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nagito-kissmaeda · 3 months ago

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Community Gardens - Komaeda/Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO [here]

Word Count: 4734

Contains: No warnings as of yet Summary: You were a member of the reserve course before everything went to hell. Now you’re helping the Future Foundation by tending to a small farm on Jabberwock Island, the real Ultimate Farmer was busy, so you will have to do.

The last member of class 77-B has just woken up, and he has questions.

AKA: A talentless reader teaches Komaeda about the smaller things in life, and maybe they fall in love.

Read on Ao3

The classroom is empty, but for you and the inky black hands hiding in the shadows. Reaching out with long grasping fingers that pass right through your flesh like you aren't even there, voices whisper close to you, pressing their cold lips against your cheeks, your throat. Fingers trail down your spine and sink their nails into your vertebrae.

A set of hazel eyes turn to you. The form they reside in shifts and changes like dye poured into water, indiscernible but for those eyes. Their desk drips with blood like it is alive. You gasp for air, looking down at where your own hands are clasped around your throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as rivulets of blood spill out over your fingers, dying them a permanent red. You can't breathe. You can’t-

It’s with a jolt that you finally wake up from the familiar nightmare. A cold sweat slowly drips down the nape of your neck, catching the cool night breeze sneaking in through the open window. Your voice catches in your throat and you cup a hand over your mouth, sobbing loudly into your palm. This dream has been a constant companion since the tragedy, you’re lucky to get four hours of sleep most nights.

You squeeze your eyes shut and rub them with the heels of your palms trying to force the images lingering in the corners of your vision to dissipate. Your limbs are shaking, and you can feel your heart racing. There’s no way that you’ll be able to get back to sleep if you don’t manage to calm down. So you take a deep breath in through your nose and swing your shaky legs over the side of the bed. Your bare knees are covered with scrapes and bruises from accidents around the farm, or from kneeling on the hard ground for too long. Your calves are covered in bites from strange insects that live on the island, and a particularly nasty cut that you didn't want to bother Tsumiki about.

It hurts when you slap your hands against your cheeks, but it does manage to wake you up a little more, you can feel your legs swaying underneath you when you finally stand up. Knees wobbling, as your body prepares itself to run from something that isn't actually there. You push your hair back from your face and sigh as you head out the front door of your small cottage to stand on the porch. It’s just on the outskirts of the farm, overlooking some of the flowerbeds that you planted when you had some time to spare. Koizumi likes to come around and take photos of the honeybees sometimes, so it’s nice to know the flowers have been useful.

The cool ocean air blows through your hair and dances around your bare legs. You take a deep breath in through your nose and look up at the sky. The stars are beautiful on the island, much more beautiful than they even had been in the city. It isn't until you feel the wetness of tears rolling down your cheeks that you realise you’ve been crying.

“I didn't expect to see you this late.” A voice says, startling you, “I hope I didn't wake you.”

Komaeda is standing just beyond the flowerbeds, soft white hair blowing in the breeze. It looks even messier than usual like he has been tossing and turning for hours. The moonlight catches in his curls like dewdrops on a spider’s web.

“Oh, hello!” You say, hurriedly wiping away your tears with the back of your hand and replacing them with a smile, “I didn't expect to see you either. Are you doing okay?”

“Fine, thank you.” Komaeda says, his ghostly green eyes digging into the marrow of your bones, “How are you?”

You know that he caught you crying and yet, you still lie, “I’m doing great, thank you for asking!”

“Ah, then I guess you were just having trouble sleeping?”

It feels like he is interrogating you. Needling you. Nails are digging sharp into your palms as you watch him cross the flowerbeds to meet you on the porch. When he’s close enough, you notice the heavy bags under his eyes, and the slowed blinking of his tired eyes. You melt, all tension leaving your shoulders as you reach out towards his face. Quickly thinking better of it and letting your hand drop back to your side. You swallow.

“You look so tired.” You whisper, “Did something happen, Komaeda-san?”

He laughs, a wheezy little noise that makes his shoulders quiver, “You know what happened. I can tell you aren't sleeping either.”

“I am sleeping.” You say

“Ah, but not very well. Am I right?”

“No. Not very well.” you sigh, “but this isn't about me, I'm worried about you.”

“I haven't been sleeping at all.” His mouth curls into a sad imitation of a smile, lips only tugging up on one side like anything more than that would be painful, “Nightmares. Best to stay awake.”

You find yourself nodding. The last thing you want to do is burden Komaeda with your problems when he already has plenty of his own. So instead you manage to give him a small smile and gesture back into your cottage, “Do you want something to drink? I have tea.”

“Tea sounds good, thank you.”

He follows behind you as you head back in through the front door, ducking under the dried flowers you have hanging from the ceiling. The cottage is very small, and really not designed for entertaining, you surmised that it once must have housed the Jabberwock island groundskeeper, back when it was a tourist destination, “Take a seat and I’ll boil the kettle, it shouldn't be too long.”

Komaeda sits gingerly in one of the wooden chairs sitting by your small kitchen table, you can hear him gently rapping his fingers against the tabletop, “I’m sorry for intruding.” Komaeda says, laughing airily to himself as the tapping of his fingers grows faster, “I walk by here at night because I know I won't run into anyone.”

“Anyone except me.” You reply, grabbing two chipped teacups from a cabinet, “Sugar?”

“Ah, no. Thank you.” Komaeda clears his throat and leans forward on his elbows, “Allow me to clarify my previous statement though, please. I---ah, I meant that I wouldn't run into anyone I didn't want to see me.”

There’s a pleasant tingling in your fingertips when he says that, but you try to ignore it.

“Your being talentless, it…” he takes a long breath in through his nose, “It means I am able to discuss certain things with you that I would not feel…” His brow furrows like he is trying to think of the right word, and he eventually settles on, “ comfortable talking to the other ultimates about.”

You aren’t sure how to respond. Your heart is beating hard but slowly in your chest, an anticipation is building inside of you. The kettle finishes boiling, and suddenly the room feels deathly quiet, “Do you...want milk?”

“Yes, please.” Komaeda breathes

As you walk over to your very sparse fridge, you watch Komaeda from the corner of your eye, “I’m glad that you feel comfortable around me, but I don't understand why you can’t talk to your fellow ultimates about these things.” you grab the bottle of milk from the fridge and move it to the counter where you start preparing the tea, “I’m sure they would be glad to help, I mean, I know that Hinata-san is worried about you.”

He seems to grow smaller in his chair, sinking into himself, “I am…not ready.” You hum thoughtfully, placing the chipped teacup on the table in front of him before taking your own seat. The tea is still a little too hot and you burn your tongue, “It’s going to take time, it took time for the others as well.” “It isn’t just what happened in the Neo World Program.” He replies, a nervous twitchy smile appears on his lips, “Or even what happened in Towa City, there is something…aha…something sickly inside of me, something dark and--and--” His breath is coming faster now, but it doesn't frighten you. One of your hands reaches out and rests on top of his. It's like he comes to his senses, blinking quickly and tugging his hand away.

“I--I think I am…” his arms slowly curl around himself, and his eyes turn down to the ground, “I am using you...to work through some, ah... personal problems.

“Oh.” You reply, your heart turning to warm butter in your chest, “Well I--uh. I don’t mind being used…If it helps”

Komaeda laughs under his breath, “You… don’t mind?” he laughs some more, it makes his bony shoulders shake, “What is wrong with you?” You don’t know how to answer that, “I’m not sure.”

His hands are still shaking when he picks up his teacup, “I’ve been nothing but dismissive of you, what do you gain from this?” he whispers before raising the cup to his lips.

In the dim light of your kitchen, you can see the way his bony knuckles protrude from his skin, the sickly blue veins hiding just below the surface. His thin hand quivers as he takes a sip, but he moves with a practiced grace and elegance despite his weakness.

“I like seeing you happy.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen, peering at you from over the rim of his teacup, “You…like seeing me happy.” He repeats slowly like he is committing the words to memory.

Your heart races and you are terrified that you might have overstepped one of his delicate boundaries, “If I can help you find some joy in this world, then-” you swallow, hands clenching and unclenching under the table, “Well, that would mean I've done something wonderful.”

His teacup clinks when Komaeda places it back down, “What if I can’t? What if there’s no joy left for me?” You give him a wobbly smile, and ignore the beginnings of tears prickling in your eyes, “You won’t know if you don’t try!”

***

You are surprised when you see Komaeda walking towards the farm only a day after your last conversation. Usually, his visits are at least a week apart, but you are not at all disappointed to see him earlier. A new shipment from the foundation must have finally arrived because he is now wearing a shirt that actually fits him. It dips tantalizingly low at the collar, low enough that you catch the slice of both his collarbones.

“Good morning, Komaeda-san!” You call out to him, waving from where you are crouched by a garden bed.

He raises his hand in greeting, and comes to stand beside you, “what are you doing today?” He asks

You hum to yourself, watering some barely sprouting red cabbages, “Watering and then hanging some netting up around the fruits that are coming in.” You shoot Komaeda a sunny smile, “The blueberries are almost ready! Which is very exciting, but does mean we need to keep them safe from birds and fruit flies.”

Komaeda nods, “Necessitating the netting.”

“Bingo!” You stand up and wipe your dirty palms on your knees, “For now, do you want to grab the spare watering can? As always, I’d appreciate the help.”

He does as asked, he knows exactly where you keep the spare and is quick to help you start watering the vegetables. There’s something tense and shaky between the two of you, the conversation in your cottage was more personal than any other you’ve had, and to see him again so quickly leaves you feeling especially fragile.

His hair is tied up today, and you find yourself tantalized by the expanse of his bare neck for reasons you’d rather not acknowledge just yet. Solidifying these feelings might be the end for you, and knowing your track record, might drag him down with you. Komaeda needs someone to look after him, and if he isn't ready to let his friends do that for him, you’ll suffice for now. Not that you mind, you’re honored to have been given the chance.

“How much longer did you say you would be staying with us?” Komaeda asks suddenly, not looking up from the garden bed.

You’re surprised by the question, unsure why he would care to ask, “Probably just a month from now, maybe longer if Souda-san hasn’t gotten irrigation sorted by then.” You turn to look at him, and notice that he is still avoiding your eyes. You swallow, “Why?”

His eyes dart to meet yours, and then back down just as quickly, “Everyone is going to miss you.” You freeze, gripping tightly to the handle of your watering can. After a few deep breaths, you force a smile, “There’s no reason for them to miss me! Not when they’ll have you to look after the garden instead.” Komaeda stops watering, he stands up straight and his eyes are firm when he looks down at you, “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

You laugh, trying to ignore the aching, “What else could you possibly mean? Come on, I have to get the netting set up and it’s going to be tough without an extra set of hands.”

The awkward feeling gets worse. You head over to a nearby shed and pull out several feet of rolled up netting, Komaeda follows quietly behind you as you make your way over to the plot of fruits you have growing. The berry bushes and fruit trees had some time to grow on the mainland, so most of them are almost ready for their first harvest after just two months. You kneel down in front of the blueberries and smile as the small green growths that (given proper care) will be proper edible food very soon.

“The hard work has paid off, huh?” You say to Komaeda, “Thanks for all your help these past few weeks, it’s been nice to have company.”

Komaeda doesn't say anything in reply, he just gives you a look that you have trouble interpreting. His brows pull tight, and the curve of his mouth almost reads sad .

“It’s okay if you aren’t in the mood to help, today.” You suggest tentatively, “Just let me know, okay?”

Komaeda laughs breathily, “ I’m fine. I can help.”

“Alrighty, then.” You pull yourself up from the ground and pass Komaeda one end of the netting and some garden pegs, “Just pull that to the other side of the plot, over the top of the plants. The pegs just go into the dirt, it’s pretty loose so a firm push should be enough to get them in.”

Nodding quickly, Komaeda lifts the netting up and over the blueberries, settling into a crouch on the other side as he starts securing it. You do the same on your side, watching how his hair dances in the light breeze.

“I asked Mikan about her knitting.” Komaeda says, peering across at you, “Like you said I should.” You smile, warmth blooming in your chest, “Yes? How did that go?”

“You were right. She isn’t very good at it.” He replies, but is smiling as he does, “It’s getting better as she goes though, she’s managing a pretty straight line now. It ah-” he shrugs a shoulder, “It seems to make her happy.”

“Maybe you should pick up a hobby. I know there isn’t much to do around the island, but I’m sure you could find something.”

Komaeda smiles at you from across the blueberries, “I’ve already taken up gardening, that’s enough for now.”

Your cheeks warm, “I’m glad.”

The both of you settle into a comfortable silence for some time, and once you finish covering a collection of blueberry bushes you quickly move onto the next. Komaeda is a fast learner and takes half the netting from you as before without you needing to ask him to. You can’t help but think about that conversation the two of you had in the middle of the night.

“Can I ask you a question?” Komaeda begins, tilting his head to the side.

You smile, “I don’t see why not.”

“Why didn’t you just go to a normal school? The reserve course was incredibly costly and if I hadn't been scouted I would have been-” He sighs, “Never mind.” “No it’s okay. I won’t be upset, say what you want to.” Komaeda stares at you a moment, before a sickly little smile crawls up the side of his cheek, “I, aha, would have been too ashamed to even step foot on the grounds, why weren’t you?” “It wasn't my choice to make, Komaeda-san.” Your brow creases, and you sit cross legged on the ground when you finish securing the netting, “Things have changed a lot since then, but at the time I had parents who just wanted what they thought was best for me, no matter the cost. I think you’ll find most of the reserve course students were in the same boat, we were just kids, you know?”

He goes silent for some time, staring down at his hands and picking at the cuticles on his remaining flesh fingers. You know him well enough now that you just let him think it over, sitting quietly and waiting until he works out what he wants to say. The ocean breeze is calm today, but it still tosses around the leaves on the ground and tangles in Komaeda’s already unruly hair.

“Was it…a good education?” He asks quietly, “By regular standards, I mean.” “No.” You answer truthfully, “All the tuition fees from the reserve course went straight to the Ultimate division, we were underfunded and most of our teachers didn’t pay much attention to us.” You look down at your lap, worrying your lower lip, “They did experiments on us too sometimes, small ones, not invasive. Just to see how we would react in certain circumstances. I mean, you know what they did to Hinata-san, I think they were gathering data for that .”

Komaeda doesn't say anything in response, though at first it seems like he wants to. He doesn't look up at you, he pretends to busy himself with some of the pegs, but you know he finished pegging everything down a long time ago.

After a while, you take an uneasy breath and say, “I don’t think Hope’s Peak had our best interests at heart.” He scoffs under his breath, “Why would they? I couldn't expect them to waste their time on the talentless when there were more important educations to foster.” “No, Komaeda-san.” You say, gently, “You’ve misunderstood me.”

He peers up at you, something pained hides behind his eyes.

“I don't think they had anyone’s best interests at heart. Not even yours.”

***

It’s Koizumi who comes by next, as always she’s clutching tightly to a well worn polaroid camera. You haven’t heard much about it, but apparently the digital camera she favored had an almost full memory card when she awoke from the simulation and she was too scared to open it up and wipe it. So for now she’s making her way through the collection of dusty polaroid film cartridges in the Jabberwock Island gift shop.

You’re in the middle of weeding around some of the carrots when she comes up the path. She’s wearing a thin green sundress over a white t-shirt, the breeze kicks up her skirt and it dances around her ankles. Like you, she’s also sporting a wide brimmed hat to protect her face from the sun, she tilts the brim back and shoots you a warm smile.

“Hi Koizumi-san!” You say brightly, it’s been a bit since you’ve seen her, “What can I help you with?”

She laughs and shakes her head, “I don’t need help with anything, I’m just dropping by to check in on you.” She takes a quick look around the farm, “Everything seems to be growing nicely.” You nod, “We almost have some fruit, shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

“That’s good! You’ve done well.” Koizumi says, but her smile wavers when she adds, “Hey, I was just wondering…Why didn’t you come to the party last week?”

“Oh.” You reply, turning your attention back to the garden bed, “I was just tired, sorry.” Koizumi hums, fingering the shoulder strap of her camera, “We were all pretty upset that you couldn't make it. Some more than others.” she looks quite stern when you peer up at her, mouth pulled in a tight line, “You can come to the hotel, you know? You don’t have to stay up here by yourself.”

You shake your head, “Thanks for offering, but I have a lot of work to do. It’s easier for everyone if I stay here.” “Well, if you insist.” Koizumi says with a shrug, and you are glad that she’s dropped the subject, “We’re not going anywhere, if you change your mind.” There are a few stray weeds left amongst the carrots and you go back to pulling them out, too nervous to look Koizumi in the eye anymore, “I probably won't, but that’s very kind of you.” The wind is stronger today, and it knocks your hat straight off your head. You don’t mean to, but having to struggle to catch it before it blows away has a giggle bubbling up and out of your chest. Putting the hat back on your head, you turn to Koizumi to ask if she is alright, and are stunned by the flash of a camera.

You blink for a few seconds, and Koizumi chuckles good-naturedly, “Sorry, sorry. That was just the first real smile I’ve seen from you, my instincts kicked in.”

Another laugh escapes you, though this one is nervous and insincere, “I smile all the time, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugs, “When you take as many photos as I do, you get pretty good at picking out a genuine smile.” she gives you a look that borders on sad, “You are very good at faking it, though, I’ll give you that.”

***

The nightmares keep you awake once again. Desperate for fresh air and the quiet crashing of waves on the sand, you stumble to the back of your farm where the grass disappears and the beach begins. It isn’t as large as the beach by the hotel, only two meters or so of sand and gentle lapping saltwater, but it’s just you here, so two meters is all you need.

You kick off your sandals before sitting down in the sand, tucking your knees up to your chest and burying your face in them. You should tell Hinata someday, maybe right before you leave. It won’t help any, it won’t undo what’s already happened but keeping this secret buried deep and festering in your chest is killing you. Everyone is so nice to you, everyone is too nice to you. There is nothing of value that you can offer, nothing you can do, all you ever do is run and run and run and-

Someone is calling out your name, from the sound of it, they’re standing out the front of your cottage. You sniffle, and try your best to sound like you haven’t been crying when you call out, “Down here!”

It takes a few minutes, but you do eventually hear the sound of shoes crunching on the sand. Something cold taps against your shoulder, and you turn around to see Komaeda holding a can of Blue Ram out to you. He has at least five more in a plastic bag hanging from his other hand, “Do you want one?” He asks, “They help.” Trying to ignore how instantly your heart warms when you see him, you reach out to take the can from him, apologizing under your breath when you fingers brush against his, “Thanks, Komaeda-san,” You say quietly, gesturing to the space beside you, “Take a seat if you want.”

He does, wordlessly. His long legs cross beneath him, and you notice that he’s wearing a pair of loose cotton pants instead of his usual dark jeans. Reaching into the plastic bag, he pulls out a can of Blue Ram for himself and cracks it open, heaving a long sigh before he turns to you, “Are you sleeping?”

“I am.” You reply quietly, opening your own can with shaky hands.

Komaeda smiles, and repeats his assertion from nights before, “But not very well, am I right?”

“No.” You reply knowingly, “Not very well.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment, you sip gently at your Blue Ram, you haven’t had one before and it’s a bit too sickly sweet for your taste. Komaeda looks especially pretty in the ocean breeze with his low cut shirt and unruly hair, you sigh and close your eyes to keep from staring at him, “How are you, Komaeda-san?” He shrugs a shoulder, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Hope’s Peak Academy.” “Oh.” you reply, “I hope I didn't upset you.” “ You didn’t upset me.”

That’s good to hear. You know that Komaeda’s boundaries are firm, even if he isn’t willing to disclose where they lay. You are glad you haven’t crossed any.

He reclines backward a little, resting back on his elbows and peering up at the stars, “My luck it-” he frowns, like he isn't sure how to continue, “Well it isn't consistent, aha. I try to control it, the outcome of it, I mean, when it backfires.” You have enough sense not to interrupt, but you do spin slightly to better face him as he speaks. He looks beautiful in the moonlight.

“Even then I never really have full control, no matter what I do.” He gulps a desperate breath, his voice growing shaky, “They never… helped me.”

The salty air tosses and tangles in your hair, and your voice is high and weak in your throat when you whisper, “Who didn’t?”

He laughs breathlessly, “Hope’s Peak. I didn’t take much notice at the time, the fact they were even interested in a talent as worthless as mine was so exhilarating that I couldn’t think about anything else but-” he makes a choked sound and sits back up to he can wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, “They knew what my luck did to me, but never taught me how to control it. They had experts and researchers but they were all too busy watching us and studying us to actually help .”

You lean forward, hand shaking when you reach a hand out and rest it on his knee. For all you know about Komaeda, about his opinions of himself and his talent and his emotional state, it feels like you’re missing all the surface level information, the things he divulges on a first meeting. You swallow, “You don’t have to tell me, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to but-” his eyes meet yours and you are stunned briefly into silence, steadying yourself, you ask, “What does your luck do to you?”

Komaeda starts laughing, but it sounds almost painful and his shoulders tremble with the intensity of it. You fall backwards when he suddenly stands up and takes a few determined steps towards the water, he bends down and grabs a rock from the shoreline, giving you a pointed look before arcing his arm back and skipping the rock across the water once, twice, thirteen times and even more beyond that. He turns back to face you, arms crossed against his chest like he is waiting for something. Then, after what feels like a few agonizing minutes, the ocean rises, and a wave much larger than any you had seen at the small section of beach crashes directly into the back of him, soaking completely through his clothes.

It was only a taste of it, but you understand completely.

He seems surprised when you stand up, but you’re so desperately emotional that you aren’t thinking straight. It only takes a few monumental steps to reach him, and then you are standing on your toes and wrapping your arms tight around his shoulders and burying your face in his chest.

Komaeda makes a choked sound above you, and one of his hands eventually settles shakily on your waist, “I’m all wet.” He says shakily, “I’ll ruin your clothes.” You hold him tighter, “I don't care.”

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader

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do-not-lick-the-walls · 11 months ago

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a devil put aside | chapter one - when it all goes to hell

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif from this lovely set by wearecrowley)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: six thousand years after the war, you crash-land in hell's accounting department. someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader in later chapters, no use of y/n)

warnings: graphic depictions of injury, near-death experience, themes/ideas of death & dying, religious themes & trauma, strong language, vaguely sexual undertones to some of this lol

------

Your wings drag useless through the air as you plummet down, down, down like a falling star. All the eyes inside of you have gone dark; you're seeing only through your corporal ones, staring between your smoking feathers at the mass of sky that heaven dissapeared into. You're both weightless and heavy at once; the drop lifts behind your hips, pushes on your shoulders, tugs at your fractured wingbones. It's a long way down, and you're going down backwards.

As you fall, you realize that you've never really been afraid before. Not like this. You've never had the cause to be. Even back in the war, fear couldn't take you, for you had trust that She would shield you. And you were powerful, beautiful, six-winged and twelve-eyed in your true state of being, bright enough to blind, holy and free and clairvoyant.

And now you've lost it all.

This isn't anybody's fault but your own. Michael may have been the one to break your wings, and Gabriel may have thrown you over the edge, but it was you who lit this match and set yourself on fire. You and your pride.

As the sky goes dark and the air grows hot, there's nothing left to do but wait for impact.

It's not an easy landing.

You crash hard through what must be the roof of hell, then hit the ground a second after. You go tumbling, knocking into and through unidentified obstacles with enough momentum to push them over or send them flying. The unmistakable sound of scattering printer paper takes over as you bowl straight through what feels like a stack of it, before bouncing against something metal and being thrown off-course, only to hit something else and shoot off in another direction.

Eventually, you roll to a stop, banged-up and unable to tell right from left or wrong.

A sob chokes from your throat. Whether it's born of relief, or grief, or pain, you don't know. Your brain spins inside your head, and something---no, many somethings---are shouting, hissing, chattering. Wherever you've landed, you're not alone.

You lie wrecked in a pile of fiberglass, copy paper and sin, bathed in dingy florescent light and the remaining embers on your mangled wings. An oppressive green tint hangs over the world. Filing cabinets lay toppled like Babel, and the hole you smashed in the ceiling stares down in judgement.

With a struggle, you pull yourself into sitting up. Even through the blur, you can tell the room is trashed, and get the impression it was so even before you made an entrance. Paper stacks cover half the floor, water damage crawls along the walls, the air reeks of sulfur and oil and cigarettes. Despite never having eaten, you feel the urge to retch.

You tried to prepare yourself on the way down. You tried to come to an acceptance. But now that you're looking at what you'll become, every peace you've made with this situation goes up in flames.

