#and them taking the brunt of the angst as leaders

[pyro-madder]

i'm a main characters enjoyer. but i also love a good villain (charismatic, sympathetic or just compelling). but nothing, nothing tugs at my heartstrings more than "morally grey second-in-command and leader of their elite group who could very well change sides if they weren't so blinded by loyalty"

[jinx-xxed]

Protected

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I love characters protecting their too-stubborn partners

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Kylo Ren does the worst thing imaginable in order to save you—he forces you off the battlefield.

Content; Angst to fluff, Supreme Leader Kylo, Commander Reader, original characters, bonded to Kylo through the Force, reader gets seriously injured, very protective Kylo, Kylo doesn’t want you to die, Kylo’s scared of losing you, and you’re scared of losing him, mention of Kylo dual wielding after he takes your lightsaber (he’s crazy), battlefield Kylo (my favorite), reader gets sentenced to the infirmary, talking about feelings, cuddling

Wc; 2.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“You can’t do this!”

Your boots slip in the mud as you’re dragged backwards, you struggle against the hands that hold you. Rain pelts your body, drenches the entire battlefield, is illuminated in its fall to the ground by the ship headlights. Your infuriated gaze is stuck on the man before you; dressed in black, form eerily illuminated by the crackling red light of his saber and the blue undertones of the world around you. The silver around the visor in his mask seems to absorb the fluorescent lights of the ship, reflecting them back towards you. His steps sink into the skid marks you’ve left in the mud, walking in front of you in stride with your restrainers.

“Let me go!” You yell, thrashing as best you can, ignoring the screaming agony reverberating through your left side, hisses spat from between your teeth. You try with everything in you to free yourself from the members of your personal fleet that have a hold of you—Eera, Chief, and Rankou—your own comrades being used against you to keep you down. You’d expect your authority over them to work in your favor and for them to release you but considering the order came from Kylo, you’re sorely overruled.

“This is for your own good!” Chief says over the rain and thunderous noise of the battle happening just beyond the mountains that surround you all in this hidden alcove. She grunts as your elbow manages to fly back and hit her side, though her grip doesn’t budge.

“I can still fight! You can’t send me away like this!” You shout. Your captors pause briefly, allowing you to fall to your knees, mud and freezing cold water soaking into your clothes, chilling your war-heated body. Your chest heaves, puffs of your breath visible in the air. Every inhale hurts, every twitch of muscle aches and sends lightning bolts of pain across your limbs.

“I can, and I will.” Kylo says definitively, voice spat through the vocoder within his helmet. “You’re injured and in no state to be on a battlefield.”

“Bullshit, so are you!” You snarl, giving one last thrash of your arms, your strength already weakening. Your anger explodes, and you know he feels it along the bond you share. He can probably taste it in his mouth. It’s like he’s undermining you, underestimating your ability to fight right alongside him. But beyond that, you’re angry at him for making you leave him here alone. This fight is not easy, and it will continue to get harder, and he’s sending you away to deal with it on his own. Sure, he has the soldiers, but they’re just fodder in your eyes. He’s the one your enemies are after, he’s the one at the forefront, he’s the one who takes the brunt of it all. And you’re supposed to be there to be his shield. Sword and shield, that’s what you two are.

His own emotions along the bond come forward to combat yours, clashing in a similar fashion to the way lightsabers might. His are born from concern, for a need to protect you after he saw you be a direct victim of an explosion, after he had to drag your half-concious form off the field while your blood created a trail along the ground.

Your left side remains gaping still, red mixing with the rain and being washed away. It stings, it hurts like hell, but it still hurts less than being forced to leave him.

“Mine are minor. You will die if you stay out here.” He says. His injuries are a few mere scratches and wounds from blasters grazing his arms, nothing nearly as severe as your own. Your struggling has made it worse, torn it further at the edges, caused more blood to spill. He sees as such, and his disapproval is palpable. “You need to leave.”

You begin to get pulled again. The ramp to the ship is less than a foot away. “No! No, no, you can’t! Ren, you bastard!” You scream. You spit, you curse, you snarl—you act like a raging, rabid animal. In your flailing attempts at freedom, your lightsaber comes loose of its place on your belt, audibly falling into the mud. Theres a brief second where everything seems to freeze as your eyes land on it, and so do Kylo’s, his thought process easily following your own. You both go for it at the same time, both reaching out for it desperately with the Force, eager to be the first to grab it. Since it’s your own weapon, naturally it should have more affinity towards you and you feel that invisible grip on it, but in your weakened state, Kylo overpowers you with infuriating ease and it feels like he shoves you aside to take over. He yanks it from your grip as you yell, the metal handle flying into his outstretched hand and well away from you.

“No! Give that back!” You demand. It’s your own damn lightsaber, he has no right-

He clips it onto his belt, safely out of your reach. “I’ll give it back once this is done.” He then closes the distance between you at last, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away a raindrop that falls from your eyelashes. He leans forward, presses the cold muzzle of his helmet against your forehead as if to kiss you. His voice is low when he says, “I’ll find you again. I promise.”

You feel a pull against your mind, a tug in the direction you were already heading. It’s supposed to be simple like falling asleep but it feels more like getting the floor ripped out from under you. Kylo uses his ability to lull you into unconsciousness, taking advantage of your waning strength and sucking away more of it to make you less of a difficulty for the rest of them. Darkness swims at the edges of your vision, your body goes slack and your head lolls.

He straightens, looking to the Fleet members who hold you. “Get her on that ship and get her out of here.” His order is final, and then you can just barely see him as he walks away, his black-robed form swimming and blending in with the world around him.

“N-no, no…” Emotion cracks your voice, tears mix with the rain until they’re indistinguishable. You don’t know if the tears are from your own fear or your anger or both. You feel your comrades pull you onto the ship like it’s secondary, like it’s happening to someone who isn’t you. You feel the ramp close and the engines come to life. You feel a final despair as you’re taken into the warm embrace of the darkness.

» ☆ «

The door to your infirmary room opens. It’s followed by the familiar thudding of boots, the swish of a cape, until it all stops and Kylo stands next to your bed. Your back is turned to him, body curled up as best it can be without irritating the wounds wrapped in generous gauze. Your shoulders hunch as you feel him staring, you curl up just a bit tighter. Your stubborn attitude keeps you from facing him, so you ignore him in a futile attempt at pretending he’s not there. It’s an impossible task when his presence is so obvious and imposing, especially when you’re bonded to him.

“Love,” he says after a moment; his helmet is off, his voice clear. He waits another moment, silence stretching between you both. “Look at me.”

As much as you want to keep being stubborn, you can’t ignore the relief you feel at having him there, knowing he’s okay after not seeing him for four days—even if you were unconscious for half of that. You roll over, meeting his gaze at last. His face visibly softens when he can look at you and he sets his helmet that had been tucked under his arm aside. He settles himself on the edge of the bed next to you, making a significant dip that has you sliding closer to him. Kylo reaches forward to brush the backs of his gloved fingers against your cheek, then holding his hand there and leaning to kiss you. It’s gentle and easy against your lips, more of a greeting than anything. He pulls away and his eyes fall towards the bandages covering the entirety of your left side, visible beneath the tank top you wear. A healthy amount of bacta is smeared along the gauze, already fully healing a majority of your injuries.

His attention doesn’t lift from them as he says, “the battle was won.”

“I expected no less.” You reply with nothing but honesty. Your victories are almost always assured, your enemies being no match for the First Order. Though of course, some are harder to win than others.

There’s another silence between you as he idly runs his thumb along the back of your hand. He’s considering his next words, thinking of what to say. You get the general sense of his concentration along your connection, mixed with the colors of muddy blue and purple and gray—colors of uncertainty. “I’m sorry for what I did.” He says finally. An apology was not what you were expecting to hear from him, but it’s welcome nonetheless. Apologies from him are always rare, and it’s clear this one still took him a good amount of effort.

Your chin dips in the slightest hint of a nod, a sigh blowing through your nose. “We’re supposed to be partners. We fight together.” You say. “I could’ve done more.”

His free hand clenches into a fist. “I did what I had to to save you. I was not going to let you die trying to protect me.” He says roughly. “When I saw that explosion hit you I… you have no idea what that did to me. You were barely conscious, I thought that you…” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching at the memory. You have a faint recollection of the emotion you’d felt from him in that moment, so fierce and clear along the bond that you could still feel it even in your state. He was beyond furious, ready to kill each and every last person who harmed you, to unleash infinite hells upon the enemy forces. But above all, he was scared. He was terrified that he was going to lose you as he watched your blood seep out in a steady stream, mixing with the mud beneath you.

You take his hand into your own, drawing him out of the dark cloud he stuck himself into. “I know. I know you were just protecting me. It’s just hard to accept that when your entire life has been dedicated to being a war commander. You never want to get taken off the field.” His hand is warm, blissfully so against your cold ones. The leather of his gloves is familiar. “Thank you.”

You can tell he’s not sure how to take being thanked, he never has been, so he changes the subject. “How are your injuries?”

“They’re better, almost fully healed. It’s just some of the major ones that need more time, perhaps another day, the medics said. Not sure what the scarring situation may look like.” You say, pondering the idea. You received severe burns and cuts from shrapnel, but the bacta is quick to reverse damage, so who knows if you’ll sustain any reminders of the wounds at all. “What about yours?”

He shakes his head. “They were nothing to be concerned about. A brief touch of bacta on the worst of them and I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” You say with a brief smile. It seems neither of you can ever come out of a battle uninjured.

He reaches over to his belt, unclipping a familiar item and depositing it into your hands. “Here, as promised.” You stare at your lightsaber handle, feeling that sturdy weight and all the different notches and engravings. It feels like an old friend, a companion through thick and thin. However, embedded into that metal is something else, a recent memory that doesn’t belong to you. A brief scene flashes through your mind, of hands that aren’t yours gripping the saber, both ends ablaze with red fury, twisting and thrashing it.

You look up at Kylo, astonishment clear on your face. “You used my lightsaber? I can’t believe you.” You say teasingly, raising a brow. He avoids your gaze, seemingly embarrassed to admit anything. You chuckle. “So, how was it?”

“It was… fine.” He bites the words out before he composes himself. “I can see why it requires such skill to handle one like yours. Your abilities are impressive.”

You smile again. “Thanks. I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself with it.” He rolls his eyes at that and you laugh as you set your lightsaber safely aside.

When you do, your eyes catch on the clock positioned on the wall that reads how late it is. The crew of the Steadfast is probably preparing to power down for the night and those taking the night patrols are getting ready for their shifts. You tap your fingers in thought, debating what you want to ask instead of just saying it like a wimp.

“I’ll stay here with you.” Kylo says, before you can manage to get it out. He saw the question formulating in your mind, felt the desire for him to keep close. He doesn’t want to leave you either.

“Are you sure? It’s a tight fit.” You point out. “I understand if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.” The infirmary beds are always small, sometimes even smaller than standard dorm beds, though this one is a just a tad bigger than usual because you’re the one sleeping in it. Sometimes your status can be useful.

“Of course I’m sure.” He responds, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You scoot over to make as much room as you can for his hulking form. Kylo gets in behind you after kicking his boots off, about an inch away from falling off the bed, and pulls you close. He’s so very careful of your injuries, his arms snug around your body, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His steady breathing tickles your skin and his warmth bleeds into you, chasing away the chill of the infirmary as the lights dim to darkness.

The bond between you becomes relaxed, producing a mixture of warm colors and happy feelings that’s cultivated easily by the two of you in your state of peace as sleep is quick to claim you both.

[adrift-in-thyme]

May I request Fairy Time and Hyrule doing some wing care or teaching the others how to help them take care of their wings?

Yes you absolutely may! Tysm anon!! I hope you don’t mind a bit of angst with all the softness

CW for one mention of blood

———————————————————————-

“How long has it been since you did this?”

Hyrule runs gentle fingers over Time’s wings. They spread grandly on either side, hues of soft greens and delicate blue-violets reflecting the sun’s smiling rays. Usually, they are colored in bold crimson and royal blue, which clash like swords on a battlefield. But today they take on a more tired appearance. Faded, they have begun to droop discouragingly.

Time has never admitted it, but Hyrule has eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that his wings change when something is wrong. More often than not, they herald the disturbance before it can truly become known. A flash of forest green and the next thing he knows Time is fading into the mist in search of solitude.

…or collapsing in the middle of the trail.

Now, Time hums, sounding distracted. His hands lie in his lap. Absently, he twists his wedding band back and forth so quickly it is liable to rub a rash into his skin.

(Another nervous habit of his Hyrule has picked up on.)

“I’m not certain,” he admits, after a moment of quiet contemplation. The words are spoken with an air of something so desperate to be flippant. “I’ve been occupied with other matters.”

Hyrule blows out a weary sigh.

Other matters like worrying about all of us.

True, things have been strained amongst the heroes since Twilight’s injury. And as unofficial leader — and the rancher’s ancestor — Time has borne the brunt of it all. But still….

Malon had warned him about this.

“Oh, he just doesn’t take care of himself.” She had whispered during a visit to the ranch months ago after Time had fallen asleep at the dinner table. Head resting on her shoulder, he slept far deeper than he had in days.

“I’m not askin’ y’all to hover or anything. Heaven knows you’ve got enough on your plates as it is. But…just check in once in a while, will ya, loves? I don’t want him to lose himself while trying to take care of everyone else.”

Hyrule can’t help but feel that he has failed. The events of the past weeks have left their mark upon him too. Exhaustion has hounded him at every turn, dragging him down so heavily that he has nearly collapsed beneath it. And yet, he had noticed the signs. The quietness, the reservation, the increase in snappishness…the fear. But he had done nothing about them.

It wasn’t until Time had asked if he had taken the time to care for his own wings that he realized he hadn’t seen the older hero settle down to tend to his own lately.

He winces as he weaves the spell into some of the worse areas, mainly gathered around a large scar. These large wings, normally so bright with magic and life, have begun to lose their glimmer. Frightened, they shrivel, curling in one themselves to shield from the light.

With wings like this, flying will soon become agonizing.

Would he have tried to anyway? Hyrule doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Solitude can be harmful. He knows that far too well. But sometimes he wonders just how much of his life Time has spent alone to end up believing it is the only way to get by. Even after this family they have formed along the paths of hardship, even after Malon, it seems to be the road most familiar to the hero.

“You can always ask me, you know.”

He has been gentle this entire time, even more so than he is with his own wings. But with this part, he is extra cautious. He threads the healing magic into Time’s veins with the delicacy of one handling glass.

“I know it’s hard to take care of your wings yourself. And I know it’s even harder to trust others to do it for you. But…” He swallows as his fingertips graze the scar.

What had occurred to create such a chasm? To his knowledge, Time has never spoken of the event. Sometimes, he wonders if he ever will.

“You trust me…right, old man?”

Time looks up, fingers stilling at last.

“Of course, I do, traveler,” he says, softly. “I don’t mean to make it seem like I don’t.”

“Then, let me help you. Please?”

“I’m allowing you to now, aren’t I?”

The traveler huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. It doesn’t mean I can’t tease.”

There is a smile in his voice, and Hyrule is glad of it. Even still, if the hero believes he’s going to escape without a proper reply, he is sorely mistaken. If Hyrule is known for anything, it’s his infinite stubbornness.

“Come on, old man,” he urges, softly. “Promise me you’ll ask someone to help tend to your wings when you need it. It doesn’t even have to be me. Just ask someone, please.”

Time’s wings are beginning to improve now. Threads of vibrant red glow from beneath the green. Like blood on new cloth, they spread, engulfing the other colors. He watches, slightly awed.

“I love you, Time,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you enduring pain just cause you don’t want to be a burden.”

For a long moment, Time says nothing. The only sounds are the subdued jingles of the spell twined about Hyrule’s fingers and the harmony of their breaths. It is peaceful in a pensive sort of way.

Then, “alright,” he says in a voice taut with emotion. “But only if you allow me to help you when you need it. Don’t think I don’t see how you struggle to remember your own welfare. You are too selfless for your own good.”

Hyrule chuckles. “Well, I could say the same about you.”

A small smile lifts Time’s lips. “Such is the path of the hero, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” The traveler’s gaze goes to the scar once more. “I guess.”

Silence pads in on soft, silken paws and settles down cozily. Time goes back to rotating his ring, though the motions are slower, calmer this time. Hyrule turns his full attention to finishing his task. Above them, the sun smiles, and Time’s wings transfer it in panes of pale red upon the blades of grass.

“Traveler?” Time’s voice is so quiet it is hardly above a whisper. It nudges aside the quiet, murmurs with the wind.

When the hero is in his fairy form, it is as though he is of the nature that surrounds them; as at home amongst the towering trees and great sky, stones and moss and gurgling streams, as the fleet-footed deer or furtive foxes.

Hyrule looks up, head cocked in question. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. And…” Time smiles, so soft it erases years of anguished hardship from his visage. “I love you too.”

The traveler smiles.

[uselesssomebody]

could you maybe do poe comforting an overwhelmed reader by giving them his jacket to wear 🥺

𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟 - poe dameron x reader

complete masterlist | poe dameron masterlist

words || 𝟠.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which poe kinda makes the reader's life hell

a/n || 8,7k??? what is wrong with me

➵ nonnie you're gonna have to sift through like 8k words to get to the request but star wars fics need good world building

➵ yo send me moon knight requests or any oscar/pedro characters i'm banging them out right now

➵ not edited (yet)

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/angst

her tools fall out of her hand with a distinct clatter, as she rises from her haunches for the first time in about an hour. she runs a gentle finger over the the edge of the removed metal plate, examining her handiwork at re-configuring, and then bettering the main control center.

it’d looked like hell when she'd first seen it, just 10 minutes after the black squadron had returned to d'qar - after a particularly nasty run in with some tie-fighters after attempting to survey a first order base. though all the members had bore a part of the violence and destruction, he who bore the brunt of it was their oh so brave leader - poe dameron.

of course, his extreme courage, and never-ending headstrong-edness did enough to serve his position as the resistance's golden boy. on the other hand, though, that same bravery owed to her consecutive long nights.

see, no one thought about the little guy - dameron was probably basking in the praise he was receiving at the moment, while no one ever remembered that the only reason his shots were so good was because she'd tinkered with the weapons system until perfection. the only reason he could ever complete any of his complicated maneuvers was because she ensured his controls ran smoothly - never jamming - and that the wings of his starfighter weren't falling off. though that may seem like a base requirement of her job, she knew that wasn't an occasional fix; no, it was much closer to weekly.

it was dark on the surface of the base, and she was beside a measly lamp to finish her work. she lightly tapped against the metal on the outside of the x-wing, satisfied with the adjustments, and, when she finally stretches out her body, standing fully upright, she feels the quirk in her shoulder from the hunching, and the cramp of her forearms and palms at her meticulous but firm grip on her tools. she sighed deeply as her bleary eyes made her see spots.

she hears footsteps approach her, and she collects her items as her close friend and fellow mechanic rose comes up behind her.

"how's it going?" she hums discontentedly in response.

"i'm done, at least." it's not a great answer, but rose understands, a soft smile gracing her lips as she grabs the lamp, holding onto it to allow her friend to place her tools away.

rose's own x-wing was one of the new recruits, given a lesser brunt during missions and scouting. thus, she'd finished ensuring it was in the best shape ages ago. she'd decided to finish up some other things in the meanwhile, before doubling back to see her eternally overworked friend's progress.

"you wanna head back to the bunks?" she rubs her nose as she thinks about rose's question. as they begin leaving the flight deck, she can hear the light echo of people from afar.

"if you want to, don't wait up for me. i need a drink, though." she finally decides, not wanting to deprive her friend of sleep, but also knowing that she needed something to help her unwind from the busy day. rose simply shrugs, gesturing to the both of them making their way to the cantina.

as they enter, a decent amount of people are still milling about, though many look ready to begin wrapping up their nights. there's a empty table a ways away from the bar so, upon taking rose's request, she urges her friend to sit down as she heads to the bar.

the bartender's a lovely guy: a weequay called aid-zarg, that everyone just refers to as 'ay' or, if they're close, 'zarg'. he'd been a bit against the nicknames, but had eventually caved to them.

"ay - how're ya?" she slides into a stool in front of him, attempting conversation tentatively. he shrugs - his expression seems cold, though she knows that's just how his face is.

"alright. long night?" she smiles, but it's almost a grimace.

"something like that." she orders for her and rose, and patiently taps against the wood counter as he prepares them. when he finally slides them over, she gives him a nod of appreciation, and he returns it with a nod of acknowledgement, before she turns back to join rose.

rose glances at her as she slumps into her seat, looking half-ready to pass out.

"maybe you should talk to the general about your schedule. you're half-asleep all the time; that can't be good for a resistance member." rose takes a sip of her drink as she presents a solution to her friend's never-ending dilemma.

"i - i would, but it's not fair to assign extra work to anyone - everyone's got a specific part of the base to tend to, or a specific ship, or fighter, or whatever." she thought about her hesitance as she watched the slosh of her drink, "everyone else's already working, and i don't want to make it anyone else's baggage just 'cause my pilot has an ego the size of a death star." rose purses her lips to keep herself from laughing - not wanting to encourage her friend's catty commentary.

"how'd you end up getting assigned his, anyway?" rose mumbled. her friend laughed into her drink, slowly recanting the reason:

even before she'd come to d'qar, it was common knowledge amongst the mechanics that being assigned to fix up dameron's x-wing meant you'd lose out on a weeknight or two, if it was temporary, and your entire night life - if it was permanent.

so, when she'd arrived, and presented her previous qualifications as a mechanic on tatooine, many knew that she was at least experienced and, at most, very efficient.

so, almost as a rite of passage amongst the mechanics, she'd been assigned the dreaded ship. and she'd fixed it up in record time. at first, it was an achievement she wore like a medal, the surprised faces of the resident mechanics enough to make her beam at her skill, and her knowledge of its contribution to the resistance's efforts.

then, though, it became a permanent assignment. and, for a while, it was manageable. but then, the fights got tougher; the first orders weapons more destructive.

"and suddenly, i'm up at 1 on a work night." she finally concludes. rose, having known her since she arrived, was privy to her friend's sometimes tired, always slightly pent-up rants on any topic that aggravated her, so she waited patiently for tonight's, "it's just-" there it is, "he's so fucking - ugh - would it kill him to just follow the plan? to listen to his instructions, to not be so reckless and not go out of his way to get himself killed - no, fuck that actually - his plane destroyed? i don't know - i get it's important to be versatile, and brave, and whatever bullshit, but c'mon - every time? keeping me up every night?"

rose was sure she hadn't even stopped to breathe in that entire time, but she definitely paused her rant to take sips of her drink, which then spurred on the vent further. she contemplated maybe removing the drink from her hand, but figured that after her long evening, she deserved it, along with a listening ear.

she sighs deeply into her drink as she finishes her story, not exactly expecting an answer from rose, but happy that she could at least get it off her chest.

suddenly, she feels a firm hand on her shoulder, making her and rose squeak and whip their heads to the person. what they hadn't realized was the volume with which they were speaking, causing her eyes to widen as she realizes that the object of her annoyance stood behind her, a goading smile plastered over his - unfortunately - gorgeous face.

“yeah - that guy’s a pain in the ass!” he hisses sarcastically, as though in his group of friends, gossiping, “what’d you say he was again?” he hunches down, so his face is in line with hers. she tries to glance desperately at rose, but all she can make out is her brown overalls behind poe’s jaw. she swallows, but looks him in the eyes, an unwavering look on her face.

“i was saying that he’s reckless. and he’s the reason i’m having a drink - as opposed to, y’know, sleeping. what anyone should be doing this late.” her voice is clear, and she watches the confidence in his face falter for a moment. then, as quickly as it hesitated, his smile returned, rising back up to his full height. he pokes his tongue into his inner cheek, looking between the both of them.

“enjoy your drinks, ladies.” he says it with a shockingly non-confrontational tone, accompanied with a shrug. she feels her cheeks heat in embarrassment as he gives her a slight nod to her, before turning and heading in the direction of one of the newer recruits - frank? flynn? - as she turns back to her drink, eyes closed in humiliation.

finally, she glances up at rose, and sees the uncomfortable grimace mirrored on her face.

“please, please, can you not shout when you complain about someone?” she chastises and begs her friend in the same tone, telling her off for her borderline rude behavior, and for the subsequent awkwardness it caused her. it makes her laugh, as she nods, assuring her that she won't. as rose bemoans she situation, she smiles into the rim of her drink, trying not to think about the warmth that she felt.

she wasn't quite sure if it was still embarrassment, or something else.

as she and rose had finally decided they'd taken enough from the night, and were ready to pass out into the longest sleep they had time to muster, rose heads towards the exit while she rushes to the bar to bid adieu to aid, and to front over the cost of their drinks. the quiet bartender thought her to be funny, so prices were usually discounted, but what did confuse her was the shake of his head and the shrug he passed when she asked to be reminded of the prices.

"already paid for." her eyebrows quirk at the non-descriptive explanation, and she wonders who'd paid for them in the short time they'd sat in the cantina.

"huh? by who?" aid was never great at names, but even he couldn't forget her infamous donor.

"dameron."

the revelation muffled in her mind over the night, as she wondered what exactly had possessed the cocky pilot to pay for their drinks, especially after hearing her bad-mouth him.

perhaps, she figured, it was a gesture of good-will, to imply that her snarky comments did little to actually affect him. and, for a moment she thought it was sweet.

until she passed by him in that same cantina, surrounded by both the members of his squadron, as well as some others, recounting the story of how he'd narrowly ducked in and between the cliffs of some outer rim territory in order to avoid a gang of small-time pirates. he spoke animatedly of how he narrowly made it out from a 20 meter gap in the cliffs, though how, tragically, one of his wings had taken a brunt of impact.

she grimaced at the casualness of his words, and of the enraptured expressions of everyone else, only speaking in order to reiterate how truly amazing they thought he was.

of course she remembered that mission, as she'd spent a grueling 3 days fashioning a new wing tip to add to his starfighter before his next mission - pulling maybe a collective 3 hours of sleep over the 3 nights.

and, suddenly, his gesture seemed almost more of a mockery.

though she knew that he continued to leave her blood boiling, and thus attempted to avoid him as much as possible, he seemed to have a remarkably different idea, deciding that his prevalence as a topic of conversation of her yielded him permission to become the one she spoke to.

he'd greet her as he hopped off of his ship, whenever he passed the flight deck as she worked, and somehow always managed to walk past her just as she knew he was clocking out for the night, leaving her to work an additional few hours - at least - to rescue his overworked vehicle.

poe didn't believe that he was being malicious - not at all. after all, she had no idea how difficult his job was either, so what gave her the right to complain? she didn't know that the only reason he pulled off complicated maneuvers was to divert attention from less experienced recruits, or that the days of planning missions - just for many of them to fail - also left him exhausted, and owed to many of his own contemplative, long nights.

thus, a strange, very aggravating dance occurred between the both of them. she was stubborn - as stubborn as him - but, of course, she - rather stubbornly - would never believe it, owing neither to want to secede and create a more comfortable environment by discussing their issues or - and this was completely off the table - apologizing.

though, due to this, both of their friends were subject to suffer through their passing remarks, or the strange tension that seemed to follow the pair. as the days continued, rose found herself seeking out the amused eyes of finn - poe's good friend - as he took in the scene, smiling or laughing alongside him at the absurdity of their situation.

it was this growing familiarity between their friends, in fact, that had owed to her current lonely late night. the black and green squadrons were responsible for the destruction of a medium, but connected first order base in the mid rim. it was an unlikely victory - outnumbered by tie-fighters at least 2 or 3 to one, but the meticulous plan crafted by finn, poe and a few of the others, and green-lit by the general, had created it.

there was much celebration when they'd headed back - and that spirit soared through the entirety of the base, with everyone coming together to remember their primary goal: weakening the authoritative role of the first order. it had gone on late into the night, as she can still hear the loud, carrying voices from the cantina. she's headed in the opposite direction, though, as she usually does. she'd seen dameron's ship when it'd come in, and - though it didn't look all that rough, she could tell it could do with a tune up.

she hadn't asked rose to stay alongside her, seeing the twinkle in her eyes as she'd spoken to finn in the aftermath of the mission, smiling widely in a way her friend didn't see all that often. so, instead, she’s left in company of just her tools and the occasional creak of the old, overworked machines.

there's quiet squeaks as she's unscrewing the control panel of the starfighter, but the noises are dwarfed by the sounds of steps approaching her general direction. she wonders if someone's forgotten something, or if it's rose stopping by the check on her, but she decides to ignore it, unable to pinpoint how close the other person is. that is, until she sees them round the nose of the x-wing.

it makes her start violently, dropping her tools with a clatter as she jumps. her heart's beating so fast that she can't even see all that clearly, and, when she finally realizes who it is, frustration clouds over her confusion.

"what the hell are you doing here?" it's harsher than she usually is, but it'd been a really long day, and she wasn't excited at the notion of dealing with him.

immediately, poe's defensive.

"kriff, calm down! i just wanted to check in on her." he lightly pats on the nose of his x-wing, as if it were a pet, and she suddenly wonders where his actual pet-droid - the orange one - is, "wanted to make sure nothing happened to it." he continues, not looking at her.

she opens her mouth, wanting to say how dumb of an explanation it was, but she truly can't find the energy to start a back-and-forth with him, so she simply goes back to work, shrugging. seeing that he still doesn’t leave, she drops her head, sighing deeply.

“what - what exactly do you need to know about it - her - dameron? do you need to watch the circuits as i reconnect them, or maybe eyeball every screw i twist in?” he seems shocked by the outburst, mouth hanging open for just a moment, before his hands raise up in a faux-surrender.

“if you want me to leave - i’ll go.” he pauses for a second, but she can still feel that more words are soon to leave his tongue, so she doesn’t say anything, eyes falling down to the circuits she'd just spoken about, “but i’m not exactly excited by the idea of you - someone - down here all by themselves.” she purses her lips.

“well, i’m sorry to inconvenience you - but you are flying again tomorrow morning, and your ship isn’t exactly tip-top.” she’s ready to turn back, hoping it’s enough of an argument to suffice him, but’s he’s adamant.

“at least take a break? everyone else’s at the cantina - it’s not like a drink’d hurt-” she rolls her shoulders, sighing deeply.

“if i agree, will you stop talking?” his voice stops, but a smile grows in its stead. he shrugged.

