, so whenever you felt sick, you ran to the bathroom near megumi’s room across the apartment instead of your master bathroom. (see the apartment layout here)

“babe?” satoru found you in the guest bathroom, hurled over the toilet, dry heaving. “are you okay?” he crouched down to pull your hair back, “do we need to go see shoko?”

“no, it’s fine.” you pushed him away, “leave me alone, please. i don't want to you see me like this.”

“and why would i leave you alone? there's clearly something going on with your health again.” he comforted you, rubbing firm circles on your upper back.

after your morning sickness session in the bathroom subsided, you miserably dragged your feet back to your bathroom to brush your teeth. satoru leaned against the bathroom door frame, arms folded. you turned to face him.

“don’t you have a mission today?” you asked him, hoping that he'd leave soon.

“yeah, i do. but don’t change the subject. what is going on? are you sick?” satoru asked. the past week you had unintentionally become distant and avoided having deep conversations with him. he felt the cold shoulder from you emotionally and he hated it. he was starting to get fed up.

“no. i’m not sick.”

“do you have some type of terminal illness or something that you’re not telling me about?”

“no, satoru!” you scoffed in disbelief. he was so smart and cunning in battle, how could he not put 2+2 together for something as simple as this?

“do you want to break up with me? is that it? are you tired of me?” he asked quietly.

how could he ask you that after 10 years of putting up with him?

“no!!!” you shouted at him.

“then what is it, (y/n)?!” he finally snapped after a week of trying to be patient, “what are you hiding from me?” satoru’s voice raised an octave as he got more frustrated as the conversation was going nowhere.

you couldn’t handle it anymore. you clenched your fists, water started pouring out of the apartment faucets and showers from your raging cursed energy.

“i’m pregnant!” you shouted back at him.

satoru lifted his blindfold, his blue eyes widened, jaw dropped. it was as if time stood still for him. the only thing he could hear was the sound of your angry breathing and all the faucets flowing throughout the apartment.

“what…?” satoru whispered, “that can’t happen. you’re on birth control.”

“that’s what i thought too. but shoko confirmed it.” you told him as tears started to form on your long dark lashes.

“damn it… damn it. damn it!” satoru hissed. he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing off his blindfold and throwing it at the bathroom counter. “why didn’t you tell me?”

his reaction hurt your feelings, “because i didn’t know what your reaction would be and clearly you’re not happy about it.”

“how far along are you?” he asked, ignoring your comment. he walked towards you to stand beside you, putting his hand on top of yours. you flinched as you took your hand back to wipe your tears away.

“6 weeks. it’s early enough that i can get an abortion.” you sniffled.

“just… don’t make any decisions right now.” he said. it sounded like he was begging you, “we can talk more when i get back from this damn mission.”

satoru leaned towards you. he grabbed the side of your head to kiss your temple, “i love you, (y/n). i'm not mad at you.” he whispered.

satoru’s mission

it took everything in satoru not to leave you behind at the apartment alone after the way he reacted. why did he have to be assigned such a lowly mission? any of the students could’ve handled it, so why did it have to be him out of all people and out of all the days?

he teleported to shinagawa where it was reported that a curse was terrorizing an elementary school. it looked deserted when he arrived at the front gate.

satoru raised two fingers to put up a veil, “emerge from darkness, blacker still. purify that which is impure.”

he walked into the school, his six eyes sensing the curse right away. it couldn’t have been more than a grade 2 or 3. he heard a bloodcurdling scream, leading him to the gymnasium.

“please help!” a woman’s voice screamed and begged as the curse towered over her. satoru teleported in front of the woman and swiftly blasted the curse away with sheer force, exorcising it immediately.

“are you alright?” satoru turned to ask the woman. he stopped dead in his tracks.

she was pregnant.

“please sir, save my baby.” she begged as she was bleeding from her abdomen. her hands and arms shielding her womb protectively. the curse must’ve already injured her before satoru arrived. he kicked himself for his late arrival. he could’ve prevented this if he came earlier.

he lifted the injured woman in his arms, “don’t worry. i’ll save you. nothing will happen to you or your baby.” he promised as he teleported to the closest hospital.

tokyo shinagawa hospital

“it looks like the patient and her baby will be fine. she was close to full term. if she lost any more blood, her and the baby would’ve died.” the doctor reported back to satoru as ijichi stood next to him, documenting everything for the report that he would have to fill out later.

satoru was deep in thought about how this woman begged him to save her baby and not herself. it was the fact that she so selflessly put her baby first that really got to him.

he thought about you and what you would’ve done if you were in that woman’s shoes. he knew that you would protect your baby with your life because he would do the exact same thing. satoru felt his protective instinct skyrocket now more than ever.

satoru’s heart felt heavy. he immediately felt guilty knowing that you thought he didn't want to have kids and how hard this must have been for you the past week. he wanted to be there for you, but he was terrified of the unknown. would he be a good father? would he be able to protect this baby? and were you even happy being pregnant with his child?

“ijichi, can you take care of the rest? i have somewhere i need to be.” satoru asked impatiently.

ijichi complained, “are you sure you’re not just trying to pawn off your work to me?”

“there are two people who need me right now.” satoru waved as he teleported back to the apartment. the two people in question? you and the baby that was growing in your belly.

back at the apartment

you felt satoru’s cursed energy appear as he teleported back into the living room. he walked towards you and hugged you tightly, surprising you.

“can’t. breathe.” you said as your face was squished into his firm chest.

he immediately let go of you, scared he hurt the baby by embracing you so tightly.

“i know what you're thinking, the baby is fine.” you said as you hugged him back even tighter in return, “did you know the baby is the size of a sweet pea according to my baby tracking app? so they wouldn't have even felt that hug.”

“that’s pretty small.” he said, chuckling softly. he paused to take a deep breath, he then looked down at you, “can we talk?”

you nodded as he guided you back to the couch, sitting down in the soft white cushions as he sat on the floor in front of you, holding your hands.

he looked you in the eyes, “don’t get an abortion, (y/n).”

you blinked twice, “well, that’s not what i was expecting. what changed your mind?”

“i never said i didn’t want kids, babe.” satoru said defensively.

you mumbled as you folded your arms, “you made it sound like you didn’t. and your reaction when i told you i was pregnant earlier today doesn’t support that statement.” avoiding eye contact with him.

he grabbed your hands again and explained his point of view, “i was upset that you hid it from me. and i was surprised because you were on birth control which is supposed to prevent pregnancy. and i was really fucking scared.”

“scared? the satoru gojo scared of a baby the size of a sweet pea?” you emphasized. he furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“i had a come-to-jesus moment during my mission.” he started to say, “(y/n), i’d do anything for you. just like you would for me. but now… we can’t put each other first anymore. we have to set our priorities elsewhere.”

“what do you mean by that?”

“we have to think of this baby and how this baby will always come first now.”

you were quiet, processing what satoru just said. yours and satoru's lives were going to drastically change. this baby would be your number one priority in life. you and satoru spent the last decade caring deeply for each other and being each other's prime concern, now this baby would come first.

you realized that he was terrified of having this baby be the center of his universe, knowing that the baby would be defenseless without you and him. satoru wanted to protect this baby with his life, just like the mother he saved today who wanted to save her baby's life.

being a parent meant that you would always have your heart living outside of your body, and that would make you vulnerable to extreme pain, but also let you experience indescribable love. and that was something you were willing to risk experiencing in life with satoru.

“you're right, babe. i agree.” you said softly, you held his cheek in your hand. “you really want to do this? you really want to be a dad?”

“hell yes i want this.” satoru said confidently, holding your hand against his cheek.

“how dare you get me pregnant, satoru gojo.” you jokingly reprimanded him.

he kneeled forward into you as he kissed you softly, “sorry, it was an accident.”

EXTRA:

“babe! show me this baby app you’ve been using this past week.” satoru demanded playfully as he pulled you into his lap. you grinned as you grabbed your phone to pull up the ‘what to expect’ app.

“so! baby gojo is the size of a sweet pea or a nail head. and they’re .25 inches small.”

"baby gojo... i like the sound of that." he smiled at the thought. he nodded, a signal for you to continue.

“it says that baby gojo’s face is forming and taking shape! i hope they don’t get your big head...” you laughed as satoru frowned.

“my head is not big!” he defended himself, “moving on.”

“it says that the heart starts to pulse around this time and we should be able to hear a heartbeat at my first pre-natal appointment…” you said with a smile.

“i’ll make sure i request that day off.”

“you better! or i’ll have a word with principal yaga.” you smacked his chest playfully with the back of your hand. “baby gojo supposedly looks like a tadpole with a tiny tail. and i won’t feel any movement for awhile.”

“so you can’t feel it move or anything?” satoru asked curiously.

“no, but i’m feeling these pregnancy symptoms.” you complained, “my boobs hurt, my heartburn is worse than usual, and the morning sickness is killing me.”

