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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 7 months ago

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours.

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 9 months ago

Note

hey! i just had a request (if you like it!) - cazador taking astarion’s partner (reader/tav) when all the siblings try to kidnap astarion, and turning them, intending for them to take astarion’s place - ofc astarion and crew arrive in time and scene progresses as normal, but now reader/tav is a vampire spawn. just fluff and hurt/comfort

Oh wow this became far darker than intended, I hope you don't mind. I do feel a little bad for reader in this one, honestly. Part 2 can be found here!

Spoilers for act 3!! If anyone still needs this.

Astarion’s shout stirs you from your peaceful slumber and you sit up with a start, eyes wide. Your hand automatically shoots to your weapon, fingers curling around it when you see two figures slowly approaching your lover who back away, hackles raised.

“Peace, brother. We’re here to take you home.” One says and you frown, ready to step in if needed. The other one urges Astarion to return with them, to ‘be reborn’ and you quickly make your way to Astarion’s side, ready to fight if need be. You didn’t care that those two were vampire spawn, you would defend Astarion with everything you had. You weren’t going to lose him now, not after coming all this way.

Astarion’s hand gently brushes against yours, a silent thank you for your show of support as you size your potential opponents up. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Astarion moves to step slightly in front of you and begins to tell his siblings of his plan to take Cazador’s place in the ritual, to ascend and his siblings are none the wiser about the lies he’s weaving.

You know how desperately he wants the ritual, how he yearns for the power it will give him and yet you’re torn between convincing him otherwise and letting him take it. You don’t want to see him drown in the pursuit of this power but you know how much it means to him, the idea of being able to walk in the sun again, the idea of no longer being under someone else’s control, so you keep silent, your mind in turmoil.

Either way, the encounter ends with Cazador taking control of the spawns and it delves into a fight as Astarion does all he can to protect himself and you do all you can to ensure neither spawn manage to lay a hand on him. By the end of it, you’re panting from exhaustion, scratches lacing your skin but the two spawns have been backed into a corner and you have emerged victorious alongside Astarion.

Or so you think.

Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine and mist turns into a humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Astarion’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back. The two spawn cower as a sneer forms on the humanoid’s face, a clawed hand reaching out towards you.

“Y/N I presume? I have heard much about you, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Cazador.

You swallow hard, refusing to show the vampire lord a hint of fear and meet his burning gaze that stares into your very soul.

“Cazador,” you say, tone measured. “If only I could say the same.”

Why was he here? Was he going to forcefully take Astarion away? If he was, you were pretty much powerless to stop him by yourself and he would be able to start the ritual. You keep your eyes fixed on the vampire lord who is smiling unnervingly, standing your ground as he takes a step towards you.

“Thank you for taking care of my precious lost son,” he places a hand on your shoulder which you brush off, glowering at him. He remains unfazed despite your rude gesture, the smile still fixed on his face.

“You’re very welcome,” you say stiffly, still uncertain about what Cazador was here for. He hadn’t spared a glance at Astarion at all, which was odd and the other two spawn hadn’t made a single move to kidnap Astarion, even though now was the best time to do so.

“In return, I would like him back so that he may return home.”

“No.” You immediately growl without a second thought. “I will not let you lay a hand on Astarion again.”

“How courageous of you,” the vampire lord chuckles. “To think that my son has found someone like you…to guide him back. I really am extremely grateful to you.”

Astarion makes a noise, ignoring the shaking in his hands and moves to stand next to you. He can’t leave you to face Cazador alone, not after he’s promised to always be by your side and so despite the nauseating fear that is rising in his throat, he forces himself to face his tormentor.

“Now then, my boy” Cazador continues, gaze finally turning towards him. “I will give you a choice. You, or your precious Y/N.”

“What?” Astarion narrows his eyes.

“Choose. You, or Y/N.” Cazador repeats.

“What do you intend to do?” Astarion snarls. Cazador doesn’t answer his question and simply raises three fingers, slowly counting down. Confused, Astarion opens and closes his mouth, unsure of the consequence each choice will spell and a wide grin forms on the vampire lord’s face once the last finger is down.

“Time’s up, my boy. I suppose, I will have to make the choice for you since you cannot make up your mind.” Cazador places a hand on your shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious Y/N.”

Astarion takes a step towards you, your name on the tip of his tongue but he is too late, slowed by the tadpole and Cazador whisks you away along with the other two spawns, back to his palace.

“No, no, no!” Astarion roars, hand grasping thin air. “Cazador!”

The others come running over at the commotion, confused when they see Astarion on his knees, sobbing and cursing.

“What happened?” Halsin asks, kneeling next to the wailing vampire.

“Cazador!” Astarion snarls through the tears. “He took Y/N!”

“He took Y/N? Aren’t you the one he’s after? Why did he take them?” Wyll asks.

“Didn’t you say you’d protect them? Why didn’t you?” Lae’zel snaps. Astarion whirls around, ready to tear Lae’zel apart but Halsin holds him back, the vampire thrashing in his grip.

“Calm down, Astarion. We won’t get anywhere fighting amongst ourselves. Do you have an idea of where Cazador might have taken Y/N?” Halsin’s low voice gently rumbles.

“His damned palace, probably,” Astarion mutters, guilt tearing away at him. He should have given Cazador an answer, he should have been stronger and pressed Cazador for answers, he should have pulled you away from Cazador the moment the vampire lord had placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Then we will head there immediately,” Jaheria smoothly takes command and the other nod in agreement. The longer you were with Cazador, the dimmer your prospects, for who knew what Cazador wanted with you? Time was of the essence.

“We will get Y/N back,” Gale said firmly. “We will rescue them.”

At Cazador’s palace, you were held in place by blood red glyphs as Cazador circled you, ruby eyes glowing in the darkness.

“You are a fascinating creature, Y/N. Time and time again, I’ve taught my imperfect son not to form a relationship, that such bonds are a weakness he cannot afford, and yet he still chooses to form a bond with you. He knew of the consequences that would follow, and still decided to proceed. I wonder what about you makes him decide to risk it all.”

You remain silent, glaring as hard as you can at him. He leans in closer, a cold finger traces along your jawline and stop at your chin.

“Is it because of how much you make him think you care for him?”

“I genuinely care for him, unlike you!” You spit, jerking away from his touch.

“Or maybe your looks.” He pretends to contemplate before tightly grabbing you by the chin and pulling you towards him.

“No…that can’t be it.” He smirks. “Oh, I know. It’s the delectable taste of your blood, isn’t it? I can see the bite marks, he clearly loves drinking from you.”

“Piss off!” You snarl despite the fear creeping into your chest. “Whatever goes on between Astarion and I is none of your concern!”

“Oh, but it is. He is, after all, my son.” Cazador leans even closer, pressing his lips against the bite marks on your neck. “And you too, will become my child.”

His fangs sink into the soft supple flesh of your neck, painful and harsh unlike Astarion’s bite and you hiss, struggling to get away but the glyphs hold you tight. Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears as you snarl, spit and thrash as hard as you can but his fangs remain firmly lodged in your neck, your precious lifeblood gushing down his throat. Spots start to form in your vision and you feel yourself weakening, life fading away.

“Oh, don’t worry.,” you barely hear him as the world starts to turn black. “I don’t kill my own children.”

When you wake, everything is dark, but something feels different. Your sense of smell is sharper, you can see the lines of wood in the dark and…

“Welcome back, my child.” The sound of wood scraping rakes your ears and you quickly cover them, hissing.

“How are you feeling?” Cazador smiles, setting something down before turning to you, holding out a hand.

“Get lost!” You slap his hand away, trying to take in your surroundings. You’re in some sort of underground area, judging from the leaking ceiling and the musty smell in the air. The tiny squeaks of rats fill your ears and you notice chains hanging from the wall in front of you, covered in dried blood.

“How rude. It seems the first thing I must teach you is manners,” Cazador tuts. “Repeat after me, ‘I am fine, thank you for asking, master.’”

“Go —” A presence dominates your mind, sending your tadpole squirming as it tries to take back your mind. You scream, the tadpole’s fight tearing your mind apart and you hear Cazador snarl in frustration.

“That blasted thing!”

He looks back up at you, a smile slowly reforming itself upon his face. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have complete control over you for my plan to work. All I need is you.”

“What do you intend to do?” You pant, head throbbing.

“Why, have you take that boy’s place in the ritual of course. He chose to sacrifice you instead of himself. Now come along, I would rather not have to drag you out in front of your new siblings.”

You quietly follow him, mind still struggling to wrap around recent events. One moment you were trying to find Gortash and Orin to prevent The Absolute from taking over Baldur’s Gate, and then next you were Cazador’s latest vampire spawn, a sacrifice for his ascension. Cazador didn’t seem to mind your silence, tightly holding onto your hand to ensure you couldn’t just run away, not that he would have much of a problem catching you anyways.

He leads you to a grand hall where a pentagram has already been drawn with blood in the center of the floor and seven pedestals surround it. His other vampire spawn each stand on one, waiting for further instructions and you glance around nervously. Would the others be able to find this place before it was too late?

Cazador unsheathes a dagger, snapping his fingers and glyphs appear around your wrists and ankles once more, forcing you to kneel on the ground in front of him. He slices your clothes open, tossing them away until you’re half naked and bends down next to you.

“I believe you know what comes next.”

Bile rises in your throat, your clawed fingertips digging into your palm as you prepare yourself.

“Go rot in the hells.”

He laughs, knowing that all you can do is spit words at him and raises the dagger with a sadistic grin.

Then plunges it straight into your back.

The pain tears you apart from the inside, gnawing at every fibre of your being as you keenly feel each and every sinew being split open by the dagger, warm blood coating your back. You can hear screaming, was it coming from you? You couldn’t tell, your mind was far too hazy to make anything out.

Everything hurts, everything hurts, everything hurts.

You scream until your voice turns hoarse, but Cazador doesn’t stop. He continues with his work of art, twisting the dagger whilst its blade is embedded in your flesh whenever you collapse, shocking you back into reality. Over and over again he marks your flesh with Infernal script and you wonder how Astarion pulled through this.

Suddenly, the dagger stops. Cazador shouts something but your ringing ears can’t make out anything. Something red slams into the vampire lord and sends him crashing into the floor with a war cry, followed by an axe.

The glyphs holding you up disappear and you feel yourself falling, but not an inch of your body obeys your command to break your fall. Before the floor can meet you, a pair of warm arms wraps around you, holding you steady.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

You stare blankly at the floor beneath, wishing it had ended your suffering but then you remember that you’re a vampire spawn now and simply smacking into the floor wouldn’t kill you.

“Y/N? Talk to me,” the voice speaks again. Your swimming vision barely manages to scrape together an image and through the haze your mind recalls a name. Wyll.

A small noise escapes your lips and the Blade of Frontiers lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re alive, that’s good.”

“No,” you whisper. “Not. Alive.”

“Not in that sense,” someone else speaks. Halsin.

Something new warms your back, blue light shimmering around you, “don’t you dare fall asleep.” Shadowheart.

“As…”

An angry cry pierces through the air. More shouting. Then. Silence. A figure rushes to your side, silvery curls stained with blood.

“Y/N!” There’s panic in the voice. “Darling?”

“As…ta…rion.”

“You’re safe now,” he pulls you into a hug. “You’re safe now.”

“Hurt…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astarion chokes. “I’m sorry I let that monster take you, I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry I was late.”

His apologies are met with silence, your body limp in his arms as you struggle to stay awake. You want to reassure him, you want to say something but your body refuses to cooperate.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s my fault that you were taken, I promised to protect you and yet, and yet I —”

“It…s…ok.”

“It’s not!” He snaps. “It’s not ok! Nothing is! I let Cazador take you! I let him turn you! Now…now you can’t walk in the sun anymore! Not once that damned tadpole is removed! You’ll constantly feel the hunger! Others will call you a monster!”

Astarion stops when he sees the fresh tear streaks on your face, biting his lip hard. You come first, you need him right now. He pushes his self-hatred away and focuses on you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, ignoring the blood that seeps between his fingers. He presses his lips against the top of your head as your shoulders shake.

“I’m right here, my love. I’m right here. I promise, you’re never alone. You will never be alone. I will be right here, by your side to help you shoulder your burdens as you’ve helped me. I promise.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #tav #bg3 fic #bg3 angst #bg3 fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst

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thatlotuscookie · 2 months ago

Note

Mikey from Tokyo Revengers please. Maybe where the reader is the only one who can calm him down when he's having a bad day or feeling overwhelmed, but she doesn’t realize how much it means to him?

✧･ﾟ: a/n : to the lovely anon who requested this—thank you! Mikey’s the type of character who hides his emotions well, but I can totally see him seeking comfort in someone who brings normalcy into his chaotic life. I hope this hits all the right feels for you! I listened to Understand by Keshi the whole time and AGHH brought me into the feels.

✧ Title: ✧ The Weight Of Everything ✧ ✧ Characters: Mikey (Manjiro Sano) x Reader (Fem!Reader) ✧ Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: Mikey carries burdens that no one else can truly understand. On days when everything feels like it’s falling apart, your presence becomes his only source of calm. But when Mikey realizes just how much you mean to him, he's left wondering if there's a chance for something more. ✧ Content/Tags: Emotional vulnerability, Mentions of stress/burnout, Angst, Slow Burn, Vulnerability, Pining, Emotional Support, Confession ✧ WC: 1323 words // 7470 chars

Mikey was used to handling things alone.

Being the leader of Toman came with burdens that no one else could truly understand. The pressure of making decisions, keeping his friends safe, staying strong for everyone—it was a constant weight on his shoulders. Most days, he carried it without complaint, hiding his exhaustion behind that calm, almost childlike demeanor he was known for.

But there were days when it all became too much. Days like today, when even the smallest frustrations piled up until they became overwhelming, leaving him on the verge of snapping.

Mikey sat at the edge of the rundown rooftop, his legs dangling over the side as he stared blankly at the horizon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city, but he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the beauty of it. His mind was racing, his heart heavy with unspoken thoughts.

It was one of those days.

He’d been distant with the gang, unusually quiet, and though his friends had noticed, none of them dared to ask what was wrong. They knew better than to pry when Mikey was in one of his moods. Only Draken had given him a look, that knowing expression that said he understood—but even he hadn’t tried to approach.

Mikey preferred it that way. He didn’t want to be asked how he was feeling. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted… to escape.

And that’s where you came in.

You weren’t a member of Toman, not in the traditional sense, but you’d been around long enough to be considered part of the family. You were close to the core group, though you never really saw yourself as anyone particularly important. You were just… there. Someone who offered a kind smile, someone who listened, someone who brought a sense of normalcy to their otherwise chaotic lives.

Unbeknownst to you, that normalcy had become something Mikey craved more than he would ever admit.

You spotted him sitting alone on the rooftop when you went looking for him. The others had mentioned his unusual behavior today, and while they didn’t seem too worried, you couldn’t help but feel concerned. Something about his silence had struck you as different, more unsettling than usual.

“Mikey?”

Your voice was soft as you approached, not wanting to startle him. He didn’t turn to look at you, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sound of your voice.

Without waiting for an invitation, you sat down beside him, careful to leave a little space between you. The cool breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You glanced at him, noting the way his eyes were fixated on the horizon, distant and unfocused. “You okay?”

Mikey didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t sure how to explain what he was feeling—not even to himself. Instead, he shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

You weren’t surprised by his silence. He had always been a man of few words when it came to his emotions, and you’d long since learned that pushing him for answers wasn’t the way to go. So, you sat quietly beside him, your presence calm and steady.

After a few minutes, you sighed softly and leaned back, resting your hands behind you. “You know,” you began casually, your tone light, “sometimes I just come up here to watch the sunset when I’ve had a bad day. It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

Mikey’s gaze flickered to you for the first time since you’d arrived, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond, but the tension in his posture eased just a little more.

You smiled, more to yourself than to him. “Yeah. It’s peaceful up here. Like nothing else matters.”

He remained quiet, but you didn’t mind. There was something about just sitting with him, even in silence, that felt… right. You didn’t need to fill the space with meaningless words. Sometimes, just being there was enough.

Minutes ticked by, and the sky shifted from orange to pink, then deep purple. The world around you seemed to grow quieter, and you found yourself relaxing more, the weight of the day lifting from your own shoulders.

Mikey, on the other hand, was watching you now. He didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, your mere presence had become something he relied on. Something that grounded him when everything else felt like it was slipping through his fingers. You never asked for anything, never expected him to explain himself or act a certain way around you. You just… were. And that simple fact had become his lifeline.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you, though he made sure not to draw attention to it. He didn’t want you to think too much of it—not yet, at least.

You turned your head, catching his movement, and smiled at him, though you didn’t comment on the fact that he was now sitting a little closer than before.

“Thanks,” he muttered suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the suddenness of his words. “For what?”

“For… this.” His eyes were still on the horizon, but his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “For just… being here.”

Your heart warmed at his words, but you shrugged it off, trying to keep things light. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”

Friends. That word stung more than Mikey had expected it to. Was that all you thought you were? Just friends?

He didn’t respond, but the silence that followed was different this time—more charged, more significant. You felt it too, though you weren’t sure why. There was something in the way he was looking at you now, something in the air between you that made your pulse quicken.

Before you could say anything else, Mikey spoke again, his voice low and almost hesitant. “You don’t… even realize, do you?”

You frowned slightly, confused. “Realize what?”

“How much this means to me.” His gaze finally met yours, and the vulnerability in his eyes took your breath away. “How much you mean to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. You had never seen Mikey like this—so open, so raw. It was like the walls he had spent so long building around himself were starting to crack, just enough for you to see what lay beneath.

“I…” You struggled to find the right words, unsure of how to respond.

Mikey sighed, his usual confident demeanor faltering as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but… you’re the only one who can calm me down. When everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’re the only thing that keeps me from losing it.”

His confession hit you like a wave, and suddenly, everything made sense. The way he always seemed to seek you out, the way he relaxed whenever you were around. It wasn’t just coincidence. It was because you had become something more to him—something that went beyond friendship.

“I didn’t know…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know I meant that much to you.”

Mikey smiled, though it was small and a little sad. “Yeah, well… I didn’t realize it either, until now.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken feelings, and you weren’t sure what to say. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but one thing was clear: Mikey needed you, in a way that no one else did. And maybe, just maybe, you needed him too.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. “I’m here,” you said softly. “Whenever you need me.”

Mikey’s fingers curled around yours, his grip firm yet gentle. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his shoulders lifted, just a little.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope—for something more, for something real.

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notsunnyowo · 4 months ago

Text

The love of my life

Word count: 833

Summary: You can't live in a world without Satoru, but if he's forced to live in a world without you, you hope that he can still live his best life.

Content: Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Slight canon divergence, Satoru Gojo x Female! Reader (AFAB)

If you die. I die.

You looked at your classmate, a look of pure admiration etched on your face as a delicate smile danced along your features. The sound of your laughter filled the classroom as you chuckled at some funny joke Satoru had said just now.

The four of you were layzing around in your classroom, waiting for Yaga-sensei to come and tell you about your respective missions for the day. And Gojo being Gojo decided the best way to pass the time was to goof around a bit. Cracking dumb jokes, one after the other, face lighting up each time he heard your melodic laugh.

But if I die.

Satoru stood in front of your lifeless body, his face as pale as a ghost and his pristine eyes filled with unshed tears. He didn't want to stare at the horrid sight of your blood covered body, yet he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

No.. This wasn't real.. It couldn't be..

He felt a lump forming in his throat as he stood there, completely motionless.

This was just some sick joke right..? Yeah..! Any moment now, you were going to get up and chuckle at his stupidity for believing that you had actually died..

Right..?

Get enough sleep.

Satoru laid in his expensive armchair. His blindfold loosely covering his eyes as he slept, his arms folded neatly in front of his broad chest that rose and fell with each and every slow breath he took.

His breathing wavered for a moment, as the large man shifted in his seat, before slowly sitting up. His head turned to the side of his chair as his back hunched slightly and he leaned down to the side to grab something.

A small paper bag he had set down on the floor.

Eat properly.

Satoru picked the bag up into his large hands and set it down on his lap before opening it and taking out a small box filled with his favorite flavor of mochi.

Taking out a single piece, he opened his mouth and took a bite of it, his jaw moving in a circular motion as he chewed the sweet treat. It's sweet and savory essence filling his mouth and coating his taste buds.

Meet new people.

Satoru's ears perked up as he glanced in the general direction of the door in his office, just in time to see it swing open and his students barge in. Happy smiles etched on all their faces.

"Gojo-sensei!" Yuuji called out, raising a hand to his teacher and giving him a big, cheerful grin.

"Why is it that you've called all of us here for?" Megumi grumbled, looking at the blindfolded man with a slight look of annoyance.

"Are we going on another mission?" Kugisaki asked, as she spun her hammer around in-between her fingers.

Live a happy life.

Satoru smiled as he looked at his students, before finally speaking up. "Just wanted to share some mochi with my precious students." He said, his voice low, yet gentle.

The offer caused a set of confused glances to be thrown his way from his students.

"You really called us here, just so we could eat some mochi?" Megumi inquired, raising a brow.

"Seems about right." Kugisaki took the liberty of answering the dark haired boy.