You're surrounded. By uncanny, fucked-up mirrors of the ethereal, as if somebody cut out an angel and they crawled in to fill the empty space left behind. Animalistic traits wind through some of their bodies---horns, tails, claws. One hisses at you with a long, forked tongue, another bares several rows of jagged teeth. They're speaking, but whatever they're saying, you can't hear it over the ringing in your ears---when did your ears start ringing?---and the tangle of voices and growls and snarls all fighting to be the loudest.

Desperate for space, you scramble backwards, ignoring how a white-hot jolt goes shooting down your wings as they drag awkwardly across the concrete. The demons are starting to crowd around you fully now, melting from individuals into more of a living mass that edges you back while it closes in. Then you're up against the wall, and there's nowhere else to go. Something wet runs down your face. You can't breathe---since when do you even need to breathe?---and there's nowhere to go, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. This is how you die, and it is your fault. Your fault, your fault. You squeeze shut the eyes you have left, curl inward, and brace.

"STOOOOOOOOOP."

It stops.

Everything goes quiet. The room holds its breath as you let yours out. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged sighs, and your heart---you don't normally have a heart either, why do you have a heart?---thumping in your ears. After a few seconds, you risk looking. Everyone's turned in the direction of the voice.

"What is the meaning of all this noizzze?"

The demons shuffle, mumble, and avoid eye contact in an obvious attempt to dodge the speaker's wrath. In another world, it might've been funny. You suddenly remember yourself and a few other angels doing something very similar once, Before the Beginning, when Gabriel caught you playing with stars instead of working.

Then the sea parts, and leaves you before your rescuer. Your eyes land first upon their shoes, then scan upward over the rest of them. They're dressed better than the others: sharp lapels adorned with pins, ribbons at their throat, red sash hanging like a warning sign across their chest. Everything about them radiates command. Authority. They are unmistakably in charge.

You know who this is.

Half of you knows to shrink away. The other half wants to reach out and touch.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, and Grand Duke Below fixes their gaze upon you. There is nothing left to protect you. Not your wings, not your miracles, not your mind. On desperate instinct, you start to pray, then realize it's futile. God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could. You are alone in the belly of this whale.

"Oh."

Beelzebub moves in a manner unlike the other demons. Less hurried. Their gait is smooth, deliberate as they cross the space between you, free of any unpredictable motions and with an unsettling kind of calm. They crouch to your level in that same careful way, and your eyes meet theirs through the hair that's fallen over your face. A gentle buzz fills your ears.

"Well, what have we got here?" They muse, cocking their head to the side. "C'mon, love. Talk to me."

Their voice contains the same authority as before, but it's softened around the edges, taken on a tone that's not unkind.

This is a trap.

The crowd is starting to push in again. There's a curiosity about them, a hunger, like they can't wait to rip out your throat and see what's inside. You can practically feel their mouths watering.

Beelzebub registers this as well, and must not like it any more than you do, because they whip back over their shoulder, and shout "Everyone, back up! Yes, ALL of you lot! Go on, BACK."

This is met with obedience from the lesser demons, and, although the yelling makes you flinch, you're grateful for it. If you're to be torn to shreds by the Prince of Hell, at least you'll have some breathing room while it happens.

Beelzebub reaches out a hand, wrapped in a netted glove that ends before the knuckles. Up close, it's construction is almost like that of spiderwebs. Long fingers lead to nails unexpectedly well-kept, unlike your own bitten-down ones. And, odd enough, their skin looks soft. Then you realize that this is probably not the time to notice things about their hand, considering it's about to clamp around your neck and squeeze the life from you.

It doesn't.

No suddenly-appearing claws wrap around your throat. Or gouge out your remaining eyes, or dig into your throbbing wings. They don't rip you apart.

They brush the hair away from your face.

"Let me see you, sweet."

Beelzebub is gentle as they urge your chin up. Careful, touch almost like that of a doctor with a patient, or a lover with their beloved. The ghost of a buzzzzz presses into your skin where their fingers nest beneath your jaw.

You shiver.

As they take in your face, their expression shifts many times over, though you can't place the emotions, then settles into a soft frown. Their thumb drags along your cheekbone, wipes away the wetness beneath your eye. The taste of smoke sits heavy on your tongue.

"Be not afraid, angel."

They say it like they're making a decision.

"C'mon. I'll fix you up."

In that smooth, slow manner, they rise and offer their hands. Their upturned palms aren't a command, exactly, but they're something close to it. The voice in your head continues to shout that this is a trap as you slide your hands into theirs, but there's no other option, here. Not really.

They grip you tight around the wrists and pull. Your wings cry out in protest of the movement, stabbing, as you fall upward into their chest with a gasp. The world is swimmingspinninglooping, and now you're the one gripping tight to them while you stumble and blink like a newborn foal.

"Go on, hold on to me. There we go." They anchor you upright. Something hot and wet drips onto the back of your knee, and after a moment, you realize that it's all over your back, too. It's soaking into your clothes, and now that you're standing, dripping onto the floor. Smears of red around where you just sat---and the heart that's been put inside your chest---tell you exactly what it is.

Once you're stable enough, Beelzebub maneuvers your arm over their shoulders, and wraps one of theirs around your waist. Every accidental touch to a wing doubles the ache pounding through your broken bones, leaving behind a trail of whimpers and pained hisses that spill from your lips like prayers. Beneath your fingers, the fabric of their blazer is soft and thick, not so different to that of your own jacket; save for the color, and the way that yours is steadily growing wetter down the back.

After a deep, shaking breath and an attempt to swallow the taste of iron, you nod. They look back at the crowd of still-curious demons.

"What are you looking at? Back to work, all of you!"

The demons pretend to go back to work as Beelzebub helps you through the room. "Right. Stay close," they mumble, as if you weren't already wrapped to their side and relying on them to keep you from eating concrete. But still, you lean in a little further. There's strength there, you find, far more strength than their frame would suggest by it's lean build and delicate features. They're Prince of Hell, of course they're strong, your brain helpfully supplies. Are you an idiot?

Yes, say your wings, dragging lifeless behind you. Yes, you very much are.

Beelzebub keeps you on your feet as you stumble through the doorway and into the crowded throats of Hell.

Contact of any means is rare in heaven; being supported like this is already the closest you've been to another in centuries. Having to push through hell's living river of bodies is near enough to suffocate. Demons run hot, and soon, sweat begins to drip from you alongside the blood. You can't tell what's worse-- the shooting pain when the crowd jostles your wings, or the sheer discomfort from the heat and the stick and the smell. The loss of your inner eyes has left your vision at the mercy of lighting, like everyone else's. You weren't built to see in the dark, and the hallway lights are so dingy you're not sure they do anything at all. There are no windows here, just flickering overheads that buzz along with the flies.

So you focus on your feet. Partly to watch your step, partly because you can't take the way the demons keep leering at you. The laces of your oxfords have come untied and one of your spats is missing, probably lost in the fall, while the other one's twisted strangely around your ankle and coming undone. Beneath the green overhang, your pretty, cream stockings look diseased. Your heels less click than clomp as you stumble endlessly forward.

"Hold your head up," Beelzebub's voice slips into your ear, barely more than a whisper. "They can smell fear. Don't give it to them."

You don't know why, but you obey. Maybe there's comfort in a task, or maybe you're longing for approval. Maybe, deep down, you've got something to prove. Whyever you do it, you wipe your eyes, pick up your head, and stare back at those who stare upon you.

For the first time in six thousand years, you glare.

"Good," Beelzebub praises, in a way that makes something pleasant roll down your back. "Very good, angel."

They don't seem to mind the weight you've pushed onto them; you're hanging off their shoulders like they're the edge of the world. And, at this point, they might as well be. Your dead wings are getting heavier with each step, your throat's gone raw from heavy breaths, your newly-beating heart's still going wild. Every inhale has got you sucking down the cigarette smoke---or probably something worse---that lingers in the air. Every exhale trembles. Waves start taking over, make you dizzy on your feet. You're coming up on the end of your rope.

"Just a little further, next door on the left. Almost there."

You clench your teeth. Dontgiveittothemdontgiveittothemdontgiveittothem.

"Josh, get that door for me---out of the way, idiots!" Beelzebub pushes past a small crowd, positioning so as to keep you shielded from any more touch. Up ahead, somebody ('Josh'?) swings open a panel in the wall. They all but carry you the last few paces---you're falling apart at the seams, white-knuckling their shoulder as they help you duck through the doorway.

"If any of you so much as think about coming in, you'll be spending the next century without a tongue."

The door slams closed, leaves you in the pitch-black.

You slip from Beelzebub's grip.

And you're back where you started. Crumpled to the floor, dripping in your own sin. Snapped in half and deserving of it. You bury your face in your hands. It's all too much--- the falling, the crowds, the pain, it's so much. You don't have enough space in your head for it, you're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. The tears are spilling hard now, pooling on your face then running between your fingers. Your trembling breaths match time with the throbbing in your bones.

God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could.

"I know, angel," Beelzebub's voice rings soft beside you. Something brushes against your head, begins to card through your hair, and, after a moment, you realize it's them. The Prince of Hell is sitting next to you in the darkness, running their fingers through your hair.

And you let them. You let them whisper nothings while you cry, you let them push their hand through your hair, because it feels good. Because it feels good, and you're dying, and you can't make yourself shove them away like you should. You don't have it in you.

"Let there be light," they whisper.

The room takes on a gentler shade of black-tinged-green, just enough to allow sight. For you, at least. You have a feeling they could already see you through the dark.

"Alright, I'm gonna fix you up now, and I'm gonna be honest, it won't feel great. Hey, look at me," a hand wraps around your cheek, guides you face-to-face. They don't look very much like the Lord of Hell right now, you think, with their soft eyes and long lashes, and their thumb brushing away your tears. Their slow, calculated mannerisms are dropping into something less regulated, though still careful.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me, angel. I know that's a hard ask, if I were you right now, I sure as heaven wouldn't trust myself. But if you go thrashing about when I start, it's gonna make things a lot harder for both of us. I need you to trust me here, and stay still. Can you do that?"

You manage a nod.

"Good, now lie down for me."

It's entirely irrational. Borderline suicidal, this situation; to let yourself be locked in the dark with Hell's Prince, to freely bare your wounds to them. But it's not like you've got anything left to lose. You're dying as it is.

As they help lie you down on your stomach, half of your heart is able to trust them. And right now, in the dim, in the warm, on the concrete, half is enough.

"This is going to hurt, angel, so brace yourself. Alright, three, two, one..."

Their hand presses into your back, and you cry out as the dull, shining throb of brokenness contorts into something alive. You forget your one job. The instinct to struggle, to writhe against the ungodly sensation takes over your body. Beneath your skin, your wingbones are realigning and sewing themselves back together, sliding through limp, wet muscle and burned flesh to get to their places. You push into the ground, bite down on nothing, make desperate, useless movements with no object as you succumb to throes of agonized frenzy.

"Fuck, angel, stay still--"

You're pinned down by another hand on the small of your back, jerking you partly out of your craze. You gasp, whimper, dig your nails into your palms, will yourself to staystillstaystillstaystill while your bones snap into place. Your chest heaves against the ground.

Slowly, slowly, it ends. Relief takes over. Beelzebub lets you go with a sigh, and you echo it. Your wings are bloody and sore, but you can move them again, the cuts are closed, and you're finally in enough control to put them away.

You are exhausted. You are alive.

You breathe.

Whether angels can actually die, at least, by means other than hellfire, nobody's ever told you. You've never really thought about it before, and you sure as hell don't know now. To just have come so close, to be so certain that you're not going to make it, and then to be forcibly put back together and come out living... it's not the kind of thing that gives you any answers.

Beelzebub flops to the ground beside you, panting, and you're struck with the fact of what they've done for you. Somebody meant to be nothing but evil given form, and yet, they're the one who pulled you from the rubble. Who dragged you somewhere safe, who just held you down and mended your wings. Who saved you, their hereditary enemy of six thousand years.

"...Why?"

They don't answer.

You're not sure what happens now. Maybe you've fallen into a trap after all. You don't really want to find out, but you suppose you'll have to. And soon. But, until then, you're content to lie here on the floor.

A heaviness flutters over you, and sleep comes for the first time.

#good omens fanfiction #beelzebub x reader #good omens #good omens beelzebub x reader #x reader #beelzebub good omens #good omens demons #beelzebub #beelzebub/reader #fic #im proud of this ngl #good omens x reader

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

�� Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion.

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode.

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone.

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway?

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him.

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…”

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer.

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him.

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel.

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.”

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom!

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized.

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure.

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep.

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors.

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep.

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them.

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night.

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home.

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards.

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal.

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end.

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side.

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own.

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes.

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned.

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying.

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception.

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him.

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.��

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution.

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors.

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose.

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back.

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope.

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light.

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true.

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass.

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life.

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort.

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought.

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout.

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you.

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed.

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged.

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface.

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair.

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs.

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls.

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips.

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes.

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love.

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more.

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again.

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand.

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. ��Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point.

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger.

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed.

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade.

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace.

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword.

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over.

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two.

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body.

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you.

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love.

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing.

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.”

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest.

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step.

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him.

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him.

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you.

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight.

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan.

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs.

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.”

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations.

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them.

“You’ll die first,” he said.

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame.

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch.

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again. “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him.

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench.

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead.

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free.

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck.

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands.

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye.

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again.

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards.

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate.

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground.

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare.

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare.

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did.

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight.

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage.

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way.

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen.

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder.

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade.

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh.

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach.

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps.

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand.

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had.

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too.

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear.

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles.

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do?

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart.

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all.

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger.

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword.

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air.

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

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alaydabug2 · 2 months ago

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Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter Eighty-five

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way

Sophie leaned her head onto Keefe's shoulder. They were at the drive-in theater. She had another piece of popcorn. By the end of the film, both of them were in tears. The dog had died.

After they collected themselves, Sophie checked to make sure her mascara wasn't running. They were heading to dinner afterward.

Arriving at the restaurant, they were taken to their reservated table. They were sitting near an old couple. The old couple kept giving them soft looks and crinkly smiles.

Keefe leaned a little closer to her. He kissed her on the lips, pulling her close. When they separated, she rested her head against him.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too." Sophie wrapped her arms around him.

When their food came, they separated to eat. Still, she could still see him giving her fond looks. He... almost looked nervous.

"Something wrong?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Want dessert?"

"Splurging tonight, eh?" She laughed. "Yes, I would."

They finished off the last of their food before leaving. Instead of heading back to campus, Keefe drove them to the park. The sun was starting to set over the horizon.

They walked out by the pond, skipping stones. Sophie laughed when one of the stones plunked down so fast that it ended up splashing the both of them.

Keefe wrapped his arms around her waste from behind. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck, causing her to giggle. He swayed them back and forth.

Once done by the lake, he took her by the hand and led her under a cherry blossom tree. Sophie allowed him to tilt her chin up and lean in close. She ran her hands through his hair as the kiss deepened. She felt the smile on his lips against hers. One hand traveled down the small of her back.

He pulled away. "Sophie," he started. "I love you. So much."

She giggled. "I love you too, Keefe."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, I've known you almost my entire life. I've had a crush on you since sixth grade. You got me through the worst parts of my life. I want to be with you forever. I never want to leave your side. So, if you'd have me..."

Sophie gasped. Keefe knelt down on one knee. He pulled a box out from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a beautiful ring with a shiny stone on it. He held out the box as an offering, taking her hand with his other.

"Sophie Elizabeth Foster," the wait felt like an eternity for him to say the words, "May I have the honor of calling you my wife? Will you marry me?"

Sophie felt something of a mixture of a gasp and a sob crawl up her throat. It sounded like a dying animal.

She finally managed to get out the word, "Yes!"

She broke down into joyous tears. Keefe slipped the ring onto her finger. He got up off the ground and kissed her again. He rested his forehead on hers. She could see the tears in his eyes. She buried her nose in her neck, letting him sway them under the tree.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc sophie foster #kotlc keefe sencen #sokeefe #fanfic #Broken heart/Broken mind #Spotify

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shewhowas39 · 6 months ago

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chapter 11 sneak peek!

hellooo. after a small break to write some smut, i'm back to writing Juniper & Starlight. chapter 11 will hopefully be up tomorrow or Monday. but here. have a sneak peek!

cw: violent vampire bite, death, blood

***

“June - watch out!”

Is that Astarion?

June opens her eyes to afternoon sunlight and a man in heavy armor - greatsword poised to swing - charging through an open door, straight toward her. Before she has a chance to react or even remember where she is or what she’s meant to be doing, a figure appears - quick as lightning - behind the armored man and plunges a knife between the gaps in the metal plates.

The man yelps and stumbles, but before he can fall face first into June, Astarion’s arm wraps around his head, hand covering the man’s mouth and yanking his head to the side to expose his neck.

“Lunch time,” the vampire growls, baring his fangs. Then he sinks them into the thrashing man’s flesh.

June watches with fascination as her would-be attacker squirms and tries to scream against Astarion’s gloved hand. His skin turns pale. His eyes go wide with terror. The sword falls from his hands as the reach up to try and push Astarion away.

The memory comes back to June then. This is one of Zariel’s minions. One of the people claiming to be a paladin of Tyr. She is meant to be inside the toll house with her companions, helping to take them out so that they will no longer be able to Karlach.

She really ought to go inside and join the fight.

But she’s frozen in place, mesmerized by the sight of Astarion draining this man’s blood with big, forceful gulps.

Of course, there’s the dark part of her that is excited by this man’s death, moved by the sweet song of his muffled, fearful sobs and the beauty of the life leaving his bulging eyes. But that terrible wickedness in her is overshadowed by something else. Something stranger.

She flashes back to last night, to Astarion’s fangs in her neck, and her blood in his throat. He had been more gentle with her. Even when he’d been swept away in the moment, he’d taken his time. He’d drink from her - touched her - almost reverently. Savoring her.

And yet she can’t help feeling jealous of this dying man. Jealous that he gets to feel the intoxicating sensation of Astarion’s bite. Jealous that, in his final seconds, he gets to be held.

Astarion rips his fangs from the man’s neck and the false paladin’s drained, lifeless body falls to the ground with a heavy, metallic thud. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood that had dribbled down his chin. Then his red eyes meet June’s, and she feels herself shiver.

“Darling, can you try not to have one of your little episodes in the middle of a fight?” he says.

#durgestarion #astarion fic #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x oc #astarion x durge #astarion x the dark urge #astarion bg3 #astarion x female oc #juniper & starlight

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damn-stark · 2 years ago

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Final chapter Home

Chapter 18 of Sandstorm

A/N- It’s the end 🥹

Warning- Fluff, angst, swearing and talks of death and there’s changes that depart from the show!

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*15 YEARS AGO*

Again someone else you love is fading from your life. Once again fate is snatching something from you.

How cruel is life.

“I’ll say I forgive you,” you mutter to Daenerys and pull back to meet her watery gaze. “If you forgive me. I let my vengeance blind me. I turned against you after we swore we’d be better.” You sniffle and swallow thickly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The corner of her lips turn to a smile and she reaches over to take your hand in hers. “I forgive you.,” she says. “I love you. All my life I spent looking for a home and when I met you I found it.”

You cry softly but manage a soft smile. “And I forgive you,” you assure her of what was weighing her down. “I don’t want you to go. Please….I’ve lost too much. Please.”

Tears stream down her pale cheeks and her thumb caresses your hand. “I’m afraid I’ve lost this fight…but I won’t be gone forever, I’ll wait for you and Daeron….” Her breaths become more shallowed and her eyes begin to droop. “At that house by the sea. Do you remember? The one you told me about.”

You nod vigorously and scoot closer to lay beside her.

“Can you describe it to me again,” she whispers. “Our vacation home. Our dream.”

“Yeah,” your voice breaks. “We’ll have a house in Sunspear, by the ocean with waters that gleam like shining turquoise diamonds...we’ll have so much space so that dragons can rest and burrow themselves in the sand.” You giggle softly. “We’ll plant lemon trees for shade and so we can pick the lemons for some refreshing juice. So while the kids play out in the water we can watch under the trees with drinks in our hands.”

Daenerys' eyes begin to slowly close, but her lips maintain that strained smile.

“And when the kids tire out we’ll put them to bed,” you add softly whilst you try hard not to break into a sob. “And then we can go outside and watch the stars that litter the dark sky together. Because the nights in Dorne are the most beautiful in the world. How does that sound?”

She doesn’t answer this time, she doesn’t flash you a beaming grin. She doesn’t breathe anymore, only cries fill the room as Daeron knows too that his mother is gone too.

You pick him up and begin to bounce him softly, you avoid sobbing in front of him and instead assure him just as you do with Rhaenyra and Robb. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay, I got you. I got you.”

The baby begins to calm down and his green eyes meet your gaze with curiosity. You grin and nod.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” you continue to coo at him. “We’re going home with Jon, and your new siblings.”

Everything passed like a blur after this moment. All that stuck with you vividly was Drogon taking Daenerys body with him to who knows where. Out of grief of his own?

You don’t know, he just took her and you watched with tears streaming down your cheeks. You watched until you couldn’t see him anymore and then left back home. Back to Jon and the twins.

And there he was waiting for you as if waiting for the result of your departure for revenge. He was the first person you saw when your feet hit the ground, and he didn’t fail to meet you halfway with a curious gaze targeted at the small bundle safely strapped to your chest.

Albeit before he could ask anything, at the mere sight of him you break. “I couldn’t save her. I was too late, she’s gone…Jon…I couldn’t…”

Jon shakes his head and grabs the back of your head to lean it against his and assure you. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“But I didn’t do it,” you ramble. “You have to believe me, I didn’t kill her, she was…she was dying when I got there and I couldn’t…I was too late—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I believe you.” He pulls back now and glances down at Daeron in deep sleep after the flight here. “Who’s this?”

You glance down at Daeron and tug on a shaky smile. “Jon,” you whisper and then meet Jon’s gaze completely enamored. “Meet our son…Daeron.”

——

*NOW. KING’S LANDING*

“Let’s say grace,” Jon directs at the kids gathered around the table before you join hands.

You take Rhaenyra’s hand and offer her a gentle smile before she ducks her head and listens to the words her father says, whilst you look around the table at each one of your kids; noticing that Edria and Oraena don’t want to hold hands because of some petty argument they had again. Ryuu holds Aemon’s hand, and Robb doesn’t hold anyone’s hand, the chair at his left side is empty.

You had noticed that Daeron was missing for dinner before but you just thought he was running late. Ever since he bonded with Helios all he’s wanted to do is be with him, so you thought maybe he lost track of time when he was with his dragon. However, he still has yet to join dinner and he never does without an excuse.

Which is why when everyone is seated and begins eating you address the group of kids. “Where’s Daeron? Has anyone seen him?” You glance at every single one of your children, the youngest girls shrug and Ryuu looks just as curious as you are.

“Jon,” you direct at him with a puzzled gaze. “Have you seen him?”

With his mouth full of food Jon shakes his head, so you glance at the twins and notice that they both avert their gaze. Perhaps if you had followed the advice of court and had servants raise them then you wouldn't know how to read them, but you did raise them so you know that when they both avoid eye contact and pretend to be busy that something is wrong. So that clueless curiosity fades and eagerness to know takes its place.

“Rhaenyra,” you press and pick up a piece of food from your plate. “Where’s Daeron? He is your betrothed, you must know.” You drift your gaze to her and shoot her a pointed glare.

Rhaenyra meets your gaze and then steals a glance at Jon before she sighs and looks at her food with a frown and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You exhale slowly and snap your gaze to Robb. “Robb,” you deadpan and don’t ask anything since he knows what you want to know.

But all he does is shrug and get back to eating without a care.

“Oraena,” Jon pulls her in the conversation knowing she was easy to crack when he asked. “Where’s Daeron?”

“I don’t know daddy,” the girl answers, causing you to pull your pointed glare from Robb to look at her—“Edria, Ryuu and I had lessons today. Which by the way, Edria copied off my work!”

“Tattletale!” Edria snaps and jerks her body to the side, causing Oraena to bend down and grab at something beneath the table.

“Ow! That hurt! Mother!”

You sigh and look at Edria, the girl who is quite literally a female version of Jon. “Edria, my sweetling please. Leave your sister alone. Now go sit in the empty seat next to Aemon.”

“But,“ she argues. “Mother.”

You narrow your gaze on her and she fails to continue arguing and moves with her all things. So now you continue, and since Ryuu wouldn’t know of Daeron’s whereabouts, you turn to Aemon, the youngest child and the who should’ve been your first option.