“you want me to stop? i thought you adored the sound of my voice-” she rolls her eyes, the hint of a smile ghosting over her own lips at the sarcastic joke. muttering a small shut up, she raises to her feet, dusting off her outfit, before stepping away from her work. he gestures to the large doors leading out the flight bay, and she nods, walking to meet his stride.

they reach the cantina in a moment, the silence between them filled instead with the increasing sounds from everyone else. as she enters, she notices the large overflow of people around the bar, evidently still celebrating. she takes a deep breath as she looks around desperately for where exactly she's supposed to do.

poe, keeping a close eye on her so as to not lose her to the crowd, points towards the table where their friends are sitting. she nods, flitting right behind him to benefit as he pushes his way through the crowds. when they finally reach the table, he can see a calm rest on her face, especially in the presence of rose. he follows her gaze to the close proximity between rose and finn, and, when she averts her gaze, she meets his, making him smile with a shrug, as if saying i know, right?

as poe grabs a drink for the both of them, and she's finally able to actually meet finn and speak with rose, she finds herself loosening up, grinning at rose's excited expression, or finn's somewhat deadpan humor, or the sweetness of her drink. sometimes, poe's own jokes forced an unwarranted laugh from her as well - which he definitely took notice of.

for a while, he'd also noticed the apprehension of not being able to finish her work, but he reminds her subtly that his ship hadn't been too beat up: it wouldn't disintegrate if he tried to exit the atmosphere tomorrow, and she'd have time to fix it up before it got to that point. it allows her to really mellow down, and she settles - alongside rose -with a few other members of the black squadron as they discuss the day, their missions, and the base.

poe's more decent, she realizes, than she gave him credit for, as when he's reintroducing her to the other pilots, the first words out of his mouth is acknowledgement for her hard work. it almost makes her giddy, especially after it's followed by miscellaneous praise from the others. she feels a smile creep up on her countenance, and it's only bolstered by the many small, sweet glances he'd shoot in her direction.

though, like all good things, it doesn't exactly last.

as the night drags - and maybe it's also her exhaustion, or the fact that poe's a few more drinks in - she can feel that respect that grew for him begin to chip away again.

his mouth just works too fast for his brain to catch up - she supposes - as she feels annoyance creep over her as she hears him gloat about his many stories as a pilot. though many of the stories have less to do with him giving her more hardship, when she sees the more egoistic parts of his personality reveal themselves throughout the night, she feels that same aggravation that led to that one night of late drinking with rose.

at some point, she feels that hearing him boast over and over and over was just too much to bear, so she knocks the rest of her drink back, waves rose and finn off, and slips out as she came in, deciding a night of good sleep may soothe her turbulent mind.

only a moment after she left, does poe return with a drunken smile, just about to introduce her to one of the many recruits he'd mentored - in order to remind said recruit about the importance of respecting your mechanic.

the smile fell as finn - almost sadly - mentioned that she'd left.

it's been a few weeks since then, and poe's reeled in his antics - much to her pleasure. though, she couldn't help the twang of something she'd begun to feel when he walked past her station, not acknowledging her in the slightest.

she wondered why; after all, that was what she'd initially wanted.

neither could continue ignoring each other, though, when they were called into the communications center of the base by the leader of the division, and the general herself.

she made her way up there quickly and, meeting poe at the door, hoped her confusion wasn't apparent on her face. if it was, he did little to quell it, as he instead focused on opening the large doors.

now, she'd only met the general a few times - and the other she knew only by rank. he, on the other hand, seemed very buddy-buddy with the pair, forcing her isolation for a moment as the three greeted each other. when, finally, they turned to outline the reason for the meeting, she was directed to sit down, and listen carefully.

she was told of how the resistance had recently learned from a rebel spy on an important first order ship that said ship had been collecting significant amounts of data on the resistance, and were soon hoping to transmit that data to a more central base.

the spy had gone on, stating that if there was a way to shut down the servers in the main control room of the ship, the data would be corrupted and would be useless.

there's a pregnant pause after the delivery of this information, and she swallows before speaking.

"what - um, what exactly do you want me - us - to do?" poe's role may seem somewhat self-evident - as in, flying a passenger onto the ship or jetting them out - but her own contribution was a bit more dubious.

after all, this seemed a mission best suited for the few technical analysts on the base, as opposed to the mechanic that she was, if it included corrupting intel and shutting down servers. truly, she didn't know what the first thing about that.

the general, ever so observant, smiles lightly as she understands her question. the comms leader responds for her.

"the spy has mentioned that the core system and servers are held in an old compartment - a remnant of the original empire - and, thus, much of the system is reliant on old, though complex, circuitry." she inhales deeply, better realizing her stake in this. the other person continues, "as one of our best mechanics and - obviously - our best pilot-" okay, that stung a little bit, and the smug little grin on his face definitely didn't help, "myself and the general believe it best we run a covert operation: you will sneak onto the ship, make it to the servers, destroy them, and then come back. it's a bit technically challenging, but the likes of the two of you should ensure a smooth operation."

as they finish speaking, she can feel her heart going a mile a minute - unable to believe that she - she! - was going to try and play super-spy and sneak onto a massive first order ship. she was sure poe now realized her shock, as he gave her a small reassuring nod.

it wasn't particularly reassuring, though.

they were then told that time was of the essence, and that it would be best that they leave as soon as possible. they were told to recruit another pilot and mechanic, in the case of a back-up that may exist on the ship, before being given stolen first order uniforms, correct to their assignments.

as she headed back to the flight bay, poe and the comms leader in front of her, she felt a strange, nervous churn in her stomach. she mulled over who she'd choose as the secondary mechanic, but realized the answer was - quite literally - staring her in the face.

rose joins her at the entrance of the flight bay, curious as to why she'd been called in, and, as she recounts the meeting, she posits the position to her friend. as one of the most competent mechanics she knew, but also someone who knew how to think quick on her feet, she knew that she'd be a great fit.

rose agrees in a heartbeat - her loyalty to both her friend and the resistance unwavering against the fearful mission.

she walks further up the flight bay and, upon seeing dameron similarly speaking to finn - likely to convince him as well - she joins him, now intent on how exactly they would find a ship that would go undetected by the first order.

the general - having planned ahead - had an answer for that as well, taking the four out into a forest clearing behind the main base. two large tie/sf-fighters stood, just slightly battered, on the lush greens of the ground. they're in decent condition, she supposes, for what she knew were likely captured or shot down ships by d'qar's defense system.

they're each handed earpieces, going to guide them as they entered the first order ship, and they are waved off as she and poe enter one of them, while rose and finn enter the other.

"everyone ready?" the crackling of the comms for the mission - led by a lovely ex-bounty hunter called pala - came through, as she adjusted into the gunner's seat, and poe into the pilot's. rose answers first, a chipper 'yes' coming through between the other 4 devices. she nods to no one, as though she were really just trying to convince herself.

"as we'll ever be," she mumbles, owing to a grunt of agreement from finn. taking the answers into consideration, pala transmits the coordinates of the ship to poe and finn.

both vehicles rumble as they lift up off the ground, and she feels herself white-knuckling her seat as she anticipates the flight.

as they reach the range of the ship, poe flies ahead, surveying the entrance and - by extension - the exit points. she hears a deep voice crackle through poe's earpiece, but she can hear it echo along the narrow walkway separating her and the pilot as well. it lists off - what she presumes - is the plane's serial number, and she holds her breath as she waits for poe's response to the question, "what business do you have here?"

"the admiral sent us in for reintegration - i've got a deserter on board." she lets out a gasp at the answer he'd chosen, blatantly throwing her on the bus, but the approving echo left her annoyance to a minimum as, at least, he seemed to have bought it.

they begin lowering down into the ship's flight bay, and, before she can even stand up all the way after it becomes stationary, poe's behind her, helping her up. she doesn't know if she should thank him, but decides that she should definitely not, when she finds him grabbing both her wrists and pinning them - though gently - behind her back.

"the hell? what're you doing?" her words come out more shaky than she maybe intended, but he'd really taken her by surprise.

"you're a deserter, remember. can't exactly take you in like we're the best of friends." his tone is sarcastic and she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"they only think that because that's what you said." he doesn't dignify her with a response, honestly making her more agitated. he opens the door of the sf-fighter and tightens his grip for a moment, as the two of them are greeted by what looked to be a colonel. it's confirmed as they near him, his nameplate engraved with the title, and poe nods at him - a little too comfortable.

"they caught this one trying to flee three days ago." he gestures to her, and the unrelated sour expression on her face was definitely helping his case. the colonel nodded, looking at her with the utmost disgust.

"and she will be reprimanded accordingly. bring her to the cell bay." poe nods, pushing her lightly as he continues forward.

"you're a good actor." she can feel his goading smirk, and she shakes her head.

"i hate you."

as they enter further into the ship, he finally releases her, their clothes helping them blend in as crew members. her fingers find her earpiece, ensuring it was on, as she spoke into it.

"rose, finn? you guys get in alright?" there's a beat of silence, and her worry grows strikingly, but it quells just as quickly when she hears the familiar tone of finn's voice in her ear.

"we're fine - heading down to the storage to find those back-ups." she glances at poe, who nods at her, before speaking.

"alright - we'll meet near the flight bay after." finn and rose both agree.

pala begins speaking a few minutes later, guiding them through the base as they reach the server room. poe keeps look-out as she crouches beside the large, cylindrical structure. circuits surround it in an orderly manner, but she can tell the ancientness of it - dust floating around, pooling around every crevice.

she reaches into her deep pockets, procuring a small screw before closely eyeing the intricacies, and getting to work.

poe's eyes flit between her frame and the hallway right outside, keenly watching for stormtroopers, and praying that none would come. he feels himself blank for a moment, not used to feeling so helpless - or, at least, not the one taking charge of a solution for a situation. he resigns himself, though, to simply waiting, gripping his blaster tightly as he waits for her to finish.

finally, she stands back up, watching the lights on the server begin flicking on and off rapidly and sporadically, owing her to believe that she'd done something right, and that the information contained was - at least - corrupted due to the circuitry she'd just purposefully fucked up.

she's by his side in a moment, peering out as well to see if they had any company. for a beat, there's nothing, and they think they have the all clear, until she hears rose's voice.

"shit!" her eyes widen at the exclamation, and they both immediately leave the room, heading back in the direction of the flight bay.

"rose? what happened, are you guys alright?" there's an eerie silence, as rose nor finn reach to communicate back through their earpieces.

"-over here! poe, we gotta head back, they're right on us!" finn's voice comes though, finally, but it does nothing to quell the pair's heightened worry.

"wait - finn, they'll chase after you - wait till we-" poe begins.

"we don't have time!" rose's voice is frantic, and the sound of blasters surround it. her eyes squeeze shut as she breathes deeply.

"rose - okay, get out of here. we're right behind you." there's no confirmation from the other end, but she tries not to let that deter her as she and poe continue towards the flight bay.

there's a smattering of patrolling stormtroopers, but her sharp ears and his sharper reflexes keep them from being caught as they slink along the shadows, tattooed to the walls of each hallway.

the large hangar finally comes into view, and they can see the familiar sf-fighter exiting it, evidently being chased by single-manned tie-fighters.

knowing they were unlikely not to be caught in this last stretch, they flee the short distance between the secluded entryway and their awaiting ship, with her rapidly beating against the button to open the door as poe covered her, keeping those whose attention they'd drawn at ever-decreasing bay with his calculated shots.

finally, the panel lowered, and they swapped positions, her shoddy shots managing to continue slowing them down as poe seats himself in the pilot's seat.

no sooner than had the panel closed upon itself are they up in the air, and she desperately straps herself into the gunner's seat, knowing she had to put her limited knowledge of the position to any use. the entrance to the hangar is rapidly closing as the colonel from earlier can be heard through the ship's comms, desperately trying to keep the pair trapped within the base.

she can feel her back imprint against her seat as poe speeds the vehicle up, just narrowly exiting the snapping jaws of the base's exit. as she takes the smallest breath of relief, does it disappear once more.

"'re you guys out? we could do with some help!" finn's voice evidenced that he was trying to keep his cool, but the fear in it was also obvious. poe's responding in a heartbeat.

"we're there in a second!" she can feel the ship begin climbing as poe checked the scanner for any other vehicles. finally, they see the sf-fighter, being narrowly tailed by two tie-fighters. poe - true to his word - comes between the forces in a heartbeat, almost dancing with the tie-fighters as he weaves between the both of them. she feels dizzy at the quick movements, but suppresses the urge to pass out and grips harder at the armrests.

"finn - get outta here, i have them!" poe's speaking through the comms once more and, as he finishes his sentence, the ship's horizontal, peeling away from finn and rose - the tie-fighters hot on his trails, evidently disgruntled by the flashy flying. finn doesn't wait a second, activating the hyperdrive and inputting the coordinates of d'qar.

on the other side of the galaxy, poe's still leading the two tie-fighter's away, but the shitty ship is impeding his ability to duck and weave like he could in his x-wing.

"'m gonna need your help here!" she jolts awake at the request, realizing that she needs to man her station. her eyes desperately flit over the various buttons, before she grips the aim stick. her eyes are trained against the tie-fighter directly tailing them, and she centers it in her view, before aggressively hitting the button to shoot.

and, it's a narrow miss. she curses, trying to refocus, but a dread begins creeping up her gut.

"i don't know what i'm doing, dameron - get us out of here!" it's an order, but, really who was she to order him around.

"we've got this - we can take 'em out." she's used to his confidence and belief in himself, but she knew they truly couldn't.

"will you just-" seeing another clear shot, she takes it. it goes a bit better, with it hitting the end of one of the fighter's wings, causing the ship to dip to one side. her worry is soothed as she celebrates the small victory to herself.

then, as though a higher power was absolutely fucking with her, it all goes to shit.

she feels the ship rumble and heave sharply as she hears a loud crash, and she whips her head around, trying to find the source of it. she desperately grips at the aim stick, trying to keep it steady and ready to fire again, but she doesn't have a moment to use it when another loud blast and creak is heard.

"shit!" her eyes widened at poe's exclamation.

"what the hell just happened - whad'ya mean-?" her words are cut off due to the wind being knocked out of her as she's slammed against one of her armrests.

"we're going - fuck - the engine's been hit - hold on-" his words are breathless against the comms, and she can hear the exertion of effort by the grunts that carry through the hallway. she grips the armrests for dear life as she waits to see what would happen. she can feel the ship make a sharp turn and, behind them, the tie-fighters trail behind a little, as if they were playing with their prey.

"what're we doing?" her fear is evident in her tone, and her voice is a bit croaky in her heightened confusion.

"i'm trying to set us down on that planet over there." she can't see it, looking out from the back of the ship, but she knows that can't be the best idea in their current state. though, seeing the creeping tie-fighters makes it seem like there's no other choice.

she can see as they enter the atmosphere, hearing the shrill whistle of wings singeing on impact. then, she closes her eyes, bracing for impact as the both of them sit in anticipating silence. she's thinking we're going too fast, the ship's gonna blow up with me in it - god fucking dammit-

and that's the last thing she remembers.

he wakes up to a mouthful of dirt, bent very awkwardly over the semi-buried dashboard of the sf-fighter. his window's broken open, and the sun - or suns? - is blinding through it. he blinks aggressively, his vision swimming a spotty as he spits the gunk out of his mouth, wiping his lips against his fucked jacket sleeve. there's enough of a space between the ground and the glass of his window pane for him to just about crawl through, feeling the heavy impact on his legs from the crash. he looks around, desperately wondering where the hell he was.

it's a grassy planet, filled with lush vegetation and small ponds and lakes. the ship was half-sticking out of one, and his pants legs are soaking wet, the skin of his fingertips pruned. he can feel a sharp sting of pane every time he moves his foot and, peeling back the end of the sopping cloth, sees the discolored swelling of his ankle - having been sprained or twisted in the crash. he lets his head fall back - could have been worse, a lot worse.

he looks up at the looming, though destroyed figure of the sf-fighter, and, seeing the other end balanced precariously above the ground. for a moment, he doesn't pay it much attention - until he remembers.

his shoddy ankle sings in agony as he makes large, limping steps towards the other end of the ship, realizing that he didn't yet know the fate of his other passenger - his mechanic.

of course, in the recess of his mind, he had a guess. but he couldn't entertain it.

finally getting to the end. he peers in to see if she was okay. he's panting heavily, desperately trying to ignore the pain as he focused on using the little light on this side to look through the broken glass. he could see her legs, bent a little awkwardly - but not broken - and he traces them up to her head and torso - which was tightly strapped against the seat. it was the only thing keeping her from falling onto the floor, and her heads hanging. she's definitely not conscious, and he can't help but feel his heart sink as he steps closer - ankle be damned - reaching through the broken glass to unstrap her. when he does, her body flops forward - as he believed it would - a bit like a ragdoll and, though the angle definitely didn't help, he did his best to pull her out. when he could finally observe her in the sunlight, he could feel his chest swell in relief at the movement of her chest up and down. pulling her towards him, he could feel her breath against his neck.

so relieved, he doesn't realize, for a moment, the shallowness of those breaths, and the dampness of the cloth around her shoulder. when he does, though, he desperately removes the fabric. he winces at the sight, having to look away for a moment, before looking back down to observe the extent of her injury.

her upper arm got a long, deep gash, and the blood from it had soaked through her sleeve. not wasting a moment, he slides the sleeves of his own jacket off, tearing a thick, long strap from the t-shirt he wore under it. he wraps it as tightly as he can manager around her arm to staunch any further bleeding, hoping it wasn't too late, and trying desperately to ignore the small whimpers or stuttered breaths that she let out at the action.

he rises to his feet, a difficult task, in his condition, and notices a small shade of trees just a bit away from the pair. breathing deeply - almost in an effort to will away his pain - he grabs her good arm and pulls it over his shoulder, hoping his good leg wouldn't give out, as he makes his way there.

she wakes up in a cold sweat, looking up to see the large leaves of a tree under the backdrop of an orange sky. she scrambles to sit up in a moment, unable to fully comprehend her surroundings. her heart's going a mile a minute, her body entering fight or flight mode, before she hears his voice.

"you're alright - you're good. m'here." she recognizes his voice more quickly than she'd maybe be willing to admit and, when she goes to turn to the source of it, she feels a scream of agony in her arm. her sharp grunt of pain is louder than she maybe had hoped, but fuck - did her arm hurt, "yeah - uh, you've got a bad cut." his voice is soft, as if he were trying to lull her into a sense of calm.

it worked. for a moment.

until she remembered what happened. the tie-fighters, her pleads to go the hyperspace, the engine failing, the jolt of the impact of the straps holding her body in place, the blood in her hair from the open wound on her arm, her head going blank and her passing out from the pain.

she remembered all of it. including what he'd said.

'we've got this'

there's a lump in her throat, and she desperately tries to swallow it down as she stares vehemently at the dirt under her. she refuses to look up at him, and hopes he realizes why.

"do - does anyone know we're here?" her voice is more broken than she'd hoped it was but - fuck, she was scared. she can see him shrug in her peripheral.

"i'm sure they'll find us." she sighs deeply, turning away to the extent that she can. there's a calm, though cold, silence between them, before she can hear him sharply inhale.

"helluva trip, huh?" there's a jokey cadence to his voice, and it takes her a moment to actually process what he's said, his casual tongue actually igniting a rageful fire in her.

"what?" it's a whisper - backed by such an anger that she worries if she speaks louder, she'll scream.

"i'm just saying - pretty, uh, pretty crazy thing, right?" she shuts her eyes, and a small part of her brain knows that, at best, this is his way of making the best of a bad situation and, at worst, this is just some shit attempt at small talk. but - be it his words in the past, or the pain of her arm, or maybe even just the fact that all she could hear was his confident words like a low buzz in her ears since she remembered what he'd said - she was furious.

"yeah - it's fucking insane how i'm lightheaded because of all the blood i lost, and how i can't move a centimeter without wanting to cut my arm off, and how i can feel the bruises forming where the straps kept me from splitting my skull open on my broken window. it's a helluva experience." her words are softer than she'd thought they would be, but she knew if she was any louder, she may have screamed at him until her lungs collapsed or her throat gave out - whichever came later.

she doesn't have to turn back to see the expression on his face, and, truly she feels a bit shit for lashing out at him.

but she was on a random fucking planet with a mangled fucking arm and her only company was a pilot with no fucking plane.

so, excuse her for the outburst.

"i-" poe's stammering behind her, but she can't hear it, as her vision swims when she tries to get on her feet. she can see the ship in the distance, and knowing that it was her best bet at company right now, she trudges towards it, "where're you going?"

she doesn't dignify him with an answer.

when she finally reaches the large structure, she situates herself against the pilot's dashboard, gently kicking away the broken glass as she tentatively crouches down. she looks over the panel, hoping that at least one of the comms was still working. she procures her screwdriver with her good arm - well, technically not, but at least it didn't hurt all that much to move - before lightly tapping the back of it against any and all of the buttons, seeing if anything worked.

her arm now had a dull, thrumming pain, and she desperately tried to ignore it as she focuses on identifying what the comms were. she traces over a panel that seems to be promising, pulling the screwdriver towards it to see if she could meddle with any of the circuitry under it to get it to work - however briefly.

pulling it up, she realizes both the awkwardness of her position, and of her grip on the tool, unused to using this hand for it. her muscles ached, her arm ached, her temples ached as she desperately tried to slot the head of the tool into the screw, failing once, twice, thrice, before dropping the tool with a groan of anguish.

she's heaving - no, sobbing, feeling the liquid of her tears roll down her cheeks. she slumps against the glass, palming her cheeks as she desperately tried to muffle her exhausted weeping, only the sound of her small hiccups escaping.

she hated getting like this - crying out in the open, and she only reserved the ordeal for true upsets. though, this was one of them. she was so tired, and in so much pain, and she'd just been so horrible to poe as well - when he'd just tried to lighten her mood.

through the blood rushing in her ears and the motion of her hiccups, she doesn't realize the heavy thuds of poe's limping steps. she only realizes when he's in front of her, blocking the dimming sunlight from her eyes, and she covers her face entirely, not wanting to see her in this state.

he doesn't comment, though, only falling to his own haunches before sitting beside her, granting a respectful silence and, more importantly, friendly contact.

she swallows harshly as she forces her hiccups down. she doesn't look at him, worried it'd make her start up again, but he knows she's not uncomfortable with him there.

taking her good hand, he gently drops an opened bag of nuts. she looks at it, a bit confused.

"always keep 'em on me. emergency snack." he says it so casually and, it being contrasted with the slight childishness of the information, makes her crack the hint of a smile.

maybe she was hysterical.

"- hope they'll make you feel better." he continues, and she nods, popping one in her mouth and absorbing the mild, sweet taste.

"thanks - thanks." she mumbles, and they're quiet for another moment.

she hands them back to her, and, in that moment of contact, he notices her cold skin. he glances over her, realizing her thin top without a sleeve, and he shrugs off his jacket. it's a bit mucked up from the crash, but it's better than nothing.

tentatively, he moves a bit closer to her, gently placing the material around her, careful of her arm. still she winces - but only for a moment. really, she's more confused.

"what're you doing?" she whispers, and he's close enough to hear her now.

"you're cold." he's not wrong, but she still protests.

"and you?" he smiles.

"well, i'm pretty hot-headed. i'll be fine." it's a joke, and she really wants to laugh at it, but she can't help but feel bad once again for her words. taking it differently, poe continues solemnly. “i’m sorry.”

it’s a quiet mumble into the still air. it sounds foreign, coming from his mouth, as he tries to fit the extent of how apologetic and shitty he feels into the fleeting, overused phrase. she stays quiet, the only noise being her soft exhales.

“i - i know.” she mumbles back, unsure of what more to say. of course he was - he’d never intended for this. nonetheless, he’d been subject to her own emotions, to an unjustifiable degree, “i am, too.”

his contemplative expression returns a smile instead, now, and she finally turns to look at him.

"i'll buy us a drink when we get back, okay?" he offers, making her scoff.

"you're so great at apologies." he shrugs, as though it's obvious fact, and not a light jab.

"then what about dinner?" her eyes widen a little at the proposition, and she's speechless for a moment. then, she snorts, pushing her good hand across his face and playfully pushing him.

"get us out of here; then, we can talk about dinner." he smiles widely under her palm, and laughs as she takes her hand off. he leans back just that bit further against the metal, and the readjustment causes the dashboard to shift just slightly.

a small item comes rolling down, and falls right in his lap. he grasps at it and, realizing what it is, his eyes widen. he brandishes it in between the both of them, and she also realizes: it's his earpiece.

he gently presses the input button, and immediately starts calling out for finn, rose or pala. they wait a moment, with baited breath.

"poe - kriff, we thought you were dead!" finn's voice is unmistakable, and the revelation makes the pair's spirits soar.

in no less than a couple minutes were the told that a ship was coming by to collect them, and, as the earpiece's output stops for the moment, she rests more peacefully against the destroyed ship, and he mirrored her movements.

"so, about that dinner?"

[lamamasjamas]

Twenty Year Vacation

Be My Baby-The Ronettes

Summary: You cross paths with Mando after a few years. Maybe more than a few...

a/n: This is the first part of a series! With Young!Din. I was planning on doing just a one-shot, but I like the concept too much.

Warnings: pining, some angst, jealousy, non-graphic murder, alternates between past/present

Word Count: 5.6K

Masterlist

The night we met I knew I needed you so.

And if I had the chance I'd never let you go.

He first saw her in Ran's hangar. She was fresh from the hunt, dragging an unconscious body behind her. Fresh bruises covered her face and torso, and she had a slight limp, but she came in with a hint of a smile and a glint in her eye.

He liked that about her, despite taking the brunt of hits she would just walk it off. She was persistent, if not stubborn.

He acted as if he was paying attention to whatever Ran was telling him about, but really, he was watching as others came out of the ship and greeted you in passing. You didn’t seem to like them that much, only giving them a nod in response and going off to work on the ship after you dropped off the “special cargo”.

Ran said she was the designated leader of the group when he wasn't around telling them what to do. “Real serious that one, but she’s good at what she does”

You were in your shared room with Xi’an, evidently alone as the rest of the group left to celebrate a successful mission. You eyed him suspiciously, “Who’s this?” He was nervous, but the helmet hid it well. She looked as if she were bored, clearly not liking the disruption to whatever she was doing before Ran barged in.

“A new member to the crew” She crossed her arms and sighed, “We don’t need any more members Ranzar”

“I beg to differ. He’s a great sharpshooter-” “You already have one. Why would you need another?”

“The one we do have almost kriffed up the last time she was needed” She glares at him, “Almost. And that only happened because Xi’an couldn't keep track of her knives”

Ran put his hands up in surrender, “Alright, Alright I get it. But, he would be a great addition. He’s a mandalorian after all, he’s good, I swear on the maker”

You continue to glare at him and finally face the mandalorian in front of you. His armor looks scuffed, so he must have experience. You extend your hand out to him while staring at his helm. It was as if you were looking at him straight through the visor and into his eyes.

He was momentarily stunned by the contact and awkwardly shook it a second after it was deemed normal. You scrunch your brows together and retract into your room once again, quickly shutting the door in front of Ran’s face.

“She’ll warm up to you in no time”

“Yeah…”

…

He was alone. The kid was safe and sound with a jedi who could train him, and his mission was complete. Now, he just needed to get back on his feet.

The bounties he’s picking up are easy, but the pay is minimal. He needs a little more credits to be able to pay for a ship of his own. For now he would just take the easiest bounties he could get, but one job in particular seemed interesting. It wasn’t really a bounty, it was more like a hit. Nonetheless it was good pay, and it so happened to be for an ex-imperial high commander. It would be deserved.

Tatooine. The most crime-ridden planet in the galaxy it seemed. He’s sure he could find the imp easily, he knew the planet like the back of his hand. Mos Eisley was mostly populated by criminals and the like, and he was sure he already found the guy he was looking for.

If not for the constant nervousness, which everyone in the cantina could see, he could tell he was the one by the way he looks around the room constantly, every couple seconds looking behind him. It was as if he put up a red sign with letters in bold, “look here! I’m on the run!”

He approached, sitting down on the stool next to him. The bounty shakily moved his gaze to the mandalorian, but immediately averted it as he turned to him. A droid came up asking if he wanted a drink and he just waved it away. Now everyone in the cantina tensed, knowing that the mandalorian wasn't there for a good time.

The bounty could be for any one of them and they didn’t want to get into a fight with him, especially because of his reputation.

The man started sweating bullets, and his hands started shaking. It was as if he already knew the mandalorian next to him was there for him. He shakily reached into his pockets, looking for any spare change he could find. He pulled all of the credits he had available on hand and shoved them onto the table. “I'll give you more than offered! I-I swear- I have more stashed!”

The mandalorian stands, towering over him. The helmet tilts and he takes that motion as asking for more money. He stammers over himself as the mandalorian gets closer to him pushing him into a corner. “I-I didn’t lie, I swear I-I have more credits, somewhere safe!” He’s pleading for him to not take him in. Just as the mandalorian was about to take a shot to the imps head all of the lights blacked out.

The shot was heard and seen flying from a corner of the cantina, bouncing from his armor to the imp. A direct hit to the chest. He immediately turned and saw the culprit move towards the exit. The lights went back on. He ran and chased after them.

Kriff. He needed that bounty, he used most of his credits to be transported here. He was kind of irritated right now. They were running through the roof tops, skillfully jumping from roof to roof.

“Hey, stop! You took my bounty” Their movements stuttered, making them trip and misstep their jump. As they slammed against the ledge their helmet flew off landing on the ground below. In favor of not falling they gripped the ledge, not being able to catch their helmet in time.

“Dank Farrik” He would have recognized that voice from anywhere.

He called your name, out of breath and dreamily. You turn towards him in shock. So, it really was him, you weren’t just imagining it. You needed to go, now. Before he could say anything else, you were able to let go of the ledge by one hand and shoot him in the shoulder, right underneath where the armor didn’t protect him. Definitely her. He was down instantly and when he finally got up you were gone.

…

He could feel your annoyance from a mile away. He would just hang around, not really doing anything and that seemed to irk you recently. Really, he was just nervous, the helmet and armor made it seem like he was just observing, which he was, but it managed to give focus to other parts of him that weren’t filled with anxiety.

The first job was a week ago, and Ran finally decided to let him join in. You weren’t going to protest, you thought he was competent enough, a little quiet but you welcomed it. The other members were always loud, obnoxious. You embrace the silence every once in a while.

He ruined the job.

For you that is. It was as if he was trying to show off. Making the most unnecessary shots, causing a great scene and ultimately ruining your own plans. At the end of the day you were left in the ship cleaning up the mess he made while he and the rest of the crew went off to enjoy the night.

In trying to evade the multiple blaster shots of the wealthy target’s various guards, and in Mando’s own uncoordinated driving skills, the ship was left with dents, exposed wires and vaporized panels. In their opinion it was fine, but to you, it was in tatters. You worked hard for that ship, you'll be damned if they leave the Crest in ruins… again.

So, instead of accepting Mando’s offer of drinks you decided a much better use of your time was to be spent fixing your ship before it’s not functional anymore.

He was disillusioned when he heard your curt rejection of his invitation, only really offering to pay for drinks to get to spend time around you.

“Enjoy yourselves, I guess I’ll stay here fixing this mess” With a sigh she left, lugging around parts and tools for repairs.

Most of the crew was drunk, except Mando. They didn’t notice your look of disdain as they walked by. They usually acted like fools, and you didn’t like partaking in their company, especially when they had no filter. You kept most of your focus on your work.

