#miraclous fanfic

[trixxiephantomhive]

LBSC Valentines Exchange

This one is for @airi-p4!!! Violin Valentine Ch1

Prompt/Summary: Alya invites Marinette to a piano contest because Adrien is playing. It turns out that she ends up fascinated by the blue-haired violinist accompanying his playing instead (and completely forgets about Adrien).

“Hey, girl! I just found out Adrien is going to be in this super hard to get into piano contest. You have to come and see him!”

“Y-Yeah Yeah! Of course I’ll come”

Those were the ill fated words that lead her to this moment. Her fading crush is constantly being re-sparked by her friends. Obviously she doesn’t mind. She and Adrien would look great together. But, her daydreams of marriage and three kids no longer seem so perfect. Yet, she still puts on her favourite red dress: knee-length, flowy sleeves, and black details. Perfect for a formal concert. 

She sits and does her makeup as she waits for Alya to come and get her, hyping herself up. 

By the time Alya does arrive, she’s fairly excited. Good music, good friends, and probably some yummy snacks. Tonight will be great! 

“Hey, girl!” Alya smiles and gives Marinette a hug. Marinette, of course, looks at Alya's outfit to see what her friend decided to wear. Her outfit is an orange ankle-length Boho dress made with tons of ruffles, she brushes her friends bare shoulders and looks at her.

“Aren’t you going to get cold? Also– Hi!” 

Alya laughs, “I’ll be alright, I can always borrow nino’s jacket. He’s meeting us there.”

Marinette smiles, and thinks “oh, great. I’m the third wheel again” but just laughs with Alya as they leave for the event.

Once they arrive the room and decor is breathtaking. Not surprising for a young pianist competition held in the Philharmonie de Paris. A large lobby awaits the girls as they stand by the doors in search of Nino. He finds them within a few minutes. 

“Hey, girls!” He calls out and smiles, wrapping Alya in a close hug. Marinette smiles and waves. 

“We should head in, Marinette and I wanna get good seats so we can see everything” Alya looks over and winks at her best friend, while Marinette puts on a smile, not really caring about seeing the “everything” that Alya wants her to.

She doesn’t feel any ill-will towards her friend though, she never explicitly told her best friend about not feeling so inclined towards Adrien anymore. Since as a lycée aged girl, she’s supposed to have a crush, right? 

They walk into the theatre and sit down. Three seats in the middle section, five rows from the stage, Marinette takes the aisle seat with Alya on her left. If an akuma strikes during the contest, she’ll need to be able to get out quickly. She leans back into her seat and watches the stage. The show won’t be ready to start for another 5 minutes, and people are still filing in. 

“No flowers for Adrien?” Nino asks Marinette teasingly. 

“Wh-what? No, no, I didn’t think about it. Should I have?” Marinette asks back, worried she may have made a mistake or that it was impolite to have not brought him anything.

Alya then glares at Nino, “Girl, He’s just teasing. Adrien will be happy we came to see him.”

Marinette sighs in relief, silently cursing herself over getting so worked up. Her need to please other people is a constant annoyance in the back of her brain.

As she’s thinking and calming down, the house lights go down as the stage lights come on. Two young men in red tuxedos introduce themselves as the hosts of tonight's show, The hosts begin thanking the night’s sponsors and of course thanking the GABRIEL brand for the use of the tuxedos.

 They then introduce the name of the first pianist and the song they’re playing. The first contestant is a girl with long black hair, and a uniform-like outfit of navy blue and gold. She plays an original piece called ‘Requiem 1 of 9, for each life of a cat’’. A weird name, Marinette thinks, and that is that. She sits down to play a piece that starts playful, but by the end sends chills down Marinette’s spine. After around five minutes of music she exits the stage and a new contestant sits down to play. The only flair of the event is the change in coloured lighting and occasional addition of extra accompaniment. A few players had violinists with them, one or two had a cello, And one was announced to have a viola, but Marinette really couldn’t tell the difference between it and a violin 

After many performances, the awaited time came and Adrien himself walked onto the stage, announced  as “Adrien Agreste, son of the famed Gabriel Agreste. Tonight he will be playing Chopin’s ‘Raindrop Prelude’ Otherwise known as Op. 28 No. 15.” 

He nervously tugs at his tie as he sits down and prepares to play. Marinette is surprised to note there is a violinist on stage, a blue haired boy in an older looking suit plays along. The melody is a gorgeous but sorrowful one. The lights sparkle behind him, in the colour of a pale blue, almost reflecting the hair of his violinist. 

Marinette doesn’t know why, but her eyes seem to unwillingly give this boy a spotlight. 

The way he grasps his instrument with a firm hold and keeps his head tilted at such a thoughtful angle; Marinette doesn’t know much about musicians or how to play violins, but she can just tell out of the others, this boy is by far the best. 

Marinette is pulled out of her examination as a burst of sound hits, Adrien’s playing becomes more dramatic and starts to feel louder even if he seems to be keeping a bit of a consistent volume. Her gaze sweeps back towards the boy, his closed eyes and pursed lips reflecting each change in the song. When it switches to a lighter melody he seems to stand up straighter, his face seems more relaxed. Every motion is so subtle, yet so perfect. It seems as if he could play forever. But just like that, the song is over. The two boys bow and walk off stage. She claps along with everyone, but her mind is focusing solely on that particular violinist. She decides, in a brash thought, that after the show, she must get backstage. It’s a fact cementing in her mind. His calmness compared to the sweat on Adrien's brow, his subtle gestures compared to that of Adrien forcing out some flair. 

It was as if crushes could jump to one person from another like a flu. It almost could be true. She never knew it could happen so quickly. Adrien be damned, another boy she’s barely met has taken his place in a heartbeat. But now she has the pesky problem of finding out who he is.

The rest of the competitors go by, if one were paying attention you could almost giggle about how obvious the difference between the students who had paid to perform and the students who are here on talent is. Marinette though, was not. —Much to her friend Alya’s dismay when she tried to crack several jokes.—

She was too preoccupied with thinking about the best way to get backstage, and how she hoped the blue-haired violinist of her dreams had not yet left.