“Aemon,” you talk softly, gaining his attention from his plate. “Do you know where your brother is? Will you tell me and your father please.” You offer him a pleading smile.

Aemon stares at Jon and you for a moment with his eyes wide before he nervously glances at Robb and swallows thickly.

You should’ve known Robb had something to do with this, he walked into the hall quiet and with his head low. He was too suspicious from the start but you just didn’t clock it.

“Do you know?” You press Aemon.

And just as you wanted, Aemon meets your gaze and begins to sign with his hands the answer. “Robb and Daeron got into an argument again,” he signs dramatically. “Robb said that Daeron was a bastard and that his mother was just…” He pauses and glances between Jon and you. “Can I swear?”

You glance at Jon to press him and check if it’s okay speechlessly, and considering the moment, he lets Aemon swear.

“Robb called his mother a whore and a usurper and a Kinslayer! He said that no one loved him and that…” he pauses and blinks repeatedly as he frowns. “He said that Daenerys killed Rhaenar…is that true?”

Your eyes widen whilst a shocked breath catches in your throat.

The truth is something you haven’t shielded away when it comes to your children, nothing good comes out of hiding stuff from them, but this? What Daenerys did to Rhaenar?

That’s been purposely kept out of the mouths of the people from King's Landing, no one in your proximity could say a thing about that to you nor the kids. You were going to tell them one day, when you were ready. You haven’t even told Rhaenyra, your heir so she wouldn’t have to be burdened with a secret she had to keep from her twin and the rest of her siblings.

You didn’t want Daeron to be treated differently because of his mothers sins. But now Robb knows somehow. Now they all know.

“Who told you, Robb?” Jon interrogates Robb since you’re too taken back. “Tell me now.”

Said boy scoffs. “It’s not hard to know,” he rebuttals. “Ask anyone and they’ll say it.”

“But that wasn’t your truth to tell!” You exclaim with angry tears clouding your eyes.

The kids all get startled and stiffen, Robb most of all.

“Daeron had no fault in any of it, I don’t care how mad you are about Helios, that is not something you should have told him. You come to me, or your father. Do you have any idea how that made him feel?” You press angirly.

Robb averts his gaze and clenches his mouth. He stays quiet and doesn’t move.

“Robb,” you call out loudly. “I’m talking to you.”

“No,” Robb grumbles.

You shake your head. “No, you don’t. Now tell me who told you?”

Robb exhales and mutters, “a woman. From the street of silk.”

You blink slowly and nod softly in comprehension.

So it’s that easy huh?

You exhale and duck your head to try and calm down. Jon sees your struggle and reaches over to take your hand in his. When you feel his comforting touch you share a sad look before you face the kids who all silently watched.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I’m sorry for keeping that from all of you, I just…” you pause and feel your throat close up as your agony still hurts as much as the day you found out about Rhaenar’s death. “I’ll—”

“It’s okay,” Jon cuts you off softly as he guesses your new intentions. “I’ll talk to them.”

You meet his gaze and nod. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Now Robb do you know where Daeron went?”

Robb watches your cloudy eyes and loses his annoyance and expresses guilt in those dark eyes. “No,” he says. “He mounted Helios and left.”

You let go of Jon's hand and push yourself off your seat. “Okay,” you sigh. “I think I know…I’m going to talk to him, finish eating, all of you.”

Without anything else to add you give Jon a small kiss before you begin to walk out of the room with knights trailing behind you. Albeit before you can walk out of the doors, Robb catches up to you, making you stop in your tracks.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately shares. “Forgive me mother. I did not mean to upset you.”

You grab his arm and caress it gently. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I'm sorry I yelled at you. I just hope now you find it in your heart to forgive Daeron. He’s your brother, he didn't bond with the dragon to spite you, Robb. I talked to you already about that, so please reflect on it. We…” you pause and glance at your family eating around the table and sigh shakily.

“We’re not eternal Robb,” you share with him reflecting on your own grieving past. “Life is a fleeting moment, it’s too short to hold grudges over one’s siblings.”

Robb looks at you with disbelief, expecting to get grounded and in deeper trouble, but you just offer him a gentle smile before you wrap him in an embrace. You hug him tightly as if you were scared he’d disappear, because you are.

Everyday the fear that one of the kids would get stolen from you lurks in the back of your head. Life left you too traumatized by loss to not fear death. That’s why you hug Robb with all your might, it catches him by complete surprise but he does hug you back. When you pull away you offer Robb one last smile before you head to Eraxis already waiting for you outside the castle gates.

Robb said Daeron flew away on Helios, so there’s only one place he could’ve gone that wasn’t within these castle walls. The home where he was with his mother for the first and last time.

You’ve only been there once after Daenerys passed, you missed her, you were stressed from ruling over Seven Kingdoms, taking care of kids, so you went to the last place you were with her and sat under a lemon tree to watch the sand blow in the distance.

It helped, you did feel better afterwards.

What about this time around though?

When you arrive at the isolated house Helios greets Eraxis, his mother with a soft growl.

“<You’ve grown,>” you tell the orange dragon with a faint smile. “<I’m glad to see you here.>” Since he isn’t a hatchling anymore you avoid petting him and instead head inside.

Hopefully, Daeron is in the room with the red door, you’d search the entire house for him, but with this stupid leg hurting let’s hope he’s in the room you’re heading to first.

And once you reach the chambers with the red door, you notice it’s partially open so you slowly push it open wider and step inside cautiously. “Daeron?” You call out and see that most of the furniture that was here before had been taken, and the once tighty room is left scrambled.

“Father said this where you found me,” Daeron makes himself known from deeper inside the room. “Or should I say Prince Jon.”

You follow his voice, and quickly come to find him standing over an empty cradle. When he sees you approaching he lifts his head and meets your gaze with cloudy eyes.

You don’t know what to tell him, “I’m sorry”, or just share the truth, so you just stop under the archway and watch him with a pitiful look.

“Daeron,” you mutter and clasps your hands in front of you. “Jon is still your father. Nothing is going to change that.”

Daeron averts his gaze and sniffles. “Why—” he soon cuts himself off and drops his head, letting brown strands of hair fall over his face.

“Oh,” you sigh softly and broken heartedly. “My sweet boy. I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I was going to tell you, just…not yet.” You break away from where you are and walk to his side, you try to grab his arm but he moves away and slowly faces you with tears rolling down his defined cheeks.

“How can you be that way with me?” He asks and his face twists deeper with sorrow. “My mother…she killed your son. She…took him away, she ripped away any hopes for peace. So why?” His voice shakes. “Why me?”

You hold his gaze and swallow thickly, you want to cry just at the sight of his tears, but you hold back and instead stroke the cradle. “Well,” you begin to tell him. “I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t nice, you know?”

Daeron scoffs. “I can’t believe it,” he rebuttals, making you smile at him.

You nod. “It’s true. I lost myself in my revenge. I let my vengeance cloud my judgment, something I was warned about. I would have let the world burn, everything and everyone in it to find a form of justice for what happened…I,” you pause and exhale deeply whilst you lean against the cradle as you find your words hard to say. “I wanted to kill an innocent baby. A son for a son. I came here the moment I heard your mother gave birth.” You pause and glance at Daeron, catching his green eyes are still intently on you.

“But what?” He asks. “Why didn’t you do it?”

You watch the cradle and remember that day vividly. You remember lifting the dagger, but not being able to do it. Every bit of that day has stuck with you for fifteen years.

“I was close,” you admit, “but then it hit me. That baby I saw in that cradle, that innocent baby boy….you,” you whisper and meet his gaze. “I knew you far before I even met you.”

Daeron’s eyebrows furrow in confusion to your words.

“You see,” you continue and stand up straight to grab his hand. “For months I had this same dream. Two cradles in the throne room. I never could find a meaning to it, I painted the dream, talked about it, but every single time I came out clueless….that is until I saw you.” You offer him a smile and add on. “I saw the sigil on your cradle, I met your green eyes and I knew you were my fate. I was never meant to kill you, I was meant to be someone who loves you. Unconditionally. That’s why it’s you, because you were always meant to be mine. My child.”

You cup Daeron’s cheek and gently caress it with your thumb. Daeron offers you a gentle smile but it quickly flickers away and that same sorrow is still there.

“All because of a dream?” He says softly.

You sigh and respond. “And because I promised your mother. Because no matter what happened between her and me, I still loved her deeply. And she loved you, with all her heart. Who would I be if I left you? Who would I be if I hated an innocent boy? I did it because I wanted to. Because I love you and she loved you.”

Tears continue to slip out of his eyes, but he manages a small smile that melts your heart.

“Nothing is your fault,” you assure him and cradle his face. “None of it. Robb was just mad, and people will just talk. I’m sorry it took me a long time to tell you.”

Daeron shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he comforts your concern. “I understand.”

You grin. “Thank you. You are just as sweet as she was. You know?”

“Really?” He probes.

You nod. “Yes….now,” you sigh. “I didn’t know your mother long, but…your father, your real father did, Daario Nahris. He loved your mother, he knew her longer than I did. I’m sure he has stories to tell.”

“He left me,” he deadpans. “Why would I want to talk to him? I’m fine, really.”

You don’t fight him and instead nod in comprehension. “Okay, but still, your father nor I will be hurt if you want to know Daario okay? Just ask your uncle Bran where he is if you’re ever curious.”

Daeron nods in agreement, letting you drop the subject and pull away with an excited grin.

“Now! My boy, you have a dragon,” you say eagerly. “Why don’t we see what kind of a flier you are.”

Daeron smirks. “Oh, you’re on, mother. All the way home?” He suggests.

You nod smugly. “All the way home,” you agree.

——

*A FEW DAYS LATER*

“Ease your grip,” you advice Oraena as you tap her hand with your wooden sword. “And go.”

You swing your sparring weapon, but just as it clashes with hers the weapon falls from her hands, letting you then point the tip to her throat.

Ryuu snickers at his sister's failure, but Jon quickly shuts him up, knowing how Oraena reacts.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I don’t like sparring, mother. It’s too hard!”

You lower your hand and step back. “Okay,” you say. “That’s okay, but I would like you to learn some basic self defense.”

Oraena swipes her wooden sword from the ground and scoffs. “I have a dragon. He can protect me.”

“Expect your dragon can’t be everywhere,” Jon interjects and begins to walk to your side. “He can get hurt, leaving you vulnerable. When he gets bigger he won’t be able to be inside, leaving you vulnerable. Self defense is for your own good, O.”

Oraena sighs deeply and nods slowly. “Fine,” she grumbles, “but I’ll only continue learning if I get to have Long Claw.”

“No,” Ryuu cuts in and barges forward. “I get to have it.”

You and Jon share an amused look before he rebuttals looking surprised. “Excuse me but who said I was giving it away? And O, you said you don’t want to be a fighter.”

Oraena smirks and shrugs. “Well if I have it maybe I will learn.”

“It goes to me,” Ryuu insists. “Father said.”

You roll your eyes lightheartedly and quip. “Well your father is not dead yet, nor is he giving his sword away at the very moment so neither of you are getting it. Come on now,” you pat both of their backs. “Let’s continue. Ryuu you against me.”

However, just as you get ready, Robb joins the training yard without any training weapons. He looks at Jon and you and sighs with this specific look painted on his face, a look that his father would do a lot before when you were at war. Somethings wrong.

“Mother, father,” Robb interjects after he clears his throat. “May I talk to the both of you? In private.”

You untense from your stance and share a worried look with Jon before you look at the master-at-arms. “May you continue with their training.”

The master-at-arms nods and steps forward as you step out. As you put your stuff back on the racks Robb and Jon wait for you to catch up by the stairs.

“Is everything all right?” You ask Robb after not having the patience to wait to get inside.

Said boy briefly meets your gaze and nods stiffly. “Yes, yes it is. I just need to let you know something, that’s all.”

Did he get someone pregnant?

You don’t ask that, however, you don’t want to get him upset so you wait until you’re inside a parlor room to press him. “What is it?”

Jon helps you sit down as you both keep your eyes on your eldest son.

“Uh,” Robb begins to say and begins to pace. “It’s nothing bad I swear…I’ve just…lately I think I’ve grown restless.”

Jon hums in comprehension and moves around you to stand behind you.

“I’ve been so hell bent on bonding with a dragon,” Robb continues and drops his head. “I made it my life, but now that this happened I don’t know what to do with my life. I’m stuck. And I either can stay here, watch my life pass before my eyes, grow angrier, or be a bigger disappointment, or I can carve my own path, learn, fail.”

You shake your head. “You’re not a disappointment Robb. You’re just growing,” you assure him.

Robb meets your gaze and offers you a soft smile before he exhales and turns serious again. “Regardless…I,” he pauses and looks at you with pity. “I’m going beyond the wall…with uncle Tormund.”

You gasp in surprise and stiffen.

“I’ve sent ravens and he said he’ll gladly take me. He wants to take me on an adventure to go explore the White waste, fight creatures that lurk in the shadows,” he smiles. “Maybe see an Ice Dragon.” He chuckles.

“But,” you mutter shakily as you try to bring up any excuse so he won’t leave. “You hate the snow.”

Robb sighs and shrugs. “I’ll learn to live with it. Mother, I can't be by your side forever. Rhaenyra will be Queen, Daeron will sit by her side and be Prince consort. Ryuu will be a knight soon enough, the girls will be wed, and Aemon will be too when they’re of age. I want this, I mean father has gone beyond the wall, all I hear are great stories about you, father. I want to make my own too, just like you.” Robb reaches you and crouches down to take your hands in his.

“Mummy,” he says sweetly. “I’ll be okay,” he tries to comfort your fear. “I’ll come back. In a few years.”

“A few years?” You gasp. “Robb.”

“Y/N,” Jon interjects and walks around you again to be in front of you. “My love, Robb is right. He can’t be by our side forever. He needs to go make his own experiences, as we have. Besides he won’t be alone, Tormund will be with him.”

“Oh and Jon,” Robb adds, referring to Sam’s son. “He’ll go too.”

“See,” Jon insists. “He will be fine.”

You look into Jon’s eyes and find your comfort, but your heart still hurts knowing Robb is leaving.

“Besides,” Robb says with a smirk. “I like to think I’m a great fighter, thanks to you and father.”

You laugh softly and lean over to cradle his face. “Oh my boy. It aches knowing you want to leave…but you’re right…just let us take you to Tormund then? Just so I can be assured.”

Robb chuckles and nods. “All right. That’s fine.” He proceeds to press a kiss on your cheek before he lets you go and stands to his given height. “Thank you for understanding.” He offers you a soft smile and begins to walk back. “I’m going to go pack!” He spins around and strides out of the room.

Once you don’t hear his footsteps out in the hall you turn to Jon with a long frown. “It’s happening,” you mutter. “They’re starting to leave.”

Jon chuckles softly, causing you to scoff and shoot him a pointed glare. “I’m being serious.” You stand up and walk to the balcony.

“You’re exaggerating,” Jon interjects. “He won’t be gone long. You’re lucky he doesn’t have to join the Night’s Watch.” Jon’s footsteps approach you, and once he’s near he grabs your arms and turns you to face him. “I know it hurts, but…think of it this way…they’re just growing, they’re living their lives. The way they want. We didn’t get that.”

You sigh deeply. “I suppose you’re right, but can’t they stay with us forever? I mean we can go to that beautiful cave with that impressive waterfall and be a nice cave family. Just us.”

Jon chuckles and cups your cheeks. “My love, they’ll be fine. Besides, they're not all leaving yet.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for an embrace you melt into. “We still have plenty of time with our children…and once they do leave and start living their own experiences we can retire, go to the cave, dorne, wherever you want and look back at how great of a mother you have been.”

You pull back and grin at him. “You’re a great father too, you know that. You deserve some credit.” You grab the sides of his neck and assure him. “You’ve done good. You’ve always thought you’ve been nothing, but Jon, you are everything good in this world, you are everything to our kids. They love you, they admire you.”

Jon’s smile turns timid and he caresses your cheek before he whispers. “And nothing would have been possible without you. I was living in the dark until I met you. You made me a father and gave me a big family, a family that I always wanted. So it’s not just me. It’s you too. Us.”

You grin and press your forehead against his. “We’re doing good.”

Jon nods. “Yes we are….thank you for that by the way.”

You give him a gentle kiss, and when he pulls back he murmurs, “I love you from this day until my last day.”

You steal another kiss from him before you murmur back against his lips. “I love you too. From this day until my last day.” You pull back and meet his gaze. “Will you take me back to that cave? When we drop Robb off?”

Jon nods. “I will. I’ll take you wherever you want. Always.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“There they are my favorite flock of crows!” Tormund exclaims as all the kids climb off the dragons.

“Uncle Tormund!” Edria yells back and shoves past you to reach the tall and old man. “Look!”

Once she reaches him she tilts her head and shows off the scar on her face, since the last time you saw him she didn’t have a story to tell.

Tormund grins before he bursts out laughing and high fives her for gaining such a scar. “Great job little crow. How did you leave the other guy?”

“She didn’t even leave a scratch,” Ryuu cuts in so Edria wouldn’t dare lie. “She got beat.”

“Ryuu,” Edria hisses. “I did hit him!”

“Uncle Tormund,” Ryuu greets Tormund before they embrace. Oraena sees the interaction and rushes over to throw her arms around him, Aemon follows and Tormund doesn’t fail to wrap his arms around all three of them with a grin before he lifts them off the ground.

“The south at least is good for something, you’ve all grown,” Tormund comments and puts them down on the ground to pull back to greet the other three eldest before approaching Jon. “Little crow, how I’ve missed you my friend.” Tormund pats Jon’s back and squeezes him tightly. “Everytime I hear from you the more I’m surprised that you’re alive. You look old now.”

Jon chuckles. “Not as old as you.”

Tormund snorts and slaps Jon’s back harder. “It’s good to see you, Snow.”

“You too, my friend.” Jon pulls back and lets Tormund approach you and wrap you in a much softer embrace. “Dragon slayer, you’re not hiding another crow are you?”

You shake your head. “No,” you roll out. “No. We’re done now.”

“I never knew Jon had it in him,” Tormund says bluntly before he pulls away and studies you. “How is it going?”

You sigh deeply. “It’s not easy. But I can’t complain, things are somewhat peaceful now.”

“No one wants to face the wrath of, what is it five dragons now?”

You nod. “Daeron bonded with one not so long ago.” You show off proudly. “Not counting the three young dragons, we are five dragons strong now.”

“Exactly,” Tormund says. “No one would dare mess with that. You keep giving them hell.”

You offer him a smile and nod before the sadness returns. “You’ll take good care of him, right?”

Tormund glances back at Robb and nods to assure you. “Of course I will, don’t you worry, y/n,” he says and caresses your arm. “I care for him like he's my own. He’s in great hands. Don’t cry, when I return him to you he’ll be a man grown.”

Your breath shakes, but you resist from crying and nod, catching Jon approach you to comfort you too.

“If you’re saying this then I suppose you’re not staying then?” Tormund asks Jon and you.

Jon shakes his head. “No, we can’t. We just wanted to see him off.”

Tormund hums and nods. “Well you have nothing to worry about now. He’s got a lot to learn but he’s strong like the two of you.”

You offer him a thankful smile before you leave their side and approach the children. The three youngest are playing in the snow, but the oldest are huddled around Robb as they prepare to say their farewells.

“Here,” Rhaenyra tells her twin brother as she unbuckles her sheath from her waist. “I want you to have this. You’ll have more use for it with you then I do.” She then hands Robb the Valyrian sword that once had belonged to Ser Jaime.

Robb is hesitant to take it, considering Rhaenyra valued the sword so much, but he then grabs it without argument and hugs her tightly. “<I’ll miss you.> He whispers to her in high Valyrian. “<Thank you.>”

Rhaenyra’s chest falls and her grip around her twin brother tightens. “<And I’ll miss you. Write to me when you can. I’ll be expecting them.>”

Robb pulls back and nods. They linger there in front of each other for a moment longer before Rhaenyra steps away and lets Daeron step forward. And this time with this interaction you narrow your gaze and pay closer attention.

“I…” Daeron stops and exhales. “I'm sorry. You know I meant no ill will, Robb. I never—”

“Don’t,” Robb cuts him off and grabs Daeron’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize. I was being stupid.”

Daeron shakes his head softly in confusion. “You’re not upset?”

Robb shakes his head. “No,” he assures his brother. “Life is a fleeting moment, it’s too short to hold grudges over one’s siblings.”

You scoff softly in disbelief, and catch Robb’s cloudy gaze before he looks at his brother again. “Forgive me, brother, I’ve been an asshole…there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that?”

Daeron lets out a soft huff before they embrace each other. “Have fun, write If you meet anyone, or if you encounter an ice dragon.” He chuckles softly and lingers in his brother's embrace before they pull away.

This time you approach Robb, you don’t say anything beforehand you just throw your arms around him and pull him close to you, not wanting to let go ever.

“I love you,” you whisper to him. “Be careful, keep warm and don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger. You understand me?”

“Yes, mama,” Robb assures you. “I understand….I love you too. I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll keep in touch as well.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod, making him laugh softly.

“Don’t cry,” he warns you. “I’ll be fine.” He tries to pull back but you refuse to let go.

“Just a bit longer,” you whisper. “Let me just hold you.”

Robb doesn’t argue, he lets you embrace him, he doesn’t let go of you either, or stands stiffly in your embrace, he keeps you close. However, now as you do linger there, someone else throws their arms around the both of you, when you check you see Oraena.

Edria doesn’t wait to do the same, causing Ryuu to join in, and then Daeron and Rhaenyra take advantage of this precious moment and become a part of the group hug.

“You're all squishing me,” Robb complains. “I can’t breathe!”

“Don’t complain,” Edria scolds him. “Just let us love you.”

You laugh softly and close your eyes to take in this moment. You want to say something, something sweet, but then before you can more weight is added to the huddle and manages to knock you all down to the snow covered ground.

Rather than becoming upset, or complaining when you see that it was Aemon and Jon who dropped you, you all instead begin to laugh and remain huddled together on the snow. Except tears also break out of your eyes now as well.

This is all you’ve ever wanted, a home, these simple moments. Rhaenar is missing, but you’re happy, thankful that you have them all, a home where you finally found peace in. You’re content with your life now.

This is all you’ve ever wanted and you finally have it.

——

*SEVERAL YEARS LATER*

Where there was once darkness, now there’s a soft and warm light that bathes your body. Walls that you recognize surround you, and a single door at the end of the hall shines. The door to your mothers chambers.

Without an ounce of hesitation you walk to it, feeling no ounce of fear whatsoever.

You knock once before you open the door, and more light floods out, so you shield your eyes.

“Visenya!”

Rhaenys?

So many years have passed but you’ve never forgotten the sound of your sister's voice.

“Rhaenys?” You whisper, and lower your hand from your face, catching her there inside your mothers chambers. “Rhaenys.” You greet her with a smile as you see her little face.

“Visenya.”

You freeze and snap your eyes up, that’s when you see her too. She’s beautiful and looks the same as when you saw her last, decades ago.

“Mama,” you whimper before you break away from your spot and run to her to embrace her. “Mama.” You cry. “I missed you….so much.”

She smells like home, she smells like flowers and everything sweet in this world. She’s so warm too. You feel safe with her.

“And I you,” she says in her sweet voice as she holds you tightly against her. “Now we have all the time in the world to catch up, my little sunspot….welcome back home.”

A/N- ITS BEEN HELL OF A RIDE! Thank you to all of you who took time out of their lives to read this story, I love you so so much. I hope you liked this series and the ending. I had fun writing this series. Thank you again ❤️

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo @ashleyforeverareject @dark-night-sky-99 @starwarssluts @stargaryenx @defiantblade12 @cloudroomblog

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 1 year ago

Note

I LOOOVED THIS CHAPTER!!!

Dieter cuddling up to Talia like a hurt little puppy in the hospital and the drive there 😭😭

AND THIS

He didn’t hesitate to reach up with both hands and pull me in for a second and third kiss before briefly resting his forehead against mine, the physical intimacy that we had to do without for months seeming to ground him a little. He took a deep steady breath as he backed away.

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.”

MADE ME SOB! He’s doing it for himself of course, to get healthy BUT ALSO so he can finally get back to her and go home 😭😭😭 him being all determined after this just makes me aldkfjegaksls

And the painting (it looks beautiful!!!) and the nickname and he’s finally doing better and opening up and HE FINALLY CALLED I CANNNOT WAIT AAAAaaaah! I’m glad they’re gonna have help with dealing with their issues and trying to fix things and go through what happened!!

This chapter was so good thank you I’m gonna cry now 😭😭😭😭

Thanks for the sweet words anon! 💜

More below the cut.