You just finished recalibrating the control panel, most of the wires were exposed and you had to rewire what you could salvage or just scrap and replace. This has become a constant in your life now. You don’t know whether to be grateful from the reprieve or mournful for your depleting credits. It was always a good excuse to not be around the crew.

From the hull you could hear something topple over and fall to the ground, followed by a “kriff”. You groan internally, thinking you would have to deal with one of your drunk friends.

He sees her lower down the ladder, and as quickly as he could he shoved the mess he made to the side where she couldn’t see. She was staring between him and the crate, expecting him to say something. He obviously had something he wanted to talk about by the way he was fidgeting his hand against his belt. He leaned against the wall in mock composure, and her eyes narrowed.

They both spoke simultaneously, “What are you doing here?” “I just wanted to say-” She urged him to continue but he was too embarrassed to repeat. With a tight lipped smile and a nod she turns around and packs her tools

As she was leaving he caught her by the elbow, he let go once he caught her perturbed look. She further adjusted her bag around her shoulder as she turned to him. He suddenly felt nervous, butterflies squirmed around his stomach as her hooded eyes looked up at him. She was tiny. Cute. Despite her obvious glare.

He was momentarily struck, his voice caught up in his throat. You were slightly amused when he cleared his throat. His voice cracked as he tried to keep his voice low. “You did good.”

You furrow your brows. “-in the job, you were great- I mean you are great. I-uh, Yeah.”

“Thanks.” and off she went. He stayed inside for a few minutes sulking in his own awkwardness.

…

You bruised your ribs from colliding with the ledge of the building. You're still in shock from everything. You knew he was alive, you just didn’t think you’d cross paths again. You were stricter with your jobs. Only taking in those that were for the ‘greater good’.

Laying in the cot, you couldn’t go to sleep. It was almost impossible to close your eyes without immediately feeling the dread building up in your body. You felt the need to run, to hide even if you checked the whole starcruiser. Once you collected your credits you would have to leave immediately.

You would have to lay low for a while, hoping he wouldn’t come searching for you. It’s not like he did before.

…

Din kept to himself most of the time, only ever really indulging in the company of his partners on rare occasions. He was only there to provide for his covert, nothing else. But, he did envy Xi’an, she was the only person you weren’t hostile with. He genuinely thinks you two would get along, but you have this conception of him he couldn’t quite shake.

In trying to prove himself he only irritated you further. Everyone else could tell he developed a sort of infatuation with you, which he adamantly denied, and they teased him for it. Another reason why he didn’t like hanging around them for too long.

He felt a bump to his shoulder. “You’re trying too hard”, Xi’an said in a sing-song voice. “You really shouldn’t waste so much time on her, y'know.” She puts her arms around his shoulders, “I’ve never seen her in a relationship, ever really” She puts her finger to her lip in deep thought.

He moves his head to her slowly, not really in the mood to be discussing this. He shrugs her arms off as he packs his weapons back in his own personal storage unit. The job before led to you being held up in medical. The red paint from his armor was able to hide the stains of your own blood. He couldn’t help you in time, before you passed out in the cargo hold.

He had to shout at the others to hurry up before you would bleed to death against his arms. You were too pale and too cold for him to be calm. The ride back to the station was quiet, with the occasional calling out of estimated time for landing.

No one noticed that you were injured, you were always quiet, distant. It wasn’t until you started calling out to Xi’an weakly that they finally noticed. There was a long pause to the usual cheerful conversation after a job well done. Everyone was still as with a whimper you said, “Help.” and raised your bloodied hand from your side.

He reacted first, asking you questions frantically, but you were too out of it, on the verge of passing out already. “Kriff!”, they all gasped as they saw the giant gash on your side and the skin around it turning a sickly gray and spreading.

You were about thirty minutes away from the Roost and you started to shake, as if you had a cold. The only thing they could do for you was give you a general anti-poison shot. He cradled you against him as you shivered and your body increased in temperature, trying to fight the poison that had spread across the right side of your torso.

The coolness of his armor helped you gain a degree of comfort back. The pulsing pain from the actual gash came and went, making you grip onto his hand in intervals. Ten minutes before arrival he felt you loosen your grip on his own and he panicked. He could hear Xi’an tell them to make the ship go faster.

Qin didn’t respond. That irritated him.

“Qin make it go faster!” Their eyes widen at his outburst, and the ship accelerates.

He hauls you off the ship, your body dangling from his arms, you almost looked dead but he could still feel a faint pulse. It didn’t take long to get you to attended in the tiny med center in the station.

The rest seemed to revert back to their regular selves after hearing that you were stable. He hasn’t. Xi’an was annoyed, not really seeing the point in him being gloomy over a girl that doesn’t like him back. There were other prospects around.

“Look today was a stressful day, we should all rest”, she emphasizes on the word rest. He just nods and walks past her.

He was there when you woke up, you were deciding whether or not he was awake. The helmet obscured the view to his face, he could just be looking down or he was genuinely sleeping in that awkward sitting position. You decide to throw a paper cup from the bedside table at him. He woke up with start, you could hear his sharp inhale even through the modulator.

He’s disoriented for a second, and he finally sees that you're awake. The chair screeches against the floor as he scoots closer. He places his hand on top of yours momentarily before pulling back and resting it beside you. “You good?”

Once again he feels his whole body tense and fill with tingles as you look up to his visor. You place your hand on his and say, “Yeah, thanks Ruby.” You laugh but stop after feeling a sharp pain at your side, as you see him tilt his helmet in question. “Your armor, its red. Like a ruby.”

He looks down as if he didn’t already know that and you chuckle and tug his hand to make him look up at you again. “Or do you like Manny better?”

“No” You both laugh.

…

He was able to find a cheaper mode of transportation. The cargo ship was crowded and overfilled with both things and beings. He’s pretty sure this was illegal and unsafe.

He was able to make it quicker this time. The small ship does not pay mind to the rules of space, often making strange turns and paths for short cuts. He just hoped he made it in time to intercept her.

Should he though? It wouldn’t hurt to try. He’s a changed man. A better one.

Maker, he missed you.

Landing on Jatir he could almost smell the rank odor of fumes through his helmet. He suddenly felt sticky, as if he was covered in a coat of the vapor from the air. He didn’t like the planets from the Colonies Region, most of them were like Jatir, full of factories. A true “marvel to Industrialization” and one of the many planets that stabilize the galaxy’s economy.

Jatir also houses many politicians, so it makes sense that bounty postings would come from this place. He was unlucky enough to land three sectors away from the meeting spot for the retrieval of bounty credits.

He’s shoved to move forward as a hoard of people exit from the hangar door. People aren’t in awe of him here, they all had their own problems to deal with, they didn’t seem to care that he was strapped to the teeth with weapons.

Sighing he contemplates why he even decided to come. He just lost a lot of his credits coming over and now he had to take at least two days to make it to the meeting spot, that is if you didn’t make it first. He doubts it, he was able to trace you back to a starcruiser dock. They were known for being nice, luxurious for those who weren’t normal citizens of the galaxy.

Especially luxurious to bounty hunters.

They were also slow; they were too big to make a hyperjump and the high-level capacity made it almost impossible to accelerate faster without an engine smoking out.

He could make it, he estimated you to arrive in about two days.

…

“Who are you messaging?”

“Family, some friends”

He tilts his head, he didn’t think you had other friends, he just assumed you were a loner. He opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

In an almost sarcastic tone he asks, “From where?”

“Alderaan”, you said it without missing a beat, it was as if you were both proud and ashamed. He couldn’t quite tell which one was most implied.

“Do you visit?”

“No.”

You leave it at that.

You’ve been getting close. You two weren’t outwardly open to each other, but you both always answered when asked questions.

He asks you a lot of questions. He’s utterly fascinated, especially when he’s able to get a laugh or a smile from you.

He thinks he’s developing something more than a childish crush, but he can’t help but feel as if you know more about him than him you. Maybe that’s what’s attracting him to you. You’re this enigma, this puzzle he can’t solve. Yet.

He thinks you’re starting to like him too. He’s been getting bolder, sometimes getting a little too close for just friends. He’s rather lenient on his helmet “policy” around you. He even went as far as taking the whole thing off in the darkness of his room, just to eat dinner with you.

You of course asked him what his deal was with the helmet. He initially felt guilty when you felt guilty about him slightly breaking his vow of never taking his helmet off or showing his face to anyone.

Technically, you didn’t see his face. Yet.

You didn’t eat with him for a while, not until he practically begged you. You gave in, he was your friend, your only true friend.

You may have, sort of, built this codependency on each other. Without the other, you two would go insane. So arguments lasted about thirty minutes and most of your free time was spent together. Dare you say it, you two were best friends.

You were rather gloomy lately, not as talkative lately. He’s always there though, lending you a shoulder to lean on. He assumes it’s because of the many messages you get from your holo. You’re almost always on it nowadays, heaving a shaky sigh as you slam it down on the table, or your bed, or in this case, the ground.

She hugs her knees, pressing her back against the wall and looks towards the sky. From a distance she can make out Alderaan. No matter where she was in the galaxy she could point it out amongst all the other planets and stars.

It was her home despite being systems away. Her one tether being her family, whom she had to provide for.

“I feel like something is going to happen”, she leans against his shoulder and he couldn’t help but follow her gaze.

“Like what?”, he said it in a whisper, leaning his helmet against her head.

“You know what they don’t tell you about war?” He hums in question. “The economy goes kaput” You sigh and he finally realizes where you were going. In a mock posh accent you say, “But! Only to the poor”

You sigh.

“Alderaan has always been against the empire, it’s just that, for the past couple years, things have been bad. Even worse than before” He reaches for her hand and squeezes. The empire really made things harder for everyone, he understands your struggles, a little too much, sadly.

You eventually depart and leave to the crest. He always leaves you the bunk and he usually sits in the cockpit.

The next day you were finally off to the job. This time there was a hit on wealthy politicians. You were grateful only you and Mando were sent, it would definitely make everything quicker.

You didn’t know how but Ran was able to get you a gown, and an invitation for the gala the subject but was coincidentally going to attend. You looked at him in suspicion as he passed you a delicate box topped off with a baby pink bow.

You had Xi’an adjust the dress for you, which she did with disdain. She wanted to go on the mission, practically begging Ran to replace you with her. You needed the credits and Ran knew that, he had no choice but to reject her proposal.

You enter the room, and are greeted by a plethora of different types of socialites. The plan was to lure Senator Luzcando towards the balcony Mando was stationed in. Ran purposely chose you two for a reason, anyone else would be too suspicious, too loud.

Most of your time was spent sipping on a glass of champagne, lightly scowling at the many politicians who turned their backs to you. Everyone there saw you as a polite young lady, despite your reservations to make conversation.

Mando spoke in your earpiece hidden as an intricate piece of jewelry. He made comments on everything. Your smile turns genuine. You catch the stares of some as you laugh to yourself, often having to clear your throat to cover it up.

“Shut up” “No”

You turn and glare in the direction of the balcony you know he’s waiting. You know he’s watching, and you roll your eyes as you hear him chuckle.

The giant double doors open and you finally have your eyes on the target. Mando gets quiet. Throughout the night you try to keep up with small talk, slowly making your way to the direction of the senator. You only hear a comment from Mando every once in a while, mostly telling you where he happened to move around the room.

Just as you were about to approach the senator, you trip over someone’s feet. Having your drink spill all over your own feet and gown. You were caught by the waist and hand and were prevented from fully face planting to the floor.

He was much taller than you, even with your uncomfortable heels. Your eyes connected and they were so intense you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. With the way he caught you it was almost as if he were holding you up entirely by the waist.

He gave you the most dazzling smile imaginable. “You okay?” You oriented yourself quickly, but he kept his arm around you. You reply with a chirpy yes. Just as you were about to move away he pushed you forwards away from the crowd and towards a balcony.

You were momentarily stunned and almost didn’t catch Mando speaking into your ear. “What the hell are you doing?” You were being pushed to sit and he was kneeling, wiping your legs with a spare handkerchief.

“I can’t see you anymore. Where are you?” You ignored him completely, too lost in the feeling of being fussed over. He turned to you offering many apologies. “It’s okay, really”, you reply. He urges you to stand and as you look up at him he trails his eyes across your form.

“You don’t belong here do you?” His words startle you. Mando was already telling you he was on his way towards you, not liking where the situation could lead to. You act as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. You push yourself from him and he smirks.

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, relax, I won’t break your cover.” You tense as he reaches into his pocket, “In fact, I also might have not been invited to the party” The insignia painted into a piece of cloth makes you pause.

You whisper in awe, “Rebel”

He just smiles in return, you thought he looked too smug. Your perception of rebels was momentarily confirmed, most of the youth who joined, you thought, just joined for the thrill, the self proclaimed glory. Pushing past him was harder than you thought, he just placed himself in front of the entryway. “Wait. Maybe we could help each other” You shove him to the side, “Doubt it” Just as you were pulling the door he pushed it closed.

He sounded desperate, “You're going for the senator right? Well, my guys are too. ” You look up towards the sky, as if you were in deep thought. “Hmm…” His face was full of hope, it was comical when it fell. “We don’t need your help” With an overly polite smile you left him alone on the balcony. You could barely hear him shout out to you as you closed the door. “Wait-who’s we?”

Your skills were proven once again, as you finally were able to lure the senator to the designated balcony. You were stumped when he didn’t appear. You harshly whisper to yourself, “Mando!”

Luzcando looks at you in confusion. You just smile as if nothing had happened. “So… you wanted to discuss plans? What plans exactly were you referring to?” Kriff, he was supposed to be dead by now. You didn’t really research much about him. “Uhm, I just wanted to discuss the new laws, its effects and such…” He furrows his brows, “You're joking right?”

“Uh, no?”

He makes to leave, you look around the area, only finding string tied around the fence. You kick him in the groin and wrap the string around his neck. He was choking and his breathing was being obstructed but it was taking too long and he was able to gain the upper hand by elbowing you on the side. He was released from your hold and you fell to the ground.

Just as you gathered your bearings you heard a blaster go off.

The same rebel, who you told, you didn’t need help from, helped you. “Where’s your friend?” He was being cocky now, and you chose to ignore it. “How’d you get the blaster?”

“I smuggled it”

He helps you up from the floor. Just then Mando could be heard landing on the balcony. They both point their blasters at each other and you look furiously at them. Your finger was at his chest, “Where the hell have you been?”

His shoulders hunch, “I’ve been looking for you?” “Why didn’t you ask where I was?” “I did”

Now that you think about it, you didn’t really hear him for a while at all. It wasn’t until you snatched the earpiece and actually checked it that you gave a deep sigh. “It was off” He just snorts and you roll your eyes.

Kneeling to the ground you checked the pulse, “Dead” It was sinister the way you smiled triumphantly, almost unsettling considering the party inside was concealed with a satin drape. Anyone can go outside for a bit of air and see three people circled around the dead body of a senator.

You dusted yourself off, another job well done. Mando pulls one of the senator's cufflinks and stores it in his belt. You were about to leave before being stopped by the hand, you almost forgot he was there. With a scowl that Mando was all too familiar with you turned and faced him.

“Wanna dance?”, he had this giddy smile, as if he didn’t just kill someone a few minutes ago.

Mando didn’t think you were going to accept, he was just about to tell him to back off before you said, “Sure”

You look to him knowingly, “When are we gonna have the chance to enjoy this again?” You shrug and lead the rebel inside.

He watches as he inevitably takes the lead towards the empty space in the middle of the ballroom. He’s pretty sure you didn’t know how to dance since you keep fumbling over his shoes. He watches for a while until they put on slow jazz. He kind of wishes it were him dancing with you.

He sees you glancing back at the mandalorian, “Focus on your feet, you don’t know how to dance as it is” You scoff, “You don’t even know me. What if I do know how to dance? Maybe I’m making you second guess yourself”

“What, like you did the senator?” You shake your head and roll your eyes, “Thank you by the way, but I didn’t really need you help”

“I’m sure”

You’ve been burning to know more about him. The only reason you accepted the dance was to ask him questions. He was too confident in himself, and you wanted to know the reason why the rebels were after the target.

“How’d you know I wasn’t going to turn you in?” He furrows his brows, “Were you going to?”

A couple bumps into you and you were forced to get closer, “No, not really, I wasn’t supposed to be here either”

“I assumed you were loyal to the…” He whispers in your ear, “cause”

You whisper back in his own ear, “What made you think that?”

“You are from Alderaan aren’t you?”

You pulled back in shock. He just shrugged and pushed a stray hair back in place. “It’s the hair, the braids, the slight accent too” He looks away, red coloring his cheeks, “I also thought you were very pretty”

You shake your head, trying to hide your growing smile. He suddenly spins you, this time pulling you closer to his chest. “Wanted to impress you to be quite honest with you”

You hum, still fighting back a grin. The music picks up and you panic. You really didn’t know how to dance. Tapping his shoulder you say, “We should go” He looks down at you and smirks, knowing why you suddenly wanted to leave, “Nah”

He picks you up from the waist and spins, you wrap your arms around him as he has you hovering above the ground. You're filled with giddiness as he spins. You haven’t felt this way since you were a child.

As he lets you go and you try to reorient yourself he dips you and kisses you. It was so brief and sudden that you didn’t know how to react after. For a second you just stare at each other, feeling as the other couples move and bump around you.

“I’m heading to the ship.” He catches your panicked glance to the balcony, instantly regretting what he did. “I didn’t know you two were a thing, I’m so sorry”

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh…”

“We should go”

“Yeah…”

Din couldn’t be more devastated, he just watched you kiss a man that you haven't even known for longer than a few hours. And on top of all of that he heard the whole thing. What a night.

You made it to the ship a few minutes after he did. This time accompanied by the rebel. He left shortly but not before kissing your hand goodbye. How charming.

You came in with a genuine smile on your face. He acted as if he didn’t notice you entering the cockpit. You appeared next to him out of the dress and in your normal attire.

With a pat at his back you say with an almost dreamy expression, “Let’s go back home”

Since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you.

You know I will adore you 'til eternity

[ireniclacuna]

okok so, i hope i’m doing this correctly and if i’m not then you are more than welcome to ignore, but i couldn’t help but notice you listed fe3h 👀 if possible, can i ask for a dimitri oneshot? (or drabble, idk know the difference between them :/)

i’m assuming you need a general idea of the plot so how about the reader joins the blue lions since they got a bit of a major crush on mercedes, but dimitri gets the wrong idea and thinks they’re actually into him so he gets hella upset when he finds out who they really like. that’s all i can really think of for this, it’s been awhile since i’ve played the game so i forgot some details and don’t wanna conflict with the story somehow so if you need more deets i can try and think up some more!

i’m fine with whatever you choose to do tho, i rlly like your writings so far and wanna see more in the future!! ^-^ /gen (iactuallymayhavereadyourraspberrycookiehcsmorethanonceagsjdhks—)

and i died in your arms tonight - dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader

A/N: anon ily /p TYSM FOR REQUESTING FE3H I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS PROMPT I HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE,,, andbsksm im so happy to hear that, i'm glad to hear that you liked them,,, i hope you like this too!!

tags/CW'S/TW'S: unrequited crushes, you should probably see a summary of the Blue Lions route first before reading if you've never played fe3h, violence, murder, going unhinged, dimitri,,,, my poor boy,,,,, reader uses they/them pronouns and so does byleth too in here, wanting to commit violence to someone very badly, angst all around, fluff is mainly in the early parts, name calling/insults (boar, monster), self-depreciation

word count: 4.3k ish (wow... so many words...)

please tell me if i left anything out or the like for the tags/CW'S/TW'S!!

------

Dimitri notices you one day. 

He's never really thought of you as anything more than a bystander- someone who he greets with a practiced smile on his face and nods at when passing by in between classes. Someone who is simply just there, in the Black Eagle house, with Edelgard as their house leader, who wears their emblem and has never quite bothered to actively make friends with the rest of the houses. He's sweaty when he finally interlocks eyes with you, hair matted with dust and sticking to his forehead.

The rest of his house walks behind him, groaning and sighing and basking in the content of their hard-fought victory. He wonders if there's anything that his house did not like better than the taste of victory- and wonders if that's one of the things that manages to draw everyone together. You're staring at the group, at him, eyes drifting toward Mercedes, for some reason, before going back to home, whispering to Dorothea near you. His teacher- Byleth, mercenary turned Professor extraordinaire- had already settled into their room when they had returned. They had scampered off, blue hair smacking against the back of their neck. 

He takes another look at you. You stare back, as Dorothea giggles beside you and nudges you toward him. You grin, lopsided. There's a strange feeling that whispers inside him, that tells him, it's nice to be seen, right? Something else- his ghosts, his own damn self- instantly berates him, surrounding him like hounds hungry for blood. 

Remember what you're here for.

And he understands, he will never, never forget the blood spilled on that day- but it's nice. Nice to be stared at with such a soft gaze, unlike Sylvain's or Ingrid's, always worrying, always too worried about someone like him, and unlike Felix's gaze. Felix, who has his eyes narrowed, mouth curved downwards in disgust, gaze sharp and unyielding, saying that he is a boar, and to "stop pestering me, boar." So he decides, with a sigh filled with soft air, that he likes your gaze on him. It's soft. It feels full of something he can't put a pin on. He wonders if Mercedes felt it too- your soft gaze on her. He had simply been spared a few seconds of it, the full brunt of it on the beloved healer of the Blue Lion house, but it was long enough. Long enough to decide he likes it, that is. 

Besides, he tells himself, ignoring the ever so familiar hint of guilt that likes to well up inside him, it's nice. Nice, he tells himself, over and over as he puts up his silver lance and walks with Ashe to their dorms. 

---

You join their house the next week, their Professor simply saying your name in that monotone voice of theirs. Dimitri watches his classmates go from muted interest to smiles all around, letting out cheers and declarations of how happy they are to have you. Dimitri hasn't seen his Professor smile since the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but he swears that he sees their lip curve upwards just a tiny bit, face free from any smiles that might even show. He grins too, lightly punching Dedue near him on his shoulder, mouth moving on its own. Dedue curves his own lips upwards, punching him back. His smile feels real for once, not in the way that everything in his body is begging to let go of noble propriety. It feels nice. Feels nice to actually grin. You're nervous, he gathers, as he watches Mercedes and you share words, whispering. The Professor says some sort of speech, simply saying to treat you with respect. And then the Professor, in their usual Professor style, walks out of the room, taking a Felix who is almost begging (or what is akin to begging for Felix) for a sparring match, an Ashe who is absolutely eager to share his findings of a new book, and then the rest of the class with them. Dedue is still near him, like the ever loyal retainer he is, while you and Mercedes stick behind, caught up in conversation.

You're sweating, clutching your uniform like it's your death-day, for some reason. Even for his standards, used to the frigid ice-scape that is Fareghus, the heat isn't so bad today. It feels nice. Mercedes, perhaps oblivious to your sweating and nervousness, is smiling at you, telling you that she'd be absolutely "-delighted if you could join me and Annie to make snacks together." You let out a rather warbly "I'd love that," cheeks turning the softest shades of reds. You look around suddenly, before your soft gaze settles on him. And then your face turns a bit more flushed, as you immediately look away from him, head tilted up high. Something inside of him preens at that reaction- he isn't sure what. 

Mercedes smiles at you, turning away to the open classroom door, her footsteps light and quiet despite the cobblestone underneath her shoes.

"Ah, I'd also enjoy it if we could become better friends, as well!" Is the last thing she says before heading out, the healer's hair softly swaying in the breeze. You let out a choked sound, akin to a dying animal, as you nod furiously and say yes. He's almost positive you're going to collapse now. You let out a sigh, and yes, he thinks, he was right, as you fall to your knees as you steady yourself. He walks up from his desk, chair making almost a screech sound against the floor, and leaves Dedue, staring. Dimitri kneels down near you, head tilted and his smile a tiny bit real. It's forced, he thinks, as he pats your shoulder. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, eyes narrowing at your form. 

You peek up, eyes staring back. Your face turns red again, as you scramble up. 

You let out a hurried 'your Highness,' bowing. "Forgive-" you stutter the first word out, looking anywhere but him.

"Forgive me," is what you say, finishing the sentence. You add on a quick Your Highness, mumbling. 

He narrows his eyes, smile straining.

"Ah." He says. 

"You don't need to call me Your Highness, you know. I am perfectly happy with being called Dimitri."

You finally look up at him, eyes blinking. Your gaze is still soft on his face, he notices. You gulp, a nervous smile stretching across your face.

"Then.... Dimitri." you say, smiling. Dimitri lets out a soft grin himself. It feels nice. It feels good to be called by his name. Not a title. You let out a squeak, realizing something. 

You move past him, legs starting to run out of the classroom. 

"Wait." He says, watching you almost fall over in your running as you come to a stop. 

"Yes, Dimitri?" 

His name sounds nice, he realizes, from your mouth. 

"If this is alright with you," he starts off, voice in that perfect pitch he usually has it in, "perhaps we can become friends?" Something inside of breaks at how desperate that must seem to you, how absolutely needy, so ungrateful he must sound- 

But you nod quickly, soon continuing on your trek to somewhere else in the holy Monastery. Most likely to join Mercedes and Annette, he thinks, as he stares at your retreating form. Dedue walks over to him, and simply nods. 

"Your Highness," he starts, "we need to get going as well." 

And Dimitri simply nods. 

---

The first time he meets up with you, in attempt 1, dubbed lovingly by Sylvain as: "His Highness Gets A-" and was never finished, because Ingrid had lovingly kicked him in his shins. The Professor had agreed to make a tea party for the both of you; making batches of chamomile tea and forcing Annette and poor Ashe to tastetest. The Professor had also managed to get an unwilling Dedue roped in, getting the Duscurain's opinion. Dimitri, really, did not think that this was worth the fuss over trying to become better friends with you. But he liked it. If their efforts did pay off, then, who's to say that no one would like it? And so, he sips at the chamomile tea put out by said Professor, brewed to perfection by the former mercenary after multiple taste-tests. You're sitting still, surprisingly. Unlike all the times he's seen you fidgeting in the Blue Lion's healer presence, and Mercedes had gracefully ignored it, simply asking what did you need, while you stuttered and smiled. 

You sip at your own tea- entertaining Dimitri's efforts to strike up a conversation. Dimitri asks you what your family was like, how are you doing, what are some of your favorite hobbies, and they're all met with curt answers and quick responses. Your face is still red though, he notes. Perhaps you're nervous. And so he asks if you are. 

You stutter almost immediately, losing control of that still composure you had just a bit. 

"I'm doing quite fine, Dimitri," you say, coughing, "just. Have a lot on my mind, is all." 

Dimitri softly smiles- "What's on your mind, then?" 

You stutter again, headplanting your face into the table. Dimitri sips at his tea, ignoring the ruckus from the bush nearby, knowing full-well what his classmates were doing. (He had begged for them to leave the both of you in peace- but they all had simply grinned and tagged along.)

"Well." You say, blushing, cheeks colored a fine red, as you peek up at him with soft eyes. Dimitri, for the second time in his life, realizes that he may be falling into something. He gulps- he's never felt this nervous before, never like this- and stares at you back with blue eyes that resemble a lake. Your eyes, your soft eyes he's grown ever so fond of, dart back and forth, til you lean over in your chair, whispering. 

"You better not tell anyone, Princeling."

Princeling. He doesn't care for the nickname, but if it's from you, then it's alright. 

"I have," another baited breath, " a crush. Perhaps. On someone. In our. Class." You stop after each word suddenly, blushing a foul red. 

He looks up at you, and feels something in his chest twist and bang and explode. He's tempted to ask who it is. Maybe you can read his thoughts, or maybe you can tell by expression alone, because you say, looking away from him, body back in the chair, "At the end of the school year, I'll say." 

There's a sudden cheer from the bush, which makes you twist your head so impossibly fast and the bush goes silent once more. 

Dimitri feels his lips curve up, and he doesn't focus on anything for once that doesn't involve death, that doesn't involve fire and a field soaked in blood, and thinks of you, with your soft eyes and flushing face, and decides to hope for once.

----

Dimitri wonders what happened between you and Mercedes, during the ending of the White Heron Cup. You seem to be less flustered around her, smiling always, as the healer herself grins and giggles. You both smile and grin at each other, hands sometimes entertwined with the other's hand. Annette has pouted at it before, he notices, saying "-you already have His Highness as a best friend, don't go stealing mine!" And you simply laugh, and and you laugh in such a way that makes his heart throb and feel normal, for once.

The Professor has been cheering him on, lately, for some reason. At least, that's what Dimitri guesses is what they're doing, when they punch the air in a show of solidarity, whenever he has a tea party with you. Whenever he's close to you, really, and the Professor just happens to be nearby. He, somehow, managed to become closer to you. And he likes being near you. Likes to hear you laugh. To laugh and tug at his arm, smiling at him. The ghosts do not wish for murder, they do not wish for revenge, they stay silent for a welcomed change. It's blissful. It's peaceful, and he likes it. He needs it like he needs air, because for once, there are no screeches in his ears, there are no wails from under his bed, and there are fading bags from under his eyes. There are only soft murmurs near his ear and they are so incredibly easy to ignore, unlike yells or screeches or cries for revenge. He smiles whenever he's near you, and from how much his own chest beats like a human, not like a boar or a monster, he feels alive. Alive, he thinks, because love is such a human thing to experience. He's only ever felt it a time before, when everything was decidedly normal and both of his parents and friends were alive and not reduced to ghosts haunting him, screaming for revenge. He likes it. He loves it, if he would dare say it outloud. He only ever says that line of thought when he's alone, gulping down air.

---

Everything comes crashing down, soon after. Edelgard's- no, that monster, that monstrosity, he thinks, cursing her name for every crime that she has done- mask falls down, and Dimitri has never wanted to choke someone, has never wanted to piece someone with his lance, because finally, finally, he has a name for who has wronged him, who caused these ghosts to follow him, and they are all yelling to kill her, yelling and screeching. 

Except. Except there's a soft touch of hand on his shoulder, and he's tempted to throw it off, in this Holy Tomb, and he looks back for one second and- it's you. You with a worried face, face scrunched up, mouth parted open. He glares- he has never glared at you before, never dared to- and shrugs it off. The ghosts hiss at him- he is wasting time, "why are you wasting time, you foolish lovestruck boy, give us her head, give us penance-" and something cracks under his iron grip. He has the Crest of Blaiddyd. Of unnatural strength. Of a single touch making things shatter under his grip. He has always resented it. But not now. Not now, in this moment, when he can finally get everything he came to this damned Monastery for. The face he grips with a ferocity cracks under his touch, and he can feel blood and snot leak onto his armored glove. The knight- no, vermin, he thinks- cries out weakly for help. None of the other vermin comes to help out.  He throws his lance, and Edelgard dodges ever so slightly, axe gripped tight in her hand, violet eyes staring into hate-filled ones. She takes a single look at the Professor, before shaking her head. 

"Professor." She says. "Do you refuse?" 

And the Professor says something, says no, and Edelgard yells at a nearby mage to take her away. 