Finally, the concert ends and Marinette bolts up from her seat and makes her way towards the backstage entrance.

“Where’s the dudette going?” Nino asks Alya, watching their friend sprint away

“Probably going to find Adrien!” Alya says with a smiles. 

Meanwhile, two older gentlemen sit in the back row, quietly muttering to each other. One is a stocky man with a short build and not much hair. The other is tall and slim, with a moustache that can only be described as villainous.  

During the show they had remained uninterested, though only until Adrien appeared. But it may have not been him they were focusing on. As the show ends, they make their way towards the backstage entrance whispering something about a violin. 

When Marinette reaches the entrance she is stopped by a large but familiar bodyguard. Dressed in all grey and frowny as ever, Gorilla stands in front of Marinette, raising a hand to inform her that “no one is allowed backstage.”

But Marinette is not one to be told no by this man once again. So she stands back to create a plan. 

At the same time the two shady men continue to walk forward. They watch the young girl denied entry by a tall and bulky man. They’ll have to find another way in. 

“Wait,” The shorter man says “Look at that girl, she seems determined. Maybe she’ll find us a way in.”

“Are you sure?” The skinny man replies “How do you know she’ll be any good?”

“Doesn’t matter. We can just wait a moment. We’ll get caught if we rush.” The two men nod at each other and stand behind a large potted bush, waiting for this determined girl to act. 

Marinette glances around the room and takes a few steps back. She looks down into her purse to get a view of Tikki, attempting to force her brain into Ladybug mode.

That is when she notices the desert table and a fan nearby. Staring at those items, she comes up with a plan. 

Marinette smiles and walks over since there's a few people getting snacks at the moment. She grabs the fan and places it at just the right angle to blow the smell of the fresh pastries towards the bodyguard. They may not be from her parents' bakery, but hopefully any dessert will suffice. 

The fan blows the lovely sweet smells over towards the bodyguard and he immediately perks up, looks around and doesn’t see anyone by the door, so he strides over to the dessert table for a long awaited snack. Marinette smiles at her success and sneaks right in through the door, searching her way backstage. 

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The two men witness everything and nod to each other. They creep their way to the door. Marinette seems to have other plans, she makes sure the door closes behind her to avoid the guard getting into trouble. Unfortunately for the men, the door doesn’t just close. It slams, so the bodyguard, hearing the noise, whips his head over and sees the men trying to get in. He storms over and pushes the men away with a glare.

The men go outside, wondering if there’s a backdoor with possibly an easier guard to sway. 

“We need to get that violin. And soon.” The shorter man exclaims once the pair is outside. 

“I know. I know.” The taller man responds to his partner with exasperation 

“If the kid takes it back to the Louvre it’ll be a hell of a lot harder to steal.” 

“I know, stop explaining everything. Someone will overhear.”

The crooks bicker,. trying to cement another plan. They do find a back door, several actually, and all they have to do is climb a fence. How hard can that be?

｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *

Marinette, now backstage, walks around looking for that mysterious boy, seeing him just about to exit the stage. She almost sighs in defeat, until she notices an open violin case holding the specific and well designed violin the boy was playing. 

While Marinette spends time finding the boy backstage, the thieves make their way over the fence, and into the nearest door, which leads them into a room right behind Marinette. The crooks think they’ve won, as the Stradivaris is laying in its open case on top of a dressing table. They make their way to it, creeping closer. Just as they are about to grab it, Marinette gets the bright idea to reach out and grab the case at the exact same time. She closes it and excitedly makes her way towards the violinist.

“Hey uhm, I grabbed this for you! It’s a nice Violin!” Marinette exclaims, hoping she didn’t make a big mistake. 

“Oh—thanks, I should be watching it better. It’s a Stradivarius on loan from the Louvre.” Luka sighs, tired after the show, but also interested in this strange yet familiar girl. It feels as if he’s seen someone like her in a picture before.

“Oh Wow!” she replies, “You must be pretty popular to get something like that…”

The boy shrugs, “I’m no one special, it was requested for the accompaniment of the contestant I was playing for. Oh, I’m Luka, by the way, What’s your name?”

“Oh— Uh, Ma-Ma-Marinette!”

“Nice to meet you Ma-Ma-Marinette,” Luka smirks and stifles a laugh, Marinette blushes yet frowns at the same time. “Oh, I’m sorry” he says, “I’m not great at introducing myself to people. Especially… ones so helpful” He takes the violin case from her hands and tucks it under his arm. 

Meanwhile the Crooks are fuming. This is the second time this girl prevented them from getting to that violin.

Luka looks at his phone and frowns “Well, it was nice meeting you. I have to go to an after-party event. The concert hall donors and judges are going to be chatting up the pianists and their parents. I have to be there to discuss the music aspect of everything.” 

Marinette feels a bit crestfallen, and it must show on her face, as Luka amends his farewell, “Although, I suppose I could give you the address and we could meet up again. If you’d like.”

“I would love to!” Marinette smiles and leans towards him a bit, but quickly tries to tone it down. “I uh, I mean that would be fun!”

Luka grabs a notebook from his pocket and tears out a piece of paper to write down the address and the time, which is around an hour from now, presumably to give the contestants a moment to adjust their outfits or to relax. Marinette takes it and waves as he walks off.

Our two crooks stare at each other. Having overheard the conversation, they realise hijacking this boy on the road might be their answer. 

Marinette smiles dreamily, this fascinating boy asking her to a private reception. What fate is this, that in a matter of minutes she finds herself closer to a date with this Luka than three years of pining over Adrien. She walks back to her friends to tell them of her early departure. But on her way over, she runs into an unexpected classmate, her friend Juleka.

“Hi, Juleka!” she calls out, “What’re you doing here?”

Juleka smiles slightly and walks up to Marinette. “Looking for my brother,” she mumbles quietly. 

“Oh gosh, I forgot you had a brother. Older right? Is he a pianist?” 