"Why are you saying that like it's a bad thing?" Yuuji looked at the two of them, clearly not bothered by the fact that they all rushed to their sensei's call, just for it to turn out to be him wanting some company. "It's free food! And delicious food at that!" The boy grinned, eagerly taking a mochi for himself.

And when you think of me occasionally.

"Hey, Gojo-sensei.." Satoru let out a low hum, in response to Itadori's question. "Who's this girl with you in the photo?" He asked, pointing a curious finger to the small picture frame set on his teacher's desk.

Satoru looked over to the frame and smiled gently. "She was my classmate back in high school." He said, his voice filled with melancholy.

With gentle motions, he reached for the picture frame and took it in his hands, looking at it as if it were the most precious item he owned.

Remember that..

"She was also the first girl I ever fell in love with." He added, although barely loud enough for his students to hear. "The only person I ever fell in love with." He smiled fondly at the photo, his thumb gently brushing over the girl's face in the picture.

"How come you've never mentioned her before?" Megumi found himself asking, his interest now peaked. He walked over to the Yuuji and glanced down at the photo.

"Whoa, she's so pretty..!" Nobara interrupted, stepping in-between her two classmates to get a better look at the photo.

I will love you.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?" Satoru spoke, looking at the photo with a gentle adoration. "The prettiest girl I've ever seen.."

For eternity.

Author Note:

I'm back and totally NOT dead! (Just lazy) But I wanna get back to writing again and good lord do I have a lot of requests!

Thank you all sooo much for sending so many requests, I really hope I'll be able to give y'all what you're looking for!

Requested to be tagged: @21aurora

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punkette1026 · 1 year ago

Text

I Run to You

Summary:

After a fight with Pedro, you two go your separate ways for the holidays. However after receiving a phone call that Pedro got hurt, you rush to him in the hopes that you can salvage your relationship and nurse him back to health.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Rating: T

Word Count: 9155

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your support. This one was a little scary to write because I have never written a Pedro non character fic. Please be kind and let me know what you think!

****italics means flashbacks

This was not how you expected your Christmas Eve to go. You were supposed to be in the kitchen helping your mother bake her famous Christmas cookies. Instead, here you were on a plane rushing to see your boyfriend of three years, Pedro. You felt a surge of guilt in your chest as you realized that you should have never agreed to spend the holidays apart after having one of the biggest fights in your life.

You had spent the last few days at your parents’ house moping around debating whether or not to call him and apologize first. Then you got a call from Pedro’s sister Lux, letting you know that they had to take him to the hospital. When you heard those words, it felt like your whole world stopped. The fight that you had with him no longer mattered. All of that went out the window and you knew that you had to get to him as soon as you could. However, getting a flight out to Chile on a holiday weekend was going to be nearly impossible. Thankfully, after numerous calls and by a Christmas miracle, your dad got you on the first flight out to Santiago.

As you sat there looking out the plane window, you couldn’t help but think back to the fight that you and Pedro had. Now it seemed so senseless, but back then, it became intense quickly. Sure, you had small fights before, but nothing like this. You both said some things that you regret and neither one had yet to apologize or even check in on each other.

You remembered that it all started over a picture you saw on X. You had already gotten cozy under the covers while Pedro got ready for bed in the bathroom. After scrolling through tik Tok for a while, you switched over to X and that’s when you saw it. It was a picture of your boyfriend walking out of a restaurant. The caption read, “New Couple Alert! Pedro Pascal and former costar seen getting cozy at prominent LA restaurant Friday night. The pair was spotted having drinks and left in smiles as Pedro walked the actress to her car. Could this be the start of a new power couple?”

Normally these types of rumors didn’t bother you. You could care less, because you had seen for fair share of them, and you knew that every single one of them was a stretch. You also knew that was something that you were going to have to get used to if you were going to date a celebrity. However, to you, Pedro wasn’t a celebrity. He never acted like it and was very down to earth. If fact, that was what drew you to him when you first met.

You remembered like it was yesterday when he stepped out of his house and saw you outside of your own home struggling to change the tire on your car. For whatever reason, you just couldn’t seem to get the last nut off of the rim.

To be honest, Pedro had noticed you way before that, but he had been chickening out. He first took notice of you when you moved into the neighborhood over a week ago. He was hesitant even then to come over and introduce himself. He was instantly taken back by your beauty as soon as he laid eyes on you for the first time. You looked absolutely stunning in that black polka dot dress. Your smooth legs glistened in the hot summer sun. Much to his luck, it looked like you were moving into the single story alone. He did spot two other people helping you, but it looked like they were your parents. Little did he know, but that was the first time that you saw him too.

After that the only interaction that you two had was a quick wave here and there when one of you left. Neither one of you had mustered up the courage to go over and introduce yourselves to each other. Pedro almost chickened out that day as well, but after giving himself a pep talk, he decided that it was finally time to go over and say hi.

Quickly doing his best to look presentable and that meant in his favorite Lakers shirt and a pair of gray shorts, Pedro casually walked out of his house like he was going to go check his mail. Then when he was hidden by a couple of cars, he crossed the street and began walking up your side of the street making a B line straight to you. You didn’t even see him come up from behind.

“Hi there neighbor!” he called out to you. “I was just walking by and noticed you struggling there. Do you need any help?”

“Oh my, you scared me,” you chuckled. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I have been struggling to get this damn nut off. I think it’s stuck, or I did something wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. You just need a little more muscle. May I?” he asked holding out his hand.

You nodded appreciating the help and handed him the tire iron, “Of course, knock yourself out.”

Like nothing, as soon as Pedro tried to turn the tire iron, the nut came loose with ease. “See there, easy as pie!” He smiled up at you with his dimple on full display.

You almost melted right there and then. It took all that you had to not lose your shit. “Hey that’s not fair. I’ve be trying to get that off for the past fifteen minutes!”

“What can I say, you just needed little more muscle,” he teased again before helping you swap out the flat tire for the spare. “There you go, all done.”

“Thank you so much! You are such a life saver. I was so sure that I was going to have to call a tow company. I’m...” you introduced yourself.

He hesitated for a second with shaking your hand. He didn’t want to get you dirty, but when he saw your hands were equally covered in grime, he graciously shook it, “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Pedro, I live across the street.”

You let out a cute giggle that melted his heart, “Yes, I know exactly who you are Mr. Pascal. I... may have seen a movie or two of yours. Also Mrs. Walker next door seems to be very smitten for you too. She came over with some cookies and told me all about the famous movie star that lives in the neighborhood.” Mrs. Walker was their 85-year-old widow that took care of the neighborhood.

Pedro’s face grew red with embarrassment, “umm...yeah, she may or may not have a crush on me. Listen umm...I was going to grab a coffee or something. You-you wouldn’t want to join me, would you? I-I mean if you are not busy or anything. If you are then no big deal maybe next time. I can-I can just go by myself.”

You thought the way he nervously rambled on was adorable. You had never met a celebrity before, and he was completely different from what you thought it would be like. From your very brief experience with him, Pedro was just a normal guy, older, but normal guy. You weren’t going to lie to yourself when you thought that he was pretty attractive too. That dimpled smile of his, the soft brown curls, and those broad shoulders of his, ugh all of him got your blood going. Not to mention that he towered over you. That was one of your turn ons. You could almost imagine yourself wrapped in his embrace.

“Um...yeah, I think I can do that. I was going to go get groceries, but I think that can wait till tomorrow. Besides, it’s not every day that Oberyn Martel asks you to get a cup of coffee. Did you know that Mrs. Walker has a few photos of you up on her wall in that ugly mustard robe?”

“Okay first off, that robe is freaking amazing, super comfortable. Next, I did not need to know that. Do you know how awkward it’s going to be now when she brings me over one of her famous apple pies? I’m not going to be able to look at her in the eyes now,” he groaned causing you to giggle again. “Well, I’m glad that you find that funny. You know if I was a smart guy, I would revoke my coffee offer to you.”

“Awe did the little celebrity get all embarrassed,” you said like you were talking to a baby. “Well, I’m sorry Pedro, I apologize. If I buy you a cup of coffee, will that make you feel better.”

Pedro playfully pouted his lips with a frown, “It might, but I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t buy you the first cup. So about I buy us coffee time, then next time, you can buy that round.”

Your heart about nearly skipped a beat at the thought of possibly getting to hang out with him at a later point in time. You felt like a giddy schoolgirl who’s crush finally gave you the time of day. But at the same time, you knew that you had to play it cool, “Next time huh? Who said anything about a next time Mr. Pascal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you are right and stop calling me Mr. Pascal. That’s my father,” he pouted again. “But umm…, do you think I can come in for a second and wash my hands. It beats having to go all the way home.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Oh yes because it’s such a long walk. Well follow me then Mr. Pascal” you winked at him before leading him up the driveway. “And I do apologize for all the boxes everywhere. Nursing school has been taking up the majority of my time and it’s been a little hard finding the energy to unpack.”

You didn’t realize it, but as he followed you, Pedro couldn’t help but stare at your ass. He didn’t mean to stare like a dirty old man, but he couldn’t help it. It would end up being one of his favorite things about you.

As you both made your way inside your house, you weren’t lying. Boxes littered the kitchen and living room. Thankfully Pedro didn’t seem to mind though as he made his way through the maze behind you. Taking turns at the sink, both of you scrubbed the grime off of your hands the best that you could.

However just as Pedro went to dry his hands, his large frame accidentally knocked over an open box that was full of VHS and DVDs. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he quickly bent down and started to pick them up.

“It’s okay Pedro no worries. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m surprised that I haven’t done that myself already,” you really hoped that he didn’t feel bad. It was just an accident.

“You umm...you sure do have a lot of movies. You a bit of a movie buff?” He was amazed at the vast selection that you had. A lot of them were some of his favorites and some that he hadn’t seen in a while. Then a certain VHS tape caught his eye, “No way, you have this on VHS still? You don’t look old enough to know what a VHS is.”

“Ha ha very funny Pedro. I may be 24, but I sure do know what a VHS tape is. That’s all my grandmother watched when I was little. Gosh, I didn’t think that I still had that one. I used to watch that at least twice a week in high school. See I umm... I was bullied a lot in school and my parents were too busy at the time dealing with their own shit. After school in order to just get away from everything, I would put this movie on or any movie really and get lost for hours,” you couldn’t help but get teary eyed at the thought of how lonely those times were. Then you suddenly got embarrassed already crying in front of him, “I’m sorry Pedro, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”

“Hey it’s okay really, I don’t mind. I want to know more about you,” he then sympathetically reached out and took your hand into his. “Movies also hold a special place in my heart. Seeing the different actors portray different characters, emotions, and storylines, all that appealed to me and is part of what made me want to become an actor.” He then got an idea and really hoped that she didn’t mind if they switched things up, “So umm..., would you be opposed if we instead of going to get coffee, we put this baby on, if you have a VCR that is, and I can help you unpack. Seems like you could use the help more.”

“You know what that sounds like a wonderful idea. I still have my grandmother’s VCR and it’s still like brand new. And if you don’t mind, what if I order some pizza for some energy? I have a six pack of beer in the fridge as well if you drink. Otherwise, I have some water and juice.”

“Beer is perfectly fine by me and as for the pizza, since I’m the one who offered coffee and came up with the new plan, please let me buy it. It’s the least I can do. Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood pizza.”

You nodded your head as you were too embarrassed to speak. You had never met someone so generous as Pedro. You could see the both of you becoming really good friends. It was like you instantly connected and were already comfortable with each other. “Alright fine, but remember Pedro, I get the next time. Now come on, everything is already set up in the living room.”

Once the movie was playing and the pizza was ordered. Both you and Pedro got to work unpacking the living room. You had made a lot of progress getting through a couple of boxes while making small talk. However as soon as the pizza came and you sat on the couch to eat, that’s where the packing stopped. Between the movie and swapping stories with Pedro, all of it consumed all your attention.

Before you knew it, it was well past midnight. After helping you clean up and taking some boxes out to the dumpster for you, Pedro bid you a good night. However, before he left, he promised to come over and help you finish the rest, so he gave you his number and told you to text him when it was convenient for you. Much to his surprise, you texted him the next day asking him if he wanted to come over for some breakfast. Before you even had time to crack an egg, he was at your doorstep with two cups of coffee in his hand.

From that point on, you and Pedro had become inseparable. You spent every moment that you could together. Whether it be at your house or his, you two became super close. Both of you knew you had feelings for each other but neither one of you was brave enough to admit it out loud. Then after a month apart since Pedro had to go out of town for work, he showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers. There on your door step, he admitted his true feelings for you. How he felt so strongly for you and missed you every day that he was gone. That he couldn’t go another day without you being his. Before he could even finish expressing himself to you, you jumped into his arms and placed a deep kiss to his lips. You had never loved someone as much as you loved Pedro. It felt like you met your soulmate, and you weren’t going to let him go.

The last three years had gone by in a blink of an eye for you as it did move faster than any other relationship that you had been in, especially in the early stages. By the time your one month anniversary came, you two were already sleeping together and saying I love you to each other. Heck by the time your six month anniversary came, you were practically living with him. From the outside, your friends and family thought you two were crazy for how fast you were moving, but you two didn’t care. You were so in love that it just felt right to you.

That got you thinking though, maybe that’s why this fight had turned out to be so bad. In the entire time of your relationship, you hardly argued. If you did, then within a few minutes after it ended, you both would come running back to each other apologizing profusely. You couldn’t stand being mad at each other, so now what’s changed? Were you getting fed up with each other? At one point you thought that you had the entire world, but now, you felt so unsure. It felt like everything was now up in the air. You hoped that this surprise trip to your injured boyfriend would be enough to salvage your relationship.

As the plane landed and the passengers began to deplane, you grabbed the only bag that you brought with you and followed the hoard of people. You then as quickly as you could headed straight for the exit where your ride was waiting for you. Thankfully it didn’t take long to find her. It was Pedro’s sister Lux, the one that called you about his accident.

“Over here!” she called out to you. As soon as you got close enough to her, she ran straight into your arms, “Oh, it’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you! Thank you for coming so quickly. My brother is going to be so happy to see you. He had been a grump since he got here.”

“I really hope so Lux and it’s so good to see you too. How is he?”

“He’s hurting but thankfully it’s just his shoulder and nothing too serious. They released him from the hospital a few hours ago. He is at my father’s house sleeping,” she updated you as you walked to her car.

“So, what exactly happened? All you said was that he fell.”

Lux just shook her head in disbelief, “I still can’t believe it myself. We were talking in the kitchen and then the next thing we knew, we heard a big boom and Pedro was at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t tell us what happened, and he couldn’t move his arm.”

“And the doctor’s what did they say?” You really hoped that his injury wasn’t going to be too bad.

Being a nurse, you had seen your fair share of shoulder injuries and had seen the range that they could vary. What you were really concerned with those was Pedro’s mental health. You knew that he would be beating himself up as this injury may affect his professional work. He had a busy schedule in the upcoming year with award shows and production on varies projects starting. You were so happy to see him finally get the recognition that he deserved. You just wished that you could be there to celebrate with him.

“Well, they think he may need to have surgery,” she sighed. “He may want a second opinion though. He damn near almost choked the doctor when he heard them say that. I know seeing you is really going to brighten his day. I was really shocked when he showed up alone. I thought you were going to split the holidays again.”

For the first two years of your relationship, you and Pedro compromised and decided to spend Christmas with one family and then New Years, with the other. This year, it was Pedro’s family to host Christmas. “Umm...yeah well, I don’t know if Pedro told you or not, but we decided that it would be best if we took some time apart away from each other. We umm...we had a pretty bad fight.”

You trusted Lux in telling her what was going on. Over the years, you two had gotten super closer to each other. You had been an only child, so she was closest thing to a sister that you had. In fact, you had grown close to all his family.

“I didn’t know you two had a fight. All he said was that this year, something came up and you weren’t able to come this year. That’s so strange though. You two never fight. In fact, I have never seen either of you even raise your voice at each other. What was the fight about?”

Tears began to fill your eyes as you recalled that night....

Pedro finally finished up in the bathroom and came to join you in bed. However, as he got under the covers and tried to pull you over to him, he was surprised to have you pull away from him. “Hey what was that for? What’s going on mi vida.”

You said nothing. You just rolled over to your side facing away with tears starting to fill your eyes. “Mi vida, what’s going on? You know that you can tell me anything.”

“You...you lied to me,” you said quietly that he could barely hear you.

“I... I’m sorry what?”

“I said that you lied to me Pedro!” you shouted and got out of bed. “You...are a liar Pedro Pascal and that is something that I thought I would never say.”

Pedro’s eyes grew wide. He had never seen an outburst like this from you before, “Whoa, what the actual fuck! What the hell are you talking about?”

He got out of bed and tried to get to you, but you didn’t let him “No, you just stay back,” you yelled. “I know about Friday night Pedro. Were you stupid enough to think that I wouldn’t find out? The paparazzi follow you everywhere for crying out loud. I saw the pictures of you!”

Pedro just huffed and shook his head, “Really, this is what it’s about. So, what, I went out Friday to have some drinks with old friends. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal? The deal is Pedro Pascal, that you lied to me about it! When I was leaving for work, you told me that you had no plans that night. Now I find that you did go out and that you were hugging up on some chick!”

“You...you’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “Please don’t tell me what I think you are inferring. Please tell me you don’t think that I’m cheating on you.”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think Pedro? Did you plan this? Did you plan on hiding this from me?” tears stung your eyes as you threw the phone at him.

Pedro managed to dodge the phone as it hit the wall behind him, “Jesus what the hell! I didn’t lie to you okay. I had every intension of staying home, but then one of my old costars called saying that they were having a get together. I figured that since you were working yet again, I would go. I also am not cheating on you. I fucking love you okay. Yes, I know there were rumors about me and her back in the day, but nothing ever happened. We were surrounded by our friends the entire time. We were never alone together!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault, because I had to work. Well, I’m sorry that the hospital is short staffed Pedro. Besides, weren’t you the one encouraging me to work overtime?”

“Yes, and that was when I was working!” Pedro shouted at you. “I told you that you should work some more when I am not home, so you wouldn’t have to think about us being apart like you usually do. I don’t get why after I have been gone for months filming, you all of a sudden want to work more hours now. I’ve hardly seen you in the past two weeks.”

You couldn’t believe how selfish Pedro was acting right now. “Are you serious Pedro? So, you mean to tell me that when you leave to go work in another country, I have no choice but to be here all alone in this big empty house, but when you come home, I am not allowed to work. I have to be here with you, so you don’t feel the same way that I do when you leave. So, you do not get bored. I know things were easier when I was in nursing school because I was able to be home and work on homework and stuff, but now that I’m that working, I can’t just drop it all as soon as you walk in the door. I work in an environment where people’s lives are at stake.”

“I know that and I’m not asking you to give it all up. I know how hard you work and how much you love your job. All I’m asking is just to have some uninterrupted time with you. No work, no commitment, nothing. Next year is going to be super busy and I want us to spend as much time as we can with each other,” he sighed.

“And if I do manage to stop working overtime Pedro, what are we going to do then? Stay home?” you asked. “Stay cramped up in this house, door dashing date meals. Ever since this whole “Internet Daddy” thing started, we don’t even go out anymore. You don’t let us go out together anymore.”

That was true. In the beginning of your relationship, you were able to sneak in dinner dates, coffee trips, and the occasional vacation without being noticed by the public. But now that Pedro’s popularity blew up, cameras constantly caught his every move. It was a miracle with social media being what it was, that no one had a clue that he was dating. He made sure that you always took the proper precautions if you needed to go out.

“Yes, you are right, and I still stand by that decision. There is no way in hell am I putting you in the public eye. No, I will not do that to you. They will tear you apart. I have a lot on my plate already and I do not need to be constantly worrying about you. No, things are much simpler and safer if people don’t know about you,” he tried to convince you.

“But at what cost Pedro? You can’t keep us locked up in this house forever. It’s not healthy. Someone at some point is going to find out and then what? We deny that we know each other? Deny that we love each other? No, I refuse to do that. There are tons of actresses and actors that keep their wives and families out of the public eye yet can maintain a normal life. They aren’t afraid to go out and get seen. Why can’t we be like them? If you are worried that I can’t handle it, then I swear to you that I can. I can handle it Pedro,” you pleaded your case. You didn’t understand where this sudden fear of his was coming from. It wasn’t like him at all.

“Oh, like you handled seeing that picture?” he snapped back. “You really handle that like a champ.

You growled at the nerve of him trying to turn this around on you, “No, no Pedro, you do not get to do that. You do not get to use that on me. I don’t care that you went out. You can do as you please. What I am mad about is that I had to find out on the internet what my boyfriend has been up to. I would have never know that you went out if the pictures didn’t get released Pedro. I’m hurt that you didn’t even bring it up the next morning. I even asked how your night went and you said that it was fine. You always, even on set, tell me when you are going out. So why not this time? Was it because she was there? You two looked pretty cozy as you walked out of the restaurant with your arm around her waist!” you gave him a look that could kill.

“It was nothing! And I did not go there because she was going to be there. The reason why didn’t tell you was because I didn’t think that it was a big deal. I got the text at the last minute. I stayed for maybe an hour, two hours tops and that’s it. I came right back home and spent the rest of the night upstairs reading scripts and emails. The only reason why I walked her out and to her car, was because she was telling us about a stalker that she had. I just wanted to make sure that she got to her car safely. You know that I would have done that with anyone,” he just couldn’t understand how you couldn’t see that. Nothing else happened after that and it would never. Pedro loved you with all his heart and would never disrespect you or your relationship like that.