Taking her away from her fate. Taking her away from her destiny to die, to die with a life with so much left unaccomplished. And Dimitri is more than glad to be the one who ends it, who hangs her head by her white hair on the gates of Enbarr. 

And Dimitri has never felt such rage before, has never felt such anger, has never seen such red in his eyes. He knows of soft reds. He knows of the light pink on your cheeks. But he knows of blood, a deep red staining his hands, body, mind, and he practically lives in it. Felix, from somewhere, always someplace nearby but far, sneers at him. "This is the real boar prince you've all been pretending that doesn't exist," he says, voice full of malcontent and barely hidden anger, and Dimitri ignores it. He only acknowledges you turning him towards you, dull blue eyes looking into your ever so soft ones. 

He wants to promise you that he'll get her head, and then finally, he'll be free, he'll finally get to hear whoever you liked, he'll finally be- 

The Professor opens his clenched hand, staring at the blood that had stained the previously clear silver.  They wave a healing spell over him, and their stare is impossibly hard, eyes boring into his head. The ghosts whisper at him- leave them behind, go get her head, they jeer- and he yanks his hand away from their soft touch. 

He's about to walk off, shoulders straightened, on a warpath. A path that has already been bloodied, bodies strewn along it. Except. 

You tug at his arm, eyes twinkling. There are tears that are leaking out, he thinks, as he stares. Your eyes are still soft, soft as he's known. He stills. There are other sets of eyes on him, tense and waiting. Hands tightened around lances, around swords, raised up and soft shades of purples emanating. Magic, he dully realizes. Maybe they should cut him down, he muses, because he is nothing but a beast now. You grip his hand tight, sighing. 

"Dimitri," you start off, and the ghosts have started to YELL, THEY ARE HISSING, THEY WANT HIM GONE, THEY WANT HER DEAD, THEY WANT HER HEAD- and Dimitri has never hated like he has before.

"Please. You need to rest."

"I will rest," he grits out, "when I have gotten her head." 

And then he yanks himself from your soft hands, soft gaze, from everything that he likes, and continues on a warpath that will make him crack. 

----

The Professor, screeching and yelling, falls from a cliff, the Sword of the Creator wrapping around their body from a blast of magic. Dimitri is slowly being ripped apart at the seams, with each accusation, with each cry from people he has never known. That he has committed regicide, killed the Grand Duke of Fareghus. Killed his uncle. Corneila wants him executed, but she does not know that he has been dead for so many years. He is dead. He is a monster. He has been dead, and remains that way.

His eye has been taken out by a stray bandit, an arrow piercing the flesh. He ripped it out easily, blood leaking out. 

He does not care. 

He comes to the Monastery, shivering and shuddering, with a lance in hand and an eyepatch tied around his head. 

He steps into the Monastery, black armored boots banging against the cobblestone. The wreckage of the Monastery is all over the place. He kicks pure bricks and stones out of his way, lance making a screeching sound against the stone. 

There is someone. Someone who looked older, aged like the heavens. They are tucked into themselves, hands over their knees, head tucked inside their body. They look like a little mouse, he thinks, as he stalks over to them. They peek up, and- oh, he thinks, oh. 

It's you. 

Your soft eyes. Soft gaze. He stares at your head, turned away from him, his single blue eye boring into your head. You turn to him, eyes soft as ever. Something inside of his chest churns, throat turning dry. 

"Dimitri?" You ask, peeking up. Mouse is what he thinks of you, acting like one, is all his mind gives him. You move over to him, a boar, a beast, and gently place your hand on his face. 

A ghost- his father- hisses at him. "Former Black Eagle," he hisses, "they would use you. They are with her, kill them, kill them-" And you look into his eyes, and he has missed it, and he has been a monster for so long, and Dimitri falls apart.

---

Dimitri wonders if you should be here. You must be after something, he thinks, if you decide to stay here with him. If you decide to take care of a beast like him. You drag him to the washhouse. You make him clean his lance. You go with him, when he has to murder some vermin hoping for quick riches in the Monastery's treasury, despite having been long emptied out. You stay here, despite it. Sometimes, when the ghosts are particularly silent, when there are only a few yelling surrounding his ears, he thinks about what you told him. A promise, from when you both became friends. He wonders and wonders. There's the old beating of a heart- his own, he realizes- that beats at the idea. 

---

It's a nice day. The heat is bearable. Even with all this armor on him, it's alright. It isn't making him wish to cower away from everything. You're right next to him, soft breaths emitting from your mouth, parted open slightly. 

You sigh, leaning against him, covered in his cloak. His blonde hair, well-kept in the past but not anymore, has grown long and shabby, reaching his shoulders. It's a soft silence. He has never let his guard down like this before. You look at him for a second. He wonders, in a moment, if this was how they acted back then. When the both of you were friends and laughed together. Played together, weapons singing out in the tunes of battle, arm hanging off a shoulder. You and him, laughing together, and he has never felt such ease like this. At least not when you, with your soft gaze, allowed the beast to be your friend on that fateful day. 

"Hey, Dimitri." You say, eyes turned toward the sky. He wonders, once more, if this is what friends do. If this is what actual friends, not like him, not like the beast that he is, does. 

He grunts as a reply. You shuffle a bit. 

"Hey," you say, eyes turning to him.  

Dimitri simply nods back at you, eye focused ahead of him, hand slowly unfurling around his blood-stricken lance. 

"Technically, now that the school year is over-" A soft silence. Restarting a sentence, he notes, with an eye colored blue staring at you, his face still facing forward, gaunt and full of sharp lines. 

"I never told you who I was crushing on, huh?" An attempt at small talk, he thinks. "Did you, uh- Do you still wish to know?"

You look at him again, eyes blinking, a soft blush blooming over your cheeks. It's enrapturing. A punch of emotions hits him in his chest, hard and fast. Everything is warm, for some reason, and so, so, warm. 

"I think- I think I'm still perhaps crushing on them." 

You let out a nervous laugh, shifting towards him. The blush on your face is gone for a moment, and he thinks it's a pity. (Before everything happened, is what he thinks you left out to say, before he truly embraced that he is a monster, a beast, a murderer.) 

He turns toward you, and then there is a flicker of hope that lights up in his chest, and he does not kill it immediately with water from a sobering reality. He watches it flicker, and nods.

There's a deafening silence around the both of you, as the ghosts are silent and they are quiet, and there is only you and him, with his old quiet fantasies that he used to comfort himself with being reignited. You stare at him, laughing. There's a soft blush that appears on your cheeks, laughing nervously. 

"It was-" and something inside of him cracks. 

"Mercedes-" He stomps whatever flicker in his chest that lit up. 

"During the White Heron Cup, we met at the-"

And Dimitri feels a primal anger rise, the ghosts yell at him, you stupid idiot, you fool, for falling in love, you beast, why would they ever like you- (italics here before and) and then he gets up. He growls, teeth gritting against each other. You tilt your head- "Dimitri, are you-?" 

And Dimitri never in the moment has never felt such a breaking of his heart, has never felt such sadness before, that threatens to leak out of his only eye. He has never felt such red anger like this before, he has never- 

He whips his head around you, eye glaring at you. He was always so scared of doing it before. There is a part of him that loves you, that still loves you, and he wants to kill it. He wants to rip out every part of him. You ask him again, if he's alright, and he slaps away the soft hand that comes to cradle his face. 

"Leave me alone," he growls out, a blue eye resembling a tornado.

You do not. Traitor, (I) the ghosts say to him. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed in soft anger- "Dimitri. What has gotten you so-"

"Leave me ALONE," he bellows at you, acting like an injured animal. He growls. He hates you, he loves you, he hates that healer, he hates her, hates her for taking you away from him, hates himself for being so utterly foolish to believe that he could have had a beloved- 

You step back. You remind him of a mouse. A mouse in the presence of a scary beast, of a monster who has claws for hands and a lance on the floor. He growls at you, eye akin to a tempest, to a storm raging. Blue turning to shreds. He doesn't want you to go- but you already seem to be backing away, his cloak falling off of him. He kicks it aside, and stares at you. Glares, really. 

You take a deep breath in, and walk off. He does not follow. He does not follow because he is a beast. 

A beast alone, he thinks, and suddenly, he slinks to the floor. He's tired. He's never been this tired before. Everything hurts inside of him, heart being poked at it, mouth filling up with a metallic liquid he's long since been familiar with. A beast who is alone. A monster. A horrible person.

He yowls into the sky, and then there is nothing, and then there is everything, and then there is a hand that extends out to him, while he is but a shred of humanity long gone since he was a little boy, in a field of bloodied flowers and blooming tears. 

[fun fact: title is from "arms tonite," by mother mother!]

[svtgg]

Leader Problems

pairing(s): quartz x quartz, largely focused on chae x other oc's

era: mansae / bungee

genre: (light) angst, slice of life

word count: 1.2k ish

warnings: not really, maybe arguing ?

summary: small mistakes are being blown out of proportion and it is a leaders duty to take responsibility.

“Chi-Won, do you know why we have called you to this meeting?”

Chae hated it when they asked her this. Just because she was the leader of their subunit didn’t mean that she babysat the members every second of every day.

“No, sir.” she mumbled. She could only guess what she was called in for a meeting; it could be Nix in another scandal, or Yun going on vlive without the staff's permission, or Edyth spoiling something from their comeback. Chae doesn’t even know who this man is. He isn’t one of her managers and he surely isn’t the CEO, so why does he get to lecture her on how her members' screw-ups are her responsibility?

A loud bang caused by the man slamming his papers onto the table in front of her shocks her out of her train of thought, “This is a serious conversation and you’re mumbling!”

Chae raised her head and forced herself to maintain eye contact with the man, “I’m sorry, sir.” The man tsked and rolled his eyes. He swivelled in his chair to the side and stood up. “Fix your attitude.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur. The higherup and the staff scolded her for not being able to control the girls for what seemed to be the hundredth time, she didn’t even catch what the problem was this time, something about Nix taking jewelry from their last photo shoot… or was it Edyth? It didn’t matter as long as they returned it the following day.

Chae sighed deeply on the ride back to the dorm. Seventeen had been working hard on their comeback and were finishing up a very long dance practice when she was told by their manager that there was a meeting that she had to attend. Not Quartz, not even Seungcheol, just Chae. What seemed to be minor mistakes were being blown out of proportion and Chae was taking the brunt of the blow. The meeting dragged on for nearly an hour, so all of the members had already returned to the dorms. None of the staff offered to get her a cab and Chae’s pride prevented her from asking for it. So she dug through her backpack until finding enough change to take a bus home. She ignored the pictures being taken of her on the bus and thanked the driver before walking the remaining couple of blocks back to the dorm.

...

On the 8th floor, Yun, Hoshi, Vernon, and Minghao were in the middle of a very intense Mario Kart race. Dino, who was watching, greets Chae as she enters, “Oh, you’re home!” He instantly realizes Chae is in a bad mood by her lack of response and how quickly she takes off her shoes. Dino scurries away into his room knowing that an upset Chae could be scary.

The loud whine from Yun (after being overtaken by Vernon for 1st place) tells Chae that she is in the living room. Her loud voice somehow managed to annoy her even more, so she reaches over the table for the remote and shuts off the tv mid-race. The four members sitting start to complain, each claiming that they were about to win the race.

“Chaeeee, seriously?” Yun pouted, “The race was almost over.” It is only after saying this that Yun notices Chaes tense stance and her balled up fist.

“I don’t care.” Chae said. All four of the members' eyes widen to hear her steady, calm voice… damn, she was really mad. Chaes shifts her focus from each of the male members before mumbling, “Get out.” Vernon, Hoshi, and Minghao are instantly on their feet, speed walking to the rooms. Hoshi says, “goodluck” to Yun over his shoulder, only to get slapped on his shoulder by Minghao.

Chae slowly sits across from Yun and the two sit in silence for a second. Yun worries that she’ll say the wrong thing and annoy Chae even more. “Want me to get the other two?” Yun softly asks. Chae nods in confirmation and Yun quickly gets up to get the other two.

...

Instead of texting or calling them, she opts to run down to the 6th floor, not only to get the other two quartz members, but to let the other members know that Chae was visibly upset. Edyth, always the dramatic, needs to be dragged from her room, exclaiming, “Save us! If Chae is mad, then I’m sure we will all perish!” Nix drags her up the stairs by her arm as Yun tries to prepare them for how seriously upset Chae is.

The entire way to the dorm, Yun complained, “I don’t know why she’s so mad! We always get in trouble for really dumb things and only we get in trouble. Hoshi and Dk do way more dumb things then us and they never get in trouble, how is this fair!”

Nix sighed, “It may not be fair, but it’s not Chae’s fault either.” “Hmph,” Yun continued, “I’m not saying it’s her fault, I’m saying that she shouldn’t be this upset with us for something so dumb.”

...

Once they are all sitting in the living room, Chae wastes no time in getting to business, “Which one of you stole jewelry from the set?” The hardness of her voice makes the other three members nervous, still Nix raises her hand. “I forgot to take out my earrings at the end of my shoot, but it was totally a mistake. I can give them back.” Chae leans forward in her seat, rubbing her temples and nodding her head in agreement.

Edyth claps her hands in excitement and stands. “Well if that’s all-” “Sit your ass back down.” “I will be sitting back down.”

Chae lets out a deep sigh before starting her lecture, “Please, learn to be more careful about these sorts of things. It’s like the third time in this month that I’ve had to sit in a multiple hour meeting because one of you screwed up. Just because I’m the leader doesn’t mean that I’m supposed to clean up all of your messes, it wouldn't kill you guys to be held responsible every once in a while.”

Nix mockingly laughs at this, “Yes, I’ll make sure that the media stops twisting my words and act like a good girl so that dispatch stays away from me. I’ll stop being such a handful, okay leader?” At Nix’s sarcastic reply, Chae realizes how unfair she was being with the others. This is a problem she should be taking up with management, not them. “Nix, you know-” “Save it.” Nix leaves the dorm, slamming the door shut.

Chae lets out another deep sigh and rubs her eyebrows in frustration. The other two look at each other knowingly. Nix wasn’t typically the sensitive type, but she often thought that her scandals were holding the group back. Edyth put her hand onto Chae’s shoulder, “Maybe you just need a lil break, just so that you can figure out how to talk to management about being a leader and what that role should actually entail.” She got up and quickly put on her shoes, “I’ll check on Nix, don’t even worry about it.” Edyth and Yun exchanged goodbyes.

“I’m sorry,” Chae whispers to Yun. “For what?” Yun replies. Chae doesn’t have an answer to her question, and Yuns shuffling around the living room was distracting. She finally opened her eyes and lifted her head as she felt Yun nudge her. She offers her a controller and grins wolfishly at her, “Want to play Mario Kart?”

[hoe-imaginess]

hostage | madara uchiha

Madara x Tobirama’s s/o

summary: Tobirama’s wife is held captive when the Uchiha invade Senju territory. She does what she can to keep the peace. It doesn’t last long.

word count: 9.5k 

warnings: sex as a bargaining tool, physical/emotional harm, heavy angst, mentions of miscarriage/abortion, brutal use of sharingan

a/n: part of a long and self-indulgent founders era fic I was writing, but recently gave up on. so this is just a very choppy rough draft. it’s all over the place. apologies for the poor & skimpy writing style. fair warning: bit of a darker rendition of Madara than what I usually write on this blog. IM me if you want more details before reading

⤰

They attack in the dead of night. 

With the main host of the Senju army battling in far-away provinces, Hashirama and Tobirama with it, few seasoned shinobi are left to protect the plot of land which the Senju call home. 

The Uchiha overwhelm the paltry resistance quickly and efficiently, then set about infiltrating the rest of the territory to claim as theirs. 

They’re met with little defiance. Of the Senju who don’t escape into the woods, slipping through Uchiha clutches before they can fully surround the vicinity, a majority left to endure the raid are civilians with no real experience or means to contend the invaders’ assault. 

Chaos ensues. Uchiha chase down fleeing families, drag them back to the center of the camp where hostages are corralled. They bark and shout orders at stubborn Senju who refuse to abide, sometimes resorting to violence to win obedience. 

Then come the fires. The Senju, in one final, practiced act of loyalty, set ablaze as much property as they can in an effort to destroy any intelligence on Senju affairs which the Uchiha might find and use to their favor. 

Some of these renegades are stopped before they can succeed, others manage to do their part before being apprehended. 

She is one among them, burning the room in her home which her husband uses so often to practice and hone his jutsu; where plots of war are imagined and scribed; where important records are stored. 

Tobirama would balk to see all his work going up in flames, but she knows that it’s what he would want her to do. 

The anguish that beats mercilessly in her chest as she watches her home catch fire is dreadful. 

Such a small little place, she thinks. Just big enough for the two of them. They hadn’t been married for more than a few months now. Arranged, like so many unions those days. 

Yet the little, perfect home held such memories in that short time; watching smoke rise from the walls and foundations makes her sick with sorrow. 

But it must be done. Whatever the invaders might pillage from her home, they would find nothing to their benefit, and nothing that might end up hurting Tobirama, or the Senju. 

Two Uchiha men grab her just as she watches the roof of her home collapse in on itself, pillars weakened and corrupted by flame. 

It’s a sodden and meager thing to find so fulfilling, but it’s the only thing from which to reap comfort. 

Doomed as she may now be to whatever her captors have planned, she, too, has plans: plans to remember Tobirama’s prudence, adopt it as her own. Whatever awaits her, she can face with her chin held high.

As she’s herded into a crowd of the Senju hostages, uncertain of their holistic fate, the cries and tears of anguish from men, women, and children alike hurt her beyond words. 

When the leader of the invaders stands before them and addresses them, with his coal-black eyes piercing every one of them even in the dark void of night, she feels anger beyond words. 

And when she learns of his plans to occupy their land, to keep them as prisoners of war, she feels determination. 

⤰

When she’s brought before Madara Uchiha in the coming days for the purpose of interrogation, he senses immediately that she isn’t a Senju.

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, and Madara knows Hashirama is quick to support alliances with clans he finds trustworthy enough. Madara wonders who, among the Senju prominent enough to be pursued for political marriage, might call this woman their wife. 

Feeling foolish for having not expected such a question in advance—though somewhere, she’s hardly able to blame herself, given the chaos of the last few days—her mind races for explanation when he inquires about her husband. 

“I’m a widow,” she lies. “He died months ago.”

She remains with the Senju to uphold the alliance her marriage created, she says, hoping he believes it. 

His gaze is startling, and she fears intermittently that he’s staring right through her with those merciless eyes, extracting the truth under her lies, truths that needn’t be spoken, only simmering underneath the surface for his scrutiny to grab. 

She feels apprehension like she’s never known when, after her explanations, he’s quiet. Utterly quiet. 

Then, just as she tries and fails to steel her heart’s rapid beating, he dismisses her. 

As she’s led out of the tent the Uchiha have constructed for their own purposes of war, she takes a calming breath. 

If she plans on putting her wits to use and curbing the punishments soon to be expounded against the Senju innocents, she needs to leverage herself with composure. 

She can’t let Madara Uchiha rattle her this much if she plans on contriving against him. 

If she plans on winning his trust.

⤰

It’s fairly easy to be granted an audience. 

She’s rigid in her loyalty to the Senju, and answers any of Madara’s interrogations about Senju information with silence or ignorance. Still, she’s compliant with otherwise basic facets of the Uchiha occupation; she tells him where best to find food and water in the land; from which fields they might find the most harvest; offers insight on neighboring clans that may contend the Uchiha occupation of Senju territory, loyal to the Senju as they were. 

In compensation, Madara is usually merciful with her requests. She asks that the Senju hostages be given more daily rations and more room in which to sleep and live, now that the Uchiha occupy most of their old homes. 

Generally, entreatments to the betterment of their well-being are met with leniency. Something for which she is glad, but the brother, Izuna, is not. 

She hears them arguing sometimes: Izuna claiming that his elder brother is being too forgiving on the enemy—she assumes she is the enemy in question—and Madara stating in response that he has no quarrel with Senju commoners, and that amending some of their grievances is no harm to their cause. 

These small victories continue to mount, until she finds herself at his side almost daily, discussing hostage afflictions, enduring his queries and, occasionally, even his frustration at receiving no answers. 

This frustration burgeons quickly, until she’s half-convinced that her play at ignorance is one he sees right through. But he always dismisses her when his irritation becomes visible and unavoidable, almost as if to save her from facing the brunt of it. 

It’s the first of the strange, apprehensive intimacies that he gives her. 

More apparent, soon after, are his long-held gazes. 

They sweep over her, inspect her while she talks, greedily scrutinizing her responses. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her when his dark eyes linger for too long. 

She isn’t naive enough to think this prolonged regard is devoid of any suspicious undertone, nor is she naive to dismiss the lust behind his gazes; the careful inspections of her very body that describe something hidden and desiring under his facade. 

She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way it makes her skin crawl, or her heart stutter. 

But how can she be ungrateful for his dangerous admiration when it might prove profitable?

⤰

She reaps the benefits of his greed not long after their invasion. 

He’s taken up residency in one of the precluded houses near the center of the camp. No guards stand watch outside; he doesn’t need them. 

When she asks for entrance to his room he gives it, albeit cautiously. She doesn’t bother disguising her visit under any pretense; she’s there for him, and he knows this, apparently, judging by the careful look he gives her when she walks in and shuts the door behind her. 

Shame and irritation sizzles underneath her skin, but she ignores it. Her efforts have guaranteed the safety of the innocents under Uchiha rule so far, but those efforts won’t last forever. There’s more to be done. 

It’s not long until she’s pressed against him. Insistently her hand rubs over the space between his thighs. He’s soft, unaffected by her touch. It discourages her, but she continues, regardless. 

“What do you hope to gain from this?” he asks, eyes steely and trained on her, as if her eager hand isn’t even there. 

He hasn’t made a move to stop her, so she urges herself on. 

"Isn’t this what you want?” she implores.

“What makes you believe that?”

“The way you look at me.” 

It’s a calm declaration, though she’s still explicitly hiding something under her tone, he sees, something like frustration. 

“How do I look at you?” he inquires.

When she refuses to answer, he lifts a finger under her chin and forces her gaze to him. 

“Like you want to control me,” she answers bitterly.

The bulge under her hand twitches to life. She rubs harder. His face changes; his expression is tighter, more concentrated. 

“And that’s what you want?” His hand stretches across the back of her neck, keeps her head still. Fingers brush at the nape in deceptively gentle tandem. “To be controlled?” 

“No.” She squeezes her hand, hard. He replies with an angry, swift breath. “You could never control me.” 

The hand at her nape curls into her hair and yanks hard, so hard that her rubbing stops. 

“I already do.”

She’s infuriated by his words, he can see that plainly on her face. But he doesn’t care. She’s made the mistake of dangling her seductions in front of him, and he’ll rise to the occasion, if she's so determined to stir him. 

It shocks her how smoothly he maneuvers her to the futon at their feet, lays her down and climbs over her; how expertly his mouth captures hers and his tongue slides over her lips. 

She opens her mouth obediently, lets him explore. Shame courses through her when a hand between her thighs coaxes a pleased, albeit startled hum from her mouth. 

His fingers work her up quickly, pull her clothes off without a hiccup or delay. 

She had, foolishly, underestimated the strength of him. After she’s stripped bare, when he holds her arms down, there’s no room for her to fight back. As he looms over her, powerful and dangerous, she realizes she should be shaking in fear, in hatred, in uncertainty. 

Instead, her body is calm, forcefully calm. 

Sensing this, he sees it not as her resolve, but as a challenge. 

She refuses to close her eyes when he starts, and stares up at him, disputing his gaze. The pleased sigh that leaves his mouth when he starts rocking into her makes her shiver, despite her determination to keep her body still, keep it pliable for his pleasure but loyal to her convictions. 

His thrusts are deep and hard, reaching into her in ways she didn’t even know possible until now. Her breath catches with every snap of his hips, until those breaths are choking off into surprised gasps when he angles his body a certain way, hits a certain spot inside of her that makes her legs jolt with pleasure. 

One hand is planted firmly into the sheets beside her, keeping his body suspended over her. The other holds her thigh, keeps it pressed down to ensure she’s stretched as open as he needs her to be. 

When pleasure urges him to go harder, he takes her leg and curves it around his waist to dig into her deeper. With the new angle she can peer down, watch his cock spear into her with precise finesse. She tears her eyes away, the sight of it making her nerves tingle, making the unbidden pleasure that much more potent. 

Even if she wanted to vacate her mind, to numb herself to all feeling until she could be sure he was done and her task finished, it’s an impossible feat. Too many sensations; his heavy breath coming in low pants; strong thighs shoving against her legs with every thrust; his eyes, even when she turns from them, searing into her, pinning her down.  

A flush spreads over her body, hot and feverish and anxious. In the scant light she sees his skin giving way to his own pleasure; sweat lines the curve of his prominent clavicles, a drop on his brow as it furrows with the heightened pace of his thrusts. 

She starts to tremble uncontrollably as he roughly pounds into her, losing some of his rhythm, a basic need for release urging him. Rumbling, chest-born moans spill from his lips, and against her body’s wishes, she cums with a hard-fought whimper. 

As she shivers through the onslaught of pleasure, he stares down at her, his face an emotionless canvas.

She doesn’t even realize he’s near his end until he grabs onto her hard, grunts loud and staggered, then stops moving. 

He takes a moment to let the pleasure sink in, eyes closed to revel in the wet heat surrounding him, pulsing and twitching. Then he pulls out.

He leaves her on the mat, naked, curled into herself as if to hide the shame of her orgasm. Nothing in his posture speaks of an identical sentiment on his part. The sex she finds so monumentally impairing, he sees as nothing more than what it is: sex. 

No sooner than he moves away from her is he dressing, the raw muscle of his back moving with every motion, his sweat-glazed scars glistening in the moonlight that invades from closed curtains. 

Before he leaves, he says, “I assume you have herbs.” 

Her eyes open. 

The herbs. 

She had almost forgotten. She hasn’t needed to take them since Tobirama left, since there was no one else to share her bed…

The thought of Madara’s seed quickening inside of her makes her nauseous. She’s almost grateful he’s reminded her of the contraceptives. 

“Yes,” she says. She’ll take them first thing in the morning. They were made to work even after the fact. No need to panic. 

“Good.” 

He leaves her in his room, and she falls asleep despite her errant thoughts.

⤰

She draws a bath for herself and slips into the lukewarm water. 

The bruises and love-marks haven’t gone away. Every time they do, every time her skin is returned to its unsullied state, she’s in his bed again, tempering him, giving herself over to his rough desires in some hope it will continue to coax leniency out of him. 

She’s been bathing more often, she realizes: some meager attempt to wash his scent and his touch from her, no matter the pleasure she takes from it in kind. 

But there’s still much resistance in her thoughts when she gives herself over to him, a chiding reminder in the back of her head that says what she’s doing is shameful. 

She’s a married woman, after all; widow, in Madara’s eyes. 

But the masquerade doesn’t take away from the guilt she feels every time she opens her legs for his lust. It’s not even easy to imagine it’s Tobirama anymore. Tobirama isn’t so purposefully rough, isn’t keen on making pleasure so hard-fought with such domination that she receives from the Uchiha. 

A chill runs through her to think of the difference between them, to think she might never again know the softer, more loving touch of her husband. The possessive, taking nature of Madara’s intimacy might be all she ever knows. 

She touches the skin under her breast, feeling no texture on the flesh, but knowing the seal Tobirama left is still there: a risky, but comforting reminder of his caresses. 

She so misses them. She misses his voice, his touch, his earthy scent. The room around her is so devoid of it. The very air feels seized by the conquest of her Uchiha captors. Every breath she draws is more of their smoke, their fire, their danger.

She sinks underneath the surface of the bathwater, eyes closed, a calming air reserved in her lungs. 

The water is comforting, reminds her of Tobirama. She imagines it’s him surrounding and warming her skin, if only for a moment. 

She lets the world around her numb to nothingness, hoping at some point, so too will her anxieties leave her and make this dilemma all the easier to endure.

⤰

Izuna hadn’t meant to come across her this way.

The woman isn’t answering his brother’s summons, and the guards stationed outside her home say she won’t respond to the calls or demanding knocks they make at her door. 

Izuna isn’t a patient man. He has much better things to do than fetch his brother’s stubborn whore. 

The guards at the door had apparently been warned not to intrude on her sanctity more than necessary, and utter a protest when Izuna barges into her home unannounced. He ignores their murmuring, unfamiliar with the respect—or whatever it is—that keeps them compliant. 

The living area is empty and so is the kitchen. He calls her name once, then twice, irritation coloring his shouts. They garner no response. 

At the back of the house, he hears a sound, and goes to it. He hears it again once he’s closer, coming from the washroom, he thinks. 

He knocks once. 

No response.

He knocks again.

Still, no response. 

Sufferance all but worn, he pulls open the door. 

There’s a bath of water, her form distorted underneath its surface. His intrusion is apparently louder than any previous call for her attention and she folds up quickly from underneath the water, breaking the surface and sending splashes everywhere in her haste to glance around, size him up, and cover herself for modesty. 

Too late. He’s seen it. 

Never mind her naked body. Even if he needs to be forgiven for barging in on her later, he doubts, now seeing the mark that she quickly goes to hide under her breast, that she’ll be getting mercy from him or any other Uchiha from this point on. 

⤰

When Izuna drags her into the war tent, Madara is more startled by the interruption than irritated. 

She’s half-clothed, body and hair wet from the remnants of what he assumes was an interrupted cleanse; Izuna has a distraught look of fury on his face that never bodes well. What surprises Madara most, however, is the way she cowers into herself when Izuna throws her down at his feet. 

“What is this, Izuna?” Madara demands of his brother, mildly offended to witness this treatment of her, at his brother’s hand, no less. Madara’s intimacies with her are common knowledge, if not frowned upon by some of his Uchiha lieutenants. 

Izuna points an accusative finger down at her. “Look at it.”

Madara blinks through his confusion, waiting for clarity. Izuna hisses in anger, grabs her hair, and yanks her upright. 

“Show him,” he commands her.

She groans angrily in response. 

He yanks a little harder. 

“Show him.”

Madara’s suspicion gains with rapid unease. The doubt always tugging at the rear of his conscience comes to the forefront, ready to be fed with truths, ready to reap its victory. 

Izuna forces her to stay still, then claws at the hand she has wrapped about her stomach, hiding something beneath the haphazardly-adorned clothing. 

Madara catches on, and approaches. 

She slows her writhing when he crouches down in front of her. Then something like preemptive defeat rushes through her when he puts his hands on her, and she stills completely.

Madara doesn’t know what he expects to see beneath the fold of the robe he pulls away from her skin—the skin which is always covered by bandages when he strips her bare at night; courtesy, she always says, of a wound received during the invasion—but Tobirama’s Senju’s hiraishin mark is definitely the last.

The silence that ensues as he scrutinizes the seal is far more tormenting, she thinks, than any punishment he can possibly have in store for her. 