“Actually a violinist… He was the one accompanying Adrien.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped, a flashback of Luka’s kind smile as she handed him the violin hits her, She thinks about his appearance and it’s obvious the two are siblings.

“Oh, cool!”   

“Yeah, I think he was over the way you came from,” Juleka says in her quiet manner, “Have you seen him? Blue tips in his hair— Looks like he’s running off two years worth of caffeine?”

Marinette didn’t notice the last part, but no matter, since she knows exactly where he’s going, “Yeah, actually he just went outside.”

“Damn it.” Juleka groans, “Sorry, I thought the idiot was going to wait for me. I have to go” Juleka gives Marinette a quick hug and runs off, leaving Marinette to continue searching for her friends. Once she finds them, she thinks about what to say. Not confident in admitting she’s going to an event with a guy she just met, she goes for a half truth. 

“Hey, guys!” 

“Marinette! Where have you been?” Alya looks at her friend with concern, always the caring, protective one. 

“Yeah, dudette, you totally just ran out on us,” Nino laughs, not particularly caring one way or the other. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I got distracted.” not technically wrong, “But, I actually have to head home now. I’m getting stuffy in here.” also not wrong.

“Oh–” Alya lets out her small sound of disappointment but pulls it into a smile for her friend, “That's okay, girl, whatever you need. Do you mind if I head back with Nino then? We wanna run and get some ice cream first.” 

Marinette nods and laughs, “Girl, it is way too cold for ice cream, but have fun with that!”

The trio departs, and Marinette makes her way home to fix up her outfit and figure out exactly where the event is being held. 

The thieves also try to figure out where the event is being held, by sneaking around backstage until they’re inevitably thrown out by none other than the gorilla-sized bodyguard who blocked them earlier.

[teamatsumu]

how GoM react to you wearing their jersey to a game

-> AOMINE DAIKI:

You knew he wouldn't show up to the game, as per usual. But this time would be different.

This time, while you stood over his lazy, napping form on the school roof, you had promised him that if he showed up, there would be a surprise waiting for him.

That caught his attention, as you knew it would. He was skeptical on the inside though. What could possibly be good enough to make him stay for a whole game, start to finish?

He did not expect to hear you scream his name from the stands during warm ups, breath hitching when he caught sight of you in his jersey.

You had put it on over your sweater, grinning wide as you pointed at the number and mouthed ‘surprise’. It made aomine blink and gulp.

You had worn his clothes before, but never his jersey. He felt his skin tingle in a foreign feeling of possessiveness. That was his number on your chest.

Aomine turned around and walked to the coach. “Put me in at the beginning of the game.”

His teammates gawked at him. Aomine? Willing to play? No, not just willing. Eager. This was unprecedented.

You however, were giggling in the stands, knowing exactly what his motivation to play today was.

-> KISE RYOTA:

Kise’s fans often showed up in his jersey number for games, giggling and squealing in the stands and saying his name to get his attention during warm ups. But you, you were different.

For one, you were dating. For another, you weren’t just wearing a jersey with his number on it. You were wearing his personal jersey. Tailored to him and swimming over your small frame.

You grinned when he noticed the jersey on you before the game in the hallway. He bit his lip and hid a smile.

“You wore it for me?” He tilted his head, trying to hold back from cooing all over you. You looked so cute.

“Yeah. To support you. I see all your fans do it.” You shrugged like it was no big deal. It was a big deal though, at least to Kise.

He stepped forward and smacked a sloppy kiss on your cheek, made you squeal and wipe it off in mock disgust. It didn’t bother Kise though. He was on cloud nine just looking at you wearing his clothes.

-> MIDORIMA SHINTARO:

His brain short circuits when he sees you.

Next, a million thoughts hit him all at once.

First of all, how did you even get your hands on his jersey? And how had he not noticed a missing jersey from his closet?

(You were sneaky and crafty usually, so it wasn’t too surprising)

Second of all, how did orange look so good on you?

“What is the meaning of this?” He scowls at you, making you giggle and skip closer to him. Midorima fought to keep a straight face. You were glowing.

“I know you have your lucky object with you,” you eyed the humongous hourglass figurine in his hand. “But I thought it would be nice to have a little extra luck.”

He felt his lips twitch, the muscles of his shoulders relax. He hadn’t realized he was about to walk out to court while being so stiff.

He pouted at you and looked away when he caught your teasing gaze, looking away with heated cheeks. “Thanks for the luck.”

You giggled again and planted a kiss on his jaw, turning around to the hall which lead to the stands.

“See you after the game, Shin.” You called back. Midorima allowed his lips to tilt upwards as he watched you leave.

-> MURASAKIBATA ATSUSHI:

I’m gonna say it, he doesn’t think it’s too big a deal.

Not the jersey itself, but he is more affected by the fact that you’re wearing his clothes at all. Because they are huge on you.

You’re swimming in it, dwarfed by the sheer amount of fabric. If he didn’t like the look so much, he would laugh.

But he loved it. Loved seeing you in the stands, perking up and grinning at him whenever he looked up at you and met your eyes.

The white and purple looked great on you, made you stand out in the crowd and put you in the center of his vision. What a view to have during the game.

Him putting in more effort on the court was all because it made you cheer for him and stand taller. He could give less of a shit about the actual game or the end result.

Rest assured, he will be subtly hinting at you to wear more of his clothes, jersey or otherwise.

-> AKASHI SEIJUROU:

Akashi’s actions make it abundantly clear that he is very territorial of you.

You are his. No one else has rights to you the way he does.

Now imagine him seeing you at a game, which he knows is also being attended by his peers, underclassmen, opponents and other acquaintances, knowing you are in his jersey.

His number on your chest and back, his school colors enveloping your frame.

Everyone would know you were his. And that sense of power made him feel things.

His piercing gaze finds you in the stands, the uptick of his lips and the satisfied look on his face was enough for you to squirm. Oh he liked what he saw.

He gives you a harsh kiss in the hall when the game ends, and an approving once over that fills you with glee.