“The...the stalker thing, are...are you afraid that might happen to us? With me?” you asked shuddering at the thought of some stranger being completely obsessed with you.

Pedro’s face fell as the same thought came into his mind, “Yes in a way. People are crazy Y/N. you can never know what can happen. I’d rather keep you here safe, away from all of the craziness. Now can we please just forget about all this and go to bed. I don’t like fighting with you.” he tried to take a step closer to you and for a second, you let him.

However as soon as he got close enough to try to reach out for your hand and pulled you to him, you placed your hand on his chest to prevent you from being pulled closer, “I...I... I’m sorry Pedro, but I can’t. I just...I can’t get over how you are acting like this isn’t a big deal. I feel betrayed right now Pedro. I...I don’t think I can sweep this under the rug like that. I’m sorry.” You then walked over to the bed and grabbed your pillow and the quilt that was at the foot of the bed.

“Where...where do you think you are going?”

“I’m going to go sleep in the spare room Pedro. I...I just need time to think and calm down,” the pain and hurt that you were feeling was clear all over your face. You felt completely drained.

Pedro was right behind you hot on your heels as you made your way to the guest room, “So this is how we are going to start off the holidays. Everything up in the air now because of one picture that made you feel insecure....” As soon as that word left his lips, both of his hands flew to his mouth shutting himself up. He knew that he messed up. “Mi-mi vida, I’m sorry I didn’t mean...”

You didn’t care if you hit him with it, but you slammed the door right in his face. You couldn’t believe that he said that. You always thought of yourself as a strong woman, but for the first time, you felt so small, so little. Were you really being insecure? Were you really blowing this whole thing out of proportion, because of your sudden lack of self-esteem? You didn’t know, but you didn’t like what you feeling deep down inside you.

You both went to bed feeling angry and disappointed with how things played out. You both tossed and turned, plagued with nightmares and replaying the fight in your head. The next morning, you stayed locked away in the guest room. You were too scared and still annoyed with Pedro to face him. You only came out when you heard him leave. That gave you enough time to freshen up for the day, find your now cracked phone, and get something to eat. When you heard him come home, you rushed back to the guest bedroom and locked the door. You could hear him sigh on the other end of the door but couldn’t find it in your heart to open it.

“I stayed locked up in there for the rest of the day. When I finally did come out, we could hardly look at each other. I don’t know if it was anger, guilt or what, but we completely avoided each other. The next time we did speak, I told him a was going to my parents for Christmas and New Years and he said that was probably a good idea. We didn’t even see each other off the airport, we just left,” You sighed. “I... I don’t think we are going to make it Lux. Maybe we did rush into things like everyone said in the beginning. Maybe the honeymoon stage has finally come to an end, and we are as compatible as we thought.”

“No, no, do not say that. You two are meant for each other. I can see it in your eyes. Having one big fight doesn’t mean that it’s the end for you. Sometimes fights happen that you can’t avoid. Both of you had very valid points. Pedro should have been honest with you. I know for a fact that my big brother would never, ever, cheat on you. I just think he honestly didn’t see it as a big deal. I do agree that he should have mentioned something just in case you came home before he did or just to check in with you in case something happened, and you knew where he was. With that being said, he is an idiot for calling you insecure. I have half my mind to break his other shoulder. You are not insecure. You are entitled to your feelings, and he shouldn’t have invalidated them. You just have to look at things from his perspective. After the loss of well...you know, he has closed himself off in a way from every really truly loving someone. That was, until he met you. The past three years I have seen my brother grow so much. He truly, madly, deeply, loves you. I think part of him feels like if the stress of you two going public is too much for you, he may lose you in more ways than one. I don’t think he would survive that if that were to happen. I believe that you two can work this out. You just need to be completely honest with each other. We love you Y/N and we would really hate it if you and Pedro broke up. You just need to take things slow. I believe both of you will really grow from this.”

Thankfully at that point, you had pulled up to the Pascal family home. So as soon as the car was parked, you quickly undid your seatbelt and threw yourself into Lux’s arms, “Thank you Lux, for everything. I owe you more than you know. Your words mean so much. I promise you I will do my absolute best to work out things with Pedro. So much of what you said makes total sense. We both let things get out of control. We should have really listened to each other and saw where each other was coming from. I think we both invalidated each other. I hate to say it, but maybe him getting hurt is what may help us put everything into perspective and work things out.”

“See now that’s the spirit. You just gotta go into this positively and have an open mind. Now come on, let’s go see that boyfriend of yours,” Lux smiled brightly.

Walking into the Pascal Family home, it was still warm and welcoming like you remember. When Pedro first brought you there, you could remember how nervous and scared you felt, but as soon as his family welcomed you with open arms, you felt like you had been part of the family for years.

Following Lux to the kitchen, you smelled wonderful cooking on the stove. That’s when you saw Pedro’s father Jose come around the corner, “Oh sweetheart, you made it! So glad that you could make it. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but I’m glad you are here.”

“Yes, I came quickly as soon as I could Mr. Pascal. There is no other place that I’d rather be. I am so thankful that Lux called me,” you said giving the older man a big hug.

“Well, I’m sure that son of mine will be very happy to see you. Lord knows that he could use the company. And please for the thousandth time, call me Jose,” he chuckled.

“You got it Jose. So how is he holding up?”

Jose frowned as he thought back at what happened, “He is okay for now. Poor guy gave us all a scare. I feel so horrible. He is upstairs sleeping now. Why don’t you go to him? It’s the first door on the right.”

Nerves suddenly overtook you as you nodded and headed towards the stares. You couldn’t help but have visions of Pedro lying at the bottom of them. Guilt then consumed you as you knew that you should have been here. Like he said, it was so dumb to pick a fight right before the holidays. You should have just calmly asked about the picture and the other stuff, well the other stuff should have waited.

Quietly opening the door, your heart broke as you saw the love of your life sound asleep. His poor arm being held closely to him by a sling. Walking over to the bed, you gently pulled the covers back, took off your shoes, and got in next to him. You carefully tucked yourself into the side of his good arm. His breathing was slow, and you could hear his heart beat under your ear as you rested your head on his chest.

Pedro must have sensed the pressure on his chest, because you felt him take a deep breath and let out a groan. Lifting your head, you saw those big brown eyes staring down at you. “Mi vida...is...is that you?” he said hoarsely.

“Yes baby, it’s me,” you smiled and cupped his bearded cheek. “Lux called me and said that you took a spill. I took the first flight that I could get out here. You had me so worried.”

“I told no one to call you. I knew flights were going to be hard to come by. I wanted to call you myself when I was feeling better,” he pouted.

That damn pouty look of his was so adorable. You couldn’t help but lean up and place a small kiss on his lips. “Don’t be mad baby. I’m happy that someone called. Now you have your own personal nurse to help get you back to help.”

His pout turned in to a big smile as he got an idea, “Oh yeah huh? Do you think Santa will bring a naughty nurses outfit?”

“If you play your cards right mister, I think I can make something happen,” you then captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a little nibble.

“I love you too Pedro and thank you for apologizing. I need to apologize to you too,” you smiled through tear-soaked lashes. “And I’m sorry for not seeing your side or reason. I was filled with so much anger and feeling betrayed that I just had tunnel vision. My mind was only seeing things one way. I just that all I could see was how happy you too looked together and a big part of me wishes that it was me with you. I couldn’t help but feel like you are ashamed of being seen with me. I wished so badly that I was the one that you were parading around happily and the one that was making you smile that way. I know you are trying to protect me, Pedro. And I know that you have this fear of something really bad happening to me. As much as I still think we can and will be okay if we do make our relationship public, we can handle it. We would have each other to lean on. However, if you want to keep things quiet and keep things the way that they are, I am willing to do that. I know how important my safety and well-being are to you Pedro. Hell, we have been doing a pretty good job staying quiet the last three years, so why change it.”

When you pulled back, Pedro ran his hand through your hair and sighed, “I...I... I’m sorry mi vida. I’m so sorry for everything. I apologize for not telling you about going out and I am so fucking sorry for calling you insecure. That was my anger talking, not the real me.” When you went to open your mouth, he gently placed a finger to your lips, “Please mi vida, just let me finish. I need to get all of this off my chest. I never meant for you to find out about the get together from the internet. I had every intention of telling you, but I forgot. Between packing, the holidays, and everything that I have to do next month, it really did slip my mind. I know I should have for peace of mind, should have sent a text letting you know what’s going on. I know that if I saw you in that position, I would have lost my shit too. I swear to you nothing else happened that night. Me and her didn’t even speak that much. She was completely on the opposite of the table. I only really talked to her when she told us about the stalker and as soon as I walked her to the car, I came straight home. I love you with all my heart. I would never cheat on you. I would never jeopardize our future like that. And you are not insecure. That was an asshole thing to say, and I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you. You are the strongest woman that I know. You are the backbone of our relationship and the reason I keep going every day.”

Pedro reached out with his good arm and wiped the tears from your puffy face, “As much as I appreciate you doing that for me, mi vida, I had a lot of time to think things over and I realized that you are completely right. I have been being selfish and unfair to you. I have been putting my job and fears ahead of you and that’s not right. You have never asked me for a thing and the first time that you asked me to do something for you, I completely shut you down. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be seen with you. Like I said, it’s all been my fears controlling my every move with you, especially now. It was my fears that kept me from almost introducing myself to you and now that I have you, it’s my fears that are making me extremely overprotective of you. I’m just really scared that my fans or the media will come after you before they even have a chance to know you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You do not deserve that. I just can’t shake this feeling that all the stress and negativity will become too much for you and something will happen. I can’t let that happen and I refuse to let that happen. I would never forgive myself for that. I can’t lose you mi vida.”

Now it was your turn to be the strong one and comfort him. You held his hand tightly, while running your other through his soft curls, “Pedro Pascal, love of my life, my future baby daddy, thank you for being honest with me. That’s all I wanted. You don’t know how much I appreciate that. You don’t know how thankful that I am that I found someone like you. You are the greatest lover, friend, and protector that I have ever had. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel safe where it’s in your arms or by the sound of your voice when you are away. That’s why I am not afraid to be seen in public with you. I know that no matter what may happen, good or bad, you will be right there with me to help guide me. I honestly think that it won’t be that bad. Sure, it may be chaotic in the beginning but at the same time, it may not. Your fans love you Pedro and while they might be a little sad that you are seeing someone, I’m sure that they will be happy for you. Apart of me just keeps thinking of what happens if we do slip up and get seen together. Don’t you think that it would be best if we get ahead of this ourselves versus having someone else do it and spread lies. Do this on our own terms?”

“But…but…would you really be okay with this though? I really need you to think. You would be giving up your privacy. These days people are going to find everything about you that they can on the internet. Are you ready to see every move we make, documented by social media? I need to know that you aren’t going to run or shut down at the first sign of trouble. I need to know that how you reacted to the picture won’t happen again.” If you both agreed to this, he knew that this was going to be the ultimate test to your relationship.

“Pedro, I promise you on everything that I am not going to run. I have thought this through, and this is what I want. I really don’t care what people say. All that matters to me is your opinion and your opinion only Pedro. I will be the only one who knows the real you and you are the only one who will know the real me. I really want to take this next step with you Pedro. I want to be that proud girlfriend and hopefully wife who gets to brag about how amazingly talented their partner is. I want to be the first hug and kiss when you win an award. I want to show everyone how I’m the lucky one to have you in my life. If you still aren’t sure about this Pedro, then like I said, I’m happy to keep things the way that they are. But what do you say baby, will you take this leap of faith with me?”

Fighting back his own tears, Pedro nodded his head. Still to this day, even three years later you still found a way to floor him, and he knew that you would continue to. You were so fucking incredible, and he got to call you his. He was still in disbelief that you gave him a shot. The thing that he loved about you and should have trusted in the beginning was how even after a fight, you found a way to be levelheaded and work things out. He never felt lost when you were with him. And even though you called to him to help guide you through the crazy waters that is the celebrity life, it was you that helped guide him though every life.

Every day you brought out the best in him. You gave him the inspiration to be the best man that he could be. Everything that he did, he did for you. He did everything that he could to make you proud. He tried to be that someone that you could proudly show off as the love of your life. He couldn’t believe that he had the potential to be your husband and father of your kids. Two things he didn’t think were ever going to be possible till he met you. You were everything that he could ever want, and you were everything that he could ever need. You were the one that he would take this leap with.

“I Pedro Pascal, would love nothing more than mi vida. You are right, no matter what happens, we will be in this together. You are remarkable and I think it’s time the world gets to know the woman that has captured by heart. Just at any point, please if things get too much, you need to tell me. All you have to do is say the word and I will do my best to shut it down. Can you promise me that mi vida? I’ll promise to be more open and understanding with you, if you promise to be open with me. This is the only way that it will work.”

“Yes Pedro, I promise you. We will get through this baby. I know we can,” you then carefully wrapped your arm around his good side and buried yourself into that strong neck of his. “I love you, Pedro Pascal. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi vida, with all my heart. And I make another promise to you here, right now. I will marry you Y/N and we will have as many kids as you want. Just say the word and I will get down on my knees. You deserve the world and I want to give it to you,” he muttered into your hair before placing a kiss on your head.

You pulled back slightly enough to rest your head on his, “I do have the world, Pedro. I have everything that I want and need right here.” You then leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.

Both of you moaned as soon as your lips met. These past few days that you were apart were brutal. Going days without speaking, cuddling, or kissing, was something that you never wanted to experience again. It wasn’t like when he was on set, and you couldn’t see him. No, this was way worse and both of you hated it.

Pedro couldn’t help but bring his hand up and run it down your side till he reached your backside. Giving it a rough squeeze, causing you to moan into his opened mouth, he pulled you close and deepened the kiss. But as he slipped his tongue in, he moved just enough to send a shot of pain running through his body, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Shit baby, are you okay?” you gasped and pulled away quickly.

He groaned, gritting his teeth and hunching over. “Just…just give me a minute.”

Never leaving his side, you sat there next to him making sure that you rubbed his back and peppered kisses on his good shoulder until the pain started to subside. “Just breathe baby, just breathe it out. I’m here, I’m here,” you whispered to him, running your hand through his sweaty hair.

“Th…thank you mi vida. Forgot that I can’t really move like it want to,” he sighed. “The umm…the doctors said that I fractured my shoulder. I may need to have surgery. I am such an idiot.”

“Hey, look at me,” you said sternly and lifted his chin to look at you. “You are not an idiot. Accidents happen Pedro. Do you remember what happened?”

“I…I just fell. I must have tripped and lost my footing. Next thing I know I’m at the bottom of the stair and everyone is running to me. My dad and sister took me straight to the ER. I can’t believe that I scared the shit out of everyone.” He could still see the petrified look on everyone’s faces, including his nephews.

You shook your head disappointedly, but you had warned him countless times to slow down when it came to stairs especially at your own house. “Jesus Pedro, you are so lucky that you didn’t break your neck. Have you called your doctor back home? Lux said something about a second opinion.”

“No, I haven’t called anyone yet. I just want to sleep and do all of that tomorrow,” he sighed leaning back into his propped-up pillows.

Your heart broke at seeing how much pain he was in. For being such a big man, at that moment, he looked so small. If you had the ability to take his pain away, you would. Instead, you were going to help him anyway that you could and nurse him back to health. “You sleep then baby. I’ll go downstairs and start getting everything sorted out. Do you need me to get you anything?”

Pedro nodded and looked up at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes, “Stay with me, mi vida. I know that plane ride wasn’t the most comfortable thing. You look exhausted. Take a nap with me?”

“Of course, baby, you don’t even have to ask twice. Let me just get out of these jeans first,” you told him as you stood up to strip them off and your sweater.

“That’s so not fair, mi vida. You just can’t get naked in front of me like that while I’m laid up here,” he pouted.

Rolling your eyes as you got back into bed, you couldn’t help but softly slap his chest, “I’m not naked and if even if I were and you weren’t hurt, we wouldn’t be doing anything in your father’s house naughty boy. No sex for a while I’m afraid. Last thing we need is for you to get more hurt because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

“That’s a chance I am willing to take mi vida,” he laughed and wrapped his arm around you as you cuddled into him. “I love you and thank you for coming to take care of your old man.”

“No need to thank me baby. There is no other place that I would rather be. Let’s just promise not to fight anymore, okay. And absolutely no more falling downstairs.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #hurt/comfort #injury #fluff #angst with a happy ending #romance

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months ago

Text

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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shownusgfayoooo · 1 year ago

Text

the mafia boss’s wife

Pairing: Seonghwa x Y/N

Tropes: mafia husband au, arranged marriage (briefly mentioned), hurt/ comfort, danger, protective seonghwa

T/W: descriptions of a physical assault + subsequent injuries, cursing

Words: 2k

my masterlist

“Are you sure you’re done, Y/N?”

Startled from pushing the peas around on your plate, you looked up into Mingi’s eyes. Of course, everyone had noticed that you had only managed to take a few bites of your dinner, but only he would be bold enough to call you out on it.

You scrunched your nose. “Yea. I just feel kinda beat actually.” Work had been a lot lately, and you just wanted to snuggle under your covers and put an end to such a long week.

Seonghwa squeezed your thigh under the table in comfort. You turned to look at your mafia husband, a soft smile on your lips. He looked at you with worry in his eyes. Your heart softened at such an expression of concern from him; he was usually so stoic (with everyone else but you, that is). It had intimidated you so much at the beginning of your arranged marriage before you saw his deeply caring nature and kind heart.

You shook your head gently at his unspoken question before addressing the rest of the boys. “I’m just gonna head to bed. I’ll see ya when I see ya. Be safe.”

Jongho waved, Yeosang and San nodded at you emphatically, Wooyoung rolled his eyes “You worry too much, Y/N,” and Hongjoong and Yunho wished you a good night’s sleep.

Seonghwa kept a hold of your hand as you got up and walked you to the double doors of the massive dining room. “Do you want me to walk you up, my love?”

You pushed his shoulder lightly. “No, you haven’t even finished dinner. Besides, I know you guys are hitting the South Bay tonight. Don’t think you can get anything past me, and I want you to go in as prepared as you can. I alsoo know you won’t discuss the details in front of me.”

He pressed his lips to your wrist, his eyes alight with mischief and danger. “My beautiful wife. You really do worry too much. We will be fine.”

You just looked at him and bit your lip, as your mind drew up all kinds of scenarios in which you lost him. He knew you well enough after 2 years of marriage though and pulled you out of your spiral before it could get too drastic.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He lifted your chin up for you to meet his eyes. “The job tonight is child’s play; we could do it blindfolded. And, you know that I will always always do everything in my power to come back home to you.”

At the absolute certainty in his voice, the knot in your chest released a little. You put your head against his chest. “Wake me up when you’re back.”

“Y/N..” His pout really was too adorable.

You looked up at him seriously. “I’m serious. I need to know you’re safe, as soon as possible.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright. You know I can never say no to you. Torture me, sure. Make me disturb your rest when you look like an angel, I’d love to.”

You chuckled at his antics and pushed him back to the table.

“Be safe. I love you.”

“Goodnight, baby!”

You smiled to yourself as you walked up the three flights of stairs and across the landing to your wing of the house.

As you entered your room, something felt off. You looked around, trying to convince your overactive mind that you were imagining the negative energy. You made to take a step towards your bathroom, when your eyes strayed back to the curtain fluttering in the wind. You never left the window open. Before you could scream, you felt a hand wrap around your mouth.

“Let’s keep this simple. You come with us quietly. And we let you live. You make a sound. You die a slow death when we get to where we need to go. Got it?”

You froze, and fear coursed through your body. Keep your head. Stay calm. Before you were a mafia boss’s wife, you were a mafia boss’s daughter. You were trained for situations like these.

You struggled to the right. As expected, the assailant’s grip tightened. He clearly had not expected a fight and was trying to adjust his footing to manage. But you had managed your goal. You grabbed the nail file from the dresser you had stumbled into and jammed it backwards, hoping it would hit his eye. From his sudden release, it had. Falling forward, you rushed toward where the panic button was on the other side of the room. You were almost there when a hand grabbed you around the ankle and pulled you down. Your head slammed down on the floor. Your lip felt warm where you had bit it on impact. As you began to be dragged backwards, you used the momentum to twist around and kick your other foot in his face. You noticed a scar across his eye. The one second it took to break the hold was all you needed. You crawled forward that last inch and pressed the button.

The immediacy left you. Help was on the way. Seonghwa would be here soon. In the meantime, there was nothing around you to use as a weapon, and this guy had a foot and a half on you. He was already up before you could form a game plan. He grabbed you around the throat and slammed you back into the wall.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you little bitch.” At least he wasn’t going to kidnap you immediately. That gave the guys a chance to get to your room in time. You tried to hold on as black spots danced around your vision.

No sooner had the thought crossed your mind when you distantly heard the door slam open and a cacophony of voices.

The pressure around your throat released. You sank down to the ground, trying to recover and remain alert enough to help in the fight. Hands immediately grabbed you and started to carry you across your room back to the door. The heat of a body in front of you and behind you. You gulped the air down.