“okay, so basically, don’t touch your boobs anymore, carry extra tums for you, and hold your hair for you when you throw up in the morning. got it.” satoru noted.

you glared at him with your emerald green eyes, “please stop talking.”

wanna know how the rest of oc gojo girlfriend's pregnancy goes? read the next chapter, ‘milestones’ here.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

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fr0stf4ll · 3 months ago

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Forge of Starlight - Part 3

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4.6k

warning; blood, vomit °°3

notes; hello hello everyone, here is the part 3 a bit earlier this time ! Please take into account the warnings it's nothing to big but I rather mention them before. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment (I'm down to see if you guys have some theories for the next parts :)) ) or ask to be on the tag list ;)) See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 2 or part 4

---

The morning sun had barely risen over Velaris when you began preparing for your trip to the Winter Court. The crisp air carried a hint of frost, a promise of the cold that awaited you in Kallias’s domain. Your latest commission was an intricate and challenging one—a weapon requested personally by the High Lord of the Winter Court. The order was for a ceremonial glaive, crafted with a blade of shimmering, icy blue steel that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was designed to resemble the ancient trees of the Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length, meeting a pommel embedded with a crystal that glittered like freshly fallen snow.

You admired the weapon one last time as you packed it carefully in a protective case. The glaive was a masterpiece, a blend of artistry and power that you were proud to deliver personally. But as you were finalizing your preparations, Alex approached you, his expression a mix of determination and concern.

“Nana, I think I should stay in Velaris,” Alex began, his tone firm despite the lingering traces of the boyish enthusiasm he usually carried. “The shop needs someone here, and I can handle things while you’re gone.”

You paused, turning to face him fully. “Alex, it’s not just about the shop. Leaving you on your own in Velaris for a week, it’s not safe.”

Alex crossed his arms, his brows furrowed in a way that reminded you of your younger self. “But Nana, you’re the one who taught me how to take care of myself. And besides, business is going great! We can't afford to close the shop for a week, maybe even longer. I can just tell customers that we’re temporarily closed for new orders, but that we are still selling regular weapons.”

You sighed, considering his words. “It’s not just about the money, Alex. It’s about making sure everything stays secure. The shop, our work, you—it’s all important.”

Alex stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “And that’s exactly why I should stay. I know how much this place means to you, to us. I’ll make sure nothing happens, I promise. Stellan can stay with me for protection, and you know he’s more than capable of keeping any trouble away.”

You glanced at Stellan, who was lounging nearby, his dark eyes watching the conversation with quiet understanding. The direwolf had been your protector for years, and you knew that with him by Alex’s side, there was little to fear.

“But Alex, you’re still young. I can’t help but worry,” you said softly, your concern evident in your voice.

Alex’s expression softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know, Nana. But you’ve trained me well. I can handle the shop, and Stellan will keep me safe. Besides, I’ll just be here in Velaris—it’s not like I’m going anywhere dangerous. You’ll be back before I know it, and everything will be just fine.”

You hesitated, the protective instinct within you clashing with the knowledge that Alex was more capable than you sometimes gave him credit for. The truth was, he was right. Business was good enough that closing the orders for a week wouldn’t be a disaster, and with Stellan at his side, the risks were minimal.

Finally, you sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. “Alright, Alex. You can stay, but promise me you’ll be careful. No taking on new orders, just handle any clients who come by and tell them we’re temporarily closed for them. And if anything happens—anything at all—you send word to me immediately.”

A grin spread across Alex’s face, a mix of relief and excitement. “I promise, Nana. I won’t let you down.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I know you won’t, Alex. Just remember, Stellan’s there to protect you, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

As you finalized your preparations, you brought Stellan downstairs, where he immediately positioned himself near Alex, his massive frame a comforting presence. “Keep an eye on him, Stellan,” you said softly, rubbing the direwolf’s head. Stellan’s eyes met yours, and you felt reassured by the silent understanding between you.

With everything settled, you turned to Alex once more. “I’ll leave early tomorrow. You know where the emergency contacts are, and if anything comes up, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Alex nodded, his expression serious now that the plan was set. “I’ve got it covered, Nana. Just focus on your trip and getting that amazing glaive to Kallias.”

You smiled, feeling a mixture of pride and a hint of anxiety as you realized how much Alex had grown. “Thank you, Alex. I’ll bring you back something from the Winter Court.”

Night had fallen over Velaris, and the familiar routine of winding down the day had set in. You were seated in your bed, sketchbook open on your lap as you meticulously worked on the designs for your next project. The soft light of the moon filtered through the curtains, mingling with the warm glow of the candles, creating a peaceful ambiance. Alex was fast asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even, the day’s events having worn him out.

Stellan, ever vigilant, lay at the foot of the bed, his eyes half-closed but his senses still sharp. As you sketched, you felt a deep sense of contentment, the tranquility of the moment wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. But that peace was suddenly shattered.

Within seconds, the atmosphere in the room changed. The air felt thicker, charged with something ominous that set your nerves on edge. Stellan’s ears shot up, his body tensing as a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

Before you could react, a dark shadow coalesced in the corner of the room, and Azriel, the shadow singer, materialized before you. His face was grim, his usual calm demeanor replaced with urgency. "We need you," he said, his voice clipped and direct, wasting no time on pleasantries.

Without another word, he reached for your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. The world around you blurred as shadows enveloped you both, and in the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your apartment.

You arrived at the House of Wind, the sudden change in surroundings leaving you momentarily disoriented. The grand, familiar architecture did nothing to ease the confusion swirling in your mind. Azriel was already moving, his expression dark and unyielding as he led you down a corridor.

"Azriel, what’s going on?" you demanded, struggling to keep up with him. The urgency in his movements only heightened your anxiety. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I don’t have time to explain," he replied, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "You’ll understand when you see it."

That statement did nothing to calm your nerves, but you followed him without further question, your heart pounding in your chest. The path he led you down seemed endless, the tension in the air growing thicker with each step. Finally, he pushed open a heavy door and ushered you inside.

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and something far less pleasant—blood. Your eyes immediately landed on Rhysand, who stood near the bed with a look of barely-contained worry. Madja, the healer, was at his side, her face set in grim determination. But it was the sight of Cassian that made your breath catch in your throat.

He was lying on the bed, his usually powerful and imposing figure reduced to a broken and battered state. His wings, once magnificent and strong, were shattered—twisted at unnatural angles, with blood staining the once-proud feathers. The sight was enough to bring a sharp gasp to your lips, your hand instinctively covering your mouth.

Madja’s eyes met yours, and in that moment, you understood why Azriel had brought you here. There was no hesitation in her voice as she spoke. "Y/N, we need your power. You’re the only one who can heal him."

Your heart raced, fear and uncertainty clawing at your insides. You had never used your abilities on something this severe before, and the mere thought of it sent a wave of doubt crashing over you. But as you looked at Cassian, writhing in pain and clinging to consciousness, you knew there was no other choice.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward and surveyed the state of his wings. The damage was extensive, and you knew that to heal them properly, you needed to use your power to its full potential—a process that required something very specific.

You turned to Azriel, your gaze falling on the blade at his side. "Truth-Teller," you said, nodding toward the dagger.

Azriel hesitated for a moment but then handed you the blade without question, his eyes dark with concern. Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself over Cassian, holding your arm above his wings. With a swift motion, you made a shallow cut along your forearm, letting your blood drip onto the mangled wings below.

Azriel's eyes widened as blue flames flickered to life where your blood touched, spreading over Cassian’s wings. "Y/N, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You glanced at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t worry. The fire doesn’t burn—it heals."

As the flames grew, their warmth enveloping Cassian’s broken wings, you focused all of your energy on mending the shattered bones and torn flesh. The process was intense, your body straining under the effort as the flames worked their magic, knitting together what had been broken.

But as the flames did their work, a frown creased your brow. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it—a lingering darkness that wasn’t being touched by your fire. Once the wings were fully healed, you stepped back, still frowning as you scanned Cassian’s body for the source of the disturbance.

"Rhysand, Azriel," you said, your voice tense, "help me turn him over."

They moved quickly, carefully shifting Cassian onto his back. You placed one hand on his face and the other over his heart, closing your eyes as you focused on the strange, dark presence that clung to him.

Madja watched you closely, her expression filled with concern. "Y/N, what’s going on? What do you feel?"

Your eyes snapped open, and without answering her, you leaned down, your instincts guiding you as you pressed your lips to Cassian’s mouth. The taste was bitter, acrid, and wrong. You inhaled sharply, feeling the dark presence surge up, and with a gag, you spit out a thick, black liquid.

But it wasn’t over. You reached into Cassian’s mouth, your fingers searching, feeling for the source of the darkness. Your hand closed around something cold and solid, and with a grimace of effort, you began to pull.