Please accept this adorable gif of Dieter cuddling a baby goat for emotional support tax after that one. 💜

This was a big ugly cry chapter for everyone, I think. It had me all up in my feels every time I tried to sit down and write it, which is one reason it took me so long. I feel like this chapter was a small glimpse into the inner workings of Dieter's mind through Talia's perspective. I know everyone has been dying to know what is going on in that head of his. I think this tells us, he has one thing on his mind and that is his woman. It has been this whole time. He wants so badly to be with her and to be happy. He is just having a hard time finding his way, and honestly, it's not even really his fault. That is what makes it all the more tragic and heartbreaking. I think we can all agree that this chapter shows us how in love he has been with Talia since the very beginning and how much he was holding back to give her the space she needed. He is the biggest sweetheart and has so much love to give. I just want to hug him. I am itching to get to chapter 28 so we can move into happier times with these two. I have big plans for their future together and I am excited to write about it. I just hope everyone is happy with their ending too. Thank you (and everyone else) for sticking with me through this crazy journey with these two! 💜😘

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #destiny & deliverance series #talk to me about d & d #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #the bubble #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #talk to me

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geekyglimpses-nest · 6 months ago

Text

8. In the Wake of Silence

Warnings: +18 minor don't interact, slow burn, graphic language, humor, sexual content, physical trauma, blood (gore), bodies/corpses, death, drug use, guns, murder (atempted), PTSD, violence, english is not my first language.

Summary: Delaney wrestles with an overwhelming sense of loss, navigating through a labyrinth of memories and emotions. As she grapple with the void left behind, the journey reveals unexpected facets of love, grief, and resilience. The haunting silence of her surroundings serves as both a reminder of what was lost and a canvas for the painful yet beautiful process of healing.

Word Count: 4,750 words. (25 min) It's a big boooy

Notes at the end of the chapter

2 weeks later…

“You just need to sign your discharge papers, a few tests and then you can go,” the nurse says with a short smile and hands me the papers and a pen to sign them. I quickly sign them and hand them back to her. As if on cue, another nurse comes in with a wheelchair. I’m about to protest, but she stops me

“I know you don’t like the wheelchair, but it’s for your own good to not force yourself yet. Remember, you were hit by a car and had a severe concussion, so let’s not test our chances. I promise you won’t have to use it to walk after all those tests. Besides, you seem to have recovered rather quickly by the looks of it. Faster than others, at least.”

I have to admit that my side hurts, nothing serious, but if I breathe too fast or move the wrong way, I get dizzy, so I take it slow. I carefully get out of bed and the two nurses watch me closely: “I need to use the toilet” They take as a signal to leave me alone for a few minutes and once again I’m alone in the room. I walk as steadily as I can because my mind tricks my body into thinking that it can walk faster than it actually can. Only when I notice a certain blurring in my vision do I start walking slowly and in baby steps again. As I enter the bathroom, I close the door and I notice that behind it there is a full-length mirror. I examine myself. My hair is dry and a mess. I am paler, my lips are colorless and one corner of them is bruised and purple. One side of my face is bruised from the blow I took when I fell to the ground. The bruises are yellow and green near my eyes. My eyes seem bigger. The emptiness I see in my eyes sometimes scares me. I close my eyes as the pain runs through my body.

Something inside me is broken. Everything inside me is broken.

I leave the bathroom and one of the nurses is already waiting for me with the wheelchair.

The hospitals are emptier than usual, half their capacity. There aren’t as many staff as usual either. As a result, administrative matters are dealt more quickly, test results come back faster, the queues outside the pharmacies are shorter and there is enough medicine for everyone who needs it. The waiting rooms are emptier and, as far as I know, the consultations are quicker. You no longer have to wait up to an hour or more or lie dying to be seen by a doctor.

There are more people in the hospital chapel. Twice as many candles are lit. The crying and sobs are more audible. The queue for the blood tests is right next to it, so I have nothing else to listen to. A man is preaching at the front of the mass. I can’t tell if he’s a priest or not, he wears normal clothes, jeans, a T-shirt and dirty shoes.

“The sacred scriptures spoke of this moment. The day when only those who have accepted Jesus in their hearts and souls will go to his side. Now we go through more trials and tribulations to be given the chance to join the Lord alongside our loved ones. But we must repent, cleanse our souls, ask the Lord for forgiveness and accept Him into our lives. Follow this book as our guide as we wait for our destiny,” the man shouts and the crowd whispers amen. Sobs and quiet weeping dominate the atmosphere in the chapel. On their knees, they whisper passages from the Bible.

“You’re next, hon” says the nurse and squeezes my shoulder. I clasp my hand tighter around the bracelet and leave imprints in my palm.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

A cold, sinking feeling washes over me as I open the door. The house is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses on your eardrums. It’s deafening — no paws against the wooden floor, no barking, no warm kiss of greeting or “How was your day?”. The emptiness feels like a physical presence, heavy and oppressive. The smell of fresh cut flowers is now replaced by the foul odor throughout the house.

It’s cold, too cold. I shiver.

I put my bag down on the counter and sigh. My body feels weaker now that I’m here. All the mentalization I had practiced for this moment is gone now, too many feelings are blossoming inside me at once, it’s overwhelming. My vision is blurred by the tears I’m holding back, the lump in my throat feels like a stranglehold, I close my eyes and swallow with difficulty. But the sour taste in my mouth is more present than ever. The knot in my stomach is unmistakable. I run to the sink and throw up. When I’m done, I take a glass of water, hoping it will help me calm down. A tear falls into the glass of water, followed by two more. I splash water on my face, the cold feeling is a relief for my heated skin and I breathe a sigh of relief.

My phone rings and I answer it without seeing who it is.

“Hey, I heard you got out of the hospital.” Arturo’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. “How are you, kiddo?” He pauses, waiting for my answer, giving me a chance to gather my thoughts.

“Arturo” I whisper in acknowledgment. I dry my face with a towel: “Yeah, I just got home. The doctors say I can continue my recovery at home now, the tests were fine”

“That’s good news, I should come over. You know, I make a mean chicken soup. Family recipe,” he says hopefully, hesitating a little. I can tell by the hesitation in his voice that he doesn’t know how to treat me. What should I say? I almost get the feeling that he’s not asking if he can come over, rather like he has to come over.

“Arturo. I’ll be fine,” I say as I sit down on the sofa. I hold Layla’s favorite pillow close to my chest.

“Please, I promised her I’d take care of you”

The lump in my throat makes itself felt again.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” I say and hang up quickly without waiting for his answer.

I go up the stairs to our room to take a shower. But again I stop. Her things are still the way she left them. Every single corner of this house is filled with her presence. Everywhere I look is a painful reminder of what is no longer there. What I will no longer have. Of what I held in my hands and slipped away without me even realizing it. No warning. Just gone. I stumble into my studio, each step heavy with the weight of memories. My gaze falls on an empty plastic box in the corner. The room feels colder as I pick it up, its emptiness a stark contrast to the fullness of my grief.

Back in our room, I pause at the threshold, the scent of her perfume still in the air, a ghost of her presence.

I can see her fresh out of the shower, spraying her favorite perfume. The one she makes herself from the flowers she finds in the woods behind the house. It’s citrusy and fresh. Mandarin, juniper berries, basil, aniseed, cypress and sandalwood. A subtle reminder of the warm days of winter.

I start collecting her belongings, each piece a painful reminder of a lost life. Her favorite sweater, still soft and warm, goes into the box. Tears cloud my vision as I fold it neatly and my fingers linger on the fabric. Anger and sorrow churn inside me as I haphazardly toss her belongings into the box.

In my rage I drop something and hear it fall to the ground. When I turn around, my old Bible is lying on the floor, open, and I pick it up. I read the passage in front of me.

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Genesis 3:19”

The words blur through my tears. A raging, flaming pain fills my chest, and my body trembles under the weight of the pain. I hurl the Bible across the room, the sharp thud of the spine against the window echoing in the silence. It lands with its pages open, a physical manifestation of my fractured heart. The box, now filled with fragments of her, is hastily shoved under the bed, hidden but never forgotten. I sit on the edge of the bed and breathe intermittently. The box underneath contains pieces of our life together, a Pandora’s box of memories. I know that hiding it won’t erase the pain, but maybe, just maybe, it will help me carry on.

And for now, it’s enough.

I used to not pay attention when people said the world was ending, because for me it had often ended many times before and started again the next morning. But now. It feels different. Almost irreversible.

I take a shower. The warm water burns my skin. Normally I would make the water colder, but the sting in my burning skin seems to be the only thing I feel apart from tiredness. I am as careful as I can be because my skin is covered in bruises of all sizes and colors, ranging from yellow to green to purple and red. A reminder that, unlike the other half of the universe, I’m still alive. Stepping out of the shower, I head for the closet and as soon as the doors are open, her scent hits my nose again, this time even more aggressively. My fingers run through the fabrics of Layla’s clothes, I pick up one of her oversize sweaters and gray loose pants, her clothes calming something inside me. I take her perfume and spray it on her clothes.

My eyes feel heavy, I crawl into bed and as soon as my head is on Layla’s pillow, I fall asleep. Lately, I’ve found sleep as an escape, because I’m not actually dead, but I’m not awake either. It’s like I’m dead without the commitment. An open relationship with death. Death with benefits.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

The sun has set, casting the bedroom into darkness. I rise and make my way to the living room, where I spot a figure engrossed in a book on the couch.

“How long have you been here?” I inquire, rubbing my face. He shuts the book, rises, and faces me.

“Not too long, actually. The soup is still warm if you’re interested. My grandmother used to swear by its ability to solve any problem,” he remarks.

His words irk me slightly, but I sense no malice in his intent. He’s attempting to lighten the mood.

“I’m not sure it can fix this particular problem” I respond.

Arturo heads to the kitchen, ladles out a bowl of steaming chicken soup, and places it on the counter. Leaning against it, he waits for me to take a seat. I approach the high chair and sit down. The aroma of the soup warms something deep within me, like a soothing balm for my troubled soul. Taking a sip, it feels as though I’m being embraced. Only Mrs. Durmaz and Layla had ever cooked for me with such love. Not even my mother. She would feed me only upon request, often too intoxicated to do it herself, leaving me to scavenge for food. My father would berate her for it. Arturo reaches for my hand beside the bowl and gives it a gentle squeeze. The unexpected touch causes me to freeze and tense up. A wave of shivers courses through me. I usually dislike physical contact, but in this moment, I yearn for it. I want to be held so tight so I won’t break, but I’m too afraid to ask. I meet his gaze.

Do I look like that too? Tired, dark circles under my eyes, swollen face, sloping shoulders. Empty. Tears appear, so I lower my eyes to the bowl of hot soup. He squeezes my hand again.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? It cleanses the soul,” he says with a weak smile.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop once it starts, and then I’ll become useless,” I whisper as I take another spoonful of the soup.

“No one would blame you. I feel useless myself.”

“You’re not useless, you’re here even though I said I was okay.”

“But you’re not. No one is. I can see it in your eyes. With the little time we have spent together, I’ve come to the conclusion that when something bad happens, you stay quiet, while a war happens within you. I promised Ayliz I’d take care of you, but I’m not doing this just because of that. Despite what you might think of me, I care for you.”

“Why?” I say with a broken tone.

“Because I loved…” he interrupts himself, I look at him. “I love Ayliz, and every time she called you, I could see how much she cared and loved you, and I can also tell how much you care and love her too, despite your efforts to hide it. She never told me who you were actually to her; she always referred to you as the daughter life gave her, a second chance.” I wince at that, I close my eyes. She was that for me too, a second chance. She made me realize that no matter how broken I was, I was worth being taken care of. “I know how you feel about me and Ayliz. But I swear to you, Delaney, I love her. I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone before her. I was happy with her, and she was happy with me, and I know the age difference between us could be a reason for you to believe I wasn’t serious about her, and to be honest, I thought that too. I thought, what the heck? It could be interesting. I never counted on falling in love with her.” He pulls a black velvet box from his jeans pocket and puts it between us. “The day that…” he interrupts himself more emotion clear in his voice “I had a special dinner for her planned, I was gonna ask her to marry me” he opens the box and gives it to me. A gold 14 karat ring with a sapphire that shifts between verdant hues, flanked by incandescent burst of luminous, star-like diamonds

“The day…” he interrupts himself, more emotion evident in his voice “I had a special dinner planned for her. I was going to ask her to marry me” He opens the box and hands it to me. A gold 14 karat ring with a sapphire that shifts between verdant hues, flanked by an incandescent burst of luminous, star-like diamonds.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as I gaze at it. He smiles.

“I made it for her,” My eyes widen. He chuckles, “You didn’t know I was a jeweler. I own a small jewelry shop in Manhattan, a family business that has been in my family since 1936. That’s actually how I met Ayliz. I would return to D.C. to visit family and sell at a farmers market. I do it every year, attending the Capital Harvest on the Plaza to sell some of our most precious pieces and donate the proceeds to charity, supporting orphaned children and humanitarian causes. She approached me because she needed some personal jewelry pieces cleaned and repaired. I informed her that I needed to take them to the shop as I lacked all the necessary tools for the repairs. I began visiting D.C. more frequently after meeting her. I would come up with various excuses to continue visiting. And then the dates began. By the second or third date, I knew I was captivated. Her soul was pure and genuine, her age did not dictate how vibrantly she lived her life. Despite the hardships she endured before arriving here, it only fueled her passion for life. The opinions or comments of others never deterred her from pursuing her passions.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur without meeting his gaze, speaking so softly that I’m unsure if he heard me. Too ashamed.

“What for?” he asks

“Misjudging you. I just thought you were too young for her. Thought you were just there for a story to tell your friends later on. That you just wanted to use her or manipulate her into what you wanted. I didn’t want you to hurt her. I’m very protective of her. She’s all I had left. I was rude to you so many times and you never once answered to my provocations, you were always a gentleman with me. I never stopped to actually get to know you… ”

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

I knock on the door and wait for it to open, I’m expecting Mrs. Durmaz on the other side, but I’m surprised to see Arturo smiling gently at me.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here” I say bothered

“Ayliz told me you were coming for dinner and invited me to stay” he says, inviting me in and asking for my coat, I give it to him “She’s finishing getting ready, she’ll be out any minute” He walks in front of me and knocks on Mrs. Durmaz bedroom door “Mi amor, Delaney is here” He smiles to me once more and tells me to get comfortable. I walk around the apartment and I see the place is filled with more stuff that definitely doesn’t belong to Mrs. Durmaz, I frown at the acoustic guitar next to her sofa.

“I moved in last week” I quickly turn to him, surprised and he’s extends a glass of wine to me

“What? She didn’t tell me you were moving in” I take the wine and drink a big gulp, he’s still in front of me. I clear my throat “Arturo can I ask you a question?” He smiles and nods “What do you want from her? Money, her insurance, her retirement money, what?”

He cleans his throat and laughs “I have no need for money Delaney, I am very well with the money I make from my business” I laugh

“And what business is that huh? Robbing money from older women?”He appears irritated by my statement. It seems like he is on the verge of breaking and revealing his true self. “What is your true motive for being here? Just looking for a funny anecdote to share with your friends?” he sighs and shakes his head.

“I knew you would be hard to convince. I was forewarned about it. But, believe it or not, Delaney, I am genuinely committed to my relationship with Ayliz. I have no ulterior motives except to ensure her happiness, just as she brings me joy,” I chuckle.

“Well, I think you’ll need a more compelling narrative than that,” I retort.

“Delaney, that’s enough,” Mrs. Durmaz interjects from behind me, causing me to shrink. “Stop this pointless interrogation. Sit down, and let’s enjoy a pleasant dinner. I spent hours preparing it,” she urges. I take a deep breath, turning to him one last time as I finish my wine. “Now, Delaney!”

Throughout the rest of the dinner, I observe him closely. He cracks jokes, but I remain stoic. I grunt in response to his questions, and under Mrs. Durmaz’s watchful eye, I reluctantly engage in conversation. I make snide remarks to elicit a negative reaction, but he skillfully avoids confrontation with me. There’s a certain expression on his face, as if he hangs onto every word Mrs. Durmaz utters, his demeanor completely attuned to her, laughing at her stories. I notice a few subtle touches exchanged between them, which he discreetly keeps, and she simply smiles in return. Their chemistry is undeniable.

Mrs. Durmaz has a penchant for storytelling, even if the tales aren’t her own. She narrates with such elegance, flair, and wit that it’s impossible not to be captivated by her vivid descriptions and attention to detail. The way she brings stories to life makes you feel like you’re right there with her, experiencing everything she describes. She’s making every effort to ease the tension on my end. By the end of the dinner, all I desire is to make a swift exit.

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

I whisper to Mrs. Durmaz, “I don’t like him.” as I’m putting on my coat to leave. Arturo is just behind us washing the dishes, like an angel.

“I honestly couldn’t care less, dear. I love him, and that should be enough. But I also care about you, and you’re putting me in a difficult situation.”

“Alright… but if he hurts you, I swear I will hurt him so badly.” I’m about to leave, but I turn to her again, “What is it that you see in this guy?”

“My ex-husband. He was my only experience of love. We both knew why we got married. I needed an escape from Turkey, and he needed a wife to be freed from his family so he could live far away from them. It wasn’t love at first sight or young love. It was convenient. Our marriage always felt like that. Convenient, cold, distant. Yet he was always there. We would travel together, but it felt like doing it solo. I craved romance, passion, understanding. Connection. His family situation and relations ruined him; he held grudges. So he became harder on himself every day until he died. My mother died too young, so my dad would speak of her so highly, but I never really knew her. All I knew was how in love he was with her, even after she had passed and until his last breath. I wanted to experience that someday. But the years had passed between us, and I’d already given up on experiencing that. And then he died, and I thought, well, maybe I’m too old to find that now.” She turns to Arturo, “And then I met Arturo, and he’s giving me that and so much more. And I’m too old to let that one pass. I don’t want to die without experiencing something like that.”

She looks at me and grabs my chin, “You don’t understand it. And that’s okay. You will, I’m sure of it. I don’t need you to understand it. All I need is you by my side. Okay?” I nod.

“I’m… just worried about you,” I say.

“Thank you dear” she says as she kisses me on the cheek and smiles at me. “But that won’t be necessary, I have a very good feeling about him. There are no men like him left anymore out there and I plan to keep this one for a loooong time. I just hope you get to find someone like that too. I hope you get to be with someone who is a home and an adventure. A soul who calms you and drives you wild. Once you do, you too won’t let them go so easily. Trust me”

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

“I understand why you did it” he says “That’s how you show love to the people you care for. We all have different languages of love. Yours is different, it took me a minute to understand it but once I cracked it I could see why you treated me the way you did, I don’t justify it because c’mon it was a bit too aggressive and harsh” we laugh “but I get it”

I frown “I miss her so much,” I whisper, my voice finally cracking. Each word feels like a shard of glass in my throat. My body shakes uncontrollably, and tears blur my vision. Arturo walks over, his steps slow and deliberate. He wraps his arms around me, his embrace warm and steady.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I miss her a lot too.”

“How are you suppose to survive when someone so important just… stops existing” I say trembling each word “I never said goodbye to her. Or thank you”

◎ ─━──━─❖─━──━─ ◎

3 years later…

♪Sunlight (Orchestra Version) - Max Richter♪

As humans, we tend to perceive ourselves as superior to our actual status. Ego and power lead us to believe we are invincible and beyond reach. However, unforeseen and uncontrollable events can shatter this illusion.

Prior to Layla and Mrs. Durmaz, my deepest affection and love was reserved for astronomy. Now, I have lost both, rendering life devoid of meaning.

Astronomy revealed our insignificance in the grand scheme of nature and instilled humility like nothing else could. I was captivated by astrophysics because it stirred my soul to gaze above me, shut my eyes, and journey from this planet to another. It instilled hope within me. Hope that we are not alone, that there exist celestial bodies and galaxies waiting to be unveiled. Perhaps, while we endure hardships, there are beings thriving in their own systems and societies. Claudius Ptolemy, the Alexandrian astronomer, once expressed how he followed the countless stars in their celestial dance, feeling as though his feet no longer touched the ground, ascending to Zeus himself to partake in ambrosia, the food of the gods.

Peering through a telescope, I could empathize with that sentiment. Ascending to an unfamiliar world, a mix of fear and excitement enveloping me as I gazed upon the undiscovered. Tears welled up at the sight of the radiant universes amidst the vast darkness of space. For me, nothing compared to the beauty of observing and studying our universe. Immersing myself in the tranquil harmony of the cosmos by closing my eyes allowed me to concentrate. It dawned on me that our universe was just one of many precious gems. And now, they have all vanished. I have shed all my tears; only anger remains.

As I peer through my telescope in the backyard, I am overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness. I feel insignificant, helpless, and useless in the face of the suffering of many in my universe. When loneliness crept in, stargazing used to offer solace, reminding me that my problems were surmountable. It provided comfort and reassurance that I was not alone. But now, all I feel is a void filled with unanswered questions. The universe is a rebel, constantly changing and evolving, often faster than we can comprehend. It owes us no explanation. It is not the universe that is in pain; it is us. Who are we to alter something that may have been destined to occur?

In the midst of winter, ill-prepared and shivering from the snow seeping into my shoes and soaking my socks, I retrieve the telescope from the backyard and shield it on the porch. As I trudge towards the front door to collect the mail I have been avoiding

“Dr. Kingsley?” says the voice of a woman behind me. With a handful of letters and a box in my grasp, I freeze. No one but a few people know where I live, the house is far from town so this person is here for a reason, knows my name and where I live. Her presence is unsettling. “I’m not a threat. My name is agent Taylor Reid, I emailed you a couple days a go” She explains

I sigh, annoyed by the intrusion, I bristle, anticipating unwanted company. Great, now there gonna come to stalk me at my house “I told you I wasn’t interested in dealing with any of you. Please leave immediately, you’re invading private property.”

“I’m sorry doctor, but I’m not leaving unless I’ve spoken with you” Her tone, though polite, leaves little room for argument. I sigh heavily. Maybe If I listen to whatever she has to say she’ll go and not come back. I’ll let her talk and then I’ll make sure she and other to come know I’m not interested in their offers, not now, not ever.

“You have 10 minutes to talk. Come inside.”

I open the door, and she follows behind. “Shoes off,” I say. She complies and removes her coat. Walking towards the chimney, I switch it on and adjust the house’s temperature.

“Coffee?” I offer

“Black, please,” she replies, gazing out the large living room window. “Lovely house,” she remarks, peering through the window. I grunt“You must be good to have a house like this”

I hand her a cup of coffee, and she takes a seat on the couch. “I’d like to think so, at least that’s what my bills suggest,” she chuckles, silently seeking permission to sit, to which I nod.

“Your time is still ticking,” I remind her, glancing at the kitchen clock. She clears her throat and places her cup on the coffee table.

“I’ll be direct if you don’t mind,” I cross my arms. “Doctor, as mentioned in my email, we need your assistance. We’re desperate. Your research is crucial to bringing everyone back. Both my supervisor and I have reviewed it personally. Your research is the most logical and promising option. Other studies are too risky and lack any guarantee.” I want to mention that mine isn’t guaranteed either, but I opt to stay silent. “The director is prepared to fulfill any requests you have to lead the team.”

“And like I said in the email, the research isn’t solely mine, so I’m not inclined to continue without the other doctor involved.”

“Dr. Elodie Wallace, yes. We’re aware she was blipped. Don’t you think she would want you to continue her work? The credit would go to both of you. It’s my understanding that Dr. Wallace left behind a mother and girlfriend behind. This kind of recognition could be what her family needs.” I laugh bitterly

These fucking people excel at manipulation. S.H.I.E.L.D, HYDRA, S.W.O.R.D are all equally conniving and power-hungry individuals. They are willing to go to any lengths to emerge victorious in a conflict, regardless of the consequences.

“I said no. That research won’t continue without Dr. Wallace actively participating in it. Besides the research does not offer any solutions to rectify this situation.”

“But it has the potential to. That’s why we are proposing the opportunity for you to establish your own team with complete access to contacts, resources, and funding. The government is prepared to contribute.”

“The research is still in progress, it is not prepared for government funding or yours, for that matter.”

Reid appears to be on the verge of giving up. I can almost see her resolve crumbling, wanting to present more arguments, but she simply sighs. After finishing her coffee, she rises from her seat, retrieves a card from her jacket, and hands it to me. I accept it and leave it on the table.