“Y/N, Y/N, can you breathe? Are you ok?”

Yunho set you down at the threshold of the door but kept his arms around you until Wooyoung stepped back to keep a hold of you. Yeosang rushed past the both of you, yelling back that he was getting the first aid kit.

As your vision cleared, you finally took in the state of the fight. San and Jongho were checking all the entrances and exits, presumably for other attackers. Hongjoong was simultaneously piling up all the attacker’s weapons and yelling at someone on the phone. Mingi and Yunho, being the tallest, were trying their best to hold Seonghwa back. He was moving so fast, he looked like a blur. The intruder wasn’t even moving anymore, and his face was already just a smear of red.

A shaky breath left you. The danger was over. You needed Seonghwa now.

Jongho joined you and Wooyoung. Your knees gave out beneath you. They shared a look of alarm, but they understood immediately. You were strong enough for the fight, but now that the fight was done, you needed just one thing. San saw you collapse and rushed over to you.

“Ya, hyung!” You don’t know who called to him, but he didn’t listen.

You had never seen Seonghwa in such a rage. On the few occasions where the guys had let you witness some of the action, he took on the role of taunting the target, toying with them until he got what he needed or beating up the victims almost lazily. Now he was focused and lethal. He moved with such precision; it was almost beautiful. You didn’t think he would ever stop.

At this point, Hongjoong was also trying to restrain Seonghwa . “Y/N needs you!”

He slowed down at the mention of your name but didn’t stop.

Your voice was just a broken whisper. “Seonghwa.”

He stilled. It took one second. And then he was rushing towards you. His hands cradled your face. The look on his face was one you would never forget.

He said nothing; his eyes anguished.

“We need to treat her injuries, hyung.”

He closed his eyes briefly before they opened again, and he nodded. His hands slipped down to hold you up, and Yeosang led the way to the next room. You sat down on the couch, but Seonghwa’s hold never loosened. All you could do was look at each other while Yeosang prepared some gauze.

You watched him with gratitude. You were alive. You had not laid your eyes on him for the last time. He was here. You were here. You had time, hopefully a whole lifetime together- it had not been cut short tonight. The aches and pains suddenly left you, and you almost let loose as hysterical giggle at how happy you were.

As joyful as you were, it quickly gave way to concern as you took in the look in his eyes. Eyes that swirled with pain and guilt. Sighing, you recognized immediately what was eating at him.

“Seonghwa, I’m fine.”

Anger blazed in them now. “You are not fine.”

“It’s just a few bruises. I’m okay.”

He turned to Yeosang, who quickly jumped into a status report. “From what I could see so far, she has superficial bruises on her throat, ankle, and wrists. The bleeding on her face is just from her lip but has already stopped bleeding. If I’m right, then he probably grabbed you, you fell, and that’s how you busted your lip. If that’s true, I wanna make sure you don’t have a concussion from hitting your head when that happened. Otherwise, some painkillers, a lot of rest, and she will be fine, hyung.”

The thunderous expression on his face did not waver, however.

You sighed and looked back at Yeosang and lifted your eyebrows. He took the hint and left. You could hear whispers commence outside and were touched at the guys’ concern for you, but it would have to wait. Seonghwa had opened his mouth angrily to protest, but you turned in his arms before he could.

“Thank you for saving me.” A few tears slipped out as you recalled how close it had been. His fury morphed into worry, and he wiped your tears as he held you gently.

“I know you’re concerned about me-”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” His voice was full of angst.

Your hands came up to either side of his face.

“I promise you- I am okay. This is nothing compared to how bad it could have been- what he promised to do. I know it hurts you when I’m hurt. I’m sorry.” You pressed your forehead against his.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Y/N. It’s me who should be apologizing. I promised you the day I married you that I would never ever let anything hurt you. I.. I can’t even begin to start apologizing for that- I can’t live with myself. I couldn’t if something happened to you-”

“Sh, sh. Nothing happened to me. You got to me in time. You protected me. You can’t control everything. You did your best. I feel safest with you. Now, please stop this and just hold me.” Something in his eyes gave a little. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had kind of a tiring night.”

He chuckled weakly at your attempt at levity. “I’m all yours. Anything you need. Forever.”

You smiled enthusiastically.

“After you get patched up and take some pain meds.”

You huffed at him but stuck your pinky out. “Deal.”

Everyone outside was probably eavesdropping, because no sooner had he said that the guys started filing in, crying out in concern and settling around you and Seonghwa.

You smiled at everyone, rolled your eyes against Seonghwa’s indignation and hovering behavior when WooSan barely jostled you, and nestled against him anyways. Your ear to his heart.

“I figured out a way for you to live with yourself by the way.”

His hands stroked through your hair. “Oh? What’s that?”

A mean little smile to copy his. “Revenge.”

His laugh was hearty. You were lulled to sleep.

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ellesthots · 3 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIV. “the affliction of pity”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is forced to look in the mirror after the next morning’s antics with you.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bickering, hurt/comfort, splash of angst

words: 7k

a/n: more Alfred in this chapter !! let’s goooo !! more of a few things 😌 pretty significant chapter, might I say 💬 setting some seeds…

As you rolled over in bed the next morning, everything felt normal. Until you remembered you were in his clothes, in his house, and you’d hugged.

And the gun to your head. That too.

You checked your phone, at a measly eight percent. There were two missed calls from Dr. Crane. You sat up in a rush and called him back, worried something might have changed. He picked up on the last ring this time, a shift that caused a wash of anxiety to run through you.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“As am I. How was Mr. Wayne last night?”

Shit. In the bustle of the evening, you’d forgotten. You lowered your voice. “Fine. We were able to touch base, and everything seems to be going well.” You stammered along. “I didn’t see any of the side effects you mentioned, either.”

“When will you see him again?” His tone was terse. Evidently he didn’t like when you didn’t answer.

“Today, actually.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why. He didn’t.

“I don’t need to remind you of the stakes. I anticipate another update tonight or tomorrow.” The line clicked off. You wished you hadn’t taken the call first-thing, and struggled to shake it off as you walked down to get more Tylenol. You wondered if this much acetaminophen was good for you, but figured this much pain wasn’t, either.

Thankfully you didn’t have to dig for the Tylenol, or a glass, because they both sat at the counter beside the fridge. Your head hurt less, but your leg was positively throbbing. Bruce wasn’t in the kitchen, which you were grateful for. Last night’s memory was rapidly sinking into you with an anchor weight, particularly how you’d offset your conversation until some time this morning. You didn’t feel nearly as uninhibited now, and didn’t know if you’d be able to bring anything up.

You grabbed a protein shake and walked up the first stairwell. You held in a gasp when Alfred appeared, dressed immaculately as ever, as if he got a lovely full night’s rest. Part of you suspected he heard your shrieking cries, but he didn’t give it away if he did. “Morning, Miss. Would you like breakfast?”

You held the shake up. “I can just have this, thanks.”

“It’s no issue. I’ll be making some for myself and the boy. Come down in ten minutes.” He waved dismissively at your ‘meal’ and headed downstairs. You wondered what the hell he could make with only a few veggies, chicken, and ice cream. Maybe he had a secret butler lair with anything Rapunzel could ever want.

You turned to walk up the second set of stairs when a sleepy voice halted you. “How’d you sleep?”

You didn’t look at him, forcing your eyes to remain forward. Anxious butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the memory of him, on the brink of passing out, holding you while you sobbed. Your throat tightened, shy. “Fine.”

“Want to talk while Alfred cooks?”

You didn’t, but that gave you a time constraint. Alfred would save you from whatever awkward, embarrassing territory you and him might venture into. You still didn’t face him. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where is there?”

“The study, your room, mine. Anywhere.”

Your cheeks reddened at how genuine he still seemed. You’d fully expected him to act like last night never happened. You didn’t want to go in either of the bedrooms, and you eyed the old man’s study just up the stairs. You gestured to it, and heard him follow close behind.

The room was exactly as you remembered it; a thick wood table with a seat behind and in front. There was a decent-sized rug by a fireplace with some newspapers scattered around it. You cringed thinking about sitting across from him so officially, so you went to sit on the floor. He followed your lead, sitting a few feet away, closest to the papers. You fiddled with the unopened drink in your hand, moving its weight from palm to palm.

“How’s your pain?”

You sighed, an embarrassed grin exploiting your cheeks. “An attentive host.”

He waited, and you glanced up at him for the first time since you’d hugged. He had the same pants, and a different shirt. You inhaled so quickly you almost coughed. “I’m sorry about last night,”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m serious. It was weird and awkward of me,”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You shook your head loosely, biting your lip. His eyes focused there a moment before flitting down.

“I want to help.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears beginning to well. You were frustrated and self-conscious of how much strain you’d put on him. “You’ve been nothing but helpful.”

Bruce was quiet, watching you try to force back tears and channel your energy into one of his protein shakes. He didn’t know how helpful he’d be perceived when, after breakfast, he’d have to have another talk with you, essentially demanding that you’re never seen in the city again. He pondered how manipulative it was not to disclose that prior to asking you to open up, which clammed him from speaking.

The room felt staticky, like if you reached into the air, the tip of your fingers might spark. You figured he was being quiet so you had space to speak. The skeptical part of you wanted to tie your lips closed, ranting about how he didn’t want to give this to you, he felt he had to. The sensitive side yearned for someone to hear your pain, and he was being persistent about it. It was blood-curdlingly difficult, but you took the first step—chucking the words out of you while forcing your anxieties to the back.

“I’m just lonely.” You stared down at your hands, setting down the drink so you could wring them. “I thought coming here for school would give me community.” Your voice was shaky but you tried not to think about it, throwing the words out as quickly as they formed. “It made it all worse. I had this fantasy that the size of the city would energize me, but it’s just spitting me out.” Tears sprung to your eyes, forcing you to pause, rubbing your eyes hard. “Sorry.”

He could feel the desolation oozing off of you. Every time you apologized made him more indignant. “I’m not judging.” You glanced at him as you removed your hands from accosting your delicate corneas, and he nodded for you to continue.

The combination of his attentive presence and kind reassurance made the tears pass the floodgates. The words were coming quicker now, less inhibited. “Being home isn’t fun either, my mom’s cancer is just, they don’t want to talk about it.” Frustration bled. “They’re acting like everything is fine, like nothing is different. I don’t like being around them and I hate being away.” Your throat was constricting as you held back full-bodied sobs.

Anger was beginning to creep in, your face contorting into a glare. You still weren’t looking at him, looking off to the side, unfocused. “I had this friend group back home but they don’t give a shit about me. I don’t know if they ever did. I have Mar here, but she just parties all the time, and she didn’t even, she didn’t even ask how I was before she left yesterday.” You could hardly believe it hadn’t been twenty four hours yet. You could hardly believe how whiny you were acting.

The devastation and anger was riling you up, making the words spill out before you even comprehended them. “And I fucking hate that I’m even saying all of this right now. The gun, the fucking, the interview, you breaking down in that fucking alley wouldn’t have even happened if I weren’t meddling!” You were beginning to pant.

“Hey,”

You didn’t hear him, and started shaking, breathing so fast you could hyperventilate. Your thighs were starting to become a receptacle for your tears. “I thought he was gonna kill me, I’ve never seen a gun that close; I yelled at you and, kicked you out and, and, you’re tied up and,”

His hand on your knee made you shriek, slapping your palms to your cheeks as you folded over, wailing. “Everyone’s gonna die, everyone around me,” you gasped between every word, which rapidly devolved into trying to catch your breath in painful puffs.

He was melting like butter. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“Look at me.”

You wanted to say no, but you didn’t want to further inconvenience him. Meeting his concentrated gaze filled you with cavernous shame, your eyes stuttering down to his chin in subtle avoidance.

“Stop apologizing.”

Another lump jumped to your throat.

“Can I hug you?”

You nodded, relief pooling in your stomach at his request. You wanted another hug from him even if you weren’t losing your mind. “Please.”

This was foreign to him, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He wrapped his arms around you again, and it felt just as desperate, just as necessary, even for him. You didn’t cry as much as when he hugged you the night before, seemingly getting a lot of it out beforehand, and he struggled not to stiffen when your breathing began to even out, and your sniffles waned. Quickly. Very quickly. Your shaking slowed until the only movement was your breathing. That ‘please’ stuck to him like velcro.

It was extremely disorienting. He’d experienced people clinging to him in the suit, looking at the cowl with a frantic desire to be soothed, but never just as him. Not once. He didn’t know he could calm someone like this as Bruce.

You pulled out of the hug and sniffed, getting up to leave. You almost apologized. “I need to blow my nose.”

Alone in the study, he was worried he’d panic. The way you’d said it, it seemed not like you’d wanted a hug, but that you’d wanted a hug from him. ‘Please’ like you’d wanted one already but wouldn’t ask. ‘Please’ with your eyebrows knitting with neediness, ‘please’ cutting through the tears and shame even when his words didn’t make a dent.

He sat in a haze of dismay as disappointment crowded him at your departure. This wasn’t good.

He stood up to leave, mentally rehearsing a ‘need to shower before breakfast’ shout as he walked past the hallway bath, but you’d already come back.

Both of you wanted to hug again, but neither said so.

“Setting the table.” Alfred’s voice floated from downstairs. It almost sounded like he was whistling.

Bruce walked past, but you caught his elbow. “Thanks.”

Your lashes were still clumped together from crying. Your eyes were puffy and red. His hand twitched to wipe the tears still lingering on your cheekbone, but he cringed instead. “Don’t thank me.” He hurried down the stairs and hastily shut the door to his room.

Doing your best to ignore the tinge of frustration coating his tone, you met Alfred in the kitchen. The scent of a fresh omelet wafted from the stove out to the foyer. He had three table settings in the same fashion as last time, and you sat at your place with your hands tucked in your lap. Alfred was whistling, a jazzy sort of tune, as he scooped up the first one and walked toward you. “Same ingredients as your last visit. No peaches.”

Visit. What a kind way to dress it up. You thanked him as you took the plate, suddenly struck by a hazy memory of Bruce tilting your chin up to drink Benadryl. You swore you could feel his finger there now. You swallowed.

You weren’t in love with eggs by any means, but Alfred made them look salivating. It was plated to perfection, intimidating you nearly into not wanting to eat it. When he walked over with a pitcher of orange juice, you wondered where they’d come from—until you noticed an empty bag of orange netting sitting across the kitchen in the pantry. A few rinds were discarded near the stove, and you hurried to pour some for yourself. Bruce was woken up every morning with fresh squeezed juice? Or at least had the option?

The coolness of the juice was everything you needed, a balm to your hot throat. A satisfied chuckle came from the stove as you reached to pour a second glass. “Sumo citrus. Out of season, but still quite stunning.”

“I’ll drink you out of house and home.”

Alfred finished dishing up, and pulled out his chair before frowning. You followed his eyes to Bruce’s empty seat. After the short pause, he wiped his hands. “Ah, well. We’ll get started without him.” His cheery demeanor was infiltrated by a short grimace, undoubtedly perturbed by Bruce’s absence. “If you fancy any salt, pepper, let me know.”

He’d seasoned it spectacularly, and you told him so after your first few bites. Your stomach felt like an empty pit, realizing you hadn’t eaten more than the odd granola bar in days. You finished quickly, leaving little space for conversation, and he gestured to the stove. “Would you like more? I made an extra.”

You nodded, and he took your plate with a wink. “Finally I have someone who enjoys my cooking.”

“It’s stellar, really.” You eyed the orange juice, now with only a third of the pitcher remaining. You ate the second omelet, surprisingly just as warm as the first. Alfred had just finished his, taking a sip of his juice.

“Thank you. I needed that.” Your eyes trailed across the table to the glaringly empty seat, feeling dejected. He probably hadn’t come because you’d been too much, gone too far. Not only had you pushed the boundaries, you’d obliterated them. Why had you agreed to hug him again? Why had you let yourself lose control in front of him, again?

You’d forgotten how perceptive his butler was, too. He set his utensils in the middle of the plate, untucking his napkin from his lap. “I apologize for his behavior, Miss. It’s truly abhorrent.”

You shook your head so fast you saw stars. “No, it’s fine. He’s had a long day, and night,”

“So have you.” He gathered both of your plates and disposed of them in the sink. He rested his hip against the counter, tucking one hand into his pant pocket, the other grabbing the cane resting nearby. He sighed. “Feel free to have the rest of the juice, a shame for it to go to waste.”

He looked tired. Not as tired as the last time you came, but nonetheless. You obliged, already feeling the pressure on your bladder. You must’ve had half a gallon of this stuff.

Alfred’s head cocked toward the foyer. Bruce appeared not a moment later, his expression distant and cold. He slid into his seat and dug in without comment, not looking at either of you.

You set your glass down, your stomach flipping. You had half a mind he had simply taken too long in the shower, and tried his best to hurry, but no. In the same outfit, same dry hair, like he’d just been ignoring you.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Alfred glance up to the ceiling before tossing a dish rag over his shoulder, getting to work at the sink. You stood to join him, but he waved you off. “Appreciate it, Miss; you need to recuperate. I’ll manage.”

You stood there between the table and the sink, the already dim energy in the room withering further with every second Bruce remained unspeaking. You blinked a few times, unnerved and upset, walking quickly out of the room. You ducked around the corner, hoping they thought you gone. A few moments later, Alfred spoke.

“Bruce.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” They were both speaking hushedly, though Bruce was admittedly not trying as hard to muddle his volume.

Alfred’s tone was the coldest you’d ever heard it. “I’ve never been more embarrassed.”

Bruce didn’t respond, only scraped the fork against the plate as he likely hurried his meal.

“She’s been in a terrible situation,”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.” His tone was back to that very first night; back to the hallway at City Hall when you’d blackmailed him. That same haughty, defensive, biting timbre.

“I’m telling you regardless.” The sink stopped. “I fear you’ve become too desensitized for your own good.”

More scraping.

Alfred sighed, his tone gentling. “I know the last week has been difficult,”

Bruce pushed his seat out. “Going to talk to her.”

You tiptoed further into the corner, cloaking yourself in shadow.

“What about?”

“Getting her to leave.”

You’d never before heard Alfred scoff, but now you had. It was freakily uncharacteristic. “You’re better than that, Bruce. Do not.”

“Or what?” Bruce’s tone was mocking, the chair making a final thud into the table. You bit your cheek to abate the rising anxiety. Of course he wanted you gone. Of course you were nothing more than a nuisance. Rage nipped at your skin thinking about how he’d led you on, thinking that he might have cared.

Before Alfred could reply, Bruce emerged into the foyer, and immediately caught on to your presence. You glared at him, feeling tears smart your lashline again. His face fell with his shoulders and you huffed past him. “Y/N,”

“I’m grabbing my phone and you’re taking me home.” You were already halfway up the stairs, but he was catching up.

“Stop,”

You pressed on, breaking into a run up the second set.

He grabbed your wrist and you yanked it back, barely catching your balance. You whipped around, chest heaving, eyes wild. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

You spun around and ran to your room, trying to slam the door but his foot stopped it. Tears streamed down your cheeks in silent fury. You grabbed your dress, shoes, and phone. “I won’t bother you at City Hall, don’t worry.”

“It’s for your safety.” His stepping into the room crowded it. He sounded exasperated. “You need to leave Gotham. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

He scoffed. “Less than a week and you’ve already been threatened.”

“And he’s in jail whether I leave or not.” No longer giving a shit, you shimmied off the sweats and yanked off his shirt, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall, audibly scowling. You threw them at him and they hit his shoulder. You wrangled your dress back on, still damp and awfully smelly. You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on your loafers.

“It could happen again. You’re a target now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He side-eyed you, checking if you were clothed. He loathed that he knew the color of your underwear now. “And I’m not cleaning you off the sidewalk.”

“Bruce Wayne would never have to do such custodial work.” Your tone was dripping in sarcasm and mockery, forcing him to grit his teeth. You were riling him up, you both knew it. You were riling each other, teetering on the precipice of words better left unsaid.

He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. You glared at it. “You were going to leave last week.”

You finished fighting with the heel of your shoe, finally able to rush past him. He stepped in front of the door and your heart lurched into your mouth, eyes flashing. “You are not blocking me.”

He hesitated before stepping aside. When you put your hand on the doorknob he did too. “If this is because of last Thursday,”

“You don’t want it, I get it.” You jerked the door open, the phone falling out of your hand. You both stooped to reach it at the same time, your hands colliding once more. His hand tightened atop yours, forcing you to look at him. You ripped the phone away and swung the door open, leaving into the hall. He followed you out, draining the last bit of resolve you had.

“Is it a sin to make sure you’re alright?” You bit back the last half of what you wanted to say: ‘I already see how Alfred’s being punished for it’.

Bruce glared at you. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not just you.”

“None of it should be.”

“I wanna see where this election goes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You bristled, hard. “I do. I want to report on it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? In a city you hate?”

“I hate the culture. Which I could influence.” You made the mistake of wincing down toward your thigh, and he stepped closer.

“I want to help you.”

You glowered at him, unappreciative of his indecisiveness. Did he want to help you, or hide away in his room to try and forget you existed? “Would’ve been helpful to show up to breakfast.”

Bruce groaned. You had a physical reaction to the sound.