A long, snake-like spirit, dark and twisted, slithered from Cassian’s throat, its form writhing in your grasp. It fought against you, but you held firm, your determination outweighing the horror of what you were doing.

"Hold him straight!" you commanded, urgency in your voice.

Rhysand and Azriel quickly moved to hold Cassian upright, their faces etched with shock and concern. As they did, Cassian began to vomit, thick black liquid spewing from his mouth and covering you as you knelt in front of him. You didn’t flinch, your focus entirely on the cursed spirit in your hand.

With a final, forceful pull, you yanked the spirit free from Cassian’s body. It writhed in your grip, hissing and snapping, but it was powerless outside of its host. You held it aloft, the dark entity thrashing violently as you turned to the others.

Rhysand, covered in a mixture of concern and gratitude, stared at you, his voice calm but firm. “I think we all need some explanations, Y/N."

Breathing heavily, your body and clothes drenched in Cassian’s vomit and the remnants of the cursed spirit, you nodded wearily. "I’ll explain everything," you said, glancing down at yourself with a hint of exasperation. "But first... I need a shower. I’m still covered in Cassian’s… well, everything.”

——

Rhysand led you through the winding halls of the House of Wind, his pace measured and deliberate. The tension from the night’s events lingered in the air, a heavy reminder of the seriousness of the situation. He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, revealing a room that was both elegant and functional, with the understated luxury typical of Velaris.

The room was furnished with deep, rich fabrics, the bed draped in dark, sumptuous linens. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the walls. A balcony at the far end of the room offered a breathtaking view of Velaris, the city’s lights twinkling like stars against the backdrop of the night sky. Beyond, the Sidra River glimmered in the moonlight, its gentle flow a calming presence.

Rhysand gestured toward an adjoining door. “The bath is through there. Take your time, Y/N. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

You nodded, your body aching with exhaustion and your mind still spinning from the events that had just transpired. As you entered the bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of a grand, sunken bath made of smooth marble. The water was already drawn, steaming gently and scented with soothing herbs that filled the air with a calming aroma.

You sank into the bath, letting the warmth seep into your bones, washing away the grime and tension. The soft light of candles flickered around you, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus soothing your frazzled nerves. As you soaked, you allowed your thoughts to drift back to that night long ago when everything had changed.

You had been just a child, wandering through the woods late at night. The night was alive with shooting stars, bright streaks of light cutting across the dark sky. You’d been entranced, watching the stars fall when you stumbled upon a glowing entity lying in a small crater, its form otherworldly and beautiful. It was like a scene from a dream, the world around you shimmering with magic.

The creature had been weak, its light flickering like a dying flame. It had reached out to you, a small, scared girl, asking for your help in a voice that echoed in your mind rather than your ears. You hadn’t understood the full weight of the decision at the time, but you had agreed to help it, to take it into yourself, binding its essence to yours. From that night forward, you were never the same.

After your bath, you stepped out and found a set of clothes laid out for you—fitting for Velaris, yet with a touch of practicality that matched your own preferences. A tailored tunic of deep indigo, embroidered with subtle patterns, paired with fitted leather pants that allowed for ease of movement. A sturdy yet elegant belt completed the outfit, cinching at your waist with a silver clasp. It was both comfortable and suited for someone who needed to be ready for anything.

Once dressed, you stepped out onto the balcony for a moment, letting the cool night air brush against your face. The view from the House of Wind was nothing short of spectacular, the city of Velaris spread out beneath you like a sparkling jewel. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to breathe in the peace of the night, to let the beauty of Velaris ground you before you had to face the others.

When you returned to the main room, Rhysand was seated near the fireplace, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. Azriel stood off to the side, half-hidden in the shadows, his gaze flickering toward you as you entered. He didn’t sit but remained in the shadows, a silent sentinel. There was something different in the way he looked at you now—something intense, as if he were seeing you in a new light.

You moved toward them, your steps measured as you took a seat across from Rhysand. The silence between you all was thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken questions and the lingering shock of what had just occurred.

“How’s Cassian?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than usual.

Rhysand’s expression remained neutral, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. “Madja is with him. He’s stable, thanks to you. His wings will heal in time, and the curse… whatever it was, is gone.”

You nodded, relief mixing with the residual tension in your chest. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Rhysand’s gaze didn’t waver as he continued, his tone calm but probing. “Madja told us about the healing flames, but what you did tonight—extracting that curse—it’s something we didn’t expect. We need to know, Y/N. How is it possible?”

You took a deep breath, the memories of your past stirring once more. You could feel Azriel’s eyes on you, a strange, unreadable intensity in his gaze that only added to the tension in the room. But you pushed it aside, focusing on the question at hand.

“We all make mistakes,” you began, your voice steady, though the weight of the words pressed heavily on you. “When I was young, I made a contract with a creature that fell from the sky. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before—an entity of pure power, beautiful and terrifying.”

Rhysand leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable as he listened. “A contract?”

You nodded, your gaze distant as you recalled that night in the woods. “I was just a little girl, alone and afraid. I was out in the woods, mesmerized by the falling stars when I stumbled upon this creature. It was weak, dying, and it asked for my help. It needed a host—someone to share its power with, in exchange for life. I didn’t understand what I was agreeing to, but I said yes. I took its essence into me, and from that moment on, it became a part of me.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained silent, his posture tense. There was something almost protective in the way he watched you, though he kept his distance, as if struggling with his own thoughts.

Rhysand’s gaze remained steady, assessing you as you spoke. “And that’s how you gained your abilities.”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The creature’s power is vast, but it’s also dangerous. I’ve had to learn to control it, to keep it from consuming me. The blue flames you saw—they’re just one aspect of it. But tonight, with Cassian… I could feel the curse inside him, a darkness that my flames alone couldn’t touch. I had to draw it out, to confront it directly.”

“And the curse?” Rhysand asked, his tone careful.

“It was tied to something much darker,” you explained. “The creature’s power allowed me to see it, to pull it out before it could do more harm. It was a risk, but I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Azriel shifted slightly, his gaze softening as he listened. There was a tension in his posture, as if he were grappling with something internally, but he remained silent, letting Rhysand lead the conversation.

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Azriel before turning back to you. “You’ve been carrying this burden alone for a long time.”

You nodded, the weight of your confession settling over you. “I didn’t want to involve anyone else. It’s my responsibility, my mistake.”

Rhysand’s expression softened just slightly, though his voice remained firm. “You’re part of this court now, Y/N. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Azriel’s gaze met yours across the room, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you—a connection that felt both new and ancient, as if something had shifted irreversibly between you two.

As you finished recounting your story, the room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You sighed softly, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the night caught up with you. Finally, you stood, a sense of duty pulling you back to the reality of your responsibilities.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” you began, glancing between Rhysand and Azriel. “But I need to get back home. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to leave for the Winter Court to deliver Kallias’s order.”

At your words, Azriel’s expression immediately shifted. His brows furrowed, and he took a step forward, his posture rigid with concern. “That’s not possible. You can’t go alone—it’s too dangerous.”

You met his gaze, a flicker of frustration sparking within you. “Azriel, I’ve been traveling alone for hundreds of years. I’ve crossed continents, faced dangers you can’t imagine. I know how to take care of myself.”

Azriel’s frown deepened, his eyes darkening with a mix of worry and something more. “Things have changed. After what happened tonight, we can’t take any chances. The roads to the Winter Court aren’t safe, especially not for someone like you.”

You took a step closer to him, squaring your shoulders, determined not to be underestimated. “I’ve handled myself just fine, Azriel. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting. I’ve faced worse than bandits or creatures in the wild. I can deal with it.”

Azriel opened his mouth to argue further, his wings flaring slightly in his agitation, but Rhysand raised a hand, cutting him off. “Azriel, calm down,” Rhysand said, his tone soothing yet firm. He then turned to you, his expression more measured. “We know you can handle yourself, Y/N, and we trust your judgment. But just promise us you’ll be careful.”

You nodded, appreciating their concern but determined to maintain your independence. “I will. I’ve been traveling for centuries, and I know how to handle whatever comes my way. I’ll be back next week, and we can talk more then.”

Rhysand offered you a small, understanding smile. “We’ll look forward to it. There’s much more to discuss, and we’ll be here when you return.”

Azriel, still tense, stepped closer, his gaze intense but still filled with worry. “I’ll fly you back to your place,” he said, his tone steady but leaving no room for argument. “It’s late, and you should rest before your journey.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Azriel.”

Before you could step out into the cool night air, Azriel shrugged off his jacket—a soft, dark leather that still carried the warmth of his body—and draped it over your shoulders. The jacket was far too big for you, the sleeves hanging well past your hands, but the warmth and the gesture itself made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s cold out,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the quiet of the night. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he added, “And the wind can be biting when we’re flying.”

You pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, the scent of leather and something distinctly Azriel surrounding you. “Thank you,” you murmured, genuinely touched by the small act of kindness.

With his jacket securely around you, Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you effortlessly as his wings unfurled. The warmth of the jacket and his presence eased the chill of the night, and as he took off into the sky, the cold wind seemed to matter less.

Flying with Azriel, wrapped in his jacket, you felt a strange comfort. The world around you blurred momentarily as the ground fell away, and then the night opened up before you—a vast expanse of stars and the twinkling lights of Velaris below. The city was breathtaking from this height, the Sidra River winding through it like a ribbon of silver, reflecting the moonlight in shimmering patterns. The rooftops of the city glowed softly, the night alive with a quiet, serene beauty that took your breath away. Everything became a blur of twinkling lights and darkened streets, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, soaring through the night sky, sharing a silence that felt more like an understanding than anything else.

The cool wind whipped through your hair as Azriel flew, his strong wings cutting through the air with practiced ease. Despite the speed, his flight was smooth, each powerful beat of his wings propelling you forward with a steady, unerring grace. You found yourself momentarily entranced by the view, the way the world seemed so peaceful from up here, so distant from the chaos and dangers you had faced below.

Azriel’s grip on you was firm but gentle, his warmth a comforting presence in the cold night air. You could feel the tension in his body, the silent worry that still lingered despite your reassurances. It was as if every beat of his wings was fueled by an unspoken need to keep you safe, to ensure you returned to Velaris unharmed.

The flight was over too quickly, and before you knew it, you were descending toward your apartment. Azriel landed lightly, setting you down with care. The ground felt solid beneath your feet again, but you couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of being cradled by the night sky.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, offering him a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Azriel. I’ll be back next week, and we’ll talk then.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening just slightly. “I’ll be waiting. Just… be careful, Y/N.”

“I always am,” you replied, giving him a reassuring look before turning to head inside.

As you thanked him one last time and made your way inside, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the jacket—a comforting reminder of the connection that had silently grown between you two.

As you quietly made your way up the stairs to your apartment, the door creaked open to reveal Alex waiting for you in the living room, his arms crossed and a comically exaggerated look of suspicion on his face. Stellan was by his side, watching you with calm, knowing eyes, but Alex’s expression was what really caught your attention.

“What is going on, young lady?” Alex began, his voice mock-serious. “A guy intrudes our place, you run off with him without a word, and then you come back hours later with different clothes, a MEN’s jacket, and then he flies you home? Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his over-the-top delivery, the tension from the night finally breaking as you took in his antics. “Alex, I promise, it’s not what it looks like!”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a smirk. “Oh, really? Because it sure sounds like something out of those romance stories people talk about. Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?”

Still chuckling, you shook your head, stepping further into the apartment. “I was helping a friend, that’s all. And the clothes were a necessity after… well, let’s just say the night got messy.”

Alex’s grin widened, clearly enjoying every bit of this. “And the flying home part?”

You sighed, though your smile remained. “That was just Azriel being… protective. And practical.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex nodded sagely, as if he had it all figured out. “Sure, sure. Just Azriel being ‘protective.’”

You reached out to ruffle his hair, playfully messing it up. “Enough, you little troublemaker. It’s late, and we both need to get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Alex laughed, batting your hand away but finally relenting. “Alright, alright. But you’re not off the hook, Nana. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Duly noted, Captain.”

As you headed to your room, Stellan trailing behind you, you couldn’t help but smile at Alex’s antics. Despite the seriousness of the night, his playful teasing was exactly what you needed to lighten the mood.

And as you finally settled into bed, the weight of the day easing off your shoulders, you knew that no matter what challenges the Winter Court or the future might bring, you were ready to face them—with Alex’s humorous observations always keeping you grounded.

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bia-wayne-west · 10 months ago

Text

Pregnancy — Barry Allen x Reader

Characters: Barry Allen (The Flash), Reader (You).

Synopsis: You have been married to Barry for two years. One fine day, you start to feel a hunger worthy of a little speedster.

Warnings: Pregnancy, seasickness, pregnancy discovery

N / A: I did this imagine in 10 minutes. I watched a pregnancy movie with my cousin, and then we went to watch The Flash, she suggested the idea to me and I loved it. Hope you like it.

I'm a Latina girl who doesn't speak fluent English, so I want to apologize for any writing errors you find. Feel free to correct me.

MASTERLIST

The day had begun. The sun came through the window, causing you to curl up even more in the duvets.

You ran your hand over the bed, feeling the sheet to feel Allen's warm body. There was only an empty space, indicating that he had been awake for some time.

Your mind tried to sleep again, however, a sweet smell flooded his nostrils. You could have sworn it smelled like pancakes and condensed milk.

The sheets were set aside as his feet touched the ground. With delicate steps, you made your way to the kitchen, being guided by the wonderful smell. You had no intention of surprising Barry, as he could see everything happening in slow motion and could easily see you approaching.

Allen held a frying pan, trying to flip a pancake. On the kitchen counter was a stack of pancakes and two coffee cups of Jitters.

With a smile on your face, you approached your husband, placing your hand on the speedster's shoulder. Barry's face lit up, showing a sweet smile.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, my dear.”

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“You always make coffee, I decided to make it for you today.” Allen placed the last finished pancake on the plate, enjoying the view of what he had just prepared. “Are you hungry?”

“I think I could devour a whole cow.” Your stomach churned, complaining of hunger.

You usually didn't eat much, unlike your husband. Barry had to consume at least fifteen thousand calories daily, so he could stay upright and healthy. He literally ate all day and kept him body skinny.

Unlike you, who hardly felt hungry. You were the perfect couple. When you couldn't finish your snack, Allen was able to eat everything and still had plenty of room in his stomach. A few weeks ago, you began to feel extraordinarily hungry.

You ate almost the same amount of food as Barry. It seemed like you were a speedster, too. Her sense of smell could sense food being prepared in other rooms, as well as feeling terrible nausea and dizziness. You thought it was vitamin’s problem, and you bought some to make yourself feel better.

Within seconds, the breakfast table was fully set. Without much ceremony, you joined your husband to enjoy their morning meal.

“I could have sworn you have hypermetabolism too.” He joked when he saw you steal a pancake from him after eating yours.

“I don't know what happened. It feels like I'm eating for an army.” You verbalized, picking up the dishes to wash them. As soon as your hand placed the last glass in the sink, a horrible sensation gripped your entire body. You ran to the bathroom, feeling a terrible urge to vomit. Your body leaned over the toilet as the breakfast was poured out.

In less than a second, Barry appeared at your side, his face full of concern. One hand held your hair, while the other smoothed your back.

“Are you okay?”

“I am. I think I ate more than my stomach can handle.”

“Let Caitlin examine you.”

“I told you I'm fine, dear.” You got up with Barry's help. Along the way, you felt your vision darken and your body vibrate, as if you were a speedster. “I think going to see Caitlin is a good idea.”

(…)

“I have two new features.” Caitlin said, as soon as she finished examining your blood. “A good one and a bad one, depending on one's point of view.”

“What's the good news?” Barry asked. Cisco, Joe, Barry, and you were waiting in the exam room. Caitlin held a sheet of paper with the results of your exams.

“You're pregnant.”

Your world spun. Your chest collapsed with happiness. A year ago, you and Barry were planning to have a child, but you never had any luck.

Allen took your hand. The speedster's face was flooded with a smile. Everyone in the room was happy with the news of yet another person being added to Team Flash.

“And what's the bad news?” You asked.

“Very well.” She seemed to be looking for the right words. “I did an ultrasound, and it looks like the baby's heart has stopped.”

“You mean he's dead?”

Everyone in the room asked at once. Tears had already appeared in your eyes, you had barely gotten used to the idea of being a mother, and your little Allen was no longer with you.

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Explain it properly.” You demanded.

“When Barry was struck by lightning, his heart stopped several times. Doctors believed he had died because the machines couldn't record his heartbeat.” She explained. “But his heart had never stopped, what happened is that he was so fast that not even the machines could keep up.”

“So your theory is that the baby is like Barry?” Cisco chimed in. His face was in an expression it was always when he was thinking. “My God, that completely explains your extraordinary hunger and why you started vibrating like a speedster.”

“Our son is also fast.” Allen said, grinning from ear to ear. He deposited a beak on your lips, still holding your hand.

Ten years later…

You've finished setting the lunch table. The dish of the day was pasta with broccoli and cheese. Benjamin Allen's favorite meal.

After putting the last dish on the table, you called your child. Benjamin quickly descended using his powers.

The wind caused by your little one's speed left one of the glasses on the table unbalanced. Before Ben had a chance to catch him, another speedster came in front of him. Barry put the glass right where it was before, and went to meet him.