“If the research were to come to fruition and you need help, reach out to us. The offer will still stand. We’d be willing to move your team here, to Enumclaw. It’s a lovely residence, it would be a shame to lose it.” Her smile fails to conceal the underlying threat. Placing her cup on the kitchen counter, she proceeds to put on her shoes and coat. “Have a good day, Dr. Kingsley,” she says before leaving. As I approach the door, I observe her entering a black SUV that soon drives away.

I turn around, and my heart sinks, my breath catches. The Winter Soldier materializes in the same spot where she was seated. He gazes out at the forest beyond the windows, then steps closer, hands clasped behind his back, motionless. I am frozen, unable to move. He pivots and strides towards me, my breath quickens, until he stands directly in front of me. I have to raise my eyes in order to see him. The only sound is our breathing, I watch as he extends his metal arm to grasp mine, causing me to flinch away. When I reopen my eyes, he is no longer present.

I breathe again.

I grab my car keys and rush out. The engine roars to life as I speed towards the lab. My mind races, thoughts jumbled and frantic. Paranoia compels me to constantly check the rearview mirror to ensure no one is following me. The lab is quiet. I take a deep breath, letting the silence wash over me. Slowly, I gather my thoughts, the cool air calming my frantic mind.

I make a call.

“Ron,” I say

Previous chapter | Series Masterlist | Next chapter

Notes: Here we have the next chapter, sorry to not have been able to update more last month but it was a very crazy month honestly. BUUUUT this one is long to make up for my absence. UPDATE: For those who might be interested, I have uploded the casting for Agent of Battle, The Hunting Secrets. Other than that, please remember to interact with the story if you like it, I'd love to read your thoughts about the series and this chapter. Comment, like and share it.

Missed you, geekyglimpses-nest out. 👋🏽

#bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes slow burn #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original female character #enemies to lovers #original character #slow burn #the winter soldier #marvel original character #The Child of the Damned #Agent of Battle #The Hunting Secrets

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bambirex · 1 year ago

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The World Is Yours, If You Seek The Good: Chapter 10

Pairings: Geraskefer, Geraskier, Yennskier, Yenralt

Characters: Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt of Rivia, Ciri of Cintra, Lambert

Additional tags: implied/referenced abuse, forced pregnancy, mpreg, creature fic, fae jaskier, creature jaskier, creature yennefer, captivity, enemies to friends to lovers, polyamory, found family, hurt/comfort, it starts out angsty but it gets better, completely made up lore, fertility issues, completely made up skills and powers, angst, angst with a happy ending, whump, jaskier whump, yennefer whump, intersex jaskier, ciri whump, geralt whump, blood, nightmares

Full word count: 31, 355 words

Chapter word count: 3,060 words

Chapters: 10/?

Summary: Used and abused by humans, Jaskier and Yennefer believe they are alone and with no reason to trust anybody. That is, until they meet each other - and then, a couple of other strange misfits.

Chapter summary: Ciri finally learns the truth about herself.

Author's notes: I am taking some things from canon, and twisting them a little bit of course, to fit my plot! My poor sweet Ciri is getting whumped, because everyone in this fic gets whumped, but she has her fam!

Read on Ao3

The nightmares, headaches and nosebleeds got better after Yennefer and Jaskier settled in with Ciri - before they got a whole lot worse.

For a while, Ciri thought her night terrors and strange symptoms went away, at last. She felt the happiest in a long time: her days were brighter with the two creatures around, and she could tell Geralt liked them, too. He didn't want to admit it, but Ciri saw it in his eyes when he looked at them. She definitely saw Jaskier's lovesick expression that he constantly followed around Geralt with, and Yennefer - who was also in deep denial- seemed to be opening up to Ciri's father more and more. Things seemed almost perfect. It appeared as if their weird company was slowly resembling a family, if a little botched.

Jaskier sang her lullabies in his sweet magical voice, and Yennefer would hold her during the night. Geralt would wake her up with breakfast and a kiss on her forehead. It often felt like Ciri was in a dream, a beautiful one, finally.

But then, the nightmares returned, and she wasn't just dreaming about her old home burning and her family dying, her days of hiding before Geralt found her. She saw new things now, like an unfamiliar place with high walls, burning to the ground like Cintra, her old home did. She saw collars and whips, blood and metal bars. In her nightmares she heard Yennefer scream, and then she saw her curled up on the ground, bloodied and bruised. Jaskier was crying next to her, his face a sickly pale. His lips were swollen and dripping blood.

Ciri cried out for Geralt in those dreams, but he never came. Ciri was trapped somewhere, and so was her family, and she had no idea what to do. She screamed and screamed and the walls came tumbling down, burying Yennefer and Jaskier beneath them. As Ciri sobbed, blood trickled down her face instead of tears.

She woke up with a gasp, cold sweat causing her nightgown to stick to her back. She fisted her hands in her blankets, trying to get a grip on reality. Yennefer woke up to her panting and screaming, immediately enveloping Ciri in her arms.

"It's okay, you're okay," she shushed her softly as Ciri wept into her chest, "I'm here."

It took several seconds for Ciri to realize she was not trapped in that awful dream anymore. She wiped her face with a shaky breath. Her chest tightened in panic when her head came away bloody.

Yennefer noticed it too. Her eyes were full of concern as she took Ciri's hand into hers, inspecting the blood on her palm.

"Has this ever happened before?" She asked. Her voice was kind, but Ciri could hear the fear mixed in. She swallowed thickly.

"No...sometimes my nose bleeds, but not... I don't know what's going on!" Ciri broke down sobbing, collapsing back into Yennefer's arms. She clutched onto Yennefer's dress, terrified that she would slip away if she let go, that she would be hurt like in her dreams.

"You need to tell Geralt about this," Yennefer told her as she gently rubbed her back, trying to soothe her.

"I'm scared," was the only thing Ciri could say. She kept clinging to Yennefer, her entire body trembling.

Ciri had the same nightmare for two more nights in a row. She always woke up the same as well, crying bloody tears and bleeding through her nose, her head pounding like it was about to explode.

Something was wrong with her, she was sure of it. She felt something terrible inside her bones, like her body was filled with a buzzing swarm of bees. It ached and itched and made Ciri want to crawl out of her own skin. Something was eating away at her from the inside; she's felt it before many times, even when she was still a princess back at Cintra, but now the feeling was so strong, it was overwhelming. Something was rumbling beneath the surface inside her, trying to gnaw its way out.

Was she possessed? Was she going insane?

Ciri feared that her recurring dream meant something - something terrible. Maybe she wasn't the one trapped in that dream, maybe she was the one who hurt and captured the people she cared about. Maybe she would end up hurting them- maybe she was dangerous.

It was all becoming too much for her. She felt restless, on edge, like she could tear the whole world apart. Geralt tried to ask her what was wrong, but Ciri couldn't give him a straight answer. Everyone was growing concerned about her, and Ciri hated feeling so helpless, and such a burden.

One morning, after once again waking up from her now usual terrors, not even Yennefer's gentle words could calm her. Ciri tore herself away from the drepima's arms and stormed out of her room. She ran down the stairs and out of the door, out into the little garden around the house. She fell onto her knees in the grass and let out a loud scream, a shrill sound full of pain and fear.

Something shifted in the air around her. Ciri couldn't quite explain what, but she sensed it, like a horrible chill running down her spine. The air felt suffocating, creating an iron grip around her. The sky turned a heavy dark grey, rumbling quietly like a predator warning its prey with a growl. The scream didn't want to end: it tore out of her with a force Ciri has never felt before. She suddenly wasn't in control of her own body.

If it wasn't for Geralt leaping forward and dragging Ciri away, she would have been crushed under the tree that was twisted out of the ground and fell.

The world turned completely black after that.

When Ciri woke up, she was lying in her bed. She opened her eyes slowly, meeting Geralt's eyes. They were, of course, full of worry as he reached for his daughter's hand.

"Ciri," he spoke to her softly, "are you feeling alright?"

Ciri swallowed. She blinked a couple of times. Her head felt heavy as she took in her surroundings. She saw Yennefer standing next to her bed, clutching Jaskier's hand who tried to give Ciri a reassuring smile, but it turned out very weak.

"I think so," she replied quietly, her voice coming out croaky. She tried to sit up, but her whole body felt stiff and so very exhausted. Geralt gently pushed her back against the pillows.

"Easy," he shushed her. "You need to rest."

"Do you remember what happened out there?" Jaskier asked her softly. Ciri bit her lip, trying to recall the events.

She ran out into the garden. She remembered feeling so upset and terrified, and then she screamed.

The world turning on its hinges. Dark clouds. A horrible surge of energy. Losing control. A tree falling.

"Did I do that," Ciri whispered, icy cold fear gripping her heart once again. "When I..."

"You need to rest," Yennefer told her. Her face was uncharacteristically pale. "Then, I believe we need to talk."

Ciri nodded tiredly. Yes. A talk was definitely in order.

It was early evening by the time Ciri felt strong enough to get out of bed. Her body still felt strangely heavy, and that buzzing inside her veins was still there, albeit a little weaker.

She took her place at the dinner table, pulling her knees up to her chin. She hugged her legs close to her body and avoided the many eyes on her. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to act after what just happened.

Geralt cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. He stared down at the table for a couple moments before he pulled himself together.

"Ciri," he started, his voice quiet, careful, "I haven't been completely honest with you."

"No shit," Ciri mumbled. Geralt didn't reprimand her for swearing this time.

"I believed ignoring the truth and hiding it from you was the right thing to do," Geralt explained. His eyes were full of guilt as he looked at Ciri.

"I promised you I would keep you safe. And I thought the less you knew, the safer you were. But I was wrong. I shouldn't have kept this a secret from you."

Geralt took a deep breath. Yennefer played with a lock of her hair, deeply lost in her thoughts. Jaskier looked like he was about to get sick. Ciri wasn't sure it was his usual wonky stomach or the truth was that terrifying. All the same, her own stomach churned while she waited for Geralt to say it out loud.

"How much do you know about your family's history, Ciri?"

"Not much," Ciri admitted. "My parents have died at sea when I was still little. My grandmother practically raised me."

"What did she tell you about your parents? Your mother, more specifically?"

"That I look exactly like her," Ciri repeated her grandmother's words quietly. She swallowed down her tears. "And that she loved me a lot. I remember her dresses, and her scent. And that she always sang me lullabies. That's it. My father... I know he didn't get along so well with my grandmother. You were the one who told me he was cursed, and you helped him, and that was how you invoked the law of surprise. That was how you got me."

"You don't know anything about your mother's symptoms, then?"

Ciri felt her heart leap into her throat. She shook her head, gripping onto her knees tighter, desperately looking for an anchor.

"They were similar to those you were experiencing," Geralt explained. "She had a power within her that didn't fully come to the surface. But it was there. I experienced it firsthand at that banquet, where the law of surprise happened."

He sighed deeply. Unexpectedly, Yennefer gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. They shared a small smile. It would have been adorable if it wasn't for the fact that the whole world started spinning with Ciri.

"When your grandmother, furious that a knight cursed to be a monster wanted to marry her daughter, tried to kill him. And your mother screamed, and everything turned on its head. The same way it happened when you screamed in the garden. There was a surge of very powerful energy that nearly made the entire ballroom blow up. You have inherited your powers from her."

"But what kind of powers do I have," Ciri whispered, "and why? I'm a human. Aren't I?"

The silence was deafening. A shiver ran through Ciri's body. Geralt struggled to find the words for a moment.

"On the day I fulfilled our destiny and came to try and save you from the war," Geralt continued, "your grandmother finally told me everything. You have Elder blood in your veins, Ciri."

"Elder blood..." she whispered, her voice alien to her own ears. She remembered the gossips, the faint whispers and the strange looks she often received, but whenever she tried to ask her grandmother about it, she told her not to pay attention. But Ciri has definitely heard the word Elder a couple times, though she has never known what it meant.

"You're the descendant of ancient elven mages," Yennefer spoke up. "They believed that one day, their savior would be born from this blood. There was a line of very powerful women who carried this blood in them, whose magic was stronger than the rest of the elves' - but then they started mixing with humans, and the blood was carried down in a way that was not so pure anymore. The genes were passed down, and some women carried these powers. But those powers were dimmed. That was probably why your mother wasn't as strong as you are."

She shook her head with a quiet sigh. "Witches and elves weren't exactly friends, but the ancient witches respected and feared those with Elder blood. That was why they started working on something similar, spells that would help them achieve what the elves could. But then those books fell in the humans' hands, and thus... drepimas were born. I was born."

"Like drepimas, those with Elder blood can wield chaos magic," Geralt added. "There aren't many left of you. That was why I took you out here, because you needed to be protected. The humans must have found out about your blood, somehow. They wanted to get you."

"The war..." Ciri whispered. She choke on her words, tears welling up in her eyes. "It wasn't even just about taking down a powerful kingdom... It was because of me? They came for me?"

No one needed to reply for her to know the answer was yes. Ciri put her head in her hands and started sobbing. She pulled at her hair as she curled up on herself. It was all her fault. Her grandmother died, her friends died, the entire kingdom fell because of her. She was to be blamed for that war, was she the one responsible for the rest of the wars waging across the Continent? Were these humans all looking for her?

Humans. That was how Ciri needed to think about them. Because she wasn't one of them, not entirely.

Gentle arms wrapped around her. She was pulled against a warm, rounded stomach. Ciri buried her face in it, soaking Jaskier's shirt with her tears.

"I'm so sorry, Ciri," Jaskier told her sincerely as he gently carded his fingers through her hair. As if he read her thoughts, he added, "it wasn't your fault."

"I thought we had more time," Geralt continued, the words heavy on his tongue. "I thought your powers would only show up later, like in your mother's case. Your grandmother was hoping they wouldn't even show, like with her. I thought we had enough time, that the wars would quiet, that the humans would think you were dead. That I could take you to Kaer Morhen to the witcher keep before this happened."

“My whole life has been a lie…” Ciri whispered in agony. Her chest ached as her heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to continue with her life, knowing that the person she thought she was, didn’t even exist? That humans wreaked havoc on the Continent because of her blood, that Geralt will have to spend the rest of his life continuously worrying for her, and hiding her from those that wanted to put their hands on her powers? How was she supposed to live on, knowing these powers lived inside her?

“I don’t know who I am anymore…”

Geralt stood and walked over to her. He crouched down next to Ciri’s other side and took her hands into his, hugging them close to his chest.

“I do,” he told her, his voice sincere and caring, “you are Ciri, my daughter. Brought to me by destiny, but remaining under my care through love. You are my strong, brave child. Someone who has survived the most horrible things, and who will continue to do so. Not just because I will protect you, no matter what, but because you’re capable of so many things.”

Ciri felt one more hand on the top of her head: Yennefer’s. It caressed her gently.

“I know you must be terrified right now,” Yennefer whispered to her, “I understand. But I will help you. The ancient witches experimented with Elder blood when they wrote those spells that the humans used to create us, so we more or less have similar powers. I can help you control them.”

“Am I dangerous?” Ciri asked, her voice trembling. “In my dreams, you were hurt. And Jaskier. And Geralt disappeared. What if it will really happen, because of me? Because of who I am?”

“We don’t know enough of your powers to say anything for sure,” Geralt told her honestly. “But I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose.”

“And by accident?”

“Yennefer will make sure it won’t happen,” Jaskier promised her gently. “And so will we.”

“I’m so sorry, Ciri,” Geralt told her again, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against Ciri’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

A part of Ciri wanted to be angry with him, but then she realized, it wouldn’t change things. Even if Geralt would have been honest with her since the beginning, she would still be this… whatever she was, actually. She could have prepared herself for it, at least, but they couldn’t have avoided the inevitable. Geralt kept it a secret for the same reason her grandmother lied to her: to try and buy time, to try and keep her safe. They both failed. But that didn’t mean Ciri would have to give up. She finally found herself a new family after she thought she lost hers. She couldn’t fall apart now. In light of what she’s just found out, it seemed like they needed to protect each other now more than ever.

They all slept in Ciri’s room that night, which Ciri was infinitely grateful for. It was a little bit cramped with both Yennefer and Jaskier in her bed, but Ciri couldn’t mind. Geralt slept on the floor next to her bed, shielding them all.

Ciri didn’t get much sleep, and judging by all the tossing and turning she heard from the other three, they didn’t, either. They all needed to think about what to do next.

Ciri never asked for these powers, but she knew there was no way to get rid of them. They were scary and unfamiliar to her, but she had to make peace with them. They were here with full force, no longer only manifesting through headaches and nosebleeds. The only way to protect herself and her family was that if she took Yennefer up on her offer, and learned to tap into those powers.

She sighed deeply as she stared at the ceiling above her. There were too many possible outcomes. None of them seemed very happy.

Ciri closed her eyes, letting a tear finally break free and roll down her cheek. She allowed herself to mourn the life she thought she had- and, perhaps, to try and welcome a new one.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #geraskefer #geraskier #yennskier #yenralt #ciri #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #the world is yours if you seek the good

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sparrowandbee · 11 months ago

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Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

The Sparrow: Chapter 8: Goodbye

Synopsis: Marian and Haymitch share their final goodbye before the Games.

Warnings: Mention of alcohol and mention of dying/death.

Author’s Note: Might want to get some tissues out for this one…

Word Count: 1048

Vanilla opted to ride to the arena with Alder, which gave Haymitch and I the chance to bend the rules slightly and have him be my escort into the arena.

The Hovercraft was silent, we were both too caught up in our internal monologues to make conversation. We silently ate breakfast- neither of us were able to stomach much, though, and he didn’t even insist.

Actually we hadn’t spoken since after the interview. I was just glad that he showed up that morning, and seemingly sober (but hungover, nonetheless).

The world was silent as I followed him off the Hovercraft and down a sterile grey hallway, my eyes fixed on his tangled dark hair.

I made sure my black bodysuit was zipped all the way up as my heavy, black-booted steps echoed. It was sleeveless but had plenty of pockets.

It was going to be warm, probably.

I could do warm, I reassured myself despite the knot in my throat.

Haymitch held the door open for me and I was greeted by the sight of a transparent tube at the centre of the small room. It all suddenly felt so real.

This was it. The end.

I turned around to see him standing there, also looking up at the contraption that I'm sure brought back memories he'd rather forget.

All the tears I held in for the last week seemed to spill out like a burst damn- I couldn’t help the violent sobs which escaped me.

I launched myself at him, burying my face in his neck. He held me suffocatingly tight, stroking my braided hair.

Haymitch, who somehow made me laugh in the most despicable place on earth.

Haymitch, who proved to me that goodness exists in this uncaring world.

Haymitch, who made me feel seen and heard for the first time in my life.

He, who armed me with the most dangerous weapon I’d ever held- hope.

I had fought against this vulnerability my entire life, but as I clung to him, I whispered through my tears: “I don’t want to die.”

And despite his hardened exterior, the gruff lines on his face and lingering smell of whiskey, despite the years of training himself not to feel anything or to get attached, he squeezed me harder.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weak from his own tears, “you are smarter than any one of them. You only have to do this once, okay?”

He pulled away, holding my shoulder in one arm and brushing away a small piece of hair that had come undone. His worn hand lingered on my cheek.

“Okay?” He asked again, our bloodshot eyes looking into each other.

I nodded and wiped my tears.

It broke my heart because I knew she couldn’t win.

I had deluded myself and I had done everything I swore I wouldn’t.

I had forgotten that this isn’t a game you win- that regardless of how much resolve or ambition, we always end up dead on the ground.

The headstrong woman I had come to know that past week melted away into a scared girl in my arms.

The girl who got a three in training.

The girl who had too much kindness in her heart to slit a throat.

It shattered me completely to see her like this.

No one deserved to be in that position, but Marian’s was the last name that should have been pulled.

I smiled now, my eyes still wet. I wanted to show Haymitch that I would try. That I would keep my promise.

He smiled back, sniffling.

“There she is,” he was still holding my cheek. “Now you go in there and run. Forget about supplies, you can steal those later. Just fly under the radar and lay low, just like you do back home. And avoid fighting.”

“Thirty Seconds” the automated voice overhead announced and the elevated pedestal pod opened up as the countdown continued.

“Wait!” I had almost forgotten. From one of the many zippered pockets of my suit I pulled out the handkerchief I had embroidered.

I never knew my hands could create something so beautiful.

The pond where he and Evander played just happened to be my favourite place in the entire district.

Blue flowers bloomed in huge bushes right by the water. The individual flowers were so tiny, but they grew in bunches of five or six all around the pond, thousands to a bush. Together they created a lush ocean of blue and green, shaded by the big trees which housed the sparrows overhead.

I went there often, to listen to the water idle around, pulled by the lazy breeze as the sparrows vocalised with the soft rustling of the bushes.

There was never anyone there but I could imagine Haymitch and Evander splashing around, disturbing the peace with their boyish laughter.

I stitched little blue flowers all around the edge of the white cloth. On one end they met to surround a gold cursive ‘H’. On the other, I wove countless shades of brown and white to create a delicate sparrow. Her wings curving upwards, as if in mid flight.

If I died I hoped to become a sparrow by the pond.

To sing a beautiful song and watch over the man I’d come to love when he wept surrounded by little blue flowers. I’d hoped I’d be able to comfort him somehow.

On the left of the sparrow I embroidered my initial in the same gold thread and on the other side, E.E. - Ephra and Evander. So he would remember all the people that loved him. That despite the distance, we would always be by his side.

I smiled and turned away from him as I stepped onto the pedestal.

I couldn’t cry anymore, now was the time to fight.

I straightened my back and began my ascent.

“Your M” read the tag, in her neat cursive. Tied onto a handkerchief by a pink silk ribbon I recognized.

I watched her leave and held back my tears. I had felt too much, I couldn’t cry anymore.

I indelicately shoved the gift into my pocket, unable to face it now.

Unable to face that bright soul, full of humanity and love who was just taken from me.

Instead I pulled out my flask and took a deep swig, inviting the sting down my throat. I didn’t stop until it was empty.

I couldn’t believe that it was all happening all over again.

—

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the-kittens-of-vol-tron · 2 years ago

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Enchanted

First Chapter! Previous Chapter!

AO3!

Chapter 9: Until I See You Again

Summary: The fight ends and the aftermath unfolds

Word Count: 6,516

Trigger Warnings:

- Blood - Injuries - Slight Drug Use - Death/Discussion of death (Please trust me and read before yelling lol)

Lance’s POV

Pain. So much pain. Coran made getting stabbed look less painful than this.

Blood rushed to his mouth, dripping out of the corners of his lips. His mouth twisted due to the injury. His eyes trying to squeeze shut at the burn in his body. Trying to slip into a painless slumber.

Sendek matched his face, growling as Lance pushed his sword into him more. He clearly wasn’t anticipating that.

Lance forced himself to take a couple of breaths. His mind was racing. Something he couldn't afford right now. One stab to the gut wasn't enough to take down Sendek. This was his chance to finish it.

“Yo-you-'' Sendek began to spit out the start of another monologue of some sort. Lance didn’t care to hear it.

Expand. Expand. Expand! His sword finally shifted. A metal piece tore through Sendek. Right out of his head.

His arm immediately shut down. His eye went dark and his body fell backward. His hand yanked out of Lance.

Lance gasped at the pain, finding his own body falling to the ground. His knees buckled underneath him.

The ground was cool. It felt nice. He could deal without his armor tightening around him. Digging and squeezing around his gut. Applying an uncomfortable pressure. He knew it was doing what it was supposed to do. But he was dying, did he really need more discomfort?

He laughed, which turned into a wet cough as blood moved up his throat. He was dying.

He closed his eyes, not even caring he was choking slightly on his own blood. He just wanted peace.

“Lance!” Hands grabbed his head, turning him to the side. Assisting the warm liquid out of his mouth.

He tried to focus on the voice. The voice he had memorized months ago. Keith. He tried to open his mouth to speak but he released a groan instead.

“Holy sh-shit. You-you’re going to be okay. Pl-please be ok-okay.” Keith was babbling. His eyes filled with tears as he stared down at his knight.

Lance found himself staring at him. Even through the pain, he was clear to him. He was the only thing he wanted to look at.

“Somebody help!” Keith’s voice echoed around them as he called to no one. It was just them. Lance wanted to tell him help was coming. The others were alerted before the fight started. He just didn’t know when.

“Keith.” His voice was hoarse. He couldn’t raise it above a whisper. He put all his effort into his right hand. Trying to lift it.

Keith reached for his hand, holding it tightly between both of his hands. “You can’t die on me! I forbid it! You can’t-” he closed his eyes. A sob escaped his chest.

“You’re beautiful.” Not dying Lance would be horrified if those words slipped out. But he was dying. He didn’t care as much.