He’s enraged, of that she’s sure. And the indignant, defiant scowl on her face which receives him when he looks at her undoubtedly makes that worse. 

But she’s been found out, she knows. There’s little else she has to her aims at this point except her resentment, a resentment which she can now display with liberation. 

Her masquerade is extraneous now; any excuse she can possibly make redundant. She has to accept her fate, with her chin held high. 

Like Tobirama would. 

But the conviction doesn’t last long. 

“Hold her down,” Madara tells two of the Uchiha men in the room. 

She panics. 

When Izuna’s hands leave her and more vindictive ones take their place, she starts kicking away, trying to fight and make their hold on her that much more difficult to win. 

But it’s useless against the pure fear that runs through her when Madara slips out of the tent and returns a moment later, in his hand, an iron poker which had been mending the campfire outside. 

When he brings it over to her, she feels the heat radiating off of its glowing, orange, sharp tip. 

Her heart rate skips into the margins of delirium and she shakes her head. 

“Don’t—” she pleads, glaring up at him. “Don’t—”

Madara presses the singeing iron against the skin below her breast and she screams. Loud and ragged. He doesn’t care. 

Even before the deed is done, the smell of her own burnt flesh nauseates her beyond the limits of her endurance, and she passes out. 

⤰

The burn is so severe that it leaves her bed-ridden for days on end. 

Every twist and turn of her body stretches the thin, pink skin and leaves her whimpering in pain. 

Uchiha medics tend to her wound. She isn’t allowed the relief of healing jutsu; the burn is treated with oils and creams which alleviate only some of the pain, and none of the superficial scarring. Something for which she knows she has Madara to thank. He wants her to bear the mark of her deceit, wants the charred flesh to serve as a reminder of mockery. 

She had slighted him with her seductions, made a fool of him with her deception. The burn itself would be a meager sanction in comparison—he could have killed her, after all—if not for the scornful significance it held that did more justice to his condescension than any words could.

Any semblance of superiority her secret had once given her is all but crushed with the wound. Tobirama’s seal had soothed her, served as a pillar of faith and courage; a warm breath of comfort on her skin whenever the chill of her captors’ doujutsu fixed her, whenever Madara’s gaze searched her for weakness. 

Knowing her husband’s latent protection remained hidden from the eyes of the invaders had been enough, amidst all the turmoil, to shield her from fear. 

Now it was gone, rendered useless and indiscernible under corrugated skin. 

Like her home, her body now, too, at the hands of the Uchiha, denied her refuge. 

Yet in some twisted, ironic way, the wound still grounds her. The pain is a bittersweet reminder that her body is alive, and not a shell for the hopelessness she feels inside. 

It’s a degrading and pitiful comfort. But it’s all she has now. 

⤰

Madara makes infrequent visits during her recovery. 

The first few are made in silence. As she lies there, pitiful and motionless, he stares without a word to spare. His scrutinizing gaze, both spiteful to set eyes upon her and satisfied to see her agony, is the only acknowledgement he gives. 

The patronizing graduates to interrogation. He stands over her impotent form, leering down as he demands to know the reason for her having the seal on her skin, demands to know her relationship to Tobirama Senju. 

The line of questioning betrays the deductions he’s already made. He’s already decided that the woman is Tobirama’s spouse, or at the least, some sort of lover. The intimate placement of his seal is telling enough, and her previous elusion on the subject of her purpose on Senju land is further proof. All the suspicions piece together and exploit her lies. 

But he wants to hear the truth from her own mouth, the very mouth which conspired to deceive him with its pleasure, keep him pliant with its warm caresses on his body. Only then will he be satisfied, only when she admits who she is, what she is, who she belongs to—

Then he can remind her that it’s he who owns her now. He who conquered her home as easily as he had conquered her. 

Her silence isn’t as defiant as she thinks, not by a long shot. To patronize her is a pleasant notion, but the hooded, resentful gaze she gives him fails to stir him in any way besides to sing praises of his own power. 

⤰

“Kill her,” Izuna insists. 

His determined indignation on the matter comes like a chant in the days following the revelation. 

Madara’s commitment to deciding how best to deal with her is only marginally interrupted by his brother’s input, but it does disrupt his logic and feed his own fury. 

He should kill her. Should string her up for the rest of the Senju to see: let her be an example to whoever else among them may have delusions of defying him. 

“What point is there in keeping her alive?” Izuna presses on. “Kill her. Send her body to the Senju army. Let them know we won’t be trifled with.”

“No,” is Madara’s decisive reply. “She serves more use to us alive.”

“I fail to see how. She’s done enough to outwit you. I would’ve thought you eager to be rid of her.”

Madara resents the comment, but tempers his irritation. “I know your dislike for Tobirama makes you enthusiastic to do her harm. And why is that? Because you know harm done to her is harm done to him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should understand the benefit of keeping her alive.”

“Fine. Keep her alive. But not unscathed. If you want to use her as leverage, deliver a gift to the Senju. The correspondence between you and Hashirama has been pitifully civil so far. Send something with the next envoy. Something of hers. A finger will do.”

“No.” Madara’s tone is unequivocally firm. “We will do no such thing.”

Madara has little doubt that his brother’s enmity runs deep enough that an adequate offense on her part, no matter how slight, might be cause for Izuna to damage her. That’s not something Madara can allow. 

His conscience forces away the fact that part of his aversion to his brother’s threats are rooted in possessiveness; Izuna has no claim to her, has no entitlement to her punishment. 

That’s Madara’s. That’s his. And his alone.

⤰

How she finds herself sharing his bed again, she may never know, and will never be brave enough to ponder. 

She’s silent when he moves inside of her. Even when he makes her cum, as easily and powerfully as he always has, she barely lets the ragged, frustrated moan loose from her lips for a second before closing her throat and swallowing down the tightness.

When he rolls off of her he lies in silence. Where he would usually get up to bathe or leave, he remains, like he's done so often recently, to sleep beside her. 

He taunted her once, told her he had no fears of sleeping beside her now, because she knows what it would mean for the Senju hostages if she tried anything. 

That aside, she’s half-convinced that he’s awake at all hours of the night regardless, waiting patiently for the opportunity to catch her plots and punish her accordingly. 

But how difficult would it be? To kill him, leave him, save as many hostages as she can while he bleeds out in the room, alone and cold. 

It’s a fantasy she allows herself to imagine over and over again. A fantasy too opportunistic to ignore after their nights of scornful passion leave her weak and spiteful. 

The kunai she left under her pillow feels cold as ice when she slowly reaches for it, hiding the purposeful movement behind a comfortable stretch. 

It’s been a long hour since she first played at sleep. She never hears him breathing, but considers his silence as good a signal as any that he’s unconscious. 

When she carefully turns over, she confirms that his eyes are closed. He sleeps on his back, always, as most shinobi do. Alert and at the ready even in slumber. 

Slowly she rises from under the sheets, ever so careful not to let the fabric move an inch across his skin. She should just slit his throat, she realizes. But piercing into him will be swifter, and more profitable. 

The kunai wavers in her hand. Killing unwitting men in their sleep isn’t so difficult a task; shinobi and kunoichi alike do it all the time, don’t they? That was war. 

It should be easy to stab down into his heart and twist, to watch him wake in tormenting shock as the blood fills his lungs and chokes him. She would enjoy that. 

But the wavering in her hand worsens to a subtle tremor. 

He’s not an unwitting man, not some simple enemy to kill for convenience. That makes her confidence ever harder to steel, but she has to. She has to kill him. 

She won’t wait a moment longer. Kill him, destroy him, and be done with it. 

But just as she raises the kunai, a strong hand wraps around her wrist in an unforgiving grip.

His eyes are open, glaring at her. 

She shivers with fear and rage as his hand tightens to a bruising grip. Her panic sends her mind into a frenzy of action. 

She can still do it. Just one stab downwards and she can end it. 

But even pushing down with both hands doesn’t overwhelm his strength. He still glares and scowls, infuriated.

She tries again, putting her entire body’s weight down on the weapon, limbs shaking with the effort. 

He doesn’t budge. 

He flips them instead, and the kunai is suddenly in his hands, pressed against her throat. 

“There are easier ways to kill me,” he mutters. If his blood is boiling at her trespass, nothing in his bored, thin voice betrays composure. “You could be more creative.”

Tears prickle her eyes. Her hands press desperately against his, trying to push the cold blade away from her skin. But he keeps it there. Even the smallest movement will slice the flesh. 

“Remember that you are the one at my mercy. I could kill you and every Senju in this camp any time I wish.”

“You’re horrible,” she seethes, breath shallow in anger. "I hate you.”

“I’m aware. Yet you continue to share my bed night after night. You still think you’ll gain anything from it?”

The words sting her pride, split her open to let the doubts and faults and fruitless depravities spill in. 

“You do nothing but shame yourself. Look at you. Spreading your legs for me like a dutiful whore, thinking it will somehow save you and your people. It’s pathetic—"

She slaps him, hard. 

Though his cheek burns with redness, he’s otherwise unfazed by pain. He scowls and slams her arm down to prevent any more of her rage. 

“You may think you have control over me,” she says in a seething whisper. Even with the kunai pressed against her jugular, the expression on her face is nothing short of brazen. A lofty, defeated brazen that comes across as scorn. “But you don’t, and you never will. There’s only one man I’ve ever loved. When you’re on top of me I think of him and only him. It makes it bearable. You’ll never be half the man that he is.”

He scowls at her, his eyes like burning, silent daggers. She knows she might have sealed her fate right then and there. But so be it. Let her last moments of life be spent spiting him. 

Her body relaxes, unconcerned with fighting whatever comes next. 

She doesn’t expect him to laugh. 

“Tell yourself that, if you must,” he says, with a sadistic, grim smirk. “But you know very well the power I have over you.”

His eyes turn crimson and she gasps, but by the time she makes to look away, it’s too late.

In the illusion, Tobirama is frowning at her, eyes wide, a sneer of disgust on his face. 

She doesn’t understand why, at first. Why does he look so gloomy? She feels only joy to see him. Joy and unbearable relief. 

She tries to run to him. But burning hands at her throat summon her back. Despite no voice, face, or body to accompany the unforgiving grip, she knows it’s Madara who impedes her by the ferocious strength alone. 

“Whore.”

It’s not Madara’s voice, but Tobirama’s. It carries over to her, like they’re separated by a valley despite his being only yards away. If she could reach out to him, touch him, feel his embrace—

“Uchiha whore,” he barks at her again, scowling now. 

“No,” she pleads, eyes stinging with tears. She tries to pull the grip from her neck away and escape, but Madara locks her arms down to her sides, rendering her utterly trapped. 

“Tobirama,” she begs for his sanctity, for his forgiveness. But he’s backing away from her now. 

She cries and cries desperately, screeching in frustration when Madara’s grip tightens to a visceral degree, until she feels like her skin is alight with flames. 

She looks down, and sees that they are. And the skin which these flames scorch dies off to corrupted, pink flesh as it travels up her arm in a slow crawl. An agonizing, horrible, slow crawl. 

Hours elapse as she endures the torture. Hours of raw, inhuman pain and her husband slurring his vile insults at her. The sheer destruction it pillages on her mind and body makes her feel small, makes the flames which take their time in exploring her skin burn brighter and hotter until finally she feels like nothing but ash. 

The last of her willpower billows away with that ash, as she watches Tobirama’s form start to disappear on some horizon that defies logic. 

She still wants to touch him. Still wants to be held by him. She still wants him, despite how clearly he doesn’t want her. 

His obscenities circle her thoughts, all-encompassing, completely and finally defeating her. 

Whore. Slut. Traitor. Weakling.

She cries a voiceless cry when Tobirama disappears, and Madara takes the illusion away shortly after. 

She blinks for clarity, eyes adjusting back to a reality no less harrowing than the previous artifice.

He leers down at her, takes in her anguish and her seedy frame with gluttonous cruelty in his gaze. 

Numb, teary eyes stare up at him as they slowly read his form. Realizing her predicament, she starts to hyperventilate, and tears run down her face. 

She shuts her eyes in one last attempt of modesty, forcing the stream of salt to sluice more violently down her cheeks. 

“Tobirama,” she pleads weakly, the only thing that she can think of in her hazy pain. 

It angers Madara. 

“He doesn’t want you. Now look at me.”

She refuses.

His hand twists into her hair and snaps her head back so hard that she almost sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I said look at me.”

“No,” she cries weakly, though she obeys, regardless. Her bloodshot, desperate eyes feed his sadistic vengeance. Then she’s turning her head away from him. Meager defiance. “Please—”

Satisfied with the short admission of her defeat, he takes her face and forces her look at him. 

“Try anything like that again and I’ll make sure you spend an eternity in a nightmare of my making. Do you understand?”

She has no energy to respond. 

“Answer me.”

All she can offer is a weak nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks. 

In a moment of triumphant vindictiveness, his fingers press harshly against the burn under her breast, bringing to life a reminiscent pain, a crushing reminder of what he’s done to her. 

He pushes her face away and she curls into herself, thinking of Tobirama.

In these makeshift quarters he’ll find no sleep; his mind is a mess of anger, desperation, and confusion. He needed to hurt her, didn’t he? She had defied him again. What other choice did he have? 

Another moment spent in her presence is another pin of irrational emotion nudged into his chest. He needs to leave.

He catches her glaring at him when he climbs off and starts to dress. It’s a look full of pure, searing hatred.

But he says nothing. He’s extracted enough triumph from her. 

His silence is in victory; hers in defeat.

⤰

She feels less alive each passing day. 

She doesn’t see him very often, not since the incident in the night when she’d failed to take swift revenge. 

Occasionally she hears him on the other side of the door, inquiring the guards who stand watch outside about her disposition. Rarely does he enter and see for himself. 

When he does, they exchange no words. He examines the room for any plotting demonstration of escape or sabotage, disguising his observation of her underneath these sweeping inspections. 

However, sometimes he gives up on the pretense and simply stares, studying her, trying to decide how he feels.

His actions are regrettable, of that he’s sure and self-condemned, but there’s still a glimmer of insolence in her eyes when he catches her gaze: one which rekindles the spite within him, fans vengeful flames and reminds him that she brought this upon herself. 

She would see no pity from him. 

Any words of apology on his tongue fizzle away then, and his visits conclude as silently as they begin.

⤰

The fight in her dwindles helplessly, and as it dwindles, so too does all sense of reservation. 

The prodigious determination there once had been to contend Madara and his Uchiha conspirators is all but spent. What good does it do her now? She’s broken, subjugated, and without leverage. 

Her body, which had once enabled her to use its seductions to the advantage of her people, is now depleted and only a shell. A shell for the hollow, cold heap of defeat that she now is. 

How deluded was she to think she could save all the people here? How had she ever thought that she alone could protect the hostages from the evil at their door? 

And Tobirama, whose embrace was denied to her even in dreadful illusions—what would he think of her? Madara was right. What else was she now but an Uchiha whore? Obsolete, ruined, soiled. 

Tobirama won’t want her. Not now. Not ever again. 

What more is there for her?

As the weeks go by, Madara’s distrust ebbs away. Suspicions of subterfuge die with her audacity; the times he does happen upon her, she’s nothing but a husk of the sharp woman she had made herself out to be. 

House arrest soon becomes a superfluous precaution, and even when the guards leave their posts, she makes few attempts to leave her home. And when she does, she wanders aimlessly, meanders without direction and without purpose. 

She’s pitiful, Madara decides. Pitiful and crushed. He has nothing to fear or suspect from her. Her fire is gone. 

What he doesn’t expect is that the last ember of that fire holds one desperate dredge of scorn. One which she won’t allow to be extinguished. 

When she wanders into the Uchiha war tent that day, she isn’t stopped. 

She’s given no second-glance by any of the Uchiha shinobi. Even if they were to give her careful inspection, they would never know of the kunai in her pocket, the steel icy and begging to be utilized for one final, desperate fight.

Madara isn’t there. Instead, she finds Izuna.

“Where is he?” she asks weakly. 

Izuna pays her so limited attention these days, regards her as little else except the harlot his brother broke in and conquered, that her presence has nothing more than a fleeting impasse on his patience. Like a gnat buzzing around his head. 

“My brother? Who knows.” 

When he accords her his attention he sees that she’s looking lifeless as ever. Sometimes he ponders the nature of the unkind things his brother has done to her, with a fraction of a fraction of pity. Then he’s reminded of the trespasses she’s made, and the pity is gone. 

“What?” he mocks. “If you’re hoping to charm some leniency out of him, you’ll get nowhere looking like that.” He tsks, a sneer marring his lips as he pulls his eyes over her form, like it’s a harrowing task to complete. “You’re better off groveling on your knees... save him the displeasure of looking at your face, at the least.” 

Although she doesn’t react, he sees humiliation simmering underneath the hardened, broken surface of her expression. He would have favored a more promising response to his taunts, but he’s satisfied to see her tamed of her previous unruliness, nevertheless.

He turns his back to her. Her misery is pleasant only for so long; the more he looks, the more unsightly it becomes. 

The Uchiha sigil stares back at her, stitched proudly and delicately onto the back of his garb. 

It mocks her, does more to incite her than any of his degrading condescension can. 

Unthinking, she moves to him. 

Hearing her approach he turns to meet her, the same bored sneer on his face. 

The melancholy is still in full bloom on her features, but there’s something else there, too. Something that tells him she’s struggling to express a grievance on her tongue.  

He scoffs.

“What is it, woman?”

He’s not Madara, she decides, but he’ll do. 

Aimlessly, she yanks the kunai from her pocket, then brings it down on his neck, not caring for whatever consequences will follow.

⤰

She wondered why Izuna didn’t kill her the moment he wrangled the kunai from her grip.

Blood spills from his neck; thick crimson pours in rivulets down his shirt, down the hand that presses against his wound. 

It may not be fatal but it’s certainly critical. Sharingan had worked in his favor. An inch more of the dagger’s descent studied without the activation of his doujutsu might have guaranteed his death. He inched away just in time.

She doesn’t have time to lament her failure. 

He did throw her to the floor in his anger, but nothing else comes. If he hadn’t been so occupied with sealing his wound, she imagines his ire would prove much worse, if not terminal. 

She doesn’t bother pushing up from her place on the floor when another Uchiha, hearing the din of Izuna’s angry hollers, barges in, sees the chaos, and sprints away after taking orders from Izuna. She doesn’t hear the essence of these orders, numb to the world as she is. 

Had the kunai been in her hand, she would slit her own throat in defiance. Death would have been preferable to what comes next.

When Madara storms in, she’s still a pile of hapless defeat on the floor. 

He says not a word, but the pure rage boiling behind his gaze says all it needs to: She made a grievous mistake. 

She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her to her feet. She screws her eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He doesn’t seem to care whether she does or doesn’t. 

She’s certain that he rips hair right from the roots when he whips her around, shoves her forward with enough force to break every bone in her body. A bookcase greets her as she barrels into it. That’s when her eyes open in pained shock, a rushed gasp escaping her as she struggles to regain the air thrown out of her lungs. 

She wants to collapse, but a hand clasps around her neck and keeps her standing. Then the fingers tighten around her throat. She chokes pitifully for oxygen. 

“I told you that if you ever tried something like that again that you would regret it.” His voice is cold with anger. “But to make an attempt on my brother’s life?”

She doesn't answer. Apparently, he doesn’t expect her to.

He shoves her back to the ground. It knocks the wind out of her, and when she pushes herself up on shaky limbs, a heavy boot in her back sends her to the floor again. 

She yelps as he digs his heel into sensitive muscle. A burst of hot and red pain spreads through her back. Her kidneys, maybe? She doesn’t know. But he’s damaged something internally, and she wishes she were dead. 

Her breaths are pitiful and scant when he finally takes his foot away. She says nothing. Thinks of nothing. 

“Get up,” he demands, in a rigid, thin voice devoid of anything except fury.

Even if she wanted to obey, her body refuses. 

“Get up,” he snaps, and the unforgiving hand returns to twist into her hair, sending webs of pan across her scalp as he hauls her to her knees.  

He crouches in front of her, a hand still fisted in her hair. Now he wants her to look. His other hand takes her face and squeezes, so hard she’s half-convinced he plans to crush her skull. 

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Desperately, she tries. But it’s a task to keep her eyes open without nausea seeping into her gut. Her eyelids force themselves to shut in an effort to quell dizziness. 

But then he jostles her around by the grip in her hair, so hard and so viciously that her entire world blacks out momentarily. The motion sends her mind reeling and her vision swimming. 

“Open your eyes.”

Adrenaline shoots through her and demands her to obey. 

She isn’t surprised when the red of sharingan is there to greet her. 

Everything goes black in the world of his making. She almost expects to see Tobirama there, for him to shout at her and degrade her again. 

Instead, she feels pain. The worst pain she’s ever felt. So painful she can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing that exists is the hot, searing flame of anguish that stings every inch of her skin, every gap of her insides, down to the very organs. 

A hundred kunai stab into her head. She hears them slicing flesh to ribbons and digging fractures into her skull. Her blood curdles until it’s set aflame. That too, she hears, bubbling underneath the surface of her skin like thick, boiling water.

Everything hurts. Everything is endless agony.

When air finally fills her lungs, she wails. 

So loud, so violently, so wretchedly, that it’s almost itself anguish to hear.

Then he takes it all away. 

The relief is heavenly. She crumples into a ball. 

She hates it. She hates the weakness. If Tobirama could see her…

Then the pain comes again. She screams in tandem, then bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

The cruel routine goes on, for what to her deluded, frenetic mind seems like hours, but is in reality passed in mere minutes.

Izuna watches as his wound is tended to, his expression as devoid of any mercy or sympathy as his brother’s. 

⤰

Two weeks later, when her body and mind make the slow, pitiful climb back to equilibrium, she notices the change. 

It’s unlike one she’s felt before, but not entirely unrelated to an irksome nausea: a queasiness in her stomach that neither food nor rest alleviates; something new, like an aura, that swathes her and accompanies her every second of the day; an extra weight added to the burden of her body.

Then comes the fearful ascent of logic. 

Amidst her turmoil, she’s forgotten about missing her monthly bleed. Its absence could be blamed on the toll her body has taken, but she knows better. 

The revelation brings her into a spiral of hectic anxiety, of despairing conflict. 

It’s not long before she finds herself sneaking into one of the medical tents, decision already made on how best to deal with the new predicament. 

She shuffles through the stock of vials and herbs which the Uchiha medics keep at the back of the tent, finds what she’s looking for and almost escapes as covertly as she had infiltrated, when she’s stopped. 

“What is that you have?”

She pauses a foot away from the tent’s exit, her body in a mode of panic.

“Some herbs for my wounds,” she mutters.

An elder Uchiha woman, a medic, turns her around and inspects the filched items in her grasp. 

“That is ginger root,” the medic observes warily. “If you need something for the pain, I would suggest dried poppy.”

The young woman stares fretfully at the old woman; the old woman stares back.  

“Thank you,” the younger stutters blankly, unable to make a step in either direction; play along and heed the advice to go search for the proper herbs, or flee and risk suspicion? 

“You look ill,” the old woman says, eyeing her, putting a hand to her forehead.

She backs away. “I just need rest.”

“Let me examine you. I can help you find the right medicines.”

“No,” she says. Any medic will be able to feel the life inside of her, given the chance. “I’ll be alright.”

She tries to leave then, but the old woman doesn’t let her. 

⤰

When Madara answers the request for his presence at one of the medic huts, he’s surprised to find her there, sitting on a cot, hunched over and distressingly quiet. Two Uchiha men stand at her sides, supervising her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara asks. 

Recently, he’s appreciated any reason to stay away from her. The sight of her makes him sick, makes a conflict of rage and confusion and culpability dance angrily in his head. 

The old woman offers him the ginger root, and a small vial of clear liquid. “She was after these.”

Madara takes them into examination. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” His patience, already thin, dwindles considerably for the roundabout elucidations.

“A toxic mixture,” the old woman explains plainly. “Boiled with regular tea and these will certainly destroy whatever grows inside a womb.”

With subdued bafflement, Madara looks at the woman on the cot, understanding all at once. 

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Even now her body trembles with frustration, with fear, with defeat. 

Izuna, who had accompanied his brother, scoffs, incredulously loud. “So either you managed to put one in her, brother, or it’s the Senju’s.”

“Can it be determined?” Madara asks the medic, ignoring his brother, and never taking his eyes off the frail form on the cot. 

“In a month’s time the chakra should be durable enough for us to sense.” 

“Kill it,” Izuna insists, coming to stand next to his brother, a voice of frustrated reason. “If it’s a Senju, better off unborn. And if it’s an Uchiha... you would pass on the clan’s power to halfling filth.”

Unperturbed, Madara stares in silence. Finally she meets his gaze, unsettled by the look of dark concentration in his eyes. 

“Why attempt to destroy the life inside of you unless it’s a burden to you?” he ponders out loud.

She realizes his train of logic: it must be his, for her to be so adamant in her pursuit to terminate it. 

“If it was my husband’s,” she says, “and it is, I would do the same. You would kill my child the moment I bring it into this world. Why let life grow that is destined to be murdered in cold blood?”

“And if it were mine?”

“It isn’t."

Madara scowls. 

“And if it were,” she goes on dangerously. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

That visibly infuriates him. 

“Give her the herbs,” Izuna asserts again. “Let her solve the problem. Either way she’s doing you a favor.”

Madara doesn’t speak for a long time. 

His careful inspection of her lasts long enough to make her doubts rise afresh, make her feet fidget uncomfortably and her heart pound in desperation.

“She stays here tonight,” he decides ultimately, looking to the Uchiha guards at her side. “She doesn’t leave.”

Izuna looks muddled, and somewhat irritated by the decision. 

She just looks afraid. 

⤰

He doesn't return for many days, but his absence can’t be appreciated as much of a reprieve at all; her mind is a mess of anxiety and denial the entire time. 

This can’t be happening, she tells herself countless times. She can’t be pregnant. And worse, can’t be ignorant to the father. There’s no possible way. It can’t be happening.

Part of her reasons for the better: it must be Tobirama’s. No more than three months have passed since the Uchiha first conquered and occupied the land, no more than three months since she’s been with her husband. 

The other part of her, downtrodden and beaten into pessimistic depravity, knows that with the chaos Madara brought, so too came a negligence to her normal routines: was she taking the contraceptive herbs as diligently as she needed to, given their intimacies? Amidst the turbulence he caused, had she remembered each and every time they were together to make sure nothing was conceived from their depraved liaisons? How could she not, when the way he touched her and took her made her sick?

But then, doubt: leading her astray, reminding her that everything horrible and miserable that could happen already had, so what was a bit more to the mountain of suffering she already endured? What was stopping fate from deciding that the life inside her womb belonged not to her loving husband, but to her unforgiving captor?

Thinking about it drives her to depressive insanity. By the time Madara comes to see her, she’s depleted almost all of her brain power. 

“Leave us,” he commands the guards who have been assigned to watch her. 

They obey, and the pair are left in silence. 

Her mind pleads with her to run, to attack, to simply scream—anything. Anything that will quell the distress of the pause in the air, the distress of not knowing his intent. 

When he takes a step forward she inches back. Noticing this, he’s dissuaded from approaching any closer. 

“So long as the child is inside of you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her heart pounds so furiously in her chest that she’s sure it’s audible in the quiet of the room. 

The statement angers her, scares her, and much to her shame, relieves her. 

“It’s not yours,” she claims.

“Unless I’m miscalculating, the Senju host left a week before my arrival. And not long after that, a fortnight at most for the sake of assumptions, this child might have been conceived. Between us.”

Bile rises in her throat and she wants to protest, but he goes on, badgering her with the logic she’s thus far refused to entertain. 

“If it were his, you would be farther along. Visibly, for one. And more than likely, I would be able to sense the chakra, deduce which clan it belongs to.”

By now she’s trembling quietly with her fear, fighting the urge to deny him, to preserve the hope that the reality he speaks of is in fact skewed.

“The child inside of you is an Uchiha,” he says determinedly. 

She shakes her head.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re not,” she argues. “You said yourself there's no way of knowing. Not yet.”

He cocks his head. “Then you really have no idea, do you? No idea who it belongs to? Normally mothers can read the chakra within them at this stage. Can you not?”

She won’t grant him an answer, instead stares down at her feet as they dig into the ground, as if in a desperate attempt to escape underneath. 

Madara watches her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose we’ll have to see, then. But somewhere in that head of yours, you know I’m right.”

You’re not right, she repeats in her mind. You’re not. You’re not.

Just as he makes to leave, he stops. 

“And let me be clear,” he says, menacingly. “If you make any attempt to destroy what grows inside of you, you won’t be the one suffering the consequences.”

The glare he gives her speaks volumes: The Senju hostages. The violence that would ensue. The atrocities he might commit if she disobeyed. 

He leaves her. She clutches her stomach, letting the first, long-suppressed tear roll down her cheek. A warm, wet trail is left in its wake. 

In the turmoil she finds evidence for and against his claims when she lets her thoughts run away with logic. A wash of anxious desperation enlivens her, makes her conscience grab for a reprieve to her doubts. But even that is denied by the crushing reality of her situation. 

The life inside of her might belong to the enemy, to the Uchiha. 

And still, it might not. 

She stumbles between one acceptance and the next, each clouding her ever more until the tears are spilling in streams down her cheeks. 

When she puts every morsel of her ability into sensing the life within her, she can’t tell if the faint trace of Senju chakra she feels is authentic, or a desperate manifestation of her mind’s making. 

[deepperplexity]

That’s Your Patronus?! [Pt.2]

Title: That’s your Patronus?! [Pt.2] [PART 1 HERE]

Pairing: Lucius x Female!Reader

Setting: Hogwarts, Seventh Year

A/N: Since some wanted a part two of this fic I figured I should get going with it xD So, here is part two and let me tell you, THIS WAS HARD TO WRITE… I hadn’t planned for a second part of this fic as I was leaving it open for you to decide (and I lowkey just wanted to write about the patronus O.O). But, but but but, since you guys wanted more I had to do my best to give you a continuation ofc ;) <3 

+A/N: This one is especially for @lainphotography​ , @marvelschriss  and @elizabeth-baelish​ for wanting a part 2 of this fic. I hope you will like this dearies! ^^ <3  

ABBR.: | Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name | 

Word Count: 4537

Warnings: Angst, Feels, Hurt/Comfort(kinda), Physical Injury, Bullying, Kissing

Ending Recap: When the kiss was broken and you both panted while you looked at each other he reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don’t understand,” you murmured as you worried your lip. He tilted your head with a finger under your chin. “You do not need to understand.” “But-” “Always smiling and yet when I kiss you, you cry,” he said to cut you off and you felt a smile tug at your lips. You couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” you apologized and he raised his brows in a harsh way. You wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Do not apologies, I feel rather special,” he admitted and you could have sworn that his cheeks were taking on a tinge of red for a moment. It made your heart flutter again and somehow you found your courage and pulled him in for another kiss with absolutely no clue as to what was happening or how it would be after you left the secret room. But if this was your moment with him, you would make the most of it...