The brunette wrapped his arms around his body and pressed a sweet kiss to her neck. A laugh escaped his throat as he saw his son utter an exclamation of disgust.

“Please, your son is here watching you be completely disgusting. Ben said, sitting in the chair.

Benjamin has the same hair color as yours, but he had the same green eyes as his father. Everyone who saw him always said the same thing, that he was a faithful copy of Barry Allen.

He and your husband were the guardians of Central City. The little one has not yet obtained all of his father's abilities, but he has the super speed and the ability to vibrate his body and molecules.

In the middle of lunch, you smiled when you saw the size of your child's plate, which was three times larger than yours. That scene reminded him of something.

“Ben, would you like to hear the story of the day I found out I was pregnant?”

615 notes · View notes

willows-escape · 3 months ago

Text

My Angel - 1990!Erik x Reader

Pairing: 1990!Cherik x AFAB!Reader (gender neutral pronouns/language)

Summary: You woke up that morning expecting a peaceful, regular day, but you were quickly proven horribly wrong as things began to travel down south. Fortunately, Erik is there to try and relieve some of the pain - even if it is excruciating.

Warnings(/Tags?): menstruation, descriptions of extremely painful periods (adenomyosis/endometriosis), erik is dramatic but its okay he has an excuse, nausea, mentions of vomit but no actual vomiting, early 1900s appropriate period shame, blood and heavy bleeding, brief mention of reader not eating all day but it's only due to lack of appetite, reassurance, fluff!!!!, like TOOTH ROTTING sweetness!!!!

Words: 6.9k

Notes: this isn't what i originally planned to post today, but i have adenomyosis and when my periods come they come bad and the pain is making me feel very sorry for myself. and i did promise something soon. so this is just self indulgent fluff in the mean time.

the other thing i was writing will be entirely gender neutral, so people who do not at all identify with menstruation or just don't want to read about it will hopefully enjoy that when it's done!

DISCLAIMER - this is based off of my experiences with periods, which will not look like most because I have a gynaecologic condition. but if you do 100% relate to this, go see a doctor! like, yesterday!

The morning began like any other, with a restless night's sleep behind you. As you stirred awake, you found yourself alone in bed, but a smile crept across your face as you noticed the lingering warmth on the sheets beside you - a subtle reminder of a certain someone’s recent presence.

Succumbing to the lethargy that clung to your limbs, you reached for the nearest available outfit. The garments were wrinkled and well-worn, but they served their purpose of preserving your modesty. You slipped them on, grateful for the barrier they provided against the cool morning air, despite their less-than-pristine condition.

As you emerged from your bedroom, you stumbled, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing thud. Your body felt leaden, each limb weighed down as if filled with concrete. Shafts of light piercing through the stone crevices assaulted your eyes, intensifying the dull throb that had begun to pulse at your temples.

"Erik?" your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. The name came out as a hoarse, groggy mumble, hardly recognizable even to your own ears.

Despite your feeble attempt at calling out, Erik appeared before you almost instantly, as if summoned by your whisper.

"Y/N! You're up," he said joyfully, his body adorned in one of his special going out outfits, "much earlier than usual, may I add. I was in the middle of preparing us a picnic before you have to go back up but-"

His gaze finally narrowed onto your hunched form, his previous relaxed expression shifting to one of concern. Your dishevelled appearance was evident - your hair in disarray, your eyes glazed over, bloodshot, and unfocused. It was clear that you were far from your usual self, and to put it lightly, appeared extremely unwell.

"What is the matter?" he asked. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the picnic basket he had been holding clattered to the stone floor, forgotten in an instant as his full attention focused on you.

As though his question was the trigger, a wave of nausea crashed over you. Your chest constricted, forcing you to hunch over even further. Your skin flushed hot in an instant, beads of sweat forming and quickly multiplying across your skin.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Erik's voice trembled, his words tumbling out in a rush. Had you been more lucid, you might have felt a pang of guilt for causing him such distress.

"I'm fine," you mumbled unconvincingly. His hand gently rested on your shoulder, and instantly your body betrayed you. The comforting touch seemed to signal to your system that it was safe to let go, and suddenly, you felt overwhelmed by a surge of nausea and dizziness.

A dull ache blossomed in your lower abdomen. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively pressed a hand against your stomach. The discomfort flooded your senses as your face contorted, a grimace etching itself across your features as you struggled to maintain composure.

Within moments, the discomfort escalated from a mild annoyance to an all-consuming agony that left you immobilized.

Shivers began to wrack your body. Your legs turned to lead, a numbing sensation creeping up from your toes. Simultaneously, a searing, deep-seated ache took root in your lower back.

If Erik was worried before, he was panicking now. His eyes widened with alarm, his breathing quickened, and his usually steady hands began to tremble visibly. The calm composure he typically maintained crumbled in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and urgency.

Your legs buckled beneath you, your vision blurring as you felt yourself wilting towards the unforgiving stone floor. Erik sprang into action, his arms shooting out to catch you. The world spun as he scooped you up, your body limp in his grasp. A sharp cry escaped your lips as the sudden movement sent a jolt of agony through your core, the comfort of his embrace overshadowed by the searing pain that threatened to consume you.

With swift strides, Erik navigated the winding halls, cradling you protectively in his arms. He retraced your earlier path, arriving at the door you had just exited moments ago. With a forceful kick, he flung it open, revealing the familiar sight of your shared bedroom.

"I'm going to set you down onto the bed," he explained slowly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I’ll be as careful as I can."

When he gently pulled back the blanket on your side of the bed, you felt a slight jostling. Your attention, however, was abruptly drawn by a sharp intake of breath, his gasp cutting through the silence of the room.

"Erik?" you mumbled weakly. Your words were abruptly cut off as another wave of pain tore through your abdomen, causing you to cry out involuntarily.

Once more, you felt yourself being moved, this time to Erik's side of the bed. Confusion clouded your mind - why the change? But as you weakly lifted your head, the reason became starkly clear.

"Oh god-" you gasped, your eyes widening in shock at the sight before you. The vivid crimson stain on your side of the bed was impossible to ignore, its stark contrast against the pale sheets making your stomach churn with a mix of embarrassment and dread.

“I need to go find Gerard, you need to be seen by a doctor,” he declared, voice urgent and desperate.

He finally lowered you onto the clean side of the bed, and your eyes instinctively sought his face. It was then you realised his mask was off, likely because he hadn't anticipated you waking so soon. Without the barrier, you could clearly see the stark pallor of his unmarked skin and the unmistakable fear etched across his features. His typically composed demeanour had given way to raw, unfiltered concern that was both touching and unsettling.

He turned to leave.

"Erik, wait," you gasped, your hand shooting out to grasp his arm. "The pain is... excruciating, I won't lie. But I don't think—"

Your words were cut short as another wave of agony crashed over you. A strangled whimper escaped your lips as you curled into yourself, your body trembling uncontrollably. The pain was all-consuming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You clenched your eyes shut, willing the torment to pass, knowing all you could do was endure until it subsided.

"Where's the pain? Can you pinpoint where you're bleeding from?" his eyes darted across your form, taking in your dulled complexion and the sheen of sweat on your skin. "You're burning up. Do you have a fever?"

His questions came in rapid succession, but his touch remained gentle as he brushed your damp hair away from your forehead.

"I... um..." you hesitated, struggling to articulate through the pain. The situation presented a dilemma: discussing such a private matter with a man felt improper, yet the severity of your discomfort and the alarming amount of blood made it impossible to simply dismiss. You found yourself caught.

Another intense surge of pain rose in your stomach, but this one more overwhelming than the last. Your ability to speak fully vanished as your eyes clenched shut. Soft whimpers escalated into frantic, muffled cries as the relentless throbbing in your lower abdomen intensified, twisting your nerves and leaving you gasping for breath.

"Angel, please, tell me what’s going on," Erik pleaded, tenderly taking your hand in his. The desperation in his eyes was palpable as he watched you struggle to form words. “I really believe you need a doctor, please just let me-”

"No, please," you winced, your voice barely audible through gritted teeth. The words came out strained, a mixture of pain and embarrassment colouring your tone. "It's... it's not something I can easily explain," you paused, taking a shaky breath before adding, "it's rather private."

"Private?" he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Forgive my being impolite, but you are currently writhing in agony and bleeding profusely- how on Earth is that private!?"

"Erik," you implored, your eyes silently conveying your discomfort with the subject. However, his concern for your well-being trumped any social niceties. Undeterred by your unspoken plea, he persisted with his questions, determined to understand and help.

"If you explain what's happening, I might be able to help," he insisted. You gave him a sceptical look, but he pressed on, "my years in isolation weren't idle, I've acquired a vast array of knowledge from the countless books that have kept me company."

"It's just not appropriate for me to discuss this with you!" you cried in refute, your voice strained with both pain and embarrassment. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, your tone came out sharper than intended.