With zero words, Akashi has ensured that you would show up to all his games from now on with his jersey on your back.

[lauraneedstochill]

Can’t help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you’re standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

“It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?” a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction. “It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

“She didn’t interrupt a thing,” he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,” he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

“Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.”

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. 2.

It’s been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn’t left the bed. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn’t an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn’t leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn’t help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He’s only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He’s startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human’s silhouette — and then another few to realize that it’s you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

“They told me no one was allowed into your chambers,“ your hushed whisper burns his ear. “The silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. “I knew I had to find a way to come see you.”

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that’s still healing.

“Does it hurt?”

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

“I will take his eye,” you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might’ve heard it wrong.

“...Whose eye?”

“Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours,” you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice quiet but firm. “The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed.”

“Well, maybe he is too old to think straight,” you retort. “You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail,” you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

At that moment, he can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can’t lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke’s eye isn’t worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid’s persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it’s you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what’s going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can’t see it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly.”

“I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval,” he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

“While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers,” you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

“I am friendly enough!”

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you’re clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing”.

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you’re talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand.

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure. “Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn’t sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

“The gem compliments your eye very well,” you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

“We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is.”

“This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks,” you chide him lightly. “And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?”

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you’re too concentrated on something, and Aemond can’t help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glancing at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn’t seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone is counting). It’s not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn’t leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to King’s Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon’s birthday, but Aemond didn’t care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond’s feelings for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider her part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it’s all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days.

Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say. “It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you.

Aemond hesitates. “I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add, “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can’t hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can’t think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to her,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe she is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him. “Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.” The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You are looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face.

Taken aback, you inquire. “You pity me?” He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,” he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

“Yes, I remember it pretty well,” you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack,” there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. “Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

“Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

“Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her,” the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

“Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in,” he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

“I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness,” he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

“When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine,” you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

“I think you actually enjoyed it,” you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

“I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you.”

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

“The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar,” he pauses, catching his breath. “You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you.”

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm’s length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you’re in, you look so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence.

“Aemond, please don't give me false hope,” your heartbeat is too loud, you don’t hear your own voice. He does.

“I do not wish to marry you out of pity,” Aemond takes the last step. “I want you to be my wife because I am in love with you,” he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. “I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually,” his voice gets low. “For what feels like an eternity,” Aemond murmurs.

“Why haven’t you told me?” you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?” his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

“Tell me that I am wrong,” he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

“Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices,” you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were ten-and-three, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you is tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fans over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth. His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that’s to come.

author’s note: I’m sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I’m a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don’t want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, thank you for reading! 💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley’s song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there’s also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. 💞 my masterlist P.S. I’m also on AO3 (lol, who isn’t), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[swordymacaroni]

🎀when choso first saw a sliver of your stomach, he was WHIPPED. you'd reached up to stretch, the material of your fleecy sweater riding up, and choso had just happened to turn at that point. and, gosh, he couldn't get that image out of his mind. your soft, smooth skin, peeking out from your frumpy clothes, jus the right amount of chubby for him to grab, to run his fingers over, to kiss-

the more he looks at you, the more desire grows, and so does his knowledge that you're insecure. he notices you covering your stomach with your hands, wearing nothing but loose tops and refusing to slouch when wearing tight ones. he notices you shunning your food and sees the fasting apps that you're constantly scrolling through. choso can't believe it, because damn him if you aren't fucking breathtaking.

and he's determined to show you exactly that

[coryosbaby]

ᴅᴏʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ

Enoch O’Connor x angel! Reader <3

“Enoch! Give it back!”

Your citrine voice echoes throughout Miss Peregrine’s Orphanage as you chase the dark haired boy down. In his hands is your favorite doll, cracked but still beautiful, one Enoch had brought to life for you in the wee hours of the night many (of the same) days ago. He stomps angrily through the house, his jaw clenched, large back muscles flexing. Ignoring the squirming of the doll— aka, Mary— and her annoyed kicks, he tears open the door of his room and slams it right in your face.

How rude he is! All you had wanted to do was have tea with him and show him your new book. He had snapped at you, snarkily said something about “the both of you being too old for tea parties” and that he had more important things to do then do something so childish. You had snapped back, hurt from his words, and he had stolen Mary from you.

You don’t understand how he can be so cruel. His mood changes like the seasons— one minute he’s got a small smile on his usually dull face as he listens to you speak, making you toys that live and breathe. And then the next, it’s like you’re satan spawn.

You rest your back against his bedroom door, pouting. Tears begin to well in your eyes. You just wanted to show him your new book.

It isn’t long before you’re wiping your face and strolling towards Claire’s room. She lets you rant about your book without fuss, fascinated by all the tales that you had enamored yourself with. She also cheers you up about Enoch.

“He’s just in one of his moods,” she explained. A frown had formed on both of her faces, even when the one on the back of her head was gnawing on a chocolate chip cookie. “You know how he can get. He’ll cheer up and apologize, like he always does. Besides, he knows how important Mary is to you. He’ll give her back, I’m sure of it.”

You wonder how a child so young can be so intelligent about such things. But you guess that’s what happens when you relive the same day over and over for fifty years. You learn things, and in a way, still grow mentally.

After your talk with Claire, you feel better. You bid her goodbye, say hi to Emma as you pass her, and wander down the halls barefoot in your flowing pink dress. You make your way to the library for a new book to read.

To your distaste, Enoch is sitting at the couch when you walk through the door. You let out a little “hhm” sound, stomping angrily to the shelves. He’s got his head in a textbook about anatomy and looks up from it at the sound of your voice. He scoffs, then looks back down at it again.

Your fingers skim over book titles, some pretty and dainty, some horrific and covered in fine, dark print. You decide to pick a book by William Shakespeare— A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You scratch your feathered wings, beginning to read the book as you make your way back out of the room.

You pause at the door when Enoch’s voice makes way through your thoughts.

“You’ve read that one,” he murmurs, as his eyes scan over you.

You waver, hand staying on the doorknob.