You hated it more than most things, more than you hated humid hundred degree days and men catcalling—but even when he was angry, and distant, and weird, you wanted to stay in his orbit. You needed to, or Dr. Crane would have your head… and maybe his. “I’m the only one outside of this place who knows. I can be a tool.”

“I have enough tools.” He hated the piece of him that wanted to give in. He hated how his voice lost its edge the closer you got to the stairs.

You were also excruciatingly aware of how close you were to the exit, and how much you didn’t want to take it. Squeezing your eyes shut and imagining the Bruce that cried into your palm was the only way to cool your temper. His hugs lingered not too far behind… if they were even real. The only thing that actually moved the words past your teeth was remembering how deeply you regretted being cold to him at your apartment. “I want you to have someone to go to. And I want someone to go to.”

Your candor surprised both of you.

“It’s not worth throwing your life away.”

The wear of this argument wasn’t sitting right in your chest, and it forced your expectations lower. You shifted quickly back to the matter at hand. “I’m staying in Gotham, at least for now, whether you want to acknowledge me or not.” You didn’t need to be on good terms to keep an eye on him. He’d still come to City Hall meetings, and you’d be able to give some updates to Dr. Crane until he was out of the woods. It would only be a few more weeks. And you would enjoy getting to hear the city’s voice, trying your hand with more interviews.

You turned and set off downstairs. “What’ll it be this time? Packing me in the trunk?”

He barely registered what you said, his eyes fixed on your back as you descended the steps. ‘I’m just lonely’.

He grabbed his keys and walked to the garage with you, instructing you to lie flat again. “I’ll drop you off a few blocks away.”

Staring at the black ceiling of Bruce’s car while you bumped through back alleys and cobbled streets was, to put it lightly, depressing. You were starting to get used to the pain, utilizing it to distract from your whiplash disappointment and deep-seeded fear about being home alone tonight. At some point you must have closed your eyes and been lulled asleep, because his voice startled you into sitting up.

“Just a few blocks south. Closest I could get.”

When he noticed you’d fallen asleep, he drove around a few more miles so you wouldn’t be disturbed. He only started winding back in the direction of your apartment when he heard you begin to whimper. His hands had tightened on the wheel, his teeth gritting, as they so often did around you. He thought he’d mastered letting Alfred’s disappointment seep like guilt through his skin, but he couldn’t stop the thought he might be misrepresenting you.

Selfishly, he’d been centering himself in your distress, when in actuality… your life was bigger than that. You had parents to worry about. Friends to be disappointed with. A burgeoning journalism career to dive into, to which the corners of the internet were behaving like piranhas. A gun to your head, and an empty apartment in a city that genuinely seemed hell-bent on hurting you. Spitting you out, as you so eloquently put it.

Maybe he was pitying you, now.

The Moore was not-so-conveniently located on one of the main streets of town, forcing him back into a side alley between an old pharmacy and a deli that wasn’t open half the time. In the early days he’d stow the Batmobile here. The brick hadn’t changed much, a few new potholes. Wasn’t frequented enough to be as decimated as the roadway. He parked here when he’d visited you those few times.

He woke you, and while you roused, pulled your recorder and notebook out of the passenger glovebox. He’d circled back to Miller’s car on the way to your friend’s before the police got to it. He just hoped you didn’t make too big a deal out of his remembering.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You looked a bit surprised, but took it without comment. You looked disheveled, tired, pained. The passenger door swung open after he told you which direction to walk.

“Can your friend stay with you?”

You’d nearly shut the door on him before he spoke. Too tired to lead with irritation, you gave him a lackluster response. “It’s Friday. She’ll be out clubbing.”

You hesitated before shutting the door, wanting to thank him, but too hurt to commit. You fought not to think about how his laser eyes were focused on your back as you walked away. Struggled not to recall the weight of him.

Walking around Gotham in midday was like walking around an entirely different environment. Late morning to mid-afternoon was the only time kids were seen, and only with older siblings or adult family members. You couldn’t imagine growing up here. How it might harden a person.

It was a massive triumph pushing open your apartment door while holding a feeling bordering on terror that someone was waiting to jump you. You rushed in and shut the door like when you’d watched something scary as a kid. When the anxiety got too high, and you were positively certain a demon was rushing behind you to beat you to your bed.

In a blink you’d shoved a chair under the handle. Once in your room you walked its perimeter, checking all corners of the bath, under the bed, and resigned to shoving the couch in front of the door. A hazard if there was an emergency, but you couldn’t prioritize anything else right now.

You went to get water at the sink, feeling like a paranoid freak inspecting the jenga at your entryway. Once a-fucking-gain your thoughts wandered to the city’s prince; how silly did he think you? All this over one gun? I take fifty billion a night. A dark streak of violence ran through him, one that wasn’t evident in his arms, or gazing into his sleepy puppy eyes… You slammed the rest of the water, almost choking on it.

If you thought too long, you would break down, so you drew up an imaginary list of tasks to keep yourself tethered, trying to ignore how the water was beginning to sour the more you smelled the city’s backwash on your clothes. First: shower. Second: nap.

It was a Herculean effort not pressing DOWN when the elevator doors opened. Alfred was sitting across from it in the kitchen, his hands clasped together on the table. His gaze was focused precisely at eye-level, like he’d been a statue primed for Bruce’s arrival. “I want to talk with you.”

He looked at the ground, stepping out. “I’m going upstairs.”

“No, Bruce.” His tone was deadly serious, with a shaky undercurrent. Bruce conceded, as he so often did once Alfred got to this point. He didn’t come closer, only stepping out enough for the elevator doors to close, making up the difference by stepping to the side.

“I’m disappointed in you. Deeply.”

Bruce stared at the ground. He figured he’d have something to say to him about your leaving, like he had any idea what he was talking about.

Seemingly sensing his frustration, Alfred’s tone softened. “Seems to me you both could use a friend.”

“Look where it got you.” With a shrug of his shoulder, he gestured to where Alfred was sitting. It was evident by the way Alfred’s face fell, and his strict tone, he was referring to Riddler’s blowing up the top of Wayne Tower.

He didn’t miss a beat with his curt response. “Look at where it’s gotten you.”

Bruce slowly glanced up, struggling to see the full features of his face in the unlit kitchen, but still managed to meet his eye, sensing plenty more where that came from.

“Dory and I are getting older. If you keep following this path,”

“Alfred, stop.”

“I’m afraid you’ll end up entirely alone.”

The room’s ensuing silence chewed at that word, alone. Bruce wondered how he could slip past the man without escalating things. He knew he wouldn’t be let off without responding. He knew these situations all too well. “So I should risk someone’s life, for what? Temporary company?

“People come and go, that’s how life works.”

Bruce stepped forward, trying to work up the courage to storm past. The fuel wasn’t entirely there yet. “I’m not speeding up the process.” No matter how many times he explained this to him, he never got it. He never understood he was doing what he had to do, and that—

“The least you can do is be kind to her.”

Alfred was slipping under his skin again. “I am.”

The butler’s voice raised slightly. “By leaving her alone?”

“It’s for her safety.” He took another step, tempting a getaway.

“Or for yours?”

Bruce blinked hard. The old man never failed to tie a rocket to his shoes, and he propelled himself across the kitchen and nearly made it halfway before he spoke again.

“Don’t think I forgot what you said that night.” Alfred shifted in his seat, the boy now a few feet closer. He knew he was losing him, his hairpin trigger temper always half pressed when he spoke. Sometimes he felt like Bruce was waiting for him to give up with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Year after year you’ve denied my every demand for your safety. Every time you’ve struck it down, as if each night you’re out planting flowers.”

Bruce looked everywhere but the table’s vicinity. “I don’t know what point you think you’re making.” He cloaked his words in as much snarl as he could, hoping he would get the hint and stop where he stood, before stuffing the air with more life lessons.

“Yet, after my accident, I noticed you changed the suit. You began coming home earlier.” Alfred stood up, and Bruce stepped back. He leaned on the cane, taking off his glasses with the other hand. “You know what you do is dangerous.”

He let out a brittle, taunting laugh. “That’s what I‘m saying.” Maybe he was finally getting the point. Maybe he would finally stop wasting his time and keep his projective, sentimental thoughts to himself instead of dragging them both down with it.

“Not in that way, Bruce.”

Sometimes Bruce wished Alfred could read his mind, hear all the things he wanted to say but kept hidden. Right now it was a lot of grumbles, some pointed accusations, but nothing unfurled on his tongue. Instead, his body reacted, quickening his heartbeat and narrowing his eyes.

“I think it goes both ways.” Alfred set his glasses on the table. “I believe you’re afraid if you let someone close, you’ll put them in the same position you once were.”

Heat bloomed in Bruce’s throat, and he tried to storm out of the room and escape the clouds weighing down the ceiling, but Alfred tossed another hook into his arm near the doorframe.

“And if you were honest with yourself, truly faced what you endure each and every night, it would feel like looking down the barrel all over again.”

Bruce could’ve screamed. He wanted to. He could’ve done a lot of things, but his mind was fuzzy. All his tired body did was tremble. All his mouth did was bite his cheek. Say the most benign version of the dialogue swarming inside. “You don’t know what I think.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a bluff. He felt the tips of his fingers go cold.

“It’s far easier to disregard your life when you have no one to answer to.”

“I’m answering to you, aren’t I?”

Alfred paused, his voice lowering and slowing. “I often think you wish you didn’t have to.”

He locked eyes with him in an instant, Bruce having a visceral reaction to what he was insinuating. Did Alfred really think he didn’t care about him? Was his behavior being represented that poorly? His body filled with blue and purple emotions, his stomach tightening, face heating. The bruise fronted as defiance. “I’m doing what I need to. I—”

Alfred’s voice was bored, frayed. “‘Have a duty’. Yes, boy.”

Bruce bristled, hard, and visibly so. Alfred caught it, and felt a desire to rescue him, looking decidedly dejected. After the last week, however, he knew he couldn’t let things slide as he used to. The path he was on was destructive, and walking away wasn’t going to change anything. “You also have a duty to yourself.”

Bruce shook his head, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t care about that.”

Alfred hesitated to go this route usually, and reserved it only for occasions supremely deserving—this was one of those times, though he was concerned how it would go over. Bruce was standing a few feet from him, between the fridge and the kitchen’s entry, his eyes darting across the ground like his head was swarming with thoughts. “Your parents would want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

As expected, Bruce responded with silence. Silence that cut Alfred’s heart in two. He knew he wasn’t. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile from him, or a full-bellied laugh for that matter, in decades. It might have even been since that night. The boy held so much pain, and kept so isolated. He gulped back tears.

“What I’m doing is more important than that.”

Against his better judgment, he folded. Bruce never liked to see him cry, going stiff and static. He didn’t do it often, but worried about burdening the boy so soon. So he sighed, shifting the subject. “If you don’t check on Y/N tonight, I will.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it near his glasses, moving his hand up to massage his temple.

“She doesn’t want pity.”

He held back another sigh, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Care and pity are not the same, Bruce.”

Alfred left first, not wanting to chance the boy’s tender conscience with any more guilt at having left preemptively. It wasn’t unusual for these conversations to end with Bruce coming into his room later that night with a thinly veiled olive branch.

Once in the confines of his room, Bruce nearly missed the edge of the bed, fighting off disorienting swells of emotion that left no energy for proprioception. Possibly more than he ever had, he wanted to curse Alfred out. Run into his study and tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But his body was telling him otherwise. Telling him he was right. He was isolating. It was obscenely dangerous. He didn’t want to look at it.

Care versus pity. Every face from his childhood stuck to the back of his retinas. The pouting, downturned faces at the funeral. The ‘gentle’, rather condescending tone that echoed off the tower walls for years, until people stopped caring. Until he stopped trying. Until he stopped visiting his parent’s room and bolted the lock.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clenched his core, subtly rocking back and forth, juxtaposing the two scenes, a task which felt like drowning—whatever happened last night and this morning, and absolutely everything he’d ever experienced from everyone else.

One felt warm. Uncomfortably so, but nevertheless comforting. The other was distant, and cold.

He tried to avoid it again, unclenching his stomach and stripping as he walked toward his bathroom. He turned the shower to scalding, and stepped in, hoping it would soothe his aching muscles to sleep, maybe beam Alfred’s confrontation out of his brain.

One felt like a balm, or a salve. The other felt like it carved him out deeper, eviscerating his insides. One told him it would be okay, and the other said he’d never be the same again. Their eyes gutted him. Told him his parents were gone, slaughtered, murdered. He ran some shampoo through his hair.

He lathered his body while it sat, feeling every pass over scar and scab. He loathed being in his body. Being aware of the injuries painting his skin. The drain in his bones. He was usually adept at avoiding it. Grinding until he passed out the instant his head hit the pillow. Sleeping in until it was time to suit up. Time to plan. To think about anyone else’s problems besides his own.

A bubble of soap slipped in his eye, and he flinched.

He suddenly felt like crying.

Pulling on your own sweatpants and a baggy hoodie was a luxury as you prepped to visit Rai’s. Frustrated at your screaming stomach that wouldn’t let you simply sleep the rest of your life away, you popped a small-dose edible so it would kick in after you’d come back and finished eating, letting you have a semblance of peace the rest of the evening. At the very least it would lower the risk of you screaming into your pillow all night.

Same walk, same street, same people, same sky. The constant ebbs of injury had colored you blue. A leaf startled you on its crunch, the sudden movement and barely-tempered shout causing the parents and children to slink away from you on the sidewalk. You kept your head down the rest of the route.

Rai was helping another customer when you arrived, but he gave you a small wave. You never liked to crowd people, especially the older customers that came in who lived in the historic buildings nearby. They treated Rai’s like a full-on grocery, sometimes bringing their own cart to fill. This lady, with her wispy gray hair and thick red sweater was one of those patrons.

You pulled a sweet tea from the drinks, and an orange soda. Rai was chattering away with the lady, who had ostensibly selected one of everything in the store. You reveled in having less time to spend in your apartment, and wandered to the chip aisle while you waited for your turn at the counter. Your fingers traipsed through rows of Ruffles and Lays, when you felt a buzz in your pocket.

Alfred.

Jesus, fuck. You raced to set the drinks down, your heart pounding. You’d left him in another state again. Too harsh, too unforgiving, fuck! “Hello? Alfred?”

“Hey.”

Bruce answered, and a concoction of relief and bitterness settled on you like a blanket of snow. “Hey…?” Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“I was wondering,” he drew a sharp intake of breath. “If you wanted to watch a movie or something.”

Shit, how out of sorts was he? “Like tonight?”

“Like tonight. I could go to your place, or,”

“Mine’s fine. I’ll bring the TV by the couch.” You were buzzing. You couldn’t very well decline, or what might he get up to? Was this his way of asking for help? You also couldn’t very well ignore the twinge of relief that having company would bring, even if it was his. Or the single atom in your body that preferred it to be him.

“Want me to bring anything?”

Your eyes flickered to the deli. “I’m good.”

“Half an hour work?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Bruce hung up, heaving a deep breath. He flopped onto his back on his bed, Alfred’s phone falling out of his hand near his pillow. He felt better now. And worse. A little bit of everything.

What does someone wear to watch a movie?

After a few minutes he strolled to his closet, and thumbed a hole in his only clean pair of jeans. Hmm.

Dior. Prada. The sound of metal hangers sliding on a metal rod. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. He eyed the black jeans again, and the matching pair of trodden Converse in the corner. He pulled them on and grabbed the least distressed tee from his dresser… they were all worn thin.

It didn’t matter. Did it? No.

He grabbed his keys and headed for the basement. He’d have to leave through Wayne Terminal, take the beater car, drift. He passed Alfred on the stairs, noting the fresh outfit and shoes. “Going out?”

Bruce nodded, not saying anything until he turned into the kitchen and was fully out of view. “Checking on her.”

Alfred grinned with the sound of the elevator’s descent.

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todorokis-girl · 22 days ago

Text

Between Shadows and Light - Kakashi x Reader (Pt 1)

I'm trying something new, and I am feeling nostalgic. Do tell me how I'm doing?

Part 2

In the aftermath of the Uchiha massacre, Y/N finds herself grappling with loss, duty, and an unexpected connection with Kakashi Hatake. As she cares for Sasuke and navigates her feelings for the enigmatic Copy Ninja, their bond deepens amidst missions, village gossip, and unresolved emotions. But with Sasuke’s protectiveness and Itachi’s shadow looming over them, can Y/N truly find love and normalcy, or is her heart forever tied to the past?

masterlist

The soft hum of the cicadas filled the warm summer evening, blending with the crackling of a small fire in the yard of a modest home on the outskirts of Konoha. Y/N Uchiha sat cross-legged near the flames, her dark eyes reflecting the light as she meticulously sharpened a kunai. She was surrounded by an air of calm, but her thoughts were far from peaceful.

The massacre haunted her every waking moment. Every shadow seemed to whisper the names of her kin, every quiet moment echoed with their cries. She'd agreed to take care of Sasuke, but her own grief felt like a relentless weight. The truth Itachi had confided to her before leaving—the burden he'd carried, the impossible choice he'd made—was both a curse and a mercy. She couldn't hate him, even though she desperately wanted to.

She had just returned from a simple mission that morning, and had arrived later than expected, she knew her parents would be angry. When she stepped into the compound her thoughts vanished. The first thing she saw? Itachi, holding a Kunai in his anbu uniform. Blood, bodies.... "Itachi...." he turned to her carefully, tears in his eyes. He walked to her, and fell on his knees. He told her everything, in turn he asked for two things: Take care of Sasuke, and never tell anyone what he shared with her. With that, he was gone. He had meant the world to her, as young as she was, Itachi was the love of her life.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the stillness. Y/N tensed, kunai at the ready, before she remembered herself. Few dared to venture out to her home, and fewer still would come without warning. She set the weapon down and rose cautiously, brushing the dust from her hands as she approached the door.

When she opened it, Kakashi Hatake stood there, his mask hiding much of his face but not the exhaustion in his visible eye. His slouched posture and the faint sag of his shoulders spoke of battles fought, both on and off the field.

"Kakashi," she said, surprise coloring her tone. "What are you doing here?"

He hesitated, one hand resting on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. "I need your help," he said simply.

Y/N's brows furrowed. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Come in," she said softly, her earlier wariness replaced by concern.

Kakashi stepped into the modest home, his gaze sweeping over the sparse but functional interior. He didn't sit, though, remaining near the entrance like he didn't belong.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "What kind of help are we talking about?"

Kakashi's hand moved to his headband, fingers hesitating for the briefest moment before pulling it up. The red glow of the Sharingan in his left eye was sharp against his pale skin, but there was a faint tremble in the lid. "This," he said.

She held back to ask where he had gotten it, thinking back to the relationships he had with Obito before he died.

Y/N's lips parted in surprise. She hadn't seen the Sharingan outside her clan, ever, to be fair she was just 14 when the clan disappeared. Her gaze softened. "You're struggling to control it," she deduced, stepping closer.

He gave a short nod. "It drains me faster than I can keep up. It’s… not mine"

There was a heaviness in his voice that she recognized all too well. Loss. Guilt. A desperate need to honor the dead in a way that only the living could.

"Does anyone know you have this?" He hesitated for a second and looked away, the insinuation was clear. No.

"I can only teach you what I know, which isn't all" He nodded and accepted what she could give.

She inhaled deeply, her mind already racing with the lessons she'd been taught as a child. "Sit down," she instructed, motioning toward a cushion. When he hesitated, she gave him a pointed look. "You came to me for help, so let me help."

Kakashi complied, lowering himself with a stiffness that came from too many missions and too little rest. She sat across from him, her dark eyes locking onto his mismatched gaze.

"The Sharingan..." she began carefully. "It requires more than just physical energy—it takes something deeper. Something you need to learn to balance." Her tone softened. "I can teach you, but it won't be easy."

"I didn't expect it to be," he replied quietly.

For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of their respective losses filled the room like an unspoken truth, pressing against them both. Finally, Y/N broke the silence.

"Why now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why come to me after everything? You could've gone to the elders when they were still alive"

Kakashi's gaze flickered, the Sharingan fading as he let his headband fall back into place. "Because I thought I could handle it on my own," he admitted. "Besides, you understand where this came from."

Her heart twisted at his words. She knew exactly what he meant, and she hated how true it was. They were both haunted by the past, bound by love and loss in ways no one else could comprehend.

She reached out, placing a hand lightly on his. "We'll figure it out together," she said firmly.

For the first time that evening, a faint smile touched Kakashi's lips, hidden though it was behind his mask. "Thank you," he said simply.

As the fire outside burned low and the night deepened, the two found a strange solace in each other’s presence. Neither dared to say it aloud, but for the first time in a long while, neither felt entirely alone.

Years Later

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the dirt path as Kakashi and his newly assigned Team 7 made their way back to the village after a routine patrol. Naruto was complaining loudly about the lack of excitement, Sakura was scolding him, and Sasuke trailed behind, his expression as unreadable as ever. Kakashi, walking ahead, tuned out the bickering and kept an eye on their surroundings—until he saw a familiar silhouette approaching in the distance.

Y/N Uchiha.

She was returning from a mission, her travel-worn cloak dusted with dirt and her weapons pouch slightly askew. Despite the weariness in her step, her gaze was sharp, and the faintest smirk tugged at her lips when she spotted the group.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she teased as she stopped in front of them, her eyes immediately seeking out Sasuke. "You’ve got yourself a squad now, huh?"