You silently prayed he would forgive you, considering the fact that you were enduring mind-boggling amounts of pain. Not only that, the fact you could distinctly feel the familiar warm leakage of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the bedsheets below was driving you utterly insane.

Shame coursed through you as your eyes fell upon the stark evidence of your debilitating pain staining the otherwise white sheets. Averting your gaze, you felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. An overwhelming desire to shield yourself from Erik's concerned stare gripped you, making you wish you could simply disappear.

However, your discomfort eased as Erik's touch changed. His firm grip on your hand softened, his fingers now tracing gentle patterns on your skin. Despite the worry in his eyes, you sensed his effort to stay calm for your sake.

Your heart tugged in your chest at the realisation.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tender yet hesitant as he tried to hold himself together. His gaze locked onto yours as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Please, put your shame aside for one moment and let me in- if only so that I can help you. It kills me to see you like this."

His ignorance of the situation was evident in the way his chest heaved and how he chewed the inside of his cheek with a vengeance. It was clear he believed you were in grave danger. You knew you needed to say something to ease his mind, even if it went against everything your instincts were telling you to do.

"Oh," you breathed, wincing as another wave of pain crashed over you. "It's... it's a delicate matter. Not something typically discussed in polite company."

"Do I look like polite company to you?" Erik's sarcastic retort was accompanied by a growing urgency in his previously calm ministrations. His eyes started to dart frantically between the blood staining your skin and your tired, visibly distressed face.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for Erik's potential upset. Despite your fears of his disgust or anger, of him calling you dirty or telling you to leave until you return to normal, a small part of you hoped he might be more understanding than expected. It was this glimmer of optimism that gave you the courage to finally speak.

"Erik," you began hesitantly, "are you familiar with the concept of... menstruation?"

The prolonged silence following your question spoke volumes. When Erik finally shook his head, it only confirmed what you had already suspected.

"Well," you began hesitantly, searching for the right words, "it's a process that occurs in people with uteruses. It involves bleeding and a lot of pain, typically happening monthly for one week out of the month. I don't really know much about the biological reasons behind it, but-"

Your explanation was abruptly halted as another shock of excruciating pain engulfed you. Erik, sensing your distress, quickly offered his hand. You latched onto it, your grip surprisingly fierce. As the agony intensified, your body convulsed against the sheets, and muffled sobs escaped your lips. You desperately willed the torment to stop, but it seemed endless despite your determination to endure.

"Fuck!"

Erik looked taken aback by your cussing, but seeing as you were squeezing his hand so hard he felt like your aim was to tear it off, he didn't focus on it too much.

Eventually, the pain faded back to its baseline ache - which was still extremely unpleasant, but manageable.

"I apologize," you coughed through your tears, your voice strained as you brushed away the beads of sweat trickling down your forehead.

"There's no need to apologize," he reassured, his voice filled with compassion. "I'm deeply concerned for your wellbeing, but I trust your understanding of this situation. If you say it's not life-threatening, I will trust you."

“Yeah, I'm definitely in no life threatening danger," you assured him, "but the pain is so intense, it almost feels like I am."

"It hurts so badly," you whimpered, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Ever since I was young, I've had to live with such excruciating pain and such heavy bleeding that I can barely function or even leave my bed. It's so exhausting and I've lost count of the times I've passed out on dirty floors, lying in my own vomit because of this."

"I know, I know," he murmured, not truly understanding and internally slightly horrified but wanting to comfort you regardless. He gently wiped away your tears as they fell, his touch tender and reassuring.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This is terribly embarrassing. You shouldn't have to witness this. You tried to regain composure, but the combination of physical discomfort and emotional vulnerability made it impossible to stem the tide of tears.

Suddenly, Erik began to move. Your attention was so focused on the hurricane of emotions swirling around your body that you barely noticed him shifting to your side of the bed. It wasn't until he began to lower himself onto the mattress beside you that panic set in, causing you to react instinctively.

"No, wait!" you exclaimed, your sudden outburst causing him to recoil in surprise. Realizing your tone, you softened your voice. "I'm sorry, but please don't sit there. I... I don't want you to get dirty."

"Dirty?" Erik repeated, his eyes flickering to the stain beneath him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "It's just blood, I mean really- it's not like I haven't been covered in my own fair share of the stuff. This small spot is hardly cause for concern."

"Erik, please, it's not just blood!" you insisted, the shame taking over as you looked at the spot where you'd bled. It didn’t help that you were in too much pain and felt far too weak to even do anything about it!

He raised an eyebrow at you. "How can it be 'not just blood'? Does your blood contain arsenic?"

You couldn’t help but groan at his sarcastic retort.

"Menstrual blood comes from a person's private areas," you grumbled, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to convey the gravity of the situation.

He paused for a moment, then replied, "well, that certainly wasn't the answer I expected, but it doesn't change my opinion. Blood is blood, no matter where it comes from. Besides, fabric—and people—can always be washed. You don't need to be moving around for the sake of preserving meaningless things, you need to rest."

"But!-"

"Now that that's settled..." he shrugged off the jacket he’d been wearing and eased himself onto the mattress, inching closer to your awestruck form.

You were utterly speechless. He just- and then he- and he said-

"May I hold you? I won't if it causes you pain," he asked, his voice earnest and gentle. His tender concern only added to your bewildered state.

Words failed you as Erik gently pulled you into his embrace. The warmth of his body enveloped you, offering a comfort you didn't realize you so desperately craved. Despite the momentary twinge in your abdomen as he carefully adjusted your position, you found yourself melting into his arms. In that moment, his presence was a bandage to your pain-wracked body and troubled mind.

"Is this position comfortable?" He inquired. His arm gently supported the back of your neck, while his other hand rested lightly on your upper arm, providing a comforting presence without applying pressure. You managed a small nod in response, grateful for his attentiveness.

"Good. Now, where does it hurt?"

As his hand began to drift lower, more particularly towards your thighs, you suddenly realized the direction his thoughts were taking. Your eyes widened in a mix of surprise and mild alarm.

"Wait, not there!" you exclaimed, immediately regretting your sudden outburst as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You winced, silently chastising yourself for your impulsive reaction.

"Oh. My deepest apologies," Erik said, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he blinked sheepishly. "I wouldn't have touched you anywhere without permission, but when you mentioned the blood's origin, I assumed—well, I thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you laughed breathlessly, wincing as another flash of pain assaulted your insides. "But contrary to your guess, the pain is mainly in my lower abdomen. Still, I appreciate your... eagerness to help."

His hand, which had been hovering uncertainly, now settled gently on your stomach. The warmth of his palm seeped through your skin as he watched your face intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he took your relaxed expression as silent permission and began to move his hand in slow, soothing circles.

Your mind went blank.

The warmth of his hand on your stomach felt heavenly. The sensation was unlike anything you'd experienced before. While it didn't eliminate the pain by any means, it soothed the intensity more than you thought anything ever could. As his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, you felt your entire body relaxing, tension melting away with each careful movement.

Your tears, once born of shame and torment, now flowed from sheer relief.

"Thank you," you sniffled, peace washing over you whilst your body finally began to relax. As your muscles slowly unclenched, the bed beneath you seemed to transform, becoming a soft, inviting cloud that cradled your aching form.

Erik could sense your growing ease just from the shift in your demeanour. He was well aware that the mattress and bed sheets were likely ruined, but your comfort and rest took precedence over any stains—especially ones that no one else would ever lay eyes on. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t always procure new clothes for you if your current ones were beyond saving.

"Rest now, angel," he murmured softly, his hand continuing its soothing motions. "I'll be here when you wake up."

As you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, Erik decided it was probably time to delve into those medical journals he'd long avoided.

What? He just preferred reading fiction, that's all.

As evening fell, you stirred from your sleep, immediately noticing the emptiness beside you. Your hand brushed against the cool sheets where Erik had been, confirming your suspicion—he had left your side some time ago. Disappointment creased your brow as you pondered his whereabouts.

You laid motionless on the mattress, your gaze fixed on the spot where Erik had been before you drifted off. The pain in your lower abdomen persisted, but it had noticeably diminished compared to earlier. Your skin felt clammy, and your throat parched, yet overall, you felt surprisingly okay.

"You're awake," a familiar voice called from the corner of the room.

Your frown melted away as you realized he hadn't left at all. True to his word, Erik had simply shifted to the corner of the room, maintaining his vigilant watch over you.

"It's 7:30 PM, which is quite an unusual time to start your day, don't you think?" he teased. You sat up, observing him sitting comfortably in the chair you two kept in the room for convenience's sake.

This time, he wore his mask, unlike earlier when you had awoken. Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the enormous tome in his hands—the bulkiest book you'd ever laid eyes on. Curiosity piqued, you gestured silently toward the literary behemoth he cradled, wordlessly urging him to elaborate on the book in his grasp.