“I didn’t know you remembered that.” you reply. You had read it years ago. Or, what you presume to be years ago. If you can even count time here.

“You recited it to me.” he shrugs, taking a glance over at your wings. They always fascinate him, even after all of this time.

“I know what I did, Enoch,” you retort, not having much logic in your sentence. But when do you ever? “Don’t tell me what I’ve done. You don’t have a right.”

“What sense does that make?” He questions snarkily, but you’re already out the door.

—

Dinner goes without much fuss. Miss Peregrine looks at the two of you questionably, wondering why you didnt take your usual seat beside Enoch, but doesn’t mention it out loud. After the reset you head back to your room and immerse yourself in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Your lace nightgown drapes down your body in silky waves.

Your shoulders are tensed, your feet tapping nervously. You’re used to Mary’s porcelain feet dancing across the hardwood floors, her tiny giggles as she looks at herself in the mirror. Usually at this time of night, you and the doll will lay awake in the dark, huddled under your ruffled pink comforter, and whisper to each other. It’s the only way you can go to sleep— Enoch had made her to help with your nightmares, after all. Your nightmares of children with no heads, monsters that pluck out children’s eyes in their sleep. Your nightmares of losing the people you love.

How could he be so cruel?

That anger flares up again. With a forceful hand, you slam the book down onto your desk and stalk across the hallway. Your knuckles rap against Enoch’s door ferociously, and when he finally opens it you force your way into his room with curses spilling off of your tongue.

“I don’t understand, Enoch!” Your wings seem to glow a dusty red hue from your rage. “I’m nothing but nice to you! I help you with your experiments, I try to be your friend, but at this point I don’t know if anyone could ever..“

You stop dead in your tracks. Enoch’s eyes dart to his work table, as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. You look across to it.

There, sitting happily, all fixed up, is Mary.

She has a smile on her painted face, and a new dress adorning her. Shes cleaned, polished, and almost looks brand new. All the cracks that were once on her porcelain skin have vanished.

“[y/n]!” The doll giggles excitedly, saying your name in words only you can hear. “Look what Enoch made for me! Isn’t it pretty?”

You gape as Mary happily twirls in her dress. Enoch clears his throat.

“She was filthy,” he mutters. “You should really start cleaning your things. It tracks dirt and grass all over the house.”

Turning to him, your stomach racks with guilt.

“You fixed her for me?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze, acting nonchalant.

“I’ve been meaning to for a while. It was quite annoying, watching her face caked with dirt everyday. And her dress was practically torn to shreds.”

You pick Mary up from the table, holding her in the palms of your hands. You press a kiss to her hair. The doll yawns.

“I’m tired,” she mumbles. “Can’t we sleep now?”

“In a moment,” you reply. “Why don’t you go to my room and wait up for me?”

She looks between you and Enoch, does that off putting giggle that would make anyone else uncomfortable, but not you. She hops down from your fingertips, and skips away to your room across the hall.

You hear Enoch’s bedroom door close behind you once she’s gone, and jump. The familiar raven haired boy brushes past you, taking a seat in his chair. His curls fall into his face, and usually you would move them away while he silently grumbled at you not to touch them. But right now, it’s different. You rock on the balls of your feet as silence fills the dark space.

“Enoch—“ you start, but the boy picks up a scalpel and throws one of his toys onto the table.

“I need the jar of hearts on the third shelf.”

It’s all he says, and you know that this is his way of saying he’s sorry. It’s an odd way, but it’s a way you’ve picked up on continuously. The boy doesn’t have the mouth to utter an apology, so he just brings things back to normal instead.

You scamper over to the shelves, picking out the jar he wanted, and sit it down beside him. A small smile grazes your lips, and you sit on the chair that he had put there just for you. He works silently, and his bottom lip pulls in between his teeth. You think it’s quite enamoring— sort of like your books.

Your mouth can’t seem to contain itself, and within minutes you’re speaking up again.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—“

“It’s my fault,” he replies. “I…I shouldn’t have came off so brash.”

Without thinking, your hand brushes up against his.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I forgive you, even though you haven’t said you’re sorry. But I know you are.”

He pauses. He can’t help but trail his eyes down to where your hands meet. You smile up at him, and he adjusts in his seat.

You kiss him.

You don’t know why you do, exactly. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something special. But your lips meet, and it’s sweet. Innocent, really— a small peck. His eyes are wide when you pull away from him.

“What was that?” He asks.

Your wings turn baby pink, and a grin spreads across your face.

“I just felt like it.”

[castrian-cosplays]

Admittedly I was gunna wait until we got our professional pictures back but the silly gay ones we got are also fantastic. So enjoy some TimKon

As seemingly always Kon is my partner in crime @dragonssociety 💚💚💚💚

[wisteriasymphony]

And no one else was in the room where it happened....

[alocalband]

(Don't) Stay Sterek, 17.6k, Teen Summary: Stiles goes away to college, and Derek suddenly falls ill. Obviously, the two things are completely unrelated. And, obviously, Stiles doesn't make the drive back to Beacon Hills at every available opportunity, to the detriment of his academic career, because he's secretly in love with the guy. That would be ridiculous.

“Derek’s sick.”

It’s not what Stiles was expecting Scott to open the conversation with, but at this point in his life he’s used to handling curveballs. “Derek’s a werewolf,” he responds. Because duh, it’s not as if the guy needs to worry about flu season.

“No, I mean really sick.” Stiles��� grip on his cell phone tightens as Scott’s voice then pitches lower, like he’s trying not to be overheard. “Supernatural sick.”

Supernatural anything, in Stiles’ experience, does not bode well for his immediate future. A headache and a couple of all-nighters at best; horror, bloodshed, and nightmare fodder at... Well, at medium. He tries not to think about what “at worst” entails.

“What, did he get shot up with wolfsbane again?” Stiles tries to make light, but it comes out sounding strained and half-hearted. He licks his lips and ignores the pit in his gut.

“He won’t tell me.”