"Y/N," Sasuke greeted with his usual detached tone, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

"Wait, you know her?" Naruto asked, pointing at her dramatically. "Who is she?"

Sakura, more composed, bowed slightly. "It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sakura Haruno."

Y/N’s gaze softened as she regarded them, then flicked over to Kakashi, who stood silently watching her with his usual aloof demeanor. She grinned, mischief sparking in her eyes. "I’m Y/N Uchiha, Sasuke’s... clan mat and," —she nodded toward Kakashi—"I’m the reason they call him the Copy Ninja."

Naruto’s jaw dropped. "What? No way! You mean you taught him how to do that crazy stuff?"

Kakashi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t give her too much credit."

"Oh, please," Y/N shot back, her grin widening. "If it weren’t for me, you’d still be trying to figure out which end of a kunai to hold." Y/N shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. "He was hopeless on his own. Let’s just say he’s lucky I took pity on him."

"Now you’re exaggerating," Kakashi interjected, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed.

"You’re just mad because it’s true," Y/N teased, crossing her arms and tilting her head at him. "Anyway, I’m guessing this is your new team? Good luck—you’ll need it, especially with this one." She nodded toward Sasuke, who just scoffed.

Sasuke cleared his throat, clearly ready for the conversation to end. "Are you heading back to the village?"

"Yeah," Y/N replied, her tone softening. "Mission's done, and I’ve got reports to file. I’ll see you at home later."

As she turned to leave, she paused and glanced over her shoulder at Kakashi. "You’ve got your hands full with these kids, but don’t slack off on them. They deserve the best, Copy Ninja."

Kakashi raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his masked mouth.

"She’s awesome!" Naruto declared as they continued walking. "I didn’t know you had someone like her in your clan, Sasuke!"

"She’s annoying," Sasuke muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Kakashi, watching the interplay, found himself smiling faintly under his mask. Y/N had a way of livening up the quiet moments, her banter leaving an impression long after she was gone. Though her words had been playful, the truth in them lingered. She had been his guide through a part of his life he wouldn’t have navigated alone, and for that, he would always be quietly grateful.

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 7 months ago

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 2

Azriel x Reader Fic

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Morning did not come quickly. You kept the blankets tucked to your chin, desperate for a barrier between yourself and the outside world. Your eyes stayed locked on the window as the dark blues faded into lighter shades until finally, a soft pink glow filled the room. Throughout the night, the only sounds were the male in the room next door shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out soft sighs. It seemed he wasn’t sleeping much either, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your screaming had woken him enough to stir his mind awake for good.

When the first birds began their calls and the room was barely lit by the morning sun, you finally pulled back the blankets. Every bone in your body ached, and your head still pounded from the incessant headache, now mixed with lack of sleep. You ran your hands over your face, smoothing them over the back of your head before clasping them behind your neck. You took a deep breath in through your nose. Now what?

You sniffled slightly, wiping your nose before letting your feet finally hit the floor. The bed creaked softly. You made your way to the adjoining door, peering through the crack to see the male lying in his bed, facing the wall, his wings spread out behind him as his shoulders gently rose and fell. At least he was able to sleep. You pressed your hands against the door, willing it shut as silently as possible. How are you going to get through this? You can’t hide from sleep forever, and you certainly can’t keep going without rest. You shook your head. You’d figure it out, somehow.

You moved through your morning, treading lightly as the inn’s old floors creaked and groaned under your weight. You dressed, pulling the leather jacket back over your shoulders, your nose crinkling at the scent of spruce and sage. He was everywhere, even now.

You closed the door to your room, boots in hand, fearing the noise they might cause if you wore them inside. You tiptoed past the closed door of your strange companion from the night before. Sneaking down the steps, you threw a smile to the waitress, who nodded at you as she wiped down platters before her morning began.

The air outside was crisp, with dew still clinging to the grass. The morning sunlight cast a pale glow around the clearing where the tavern sat. You paused to slide your feet into your boots, lacing them as you looked at the purple hyacinths blooming in the fields. The dotted purples brought you back to when you were a child, wandering the streets of Velaris with your family. Your mother would buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor and tuck one of the soft-stemmed flowers behind your ear. You always loved the purples the best. You smiled to yourself, shaking away the memory, as you did with all of them. But you let yourself stop as you crossed the clearing, plucking a single purple flower from the group, which stood slightly shorter than the rest. Given its stature, it wouldn’t be missed. You tucked it behind your ear. Silly, you thought, to take such precious time picking flowers, but you did it anyway as you entered the woods again, not looking back at the tavern where that strange male, who was so gentle, so attentive, still lay asleep in bed.

Your only plan was to head south, away from the mountains and deeper into the country. You weren’t sure how long it would take to cross the border into the neighboring court, or if you would even make it that far, but south was the only clear option to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You’d considered trying to make your way to Velaris, but it seemed too close, too obvious. You feared it would be the first place he would look for you, the place where you felt most at home, where he could easily come and take you back. If you cleared the Illyrian mountains, it would be farther than you had made it in past attempts just a decade ago, and perhaps that would be enough.

You had planned this escape months ago, setting aside coins left out on tables and scattered on the floor during his moments of rage, when it seemed the blinding red overtook all his senses. You had packed and repacked your bag, changing out clothing and supplies for each season, hoping for the day when you might finally have had enough and decide to leave. You were always ready, waiting for the right moment.

It was foolish, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the dense woods, that just a few weeks ago you believed things were getting better. He had brought you fresh berries from a farm a few miles away, kissed you on the forehead, his hands still holding the berries as he wrapped himself around you, and you pressed your nose to his chest. He had promised things would get better after he shattered that window, where you ducked as he raged and threw a pan through the glass, leaving shards in your hair. He had promised he would stop. You were a fool to think that the nights you spent tucked into his side, his hands gently stroking your forearm as the night passed quietly, were a glimpse of a peaceful life that the Mother and the mating bond had promised you.

You couldn’t even recall what had shattered that illusion. He had come home from the forest in a rage, already flying off the handle as you stood, pressed into the corner counter while he slammed around the cabin searching for the absinthe you had poured out into the grass behind the house a few days before. He nearly tore the doors off their hinges as he screamed for it, his hair growing wilder with each yell, demanding to know where you had hidden it. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your knuckles bone white as you gripped the lip of the counter until he finally came over to you, pressing his body into yours as you whimpered and tried to shrink away.

He grabbed your face, his large hands nearly covering the entirety of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His breath, already laced with alcohol, assaulted your nostrils as he leaned in close and through clenched teeth asked, “What the fuck did you do, you witch?” When you closed your eyes tightly, he squeezed your jaw, the pain forcing them back open. “Why do you fucking hate me?” he had asked, moving his hand to your throat, his large, callused fingers tightening around it. “I do everything for you. Every godsdamned thing, and you—” he stuttered as you wrapped your own hand around his fingers, begging for release or even a bit of air as your windpipe was squeezed shut. “You bitch, all you do is fuck with things. You fuck with my head, and you lead me on, and you do this shit.” As your eyes widened and you sputtered for breath, he finally released you. You hadn’t even realized he had lifted you off the floor until your feet hit the wood again. You grabbed at your own neck, gasping in ragged breaths as he continued to scream at you, calling you every possible wretched thing as you doubled over, still coughing life back into your lungs. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward from the corner cabinet, the jerk causing you to fall to your knees before he yanked you back up.

You cried out in pain as he hissed at you to shut your mouth. He led you to the counters, already ripped apart in his frantic search. “Find it. You better fucking find it.”

Hot tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over. You began hopelessly searching for the bottle you knew wasn’t there. You cursed yourself for not just emptying the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, claiming he had finished it during his last bender. Instead, you had buried it deep in the woods, foolishly hoping he would give it up completely. Panic rose in your chest as you rifled through the cabinets, trying to think of something to say to stop what you knew was coming. He stood next to you, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. He knew there was no bottle. This was purely to torment you.

When you finally turned to him, you whispered, “I don’t know where it is.”

His hand rose, and he slapped you across the cheek, yelling, “Liar!”

The blow threw your head to the side. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your cheek, the sting radiating through your face. “You’re a liar and a fucking witch!” he raged. You took a step back, hand still pressed to your cheek, as he barreled toward you again. He ripped your hand away from your face, took both your wrists in his hands, and stared at you with hollow green eyes. “You better fucking find it, or you’re dead,” he howled, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

“I don’t know where it is,” you pleaded, tears finally cascading down your cheeks.

His anger deepened as he gripped your wrists tighter, causing your fingers to curl into claws. He shook you violently, screaming, “What the fuck did you do with it?”

A sob escaped your lips as he slammed your body into the counter. Your hip screamed in pain, and your legs gave out from under you. Sliding down to the floor, his hands still grasped your wrists, holding you upright. You turned your face away from him as he continued to yell, spittle spraying your cheeks. When your body finally hit the floor, he released you from his grip. You curled into yourself as he reeled his leg back, sending a kick to your abdomen that knocked the air out of you. An unnatural gurgle erupted from your lips as he kicked again and again. Your head knocked against the sharp edge of the cabinet corner with each assault. The searing pain spread through your body as you curled in, trying to protect the soft parts of yourself.

You sobbed as he, with reckless abandon, continued his assault. His boot, splattered with your blood and spit, struck you repeatedly until you had nothing left and stopped making noise. Your vision blackened as your head hit the counter again, your body knowing nothing but the fire of pain as every part of you willed to let go. Your eyes shut, tears still streaming down your face.

Suddenly, without warning, the kicking stopped. You felt air rush back into your lungs, the taste of iron filling your mouth. You winced and recoiled from the pain, feeling the bones in your ribs cracking, already beginning to mend, but the spasms of your muscles fighting to stay intact caused you to wince. Above you, without looking, you heard his quiet sob. Too weak to lift your head, you felt him drop to his knees beside you, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your broken body as he sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cried between sobs, his voice breaking.

Your face remained expressionless, save for the pain etched in every feature. He pulled you into him, his tears dampening your hair and shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he kept repeating, the heat of his tears burning into you as he held you close.

You had no words, and even if you did, the air had been forced out of your body, and your throat was raw from screaming. Anything that would come out would have been as broken as you felt. What felt like an hour passed, but you were sure it was only minutes before he stood up, muttering again how he wasn’t sure what was happening. He ran his hands frantically through his hair, pacing about the kitchen of the cabin. The tea kettle you had put on whistled a scream, echoing your own pain.

He sniffled, his breathing ragged, before he finally stopped pacing and looked towards you, still curled into the corner of the counter, blood streaming from your eyebrow, eyes hollow and empty. He started to speak but paused, then turned and walked out of the cabin and back into the woods, muttering and yelling indistinctly.

When you finally managed to stand, you hoisted yourself up by the counter, your legs weak, almost giving out on you. You dragged yourself, one hand cupping your side where pain still shot pins and needles through you. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, barely registering that the hot metal handle burned your flesh, and threw it into the washbasin.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom. Uncaring if the blood slowly drying on your forehead stained the sheets, you willed yourself into the bed, the pain of your body hitting the mattress causing you to cry out. The window above the bed, slightly open, let in the sounds of him yelling outside, muttering things you couldn’t make out as you heard him assaulting the forest with his fists, screaming out. The background noise of his torment was the last thing you remembered before blacking out into nothingness.

In those moments, which happened more frequently than you would like to admit, you sometimes wished one of his blows had caused an organ to split or your head to hit the floor with such force it would have knocked the life out of you, ending the hell you were living. You often questioned why you didn’t leave sooner, why you wouldn’t fight back to escape, or why, in moments of excruciating pain, you didn’t scream back at him. Why did you feel compelled to stay silent as blow after blow landed? You pushed those thoughts from your mind. They were of no use to you now. You would keep moving forward, away from that place.

You had lost all track of time as you continued through the forest. The familiarity of the woods around the mountain and cabin was lost as new trees and boulders surrounded you. The sun hit its peak overhead, and you allowed yourself a short moment of rest, unwrapping a roll you had packed in a linen napkin. You ate it greedily, hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach as you scarfed it down. Its slightly stale flavor and hardened exterior were no bother as you finally quelled the growling from your core. As you chewed, you took in your surroundings. The trees here were taller and fuller, as if summer had already arrived, and the leaves had fully regrown. The canopy above cast long shadows on the lush green forest floor, and the boulder you sat on was slightly damp.

You folded the napkin, carefully placing it back into your well-packed bag as you took stock of your remaining food: two more rolls, a few apples, two chicken drumsticks wrapped in beeswax paper, a small bag of granola, and a handful of dried fruits. Enough to get you through a week, though you silently prayed for a town or even a small village where you could rest overnight.

Continuing into the forest, you allowed yourself to breathe freely, even enjoying the light burn of the sun across your cheeks. You went as far as to take your boots off and walk down a stream that babbled happily through the woods. The freezing chill of the water sent a spark up your spine as you searched for brightly colored stones and salamanders. It was silly to waste time doing this, but you hadn’t let yourself explore the world in so long, and for such little joys, it was worth it.

The afternoon waned, and the shadows grew longer before you came to a clearing. A meadow of soft spring ephemerals bloomed, filling the grasses with splashes of white, pink, and orange. As the sun cast orange fire across the sky, you deemed this as good a spot as any for the night. You threw your pack down at the edge of the meadow, unfurled the blanket you had wrapped your food in, and laid it on the meadow floor. You allowed yourself the luxury of one piece of chicken, the skin still crisp from when you had cooked it a few nights before.

You watched the sun dip behind the treeline, the oranges turning to evening purple, as a mother deer and her fawn approached from the opposite edge of the clearing, feasting on the meadow’s flowers. You watched them carefully, not daring to move an inch. The fawn stayed close to its mother, who ate without fear, while the young one occasionally pricked its ears at the snapping of a branch. The mother seemed content with safety as the fawn locked its eyes on you. You stayed still, the fawn scanning you before turning back to its mother and resuming its evening meal. The tranquility set your mind at ease as the family wandered back into the deep woods, disappearing as night fell.

Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep as you lean against a tree, using a small knife to peel bark away from a branch you had picked up, fighting the urge to lie down. Another day of uncertainty had passed, another day of finding who you were, and another day of tasting the tantalizing flavor of freedom and deciding you wouldn’t live without it.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes shot open as you heard the nearby crunch of the forest floor. How long had you been asleep? The branch you had been working on lay in your lap, your neck sore from where your head had fallen forward, and the side of your mouth wet from drool. You scrunched your face, shaking your head slightly to wake yourself up more when you heard another crack of a branch and what sounded like calculating footsteps.

Your heartbeat picked up speed as you frantically tried to pack your things. You had gotten too comfortable and unpacked most of what you had. The footsteps, now sounding like multiple pairs, grew closer. Silently, you pushed your items under a nearby bush before getting to your feet. You whipped around in search of a hiding place, but your only options were to run across the meadow, where you would be seen from every side, or run deeper into the woods toward the approaching steps. Instead, you looked up the towering evergreen above you and started climbing, limb after limb, higher and higher, each branch slightly less thick than the last. The ground disappeared below you, and you were panting, perched on a branch at least thirty feet up. You tried to steady your breath, gasping air into burning lungs as you waited and listened.

You heard the beginnings of voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. The voices were deep, male, in an accent you couldn’t place. The footsteps grew louder, and you saw the soft light of a torch through the trees as the group approached. Three males, all in black attire, swords drawn at their waists, and no lack of knives strapped along their legs and torsos, trampled through the undergrowth.

Finally, they were close enough for you to make out some of their conversation. “No, no, he wouldn’t have done that,” one noted.

“You weren’t there,” replied the second, following the leader in front, holding the torch. “He said he gutted him, drove his knife into his stomach, and ripped up through his chest.” You gulped as they continued to approach.

One of the males let out a slight chuckle. “Malek doesn’t have the balls for that.”

“He had enough balls to land you on your ass the other day in the ring,” another chided, causing the initial storyteller to shove him hard in the shoulder. As they continued through, you noticed they, like the odd male from the tavern, had large wings that hung from their backs, though more proudly than the one you had met.

One of them, the shortest, with jet-black hair braided back, trailed behind his two companions, swinging his sword idly. Though he did it without much thought, you could tell he was trained to use it lethally. “Why did we get stuck doing this patrol?”

The other, a few paces ahead, turned his head back over his shoulder, his shorter-cropped black hair glinting in the torchlight. You could make out the slight scar across his cheek, slashed into his lips. “Maybe because you couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut.”

The smaller one groaned, dropping his sword to his side. “That was months ago. He can’t keep shitting on us just because of that.”

The one in front, the tallest, with long cascading black locks pulled into a half bun, responded without turning back, “Well, apparently he can.”

You held your breath as the males continued their approach, now just under the tree you were perched in. Suddenly, the leader stopped, holding his hand up to signal their immediate halt. “Shut up,” he said.

The male behind him quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, while the short one behind raised his sword in a ready stance. The leader then whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Your heart sank as you pressed your hand to your mouth, hoping the sound of your heart trying to escape through your ribcage wasn’t audible from below. The leader glanced around in a slow circle, his ears pricked, trying to pick up any noises. The two others did the same, silently scanning the area.

Finally, the second male crouched down where your blanket had been laid. “The grass is pushed down,” he whispered, moving forward slightly to where your body had been. “And it’s warm.”

The smallest one took a few silent steps forward, crouching next to his companion and gazing around. He reached forward and from under the bush pulled out your pack. “They heard us coming.”

The leader, still scanning the surrounding area, said, “They can’t be far.”

“We would have seen them in the meadow,” one responded. The other chimed in, “And they would have had to come toward us if they ran into the woods.”

The leader slowly and carefully turned his head to scan the trees above. Your stomach dropped as he locked eyes on you. You begged it be dark enough that he couldn’t see you, but the smile that crept onto his lips told you otherwise. He pointed one long, tanned finger upwards. “Found it,” he whispered. His companions turned their heads skyward, and your eyes widened in fear.

With a grim laugh, the one with braided hair stood, cupping his hands around his eyes to look up at you.

The leader called out in a sing-song tone, “Come on down, we don’t bite.” But you didn’t believe that for a second.

The small one chimed in the same tone, “Just come down.”

The second then followed, “You’re trespassing. Get your ass down here.”

You weighed your options. The large wings on their backs and toned bodies made you believe they would outrun you and take you down the second you stepped foot on the ground. But the tightness of the branches made you consider if you could climb higher, hoping they couldn’t reach you. You barely had time to consider before they called out again, “Just come down.” You stifled a whimper. There were no good intentions within these three males, not like the one you had met just the night before. These males had smirks on their faces that made you recoil, your insides gurgling. You opted not to move.

The leader finally called out, “If you don’t come down, we will bring you down. It’s your choice.”

Your knees locked, sore from crouching and balancing. Your only chance was to stay here and hope they couldn’t get to you. When you didn’t respond, the little one let out a chilling laugh and rubbed his hands together. “May I?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other, nodding in agreement before the leader noted, “Go ahead.”

With that, the smallest one chuckled with excitement before shedding his harness with his sword and knives, giving you a better look at his lean, muscular body. He was toned and fit for battle. Placing a steadying boot on the trunk of the tree, he hoisted himself up onto the first branch and made his approach to you, moving fast.

As he continued his ascent, you pressed yourself closer into the trunk of the tree, blending into the darkness. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he finally made out your general shape. Looking down to the other two, he called out in a voice like a hungry predator, “We got a fae female on our hands, boys.” He turned back to you, licking his lips before singing out, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Bile rose in your throat as you watched him inch closer. You looked up to see another twenty feet of branches, each getting smaller but tighter together. In this moment of life or death—or something worse—you decided you might have to climb higher. The male below continued his climb as his two companions hollered encouragement. When he was merely ten feet from you, you made your choice and scrambled to the next set of branches.

He called back down to his friends, “And she’s quick. And fit.” He let out a small growl of desire, and you didn’t dare look back to see how much he had gained on you. “A tight ass,” he called out again, prompting his companions to laugh and groan with lust.

Your hands were bleeding, cut by the tiny twigs, but it didn’t stop you from pulling yourself up through the branches, away from the approaching danger. When you finally turned your head back, the male was at the branch you had just left. He took a moment to inhale deeply, “And she smells delicious.” He continued after you, faster than you could climb. You must have been ten feet higher when the males below you disappeared from view, obscured by the tree branches. The one with the braid was hot on your trail, struggling as the branches grew closer together. He let out a frustrated huff as he pulled his wing through a particularly tight spot. “Bitch,” he grumbled, “just come here.” His voice sounded as if it were directly below you. When you dared to glance down, he was a mere arm’s length away. He moved faster than you thought possible, and you let out a slight yelp, which made him smile, his toothy grin lit by the moonlight.

He reached forward, his hand clasping around your booted ankle and yanking you down. A scream left your lips as you clung to the branch above you, your fingers screaming in pain. Without thinking, you used your other leg to stomp downwards, your boot making swift contact with his face. He cried out in pain, yelling, “Fucking bitch!”

The two below shouted, “What happened?”

“She fucking kicked me in the face,” he replied.