Keith opened his eyes, lending down to pressing his face against their hands. “That’s my line.”

Lance smiled, “you flirt.”

Keith pressed a kiss into his palm. He had never done that before. “Please stay with me…I can’t lose you.” His voice was weak and tiny. A sound Lance had never heard before.

“You’ll be okay.” He pushed each word out, his senses beginning to fade some.

Keith shook his head, “no. I need you Lance…please just. I can’t-” his chest hiccupped. “I love you…you can’t just leave me.”

“Wh-what?” more pain moved in his chest as Lance tried to sit up. Nearly blacking out from the motion.

Keith gripped his hand tighter. Seeming to try and keep him alive just by holding his hand. “I love you.”

Lance laughed slightly, coughing up more blood in the process. “How unlucky am I?”

“What?”

He closed his eyes. The man I love feels the same. But I won’t be here to enjoy it. His chest sputtered slightly, his lungs failing to fill with air. Everything slowly went cold. And quiet. He allowed himself to fall.

His eyes shot open, his body moving forward quickly. Gloved hands quickly pressed him back down. “Easy my boy. No need to ruin your healing process.”

He didn’t need to look at the source to know who it was. “Coran!” He turned slightly, the cords attached to him going unnoticed. “Where’s Keith?! I need to-” He tried to slide off the bed he was laying in.

The older man placed his hands on his shoulders. Gently pushing him down. “Shhh, the Crown Prince is fine. He’s safe and treated. And so are you.”

He let himself be moved back down on the bed. Resting his head on the silk pillow beneath him. His eyes looked up at the familiar architecture. “I’m on Altea.”

Coran hummed, “you were brought here once you were stabilized. The Galran’s pods are only set up for other Galran’s. Well for long-term healing.”

Lance was silent. Trying to remember what happened. He was dead. He was dead. How was he? “I was dead.”

The older man sucked in a tense breath. Crushing any doubt Lance may have had.

“Coran…I was dead.” He looked at the older knight. Letting his own words sit heavy on him.

The orange-haired man nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion, sadness, and something else he couldn’t label. “You were briefly. According to Shay, at least a minute.”

Lance frowned. “How did?” He paused, trying to calm his mind. Questions swam around in his head, making it hard to navigate or concentrate. “I don’t understand.”

He had accepted his death. He was dead. None of this made any sense.

Coran leaned back in the chair he was in. Crossing his arms loosely in front of him. His right leg crossed over his left. “We arrived as soon as we could. All of us.” He shook his head some, his eye closing as he recalled the details. “I’ve never heard Romelle scream so loud before. And Adam,” he chuckled slightly. “I’ve never seen him speechless before.”

He took a deep breath, his eye staring at the edge of the bed. “You were alive when we got there. Barely. But alive. The poor Prince. He wouldn’t stop crying. He wouldn’t let you go. He was begging for us to help you. To save you. The Empire and Empress had to pull him off you. Nearly pinning him down.”

“I went into autopilot. I ordered Adam to take off his chest plate and he helped me snap it on you. So at least you had something that could properly stop the bleeding. I carried you to our ship, immediately demanding we headed back to Altea. But,” he paused, blindly reaching for Lance’s hand. Giving it a supportive squeeze.

“We didn’t want to move you if it was too late. Thankfully, we were on the Emperor's ship which had a small med bay. The devices they had mainly worked for Galran’s but it was enough to stabilize you. The entire flight to Altea you were in and out. Mumbling about the pain, and how tired you were. Asking where your mom was, telling us it was okay. You were okay. It was painful.”

Lance felt his heart drop. He couldn’t imagine how that must have felt for everyone else. He didn’t remember any of that.

“As soon as we landed on Altea you were mostly gone. But Shay and her team met us with a stretcher. They were working on you as we rushed you to the pod room. I’ve never heard Shay swear before. But she was cursing like a space pirate as your heart stopped.” Coran laughed at the memory. “Yelling at you to pull yourself together, and how dare you be her first patient to die on her.” He paused, staring at their hands for a couple of moments. His shoulders were shaking some.

“I’m not sure what she did but she got you back. And shoved you in a pod as soon as your armor was removed. And three days later you were released. You’ve been here for two days. Which Shay said was to be expected. The pods could heal you but your body would still need rest.”

“I pushed myself too far.” Lance chewed on his lower lip. “I let my emotions cloud my judgment during the fight. If I didn’t let that happen it would have turned out differently.” He looked down at himself, a bit scared to see the damage that rested under his clothes. “This wouldn’t have happened.”

Coran frowned. “Sendek played you. The Prince told us what he said.”

Lance squeezed his free hand, anger quickly returning. “He’s dead, though, right? I actually killed him?” He hesitantly asked, worried he may have imagined him falling off his sword. Cold. Lifeless.

“Yes…yes you did.”

Lance let his body relax, tears burning behind his eyes. The relief from the revenge he didn’t know he needed quickly consumed him. Did he finally avenge them? What that a goal he had? A desire he hadn’t identified in the past fourteen years of his life? But through the relief, he felt empty.

Killing Sendek didn’t bring his family back. It didn’t bring back anyone that he had selfishly taken away. He didn’t regret what he did but he was stupid to let his words affect him so much.

“Lance?”

His eyes snapped to Coran, “yeah?”

“Do you want me to get the Prince? He, admittedly, hasn’t left your side since today. Shiro basically dragged him out of here to make him shower and get some proper rest.”

“I uh,” Lance felt his face burn as he remembered their last conversation. The confession. How legit was that?

“Or we can sit together a bit longer.”

Lance smiled at the older man, squeezing his hand again. “I’d like that. I wanna hear what everyone’s been up to.”

They talked for hours. Coran rambled about what Altea was doing. The projects Pidge and her brother Matt had come up with. How Romelle and Allura finally told the King and Queen they liked each other. Adam laughed at them as they blushed in front of Allura’s parents.

Lance slipped back into a slumber as Coran talked. His body was heavy and exhausted.

The room was covered in a warm orange. Mixed with yellow and pink. Sunset. Something he missed. He turned his head to the side, trying to see if he could look out the window.

His eyes fell on a familiar flop of hair. A book held up, covering the majority of his face.

“Prince?”

He dropped the book, immediately scooching the chair closer so his knees were pressed against the bed. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah…I think I woke up earlier.” He squeezed his eyes closed before opening them again. Trying to blink away the sleepiness that sat on his consciousness.

“You did,” the Prince stared at his hand. “Coran came and got me after you fell asleep again.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing.

The Prince smiled, “don’t be sorry.” He grabbed his hand tentatively. Holding it light enough to let Lance know he was there. But lose enough he could easily slip his hand out. “Plus, Adam showed me where your bookshelf was. You have quite the selection.”

Lance found himself smiling slightly, focusing on the warmth of his hand. “I like to read.”

The Prince chuckled, lifting their hands up slightly. Twisting them slightly so the back of Lance’s hand was pressed against his lips. “I know. And I already have a pile of books you need to read me next.” He mumbled against his skin.

“Whatever you want, your majesty.”

The Prince frowned some, a million questions in his eyes. “Lance…about what I said when you were hurt. I just wanted-”

The door flung open. Keith immediately dropped his hand, pressing his back to the chair as Adam and Romelle stormed into the room. Shiro followed silently behind them.

“YOU’RE AWAKE!” Adam bolted toward Lance, immediately wrapping his arms around him.

Lance did his best to hug him back from his position. Romelle immediately took his place. “You really just barged in here screaming? What if I was sleeping?” Lance glared at Adam. Friendly banter.

Adam shrugged, sitting down at the end of the bed. “You’ve been sleeping too much. Time to wake up.”

“I’m literally healing from being impaled. I think I’m allowed to sleep.” Lance grumbled, Romelle sitting by his hip. Her hand on his hand.

Adam waved his hand in the air. “When Coran was stabbed he was up and about the next day.”

“Did Coran die though?”

The room fell silent and Lance ignored the way the Prince stiffened beside him. That was going to be a sore topic for a while.

Adam frowned, “no. Damn, you’re the first one to die out of all of us. How do you feel?”

Romelle chuckled, “Adam stop interrogating him.”

Adam crossed his arms, “it’s not an interrogation…more like an interview.”

Lance smiled to himself. Letting himself laugh as jokes were thrown around the room.

---

Keith’s POV

He silently tapped on the cover of the book he was holding. Watching Lance’s chest rise and fall softy. He glanced at the food that sat beside him. Dinner he couldn’t stomach. He hadn’t eaten since they put Lance in the pod. He needed to but the thought made him sick.

Lance died. He actually died. It wasn’t long but still. He died for Keith. To keep him safe.

He knew that was the reality of their agreement. That was Lance’s job. But, that was the reality he was “okay” with before he developed feelings for him. Before he fell in love with him.

He rubbed his eyes slightly. He needed to properly sleep. Another thing he lost when Lance went into the pod.

He tried. He really did. He wanted the time between Lance’s healing and his being awake to fly by. But every time he fell asleep he re-lived that moment. Holding Lance in his arms. The smell of blood, how pale he looked. How cold his skin got. His parents pulled him off him, trying to calm him down as Coran carried him away.

His throat finally stopped hurting from how loud he was screaming.

He was completely useless. And Lance almost paid the ultimate price.

The door opened slightly. “Prince?”

He looked at the voice, giving them a small nod in acknowledgment.

Coran stepped into the room more, sending him a sad smile. “I’m here to escort you to your room.”

Keith stared at the unconscious boy. He didn’t want to leave him. What if he woke up in the middle of the night? What if he needed someone to comfort him?

How unlucky am I? What did he mean by that? Keith hadn't been able to ask him yet.

“I know you want to stay here but he’ll probably be out the rest of the night. And you need some proper rest. I apologize if I’m coming off as an overbearing father but Lance would freak out if no one tried to get you to rest.”

Keith nodded. Forcing himself to stand from the chair, taking a moment to simply stare at Lance. Silently promising to come back in the morning. To be the first person he saw when he woke up.

He followed Coran down the hall, watching the ground as he walked. “Sleeping makes you re-live it doesn’t it,” Coran stated.

Keith glanced at him, “what?”

The old man kept his eyes trained ahead. “When you sleep. You see it all happen again don’t you.”

Keith chewed on his inner cheek. Letting the silence be his answer.

Coran led them down another hallway. “It happened to me. When my son was killed. I did everything to stay awake.” He paused in front of a door. “Lance helped but it hurt.”

“You took Lance in as a kid right?”

Coran nodded, “you know about what happened to his family correct?”

“Kinda. Sendek said something about it when they were fighting.” Keith opened the door, waving Coran in. He wanted to keep talking but not in the hallway.

Coran bowed slightly as he entered the room. Standing by the now-closed door. “I and my son were heading to the McClain house that day. The McClains were known for medicine. Herbal work, some alchemy, things like that. They were a good family. Strong in their values, morally right. They wouldn’t hurt anyone and they pushed for Alfor to start alliances with the Galran even before the battle was over.”

He sighed, “we were asking them for help creating medicine. Princess Allura was extremely sick. But, by the time we got there, The blood had already fallen. The Galran were still there, catching us off guard.”

He wiped his eye, “my son, he fell during that battle. And,” he touched his eyepatch, “I got this.” He dropped his hand, “the Galran’s fled before I could get them. I chose sitting with my son in his last breaths then chasing them down. I alerted the castle as soon as I could and when the bodies were being taken away we realized one was missing.”

“Lance?”

Coran nodded. “He was hiding in a kitchen cabinet. Said one of the Galran’s put him in there. Didn’t know why. But the castle took him in. I didn’t initially take him in. But after a week he hadn’t eaten or spoken and he found me in the garden. I was mourning my son and took some time to heal. He just sat by me. In silence. Just rested his head on me.” Coran gave a wet laugh, his eyes looking into a faraway place. “I think we just understood the pain. And from that moment I took him in.”

He remembered a detail Lance told him once. There was another knight, killed fourteen years ago. “Your son was a knight?”

Coran’s eyes fell, “yes. Was sworn in a couple of years before he fell.”

The room fell into a blanket of silence. Keith didn’t want to disturb it. He moved and sat on the bed, staring out the glass doors that lead to the balcony. “Do you think you’re closer to Lance?”

The older man started twisting his mustache. “Perhaps. I love all the knights like they’re my own but Lance was younger when I met him. Adam and Romelle were about fourteen when he was brought in. When he started unofficial training when he was nine. They both accepted him like he was already a knight and as a younger brother. They helped him a lot.”

“How does he not hate us?”

“Hate who?”

Keith gestured to himself. “Me.”

“You mean Galran’s as a whole?” Coran inquired.

Keith nodded and shifted his eyes to the knight. “He seems…defensive in a sense. The only time he directly disobeyed an order from me was when I said Galran’s were only good for killing. He sort of…went on a tangent about how we’re not.”

The older man hummed. Clearly picking his words before speaking. “I think when he was younger he did. But I’m not sure if that hatred extended to all Galran’s or just the ones that murdered his family. He had so much anger as a kid. Constantly snapping, using anger as his motivation to train. It consumed him for a couple of years. But he grew out of it. Learned to manage his emotions and hatred. Slowly turned into the man he is today.”

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

Coran nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow he should be up and about and he’ll have to answer some questions but pass that. He’ll be right back to protect you.” A smile formed on his face as he spoke.

“Questions about what?”

“The mission. How he found you. How he got injured. Things like that.”

Keith furrowed his brow, “I already told you everything.”

“And we believe you. But we need his side of the story as well.”

“Okay.”

Coran turned so his hand was on the doorknob. “I should also warn you. The knights will be hosting a party tomorrow for Lance. You won’t have to attend but I couldn’t talk them out of it.”

“Oh…okay.” Keith wasn’t too sure how to respond to that information.

Coran smiled, “goodnight Prince.”

“Night.” The door clicked closed and he lay down on top of the sheets. His body urged him to sleep and he wanted to. But he couldn’t see what happened again. He didn’t want to feel the warmth from the blood or smell it. He wanted to be by Lance. Watch him sleep, watch him breathe. Watch him be alive.

He wanted to talk about his confession.

He rolled over and stared out the doors. Altea was beautiful at night.

---

A small needle was pulled from Lance’s neck, the medic bowing at the King and Queen as they stepped off to the side.

Lance rolled his head around a couple of times. His eyes glazed over.

He wasn’t wearing his armor. Instead, he only wore the black undersuit for his armor.

Another Altean stepped forward, his hands grasped behind his back. “Lance McClain, can you confirm that is your name?” His voice almost echoed off the marble room.

Keith made a confused face, what kind of question was that? He looked at Shiro who simply shrugged. His eyes fell back to Lance. He looked oddly calm under all the eyes that were boring into him.

He sat in a chair in the middle of a room. In front of him were the guard, King Alfor, and his wife. To their left were Allura, Romelle, Adam, and Coran. The knight’s faces were unreadable.

A woman he had never seen before stood next to Coran. Her hair was light purple, her skin a light tan, and her Altean marks were red. She looked at Lance with interest. Like she wanted to dissect him.

A younger person with shorter brown hair and round glasses stood next to Adam. A taller figure who looked strikingly similar stood next to them. Neither had Altean markings.

Keith stood to the right of the Altean leaders, his parents, and Shiro next to him. Others were in the room. People who he assumed were royal advisors, politicians, and maybe Alchemists.

He wasn’t required to attend this questioning but he was admittedly intrigued by Lance’s side of the story.

“Correct,” Lance responded. His voice monotone.

“Have you discussed your side of the mission with anyone?”

“No.”

The Altean nodded, pacing back and forth slightly in front of Lance. “It was reported that you told Empire Kolivan and Empires Krolia of their son, the Prince’s, disappearance first. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Explain how that happened?”

Lance took a deep breath, his posture remaining stiff in the chair. “I woke up and completed my daily routine. I left and waited outside of the Prince’s door at our usual time. I waited until Takashi Shirogane passed me, informing me of a meeting he was about to attend. I knocked on the Prince's door a couple of times and received no answer. That’s when I opened the door.”

“What did you see?”

“His bed was unmade and the balcony door was open. Both unnatural aspects of the Prince’s routine.”

“You think you know the Prince’s routine pretty well?”

Lance nodded.

“Tell us, after you told the Empire and Empress and they contacted Altea. What did you do?”

“I waited for instructions. The Prince’s captors sent a video message that Pidge Gunderson easily tracked down to one of four locations. From there, we were split into our groups and went on our ways.”

“You were alone, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Is it true that you argued against having help? You didn’t, and I quote, ‘don’t need Altean or Galran guard present to help me,’ end quote”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The Prince is my person and the others would have gotten in my way.”

Krolia placed her hand on top of Keith’s. Giving it a grounding squeeze.

“How did you figure out which room the Prince was in?”

“Easy. As I moved through the building the guards got thicker closer to that room.”

“You killed these Galrans?”

Lance nodded.

“Were those your orders?”

“I wasn’t told I couldn’t.”

Murmurs filled the room and King Alfor raised his hand to silence them. Keith looked at the other knights, they looked bored.

The Altean continued. “Explain the fight that led to your injuries.”

“It was between me and a Galran named Sendek. I had to lower my guard to get him close enough to be properly killed. I was running out of time, the Prince needed help, and I wasn't sure when the others would arrive.” He said through gritted teeth.

The Altean raised his eyebrow at Lance. Stepping forward slightly. “How was he able to hurt you so badly? Was the fight uneven? Or were you drugged?”

Lance clenched his jaw, sweat beading around his hairline.

“Lance.” King Alfor said, his voice commanding but comforting.

Lance grimaced slightly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“The more you resist, the more it hurts. I suggest you just answer the question.” The Altean said. Crossing his arms.

Keith looked back at the other knights. Each of them starting to look more pissed off.

Lance released a quick breath, dropping his head some. His hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. “Sendek was one of the Galrans that killed my family fourteen years ago. I didn’t recognize him until he said it. Completely caught me off guard and he was able to land hits on me.”

The Altean nodded. “Did you properly check the Prince’s room the night he was taken?”

Lance breathed more evenly now. “Yes. I checked it after he fell asleep. Everything was locked and no one else was in the room.”

“How do you think he was taken?” Kolivan asked. He must have been given permission since nobody looked at him.

Lance looked at him. “My guess would be someone that works in your castle. Someone that knew I wasn’t staying in his room that night.”

Kolivan nodded, leaning back in his chair. His forehead scrunched in thought. Obviously thinking of the list of people who worked in his castle.

The Altean looked at the King and Queen, both of them nodding. He turned back to Lance. “That is all. Thank you for your time.”

“I have a couple of questions, if I may.” The lady that was standing by Coran spoke. Her lips pulled into a tight smile.

The King glanced at her, before waving his hand. “Feel free Honerva. But I feel as though he has told us everything.”

She smiled, raising her voice to cover the distance. “Do you enjoy working on Daibazaal?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t hold any hatred for the Galrans you protect?”

Lance glared at her, his eyes cold. “No.”

“What about the Galrans as a whole?”

“No.”

“How did it feel to hear that Sendek was one of the Galrans that took away your family.”

Lance gritted his teeth, shaking his head over so slightly. His chest rose and fell quickly.

Honerva smiled some, “I suggest you just answer it. Unless you enjoy feeling fire in your veins.”

“I was pissed. I let my anger consume me and I fumbled.” He took a deep breath, his eyes looking down.

“Rookie mistake?”

He didn’t answer.

She continued, seeming unbothered by the pain the knight was feeling. “If you fought him again. Would you let your anger consume you again?”

“He’s dead so I don’t have to worry about that.”

“If he wasn’t?”

He clamped his mouth shut, a small groan of pain escaping his lips.

Keith dug his nails into his thighs. Fighting the urge to yell at her. Do what he could to get Lance awake from this situation. The knights looked as if they were fighting the same feeling.

“Why are you hiding the truth? I thought you were a knight.”

“Fine! No, no I don’t think I could stop myself from getting angry.” His body shook slightly, his eyes squeezed shut. His head dropped some. Almost as if he was trying to curl into himself.

She nodded at his response. “Do you think you deserve to be a knight?”

Keith snapped his eyes toward the woman. The knights looked at her with anger. And a desire to swing their swords at her. He looked back down at Lance, ignoring how everyone in the room was stiff. The queen whispered something to Alfor.

Lance opened his eyes some. Carrying sadness. He dropped his head ever so slightly more. “No…I don’t.”

She made a slight ‘tck’ sound. “Do you regret what you did to save the Prince?”

“Enough!” Coran stepped forward, his marks glowing slightly. “This doesn’t pertain to the mission or questioning. Everyone in this room knows our code of conduct.” Coran spoke, his voice laced with venom. His stared at the King. Silently telling him something.

King Alfor nodded. “Coran is correct. That is not something that is needed. Lance is allowed to keep his feelings regarding what he did.”

Keith felt his blood go cold, his stomach twisting into a painful ache. Did Lance sacrifice himself reluctantly? The thought hadn’t even occurred.

He glanced over at Coran, his eyes meeting Honervas. An uneasy smile on her face, her eyes full of mischief.

He didn’t like her.

---

“Did you want something else to drink?” Lance asked as he made his way over to him. Holding his own shirt glass of something.

Keith looked down at his cup, “no I’m okay. Thank you.”

Lance nodded, releasing a deep breath as he looked at everyone. Coran was right, the knights did throw a party. It was small though. The knights, Nyma and this guy named Rolo, two humans named Matt and Pidge, Hunk, Shay, Allura, and Shiro decided to come as well.

The knights were wearing their armor. Lance was given a new set after his questioning. Enchanted and everything.

“You know you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.” Lance swirled his drink some.

“I know. But I wanted to. It’s your ‘you didn’t die’ party.”

Lance laughed, “yeah…I guess it is.”

“CHUG CHUG CHUG!!!!!” Both of their eyes snapped toward the middle of the room. Adam was doing a handstand on a metal barrel. A tube in his mouth. Pidge, Matt, Hunk, and Romelle chanted the words loudly.

“What the hell is he doing?” Keith glanced at his advisor who stood across the room. Looking skeptical at what was happening. His own face a bit flushed from the drinks he already had.

“It’s called a ‘Keg Stand.’ It’s a party way to drink on Earth.”

Adam let his legs land on the ground, standing up with a smile. Cheers filling the smaller room. He immediately made his way toward Lance and Keith. Well, he stumbled over at least.

“Lanceeeeee,” he wrapped his arm around his shoulder, hanging on him. “I love youuuu.”

Lance grinned at him, “love you too buddy.”

Adam tried to give him a hug, his free hand landing on Lance’s face. “I gotta tell you something.”

“Oh? What?”

He grabbed Lance’s jaw, turning his head toward Shiro. “See him.”

Lance smiled and Keith felt his lips turn upward some.

“Shiro? What about him?” He tried to pull his head back but Adam tightened his grip some.

“I think he’s hot.” He brought his face closer to Lance’s ear, failing to lower his voice. “I’mma try to kiss him.”

Lance laughed, “good luck with that.”

“Thankssssssss,” Adam released his grip, moving toward Keith. “So like. Does Shiro like guys?”

“I uhhh, I don’t know.” Keith avoided his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it if Adam draped himself on him as well.

Adam gave him a lopsided smile, “I’m going to find out. Have fun you two!” He moved away, making a beeline toward Shiro.

Keith couldn’t help but chuckle. This was the first party he didn’t mind attending.

The night went on. Drinks were passed, music was played, and dancing occurred. It was a fun time. The music began to slow. Hunk and Shay pulled each other close, swaying back and forth.

Shiro and Adam were still leaning against the wall, talking softly to each other. Everyone else in the room didn’t exist to them.

Romelle and Allura were holding each other close, pressing soft kisses on each other's faces. Nyma and Role danced and Coran chatted with Pidge and Matt. All of their faces flushed pink.

“Prince?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you want to dance? Like together?”

Keith prayed his face didn’t give away his flustered emotion. His skin burned.

“You just seemed to want to talk about something yesterday and we're interrupted. We could talk about that now.”

Keith nodded. “Sure.” He turned to face the other boy, letting Lance place his hands above his hips. He slid his hand around his neck, clasping his fingers together. They gently swayed back and forth.

Keith found himself staring at the silver chest plate to Lance’s armor. “So what were you trying to say yesterday?” Lance’s voice was low, the rough Galran rolling off his tongue smoothly.

“I wanted to apologize. For kind of confession while you were…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Dying?”

Keith nodded. “You were in pain, and delirious and that wasn’t the time for me to tell you that. But,” his fingers tightened around each other, pulling himself toward Lance slightly. “What I said was the truth. I’ve never told anyone I loved them before…especially for romantic love. But it was the truth.”

Lance remained silent. His posture stiffened..