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

He had ignored you for several weeks. Even at times when he should have usually thrown some slur or derogatory words at you he had simply ignored you. As if you did not exist, weren’t even worthy of bullying any longer. You kept on smiling, kept on studying, kept on going to class and reading in the library to keep away from as many of your bullies as possible. Had it really meant absolutely nothing to Lucius that you had kissed? Then why had he even bothered to do so at all? You didn’t know, but what you did know was that his indifference hurt worse than the angry attention he had shot your way before. 

You sighed and kept scribbling notes as you poured over book after book about charms. You did your best to ignore the ache in your chest and the rumbling of your tummy. You had missed lunch as you were hiding from the group of Gryffindors who had beaten you all those weeks ago and it was still an hour left until dinner would begin. You bit your bottom lip in concentration and kept on scribbling until you could no longer sit still. I need some air, you thought as it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. So you cleaned up the mess you had made and headed out. 

You didn’t make it far though. As you rounded a corner you stiffened. The Gryffindor boys were loitering about while joking about some poor girl they had apparently covered in slime a moment ago. You shivered and were just about to turn around when the leader of the gang spotted you. Toby Prodington was a horrible boy with sandy brown hair and a nose that had at some point been broken. He glared at you and then a wicked smile crossed his lips. You shivered again and started to walk away at a brisk pace to take another route to get out of the castle. But the gang caught up to you in no time, all four of them against little you.  

Your heart hammered as your body remembered the pain you had endured last time. “Where you going?” Prodington asked on a menacing chuckle as he grabbed your arm and spun you around, “can’t just walk away from us like that you little snake,” he snarled and you tugged to get lose from his harsh grip. “Let me be,” you said in a low voice as fear crawled through you. You didn’t want to make them angry but at the same time, it didn’t matter what you did. You were a prime target. No Slytherin friends to back you up, no Gryffindors to be brave and step in, no Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws to fetch a teacher or even walk with you through the echoing hallways. You were alone, always alone. 

The boys laughed as Prodington tugged you closer. “Nobody’s gonna save you, little snake,” he whispered in your ear as his grip around your arm tightened to the point it would leave bruises. “Please,” you pleaded, “leave me alone,” you continued but you had no time to do anything else as the boy’s knee came up and jabbed itself into your stomach with force. The air left your lungs from the impact and your knees buckled. Prodington’s hand was the one thing that kept you halfway up as you gasped for air and felt tears that stung your eyes. You couldn’t understand why you were being bullied in such a horrible way. You had never done anything to garner their hate, apart from being a Slytherin they had no reason. No reason at all to hurt and harm you. 

You coughed and tried to hold back the tears that stung and threatened to leak. “Fucking snake,” Prodington growled with hate as he let go of your arm in such a harsh manner it forced you to the ground. Your knees and hands took the brunt of the fall but that pain was nothing to what came after. Your ribs were slammed harshly with the sole of a shoe as Prodington stepped down harshly on you. “Fucking Slytherin bitch, even hated by your own peers. Disgusting,” he growled with more hate in his voice before he kicked you even harder in the stomach. You cried out as the tears gushed and you curled up in a little ball. 

“PRODINGTON!” The roar that echoed through the corridor came from Lucius and in the next moment, a flashing light came and was followed by the sound of a thudding body. “Malfoy! Fucking hell-” you heard one of the other boys shout in anger. “Want a taste?” Lucius asked with a steely voice that dripped with venom. “Let’s go,” another of the boys said hesitantly and you heard them walk away as the steps of Lucius came towards you. You curled up more as your stomach and ribs ached something terribly. 

His hand landed on your shoulder and you jolted a little bit at the touch. “Go away,” you whimpered as his avoidance from the past weeks filled your mind. The hurt and the pain came more swiftly than the warmth you felt as you remembered his hand around yours, his lips against yours. “(Y/n),” he said, “Are you alright?” There was worry in his voice and it confused you to no end. He didn’t care about you, that had been made painfully clear, so why the worry in his beautifully strong voice? “Come, we need to get you to the hospital wing,” he continued and you found yourself in his arms a moment later. 

You hissed as he carried you up the stairs towards the hospital wing. The bouncing steps made your ribs ache something fiercely. His arms tensed around you and his steps smoothed out a bit. It eased the pain but did nothing against the burning you felt where he held you. Did nothing against your pounding heart or the tears that now leaked because if his closeness that you knew you could not keep. He would drop you off in the care of the madam and then you would be mere dust on the wind for him yet again. 

He gently placed you on one of the beds, without saying a word, as the madam asked questions about your state and what had happened. As soon as his arms had left you he straightened, you looked at him through your tear-filled eyes and the blond hair shined in the light of the torches and candles about the room. As beautiful as ever, you thought as you watched him through your blurred vision. Right as you were going to thank him for helping you to the hospital wing he simply turned and left. Without another word. That ripped you open all over again. 

“Miss (y/l/n), tell me, what has happened this time?” Your eyes turned to the madam. She had that strange look across her face, the look that told you she expected yet another lie about your injuries. You had not received the help needed before, it had only made the bullying worse as you had been labelled a snitch when they started to torment you years ago. 

“I fell off a broom, landed on the stands,” you mumbled and the madam seemed resigned to not dig any further as you never changed your stories. Once you add said something you stuck to it. “Very well, I will examine you and see what the damage is. Clothes off.” You nodded but felt oddly numb. Your eyes kept wandering towards the door, the door Lucius had left through. Usually, you hated the undressing and the examining but you felt disconnected from it as there was pain much worse inside your chest. That of a broken heart. 

“Well, we will have to keep you overnight. Your rib is fractured, some internal bruising as well. You really should not be walking around in this state. Good of Mr Malfoy to help you get here.” You nodded at the madam’s words. You couldn’t really say anything to the woman and you definitely didn’t want to say anything. “I will get a houself to bring you dinner, now stay put.” You nodded again and tried to ignore the aching in your body that was slowly softening with the help of a potion. It warmed and eased the pain ever so slowly. After a moment, you drifted off to sleep. A dreamless kind that was not good or bad. 

It was dark when you woke up, disoriented at first. But then you remembered the events that had landed you in the hospital wing, again. You sighed and was just about to turn to try and grab a few more hours of rest when a noise grabbed your attention. Or, more correctly, a voice. “It’s Prodington, and a few other boys from Gryffindor.” “Well, let’s go then.” you knew both voices. The first had been that of Professor Slughorn and the second had been the madam who was in charge of the hospital wing. Prodington? What’s he up to now? 

A few minutes passed and then the doors opened again, you had been to awake to go back to sleep and how lucky was that. Several feet were heard as the madam directed what appeared to be several people to varying beds. The unmistakable sound of unconscious bodies landing in beds was heard and then the madam thanked the other people who swiftly left. “What a night,” the madam sighed out and you could picture her annoyed face with a wrinkled nose, “better get to work, sorry lot this is.” 

You laid awake, listened and waited for the woman to be done with whatever she was doing so you could take a look at what was going on and who had been added to the hospital wing. It took nearly half an hour before the door closed and you could sit up. You slipped your feet in your slippers before you left the bed and pulled away the sheet that separated your little nook from the rest of the wing. You gasped. 

Four bed were occupied by the Gryffindor boys who had tormented you, bullied you, tortured you both physically and mentally. You sneaked up to Prodington’s bed first. His face was swollen and bruised - by physical assault or a jinx you couldn’t say. He was unconscious and breathed heavily. But you were still afraid in his presence. So you took a step back and glanced towards the others, they were all in bad shape. Not as bad as Prodington but still in bad shape. Could- did- no he wouldn’t, why would he? I’m nothing to him, but… 

Your thoughts swirled as a ridiculous part of you hoped and dreamed that Lucius had avenged you, retaliated for what the boys had done to you. It was a bad thought, that you were cause for harm but at the same time, you smiled. Not the regular smile you always carried but an actual smile, a warm smile, a conscious smile. A smile that perhaps, just perhaps, were a tad vicious. Perhaps it was rightfully so. It felt good and bad to be happy about someone else’s misery and that was not you, not in the slightest but your pain was too palpable, too raw, to be ignored. Whatever the reason, it serves them right. 

“Happy?” You jolted and gasped as you spun around on the spot. Just a step in front of the closed door stood Lucius. His face was harsh yet there was a definite smile across his lips. A twinkle in his grey eyes and a small cut across one of his eyebrows. You had not heard him come in so his presence shocked you for a split second. “Did you-” He nodded slightly, casually, as if it were nothing. But to you, it was everything. 

Except, you did not understand at all. He had done nothing but ignored you since you last kissed. He had seen the torment you endured verbally from your housemates, from other students, from most really. He had done nothing. Yet now, he harmed four people for your sake? It didn’t make sense. But sense and apparently left you as your body churned with warmth from his gaze and proximity. Your heart pounded when you looked at him and your pulse rushed from the sound of his voice uttering a single word. 

“Why?” you asked as you turned fully towards him. He looked confused for a moment. But then he walked over towards you in measured steps. He placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head so he could gaze down on you. “Why? I thought that to be quite obvious?” “Not to me,” you whispered as his skin against yours made you burn and ache. Your mind scrambled as memories of the kisses you had shared weeks ago bubbled up. Your face warmed, a blush crept across your chest and throat, all the way up to your cheeks. 

His arm came around you, tugged you closer gently. His thumb stroked your bottom lip gently and your breath hitched. You tried to remember how he had treated you but the only thing your brain screamed at you were hormonal acts of indecency and your body simple reacted to his touch by melding with his hold.  “(Y/n),” he said in a low tone, “I do believe I made it quite obvious how I felt about you. Last time, did I not?” “You did, and then you changed.” 

Where you found the courage to say such a thing you could not understand, but you did. He raised his brows ever so slightly. “I did tell you, I need to make you stay away from me. I can’t stay away from you. You drive me insane, I’m going mad as you just keep on smiling through everything.” “Except when you kiss me,” you whispered. “Except when I kiss you, then you cry.” You lowered your gaze at those words, he pressed a bit harder with his arm around your waist and made you look back up. “If I remember correctly, it made me feel rather special.” “You mentioned that,” you answered as your heart hammered harder. You wanted to smash your lips against his but something held you back from doing so. 

“Why did you do this?” you asked. “Retaliate for you?” You shook your head, that was not what you had meant. “Why kiss me and make my dreams come true only to crush me, shatter me, by ignoring me. Why?” His face hardened, his cold grey eyes softened. “You would be broken in my world.” “I do believe you’re the peacock and I’m the tyrannosaurus rex. No?” You surprised yourself with yet another surge of courage despite the situation you were in and he smiled. It was a panty-ripping, heart-shattering, will-crushing smile that was pure perfection in your eyes. “True, that thing is quite astonishing.” “Your peacock is beautiful.” “Not as beautiful as you, sweets.” Your heart tugged at the pet name he adorned you with as well as his thought about your appearance. 

“You’re smiling, always smiling.” his voice was harsh and condescending, but it sounded more as if it were because it was so ingrained rather than anything else. And he was right. You were smiling, like always. Always smiling. “I know the world won’t be a better place for it-” “My world is.” Your eyes widened at his words, even if you wanted your head to remind you of how he had acted and what he had done by doing nothing, you could only think about kissing him again. But before you had time to consider it, his lips were firmly pressed against yours. 

He tasted wonderfully good. The warmth of him against you was welcome in all ways. You pressed yourself into him, his arm around your waist tightened as his hand moved from your chin to cup your neck firmly. He commanded your attention and he decided how the kiss went. You were merely there for the ride, a passenger as he was the driver. You felt blissfully secure in that role. 

Your hands landed at his hips and you grabbed fists full of fabric harshly to tug him even closer. He responded by kissing you more deeply and a slight hum escaped him. Your knees were weak and tears slid down your cheeks as your love for him were so overwhelming it had to leak out of you in that salty liquid. He held you more firmly and you ignored the protest of your aching ribs. Desperate to be as close to him as possible despite it all. 

You were breathing heavily as you parted after a few moments. Slightly dizzy, slightly disoriented, but heavenly warm and happy. “Crying, again,” he muttered before his warm thumb stroked away your tears. “I can’t help it,” you whispered as your lips turned into a smile once more. “Is that so?” You nodded. “How come?” The question made you hesitate for a moment but you had not spent years pining after him to simply give up the chance of telling him. He obviously liked you too, he had said so last time and now he had retaliated against your bullies and kissed you passionately - again. 

“Lucius, I’m-, I love you.” He stiffened at your honest words and you could barely force down any air in your tight lungs. His fingers stroked gently from your eyebrow and down along your cheek to your chin before he cupped it. His lips were smashed against your in the next instant. As if he were starving and you were a buffet. You clung to him as he embraced you. “As I do you,” he whispered between breaths while his lips were still against yours, “your smile, your way to be in the world. You, just as you are.” “Be with me,” you whispered back as you were desperately clinging to the hope he would be yours and you would be his. “I will ruin you,” he whispered and his voice was laced with hatred, anger. New tears leaked from your eyes as you quelled a sob as he kept on kissing you. “I don’t care,” you whispered, “I love you, I want to be with you. No matter what.” “And how will I live with myself when you are broken and ruined, destroyed?” 

After those words, he broke the kiss. You looked into his cold grey eyes that seemed to shimmer and shine. His handsome face, framed by his beautiful hair, was in a league of its own for you. He was not comparable to anyone else. You had, time and time again, told yourself you did not know him and could not love him for only his looks. But you knew more about him than you cared to admit. Front eh way he held his fork to the distinct sound his steps made, from the way he tied his hair up to how he spoke depending on the person he addressed or spoke about. You knew his favourite food, colour, tie - all of it - simply because you cared enough to notice. What you had failed to notice was his feelings for you. You had failed to see the façade. 

“I think you are managing just fine,” you whisper as you force yourself to take a step back from him and in doing so you forced him to release his arm from around your waist. “It doesn’t seem like it is that difficult for you. Just ignore me and I am not a problem, right?” Your voice was low and the smile had faded as you felt yourself shatter all over again. “Wrong,” he stated harshly, “wrong in all ways. I’m going mad, look at what I did for you.” 

His hand swept over the Gryffindor boys that were laying in beds around you. You shivered. “That’s different,” you breathed out. “How?” “You punished others for what they did towards me, without owning up to the fact that you have hurt me more than anybody, ever.” He hissed at your words and recoiled a step. You looked at him and for once, just once, you allowed your mask to fade. 

Your smile completely vanished, your shoulders lowered, your hands relaxed and hung without purpose by your sides, you allowed your face to release the forced muscles that portrayed happiness and the entirety of you turned into the sad, lonely, hurt and pained girl that you were. Broken, shattered. 

Lucius took a deep breath as you literally transformed right then and there, in front of him, for him to see you as you were. Not who you portrayed daily. “(Y/n),” he breathed out and just as you thought he would leave you and let go of the possibility that there could be something between eh two of you his body was smashed against yours. So harshly you nearly lost your breath. He held you, firmly, with a small tremble to him that vibrated into you. “I had no idea,” he whispered in your ear with a cracked voice, “I’m so sorry, sweets. So sorry.” Your arms came around him and for a moment it felt as if you were home; like you were where you were meant to be. In his arms. 

“I didn’t know, I didn’t see, I’m so sorry,” he repeated a few times as you melded with his body and breathed him in. Something inside of you healed at that moment, as something else grew and a third thing broke. It was complicated, messy, hard. But you loved him and wanted him, desperately, to love you back. He had nearly said as much, but not completely. 

For a little while, it felt as if time stood still and all other things simply stopped existing. The hopeless feeling inside of you was drowned out by his warmth. The ache in your chest from deep within your heart lessened and then went quiet. The thoughts that screamed at you to pretend, to be happy, to smile and forced you to live as if you were in paradise went silent. It was bliss, for a moment. 

The embrace was eventually broken and both of you leaned back. You stood utterly still in the middle of the hospital wing, surrounded by boys who had been bruised and battered by your love's hand in retaliation for what they had done to you. But when the light of day still shined outside it had been nothing like that. You had been alone, lost and broken. Shattered. More by his doing than anything else. That did not just simply go away because of a few words, a kiss or an embrace. Not even for an apology. But you wanted to forgive him and be with him, if he would be with you. 

You wanted to leave it all behind and move on, with him by your side. You’d rather walk in rain by his side than in sunshine on your own. You would rather die than feel so shattered and be all broken inside. If he knew or not, he held your heart in his hands and you were prepared to never see it again. For better or for worse. If you could not give it to him, you did not want it. Even if you had tried to protect it, mend it, heal it. It belonged to him, irrevocably. For all time to come. And, really, who could live without a heart? 

His hand came to your face. You were silently crying without even realising it. You were close to just letting it all go but his gentle touch brought you back to reality, back to him. “(Y/n), sweets, please. Forgive me for it, please.” You leaned into his touch while you closed your eyes and took a shaky breath before you could look at him again. “It’s not that simple, even if I love you. There, there needs to be more than a forgive and forget. I, I think I deserve more than that, Lucius…” The words pained you to say but they were true. “You are worth everything. If you’ll have me, I’d like to give you everything.” 

Epilogue

Everything was different. Everything had changed. With Lucius by your side you were no longer alone or unsafe. You had love, friendship, safety and a place where you belonged. Right by his side. A place you planned to remain forever as Lucius made sure to make good on his word. He gave you everything he could, even if there wasn't much you wanted beside him and his love.  

It had taken quite some time for him to realise that you just wanted him, to be with him and love him. Be loved by him. That had eventually changed something within him. As if he had not known love before. True love, love beyond the surface and the physical. Your heart had ached when you realised he was unfamiliar with such emotions, such experiences. It had only made you love him more. 

It hadn’t been easy in the beginning. People talked, stared, took jabs at you and at first nothing really changed. Until realisation hit everyone, you belonged to Lucius Malfoy and he belonged to you. There was nothing more to it. You were a couple and if you were mistreated, he made sure the culprits paid a hefty price for it. You didn’t really like that but at the same time, you did not want to change him. It was who he was and a tiny, hidden, selfish part of you felt cherished when he reacted in such strong ways. When he took to violence and dark magic to protect you and keep you safe. 

After a while, nobody bothered you anymore. You were still just ‘Lucius Malfoy’s girlfriend’ but that was all you wanted to be, for now. In the future, you wanted more. If that were possible or not was left to discover. You were a muggleborn and would never be accepted by his family. You were never to be fully accepted as you were among the purebloods. Maybe, in the future, things would change but you dared not believe that. It was more of a fantasy than anything. But you understood what Lucius had meant by breaking you. Sure, the problems were different, smaller even, but they meant more than the bullying at school. It was about who you were and what you wanted to become in a future that seemed so uncertain that you feared it. 

But he loved you. He cared for you. He was with you, just because you were you. Even if he received hate and spiteful words about it. Even if some of his friends abandoned him and turned silent towards him. Even if his family berated him and threatened to disown him. He stood with you, held your hand, kissed you and loved you. He was, quite frankly, your everything and not a day went by without him showing you that you meant just as much to him. 

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[Mar:2021]

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[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.4]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Chapter 04: Demands of the Faithful

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

[Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.]

    “I’m glad you could make time,” Byleth says, carefully placing her fine cup on the small bottom plate. If she notices how uncomfortable you feel, sitting in the centre of the yard, drinking tea, she ignores it. “Let’s think together about what we want to teach during the mock battle.”

    “This is a bad idea,” you say, nibbling on your cup. “A very bad idea.”

    The late afternoon hours are quiet, but it certainly helps that the tea arrangement is tugged away in a far off corner in the courtyard, hidden behind tall hedges that allow privacy. The sweet smell of chamomile tea and strawberry pastry is a nice exchange from the usual savoury smells you’re used to in the cafeteria. All around you, the high, spiky roofs of the monastery’s towers stand out against the fiery, orange sky, throwing longer and longer shadows as the sun sets behind the mountains. The clouds are soft, pink cotton-candy, blushing at the warm touch of the sun.

    “I think it’s a good idea,” Byleth continues, cutting through a piece of cake with her fork. “We’ve seen what the house leaders are capable of. It’s time to see what the rest of the students can do.”

    “Don’t take me wrong. I think a mock battle will help them grow,” you agree. “I just don’t really understand why it’s me who has to lead the Blue Lions.”

    “I think Professor Hanneman is not present at the day of the mission,” Byleth explains. “It seems on the last day of Lone Moon he always leaves the monastery for a private reason. And I assume Lady Rhea means to see the extent of your power.”

    That’s what you expected as well. In the last couple of days you realised your power is a muscle, to be exercised daily, never to be pushed to the extreme. It was a strenuous task to try out how much is too much; where there’s still room. Under the keen eyes of Hanneman, you two practised day after day, trying to figure out how much your body can take before exhaustion sweeps over you and renders you immobile. Crests usually don’t have a limit; depending on their nature they grant a permament boost to the bearer’s abilities. Muttering under his breath, Hanneman had made quite a show to remind you what a curiosity the Crest of the Herald is. Like you wouldn’t know.

    “Since we’re going to be on the field as well, you might want to get more practice with the sword,” Byleth proposes, and you groan. She has a way of being brutally honest, and so far no one’s been spared to get the brunt of it. “I’m not letting my students hold back. Not even against you.”

    “You really are a voice of confidence, you know.” Shoulders drooping like someone took the wind from your sails, you throw your head back and drink the rest of your tea. Byleth’s expression doesn’t change, and you wonder why you even try being funny around her.

    After clearing the table, Byleth accompanies you to your next lesson hall. It’s nice in theory, but her vigorous way of trying to drill sword techniques into your head on the way doesn’t hide her true agenda. Only slowly, you begin to realise that is maybe her way of caring for someone. Brutish in appearance, but once you look past the first impression of indifference, Byleth’s silent demeanour speaks louder than words.

    Students linger in small groups in front of the class rooms, their exhausted faces from a full day of lessons and hard training visible in the way they carry their bodies. If you had a say in it, you’d cancel the evening lessons and let them rest; a reoccurring debate inside the faculty that doesn’t go anywhere. Byleth stops in front of the class room, surveying the students with a cool gaze, when suddenly Claude and Hilda jog towards you, and by “jogging” they decided Hilda to be the only one running while carrying Claude bridal style like he weighs nothing. As they pass you, Claude tips an invisible hat in your direction, calling “Hey, teach,” and then immediately “Bye, teach!” as they cross the courtyard.

    Your gaze follows them. “What just happened.”

    Byleth doesn’t even bother to look. “Claude and Hilda happened.”

    Heavens, you don’t know if you’re able to handle them later.

    After exchanging goodbyes with Byleth, you tackle the next forty minutes with a belly full of sweets and a mind occupied with worrying about everything you might do wrong next week. Forming two groups, you hand out two different manoeuvres you dug out of books, and present the task, “Work out the pros and cons of each battle tactic, and present them to the class. Explain where you would have done things differently, and why.”

    Sylvain raises his hand.

    “Yes, you can leave to bathroom breaks without asking me,” you say.

    Sylvain drops his hand. Then raises it again.

    “No, you can’t bring animals you find on your way back to your seat,” you say.

    He drops his hand. Beside him, Ingrid fails to stifle a groan.

    Twenty minutes later, the first group stands in front of the class. Mercedes’s steady hand draws the perfect copy of the manoeuvre on the chalk board while Annette recites every step flawlessly. They’re a powerful combination, and that’s only half owed to their friendship. Mercedes is soft; she’s the silk hiding the dagger that Annette’s sharp mind is. There’s strength in kindness, and both have honed this ability to a razor-sharp weapon. There’s still a pouch of unfinished cookies Mercedes has baked for you left in your room, something to keep in mind for the next tea hour with Byleth. Felix and Dedue don’t add much, and you’re a little afraid to ask, seeing how Felix’s eyes burn holes in the back of Dedue’s head. There’s been rumours going on about a dispute, but no details, and you gladly leave that sort of teacher-student business to Hanneman.

    The remaining students do their job almost just as good. But the thought of children being so confident in ways of war and killing leaves a painful twinge in your chest. You wonder what will become of them all in a few years, what battles they will win. What battles they will lose—this fear lingers at the edges of your consciousness like an ever-present shadow. To push it away, you try to refocus on the task at hand.

    “Look at the battalions you have,” you advise, tapping a finger against the cool surface of the board. It comes away white with chalk, leaving a white smudge on your robe as you wipe it off. “Where are they placed?”

    Ashe clears his throat. “Two Lance Soldiers, that’s Infantry. One Magic Squadron, also Infantry. The latter is stationed far northeast on that island. Two Pegasus Corpses, which are Flying Types. We put them behind the mountains to ambush the enemies on their way to one of our Infantries.”

    “A good idea in theory,” you acknowledge, and don’t miss how Ashe exhales in relief. “And where are you enemies?”

    “They’re facing our Infantry and the Squadron,” Dimitri steps in now. “The Flying Unit engage from the back. After their victory, Infantry and Flying close the last opposite unite off on the bridge, and join the Magic Squadron in fighting.”

    “Okay, okay,” you nod. “And now look at the terrain of this last unit you want to take on from the front and back. The one on the bridge moving towards the Squadron.”

    The room is quiet for a minute, and then a silent “Oh” from Ashe.

    “Yes. Oh. The Magic Squadron moves slower through the woods. You’ll lose them. And one of the Lance units is probably the next to go.” You draw sharp lines across the board with red chalk, changing the battalion’s movements. One goes across the whole board, crossing out the word Sea. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to have your Pegasus Companies move this way across the water, join the Magic Squadron and then close in from the right to join the Infantries?”

    “But Herald.” Ingrid raises her hand, but doesn’t wait for you to pick her. “If Infantry and Flying take out the first enemy, we’ll still win. The remaining unit will be trapped on the island without a possibility to retreat. Wouldn’t it be wiser to sacrifice the Magic Squadron just for that?”

    “I agree with Ingrid,” says Sylvain. He’s sitting on a desk, and swings his legs back and forth. “With or without them, we won the battle, and that’s what matters.”

    You turn back to scan the manoeuvre one more time. They’re right—blocking the enemy’s escape routes off proves a solid guarantee to win, and yet you’ve somewhat hoped they wouldn’t settle on this option. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, turning your lips upside down as if you’ve bitten into a lemon.

    “Sometimes, you don’t want to win the battle,” you start slowly, the thought blossoming from a dark place deep inside you. “Sometimes you want as many as possible to live.” Which is easier said than done, and no one in the room agrees on your statement because they know just as much that such a choice isn’t always granted. Before the silence stretches on too long, you quickly add, “I guess it is more important to know there is no right or wrong answer. You make decisions later on that will either grant you victory or death, and you will have to live with those decisions.”

    Unanimous murmur sounds from the students, a topic nobody wants to dwell on too long, and you grant them that wish; this precious little time they’re still allowed to be children and make mistakes before responsibilities catch up to them. The rest of the lesson flies past without disturbances, and when the bells announce the break, they jump from their seats and scurry outside.

    “Don’t forget there’s going to be a test after the mock battle,” you call after them, knowing they’ll forget anyway and then boycott. The Lions are finally done with lessons, but there is the Deer House who have the misfortune to attend the last period of the day. As you prepare their unit of instruction on different terrains, Dimitri approaches you, his expression a mixture between confidence and tension.

    “Herald.” He stops in front of your desk, shoulders squared into a declaration of deference. “I have prepared instructions on everyone’s weaknesses and strengths. Please, do consider to take a look. Since one of the rules is that only six units will be stationed on the field, I hope this will make your decision easier who to choose.” Placing the papers with outmost care on your table, Dimitri hesitates a moment before continuing, “What you said earlier … truth be told, I think the same. To limit the loss of lives as much as possible should be a priority to a leader as well. To hear that from someone like you … I was quite glad.”

    “Someone like me,” you repeat, but you’re more surprised to feel your fingers itch to take the papers and get a first read on everyone. After going through similar notes from Linhardt, you’re now excited to learn more about your proteges, and with luck someone from the Golden Deer students might provide you with a first survey as well.

    “Someone responsible for tactics and strategy,” Dimitri quickly clarifies. “Someone tasked with bringing absolute victory.” He gives you a look that is somehow both caressing and calculating at the same time. “I understand that those sometimes compete with one’s own beliefs regarding the value of life. One’s conscience is as much of a weapon as a sharpened blade. If it breaks, what use is there to a person.”

    “Those are … some mature thoughts.” You don’t know where this observation goes. Of course he is mature, he has to be as the successor of a noble lineage. “For someone your age.” You press your mouth into a thin line, cursing your inability to think of a better response. But Dimitri simply smiles—a smile that is like a light suddenly being turned on in every room of a dark house.

    “Oh, but I do not want to bore you with such matters. I just wanted to add, I really do look forward to have you on our side during the mock battle.” He gives a little courtesy bow. “Let us discuss the details on the day before the mission. A good evening to you, Herald.”

    Dimitri leaves with a little bounce to his step. It’s probably better he’s in high spirits, even though you aren’t sure what exactly made him happy. It would be a real shame to extinguish his excitement by being an utter failure during the battle, so you make sure to read whatever he managed to put together about his classmates as soon as possible. There’s still some minutes left before the first Deer students will enter. Exhaustion lulls you into resting your eyes, and the moment your head is cradled in your arms, you doze off.

    It’s the third time you have this dream after joining the Officer’s Academy, though calling it a ‘dream’ is a stretch—there is nothing happening, nothing to see. Only white, as pure and unblemished as a young lily blossom in early spring. Only this time this picture—maybe a memory, but of what or where you can’t say—is different.

    Wake up, a voice whispers, barely recognisable and dull, spoken behind a wall of water. Wake up.

    Your hands weigh a ton. Unable to reach out and grasp it, the dream blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand.

    Wake up.

    “Herald, wake up,” Claude persists. “You’re drooling on my test papers.”

    His hand brushes your shoulder and you jump, all focus on the dream dispersing. Multiple voices fill the room in a shower of sounds, not helping to regain your senses of where you are. It doesn’t help that your right eye throbs dully, and as you rub it to somehow reduce the sensation, white spots dance across your vision.

    “So sorry, Herald,” Claude smirks with his hand still hovering over your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake you from your beauty rest, but Hilda planned to draw obscene things on your face, and we can’t have that now, can we.”

    “Liars never prosper, Claude!” comes Hilda’s response from somewhere in the back of the room. You groan, narrowing your eyes at him. Going back to sleep and stumbling about to try and figure out what’s going on sounds more pleasing than dealing with Claude’s shenanigans.

    “Man, what a bummer you won’t join our House during the mock battle,” he continues as if Hilda hasn’t said anything. “If someone asked me, I think to have you fight for the Blue Lions is cheating.”

    “But no one asked you?” you offer, indulging him with a weak smile.

    “The audacity, right?” Claude rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, leaning against the teacher’s desk. “Just imagine the brilliant schemes we two could work out. Oh, I have an amazing idea. How about you ask Lady Rhea—”

    “I’m not asking to be by your side during the battle.”

    “Ouch.” Claude places a hand over his chest, right above his heart. “Immediately shut down. Who knew our dearest Herald would be such a heart breaker.”