The two below laughed amongst themselves, and the one in the tree yelled down at them to shut their mouths. You scrambled higher, finally reaching the last row of branches that could hold your weight. You pulled yourself through three separate crisscrosses before steadying yourself, clinging to the trunk like a bear. The midsection was thin enough that you could almost wrap your arms around it. You looked down, and a few feet below, the male wiped the mud from his face and spat blood from his lips. He looked up at you with a new sense of anger bubbling. “You bitch,” he cried, continuing his ascent. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

You whimpered, pulling yourself tighter as he continued up. Finally, when he reached the crisscrossed branches, he tried to push through, but his broad shoulders halted him. He groaned and grumbled, looking up at you with a sneer. “You bitch,” he whispered. He called back down to the two below, “She’s too high. I can’t get to her through the branches.”

The second called back, “You’re telling me your ass is too fat to fit through there to get her?”

The small one peered over his shoulder, “No,” he called back, “my dick is too big to make the clearing, dumbass.” He peered back up at you, considering his options.

The leader called up from below, “Just come back down, Darian. She has to get down at some point, or fall.”

Darian let out a growl, looking up at you. “I’ll be waiting down there when you’re ready. And when you come down, just know, I have big plans for you.” With that, he slunk back down, cat-like, almost sliding down the length of the tree. Below, you could hear them speaking. The second chided, “Your dick is not that big.”

Darian laughed back, pushing the other slightly, “My dick is huge, and you fucking know it.”

The second let out a noise of uncertainty. “I’ve seen it, and it’s nothing to get excited about.”

Darian jumped on the back of the second, his forearm wrapping around his neck as the second laughed, pushing himself back against the tree. The air in Darian’s lungs knocked out of him before the leader finally said, “Knock it the fuck off.”

That was enough for Darian to drop from the second’s back. “Thoren, head back to camp and tell them we found a trespasser who we’re going to wait out.”

The second let out a groan, “Why do I have to go back? Send the cock-master instead.”

The leader shot Thoren a glare, “That’s an order, Thoren.”

Thoren shook his head, taking a step back, arms raised. “Okay, okay, fuck.” With that, Thoren made his way into the meadow, his giant wings spreading before he took a bounding leap and jumped into the sky. He flew up past the tree you were perched in, peering in at you from the thick branches with a criminally vicious smile. “See you soon, little squirrel,” he said before flapping off into the night, back toward the woods.

The leader ordered Darian to build a fire as he rifled through your pack, pulling out the food and taking a hungry bite of a roll. Looking up at you, where you knew he couldn’t see you, he gave a slow wave. “Goodnight, sleep well” he called up, before a sinister laugh escaped his lips. You gulped once more.

_____________________________________________________________

Special thanks to the following readers of Part 1 who have encouraged me to continue writing this, it's truly wonderful to have such phenomenal support while I continue to craft these works!

Tagged accounts:

@annabethgranger123, @nickishadow139, @thatacotargirl, @depressedreader209

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honeygr-ls · 27 days ago

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The Shadows And The Light - Chapter 2

Ao3 - Honeygrls

The clinic lay in quiet stillness as Sevika sank into unconsciousness, her breaths becoming deep and measured under the soothing embrace of the anaesthetic. You took a moment to gaze at her, drawn in by her stillness. Each scar on her face told a story of battles and resilience, evoking a deep sense of sympathy within you. Her mechanical limb lay beside her, quietly whirring and humming, the gears turning with a gentle rhythm.

With a determined breath, you pushed aside any lingering thoughts and prepared to begin your work. Sevika wasn't your concern besides patching her up; as soon as you finished, she would be out of here and thrust back into the ruthless world that is Zaun.

But something gnawed at the back of your brain, perhaps a hint of curiosity…or even pity. You had seen many hardened souls before, all of them chewed up and spit out onto the streets of the Undercity, yet, something about Sevika was off, as if she carried a weight that felt…different.

Pushing your thoughts aside once again you focused back on the task at hand. The bullet was lodged quite well into her abdominal region, the jagged edges making it difficult to locate it. You delicately moved your tools inside of the wound, your skilled hands locating the bullet within seconds.

“Gotcha,” you murmured, your fingers deftly pulling out the bullet, its weight suddenly lighter as you dropped it onto the metal tray with a soft, metallic clink that echoed in the silence of the room. You took a deep, steadying breath, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your lungs, and began the process of disinfecting the wound. As you threaded the needle through the delicate layers of her tissue, it glided effortlessly, the rhythm of your stitching providing a brief distraction from the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind.

You couldn’t shake off the memory of her words just before she lost consciousness. Why do you do this? The question replayed over and over in your head, tugging at the corners of your mind. It wasn't the first time someone had asked, and you were aware it wouldn’t be the last. The truth was that you didn't know why you did this. Yes, you wanted to help the people of the undercity—that part was genuine—but deeper beneath that facade lay a confusing mix of emotions. Perhaps it was a sense of obligation, the unspoken legacy of your mother who had devoted her life to this clinic, pouring every ounce of energy, love, and hope into it. Or maybe it served as a distraction, a way to channel your own feelings and unresolved struggles by focusing on others' problems instead.

As you finished cleaning the area around the freshly stitched wound, a low groan cut through the silence, pulling you back into the current moment.

“You're awake,” you remarked, stepping back just enough to give her some space, but not losing your watchful gaze.

“No shit,” she rasped, her voice thick and hoarse, a sharpness lingering in her tone. She glanced down at the careful work you had done, taking in the sight of her closed wound, and then met your eyes, weary but defiant. “You done prodding around?”

You rolled your eyes at her lack of gratitude, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface of your professional demeanor. The least she could do was acknowledge the effort you had put in, yet you restrained, biting back the retort that threatened to escape your lips.

You wet your lips before speaking, “Well, all I gotta do is put a wrap around it, and you'll be good to go.” You turned around, grabbing a fresh roll of bandages and ushering her to sit up slightly so you could wrap them around her torso.

“The stitches should hold as long as you refrain from any intense movement or lifting. Just take it easy okay? Also, you should change the wrap everyday to keep the area clean.”

She chuckled, swinging her legs off the table with a wince. “Guess I owe you won.”

“You guess?" You huffed incredulously, raising an eyebrow at her.

A weak smirk weaselled its way onto her face. “Don't push it doc.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside as she pushed off the table, her movements slow yet deliberate.

“Remember what I said, alright? Take it slow, I don't want those stitches bursting open and you bleeding out once again.” You warned, your voice softening despite yourself.

“Understood,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye. “You wouldn’t happen to have a shirt that fits me, would you? I’d rather not be parading around Zaun with my tits out, y’know?” A mischievous smirk danced on her lips as she locked her gaze onto yours. The unexpected boldness of her words caught you off guard, and a warm flush crept onto your cheeks as you took a moment to fully appreciate her appearance.

“Ah, right—sorry about that,” you stammered, feeling slightly flustered. “Give me just a second; I should have something in the back.” You quickly turned on your heel and hurried down the dimly lit corridor, your heart racing as you navigated through the cluttered space. The faint sounds of Zaun beyond the clinic’s walls only added to your urgency as you made your way to the laundry room.

Once inside, you rifled through the piles of clothes, searching for a shirt that would be large enough to fit her comfortably. The scent of detergent and the faint hum of machinery surrounded you, and after a brief search, you finally spotted a faded, oversized shirt hanging on a hook. Satisfied, you seized it and dashed back to the operating room.

Upon entering, you found Sevika still leaning casually against the table, her confidence radiating as she remained just as you had left her. The sight of her relaxed demeanour stirred a mix of admiration and nervousness within you, but you quickly focused, holding the shirt out with a slightly sheepish smile.

“This should fit?” you asked, your voice laced with a hint of playful uncertainty as you tossed the shirt toward her. She caught it effortlessly, a flicker of approval crossing her face as she slipped it on gently over her head. The fabric draped perfectly over her frame.

“Alright. Just know, if the stitches come undone, you know exactly where to find me,” you added, an awkward lopsided smile making its way onto your face.

She nodded at you, her expression a mix of gratitude and mischief, before turning to leave. As she paused at the door, a moment of stillness hung in the air. She cast a quick glance back at you, her eyes slowly roaming over your body, scrutinizing every detail. When her gaze finally met yours, a confident smirk danced across her lips—a silent challenge or perhaps an invitation.

With a light chuckle, she turned away, opening the door with a soft creak, the cool night air spilling into the room. As she stepped out, the darkness enveloped her, blending her silhouette into the shadows.

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 month ago

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The Fallout | Sebastian Sallow x OC #21

this entire chapter is angst and hurt with pretty much no comfort bc sebastian sallow is an idiot.

Summary: Sebastian, wracked with guilt after betraying Evangeline’s trust, seeks her out to apologize, navigating through Ominis’s pointed rebuke and his own self-loathing. He finds Evangeline by the Black Lake, and though their conversation is raw and painful, they begin to bridge the gap between them, with Sebastian vowing to change (again).

Words: 7,782

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Unspoken Feelings, Angst AGAIN, Emotional Fallout, Happy(?) Ending, Miscommunication, Drama, Sebastian Sallow Is An Idiot, Ominis Gaunt Being VERY Done™

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The Great Hall was alive with the low hum of chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter from distant tables. To most, it was the familiar chaos of breakfast before enjoying the weekend. To Ominis, it was a minefield.

His wand rested lightly against the table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on its polished surface. His sharp ears picked up the undercurrent of conversation, threads of gossip weaving their way through the hall. He didn’t need sight to know who the subject was—Evangeline, whose name was on far too many tongues this week, and Sebastian, the ever-present chaos at the heart of Ominis’s life.

“…stood up for him like he’s some kind of hero,” someone hissed from the Ravenclaw table behind him, their voice dripping with scorn. “And then he’s caught snogging some fifth-year? Couldn’t even wait for her to wake up. Poor thing.”

Another voice chimed in, softer but no less cutting. “I heard she passed out by the fire and a moment later, he was off with the next Gryffindor. Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

Ominis gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. He carefully kept his expression neutral, though his fingers curled into a fist under the table. These weren’t just idle comments; they were knives, sharp and intentional, aimed at two of the people he cared about most.

Evangeline had always been bold, unflinching in her loyalty to those she called friends, and Ominis hadn’t been surprised when she confronted Lysander to defend Sebastian's honor—Evangeline’s fierce devotion was as much a part of her as her Quidditch skills or her sharp tongue. What had surprised him was how quickly Sebastian had thrown it all away.

Around him, the murmurs shifted, growing louder, like a fire spreading unchecked.

“Did you see how close she was sitting to him before it all went down? Makes you wonder how long he was waiting for her to pass out so he could leave,” someone at the Hufflepuff table said, their voice tinged with curiosity.

Ominis clenched his wand tighter, the cool wood grounding him as his anger simmered. He couldn’t tell what enraged him more—the audacity of the rumors or the fact that Sebastian’s actions made them so easy to believe.

"You'll break your wand if you're not careful," Imelda’s voice was surprisingly warm and low enough not to draw attention. She plopped herself down beside him with the casual confidence only she could pull off.

Ominis loosened his grip and let out a long, steadying breath. “I should hex everyone to make these rumors stop.”

Imelda snorted. “You and I both know the only thing that would stop these rumors is a new scandal. Give it a week—someone else will do something idiotic, and Sterling and Sallow will be yesterday’s gossip.”

Ominis doubted that. The combination of Evangeline’s bold declaration of loyalty in front of the whole school and Sebastian’s reckless behavior had painted an irresistible target on both their backs. The spectacle was too good, the drama too ripe, for people to let it go easily.

Imelda leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “For what it’s worth, the rest of us are doing our best to stop the spread of this garbage. Poppy practically hexed a Hufflepuff who was being too loud about it yesterday, and Natty shut down a pack of Ravenclaws in Charms.” She shrugged. “We’ve got her back.”

It was true. Their group—Natty, Poppy, Garreth, and the others—had done their best to redirect conversations and shut down the crueler remarks when they came up. But there were limits to what even a tightly-knit group of sixth years could do. Hogwarts wasn’t exactly known for its restraint when it came to gossip.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just—” He cut himself off, unsure how to finish the thought.

Imelda didn’t wait for him to try. “You’re worried about them,” she said simply, as if the thought wasn’t worth debating. “Look, Sterling’s tough. And Sebastian… well, he’s an idiot, but he’s not helpless.”

“An idiot is putting it lightly,” Ominis muttered. “This has hurt both of them. Evangeline’s been humiliated, and Sebastian—” He paused, shaking his head. “He knows he’s responsible, even if he hasn't admitted it.”

“It’s just…” Imelda hesitated, which caught Ominis off guard. She rarely hesitated. “I hate seeing her like this. She’s always been so… sure of herself, you know? I don’t like watching people like her get knocked down because of someone else’s stupidity.”

Imelda’s words hung in the air, heavier than Ominis expected. She rarely let her concern for others show, but when she did, it carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, his mind turning over her observations.

"She’s been avoiding everyone," Ominis finally said, his voice quiet. "Burying herself in books. She’s retreating."

Imelda sighed, her usual bravado replaced by a rare softness. "And what about Sallow? Is he retreating too, or just digging himself into a deeper hole?"

Ominis let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, he’s digging, all right. Acting like none of this bothers him, flashing that irritating smirk at everyone who dares bring it up to his face. Still choosing to be seen with the same girl he snogged that night. But I know him too well to believe it. It’s a mask." His tone darkened. "The worst part is that he hasn’t even apologized to her. Not properly."

Imelda shook her head, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like bloody idiot.

"He’s lucky Sterling hasn’t hexed him," she said. "If it were me, I’d have turned him into a flobberworm by now."

Ominis couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure she's thought about it. But Evangeline isn’t like you, Imelda. She doesn’t lash out when she’s hurt—she pulls away."

"And you’re caught in the middle," Imelda observed, her tone resigned. "As always."

"As always," Ominis echoed, his voice laced with weariness.

Imelda tilted her head, studying Ominis’s face with an expression he couldn’t see but could feel. “So, what’s the plan then, Gaunt? You’ve always got one.”

Ominis frowned, his fingers still idly tapping against his wand. His plan? As if he could snap his fingers and undo the damage Sebastian had caused—not just to Evangeline’s reputation, but to the fragile balance of their trio. “I don’t know if there’s a plan for this,” he admitted. “Evangeline needs space, but if we leave her alone too long, it’ll only get worse. And Sebastian…” He trailed off, the weight of Sebastian’s stubbornness settling like a stone in his chest. “Sebastian needs a proper kick to the head.”

Imelda laughed, though it was short and dry. “If you’re volunteering, I’ll hold your wand while you do it.”

"Too bad his skull's too thick for it to work,” Ominis replied, lips twitching into a faint smirk before fading again. "He knows he’s ruined things; he just doesn’t know how to fix them.”

Imelda leaned back, crossing her arms. “So, no plan?”

“Not yet,” Ominis admitted, though his mind was turning. He wasn’t sure what the right course of action was, but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving things as they were.

“I’ll think of something." He said at length, "Someone has to.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Imelda said, standing and grabbing her plate. “And when you do get around to kicking some sense into him, make sure Sterling’s around to watch. She deserves the entertainment.”

Ominis leaned back in his seat as Imelda departed, his mind whirring. Someone had to step in. Sebastian was clearly incapable of making the first move, and Evangeline… she was too hurt to reach out herself. And if nothing changed soon, the damage might become permanent.

He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and rose to his feet. Raising his wand to guide him, he made his way out of the Great Hall, the chatter behind him fading into a dull roar.

The library was quieter than the Great Hall, but it carried its own brand of tension. The soft rustling of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair created an uneasy symphony, one that suited Ominis’s mood. He navigated the familiar aisles, his wand guiding him toward the far corner where he hoped Evangeline would be hiding.

She’d been skipping meals and even classes all week, avoiding crowds and slinking away before anyone could corner her. Ominis had been patient, waiting for her to resurface on her own, but her absence was stretching into worry. The Evangeline he knew—bold enough to face down trolls and outfly Imelda in Quidditch—didn’t hide. It wasn’t like her to disappear—not like this.

Ominis stopped when he reached the corner table and tilted his head, listening for the familiar scratch of a quill or the rustle of parchment. Relief swept through him when he caught the faint, rhythmic sound of writing.

“Still avoiding everyone?” he asked as he approached, his tone carefully casual.

Evangeline paused mid-stroke but didn’t look up. “I’m studying,” she replied, her voice clipped. The quill resumed its steady movements, but there was tension in her tone, a defensive edge that Ominis didn’t miss.

“Studying, hiding,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her and settling into it. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

She let out a sigh, setting her quill down and leaning back in her chair. “What do you want, Ominis?”

He rested his wand lightly on the table, folding his hands in front of him. “To make sure you’re alive. I've been worried.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the books stacked around her. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Evangeline,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm but calm. “You can’t keep doing this. Hiding won’t make the rumors go away.”

Her hazel eyes snapped up to meet his, sharp and tired. “What else am I supposed to do, Ominis? Walk into the Great Hall and pretend I don’t hear them? Pretend they’re not calling me an idiot?” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she looked away, her fingers curling into fists on the table.

“They’re cruel, Evangeline,” Ominis said softly. “But they don’t define you.”

“They don’t have to,” she replied bitterly. “I’ve already defined myself—for the whole school. The foolish Gryffindor who stood by her so-called friend who turned Quidditch into boxing, only to find out he doesn’t care. At all.”

“That’s not true,” Ominis said, leaning forward. “Sebastian cares. He cares so much that he’s too afraid to face you and apologize."

She let out a hollow laugh, her expression hardening. “If that’s your attempt at defending him, don’t bother. Actions speak louder than words, Ominis, and his actions have been loud and clear.”

Ominis sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m not defending what he did. And believe me, he knows he’s made a mess of things. But he’s too much of an idiot to figure out how to fix it.”

“Then that’s his problem,” she said sharply, standing up and gathering her books. “Not mine.”

“Evangeline—”

She paused, her shoulders tense but not turning back to him. “I appreciate you checking on me, Ominis. Really, I do. But I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

He didn’t stop her as she walked away, her footsteps quick and purposeful. Instead, he sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the wood.

Ominis pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to push the building tension out of his skull. He’d thought that after last year, they could weather anything. But now he wasn’t so sure.

This wasn’t about dark magic or ancient artifacts. It wasn’t about the kind of betrayal you could blame on desperation or fear. This was about trust. And Sebastian had shattered it, not with curses or lies, but with something so mundane it almost felt worse.

Last year, Ominis found himself thinking, when Sebastian did the unthinkable, Evangeline had stood by him.

Ominis could recall the horror of that night with a clarity that made his stomach churn. The dark chamber, the oppressive weight if the the air, and the sickening, searing sounds of the Cruciatus Curse as it tore through her. She hadn’t hesitated to let Sebastian cast that unforgivable curse on her, because she’d believed in him. She’d trusted him enough to endure that kind of agony, certain that he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And later, when Sebastian’s own desperation and grief had driven him to kill Solomon in front of her, she still hadn’t left his side. She’d looked at Sebastian and seen a boy crushed under the weight of his own choices, not a monster, not a murderer. She’d forgiven him.

And now?

Now, after all of that, this—the fallout of one drunken party and Sebastian’s idiocy—felt like an impossible hurdle. And Ominis hated it. Hated the absurdity of it. Hated that something so comparatively trivial could cause this much damage between them.

But then, should he be surprised?

For the past two years, Evie had been the one who stood in Sebastian’s corner no matter what. She’d fought his battles, taken his side, even when Ominis had turned away in anger or disgust. How many more times could she be expected to put herself in the line of fire for him? How many more times could she pick up the pieces of his mess, only to have him treat her loyalty as something he was entitled to, rather than a gift?

Ominis knew Sebastian was a master at self-destruction, but this was different. This wasn’t just about Sebastian’s inability to apologize—it was about Evangeline’s breaking point. And Sebastian had betrayed her. Not in some dramatic, high-stakes moment like the ones they’d faced last year, but in a way that was somehow more personal. More intimate. He hadn’t protected her—not from the rumors, not from humiliation, and certainly not from himself.

Ominis sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

He couldn't allow this to tear their friendship apart. He couldn't let the two people he cared for most drift further away, not when he knew how much they meant to each other—even if they were too stubborn to admit it right now. Evangeline and Sebastian were tangled together in ways they probably didn’t even understand themselves, and Ominis had spent enough time caught in their orbit to know he had to intervene.

Ominis took a steadying breath, his resolve hardening. If there was one thing he was good at, it was cutting through Sebastian’s excuses. He wasn’t sure what he’d say yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be gentle. Sebastian had burned through every ounce of patience Ominis had left. If cruel honesty was what it took to finally get through to him, then so be it.

The Undercroft was quiet when Ominis arrived, the stone walls damp with the faint chill that always lingered in the hidden room. His footsteps echoed softly as he stepped inside, his wand guiding him toward the center where he knew Sebastian would be. Because when things got overwhelming—and they always did with Sebastian—he retreated to the Undercroft. It was his sanctuary.

But not today. Today, it would be his reckoning.

Sure enough, Sebastian was there, pacing in agitated circles. Ominis could hear the scuff of his boots against the floor, could feel the restless energy radiating off of him even without seeing it. He stopped mid-step when the wall closed behind Ominis, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them.