“Jesus, Scott, you have eyes. And other very effective werewolf-y skills. Are there any bullet holes in him? Any suspicious purple flowers lying around the loft?”

“He’s not at the loft.”

“Then where the hell is he?”

There’s a long enough pause in response that Stiles somehow guesses the answer before Scott finally speaks it. He has no idea how he guesses it, because the very idea is absurd and kind of comical, but his own thoughts land on the very words Scott reluctantly admits right before he hears them.

“He’s at your place.”

Continue reading on AO3

[innorogers]

Awakening

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

Warning: Angst / Hydra Past / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / This one is very emotional /He is very sad very angry / Hurt & Comfort

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare

Hydra’s brainwashing mechanism operates like a code embedded in a computer system. Implanted deep within the nervous system of each asset, it’s triggered by a command—a specific sequence of words, like a complex password. It only takes effect once the entire sequence is spoken. However, each word acts as a layer, tightening control over the asset with every syllable. It gradually overrides the brain's natural functions, until complete control is achieved over both mind and body.

You knew this. You also knew that fighting it only made the effect stronger, accelerating the process. Resisting was like trying to stop venom already spreading through your veins—inevitable and deadly. So, your only option was to buy time.

Time against whatever you were about to become.

“Мечта.”

Four triggered the first word unexpectedly, and you saw it in his eyes—he was going to finish the sequence fast.

But you were faster.

Your fist slammed against the wall, hitting the hidden button you’d been shielding.

"NO!!" Steve’s roar echoed through the room as a thick, crystallized wall dropped from the ceiling, sealing him and Maria on the other side. He pounded against it with all his strength, his fists useless against the reinforced barrier. "Open this!" he was desperate: “Open this fucking thing!!”

But it was useless. This was The Crib, the place where you, Tony, and Bruce pushed the limits of crazy ideas. Naturally, it was equipped with a “Hulk Containment” feature, just in case one of those experiments went too far.

“Jarvis, override!” Maria commanded immediately, pressing her comms. “Stark, 116, 116, in The Crib! Now!” She stepped back and shot the wall, only to leave soft marks but unable to break it at all.

Four smiled, pleased. 

“Шкаф”

A sharp pain crossed your mind, like a thunderstruck that cut you as a knife. For some seconds you think you lost control. You stumbled forward, losing completely balance. And stretched an arm for a glass somewhere over a desk nearby knocking everything off. The glass went flying and smashed to pieces on the floor. You tried to reach it blindly, you were loosing your sight, with trembles and the last thread of senses you handled to grab it, so you squeezed with all your remaining strength.

The glass pierced your skin and palm, leaving a long trail of blood down your arm. You could hear Steve's frantic pounding echoing through the walls, his voice a raw, anguished, shouting your name, but pain is dominating your senses.

But this is good, pain is good. Pain meant you were still here.

"Тетрадь." Four stepped back. He was enjoying this. All this show was worth it, even though he failed and had to face the rage of all the Avengers together later.

Nononono. You pressed harder your fists, the glass embedded left out more blood. Feel the pain, feel the senses. You're good. You're good. You are not this. You are not Hydra. You did not survive up to this day to be used again as something disposable. 

On your knees, you pressed your other hand into the shattered glass, hoping the sharpness would anchor you.

"Open this!" Steve was almost unrecognizable in his panic when Tony and Bruce entered the room. “Get this thing open!” His voice was a mix of rage and fear.

“Shit…” Bruce rushed to the nearest console, typing furiously. “The code’s simple but old—it’s uncrackable. We’ve got 15 seconds before it overrides.”

“What?!” Steve was outraged: “You’ve got to open it! Open it! Tony! Get my girl the fuck out of there!” 

“Oh shit, this is good.” Four’s laughter filled the room. This was a feast for him.

“Радуга.“

“No…” You whispered, holding onto the pain as if it were your lifeline.

You are not this. 

You are good. 

You are…

You are an oak tree, hidden deep in the forest. Sitting around the fire with your siblings, their faces bathed in a golden glow. The words that hung in the peaceful silence on that night. 

Starlight on the Siberian peaks, a full moon overhead. Natasha’s hand pulling you out, the scent of her leather jacket against your frozen skin. 

The first time you saw the ocean. The sensation of sand beneath your feet, waves tickling your toes. 

Christmas lights twinkling on a giant tree, champagne in the compound and Dr. Lin’s drunk laugh. 

The first time Tony led you into the abandoned lab, that door opened to what you thought was perfection. The bad jokes you shared with him and Bruce here in The Crib. The coffee you made for Sam and Nat at your lab.

And Steve. The first time he smiled at you. The way he laughed at your childish bedtime story. The first time he kissed you. His lashes brushing your cheek. The sound of his heartbeat at night, the strength in his embrace.

No. You were not this monster they were trying to turn you into. 

You were the life your brothers and sisters never got to have. 

The sunlight, the breeze, the snowflakes, the spring rain in your garden, and the summer air in you hair they never felt. You were living the memories they couldn’t.

You weren’t this. A puppet someone could easily manipulate over some ridiculous words. 

“No…” You felt your tears crashing in your hand full of shattered glasses. “I’m not…that.” 

You are not Hydra’s Frankestein. 

You are the faith you still hold for humanity—the goodness, the kindness you’ve seen. You are the broken fairy tales One and Two told you and your siblings to soothe your sorrowful nights

You are this precious jewel Steve treasured every time he hugged you, kissed you, or looked at you.

“Конфета,” Four sneered, delivering the next word.

But you fought back.

“No.”

Your eyes locked with his, burning with defiance.

“You wanna play, huh?” Frazer chuckled. 

“стена.”

Another shock hit your mind, but this time it didn’t knock you down. You stumbled but stayed standing, hearing Tony override the code. The wall would be down soon. You had to act before anyone else got hurt because of you.

Four stared in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how you were even resisting. 

So he rushed into it.

“Облако.”

You felt your body betray you, limbs refusing to respond. 

C’mon, focus. Stay focused. Everyone you love is on the other side of the wall, you couldn’t let them get hurt.