    You shoo him away, not only because he’s getting on your nerves, but there’s also Ignatz and Raphael standing in line, waiting for your attention.

    “We’ve heard the students from the other Houses gave you some insight in their abilities,” Ignatz says, tugging a stack of papers to his chest. “We decided to give you one as well.”

    “I’m sure you’ll like them,” Raphael chimes in, looking more excited than usual. “I gave Ignatz instructions on how to make our report the best. Forget boring words, Herald, we’ve prepared the real deal!” He rips the papers from Ignatz’s hands and slams them on your table. A crack sounds on the underside, and Raphael leans his whole weight upon the surface, completely oblivious to the protesting creak of the wood.

    “Here, we started with Claude, since he’s the big shot and all that,” he explains, opening the first page. It shows Claude, a surprisingly accurate portrait of him, if not a little bit scrawny. He’s wielding a bow, nocking multiple arrows. Seems like Raphael wasn’t the only one giving instructions.

    “And here is Leonie, and there’s Lorenz, and oh! That’s us working together as a team!” Raphael beams as he turns the page. In this picture, everyone is assembled, fighting against angry looking soldiers and horned monsters. There’s Lysithea and Marianne shooting lightning bolts from their hands, zapping their opponents. Raphael is carrying a huge stone, on top of it stands Hilda, wielding a mighty axe.

    “These are the most accurate file reports I’ve seen,” you say for lack of better words. “It really is a shame I can’t join you for the mock battle.”

    “There’s gonna be a next time, no worries!” Raphael gives you a thumbs up, then retreats to his seat, Ignatz by his side. They’re a funny duo, not just because of their different build. Their personalities seem the complete opposite, and yet strangely fit like a child’s box to sort blocks into the right shapes.

    The difference between the Golden Deers and Blue Lions, for one, is the noise level. Instead of waiting for you to call them up one by one, they love to shout answers whenever they see fit. Judging who was the first isn’t really easy when four people scream at the same time, so you’ve given up on that—Claude’s policy whoever screams loudest didn’t help all too much as well. Maybe it’s time to ask Byleth about some tips how to handle them. When the bell tolls for the last time for this day, announcing everyone to be relieved of their work, the student clear out faster than during fire drills, leaving you with a turmoil of thoughts and worries and two little voices bickering about how much of a disaster next week is going to be.

    After seven days and nights of restless sleep and vigorous training under the vicious supervision of Byleth, the green fields stretching before you end boarding on lush woods, its treetops protruding into the sky. It’s a wonderful day you would enjoy much more without knowing this is a battle field, and the people behind you wait for your command.

    “Black Eagle and Golden Deer are in position. Captain Jeralt said the mock battle begins in roughly ten minutes.” Dedue gives you an expectant look, and you give him a curt nod, your mouth dry.

    “Thanks. We’ll have a last briefing. After that, we’ll deploy our units.”

    Dedue joins his classmates, leaving you to your troubled thoughts. With luck, none of your opponents will reach you, and you won’t have to fight. It’s as if you can feel Byleth’s taste for your blood all across the field, even though right now she’s just a blurry, dark blob in the distance, surrounded by her students.

    “Do not worry, Herald.” The hard metal of a gauntlet on your shoulder makes you flinch, backing away from Dimitri. The worry on his face is a mirror of your own, albeit for different reasons. “Everyone will do their best to follow your orders, and fight with everything they've got. Your leadership will lead us to victory.”

    “Oh, yeah!” You don’t meet his eyes. “For sure.” Zero pressure and all that. You don’t say that, seeing that most of the students don’t appear to be as nervous as you. Confidence is key, and even though you see none of it in tangible proximity, you can at least fake it until you make it.

    Six minutes left. With a deep breath, you try to get hold of yourself, and face the Lions.

    “Since we don’t know who will be deployed by Manuela and Byleth, prepare for everything. I want to split the group. Dimitri, Dedue and Mercedes move to the northern forest. Felix, Sylvain, you’re moving west with me.”

    Felix pulls a grimace, but before he can say anything, Sylvain throws an arm around his shoulders and leans on him, gracing you with a full grin. “We got your back, Herald.” He earns a whack on his back from his friend.

    “Why are we splitting up if our plan is to take out each group separately?” Dedue inquirers. “Isn’t that what we agreed on before?”

    “I think the Herald plans to let our opponents think we plan on taking them both on at the same time.” Dimitri throws a quick glance at you. “We’ll draw them in our direction, and once they are near, we close in from both sides.”

    You nod. “Precisely. We know the Black Eagles will start far north from us. The Golden Deers are northwest. As soon as one of them moves towards us, we’ll have to defeat them immediately. It will be easier fighting one House, not both at the same time.”

    “Look at you, Your Highness.” Sylvain pats him on the shoulder, looking proud. “Someone’s been paying attention in class!”

    “Sylvain—” Dimitri’s chiding meets deaf ears as Sylvain already turns away, checking his lance for a last time. But he does beam a little, you think. Or maybe it’s just the sun making everything look much brighter. It’ll go into your report nonetheless. Chances of a victory look good—even if you have to retreat, the Blue Lions might make it on their own.

    The bressy sound of a horn echoes across the valley, reverberating in your bones. The mock battle begins.

    The weight of the wooden training sword hanging from your hip is foreign; it’s as though you only expect to trip over it. Determined to keep it in its holster, you approach the grove, flanked by Sylvain and Felix—and not a minute too soon. Moving towards you is the first line of enemies, Ignatz, Lorenz and Marianne.

    “I think they didn’t see us—” Sylvain starts just as the first arrow flies past his head and hits the trunk beside him with a thunk. For safety purposes, all arrow’s tips are wrapped up in stiff cloth, not intended to leave permanent wounds but surely still capable to deliver nasty bruises like the training swords and lances.

    “I think they saw us—” Sylvain’s brilliant new observation ends in a yelp as Felix shoves him out of the line of fire.

    “Get down, dumbass!”

    You three duck behind bushes and trees, cautiously observing how the others advance, their weapons drawn.

    “I’ll go for Ignatz,” you say. “Felix, you’re fast enough to reach Marianne and take her down before she starts healing everyone.”

    “Fine, we’ll try your plan.” Felix has his sword drawn already, gripping it tight enough his knuckles turn white. “Try not to get kicked out too soon, will you.”

    You blow a strand of hair from out of your eyes, squinting at his back as he jumps out of cover. The last couple of weeks you’ve put in some extra hours of sword practice with Felix. As an exceptional swordsman, noble and diligent in his training unlike anyone else—safe maybe for Dimitri—you imagined no one could teach you as much as possible in the short amount of time until the mission. It took some convincing, but the decisive argument that sold him was your desire to become better to finally have at least a chance against Byleth. If she is stern during practice, Felix is vicious, exploiting the tiniest opening you give in order to make you learn from your mistakes. Your body was a medley of pain and aches after every evening, but now the memory of that very same melody is your marching song towards battle. Then there’s always the knowledge that if you three can distract them long enough before the rest of the Golden Deer students arrive, Dimitri and the rest will close in on your position, and taking down your opponents won’t be difficult.

    “Sylvain, Lorenz is yours.”

    He answers with a simple salute, grip tight around his training lance, and as you both follow Felix out in the open, an image flickers before you, there and gone like a flame going out with a last glint. An arrow, headed straight at you. Your body moves in instinct, dodging the projectile not a second too late. Judging from the direction of its origin, Ignatz must be just beyond the rocks only a few hundred yards away. You throw a MiasmaΔ in his direction, the black ball carving its path across the grasslands. It hits the stone, chipping parts away and revealing Ignatz, crouching behind it. He looks up, dirt on his cheeks, and adjusts his glasses before ducking out of his cover, another arrow already ready on his bow.

    Another arrow hits him on his back, hard enough to get him down on his knees. Mercedes’ accuracy isn’t as good as Ashe’s, but the determination carved into her face makes up for lack of skill. Dimitri and Dedue are right on her heels, but a single look thrown over your shoulder shows that Felix and Sylvain have everything under control. Coming out victorious as well, save for Sylvain pressing a hand against his ribs, they were still complete. The knowledge of that makes you sigh in relief, a new surge of hope soaring inside you.

    “I knew we shouldn’t have listened to Claude’s dubious plan.” Lorenz’s bickering is still audible, even as the three proceed to leave the battle grounds to meet up with Jeralt. You’re really curious to see what exactly Claude had in mind, but diverting your focus for just a second could become dangerous. Instead, you turn towards the students.

    “Stay close,” you order, waiting until Mercedes is finished checking Sylvain's injuries. “We’re going to move further towards the Golden Deers and eliminate them first.” Flexing your fingers against the slow growth of getting used casting spells, your group begins to move further north.

    Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Dimitri buckling and unbuckling his spear from his back. Out of lack for the right words, and because the first rush of adrenaline still courses through your body, you jostle against him, wearing a grin on your face.

    “Look lively, Your Highness,” you advise. “All that nervous fumbling isn’t what a leader is supposed to do.”

    A tiny gasps leaves him, more an exhale than anything else, but he turns towards you, slightly flushed. Bringing his hands to his sides, it’s too obvious he’s tensing his body so they don’t stray again—like a statue that’s on the edge of shattering at the tiniest movement.

    “You’re right, of course.” He lowers his head a little. “I just keep thinking that the Black Eagle students wait for us in that direction as well. Some are surely moving towards us as we speak.”

    “Are you worried about Byleth?” you wonder, and more as an afterthought add, “Or Edelgard?”

    “Anyone who is not worried about Byleth is a fool, if you ask me,” he replies with a crease between his pale eyebrows. “And well, this is our first chance to prove ourselves, being the heirs to the ruling factions. I know Edelgard is exceptionally strong. And Claude surely has an ace up his sleeve. You are right, Herald. Nervousness is a sign of hesitation, of weakness. I will be better than that.” A new fire comes alive in his eyes as he strides onward, catching up to Mercedes and Sylvain to compliment her on the excellent shot from before.

    The epiphany really comes only now, fast and hard like a lightning bolt, that these children will drink in everything you have to offer—advices, orders, simple words of encouragement—simply for the title that is strapped around your neck. The weight of that responsibility slows your steps, which allows for another worry to quickly catch up: has everything you have taught them so far been right? Do they really know how to exploit the advantages certain classes have over others; will a strategic retreat even occur to them in the right time before it’s too late.

    Doubt is like poison, slowly eating you from the inside. This mock battle won’t just be a lesson for the students. It will also test if you have put them on the right path, and the realisation unfolds a new conviction inside you, breathing new wind into your sails.

    You quickly catch up to them, another rush of encouraging words on your lips when another image flickers on and off, painting your sight red. You freeze, raising an arm, hand formed into a fist.

    “Halt!” you shout, processing what you just saw. The students pause, forming a loose circle around you. The throbbing from before settles back in, more persistent now like someone’s knocking against the back of your skull to get your attention. You try to ignore that and focus on categorising every student’s ability in alphabetical order.

    “Linhardt,” you gasp, eyes wide open and glued on Dedue.

    The students exchange worried glances. Sylvain is the first to speak. “No, Herald,” he says. “Linhardt’s the pretty boy with all the books, you know. Who sleeps just about anywhere, like a cat. That’s our Dedue here.”

    “No, I mean Linhardt has Nosferatu,” you quickly explain, flailing your hands in hope to express yourself better. It doesn’t look like it helps. “Linhardt is the only one left who can use Nosferatu, and he’s going to land a good hit on Dedue. And with good, I mean bad. If he hits you, you’re down, Dedue.” Because only that makes sense, as Marianne is already standing on the sidelines and you haven’t heard about anyone else learning the skill. Undoubtedly a Nosferatu will hit Dedue if you don’t change course or take the spell caster out first.

    Dedue steps forward. “Should it give us an advantage against our enemy, I will gladly face the opponent and go down if it means it won’t interfere with our progress towards the Golden Deer students.”

    “Sacrificing yourself for a mere praise from the boar, is that what you hope for?” Felix demands, or more like snarls, his handsome face crumpling into an ugly look of contempt. “Pathetic.”

    “Sacrifice is a big word to throw around during a mock battle, don’t you think,” Sylvain unhelpfully throws in, his posture a little too relaxed in the light of the conflict that’s about to break out.

    Dedue shakes his head. “I am simply fulfilling my duty,” he states. “Anything that will bring His Highness victory.”

    “You would also run head first into an ambush and get yourself killed, is that it?” Felix grimaces. “Blindly following orders—”

    “Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Your raised voice makes them pause, and you use that second to grab lead of the conversation. “We don’t even know if Linhardt is going to be alone or joined by other Eagle students. What do you think will your little act accomplish, Dedue?”

    He sets his mouth into a grim, hard line, unable to come up with a satisfying answer that isn’t a repeat of what he just said.

    “You’ll have a tough time going against Black Eagles with all their magic users, so stay with Dimitri. Go and deal with the rest of the Golden Deer students. And you—” You meet Felix’s glare with narrowed eyes. “A battlefield isn’t the place to throw around petty disagreements. You would do well to remember that.”

    “Understood.” He rips the training sword from its holster. “But let me go take down that mage. I’ll cut him down swiftly.”

    “We’ll go together. I’m not leaving any of you on your own. Take care of Claude,” you tell Dimitri, showing with a nod that you fully trust in his leading ability. “We’ll meet east from the barricades in exactly one hour.”

    He doesn’t shy away from you glare. “Understood. Take care you two.”

    Felix takes the lead with long, eager strides. As you follow him, you rub your eye, wincing at the pinprick-like pain. The dull throb doesn’t cease this time, and if you had to take a guess, there’s only once left for the Crest to activate before you reach your limit. So far, nothing has helped you to ascertain when exactly a foresight occurs, and leaving it to pure chance is like grasping a loose rope in hopes that it is tied to something somewhere as you take the leap. Maybe Hanneman will make more sense of it laters.

    “You should have stayed with the others,” Felix says after a moment, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the enemy. It sounds more like a simple statement than an accusation. “I can handle someone like Linhardt on my own.”

    “I said before, we don’t know if he’s alone. I highly doubt it.” It’s like Dimitri said before: Underestimating Byleth will surely end in casualties and defeat. You don’t consider it far-fetched that she has sent a non-magic class with Linhardt, but who that will be is left to be determined.

    “No matter how many accompany him. Be it two or three or all of them, I will take them down.”

    “It takes more than one person to win a war.” Though you don’t doubt Felix might try it by himself anyway. “You’ll notice soon enough that you will rely on your comrades.”

    “I will rely on them as long as they don’t get in my way.”

    “So charming,” you mumble to yourself as you two round a mound. It really is none of your business, but you're actually curious about what is going on between him and Dedue. The moment you finish outweighing the pros and cons of trying to go down that rabbit hole, the air around you changes, barely noticeable save for a change of wind—it completely stills for a second, but that is enough to realise what’s happening.

    “Felix—” you manage before the Nosferatu explodes in front of you, knocking you to the ground. Before the mock battle, all magicians were instructed to weaken their spells; no lasting damage should befall any of the participants. Only because of that you manage to climb back on your feet, only left with dizziness that makes the world spin. The jarring sound of metal clashing against metal clears your mind a little, and when you turn around, Felix and Ferdinand are clashing blades.

    You turn further, and there he is, a hand raised in your direction. “Sorry, Herald,” Linhardt says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “The professor threatened with extra homework if we would hold back against you.”

    “Of course she did,” you mumble, grabbing your sword with sweaty hands. Two against two is fair, and you have no doubt that Felix will hold his ground against Ferdinand. The only solution to your little problem named Linhardt is to get as close as possible, and make use of your advantage in meagre sword skills.

    Another Nosferatu is sent your way, but this time you dodge, the hair on your neck standing on end. Somehow your body automatically shies away from Faith magic like a cat fleeing from water. Just one more hit will surely be enough to throw you out of the mock battle, and you can’t have that, not when the picture of Dimitri’s resolute expression is carved into your mind.

    You close the distance, all nerves tensed in anticipation, completely focused on trying to feel where the next spell is going to land. As Linhardt retreats into the woods, his sight obscured by trees, you dive after him, shoving twigs out of your way. A shadow moves through the undergrowth; every muscle in your body locks up, but you plunge forward, sword raised—

    Linhardt gasps when he finds himself pressed against a tree, your sword at his throat. With both hands up, he doesn’t move an inch, simply blinking at you. Somewhere above you, a bird cries out; a branch breaks. Linhardt makes a face like he jammed his foot in a door he slammed shut himself.

    “I surrender,” he says. “Getting beat up and spending time in the infirmary doesn’t sound as good as reading tomes in the library.”

    “You sure?” Your heart beats so loud in your chest, it’s a miracle it doesn’t break through your ribcage and fly off. “Byleth might drown you in homework for that.”

    He shrugs. “I call it a strategic retreat. I’ll just have to—” A yawn. “—convince the professor.” Another yawn. You begin to see the ulterior motive behind his surrender. Squinting at him, you proceed to bind his hands with a dark spell. Black shackles appear around his wrists, locking them tight together. As you make your way out of the grove, you hope Felix had the same success.

    That thought immediately dies when you return to the plain and see Jeralt heaving an unconscious Felix on the back of his horse, a battered Ferdinand by his side.

    “Ah, Herald.” Even though beaten up black and blue, Ferdinand still manages a smile. It looks a little lopsided with his swollen cheek and the dried blood on his upper lip. “I don’t mean to offend, but I hope you return because Linhardt defeated you in mighty combat?” A second too late he sees the magic binds around Linhardt’s wrists. His face falls. “My, Linhardt.”

    “You don’t quite look so good yourself,” Linhardt throws back without any heat in his voice. He sounds rather bored. Tired.

    “Excuse me, but what happened. What’s wrong with Felix?” you ask, turning to Jeralt. Before he can answer, Ferdinand chimes in, “He fought splendidly! Though I had no doubt in that, he is a noble after all. Yet, after ringing me to the ground, he lost consciousness. By my honour as the heir of House Aegir, I cannot take advantage of that. We both shall step out of battle.”

    “He passed out?” Now that you take a good look at him, he’s still pale, unhealthily so. Slick sweat glues his dark hair to his forehead, and the skin beneath his eyes shimmers slightly blue—lack of sleep.

    “Overexertion, I guess,” Jeralt says now. He pulls Linhardt to his side, and gives his shackles a thoughtful look. “I’ll take these three with me. You go and continue the mock battle, Herald.”

    “But…” It doesn’t feel right to leave Felix alone. Even though he technically isn’t, you imagine it would be better to wake up to a friendly face.

    “He’ll be fine.” Jeralt gives you a strange sideway glance. “The other brats rely on you right now, don’t they? Go to them.”

    He’s right, of course. The mission isn’t over yet, and with a strong combatant like Felix missing, victory has just slipped from your grasp.

    There is the meeting point. There it is, and no student from the Lion House is in sight. The minutes pass in long stretches, ticking away until it’s impossible to tell if time moves on or holds still. Holding out between the trees, you look in both directions—for your comrades and the enemy. For whatever reason, Byleth has decided not to advance to your position, and you aren’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. More minutes pass in aggravating silence, heavy and oppressing, and then—

    “Herald!” Dimitri’s voice rings through the woods. Your head snaps to him, and there they are, the Blue Lions tearing through the woods, a yellow flag with a deer on it waving behind them.

    “You did it!” Joy and relief spreads through you as you stumble towards them. “You guys really did it!” They shuffle around you like kittens searching for warmth, and something tight uncoils inside your chest. Is this what Byleth always feels when she’s in front of her class?

    “Hilda and Claude were mighty opponents, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Dimitri reassures, but then a shadow jumps over his features. “Unfortunately, Mercedes had to leave. We couldn’t reach her in time to step in.”

    “Step in,” Sylvain repeats, muttered under his breath as he brushes red locks from his sweaty forehead. “I want to see you stepping in when Hilda swings that axe like a lunatic and not scream like a little girl.”

    “Where is Felix?” Dedue inquirers, ignoring Sylvain.

    Your shoulders drop. “Well, Linhardt was accompanied by Ferdinand, and while I pursued Linhardt, they fought. None of them emerged unscathed, although I feel Felix drew the shorter straw.”

    “Felix?” Dimitri repeats. He sounds as if you just tried to convince him it’s going to rain butterscotch pie later. “Our Felix lost?”

    “Not exactly the fight, but I’m sure his pride took a hard beating.”

    “Well, that leaves four against four.” Dimitri brings a hand up to his chin, a worry crease between his eyebrows. “And they still have Edelgard and the Professor.”

    “And we got the Herald and you!” Sylvain beams. “I say we wrap this up and celebrate our victory with a nice dinner and maybe some ale? How does that sound?”

    “Sacrilegious.” Your voice is drier than the crisp leaves cracking under your feet. “Aren’t you too young for alcohol?”

    “Too young and irresponsible,” Dimitri agrees with you, looking tired of Sylvain’s antics. “But I don’t object to a celebratory dinner.”

    “That is, if we win.” Dedue reads your mind, and brings the conversation back on the right course.

    “I assume the Black Eagles are holding position. They’re waiting for us,” you say, briefly checking everyone’s state. Safe for dirt and scratches, they’re still doing good, though having fought already, the Blue Lions are on a slight disadvantage. You can only hope some of Byleth’s students dropped out facing the Golden Deers.

    “We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.” Sylvain winks, playing with the grip of his lance. The smile that flirts with his lips is threatening.

    “Keep your guard up.” Dimitri shares a single, meaningful glance with every one of you, then leads your little group out of the forest. Whatever Byleth has planned, you hope that you’ll be ready for it.

[kitkatopinions]

I know alot of people thought this volume was Weiss time to shine but her contribution has been marginal at best. Now she's in the same situation as Blake and Yang then their arcs were ended in volume 5. This means when can we expect her to be shipped with someone and be mostly useless?

The way that Weiss was benched this season and the way her seasons-long story was just glossed over is confusing and frustrating. I was really looking forward to seeing Weiss not only interacting with her family in meaningful ways, but seeing her - the Atlas born and raised girl who’s used to how everything works there - not considering things as big of a deal as the others, being something of a celebrity, coming up with solutions only an Atlas born person might know, her having a full arc with her brother Whitley, her interacting with her team more and relying on them for strength instead of being mostly a support character. Instead, Weiss’s arc with her family not only is resolved like it’s easy, and Weiss doesn’t have to grow at all to get it, but it also barely involves Weiss’s friends at all. Also was Weiss treated like a celebrity? Or recognized by the people of Atlas or Mantle? As the very public singer-celebrity daughter of Jacques Schnee? And also, Weiss has spent the past volume acting like Ruby’s sidekick, barely doing more than throwing in some quips and taking four minutes or so to talk to her brother, and then the rest of her story in volume eight is just, being an extra fighter, making the appropriate faces when the creators want us to be shocked or sad or smug. Her last thread with Whitley and Willow has been tied off in a very unsatisfying and weird way...

And oh gosh, you’re right, this sounds really familiar.

Caution, this post isn’t super kind to B//umbleby or the characterization of Blake in particular. Bees I’m sorry if this shows up in your tags, I tried my best and used filterable tags. This is all just my personal opinion.

As soon as Blake’s arc, which was tied up in the problematic White Fang/Faunus racism plot was mostly solved in volume five, the quality of her character started going down, but there was still something there for her until they killed her abuser, and then her whole character was more or less stripped away and she was left hinting at her past in awkward dialogue, doing nothing but emoting in the proper way, occasionally patting Ruby or the others on the back, and being one half of a non-developed ship. Blake has had two moments in the past two seasons that seem to even somewhat include real fleshed out character, and that’s when she decided to trust Robyn, convincing Yang to go along with it, and now showing anger because Neo ‘killed’ Yang. Both of these are framed - and taken by the fans - as ‘bees moments’ though, so it’s still all tied up in her romance.

Now we’ve had some of the same sort of thing for Weiss. Her arc was also tied up in the problematic White Fang/Faunus racism plot (considering her family’s history that Weiss was originally trying to ‘reclaim’ despite her own racism never being fully called out and addressed in a meaningful way.) Once Weiss had broken away from her abusive father and thus at least somewhat solved her arc by volume five, then her quality of character started going down in volume six, and then she had a couple moments with her family in volumes seven and eight - although again, solved in fairly unsatisfying ways. Outside of only a couple of semi significant scenes in the Atlas arc, Weiss has been regulated to emoting in the proper ways, occasionally patting Ruby or the others on the back, and being an extra fighter in the group.

It is possible that she’s going to get some kind of romance and then kind of just... Fall into the same kind of stuck position as Blake and Yang - CRWBY won’t commit to them enough to give real confirmation or make them grow their relationship in significant ways, which means that in order to get across that their is a relationship, they keep the two mostly together, have them seem to revolve around each other and care about each other more than anyone else, and diminishing the connections the other characters have with both people in order to make Blake and Yang’s connection seem clearer. To be completely fair to CRWBY, Yang has been allowed to branch out and have real and natural interactions both with villains (taking on Salem, protesting Emerald’s involvement) and teammates (arguing with Ren, talking with Jaune, acting like Ruby is her close little sister again!) This season, Yang has started to act like her own character again, but Blake hasn’t been allowed much growth. I’d say Weiss would more likely to wind up in the ‘Blake’ position than the ‘Yang’ position as far as being allowed to grow, especially because we’re already seeing her character start to kind of falter now that they’ve tied up her arc in a messy bow, and especially if she wound up with Ruby or Jaune, who I think are the most likely romantic partners for Weiss at this time. But there’s also the possibility of them starting to force a relationship between her and literally anyone else, including any of the three boys waiting in Vacuo, or Emerald, or Marrow.

As a quick note, please keep in mind that this is all speculation for fun and it really might not amount to anything. It would be kind of funny and frustrating both if CRWBY repeated how they’ve done Blake with Weiss, but it’s possible that they’re going to give Weiss a more significant arc and growth in season nine, put more focus on her relationship with Whitley and Willow once things cool down a little after all of season eight was equal parts ‘a crisis mode’ and a ‘sit around and wait for the plot to come around’ storyline. This post is kind of running on in length pretty badly, but here are a couple of ways I think Weiss could really shine next arc.

1. Have her and Yang trapped in the void together without Ruby and Blake. I’ve talked before about how Ruby’s ‘protagonist’ framing swallows up her friend group before, and how Blake and Yang’s relationship tends to swallow up one or both of them, as well as other characters having to be a bit more diminished to try and make bee moments more significant, and I think splitting up the team between Weiss and Yang, and Blake and Ruby could make Weiss grow more significantly and have her and Yang interact meaningfully again (which we haven’t gotten since season five.) In an ideal situation, I’d personally throw Jaune into the mix as well, since I’ve started to enjoy both the concept of him and Yang as friends and the concept of him and Weiss as friends. I think it’d really speak to Weiss’s character and show growth if she made the choice to go in after Yang, since Ruby is needed more in the world immediately (because of her Silver Eyes,) Penny is needed too (because of her Maiden powers) and Blake is needed at least somewhat (since she’s the one with the connections to the reformed Faunus group and Ghira and Ilia and all.) This could add a layer to angst, with Weiss proclaiming herself the least important, but also make Weiss’s character seem much more selfless, as she’s willing to risk her life and is willing to risk being alone in the Void herself even though her whole thing is loneliness, in order to save Yang. Jaune then surprising everyone by going with Weiss, and having an emotional moment where Ruby and Blake realize they have to trust Weiss and Jaune to do this and try and force themselves to still fight and work while they wait and panic and worry... That’s some good stuff! Of course, that would unfortunately bench Weiss’s relationships with her family, but I’d still be very happy with this outcome.

2. Have Weiss go on to Vacuo and not go after Yang, but be the one to rally the people, help them all to the city, deal with Theodore, etc. If Blake and Ruby went after Yang, or Blake, Ruby, and Jaune went after Yang, or just Ruby and Jaune, I think there could be some interest there. Not quite so much for the Void Team, but for the Left Behind Team. Having Weiss have to deal with being thrown into a leadership position when she’s not a leader at heart would be really interesting. Having her trying to hold it together and not let any grief, worry, or panic take her over so she can focus on her mission would be really interesting. We could have at least one member of Team RWBY facing the consequences of their actions and taking the brunt of it, while defending their choices and trying to find a place for millions of refugees. Once again, this could play into Weiss’s themes about loneliness, and Weiss could maybe even wind up resenting her team for leaving her and knowing it’s unfair and knowing they did what they had to do, but it would still create tension when they come back. And this sort of arc could also really push and flesh out her relationship and interactions with Whitley. There’s a lot that CRWBY could do with their relationship in this sort of scenario, but I would love it if Weiss’s themes of loneliness played a part in the early episodes of the volume, with her kind of secluding herself because she doesn’t have her friends and she thinks she’s alone, but then getting closer and closer to Whitley and realizing that she’s not alone, because she has her little brother who she loves. Idk, I just think it could be really good and sweet.

So... Yeah. Those are the ways I think Weiss’s character could grow and be fleshed out. Currently, I’m not happy with how she’s been, but there’s still hope for her. However, I will laugh so hard if she gets some romance and starts being one half of a pairing. XD

[that-sw-writer]

Hi! i would like to request number 10 from the Kylo ren/Ben solo angst prompt list with kylo ren! have a lovely day!

10: “If you don’t hug me right now I think I might break down.”

Word count: 1031

Warnings: none really, Kylo Ren is just a sad and angry boi

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might break down.”

"Supreme Leader Ren wishes to see you, Ma'am."  A pair of Stormtroopers approached you, practically shaking in their armour.

"Tell him I'm busy."  You didn't look up from your desk, filing through a mountain of medical paperwork that had been piling up for days.

"He was very insistent."  You could tell how fearful they were to return empty-handed, and you sighed, throwing down the papers to look at the pair of them.

"Is he injured?  Does he need medical attention?"  You abrasively asked and they paused to look at one another.

"Uh- no Ma'am, I don't think so.  He's just... angry."

You sighed.  Kylo had been a mess lately, you loved him more than anything, but all he had been doing was pushing you away and arguing with you every time you tried to help him.

Despite your relationship not exactly being a secret, it still wasn't 'official' and that meant you had nobody to confide in.  It was exhausting arguing with him all the time, and being the Chief Medic aboard the Finalzer meant you already had stressful days.  The last thing you needed was to then be met with stressful nights, so you had gone back to sleeping in your own quarters and been avoiding Kylo in favour of throwing yourself into your job.

"If it's not a medical emergency, I'm afraid it's not my problem."  You grabbed a clipboard with notes of your current patients attached to it and rose from your seat, marching off towards the wards.  But the stormtroopers hustled to follow you.

"Please Ma'am, if we go back empty handed..."  The trooper who pleaded with you trailed off, everyone knew what happened to the poor people who crossed Kylo when he was angry.

You just weren't ready to be the one who took the brunt of his anger again.  The arguing and the yelling?  You couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but the Supreme Leader is not my responsibility.  I have patients here who actually need my help."  You stopped beside the bed of an officer who was comatose after a battle against the Resistance, checking his vitals and writing them down on your clipboard you prepared to move to the next patient but an armoured hand on your arm stopped you.