“You’re late,” Sebastian said eventually, his voice carrying a familiar edge of bravado. But it was thinner than usual, and Ominis could tell he was barely holding it together.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?” Ominis replied, his voice calm but laced with steel.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re just going to yell at me, save it. I’ve heard enough of it from Imelda, from Poppy—hell, even Garreth had a go at me.”

Ominis took a step forward, “And did any of them get through to you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away, his silence telling. Finally, he muttered, “I already know I messed up, Ominis.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Ominis snapped, his frustration breaking through. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis pressed on, his tone sharp. “Evangeline has stood by you through everything—through curses, through murder, protecting you from Azkaban. She’s defended you, fought for you when you didn’t deserve it. And now, because of one drunken night and your inability to think past your own damn nose, you’ve humiliated her in front of the entire school.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sebastian said quietly, his voice strained.

Ominis barked out a bitter laugh. “Of course you didn’t. You never mean to. But that doesn’t change what happened. While she was passed out, Sebastian—passed out—you went and snogged some fifth-year by the fire. Do you even realize how that looks? How that makes her feel?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Sebastian exploded, his voice rising. “I—Merlin, Ominis, I didn’t plan for any of this to happen! It just… it just did.”

Ominis took another step forward, his voice cutting like steel. “And instead of fixing it, you’ve spent the last week pretending it doesn’t bother you. Flashing that stupid grin, parading around with the same girl you snogged that night—”

“I’m not parading—”

“Don’t,” Ominis snapped, his tone icy. “Don’t even try to justify it. You’ve made a mess of things, Sebastian. A mess that Evangeline is paying for. And what have you done to fix it? Hm?”

Sebastian exhaled a shuddering breath, his pacing resuming as though the movement could somehow release the weight of Ominis’s words. The silence between them grew heavy again, stretching like a taut wire that threatened to snap.

“Why?” Ominis finally asked, his voice low but unyielding. “Why did you do it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian froze mid-step, his back to Ominis. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the answer could be wrung out of his skull. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sebastian turned sharply, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ominis! I was drunk! She was drunk! It just—” He stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. “It just happened.”

Ominis shook his head, unimpressed. "I’ve known you long enough to know that everything you do has a reason—even if it’s a selfish one. So tell me why. Why did you do it?"

Sebastian’s jaw worked as he looked away, his gaze fixed on some point on the floor. Ominis could hear the rapid, uneven rhythm of his breathing, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his frame.

“What were you thinking?!” Ominis pressed, his tone sharp.

Sebastian barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You really want to know, Ominis? Fine. I was thinking about myself,” he said, "About what I wanted, about—” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “About what I couldn’t have.”

Ominis clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening around his wand. He knew where this was going, but hearing Sebastian lay it out piece by piece was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

Sebastian let out a bitter sigh, slumping against one of the stone pillars. “She was… Merlin, Evie was so drunk. But she was happy to see me. She smiled at me like, like maybe she—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening before he forced the words out. “Like maybe she might feel the same way. Like maybe we could actually have a chance.”

“But then she passed out. And I—I should have stayed with her. I know that." He laughed again , the sound hollow and self-loathing. "But all I could think about was what it felt like when she looked at me, when she leaned into me like she didn’t want to let go. And how much I wanted her. How much I couldn’t have her. Because she'll never love me back, Ominis. And I don't deserve her anyway.”

He pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, his words tumbling out in a rush now. “And then I saw someone else, and for one stupid, selfish second, it was easier. Easier to let myself pretend my feelings for Evie didn’t matter, to forget how much I wanted someone I couldn't have and never will. So, yes. I kissed her. I didn’t think about what it looked like, or what it meant, or how much worse it would make everything. I just… did it.” His voice cracked and he turned away, his shoulders trembling with the weight of his confession.

“And now you've ruined everything,” Ominis muttered, his voice low but razor-sharp.

Sebastian flinched, his head dropping. “I know, Ominis. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Oh, I do,” Ominis shot back, stepping closer, his tone gaining an edge. “Because apparently, it takes the whole damn school yelling at you before anything gets through that thick skull of yours."

Sebastian turned back to him, his expression anguished. “Do you really think you need to say all this? That I don’t already hate myself?”

“Hate yourself all you like," Ominis said coldly. "But hating yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t undo what you did, and it sure as hell doesn’t make up for the fact that you left her lying there while you went off to satisfy your ego.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his head falling against the pillar again with a dull thud. “How could I leave her there, Ominis? I didn’t even think about what might happen to her. What if she’d gotten sick? What if someone else found her before Natty? What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Do you want me to list it all out for you, Sebastian?” Ominis’s voice was sharp and unrelenting, each word like a lash. “Do you want me to spell out exactly what’s wrong with you? Because I will. I’ll tell you that you’re selfish. That you’re reckless. That you’ve let your feelings for Evangeline warp you into someone so consumed by his own desires that you don't even think about the destruction your decisions leave in their wake.”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis didn’t stop. He stepped closer, his voice deadly calm. “I’ll tell you that you’ve taken the strongest person I know—the one who never wavered, who stood by you when no one else would—and you’ve turned her into someone who hides. You’ve made her doubt herself. Doubt her worth. And why? Because of your selfishness. Because of your inability to think beyond your own wants.”

Sebastian’s shoulders sagged, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came. Ominis’s voice grew colder, his tone cutting like ice.

“You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Not the Slytherins who taunt her about her heritage. Not the gossiping fools who envy her. You. Because she trusted you. She trusted you more than anyone else in this world, and you threw that trust away—for what? A fleeting, meaningless moment of distraction?”

Sebastian’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “I didn’t—” he started, his voice hoarse.

“Didn’t what?” Ominis interrupted, stepping closer until he was looming over Sebastian, “Didn’t think? Didn’t mean it? Those excuses won’t fix what you’ve done. You can’t undo this with hollow words or promises you’ll never keep.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his head hanging low as Ominis continued, his tone softening slightly but still firm. “You're broken. You’ve been breaking ever since Anne left, ever since Solomon died, ever since you let yourself believe you don’t deserve better. And maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t. You sure as hell don't deserve Evangeline. But she deserves better than the coward you’re being right now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of Ominis’s words. For once, Sebastian had no quick retort, no deflections or bravado to hide behind. He stood there, raw and exposed, the reality of his actions settling over him like a suffocating fog.

Ominis stepped back, his expression unreadable. “If you want to fix this, then stop wallowing and do something about it. Not for you—for her. She’s not going to wait for you forever, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked up at him then, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know how,” he whispered. “I don’t know where to start, Ominis.”

Ominis stared at Sebastian for a long moment. His sharp features softened only slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

“You start,” Ominis said, his voice low and deliberate, “By telling her the truth. And then you listen, Sebastian. You listen to what she has to say, and you take it. Whatever she throws at you, you take it, because you deserve it.”

Sebastian flinched at the finality in Ominis’s tone, the weight of his words sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. His eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders sagging under the crushing realization of just how badly he’d screwed up. “What if she doesn't forgive me?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I think,” Ominis said, his voice softer now but no less firm, “that Evangeline Sterling has already given you more chances than anyone else ever would. And if you don’t stop wasting them, then yes, Sebastian. She’ll stop listening. She’ll stop caring. And she'll stop forgiving. But you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, the motion heavy with resignation. “I’ll... I'll talk to her,” he said finally, his voice hollow.

Ominis didn’t respond right away. He studied Sebastian for a moment longer, as though weighing his words. Then he gave a short, curt nod. “Good. And Sebastian?”

Sebastian looked up at him, his expression hollow and weary. “Yeah?”

“If she forgives you, don’t make her regret giving you another chance.” Ominis’s voice was like iron, unyielding. “Because if you hurt her again, I won’t forgive you either.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, the weight of Ominis’s warning settling over him like a second layer of guilt. He didn’t reply, and Ominis didn’t wait for him to. With a swish of his wand, the Undercroft’s entrance opened, and Ominis stepped through without another word, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

Sebastian woke to the damp chill of the Undercroft, the rough stone beneath him pressing uncomfortably into his back. His neck ached from the awkward angle at which he’d slumped against one of the pillars, and his robes were crumpled, wrinkled from what could hardly be called sleep. For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind foggy and disoriented, the weight in his chest a stubborn, familiar ache.

How had he ended up here?

It hit him all at once: Ominis. His words. The cold fury in his voice, the brutal precision of every accusation. The memory surged back like a slap, leaving no room for denial, no way to escape the truth Ominis had hammered into him.

You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Because she trusted you.

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand over his face. The coarse fabric of his sleeve scratched against his skin, grounding him against the dull throb of his guilt. He knew he deserved it. Deserved worse, even. But that didn’t make it any easier to breathe.

Sebastian sat up slowly, his body stiff and sluggish. The cool air of the Undercroft wrapped around him, biting through his crumpled robes, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the memory of Evangeline’s absence—her quiet absence in the hallways, the way her laughter had disappeared from their group, leaving behind a hollow silence he couldn’t fill.

You threw that trust away.

Sebastian pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could physically push the memories back, stop them from replaying over and over. But they wouldn’t stop, because Ominis had been right. His words weren’t just true—they were inescapable.

Because she trusted you.

The thought alone was enough to drive him to his feet, his legs trembling slightly from the hours he’d spent curled on the ground. He staggered upright, leaning briefly against the pillar for support as his knees protested. His movements were stiff, his body as uncooperative, but he couldn’t stay here.

He had to find her. He had to try to fix this.

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning energy as Sebastian stepped inside, scanning the Gryffindor table for any sign of her. His stomach clenched when he saw that her usual spot—wedged between Natty and Cressida—was empty. His heart sank further when he caught sight of the guarded expressions on their faces as he approached.

“Where’s Evangeline?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep and the lingering tension in his chest.

Natty exchanged a glance with Cressida before answering. “We don’t know,” she said carefully.

Sebastian frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Cressida said softly, “that she hasn’t been around much. We didn't see her this morning in the common room, nor in our dorm. She’s barely there. She wakes up before us, goes to bed late, and hardly says a word.”

Her words landed like a blow to his gut. “She hasn’t said where she’s been?”

Natty shook her head, her expression turning to one of quiet reproach. “Sebastian, she’s avoiding people for a reason.”

He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to press them for more, but the look in Natty’s eyes was enough to stop him. She knew what had happened—of course she did, she's the one who found Evie laying there alone—and there was no hiding from the judgment in her eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered before turning on his heel and stalking out of the hall.

The hours that followed were a frustrating blur of dead ends as Sebastian scoured every corner of the castle he could think of.

He wandered through the library first, weaving between the shelves and peering into the tucked-away corners where she liked to study. His footsteps echoed in the quiet space, but no matter how far he searched, there was no sign of her. Madam Scribner glared at him over her spectacles when his whispered inquiries became too loud, and he left before her irritation could boil over into words.

The Quidditch pitch was his next stop, but it, too, was empty, save for a pair of second-years casually tossing a Quaffle back and forth. He lingered at the edge of the stands for a moment, staring out at the expanse of grass, before turning away with a muttered curse.

By the time night fell, his legs ached from climbing stairs and traversing hallways, but his determination remained unwavering. He retreated to the Undercroft once more, hoping that she might show up, seeking the solace the hidden room often provided. But as the minutes stretched into hours, he was met with nothing but the cold, empty silence of the space.

It was in the early hours of morning that Sebastian finally slipped through the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The dim, green-tinted room was nearly empty, save for a pair of fifth-years whispering near the hearth, but Sebastian barely spared them a glance as he made his way toward his dormitory.

He felt hollow, his chest tight with frustration and guilt. Hours of searching had turned up nothing, and the idea of going to bed without finding her filled him with a restless dread.

Pushing open the door to his dormitory, he stepped inside, his gaze immediately snapping to the companion candle on his bedside table. The soft glow of its flame greeted him, flickering steadily. His pulse quickened.

Evangeline was awake somewhere.

Sebastian stepped back into the corridor and closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as relief warred with frustration. She was awake. But where?

He racked his brain, thought back to every conversation, every memory they’d shared, searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue of where she might be hiding.

And then, it hit him.

The memory she’d shared with him for his birthday. It had been a beautiful day by the Black Lake in their fifth year, the two of them sitting side by side, staring out at the water as the sky reflected on its surface.

Sebastian pushed off the door, his heart pounding. Maybe she was there. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

The castle was silent as he slipped through its shadowed corridors. Sneaking out past curfew was second nature to him by now, but tonight, his usual thrill of rebellion was absent. All he could focus on was finding her.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped onto the grounds, the vast expanse of the Black Lake stretching out before him. The moonlight danced across its surface, casting rippling reflections that seemed to shift with the breeze. The chill bit at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, his eyes scanning the shoreline.

And then he saw her.

She was perched on a low, weathered rock near the edge of the lake, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the moonlight.

For a moment, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of her after what felt like an eternity apart stilled him, rooting him to the spot. She looked so small, so fragile, her usual fire dimmed into quiet embers.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move. The crunch of his boots against the gravel shore broke the silence, and he saw her stiffen slightly at the sound. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew she knew he was there.

“Evie,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the lapping of the lake’s gentle waves.

She didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the water, her arms tightening around her knees.

Sebastian hesitated, unsure whether to move closer. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step would send them both tumbling into an abyss they couldn’t climb out of.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he’d been carrying.

“Why?” she asked, her tone flat and distant. The single word cut through him like a blade.

He took a step closer, the cool air biting at his skin. “Because I need to talk to you."

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and devoid of warmth. "What for? To give me some excuse for why you left me there? Why you chose her over me?" Her voice cracked, and she quickly turned away, her hands gripping the fabric of her cardigan - the very same one he'd picked out for her weeks ago in Hogsmeade. And now, seeing her clutch it like armor against him, the memory felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I—” His voice faltered. He had spent hours in his mind rehearsing what he might say if he found her, but now, faced with the raw pain in her voice and the sight of her curling further into herself, every word felt inadequate.

“You what, Sebastian?” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes, glinting in the moonlight, weren’t filled with the fire he was used to. They were dulled, tired, and red-rimmed from tears. “You didn’t mean for it to happen? You didn’t think it would matter? You didn’t—what? Care?”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, the desperation in his tone undeniable. “I care, Evie. I care more than I can—” He stopped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I just… I didn’t think. I was stupid, and I didn’t think.”

“Didn’t think.” She repeated the words slowly, bitterly, her voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it?”

Sebastian flinched, the accusation hitting harder than he’d expected.

“You didn’t think about how I would feel,” she continued, her voice steady but trembling with barely restrained emotion. “You didn’t think about what it would be like for me to hear what you did—to watch you strut around the school with her on your arm and know that everyone was laughing at my expense. You didn’t think about how it would feel to trust you, to stand by you, and have you turn around and… and—”

She broke off, her voice cracking as her gaze dropped back to the water. Her arms tightened around her knees again, her fingers digging into the fabric of the cardigan.

Sebastian took another step closer, his hands clenched at his sides as though he was physically holding himself back from reaching for her. “Evangeline,” he murmured, her full name slipping out instinctively.

"Don't call me that." Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle, as if the words themselves were a shield she had hastily raised.

Sebastian froze.

She had never stopped him from calling her Evangeline—never. It wasn’t just her name; it was his, in a way... something he naturally wielded with purpose. He used it sparingly, reserved for moments that carried weight: when he wanted to tease her into a smile, make her pause and really hear him, or when he needed to say something only she could understand. It was his way of reaching past her walls, of breaking through barriers when she threw them up. Now, hearing her reject it felt like a door slamming shut, leaving him stranded on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the words rough and uneven.

She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the water. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she murmured. “You’re good at that, you know—saying what people want to hear."

Sebastian stepped closer, “I do mean it,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m sorry, Evang—Evie. For everything. For hurting you. For making you feel like I didn’t care. I... I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to. I need to.”

She let out a hollow laugh, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Fix it? You can’t undo what you did. You can’t un-snog her. You can’t erase what everyone’s saying.”

“I know,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “I know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to make it right."

Her head turned slightly at that, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before darting away. “For me, or for you?” she asked softly. “You sure you're not just here to soothe your guilt? To make yourself feel better?”

“No!” he said urgently, stepping closer again. “This isn’t about me, Evie, it’s about you—because you’re…” His voice faltered, and he blinked hard, feeling the sting of tears building behind his eyes. “You’re everything to me, Evie. You always have been.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her posture stiffening as if she were bracing herself against them. “Stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, and a tear slipped down his cheek, warm and bitter against his skin. He wiped it away hastily, as if embarrassed, but his hands trembled at his sides. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he said, his voice raw. He took another step, closing the space between them, and knelt in front of her. His chest heaved with the effort to keep himself steady, to show her the truth in every fractured word.

Her hazel eyes lingered on the water for another beat, and then she exhaled, her shoulders sinking under the weight of everything she’d been holding back. It wasn’t a collapse, but a quiet unraveling, as though all her defenses were fraying at the edges.

The first tear slid down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. It was followed by another, and then another, until her breath hitched, a small, broken sound escaping her lips. She pressed her trembling hands to her face, muffling the quiet sobs that started to spill free.

“Evie…” Sebastian’s voice cracked, raw and filled with desperation. His own eyes burned, his own tears slipping free, but he reached out instinctively, his hand hovering uncertainly over her arm. “Please... don’t cry. I—Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head without looking at him, her face buried in her hands. “You don’t get it,” she gasped through the tears, her voice raw and choked. “You don’t get how hard it is—how humiliated I’ve felt. I was always the one who stood by you, Sebastian. Always. And this... this is what I get for it.”

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking again. “You’re right about all of it. I’ve been selfish, reckless... I’ve hurt you in ways I don’t know how to fix. But Evie, please believe me—I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.”

His hand trembled as it settled gently on her arm, the gesture tentative, pleading. When her gaze flickered down to it, Sebastian froze, his breath catching in his throat. He braced himself for her to pull away.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, her lips pressing into a thin line. But then, with a sigh so soft it was almost inaudible, she shifted, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him.

He stayed perfectly still, his breath catching as she let her head drop, her temple brushing lightly against his shoulder. He could feel her uneven breaths, the tremble in her frame as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Sebastian,” she said after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no anger in her tone now, no sharp edges. Just tired, aching honesty. “You always do this. You hurt me, and then you come back, and somehow, I always forgive you.”

He swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his chest like a knife. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

She didn’t respond right away, her silence stretching out between them. The soft lapping of the lake’s waves didn't even fill the void that had grown. And when she finally spoke again, her voice was so quiet he almost missed it.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I keep thinking… maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll change. And then... you don’t.”

Sebastian flinched, “Evie, please,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m trying. I know I’ve failed, but I am trying. I swear I am.”

She let out a quiet, hollow laugh, her breath warm against his shoulder. “I think you believe that,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t feel like it from where I’m standing. From where I’m... sitting.” Her lips quirked faintly, though there was no humor in the gesture.

Sebastian’s chest tightened further, his vision blurred by unshed tears, “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice heavy with desperation. “I swear it, Evie. I know I’ve let you down. Over and over. And I hate myself for it. I hate what I’ve done to you. What I’ve done to us.”

She leaned back to look at him and her gaze softened slightly, though the weariness didn’t leave her eyes. “I don’t want you to hate yourself, Sebastian,” she said quietly. “I just… I just want you to stop hurting me.”

Sebastian felt her words sink into him like lead weights, dragging him down with the raw, simple truth of them. Stop hurting me. It wasn’t a demand or an accusation. It wasn’t even spoken with anger. It was a plea—fragile and trembling, like she didn’t even expect it to be possible.

“I will, Evie,” he murmured, his voice raw and unsteady. “I swear it.”

Her lips twitched faintly, though the ghost of a smile never quite formed. “You say that,” she said softly, leaning back against him. “And maybe you mean it. It's just... I don’t think I can take it again if you’re wrong.”

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he let the silence settle between them again, his hand still resting lightly on her arm. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, the quiet stretching out into a fragile bubble. But eventually, he spoke again, his voice low and steady.

“I’m not wrong this time,” he said, the words more a vow than a promise. “I can’t be. Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Evangeline's breath hitched then, and for a moment, he thought she might pull away. But instead, she simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his words. A silent understanding.

Sebastian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hand hesitating before shifting to cover hers where it rested against her knee. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t grip—just let his palm rest there, warm and steady, like an unspoken promise.

“You’re still a bloody idiot,” Evie murmured after what felt like an eternity, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Sebastian let out a faint laugh, the sound rough and cracked but real. “Yeah,” he admitted, his lips twitching into the barest of smiles. “I probably always will be.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hazel eyes searching his face. There was still hurt there, still an ache he couldn’t hope to erase in a single night. But there was something else, too—a flicker of something softer, something that gave him hope.

“Please don’t make me regret this, Sebastian,” she said quietly.

His throat tightened, and he nodded, his eyes locked on hers. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw but unwavering. “Not this time.”

For a moment, she held his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she leaned back into him, letting her arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer.

The tension that had been coiled so tightly in Sebastian’s shoulders began to ease as he closed his eyes, his chin lightly brushing the top of her head. The scent of her hair enveloped him. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he was desperate for until now.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice soft, “Whatever it takes, Evangeline, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll fix what I’ve broken.”

Her grip on him tightened slightly, and though she didn’t respond, he felt the subtle shift in her breathing. She was letting him in, piece by fragile piece. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A beginning.

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