"I know—this is definitely a hefty one. Thank god for chapter indexes," he remarked, weighing the book in his hands. "However, I must say, its contents are appallingly lacking in knowledge."

"How so?" you prompted.

"Well, this is supposed to be a medical journal, and yet, when I look for information on menstruation, it's woefully inadequate," he scoffed. "It merely states that menstruation is linked to the reproductive cycle and helps the uterus prepare for potential pregnancy. That's all."

"Well, that's still more than I knew before," you said with a shrug.

"It's obscene. I read in another book that it happens to half the population from around ages 16 to 50, and yet so many people have gone their whole lives not knowing why?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "And I thought science had come much further than that."

“You read another book? How many of these have you read?” you asked, astonished by his dedication.

“Oh, just whatever I had lying around. A couple dozen or so,” he replied, as if everyone just had dozens of books on medical knowledge floating around their abode. “But some of them were so old they attributed menstruation to miasma, so I didn’t pay much attention to those. And I also busied myself with books on herbal remedies and pain relief- apparently there’s this new medicine called Aspirin on the market? Exciting, but I can’t get a hold of that right now, unfortunately.”

As he rose from the chair, you noticed the stacks of books surrounding his feet. He hadn't exaggerated when he mentioned "a dozen or so" - they were all massive, thicker than any you'd ever seen! You racked your brain, trying to recall where in the cellars he might have been concealing these enormous volumes, but you couldn't remember ever spotting them before.

"I may be mistaken, but you seem to be feeling better than you did this morning," he observed, neatly arranging the books into orderly stacks rather than leaving them scattered haphazardly.

"Definitely," you nodded. "The pain is still present, but it's significantly less intense now."

"That's good," he replied, humming as he pushed his first pile to the side to work on the next. "You did give me quite a fright earlier. I thought... Well, I'm not sure what I thought."

"It's understandable. I mean, I'm not sure why, but I expected you to have some... slight awareness of the subject," you admitted, awkwardly averting your gaze.

Even though you knew Erik wasn't raised with the same rules and expectations as you, discussing menstruation still felt like breaching a taboo. The topic remained uncomfortable, despite your rational understanding that it shouldn't be.

"I do feel quite foolish for not being aware of it sooner. But then again, how many women do you think I've encountered in my life? Besides my mother, the answer is none. And even that meeting was brief," he said matter-of-factly.

You didn't really know how to respond to that, so you let a comfortable silence settle between you. Erik swiftly finished organizing his books, then hurried out to return them to their proper places. He reappeared within moments.

"Now, unless there are other aspects of your anatomy I should be aware of," he said with a hint of amusement, "I believe a bath is in order." His eyes darted meaningfully towards the bed, drawing your attention to the mess you had somehow overlooked. You were mortified as you realized the extent of the stains, which had spread far beyond where you'd expected, creating abstract patterns on the once-pristine sheets.

"Ugh, yes," you grimaced, suddenly noticing the uncomfortable layer of blood on your skin. "A bath is definitely overdue. But what about you? Have you had a chance to clean up?"

"You've been out for eleven hours. I bathed ages ago," he stated. "Just give me half an hour or so to boil some water for the bath. That way, you won't be freezing in there."

While you appreciated Erik's thoughtfulness, the sensation of dried, itchy filth on your skin was unbearable. The prospect of waiting even a moment longer to cleanse yourself seemed more daunting than enduring the bite of cold water.

"Don’t bother," you cringed, "I can't bear this feeling any longer. I need to wash off immediately, even if the water's cold. The discomfort of icy water is preferable to this... filth."

“Have some patience. It’s the late evening in a cellar right next to a lake, you’ll die from cold exposure,” he deadpanned.

Though you understood the logic behind his words, you couldn't suppress a playful pout. Erik's eyes rolled with amusement as he approached you on the bed. Leaning over, he tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead, the gentle gesture melting away your feigned disappointment.

"Are you sure you're not in too much pain right now? Tomorrow I'll ask Gerard to procure some herbs, but until then I have a few remedies I can try with items lying around," he asked, straightening up to look down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"It's bearable," you affirmed.

"Good," he said, moving towards the door. "Stay here while I set up the bath. If you need anything, just call for me."

“Trust me, I won’t be going far anytime soon.”

Thirty minutes later, Erik returned as promised. During the wait, you occupied yourself with daydreams and silent lamentations about your bodily predicament. You couldn’t help but be stuck on the thought that you’d be stuck like this until you were 50—you weren't even halfway through!

"Can you walk alright?" he asked, concerned about you putting any unnecessary strain on your body.

After considering your current condition, you replied, "I think I could manage, but would you mind carrying me to the bathroom anyway? I've heard blood leaves quite stubborn stains on stone."

Wordlessly, he obliged, gently cradling you in his arms. One arm supported your back while the other nestled beneath your knees. As he carefully lifted you, his eyes fell upon the crimson stain left behind. The sight of such copious bleeding caused a flicker of concern to cross his face, though he tried to conceal it.

You were supposed to bleed that much every month for a week straight without dying?

Pushing aside his alarming thoughts about your potential demise, he carried you carefully to the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate. As he cradled you, you realized this level of attentiveness was something you could easily grow accustomed to. You made a mental note that future menstrual cycles would be spent here in the cellars, rather than hiding from him in the Opera Populaire as you'd done before.

"Thank you for today," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. As you spoke, you instinctively burrowed closer, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

He let out a low chuckle, tinged with self-deprecation. "Thank you? I've barely done anything noteworthy," he scoffed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. You couldn't see his expression, but you sensed the frown in his words. "To be honest, I feel rather inadequate. I wish I could have been more helpful to you in this situation."

"Don't say that," you insisted, nudging his chest with your head in retaliation. "You've gone above and beyond what most people would do. You've read dozens of books today just to understand me better. You've prepared a bath for me and prioritized my rest over your bedding. Most men would have either shooed me away or fled in your position."

A door creaked open, plunging you into momentary darkness as Erik gently lowered you to your feet. Your voice softened with emotion as you whispered, "your kindness and attentiveness mean more to me than words can express."

The gas valve hissed softly as it turned, gradually illuminating the bathroom. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed a plush black towel draped over the edge of the tub, ready for use. On a nearby rack hung a set of fresh clothes—their style unmistakably reminiscent of Erik's wardrobe—waiting patiently for you to don them after your bath.

He cleared his throat loudly, a gesture you'd come to recognise as his way of masking his flustered state. "It's nothing extraordinary," he mumbled, his voice tinged with a mix of modesty and discomfort at the praise, "just basic human decency."

“But-“

"Is there anything else you need before I go to clean up?" he abruptly asked.

You sighed, giving him a pointed look for interrupting you. Deciding to let it go, you allowed the shift in conversation.

"I can manage from here, thank you," you hummed. "But would you mind fetching my sanitary belt from my bag? I'll need it after the bath."

“Sanitary belt?”

"Yeah. It's a belt that wraps around your waist and holds a sanitary towel in place to collect the, um, blood," you explained, awkwardly gesturing with your hands to illustrate. "You'll recognize it when you see it."

With a tender kiss on your forehead, Erik departed, promising to return with what you need.

The moment he left, you wasted no time shedding your clothes and depositing them in the nearby basket. Eager for relief, you eased yourself into the bathtub, a contented sigh escaping your lips as the pleasantly warm water enveloped you. The soothing heat melted away any lingering discomfort, allowing you to immerse yourself fully in the task of cleansing. With meticulous care, you began to wash away the day's troubles, savouring the unexpected comfort the bath provided.

He returned shortly after, placing the belt on the rack alongside your other necessities. Once again, he inquired about your well-being, prompting you to playfully scold him for his constant concern. Nevertheless, you reassured him that you were fine, adding that the warm bath water provided more pain relief than you had anticipated.

He seemed on the verge of making a sarcastic comment—likely along the lines of "I told you so"—but thought better of it. Bidding you a final goodbye, he left to strip and prepare the bed, allowing you to finish cleaning up in peace.

You continued this until the water was doing you more of a disservice than it was cleansing you. Pulling the drain cover open, you allowed the dirty water to flow out and empty the tub. Silently, you thanked Erik for installing this modern convenience in his home—one of the few upgrades he'd chosen, despite his ability to afford many more.

A chill crept over your damp skin, urging you to hasten your routine. Goosebumps prickled across your body as you quickly patted yourself dry with the towel, appreciating how he'd made sure it was black and not white. You then clumsily secured the sanitary belt around your waist, wincing at its familiar discomfort.

Immediately after, you slipped into the night shirt he had provided. The loose-fitting trousers were a blessing, their gentle embrace and soft material accommodating your tender midsection without adding pressure. Once you finished dressing, a sense of satisfaction gleamed in your chest. You felt refreshed, clean, and rejuvenated.