Keith breathed around the tears that burned in his eyes. He expected a rejection. “I understand if you don’t feel the same. My feelings are unprofessional and a bit out of the blue but. I wanted to address it…if you don’t want to continue to be my knight I understand.”

“Prince?”

He closed his eyes, refusing to meet Lance’s.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t have any romantic feelings for you.” His hands tightened around his hips. “But, I’m your knight and I don’t think I’m what you need.”

Keith frowned, finally opening his eyes. “How do you know what I need?”

Lance shrugged slightly, “I’m not royal or Galran. I’m sure you have some rules you need to follow for your future romantic partner.”

Keith looked up at the other boy. His blue eyes scanned the room. Even when he wasn’t on duty he still watched everything.

Keith didn’t have any written rules for who he could date. But Lance was right. It was a silent agreement he would find someone with a royal or wealthy background. Species didn’t necessarily matter.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Lance looked down at him. Holding a burning eye contact.

“Because I want you.”

Lance dipped his head some, “okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean?”

He lifted his head. “It means I want you to think about this before you say stuff like that. Because,” he pulled Keith even closer. Their bodies flushed together. “I won’t want to let you go if you give me a chance.”

He leaned down some, putting his lips right next to Keith’s ear. “So think. Make sure this is okay before we do something about our shared emotions.”

The song ended and Lance pulled away, pressing a kiss to Keith’s hand. “I’ll be waiting.”

Lance headed toward Romelle and Allura. Hunk and Shay joined the convo. Keith grabbed another refill, downing the liquid quickly before stomping over to Shiro. Who was still being sweet talked by Adam.

“Shiro.”

“Hm?” He pushed himself off the wall.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He gestured towards the balcony. Adam sent him a wink before making his way over to where the crowd was.

The air felt good on him, his skin warm from the alcohol and being that close to Lance.

“So I saw you and Lance dancing…very closely.” Shiro teased, bumping their shoulder slightly.

“I told him I loved him…when he was dying. And we just talked about it.”

Shiro frowned, “he doesn’t feel the same?”

“No, he does. But he’s worried about me. Since he’s not ‘royalty’ or ‘Galran’ it couldn’t work out.”

“That makes sense.”

Keith turned so his back was against the marble railing. Letting his head look up at the stars. “Would mom and dad be okay with us?”

Shiro hummed, quickly sobering up as he thought. “I’m not sure. They haven’t talked too much about the type of person they want you to end up with.” Shiro placed his arm on Keith’s shoulder. “They do want you to be happy.”

“And push a political agenda.”

“It would be beneficial. But I think you should go with what makes you happy. Your parents will have to learn to accept who you love.”

Keith nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No…you can go back to Adam.”

Shiro blushed, “we’re just talking.”

Keith laughed, “please. Anyone can see how close you two have gotten over the past couple days.”

Shiro pushed him slightly, in a friendly manner. “Watch your tone, Prince.”

They both headed back to the party, chuckling as they walked. Keith had made up his mind. He was going to do something for himself for once. He watched Lance dance with his friends. He looked happy.

He waited till others started leaving before he approached Lance again. “Hey.”

Lance turned to look at him, his eyes filled with anxiety. “Hey.”

Keith glanced around, everyone seemed to be engrossed with their own people. “I know you’re off duty. But could you walk me to my room?”

Lance nodded, “let’s go then.”

They walked in tense silence, Keith’s palms getting sweatier by the second. Lance stopped in front of the door. “Here you go, your majesty.”

“Could you come in for a minute?”

Lance gave a soft smile, “sure.”

Keith walked to the balcony, staring out the door as Lance closed the door. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah…the best party I’ve been to.” Keith turned to face him. “Did you?”

Lance smiled, “yeah. I danced with someone.”

Keith chuckled, taking a couple of steps toward his knight. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

Lance stiffened. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to be so nervous.” Keith stepped closer, reaching out to grab Lance’s hands. The new leather smooth under his skin.

Lance stared down at their hands. “I basically told you to think about rejecting me. I think I have the right to be nervous.”

Keith leaned in closer, “I talked to Shiro.”

“Okay.”

“He said I should do what makes me happy.” Their faces were close, their lips only a couple of inches apart. Their breaths mingled.

Lance squeezed his hands ever so slightly. “What would make you happy?”

“Can I show you?”

“Yeah,” Lance’s voice was hardly above a whisper.

Keith closed his eyes, slowly pushing himself forward. Their lips connect.

-----

Hehehehe kiss <33333

That interrogation scene was def inspired by Candor from the Divergence series

Thank you for reading <333333

#enchanted #chapter 9 #holy shit tumblr fought me on this #langst #klangst #klance #kangst #tw blood #tw dead #tw injury #tw drug use #posted on ao3 #no beta #long post #kats writing #knight lance #altean lance #galran keith #prince keith

8 notes · View notes

taintedcigs · 1 year ago

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first of all. YOUR WRITING IS PERFECT THE WAY IT IS ANDY. it is not repetitive, it doesn't need improvement. ITS YOURS, ITS UNIQUE, and its beautiful. pls don't be too hard on yourself, ily <33

second of all. THIS CHAPTER OFFICIALLY WRECKED ME. as a proud team steddie IDK WHAT TO FEEL? AGONY? HAPPINESS BC EDDIE WAS SO CUTE? DYING INSIDE BC STEVE MAKES ME SOO?? IM CONFLICTED OKAY?

He scratches the back of his neck, “uh well, apparently Ray is a fan of pocket knives,” he laughs. I WILL KILL THAT SON OF A BBBB WHAT OMFG

“She is not you.” ALWAYS FUCKING GETS ME. JESUS CHRIST. JESUS FUCKING CHRIIISTT.

“I know,” he whispers, frowning at the ground, “I know, I’m sorry. I-I made a mistake and I will regret it for the rest of my life.” GROVELING ALREADY STARTED IM SMILING RN IM SORRY

“Don’t put the blame on yourself,” he says in anger for himself, “I was the one who lied to you, I was the one who fucked up. Not you, y/n. Never you.” FINALLY TAKING ACCOUNTABILITY GOD I LOVE THIS MAN BUT I ALSO HATE HIM AND I ALSO LVOE EDDIE.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I would have stayed with you.” Because this is what he wanted. He wanted you to fight for him, he wanted you to make him stay. SHUT UP THIS MAKES ME SO SAD. BUT HE SHOULDVE BEEN THE ONE TO FIGHT FOR R!!!!!!

“But you shouldn’t have, it wasn’t your job to fight for me. I should have fought for you. You should’ve been the one to leave, not me.” THATS WHAT I SAID WAIIITTT STEVE AND I SHARE ONE MIND.

GOD THIS ENTIRE CONVERSATION BETWEEN THEM HAS MY HEART TIGHTENED. THIS IS SO SAD OHMYGOD.

It’s always you, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you. im actually going to die. I AM ON THE FLOOR. SOBBING. MELTING.

and OH MY GOD. FINALLY I CAN USE THIS OH MY FUCKING GOD

IM SO HAPPY FOR THE BREAKUP, THOSE TWO NEEDED TO REALIZE THAT THEY BOTH DON'T LOVE EACH OTHER AND WERE TRYING TO REPLACE THE PPL THEY ACTUALLY LOVED W EACH OTHER.

THE SURPRISE PARTY EDDIE THREW FOR HERRR OMGGG. he's literally so sweet. i love both of these pairings so much MY GOD. the rings!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 also the fact that he tried baking a cake OH MY GODDD.

AND JUST WHEN I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING A BIT OF FLUFFINESS... JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO REALX.

So, he showed up at your party. But he did not expect to see you in Eddie’s arms – not like this. He sees you smile and even though it breaks his heart to see you with him, he can walk away with a calm feeling in his chest because he gets to know that this night won't end for you in tears this time. But for him, it does. YOU WENT AND DID THIS??? OH IM A PUDDLE... I AM CRYING IM SOBBING... MY THERAPY BILLS WILL BE AT YOUR DOOR. TOMORROW 8 AM SHARP.

i love this story andy, so much, don't ever doubt yourself because it is amazing. and also ignore all the other ppl who are pressuring you. THIS IS YOUR STORY. YOUR WRITING. it's perfect the way it is! and i can tell u that i'd DEVOUR all of it even tho reader ended up with like an alien or something idk. ILY!!!! 💗💗

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 17

Warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of cheating, underaged drinking and drug consumption, break ups, mentions of injuries, mentions of pregnancy (it's just a joke)

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You spend the night before your birthday with Steve and the same night, it takes a turn for him.

Word count: 9.5k

A/N: This chapter made me realize that my writing needs way more improvement, my words are too repetitive, please ignore. Also big shoutout to @hellfire--cult for throwing some really really amazing ideas at me, thank you, love. I appreciate you! @mysticmunson my angel, thank you for always helping me 🤍

series masterlist

You missed the warm nights, the transition from winter to spring and spring to summer, where every day it gets warmer and warmer. The sun gets brighter and the flowers adorn every field that you pass by.

It’s only the end of April but it’s already so warm, this night especially. The breeze you feel on your skin is one that reminds you of a chilly summer night.

Your eyes are closed, you are leaning back against the railing as you sit outside on your porch steps, waiting for him to come. A year or two ago, you would have waited for him in your room, you would have waited for him to climb through your window and surprise you with a present.

This year, everything is different.

You don’t want him to sneak into your room, that would only bring up painful memories again and you have had enough of those in the past few weeks, you know that seeing him tonight, will only make things worse. Still, you can’t help but feel excited to see him.

You shouldn’t feel this way, you really shouldn’t.

But you miss him, you miss what you used to have.

The sound of a car pulling up and the bright headlights make you open your eyes.

This feels so wrong. To let him back into your life so easily is such a huge mistake. You don’t know what prompted you to say yes to him when he asked you if he could come over the night before your birthday. Maybe it was the wish to uphold the tradition you have had since you were kids or maybe, it was your stupid heart that made you say yes.

You should have said yes to Eddie when he had asked if you wanted to see a movie with him tonight. You shouldn’t have said yes to him.

He gets out of the car and his eyes instantly lock with yours, his brows furrow, he is probably wondering why you are outside. There is something in his hand, you can’t make out what it is.

“Hey,” he says when he walks towards you.

You force a smile, to match the one on his face.

“Hi Steve.”

The gravel crunches beneath his nike’s and he looks down, breaking eye contact for a moment.

You eye him in curiosity.

Isn’t this weird?

To do this when he is with someone else?

Does she know where he is, right now?

He sits down opposite of you, leaning his back against the other railing. His breathing is a little unsteady and he clears his throat. The porch light is the only thing lighting up the area around you, it’s very dim but you still notice the flushed cheeks.

“How are you?” He asks, nervously.

Only as you hear the shakiness in his voice, do you realize just how nervous he actually is.

You don’t know this side of Steve – you don’t remember ever seeing this side of him. The Steve you once knew was always full of himself, confident, arrogant and cocky. Never nervous.

You haven’t talked to him in a while. The notes you have passed to each other in class don’t count.

“I’m okay,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, “how are you?”

He hesitates and his eyes stray away for a few seconds, he looks down at your hands, staring at your rings.

You notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way his features are etched with something that reminds you of something that you always used to see on your face whenever you looked at your reflection in the mirror, when he was seeing Nancy.

“I-I uh, I’m good.”

It’s a lie.

He usually used to avoid looking into your eyes whenever he lied to you.

“Are you?” You ask before you can stop the words from spilling.

When he looks up and you see his eyes again, you notice the frustration behind them. He wears the same look that you used to wear after every fight with him.

Did they fight? Did she make him cry the way he made you cry? Is that why his eyes are glassy and red rimmed?

He only nods.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah,” you whisper and hold eye contact.

You hate your birthday, god, you hate it so much. If you could, you would sleep the day away but you can’t.

“What’s that?” You ask, gesturing to the tiny box in his hand, the one he hasn’t let go of since he came here.

He hesitates when he follows your gaze and looks down at the object in his hand.

“Uh, it’s your birthday present.”

You raise your brows and you ignore the way your stomach flips at his words.

“Oh?”

He nods and then scoots closer to you but he doesn’t hand it to you yet. He still holds it tightly.

“What’s in there?”

A smile tugs at his lips, “never the patient one, are you?”

A breathy chuckle falls from your lips and you shake your head, “you know me.”

His eyes skim over your face, your soft features and the light in your eyes that never died, even after everything he had put you through, the light is still shining brightly even when you can’t see it.

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers.

He places his palm on the ground beside you, he is closer now, closer than he had been in a while. His nike’s bump against your black converse, his fingertips graze against yours and the urge to feel his whole hand on top of yours is so strong.

You look down, eying his knuckles, eyeing the scar. You know where it came from, you still ask, “what’s that?”

He furrows his brows at your question, then follows your gaze to see what you are looking at.

“Oh,” he mumbles.

“I know where you got it from but, how did it happen?”

You avoid his eyes this time. You never thanked him for what he did. It’s something that

Steve doesn’t even expect from you, it’s not something you have to thank him for.

He scratches the back of his neck, “uh well, apparently Ray is a fan of pocket knives,” he laughs.

Your eyes widen and you stare at him in shock as your heart leaps to your throat.

“What?” You gasp.

Eddie told you some things but you know that he left a lot of details out. He didn’t want you to worry.

Fear flashes in your features and you instinctively reach for his hand. The thought that something worse could have happened to him and to Eddie makes you feel so guilty.

“It’s fine,” he whispers.

The worry in your eyes makes his heart flutter in his chest.

You still care about him, you always will. He looks down at your hand, your touch is making his skin tingle and a smile tugs at his lips when he remembers all the times he was able to just take your hand and hold it without a second thought, without having to worry about anything, without having to feel guilty, without feeling like he’s doing some forbidden thing.

He can’t just hold your hand now, not anymore.

Not even when she – “No, it’s not! Something worse could’ve happened, Steve–”

“But it didn’t,” he says, interrupting you, “nothing happened to us. We’re fine. Please just, let’s drop this, y/n.”

“But–”

“No buts, I’m not here to talk about that asshole. What’s done is done, let’s leave it in the past, okay?”

Oh, how easy everything could be if that was possible.

You begrudgingly drop the subject when he keeps interrupting you, not wanting to talk about it. When you try to pull your hand away, he stops you and holds it tighter – you let him.

You lean your head back and take a good look at him. His hair has grown longer and there is a kindness in his eyes that had been missing in the last few months of your relationship. His touch feels more gentle, his presence makes you feel calm instead of anxious, he seems like the old Steve – the one who still loved you.

She brought him back, she did something that you could not do.

You weren’t good enough for that – he did not want to change for you.

“Does she know that you’re here?”

He tenses up a little and for a moment, he frowns.

“She wouldn’t care.”

What?

“She wouldn’t care that you’re spending time with your ex girlfriend?” You ask, confused.

“No,” he says, cringing at the word ‘ex girlfriend’.

You don’t believe it, you can’t believe it, especially not after the way she talked about you after he had dumped you for her. Clearly, she can’t stand you and the thought of her not having a problem with her boyfriend hanging out with you, just seems a little too weird to you.

You would have a problem with that.

“Okay,” you mumble under your breath.

“Is everything okay between the two of you?” You ask, still looking down to hide your eyeroll. You don’t really want to hear him talk about his relationship but, you can’t help but feel a little curious. You know that the pain in his eyes isn’t for nothing.

He hesitates and he tenses up, yet again. You feel it in his touch.

“Yeah.”

“I know when you’re lying,” you mumble, glancing up at him to see him looking away.

The chuckle that falls from his lips, isn’t one of amusement. He glances up at the darkening sky.

“I-I just, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?” You frown.

As he looks back into your eyes, he sees everything that he is looking for – everything that he can never find in her eyes.

“She is not you.”

For a moment, your heart stops beating, your blood stops pumping, the world stops spinning. Everything stops.

How can he say such a thing?

“She’s not the one that I want.”

How can he say this to you after he had told you that he fell in love with her? That he never loved you?

How can he say this when he looks so happy with her?

How can he say this when you had asked him to let you go?

“Steve.”

“I know,” he whispers, frowning at the ground, “I know, I’m sorry. I-I made a mistake and I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

You hate the way your heart flutters despite the pain it’s in, right now.

You hate the way you wonder about how things could’ve been if you never let him go so easily.

You hate the way you feel so little again, the way you just let his words get to you, the way they are able to make you feel sad instead of angry.

You feel like a fool again, the same fool who forgave him over and over again.

“We both did.” Those three words spill from your lips before you can stop them.

You feel stupid, you instantly feel so so stupid. You miss the anger, the coldness – the one that never let him back in.

He looks up, a bewildered look on his face as he stares at you in shock and confusion.

“What?”

“We both made mistakes.”

He shakes his head, you had never seen such a deep frown in his features, his lips are pursed as he tries to come up with words but he can only stare at you with a questioning look in his eyes.

You blink, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the nervous feeling that is building up more and more.

“I-I just,” you pause to take a deep breath, to give yourself the chance to say something that won’t ruin everything again but, something pushes you to say this, “I keep wondering how things could’ve been if I never let you go, how it would’ve been if I just fought for you.”

He whispers your name as he stares at you with eyes that soften the longer he looks at you.

“I-I never did, I just let you go. I keep thinking about that night at Tina’s party. You spilled that stupid red wine on you that you didn’t even like.”

Steve nods slowly. He feels the bitterness on his tongue, the taste of the sour wine still lingers when he thinks about how much he had drank from it to gain more courage, to make it easier to lie to you, to break your heart.

“You told me that you weren’t in love with me anymore and I just, I said ‘okay’ and then I left and that’s all.”

You look back at him with glossy eyes and a frown on your lips.

“Don’t put the blame on yourself,” he says in anger for himself, “I was the one who lied to you, I was the one who fucked up. Not you, y/n. Never you.”

“But–”

“No!” He shakes his head, “stop it, where’s this even coming from?”

You shrug and it only confuses him further.

“Would you have stayed with me if I didn’t let you go?” You ask, “if I fought for you?”

He feels ashamed, he feels guilty and so horrible.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I would have stayed with you.” Because this is what he wanted. He wanted you to fight for him, he wanted you to make him stay.

You know that he is honest and it breaks your heart again.

“But you shouldn’t have, it wasn’t your job to fight for me. I should have fought for you. You should’ve been the one to leave, not me.”

“What?”

“I was a fucking asshole, y/n. I was an asshole to you, every day of our relationship, I kept fucking up, over and over again and you tolerated it, you never left me. You never got mad at me, you never said anything rude, you never did anything bad, you were – fuck, you were perfect, you are perfect,” he holds your hand tighter.

The tear that rolls down your cheek is quickly wiped away with his thumb.

“And I’m sorry, I am so fucking sorry for what I did to you.”

He hates the way your eyes continue to well up with tears. He hates the way your bottom lip quivers as you try to not break down. He hates the way you are still hurting because of him.

“Steve,” you whisper, not wanting to hear his apologies anymore.

He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“I’m not just saying sorry for leaving you, for choosing her over you. It’s not just that.”

You sniffle quietly and you press your knees to your chest. Your hand is still in his and you don’t make any moves to pull it away.

“I’m sorry that I acted like I wasn’t interested in the things you loved doing. I’m sorry that I didn’t show you how much I really loved you. I’m sorry that I didn’t hold you enough, that I didn’t kiss you the way you should have been kissed, that I didn’t take care of you.”

You start crying before you can stop yourself from doing so.

“I should have held you that night. God, I hate myself for what I did to you that night. You cried a-and I-I didn’t do anything, I just listened to you cry.”

You close your eyes when your vision blurs. Your heart drops to your stomach and a sick feeling rushes through you.

You didn’t know that he was awake, you always thought that he fell asleep before you broke down. But he was awake and he heard you. He was awake and he listened to your cries, he just listened and kept his back turned to you when you needed him to just fucking hold you.

Steve watches the tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other.

Back then, he could’ve just pulled you into his arms. He could’ve hugged you, he could’ve held you but he never did – now he wants to so badly but now, he can’t.

He sees how much you are struggling, he sees how hurt you still are. All these months, he thought that you had moved on, that you had left him in the past, that you had forgotten about the pain. But he was so wrong about everything.

You have not moved on, you have not left him in the past and you especially, have not forgotten about the pain that he had put you through.

The girl he knew is still in there just like the boy you once knew is still in him.

You both changed but, you are also both still the same.

“I should have given you the locket,” he whispers as he turns your hand around and places the little box into your palm, “I shouldn’t have given you the fucking bracelet that you never wanted.”

To see you cry will always hurt. To know that he is to blame for your pain, will always make him hate himself. To see the way you look at him with so much sadness and still so much love in your eyes will always make his chest burn with regret.

Your brows are pulled together, your lips are parted and you look down at the box with big eyes.

You pull your hand away from his and you wipe your tears before you open it after a moment of hesitation. A tear drops on the beautiful locket that you have fallen in love with a year back.

A present that would have brought you joy back then, only makes you sad now.

He could’ve seen a smile on your face. He could’ve seen happiness in your eyes. He could’ve heard you squeal in excitement.

He could’ve.

You stare at it, a minute passes and then another, you stare at it in silence.

“I-I didn’t put anything in there,” he mumbles, pointing to the locket, “I know you always wanted a picture of us in there but uh – I figured you wouldn’t want that anymore.”

You take it out of the box, the heart shaped locket is engraved with little flowers – it’s beautiful. Despite the sadness and the anger that is buried deep somewhere, you smile.

It’s something that Steve did not expect. The thought of gifting you the little piece that you have wanted for so long after he left made him anxious, it was a last minute decision – this was not the gift he wanted to give you but it’s something that he found when he took his room apart while searching for a box to put the original gift in. This is what you wanted.

You wanted it for your last birthday but instead he put a bracelet around your wrist, one that you did not wish for. You still loved it, you still smiled brightly and stared at it as though it was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

He bought the locket three days before he left you, he intended to give it to you after Halloween but it all went wrong.

Everything went wrong after that night.

He chose her and you chose to act like he didn’t exist anymore which is something he isn’t mad at anymore, you should have done worse.

You gave him the cold shoulder, the glares, the snarky replies whenever he talked to you, whether it was about the essay you had worked on together or something else. You were mean, dismissive and cold. It went on like that for two months until that night when you had parted ways after the party at Jimmy’s place. After that you just seemed unbothered by his presence, like he didn’t matter anymore.

Now you are showing him a side that he does not deserve to see – the vulnerable, loving side that he only got when you were still his.

He hates that you think that you should have fought for him. He never deserved it. He never deserved you.

He prefers it when you hate him – he deserves that more than your love.

You are silent for the longest time, just staring at the locket in your hand and he watches you with a bitter taste on his tongue and a deep sadness in his eyes.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

It’s been a long time since you called him that.

You lift your head and turn to look at him, your eyes meet and he smiles.

“You’re welcome, y/n.”

The smile that you give him makes him realize just how much he truly misses you.

He misses the sound of your giggle, he misses the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, he misses the way you would smile into the kisses, he misses the way it feels to hold you, he misses being with you. God, he misses you.

You look down and with a heavy sigh, you push yourself up, “I-I should go inside.”

The disappointment that rushes through him is deep, he doesn’t want this to end, he doesn’t want to say goodbye again, he doesn’t want to go back to a love that is forced.

“Yeah,” he breathes, getting up as well.

For a moment, you stand in front of each other, not moving, not looking away from one another. His hands itch for your touch and you long to feel his arms around you.

Should you tell him how much you miss him?

Should you hug him?

Should you tell him how he haunts you in your memories?

His hair looks soft beneath the dim porch light, his eyes even softer as he stares at you, his lips – stop. You curse at yourself for letting your mind go there. He is not yours, he belongs to someone else.

Steve sees the way you look at him; it’s still the same.

And that little moment is enough for him to make a decision.

“Goodbye,” you whisper.

He hesitates.

Once again, he finds himself here, not wanting to say goodbye to you.

“Goodbye.”

You tear your eyes away from him, you look down and walk towards your door. You lift your hand, reaching for the doorknob when you feel his fingers closing in around your wrist.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You’re met with a smile when you look back again.

“Happy birthday, dolly.”

A breathy chuckle falls from your lips and you smile, “thank you.”

Last year he would have kissed you.

This year he can’t even hug you.

You turn back around and he watches you hesitate, his hand is still holding your wrist and you turn to him once again. You let go of his hand and you lift the sleeve of your sweatshirt to show him something.

The dainty pearls around your wrist make his eyes widen.

“I love the bracelet, by the way,” you say with a smile before you walk into your house, leaving him standing on your porch.