You lunged at the desk and ripped open the top drawer. God, what's all that noise? Stop the drums, stop that noise… please… You couldn't stay awake much longer. Damn it, where is it…Your hands desperately looking for something.

‘Зеленый.'

Four said again. And that command felt like a hammer that struck your head. You collapsed to your knees, your bloody hands finally finding it. An injection. Fuck, your vision was blurred; you couldn’t see the dosage.

'лес '. 

Nononono you couldn't wait, it was almost at the last word. So you didn't measure it, and you plunged the injection into your neck. God…! That hurts. You pressed all the content in you. 

Ok now…now we should be good. You were panting and sweating as you dropped the injection and came over your knees. Shit that was closed. Too closed.

Four looked stunned. He didn’t know what you’d done, but before he could react, Steve burst through the room like a storm and crashed his face with all the strength Captain America would have in a battlefield. You even heard the crack sound of their bones crashing. 

“Stop!” Maria shouted before Steve in all his fury, outraged and unstoppable, would kill the guy with his bare hands. “We need to track that retina layer! Stop!” She lunged and seized his arm, preventing him from striking further. 

Your mind recovered some senses as the words stopped, now all you felt was pain, but you managed to let out what you’d been holding in all day.

“Steve…”

That worked as a Hydra’s password to him, Steve felt he was woken up from a dream, and before you knew it, you were pressed into his embrace, his arms holding you tight yet gentle and with care, as if you were fragile as the most precious thing in the world. 

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, trembling as you tried to hold onto him. “I wanted to tell you…I…” God, his skin is so warm. You missed that the entire day. 

Steve froze. The ache on his chest made him paralyzed, he could barely speak. You were worried about him? Now? 

“It's ok…” He was feeling a lump form in his throat, his hand weaving through your hair, pressing you against him and kissing you on the forehead. 

“I’m here baby, it’s ok, you are ok…” He barely could put himself together. You were a mess—bloody, battered— and he was scared, so scared he can’t remember when was the last time he was falling apart like this. 

You were panting as your consciousness was losing it, giving in finally to the injection you put into yourself to paralyze you and prevent you from doing something you can’t manage. 

“Did you…get hurt?” You raised a hand and touched his face. You were fading, the injection taking its toll, dragging you into unconsciousness.

“Shit baby…” Steve pressed his forehead against yours, barely holding himself together. He couldn’t believe what you were saying: “That’s the last of my concerns.” 

But you were already slipping away.

Steve’s heart froze in his chest when he looked down and saw your eyes closed, your body limp against his. A cold wave of terror surged through him, threatening to pull him under. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, it was like the world had stopped spinning. He couldn't hear anything, not Tony, not Bruce, not even his own heartbeat. 

His entire focus narrowed to the sight of you—still, lifeless—like all the color had drained from you. His hand hovered over your face, trembling, afraid to touch you, afraid you wouldn’t respond.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, hoarse and broken. “Babe...?” 

Panic gripped him in a way he hadn’t felt since the war, since waking up alone in a world that had moved on without him. But this was worse, infinitely worse. His fingers found the pulse at your neck, but his heart refused to calm. What if it was fading? What if you were slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it?

"What...What's happening?" He could hear his own voice, vulnerable as ever. 

“What the f…?” Tony knelt next to Steve, grabbing the discarded syringe. 

Relief washed over him as he read the label.

“Oh, for god’s fucking sake…!” He passed it to Bruce, sinking to the floor. “It’s just a tranquilizer. She’s asleep. Damn, that was close.” He rubbed his face, still shaken. “That was the scariest thing ever. Shit.”

"Holy shit." Bruce and Maria leaned back too, releasing the breath they had been holding.

"Okay..." Commander Hill, always the first to pull herself together, stood up and exhaled in relief as she began to make sense of the chaos. 

"Let’s get her to the med bay. Now." Her voice was determined, but her movements were gentle. She patted a still-in-shock Steve softly on the shoulder. "Come on, Cap. We need to get her out of here. And there’s work to do." She tilted her head toward the unconscious Four on the floor.

Steve didn’t respond. He was panting, his body covered in cold sweat as Tony’s words sank in. It was...tranquilizer? You were ok? He was still holding you close, feeling the warmth of your skin, the quiet and steady rhythm of your breathing. And he could hear your heartbeat. 

He never really believed in God, but in that moment, he wanted to thank every deity in this world or beyond that you were still in his arms. Alive. Safe. 

And, God…he swore right then, he would never let this happen again. Whatever the hell had gone down tonight, he was so fucking sure that was never, EVER, happening again.

"Steve." Tony placed a hand on his shoulder as Sam and Natasha entered the room with the elite team to deal with Four. 

"Come on, buddy, let’s go. Look at her hands—she’s a mess. We’ve got to get her wounds treated." And make sure that brainwash thing is gone, Tony thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. With Steve still so on edge, he didn't want to end like Four on the floor.

Steve closed his eyes for a long moment, then tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer. He lifted you carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead and inhaling your scent. You smelled like blood, and he felt a deep, crushing guilt. 

"Alright, let’s go." He finally spoke, his voice steady, though full of pain. "But I’m staying close." There was no way he was letting you out of his sight.

You inhaled sharply, and your eyes flew open, heart pounding in your chest. 

The room was bright, sterile, and the soft hum of Stark technology filled the air. 

Disoriented, you stared at the blinking machines and glowing monitors around you. Tubes and wires were connected to your arms, and a soft beep from the heart monitor echoed in the quiet space.

Flashbacks hit you hard. Four. The keywords. You injected yourself to prevent anyone from getting hurt. And you succeeded, didn’t you? Did anyone get hurt?

You remembered Steve being the first to approach you. Four was beaten down, wasn’t he? Is Steve okay? Is everyone ok?

“What the hell is this…” You muttered, frowning as you glanced at the data on the monitors. Then quickly decided you didn’t need any of it. You reached for the tubes, yanking them out one by one. The pain was sharp, but adrenaline dulled it. You didn’t care. You hated anything related to medical clinics, anything that reminded you of being in a lab, a subject of experimentation.