You made sure to brush your teeth before finishing up in the bathroom, when the horrific cramps returned once again. Doubled over and jaw clenched, you shuffled towards the door with painstaking slowness. Your quivering hand fumbled with the gas valve, finally managing to shut off the light. The room plunged into darkness as you walked out, door falling shut behind.

Groaning softly, you shuffled back towards the bedroom, where you found Erik fluffing the pillows on your freshly made bed. He wore his night attire, and despite your discomfort, you couldn't suppress a smile. Even doubled over in pain, the sight of him warmed your heart.

He swiftly noticed your presence, helping you onto the bed to spare you the effort of weakly propping yourself up. He then approached the dresser, where a mysterious lump lay concealed beneath blankets. Unfolding the coverings, he placed his hand on the hidden object and nodded with satisfaction.

He refolded the blankets over it before walking over to you. Curious and confused, you tried to maintain an inquisitive look while fighting off the storm raging in your abdomen.

"I anticipated the pain would return once you started moving again," he said, gesturing for you to lift your shirt to reveal your belly. You complied, though your confusion deepened. "This is called a 'hot water bottle,’ a recent invention. Gerard suggested I try one to ease some discomfort from my... condition. It doesn't help me much, but it might work for you."

"How does it work?" you asked, flinching slightly as the bottle touched your skin.

"It's made of rubber and filled with hot water to transfer heat efficiently," he explained, helping you pull your shirt back down over the bottle to keep it pressed against your skin. "Since you mentioned the warm water helped, I thought this might be worth trying."

"So it's like a hot water pig, but made of rubber instead of stoneware and more convenient?" you hummed thoughtfully, resting your hands over the bottle for an extra layer of added security.

“Precisely,” he nodded.

As the warmth from the hot water bottle gradually permeated the blankets, you found it soothing but not quite potent enough to fully alleviate your discomfort. The heat offered a welcome respite, yet you yearned for more intense relief from the persistent ache.

"It does take the edge off the pain," you admitted, biting your lip pensively, "but would it be possible to remove the blanket? I think more intense heat might help even more."

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Direct contact with the bottle could result in burns. The blanket stays."

After a moment's consideration, you decided that the risk of burns did indeed outweigh the potential relief from your cramps—at least for now. You nodded, opting to keep the blanket wrapped around the water bottle, appreciating its safer warmth.

A sense of contentment washed over you as you marvelled at how this day, which had started so unexpectedly, had blossomed into something truly special.

You were with the love of your life, freshly bathed and dressed in his clothes, tucked into a clean bed with a soothing hot water bottle warming your skin and fighting against what usually was traumatic levels of pain. Tears welled in your eyes as pure bliss coursed through your veins, overwhelming you before you could even process the feeling.

As the first tear rolled down your cheek, Erik instinctively sprang into action. You couldn't help but laugh through your cascading tears, raising your hands to signal him to relax. Though hesitant, he wordlessly complied with your wishes.

"I'm okay," you sniffled, your words punctuated by small sobs. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm just so... happy. I think I'm really, truly happy."

His eyes widened behind the mask, a mixture of surprise and awe flashing across the few of his visible features. Unable to resist, you reached up, gently grasping his hand and guiding him to lay beside you on the bed. He remained motionless, seemingly caught between disbelief and anticipation. Your heart racing, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a tender, affectionate kiss that conveyed all the emotions words couldn't quite express.

Wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your night shirt, you clutched the water bottle tighter and rolled onto your side. You nestled into his chest, his arm instinctively wrapping around you as you melded into his trembling form. Yearning for closeness, you draped your leg over his hips, your body seeking every possible point of contact.

"But—" He stammered, shaking his head in disbelief. Bewilderment dripped from his voice as he continued, "You haven't eaten all day. Surely, I should prepare something for you—"

"No," you replied, your tone firm yet affectionate.

"You must-"

"Nuh-uh," you teased.

"Really I should-"

"Shh." You leaned closer, your faces mere inches apart as you rested an arm over his waist. He tensed at the contact, despite the familiar porcelain barrier between you. "Just stay with me like this for a little while, please? Afterward, you can make all the cold meat sandwiches your heart desires."

"You told me you liked those," he grumbled in playful accusation.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as your eyes shimmered with unbridled affection. If Erik were to meet your gaze, all he'd be able to see was the pure, unadulterated euphoria radiating from your smile.

"I do," you agreed with a nod, “but only because you make them with so much love."

"So, you don't?"

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head back as if deeply pondering the culinary merits of cold meat sandwiches. "They're good, but they could use a little something extra," you mused. "Maybe some cucumber for crunch? Or a slice of mozzarella for creaminess?"

He scoffed in mock offence, "That completely distracts from the flavour of the meat."

"Flavour?"

"I'm glad you agree."

You pursed your lips before releasing a long, deliberate sigh. Your eyes flicked from his face to the clock. The time read 9:45 PM, yet an unwelcome wakefulness clung to you—undoubtedly a lingering consequence of your excessive eleven-hour nap.

"I’ve completely ruined my sleep schedule, haven’t I?" you mumbled. "It’s late in the evening, and I’m nowhere near tired.”

Erik paused thoughtfully before replying, "I can make you something to aid with sleep, if you'd like."

"What do you have in mind?" you asked, curiosity evident in your tone.

He thought over the matter before deciding.

"I have some dried valerian root that I can steep into a tea," he offered. "I've tried it on rare occasions. It's quite bitter, but I can add some chamomile to sweeten the taste."

"You're so lovely," you giggled, unaware of how he tensed at the compliment. "So kind and thoughtful—you call me an angel, but I think the real angel here is you. My Angel."

He paused, visibly stunned by your words.

His voice was soft and hesitant as he asked, "you believe that?"

You nodded, a soft hum of agreement escaping your lips. "I do," you said sweetly, your voice brimming with unwavering certainty.

You felt the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady his racing heartbeat. His hold tightened around you, drawing you even closer. A radiant smile spread across your face.

"So," he stammered, clearly flustered by the compliment, "is that a yes to the tea?"

"I'd love some tea," you nodded eagerly. "But could you stay with me for ten more minutes first?"

He nodded, and you both settled into a comfortable silence—a respite he seemed to appreciate. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his palm, while his gently wove through your hair.

Ten minutes passed in this tranquil state, and you quickly realised that maybe the tea was unnecessary after all. Every thirty seconds or so, you found yourself stifling an uncontrollable yawn—a gesture you noticed Erik unconsciously mirroring.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the combined warmth of his body and the water bottle proving irresistible. You drifted toward sleep at least five times, always jolting awake at the last moment before you fully succumbed. Despite your drowsiness, you yearned to savour this moment just a little longer.

"Do you still want that tea?" Erik asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You shook your head and nestled closer to his chest. "I'm fine now," you murmured contentedly.

"Good," he replied, his hand gently smoothing down your flyaway hairs. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but fatigue clouded his thoughts, and he let the moment pass.

He yawned once more, momentarily pulling away from you. You whined in protest, but he shushed you as he reached behind his head to untie his mask. Attempting to place it carefully on the bedside table, he misjudged the distance, and it slipped towards the floor.

The mask remained intact, though the sound it emitted was sharp enough to make you flinch. To your astonishment, Erik seemed unconcerned by the possible harm. Instead, he calmly readjusted your position so you were laying as before, then closed his eyes. A surge of emotion swelled in your chest.

Erik had grown comfortable with you seeing him without his mask, though he typically preferred to keep it on unless taken by surprise or during the quiet hours of the night when you were both sleeping. His current indifference toward the mask could mean one of two things: either he was too exhausted to notice its near demise, or he had become so deeply at ease with you that he no longer felt the need to shield himself behind it.

Erik possessed other masks, but they could never replace his favourite. His primary one was treated with the utmost reverence, as fragile and irreplaceable as a feather. It was the one he felt most secure in and allowed him the most normalcy, therefore it was always his first choice regardless of other options. Yet now, without hesitation or concern, he had allowed it to fall away, as though its significance had vanished entirely, as if the bond between you had rendered it unnecessary.

You felt the urge to cry again, but not wanting to disturb his sleep, you suppressed your tears as you contemplated the significance of this moment for both of you.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. Though it could be mistaken for tiredness, the tremor in your words betrayed your overwhelming desire to burst into tears of joy.

After a moment, one bleary eye opened as he turned to face you. His lips curved into a genuine smile as he whispered, "I love you too."

'hot water pigs' are what people used to call hot water bottles, or at least their versions of them, just so you know lol. writing these fics always requires so much research into old terms and the existence of things that are now regular everyday items, it's kind of crazy. like trying to figure out how much was known about periods in the late 1800s early 1900s was a challenge.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #phantom of the opera x reader #erik destler x reader #cherik #erik the phantom #erik destler #gaston leroux #poto #musical #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #poto 1990 #poto x reader #cherik poto

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