"Doctor Y/L/N, please don't make us go back there without you, he'll kill us!"  The second trooper now stepped in and was literally pleading for his life.

Your job was to save lives, and it didn't sit right with you to send these two men marching to their imminent deaths when you knew you could save them.  Realistically if you didn't go with them, their bodies would be being rolled into the Med Bay for your attention within the hour.

You exhaled a sigh, "Okay fine.  I'll come."

Relief visibly washed over the two men, their posture relaxing, "Thank you Ma'am."  They said, and you placed the clipboard down before following them out of the Med Bay and towards High Command.

You didn't know what had happened for Kylo to summon you, but if the last few weeks had been anything to go on then the First Order would have suffered a loss against the Resistance, and you were about to be expected to let the Supreme Leader vent his frustrations to you... or just at you.

From what you had heard around base, you moving back to your own quarters had only upset him more, General Hux had visited the Med Bay and informed you that Kylo was more destructive than ever.  But you weren't about to go running back to him just to make everyone else's lives easier, you had to look after yourself.

When you were outside the High Command conference room you could hear the slashing of his Lightsaber against... well, probably anything in sight.

You weren't afraid of him, you never had been, ever since he had been wheeled into your operation theatre after the fall of Starkiller Base.  You had saved his life, and things had just progressed from there - of course you had to fall in love with a man who was just so... difficult.

The doors flew open, the two troopers ran for their lives when Kylo whipped round, crackling red blade pointed right at you.  The red illuminated your face, but you didn't flinch for a second.

"I don't like being summoned Kylo."  You solemnly told him.  All you had needed from him was space, and he couldn't even give you that.

He lowered his Lightsaber, and the blade retracted moments after.  "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Look, I only came here to save you from killing those troopers, but I have work to do."  You turned on your heel, ready to leave.

"Don't."  He lunged forward and grabbed your arm, forcing you to turn around and face him.

"I'm not staying here just for you to argue with me, when all I've done is try to help you."  You could feel the emotion rising in your chest, you had spent a long time trying to get over Kylo Ren, but the truth was you still loved him.  More than anything.

"I know I was wrong, and you'll never know how sorry I am for the way I've been treating you..." That vulnerability that had first made you fall for him was showing - it had been so long since you'd seen him like this.

"Kylo, I love you... But this just doesn't magically fix everything."  You softly told him, the truth was you were scared of getting your heart broken again.

"I know it doesn't, but if you don't hug me right now I think I might break down."  He looked at you, and his brown eyes had softened, you could see tears pooling in the corners of them.  You couldn't stand seeing him like this.

Exhaling a sigh, you reached forward and wrapped your arms around him, and he collapsed into your embrace.

"I love you."  His words came muffled as his face was buried in your neck.  He was having to crouch an unreasonable amount to hug you.

"I love you too."  You gently replied, pressing a kiss to his head.

It wasn't going to be easy to fix things, you both knew that, but you were willing to give Kylo a second chance.

Some people were worth fighting for.

[tmngoose]

Reassurance: a Raph & Donnie Drabble

I heard a cry in the universe for more Raph & Donnie content, so I took it upon myself to write this up. Just a quick lil’ somethin-somethin, nothin’ fancy. (You can expect a tighter, neater version of this drabble on my Ao3 once I get my deadlines out of the way!) Summary: [An interlude between Battle Nexus: New York & E-Turtle Sunshine...] Donnie finds Raph in the med-bay. They take a moment to reflect on the Shredder’s return and what had happened to them; comforting ensues.  Rating: General Audience Tags: Semi-Beta’d, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Bad memories, and Hugging :U ! Word Count: Less than 1k Read it under the cut! 

"Here ya go, Draxibald!" Mikey presented a box of colored chalk to Draxum, who eyed the pieces dubiously. Some pieces were never used, others were only nubs, and one looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. 

With a shrug, Draxum pulled the cleanest piece of chalk out from the box, "These will suffice, thank you." He patted Mikey on the head and began sketching out a giant circle on the atrium's floor. Draxum worked quietly for a while until his eyes flicked up towards the Turtles, April, and Splinter, who watched him closely. 

"Sooo, how long's it gonna take you to draw this bad boy, huh?" Leo asked, folding his arms behind his head, both bored and interested at the same time.

Draxum's eye twitched, though he continued sketching the elaborate runes with a resigned sigh, "A memory-retrieval diagram as intricate and extensive as this one requires time and concentration. Why not take this moment to relax, and I shall let you know once it’s finished?" 

The group murmured in agreement, enticed by a moment to unwind, and went their separate ways. Donnie decided now would be an excellent opportunity to upgrade Sheldon and repair whatever damages had been done to his tech. If they were to faceoff against Shredder again, he'd be ready. 

Donnie was about to enter his lab until he heard a noise coming from the med-bay. With his curiosity besting him, he pivoted on his heel and changed course.

The glass doors to the med-bay quietly slid apart as Donnie stepped inside. Multiple drawers and cabinets were left open; their contents were strewn about haphazardly. The disorganization offended him, though he was too tired to be bothered by it. What intrigued Donnie more was the culprit behind the mess.

"Raph?" Donnie raised a brow, "What are you doing here?"

"Donnie!" Raph gasped, somewhat startled. "Uhm, nothing! Wh-what're you doing here?" 

"I heard someone rummaging around and took it upon myself to investigate," Donnie studied Raph's demeanor. There was something off about the way the Snapping turtle carried himself, "Arrreee you okay?"

"It's nothing, really," Raph's smile faltered. "Raph's back's a little sore, so I was lookin' for somethin' to help take away the ache." 

Donnie's expression softened, "Oh. Did you want some help with that?"

"If you don't mind? I'd really appreciate it."

"Not at all," Donnie came up to Raph's side and gingerly touched his brother's rugged shell. "Does it hurt anywhere in particular?"

"Mostly over here," Raph gestured to the area between his shoulders. "But it doesn't hurt hurt, y'know?" 

"Mm, let's have a look-see," Donnie lowered his goggles; the mismatched lenses scanned Raph's back and highlighted any bruise they came across. "It looks like your shell's a little tender from earlier," Donnie informed, raising his goggles. "Nothing a hot compress can't fix." The diagnosis wasn't surprising. Of course, Raph's back would be hurting him. After all, Raph did take the brunt of Shredder's iron-clad boots. 

Donnie's brows knitted together; the unpleasant memories came rushing back, immobilizing him before he could reach into one of the drawers.

Everything happened so fast: one moment, Donnie's inside the safety of Raph's mystic aura. Then they were sent flying across the ruined betting room in Big Mama's hotel with no time to react. 

Donnie had landed hard, right next to Raph. At first, he couldn't pick himself up, his sense of urgency working against him, even though he could feel Shredder's overwhelming presence looming over him. 

 But Raph was quick to roll over and shield him from the monstrous scrapheap with his own body. Donnie remembered how he clung to his brother's arm, bracing for the worst. He recalled how Raph struggled to keep Shredder from crushing them; how he fought to keep Donnie safe. 

"Donnie?" Raph's concerned voice called Donnie back to the med-bay. "What’s wrong?"

"I...," Donnie cleared his throat, "Something just distracted, that's all." He shook his head, "L-Let me get you that compress..."

Suddenly, Donnie felt Raph’s arms gently wrap around him, pulling him into a hug. Maybe it was the troubled look in Donnie's eyes that prompted the action, or maybe Raph was that good at telling when his brothers needed to be comforted. Whatever the reason, Donnie found himself reciprocating the motion. 

Usually, Donnie detested any hug that lasted longer than ten seconds, thirty seconds tops. But something kept Donnie from slipping out from Raph’s embrace. Did he feel guilty that it was his fault Raph got hurt? Or was he relieved that they all survived thanks to Splinter's quick thinking? 

Donnie shut his eyes tightly. He didn't want to think about what could've happened to them; what nearly happened to them. He tried to think solely of their hug and how badly they both needed it.

"Are you okay?" Raph asked, softly breaking the silence between them.

"I... I think so," Donnie answered. "Are you okay?" 

Raph blinked, thrown off by the question. Was he okay? He wasn't sure. They had all been through a lot, and they weren't out of the woods yet. Fighting Big Mama and her bozo Nexus champions was one thing, but Shredder? That was a whole new level of danger. It fell on Raph's shoulders as the leader to ensure the safety of his brothers, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way.

"I'm okay," Raph finally responded with a shaky sigh. "We're both okay, right?" 

"Affirmative," Donnie nodded, their hug finally coming undone. "Now, how about setting you up with that compress I promised?"

"Raph likes the sound of that," Raph flashed his signature, snaggle-toothed grin. "Thanks, Donnie."

"Don't mention it," Donnie gave a small, sincere smile, "After all, what’re brothers for?”

"I couldn't have said it any better myself!"

[claryroseelena]

Fanfic Rec List TWD

Rick / Negan 

(Rick marries Negan for his own people):

Bloodsport by OurAlaska (+44 K - ongoing): “ Rick ends up going back home with Negan after the incident in the woods. Slowly but surely, his captivity begins to feel less like captivity and more like home. “

The Truth by Hatterized (+78K): “ When Rick and his group are captured and subjugated by Negan and the Saviors, Rick is desperate to protect his people from further harm. So, when Negan offers them a chance at a lighter punishment, Rick reluctantly agrees to a strange and confusing arrangement that shows him a very different side of the man in charge. “ COMES WITH A SEQUEL 

Excess by Twisted_Barbie (+84K): “Canon compliant up to series 7 episode 4. Disappointed with Rick’s video diary, Negan demands compensation which opens the door for an indecent proposal.” ~Pretty dark at some parts~

Kiss or Kill by rickbisexualgrimes (+86K): “ After accepting whatever tension is between him and Negan a new perspective comes into play for Rick. And what starts as accepting an offer from Negan that's for Alexandria's sake turns into something deeper. Rick soon finds himself on a path of self destruction with a pile of hard decisions. “

The Metamorphosis Of Apathy Part I by Trikkster (+157K - ongoing): “ What if instead of forcing Rick to produce for him after threatening to kill him, Negan merely eliminated the threat of Rick having time to rally and rebel with his friends? An Alternate Storyline that starts right after Negan starts to break Rick, this follows a tale in which Negan takes Rick back to the Sanctuary and Rick is forced to comply with the sadist's wishes or suffer the consequences. “  WARNING: Non-Con!Rick/Negan ~definitely the darkest fanfic I’ve ever read in this entire fandom!~

(Canon Divergence)

Desperation is a Good Look on You by IWillBeYourPet (+3K): “Negan visits his favorite pet leader Rick, and finds the man teetering on the edge of a breakdown.He has put a lot of stress on him, and honestly, it's bad for business. So he can be an almost good guy, when it benefits him. Also, he kind of likes Rick.“

A Magpie in the Laurel by beautysupreme (+42K - ongoing): “ AU - Alexandria is on the brink of cannibalism, facing famine in the harsh winter. The town sets their sight on Negan.”  Warning:  Sexual assault and attempted rape 

Ownership by SmeagolMyNeagol (+46K): “ It is not Rick who leads the Alexandrians, but Shane. That night in the field on Hershal’s farm, Shane was the one who beat Rick.” ~Quite a bit of Rick!Whump~ Warning: Non-Con!Rick/Shane

The New World Order by negickapologist (nnivanfields) (+63K - ongoing): “ Canon-Divergent AU: Negan and his Saviors find the Greene farm and decide that it's useful to them. Rick's patience, as per usual, is tested heavily. Also known as: What Happens If Negan Shows Up Early. “ 

The Delegation of Power by JessieMay (+102K - ongoing): “ Negan's right-hand man, Simon, is heading the weekly pickups in Alexandria and has taken an interest in their leader, Rick Grimes. It's well-known in Alexandria that Simon handles things a little differently when Negan's away, and Rick, who will go to any lengths to prevent the loss of any more of his people, suffers the brunt of his attention. “ ~Heavy Angst ahead~ Warning: Non-Con Rick/Simon

Your Body's Borders by Hatterized (+106K): “Canon-Divergent AU where Negan shows up with Abraham and his group and Terminus happens a little differently. Rick Grimes hasn't been the same since Terminus, and he hasn't told anyone why. But Negan, a new addition to their group, seems to be paying Rick a lot of attention, and he notices right away that something just isn't right with Rick.“ Warning: past Non-Con!Rick/Terminus Residents

(AU - No Zombie Apocalypse)

Beat It Upright by Orion2650 (+7K): “ Negan was, by nobody's definition, the typical submissive. Most submissives would have knelt at Rick's feet when given the command but not Negan. No, definitely not Negan.”

hallelujah by cronchevans (+38K - ongoing) “ He pulled out from his driveway, away from his home and ran. And ran. And that’s how he ended up here, in the middle Arizona on some vacant back road, at two in the morning, pulling over to pick up a hitchhiker. “ ~This is definitively no love story~ Warning: Non-Con!Rick/Negan

Like Nobody's Watching by GettinGrimey  (+75K): “Rick: A 25 year old, straight forward, by-the-book police officer from Atlanta Georgia, living day-to-day to right the wrongs.Negan: A 28 year old, high-spirited asshole who joins the force and becomes a constant stress factor in Rick's life.When asked to work together, can they put their differences aside to stop a serial killer before he strikes again?“ 

 Honey, Make This Easy by magnolia_9 (+89 K):  “Rick Grimes has more problems that require fixing than just his broken-down car. Lucky for him, he meets a beguiling stranger who is prepared to rise to the challenge. “ ~Sweet and steamy with a litle bit of Angst and thrown into the mix.~ Warning: past Non-Con!Rick/Shane

Strawberry Wine by Milarca, RanebowStitches (+246K) “ When animals are found mysteriously drained of blood around the sleepy town of Desert Springs, Sheriff Rick Grimes ventures out to the homesteader Negan’s remote cabin looking for answers. ”  COMES WITH A SEQUEL / PART OF THE Among the Willows SERIES

Different Pairings 

(Rick/Daryl)

End Up Like a Dog That's Been Beat Too Much by Tiofrean (+32K): “ Daryl meets Rick, a former cop, who's been injured in the line of duty. His initial task - a few home repairs - gets changed quickly when he discovers that what the man needs more than a good roof over his head is a friend. Who's better suited to this kind of task than Daryl the repairman?”  COMES WITH A SEQUEL

Cursed by strawberrymilano (+71K): “ Daryl's got a tiny problem. Literally. He's only four inches tall. Good thing he's always been able to take care of himself, no matter how small. “  COMES WITH A SEQUEL

Reap the Whirlwind by gwendolynflight (+83K - ongoing) “ Accidentally left behind in Terminus, Rick takes his revenge. But can he live with what he’s done? “ 

(Negan/Carol)

Thank You, Carol by Megaeevee (+6K) “ Was it wrong to want to fuck the man who had tortured your best friend? To want to make him scream and cry and beg? Carol thought it probably was. But then again, couldn’t sex be its own kind of torture? ” Warning: Dub/Non-Con!Negan/Carol

[letaliabane]

Willing To Try

anon request: Ooooooh can you do “Shouldn’t you be with him/her?” with Javi pretty please???

Photo cred. to me

warnings: mostly angst (also let’s pretend Elisa and Javier didn’t sleep together for 1x04 just for the purposes of this story? PLS)

Prompts (If you would like to request a prompt, please include the name of the list and the number of the prompts)

15. Shouldn’t you be with her/him? (Angst/fluff list)

You sat back down at your desk, watching as your partners Steve and Javier joined you in your shared office. 

You had just had a mass meeting with the ambassador and the leaders of the DEA apartments. They had informed you that they were keeping an eye on M-19, a group that once had been enemies of Escobar. 

But now it was theorised that they conspired with him and were allegedly the ones who attacked the Palace of Justice Supreme Court. They wanted to be kept informed if anyone came in with information, particularly members of the group. 

However, this was difficult part, because Javier was currently harbouring Elisa Alvarez, the co-leader of the M-19. 

‘How the fuck do you get yourself into these situations Javier? All three of us are going to get caught and lose our jobs if we keep her in hiding any longer!’ Steve muttered as he glared at Javier, arms crossed over his chest as he leant against the desk. 

He scoffed, shaking his head, ‘Maybe next time when your wife decides to bring home a hand grenade like Elisa how about she hands it to you instead of me?’

You just rolled your eyes, continuing to finish the report you had abandoned before the meeting. At times it was just best to stay out of it and let the two stubborn fools but heads. Just before he could leave the office, Steve spoke up, ‘Are you fucking her?’

Your hand froze mid-writing, glancing towards the two men. Javier looked between the two of you before chuckling, ‘Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American!’

When he disappeared from your sight you let out a heavy sigh, Steve immediately looking towards you. He knew you were harbouring feelings for the popular, good looking agent long before he even arrived in Colombia. 

Javier and you had been partners for a year or so before they brought in Murphy, and boy had you got along like a house on fire. You’d sometimes share a beer and a pizza after a long day at the office, or you’d go to one of the nearby bars. 

However that changed due to frequency of his visits to his “informants,’ and you 

You saw Steve like an older brother and opened up to him, telling him how conflicted you felt. Yes, you knew the stories of Javier Peña that ran throughout the office, how he was a womaniser and slept with every woman he came across, besides you that is. 

But you wanted to get to know Javier for who he was, you knew he was a good man deep down, but you also didn’t want to end up as another woman on his list of one night stands or informants he had slept with.  

‘I probably shouldn’t have said that-’

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s attempt at softening the blow, keeping you eyes on the scramble of words that were your report, ‘Don’t bother Steve, you heard him. Of course he’s fucking her. Why do you think he wants to keep her around.’ 

Steve only sighed in reply, remaining silent, not wanting to worsen the tension that was already in the air. It was hours later when Javier returned to the office, only to watch as you grabbed your gun and essentials from the drawer of your desk, Steve doing the same. 

‘What’s going on?’

Steve looked up at his voice. ‘We got a lead on where some of those who were involved with the attack on the supreme court are holed up. We’re going to do some recon, scout it out.’ 

‘Why didn’t either of you or anyone else let me know?’

You were quick to answer before Steve could even open his mouth, barely looking towards him. ‘Why would we? Seems like you’ve had your hands full recently.’ 

Javier’s eyes flickered towards you, completely shocked by your words. He'd noticed the changes in your attitude toward him over the past few months, once being very good friends to barely a “hello.”

‘And what the fuck is that supposed to mean Y/N?’

‘What does it matter, besides,’ You said as you step in front of him, finally looking him in the eye, ignoring the anger present within them, ‘You probably should go check on Elisa, make sure she’s still waiting for you at the apartment.’ 

You quickly side stepped him as he gaped at you, ignoring as he called after you, knowing full well he was watching you until you disappeared into the elevator. 

Javier glanced towards Steve who also seemed to have frozen at your words while reaching for his gear. He just gave a brief shrug, grabbing his things before following, leaving Javier alone and confused in the silence of the office. 

You hissed as Steve knelt beside you, pressing the freezing ice pack to the darkening bruise around your eye. Once he knew you had a steady grip on the back, he moved to check the bandage wrapped around your waist, spots of blood decorating the gauze beneath. 

You and Steve had gotten into a scuffle when realising two of the M-19 members had indeed been at the hideout you had intel on, and felt cocky when you watched them leave the base. Unarmed and unwatched by others.

Well, you thought they were unarmed. And it was Steve’s bright idea not to take guns to take them down. 

Both of you hadn’t expected the knives they had hidden within the belts of their pants. Steve escaped with a couple of scrapes, however you ended up receiving the brunt of the attack, one of them slashing you across the waist. It wasn’t too deep of a cut, but it did need stitches. 

‘Ow! Fuck Murphy! If I knew you were this bad I would’ve called your wife!’ You screeched, tugging his hand away from your wound where he had pressed down on. 

‘Oh sorry big baby for not being gentle!’ 

You rolled your eyes at him as he pulled your shirt back down, giving you the look over once more, ‘anyway stitches are holding up well so just take it easy this week and allow it to close properly-’

‘And recover my dignity,’ I mumbled, Steve chuckling as he rose from the floor, packing away the medical bag. It was then a loud knocking echoed through the apartment. You jumped from your spot on the couch and Steve reaching instinctively for his gun. 

‘Oi Murphy open up!’ 

Steve sighed at the sound of Javier’s voice, however you weren’t as glad, staring at him in disbelief. ‘You told him?!’

‘What? He called asking how it went when you passed out in the car, what was I supposed to say? He was worried and wanted to check up on you!’ 

You groaned, throwing your head back against the back of the couch as he went to the door, quietly muttering to one another before Javier noisily making his way over. When you peeked your eye open he stood at the end of the couch, hands on his hips as he took in the sight of you. 

‘What the fuck happened to you?’

‘Oh nothing! You know these bruises and this knife cut just appeared out of thin air!’ You bit back, rubbing your temple as it thrummed in what you knew would be a terrible headache. 

Steve sighed, ‘I’m gonna head off, you two need to talk.’ You glared at him about to retort, but he hurriedly turned and left your apartment, leaving both you and Javier in a very awkward, tense silence. 

You sighed, rolling your eyes as Javier looked anywhere but at you, ‘You can leave Peña, just make sure the door doesn’t hit you on the way out.’

He finally looked at you, his annoyance reaching its peak as he turned towards you, ‘What is your problem Y/N?’

‘We are not doing this right now,’ You said as you stood up, turning to head towards your bedroom, but he stopped you by grabbing your arm. 

‘Yes we are Y/N, we haven’t spoken for months now and I don’t know why! I didn’t say anything but now its getting in the way of our work-’ 

‘Look I don’t really want to talk about this, not right now and especially not with you,’ You muttered, ignoring the hurt that crossed his face, ‘Besides shouldn’t you be with her?’

His eyebrows furrowed, confused, ‘Her? With who?’

‘Don’t play dumb Peña, I’m talking about Elisa! You two seemed so snuggled up when Steve and I found you two at your apartment the other night. Why don’t you run along and go see her?’ You uttered, staring up into his face. 

You took in the hurt that filled his eyes, cause by you. There was a tug at your heart, your anger faltering for a moment. You wanted to take it back. But what if didn’t feel the same way? 

Taking a step back, you began to pull away, but before you could turn away he tugged on your arms, pressing his chest to yours so you couldn’t pull away. 

‘I didn’t sleep with her Y/N, I know I have a reputation for that and I won’t deny it, but not with her. She was escorted out of Bogotá this morning. All she was was an informant. Nothing more. I promise you that.’ 

You’re not sure if it was the way he held you in his arms or the sincerity in his eyes that convinced you. But either way you believed him. 

You sighed as he gripped your arms gently, bringing you closer to him. You moved your eyes to the floor, gulping. ‘I-I’m sorry … it’s just-for so long I’ve-I’ve liked you, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like all you saw me as was a friend, a colleague, and I just felt the need to pull away so I didn’t feel the hurt.’

Javier leant into you, using his hand to nudge your chin up. ‘Y/N, I’ve felt the same way for you too.’

Your eyes widened, mouth agape. ‘What?’

‘With the rules and regulations of the DEA, I just thought it would never cross your mind. A-And I just have never been good at this,’ He pointed between the two of you. 

‘Talking about my feelings Y/N is foreign, and something I’m terrible at. And I’m sorry that I didn’t have the balls to talk to you. I was afraid to ruin what we had already, though we weren’t talking, I still wanted you in my life.’

You couldn’t help but smile softly as he mumbled around his words, looking anywhere but at you, taking your hands into his, playing with your fingertips. You tipped his face up gently, pressing a hand to his cheek. 

‘You could never lose me Javier, even if it meant I was a bitch to you without you ever telling me about your feelings.’

He chuckled loudly, and your smile widened. You hadn’t been alone in a room with him for so long you almost forgot how he looked when he did, and you couldn’t help but find it so beautiful. 

‘I’m willing to make this try and work Javier, even with all the precautions we have to take as agents, I’m ready to do it with you.’ 

Javier smiled gently, gripping your hand, ‘I am too. I know I’m not good at any of this, but I really am willing to try.’ 

Still smiling, he pressed his lips to your forehead gently, face cradled within his hands. You couldn’t help but tremble against him as he did so, leaning you’re face upwards before pressing your lips to his. 

He instantly responded, his lips dancing across your gently before firmly pressing a second kiss to yours. His hands moved down your back as yours wrapped around his neck, pulling him in closer as you tugged on his lip-

‘Ow!’ You cried softly, pulling away as he gripped your hip near the cut, his eyes instantly widening. 

‘Shit I’m so sorry-’

‘No no, it’s okay Javier,’ You chuckled, pecking his lips as you kept him close, nudging his nose playfully as he also joined in the laughter. You felt his hands once more lower to your back, careful of where he placed them. With a sigh, you both smiled against each other as you kissed. 

Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Tagged: @pascalisthepunkest​

A/N: Remember requests are open! I head back to uni soon so get them in early! Feedback is really appreciated! (Btw there is some smut coming for our boy Javier AND I MEAN PROPER SMUT THIS TIME)

Remember requests are open for Pedro Pascal characters! Check it out and request whatever you like!

[pokemons-wild-wild-area]

May I please get bede with a female s/o who is sensitive and shy about most things and bede accidentally crosses the line? Basically.. angst..? Please and ty! ^^

I really couldn't tell what to do for this one at first and held off for a bit to think. Because the specifics weren't really on any topic, I made my own lines here. 

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖 : If anyone reading this sees this: try and be a bit more specific in certain areas unless you want me to be a bit creative. Me being creative in posts can take a bit longer, as I have to make... whole... stuff, ya know? LOL

But this isn't heavy angst, just your typical pre-Opal Bede being a jerk and Hop being where the Reader drew the line.

𝙱𝚎𝚍𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (not really too explicit)- 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 (fluff/normal in yellow diamonds)

Ｂｅｄｅ

     🔸Before the Gym Challenges started, Bede was distant when not really talking about how you could help him with his goals. You both went to the same Trainer School, and often saw each other in school with your passions running high.

     🔸Bede has grown up around a rich business man, a woman who scares men twice her size, and generally being in a non-familial relation to his rolemodels makes him harsher then normal. And his parents... 

     ◾He just has a different disposition.

     🔸The only reason Bede at this point would talk or hang out with anyone who's sensitive is if they can hold their own, and manage to hit his interests. The Chairman is obsessed with Wishing Stars, and it wasn't until Oleana had pulled him into a meeting and given him a Pokemon from the Chairman did he get his mission:

     🔸Find thise Wishing Stars. To get the praise he knows he deserves.

     🔸Anyone looking to be his "friend" at this point needs to know about his mission, which is hard to pry from him. But... If the Reader is a decent discovery maker or has the spark of adventure, he... could use the extra hands...

     🔸Usually, Bede doesn't like getting close. But as soon as he noticed he was getting attached to his traveling partner... he started to question what he was getting himself into. He's never had emotions running a bit deeper then his usual "your useful, for now". So... of course Reader would have to make the first move...

     🔸But their both shy! Oh, they go so long without really talking anything through! Oh, woes is us, dear readers!

     🔸When it was time for the League, and Bede started to catch a few more Pokemon on his journey and started to slow down a bit... The Readers chance is now! They have to be in certain towns in certain orders to get Bede his badges, so if Reader manages to get nice outfits or nice foods to show to Bede, that's really sweet.

     ◾If only Bede really notices, as the boy is pretty thick-headed to affectionate gifts...

     🔸... But he does compliment the Readers clothes if they aren't combat clothes or camouflage. He really compliments fushia or maroon colored clothes the most.

     ◾But he doesn't give Reader much back, not unless its the Wishing Stars he can't carry himself. And that's not much, since his clothes are made to carry a lot of cargo on the inside with big pockets.

     ◾Things fall apart a bit for Reader, as Bede takes a seperate path from them to scout for Wishing Stars. And when they meet up in Galar Mines No. 1, he's miffed about something. It wasn't till after a whole walk of silence to a nearby Pokemon Center was actually revealed to be a walk of SHAME of defeat at another trainers hands. Nurse Joy got the brunt of the attitude but... it made Reader nearly bury themselves as the other Pojemon Center Staff started at the rude behavior of Bede.

     ◾Bebe refused to talk about the trainer, and even took on less battles without proper assessment of said trainer for a while. Usually, it was small children or someone with less then three Pokemon... rather cheap.

     🔸But, almost like a switch was flipped, going to fight Nessa was like a fire starting in Bede again. During the battle, and afterwards in Galar Mines No. 2, Bede smirked much more happily and was much less tense. Fighting others on his own level seemed to de-stress him...

     ◾Until after Kabu. Bede had lost to another trainer in Galar Mines No. 2, but was less distressed about this one. Reader was coming back empty-handed to the meet spot in Motostoke, but Bede didn't notice them at all. Bede only seemed to notice the Reader after it was time to head to Bede's Challenger assigned Budew Inn room, where he smiled and said he was fine with it. Its just time to rest now.

    🔸The match with Kabu was great! It was spectacular! Gigantamax Centiskorch was a new one, but fire and psychic moves always seem to compliment each other! All Reader wanted to do was talk to Bede about it... !

     ◾Except Reader couldn't find Bede in the city limits, and after getting directions from the trio of gathered Gym Leaders near the entrance to the Wild Area, they went out after him. 

     ◾All they found was another person messing with dens, who was concerned for a friend of theirs. "Hop" being the boys name. A weird name, but the Reader wished that person a good raid as they went to look for Bede.

     ◾It took Reader forever to navigate the Wild Area safely in search for Bede quickly, but eventually found a boy who had tears streaming down his face and cradling a small team of Pokemon. The boys spikey purple hair and dark skin covered in dirt and grime, and weak Pokemon causing Reader to run over to see what happened.

     ◾You find out, while administering a Super Potion to his newly Revived but weak Corvisquire that a boy had challenged him after the third Gym, and insulted him and his family. The boy, not one to let it go easily, accepted the challenge...

     ◾And was thouroughly "humiliated", as he put it. He put on a bad show, and because of all this happening to his party, Reader can tell he was down in a deep spiral of some dark emotions...

     ◾Reader asked who did this, and what they can do to help... But was shocked and horrified when the boy spat out Bede's name from his mouth like a rotten piece of fruit.

     ◾This... This couldn't be... But, Reader had seen Bede willingly push around females and younger opponents if he got too into himself.

     ◾Helping the boy back to Motostoke and into a Pokemon Center with a forced smile, Reader walks out on Bede totally at that point. 

     ◾But... their heart still beet for the boy... but after attacking another Challengers family and sense of self was unforgettable. Reader was shy and reserved and knew they couldn't stand being near Bede's small tantrums and fits, even if they weren't the centsr of it...

     ◾After watching Bede enter Hammerlocke's stairway, after teasing the trainer from earlier about something... Reader walked forward and noticed the trainers red face, the stink-eye they gave the boy climbing the stairs. Reader asked them what he said...

    ◾And after Reader knew about what happened, they started to draw lines in the sand. And sighed, as they climbed the stairs with the trainer next to them.