The warmth in his stomach is only there because of you, because of the love you still got for him – and even if you had no love for him anymore, he would still feel it. You could break his heart into a million pieces and Steve Harrington would still love you more than anything else in this world.

He can push you out of his life, he can try to fall in love with someone else, he can replace you with another girl but no one will ever be you.

No one will ever make him feel the things that you make him feel. No one can make his heart race the way you do. No one can make him feel so safe and loved despite the distance, no one but you.

It’s always you, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you.

There is no point to be with someone he can never love the way he loves you. There is no point in being with someone who could never love him the way you loved him.

It’s all just pointless, everything that has happened since Halloween night is pointless.��

His mind is filled with thoughts, ones that keep him so distracted that he doesn’t even notice that the light in his bedroom is on. Only when he steps into his room and he notices his girlfriend sitting on his bed, does he realize that he is not alone tonight, like he wanted to be.

He instantly notices the frown on her face, the crossed arms and a look of anger in her eyes.

“Nance,” he mumbles with furrowed brows, confused by her presence.

He takes a look around his room to find it a mess, messier than it was before. Books, clothes and notes are scattered all over the carpet, an open box lying on the floor, pictures of you and him spilling out of it. Your green scrunchie from cheer practice lying on the sweater that belongs to him, one that he had put into the box because it was basically yours, it smelled like you, it probably still does.

Realization floods through him, but there is no ounce of fear inside of him. He isn’t scared of what is about to happen.

Nancy is holding one of the many notes and she looks at him in disbelief, scoffing as she holds it up for him to see.

“I’ll throw it away later, huh?” She asks, mocking him.

He doesn’t have to take a closer look to know which note it is. It’s the one she found in his car a few months ago, the one he promised to throw away.

He doesn’t know what to say so he just stands there and looks at her, trying to figure out what she is feeling right now.

She is not hurt, he knows she isn’t, just angry.

Her eyes have strayed away from him just a few weeks after he left you for her. The moment Jonathan stepped into her life, her heart was no longer his, she gave it to her supposed new friend.

He saw the stolen glances, the lingering touches. He knew about the secret meetups, he knew about what she did when they had decided on taking a break. But, he never said anything, he never did anything about it. He tolerated it because he thought that he deserved it.

She did the same thing that he did to you, just so much worse. At least, he had never slept with anyone else, he had never kissed anyone else.

Everything that she did in the course of their relationship is something that he was afraid of you doing to him. He was stupid for even thinking that. You would never do that to him.

“I wish I could say that I’m surprised,” Nancy mumbles, throwing the note on the ground, “but I’m not.”

Nancy isn’t blind and she isn’t stupid either, she always knew where his mind was at when he was with her, when he kissed her, when he touched her, when he slept with her. He was thinking about you, all the time.

When she came over tonight, she didn’t expect to walk into an empty house or the mess that he had left in his room. She waited and waited and he didn’t come so she decided to keep herself busy. She began to clean his room, she organized his desk, dusted his furniture and put away his clean sweaters into the closet when she had found that box. Normally, she wouldn’t have opened it but curiosity got the best of her and now she feels relieved that she had done it, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Steve is calm, that’s something he had never been when he had gotten into fights with you.

“Are you not gonna say anything?”

Steve walks further into the room, he looks down at the things that belong to you, the things that he should’ve never put away in the first place.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Nancy.”

She tilts her head as she looks up at him, “you lied to me.”

He nods. He lifts his hand and runs it through his hair.

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, “I lied to you.”

He lied when he said that he moved on from you. He lied when he told her that he loves her. He lied so many times and still, he tried to be good for her because he really wanted to try and be with her.

“Do you love her?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Steve doesn’t even hesitate, he is done lying.

“Yes.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes and he doesn’t even understand why – he is not the one that she wants.

“Was it all just a lie then?” She asks, throwing her hands up.

He shakes his head. No. It wasn’t all a lie, only his feelings, they were a lie, his love for her, that was a lie.

He likes her, he always did. He liked spending time with her, he liked taking her out on dates, he liked studying with her and taking her to the movies afterwards but that’s all it was, he liked it.

“No.”

“God,” she breathes, “you’re so full of shit, Steve.”

Her eyes that held pain and disbelief are now filled with anger and rage.

“It wasn’t a lie?” She asks, stepping closer to him.

As he looks down at her, he notices that he isn’t scared of what she is about to say. He isn’t scared that the relationship will be ruined after what words will spill from her mouth. He isn’t scared of what he will feel once she’s gone because, even when she leaves, his heart won’t be broken.

No one can break his heart, no one but you.

“No, I really liked you, Nancy.”

She nods, her eyes widen and she purses her lips as she looks at him through her lashes- angrily.

“Liked,” she says with such distaste in her voice. She takes a look around the messy room, she takes a look at the things on the ground, your things. “This is such bullshit.”

Steve tenses up at her words, a cold shiver runs down his spine as he looks at her.

“Why did you – why did we even get together?”

He doesn’t know, he won’t be able to give her an answer, he doesn’t even have it himself.

“Why did you leave her when you clearly still loved her?” She asks, raising her voice as she begins to pace around his room, kicking away the book that once belonged to you, one that he never gave back. “Why did you lie to me and say that you didn’t love her?”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.

“Why did you tell me that you love me when it was all bullshit?” Nancy asks and suddenly halts in her tracks when she realizes that she did just the same. She told him that she loved him when her heart was somewhere else. “You know what, this is all bullshit.”

“Nance,” Steve mumbles as he opens his eyes. He looks down at the ground. He can’t stand to hear these words again, it will always take him back to the night in your room, when he had almost kissed you, when he told you that he still loves you.

“No!”

She turns around to face him, she points her finger at him.

“Let’s not fight.” He raises his hands up, trying to get her to calm down. “I don’t–”

“This whole relationship was bullshit, Steve! W-We kept acting like we’re in love when we–”

“When we aren’t in love?” He asks calmly, eyeing her slumped shoulders and the defeat in her eyes when she realizes that there is no use to fight.

She doesn’t want to admit it, still worried about hurting him when she knows that no one could hurt him, no one but you. She looks at him, she takes in the sight of him. He is calm, even after what he found out a few days back.

Suddenly, Nancy feels like a hypocrite for doing this to him. For taking his room apart, for getting upset over your stuff in his closet, for confronting him like this, for yelling at him when she was the one who got caught kissing someone else – she got caught by him and unlike her, he didn’t get mad, he just accepted it and then acted like nothing happened.

Just like you always did.

“Where were you tonight?”

He doesn’t know why she is asking him that, they both know that this is the end.

“I was with y/n. Her birthday is tomorrow. We have always spent the night before together, ever since we were little kids.”

She raises her brows and nods, still feeling bitter about it, despite everything.

“And you?” He asks, tilting his head, “where have you been? I dropped by your house earlier tonight and you weren’t home. Where were you?”

Once again, she breaks eye contact, too ashamed to give him the real answer.

Steve can tell the truth now. She can’t.

But he is done with this, with everything.

He sighs and he walks closer to her.

Nancy crosses her arms over her chest, she bites down on her lip nervously.

She is struggling to tell him the truth but he wants her to know that it’s okay.

“Nancy, look at me.”

He takes her hand in his, ignoring the way it feels so wrong to hold hers after yours.

“Please.”

She looks up at him.

Blue eyes filled with guilt meet the warm hazel ones, the one filled with sadness but also with calmness.

“I know what happened with you and Jonathan, back in december,” he mumbles, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Steve..”

“It’s okay, Nance,” he whispers, squeezing her hand, “it’s okay.”

“You should be with him.”

Her brows snap together, her lips part in surprise. She blinks, staring up at him with confusion in her eyes.

“We’re not right for each other,” he whispers, “you love him and I love her – and I can’t be with her but you can be with him.”

Her eyes soften and the tension slowly leaves her body. She still feels guilty, for more than one reason.

“It’s enough if one of us is miserable,” Steve says, trying to crack a joke.

The smile on her face is forced.

“We both know that this isn’t working, Nance. We keep pretending, we keep lying to each other, we keep acting like we’re happy with each other when we’re not. This needs to stop.”

Her eyes well up with tears but she agrees with him.

“Yeah,” she whispers and slowly removes her hand from his.

“So this is it?” She asks, lifting one shoulder as she gives him a look of uncertainty.

“Yes,” he nods, “this is it.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

Both of them felt it coming. It’s been tense between them for weeks now, ever since the night you had called him.

When he and Eddie went after Ray and he walked out of the fight with injuries, with bruises on his temple and his knuckles, he had to lie to her to avoid the truth. She didn’t believe him when he said that a few guys from the basketball team had attacked him so she kept pressing him for answers, she wanted the truth, the truth that she never got.

To this day, she doesn’t know what really happened.

That put another dent into their relationship.

But her lies were so much bigger and crueler than his.

Still, he tried. He took her out on more dates than usual but both of them forced their happiness, their love and even their smiles. It was all forced.

A heavy sigh falls from her lips, she wipes away the tear that fell down her cheek.

“I-I guess I’m gonna go.”

He nods.

They both take one final look at each other. Both of them knew that this would happen but neither of them thought that it would happen this soon.

“I’ll drive you home.”

She shakes her head, “I took my mom’s car, didn’t you see it in the driveway?” She asks.

“Oh,” he scratches the back of his neck. He didn’t see it, he didn’t really notice anything, his mind was with you, “right.”

“Yeah, uh.. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

The moment she leaves and he hears the front door slamming, he feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders but at the same time, he feels this grief inside of him because he knows that now, he is truly all alone.

His parents are gone.

Tommy is gone.

You are gone.

And now, she is gone too and there is no one he can distract himself with anymore.

He is all on his own now.

He drops down on his bed and he looks at the mess in his room. He stares at your things. Something shiny that glistens beneath the light in his room catches his attention. He leans down to pick it up. It’s your hair pin, the one that you wore on your birthday last year.

He feels the coil in his throat, the sickening feeling when he thinks about what happened when he came back to you after he left you all alone on your birthday.

He drank at Tina’s party, he drank so much, he was miserable without you, he was angry at himself for the way he treated you, for the way he had been treating you for weeks prior to your birthday.

He didn’t party, he didn’t dance, he didn’t laugh, he didn’t even spend time with Tommy. He only drank until the bitter taste of whiskey made him feel sick and long for you. Without saying goodbye to his friends, he left and walked across town to your place.

It was 11pm by the time he got there, he sneaked into your room to find you in the same state as him. You were sitting on your floor with a half empty bottle of whiskey, you were crying and staring blankly at the TV screen.

“You gotta stop leaving your window open,” he said, startling you.

Your head snapped towards him, your glossy eyes widened and you instantly put the bottle down, you jumped up.

You stood there and stared at him with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I-I always leave it open for you,” you said with a shaky voice.

It was his fault.

He hurt you on your birthday and he came over to fix it but he only made it worse.

He kissed you. He kissed you so deeply and passionately the way he had never usually done anymore. He took your clothes off and you helped him out of his, before you both made your way over to your bed.

He kissed all over your face, he kissed your neck, your chest.

He intertwined your fingers together.

He praised you.

He told you how much he loved you.

He made love to you that night – it was soft, sweet and perfect. And he didn’t realize just how much it was hurting you that he was doing that while he was drunk, while you were both drunk. That he was showing you a vulnerable and loving side after all the alcohol he consumed. That he was giving you something that he never gave you while sober.

He gave you everything in that moment and then, he took it all away again when he pushed you off of him after you tried to lay your head on his chest. He pushed you off and he didn’t bother to look at you, he didn’t bother to look at the shocked and hurt look in your eyes when he turned his back to you.

He pushed your hand off when you tried to hug him once again.

He pushed you away twice.

“Steve,” you whispered with a shaky voice. He knew you were on the verge of tears, he knew you were about to cry.

You touched his arm, softly, carefully.

“Don’t.” Is all he said to you as he shrugged your hand off.

He heard your sniffle and the rustling of the sheets as you pulled away from him. You turned away from him too and you waited, you waited until you thought that he had fallen asleep before you broke down again that night.

You tried to be quiet but you couldn’t, you cried.

You cried and he did nothing. He just laid there, blinking away his own tears as he looked out the window, asking himself why he couldn’t just hold you. He listened to you cry and he did nothing, not even when his mind was screaming at him to just turn around and pull you into his arms.

When your sniffles died down and he was sure that you had cried yourself to sleep, he did something that he couldn’t do while you were still awake.

He turned around and he wrapped his arm around you.

“Are you ever gonna tell me where you’re taking me?”

Eddie shakes his head, flashing you a smile.

“Nope.”

You chuckle and lean back, you look out the window.

Eddie doesn’t know what day it is and you feel relieved about it. You will forever continue to be dramatic about your birthday, you like to pretend that this day doesn’t exist – which is impossible considering your family and friends know about it.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie asks, “cause I’m hungry.”

You hesitate and Eddie narrows his eyes to look at you. You lean forward, turning the volume up when your favorite Metallica song comes on. He knows what you are trying to do.

“I ate earlier.”

“Ah, what did you eat, sweetheart?”

Birthday cake. Your mom made it.

“Toast.”

“That’s all?” He gasps.

“It’s only 6 in the evening!”

“Yeah and you only had breakfast!”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Y/n,” he sighs.

“Eddie,” you sigh, giving him a sweet smile.

A look of disapproval crosses his face, he shakes his head at you.

“I’m gonna make you dinner.”

You snort when you look out the window. You are far from the trailer park and from your house. He picked you up in the afternoon and took you to the movies the way he wanted to the night before.

He didn’t ask what you did last night and he didn’t ask where you had gotten the necklace from, the one that is now around your neck.

He knows everything without having to ask and you don’t even know that he is aware of things that you are trying to keep a secret.

When Eddie pulls up to the quarry, you look at him in confusion, “uh the quarry?” You ask, “what are we doing here?”

You’d hung out at Lovers Lake, Skull rock, Lake Jordan and even at the hidden lake in the woods but you had never come out here.

As you look around, you wonder why you haven’t been here before. It’s quiet with no people around, it’s a beautiful spot to come out here whenever you need a moment to yourself.

The sun is shining down on the blue water, it looks good enough to jump in but it’s still not warm enough to take a swim.

“Well, it’s about time we find new hangout spots!” He says with a grin. He turns off the engine and it falls silent between the two of you when the music stops playing.

“Ready to get high, sweetheart?”

You chuckle, “yes.”

He gets out of the van and you follow suit. Smoothing down your dress, you reach for your jacket before you close the door.

Eddie walks around the van, bowing down before you, he offers you his hand.

Giggling, you shake your head as you place your hand in his.

“Dork.”

He gives you a proud smirk as he pulls you closer to him, he raises your hand towards his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles.

“Your dork,” he winks.

You can’t help but laugh, unaware of the blush on your cheeks.

“Definitely a dork,” you giggle, “a cute dork.”

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder, “come on.”

The confused look on your face makes him smile smugly. That smile should have been enough for you to know.

You look around, there is nothing but rocks, trees and the huge lake in front of you. Not a single bench in sight, nothing to sit down on but the hard concrete floor, “are we not gonna smoke in the back of your van?” You ask, “where are we supposed to sit?”

There is an innocent look on his face but his eyes are filled with mischief.

Maybe he does know about your birthday. Maybe he is mad at you for keeping it a secret. Maybe he is gonna push you into the water for not telling him – that thought makes you want to laugh. Eddie would never do that.

“You’re not gonna push me into the water are you?” You joke.

You can’t help but smile at the sound of his laughter and at the way his eyes shine so beautifully when he looks down at you. His curls aren’t as messy as they usually are, he is wearing a new shirt and a new cologne.

It makes your stomach flip – you don’t know why.

“You smell good.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks despite the pounding in his chest.

You nod.

“New cologne?”

“Mhmm.”

“I like it.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yes,” you smile.

The look in his eyes suddenly makes you nervous, you have to look down to avoid the fluttering in your stomach.

He leads you down to the little bay, one that is surrounded by beautiful pine trees and a secret camping place. He smirks at the sight in front of him and glances down at you to see you still looking down at your shoes, just as you’re about to lift your head up, he grabs you and pulls you against him, holding both hands in front of your eyes.

“Eddie?” You ask, chuckling.

He leans his chin on your shoulder and pulls your hair back, “not gonna lie, I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me.”

You frown, “w-what?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers and removes his hands again to reveal his little surprise.

Your eyes widen, your jaw drops as you look around in confusion and surprise.

There is a campfire, logs surrounding it, a boombox perched on one of the tree trunks. Coolers and snacks, along with a birthday cake that Robin is holding up with a grin on her face.

Your friends are here, well, most of them.

Heather, Chrissy and Robin are standing next to each other looking at you in excitement. Gareth, Jeff and Grant are wearing party hats, the sight of them makes you giggle.

“Surprise!”

“Happy birthday!”

“Oh my god, are you kidding?” You laugh, clapping your hands together.

“Happy birthday!” Chrissy squeals, being the first to run towards you and pull you into a tight hug. “I’ve been waiting for this all day!”

You wrap your arms around her, “thank you, Chris,” you giggle, closing your eyes as you hug her back just as tight. Heather joins the two of you, hugging you from behind, she kisses your cheek.

“Happy birthday, babe,” she grins as though she hasn’t been the first to call this morning, pulling you out of your deep slumber.

“Can I join you girls?” Gareth asks, wiggling his brows at Heather who flips him off.

“No boys in a girls group hug,” Chrissy says to him.

“I can’t wait to give you my present, y/n!” Jeff grins as he is the next to hug you.

“What did you get her, Jeff?” Gareth asks, “a poster of Eddie?”

Grant bursts into laughter and so does Gareth, proud of his own joke.

Eddie rolls his eyes with a blush on his cheeks.

“C’mere, birthday girl!” Robin says to you, stealing you from Jeff, she kisses your cheek, “I can’t believe you thought that you could keep this from us!”

“I can’t believe you guys are throwing a party for me,” you say, blushing.

“That was Eddie’s idea,” she smiles, winking at you.

Huffing, you turn away from her to hide the flustered look on your face. Eddie stands there with a smile, watching you interact with your friends before your attention strays back to him and your soft eyes lock with his.

“Let’s party, guys!” Gareth claps his hands together, walking away from the group.

Grant walks over to the boom box to put on some music. Jeff gives Eddie a sheepish smile, “I’ll get the drinks.”

“I’ll help!” Heather says, following him.

That only leaves Robin and Chrissy who are still looking between you and Eddie before they look at one another. Robin smiles down at the blonde, “wanna help?” She asks, wanting to give the two of you some privacy.

Chrissy’s brows furrow, she stares up at the tall girl.

“With the drinks, I-I mean,” Robin mumbles.

“Oh!” Chrissy giggles, “yeah, let’s go.”

You and Eddie don’t notice the two blushing girls, you are too busy looking at each other.

“How did you know that it’s my birthday?”

“I asked your mom,” he responds, quirking a brow as he looks up at the sky, “like, back in december.”

Your eyes soften.

He asked your mom about your birthday?

“Eddie,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You lay your head on his warm chest, “you are the sweetest.”

His chest rumbles as he laughs at your words, hugging you tightly.

“That title belongs to you.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you mumble into his chest, “not for me.”

Eddie frowns at your words and he squeezes your arms. There is nothing that he wouldn’t do for you.

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I’d do this for,” he whispers before he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You lift your head up and you look into his eyes with a smile, “thank you, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear. “I got something for you.”

“More?” You ask surprised.

He chuckles, “yeah, come on,” he whispers.

You follow him without question, letting him lead you down to the water for a little more privacy.

The sound of music fills the air, drowning out the voice of the crickets and your friends chatter.

“You’re spoiling me today,” you giggle.

“Gotta spoil my best friend,” he winks at you before he takes both of your hands and turns you around so you’re both facing each other again. “I got a feeling that your friends won’t let me have a moment with you alone so,” he pauses as he lets go of one of your hands, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little bag, one that is in colorful wrapping paper, “you’re getting this now.”

“Another birthday present?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, “I’ve only been waiting for months to give it to you,” he says dramatically with an eyeroll.

“Months?” You gasp.

“Yeah, months!”

You giggle, looking down at the little present in your hands. You unwrap it quickly and eagerly.

Eddie laughs but watches you in anticipation.

You scrunch up the wrapping paper and push it into his hands, making him laugh again. He stuffs it back inside of his leather jacket.

You open the bag and gasp, “oh my god!” You squeal, jumping in excitement, “no way, Eddie!”

You reach for the ring. The skull ring that you have seen in the window at the Gothic shop that you passed by when you spent a weekend in Indianapolis, back in February.

“Where’s the other one?” You ask, knowing that it’s a set.

He grins at you, motioning you to put the ring on your finger before he picks the matching one out of his pocket, showing it to you. “I’ve been waiting to finally wear it!”

“Put it on!”

He chuckles at your excitement, unable to fight the grin off of his face, he puts the ring on his finger and holds his hand out to you.

“We’re matching!” You smile as you eye the ring on yours and his finger, “I love it so much, Eddie!”

“That makes me happy, sweetheart.”

He might not be able to give you expensive lockets or bracelets but, he still gets to make you smile and that is enough, for now.

You cup his cheeks and stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek.

His cheeks heat up at the feeling of your lips on his skin.

“Thank you,” you whisper again.

He can’t help but place a kiss on your cheek as well, making you giggle again. Neither of you notice the flash of the camera going off.

You are happy, you are smiling and this is all he wanted to see. He wanted to see you happy, especially tonight. After all your horrible birthdays, he wanted to give you one that you can look back on and smile instead of thinking of it with a heavy feeling in your chest.

So he tries to make it as memorable as possible so it may be able to put a shadow over all the bad ones that you have had.

And the night is perfect, this birthday is perfect.

You laugh with your friends, you share a joint and you get tipsy from all the mixed drinks. You make s’mores and listen to your favorite songs.

You unwrap the presents your friends had gotten you – including Dustin’s present who wasn’t allowed to this party. He of course got you a Hellfire shirt, the very persistent boy has been trying to get you to join their club for months now.

And when it’s time for your cake, you can’t help but giggle when the guys sing out of chorus.

“Who made this cake?” You ask after blowing out the candles.

“Uh, the store!” Robin says, sheepishly as she gives you a crooked grin.

“I tried baking one myself,” Eddie says next to you, “I almost ended up without a home.”

“Wait what?” You ask, laughing but holding your hand to your chest, giving him a pout. He even tried to bake a cake for you.

“I’m surprised you had a fire extinguisher at your place,” Robin jokes.

Eddie clutches his chest, giving her a glare, “I’m insulted, Buckley.”

“You could live with me,” you giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He looks down at you with a smile while everyone else shares a look.

Chrissy, who has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looks at Robin, who sits back down next to Gareth. Feeling eyes on her, she lifts her head to catch the pretty cheerleader staring at her.

It’s dark out and the only light surrounding the group is the campfire. That is enough to make the red cheeks very visible, on both girls.

Jeff glances at the matching rings on yours and Eddie’s hands.

“Nice rings, why didn’t you invite us to the wedding?” He asks, wiggling his brows at the two of you.

“Did the invitation get lost in the mail?” Eddie chuckles, “sorry about that.”

Gareth gasps, clutching his beer tightly to his chest, “you’re not pregnant with a Munson baby, are you y/n?” He smirks.

You put your hand on your stomach, “oh yes, I’m having quadruplets!”

“Oh my god, y/n!” Heather snorts, “stop joking about it or you’re actually getting them someday!”

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder, “yeah so? We’re having our own band, the new Corroded Coffin.”

“No!” Grant almost yells.

You and Eddie laugh at his sudden outburst.

Chrissy and Robin fade out the conversation around them, their eyes are locked and the only sounds they hear is the crackling of the fire and their pounding hearts.

As they are unable to keep their eyes off of each other, you and Eddie are unable to move away from one another.

He puts a blanket around you when the night gets colder and you still scoot closer to him, reaching for his hand in search of more warmth and when he kisses the top of your head, a new pair of eyes catches sight of you with him.

Steve didn’t plan to show up at your party.

Despite how well things had gone between the two of you the night before, he still didn’t want to intrude, knowing that he isn’t welcome here.

But he wanted to see you, even if just from afar, he wanted to see you and make sure that you are having a nice time, that you are having a better birthday, a better night than you have had in the year before.

So, he showed up at your party.

But he did not expect to see you in Eddie’s arms – not like this.

He sees you smile and even though it breaks his heart to see you with him, he can walk away with a calm feeling in his chest because he gets to know that this night won't end for you in tears this time.

But for him, it does.

tagging friends & mutuals!

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @screammunson @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx @nemesis729 @somethingvicked @sherrylyn628 @chrissymjstan

#andy⭐️

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