You pulled off the monitors, ignoring the rapid beeping as alarms blared. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood shakily, your legs weak, your vision blurry.

“Damn…” you muttered, walking in a dizzy haze, trying to balance. You must have injected quite a dose of tranquilizer. How long had you been out? There were no windows, and the room’s enclosed space only heightened your panic. 

Barefoot, you rushed out and collided with Steve, who was rushing in, pale and shaken.

“What...What are you doing?!” His voice was agitated. Pulling out the tubes must’ve triggered an alarm. He immediately scooped you off the cold floor. “Are you okay?” He set you back on the bed and inspected your bruised and bleeding arms. “You’re freezing. You ok? You’re hurt? Do you want me to call the docs?”

“I…I…” You didn’t know what to say, so you just stretched out your arms and pulled him close, holding yourself to him and hugged him as tight as your weak strength allowed. 

“I missed you.”

You said in a low voice, closing your eyes, inhaling his skin, arms around his neck and feeling him. “I woke up and I wanted to see you…I was scared…” 

You felt a strange wave of vulnerability, the kind that made you feel like a child seeking comfort.

Steve stood rigid, his heart and soul settling back into place now that you were awake and in his arms. But he was also…furious. You had no idea how angry he had been, how the team had barely managed to contain his rage. He wanted to stay quiet, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“You were scared…now? You didn’t seem scared when you used yourself as bait and stood up against this guy alone…!” 

He wanted to shout it out, his voice was thick with frustration, fear, and anger, but he stopped. 

His arms remained gentle, holding you tightly. 

“What were you thinking? I was…You scared the shit out of me…I thought…” 

He cut himself off, tightening his grip around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips brushed against your hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He clenched his arms, flashing back to that moment when he was breathless, but now you were there. 

Thank God you are here.

Your arms around his neck, body against his, his arms holding onto your waist, He could smell your hair, could feel your warmth against his lips, and he didn’t want this moment to end. 

“I’m sorry… I wanted to tell you… And I knew you were looking for me, but I couldn’t look back. It would’ve given me away.” You looked up, cupping his face with a soft smile. 

Steve exhaled, his heart twisting in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his voice thick with emotion, still fighting to keep composure, he pulled you impossibly closer, holding you against him, his voice a shaky whisper.

 “Just promise me…promise me you won’t do such reckless…dangerous things again…ever.” 

Your fingers softly moved around his face, and gently kissed him, you pressed your forehead to his, calming and soothing his pain. 

You could hear his breath becoming softer and lower with your touch, you stood still, hugging and feeling him as you were comforted too. 

“Were you hurt?” you asked suddenly, remembering Steve knocking out Agent Frazer, unsure of how the events had played out. Breaking the hug, you looked him over. “You’re hurt!” You exclaimed, noticing his swollen, bleeding knuckles. “Steve, let me see. Is this bad? Are you in pain?”

“This?” He opened and closed his fist, showing you it was fine. “This is nothing… it hurt less than hitting a punching bag.”

“The Hulk container IS NOT a punching bag.” You carefully caressed his injured hand, your eyes welling up with tears. “Can you get it checked later? Does it hurt?”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He tightened his other arm around your waist, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

You hadn’t cried when you found out about your brother being alive, or later when you learned he was a fake. You hadn’t cried when you clenched your fist around glass to fight back the brainwashing. You hadn’t even hesitated when you injected yourself to save everyone.

But now, you were tearing up because of his bruised knuckles.

“I’m ok.” He said after a long pause. And it felt so clumsy. But he didn’t know how to describe the feeling he had right now. He couldn’t find the words. He wished there were some way to predict the future, to shield you from every upcoming danger, every pain, for the rest of your life.

“When can we go home?” You rubbed your eyes, you were exhausted, but you didn’t want to sleep here. 

Steve smiled at your mention of “home”, and thought about your secluded, private, little lab, full of sunshine and plants. Your home. Our home. That’s such a wonderful word. His voice softened as he helped you lie down.

“Soon, baby. Just rest, ok? You’ve been through too much today.” He adjusted the pillows and pulled a blanket over you. “Are you okay? Are you cold?”

“Yes.” You frowned and looked up at him. “I’m cold. I want you to hold me.” You moved aside, making room in the bed. “Now.”

You had never used that childish tone before, and it made Steve chuckle. Shaking his head, he climbed into bed beside you, holding you in his arms, your head resting on his chest. “Spoiled little brat.” He teased with a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “My spoiled little brat.”

You inhaled deeply, resting your head against his chest, your favorite spot in the world where you could hear his heartbeat—the sound that made everything in the universe make sense. And when he thought you were asleep, you spoke, your voice clear.

“Do you want to hear a bedtime story?”

Your voice carried a sense of determination, and Steve sighed. He had it coming. Just not this soon. 

But then, he thought back to everything, and realized you were one of the bravest people he'd ever met. It didn’t surprise him that you were ready to talk.

“Only if you're sure.”

“Yes.” You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbow to meet his eyes. “I should’ve told you from the beginning.” You exhaled deeply. “I was just scared of becoming a disappointment.”

“What?” He turned to you, incredulous. “No… don’t say that. You could never be a disappointment. Ever.” His gaze was steady and unyielding. “Don’t ever think that.”

You kissed his fingers, pausing for a long moment before beginning.

“Once upon a time…” You stopped as he chuckled. “I’m kidding. Bedtime stories are supposed to be soothing. This one would give nightmares.”

Steve held your hand as he looked at you: “I’m here. And…no nightmare could ever keep me away from you.”

You smiled but stayed quiet for a long while, gathering your thoughts. Steve remained silent, wrapping his arm around you, gently twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We were twelve, as you might have guessed. I'm the last one.” Your voice was distant, soft, like whispering a dream from another lifetime.

“It started with One and Two. They were perfect, like gods—healthy, strong, fast, fierce. They had rapid healing, heightened reflexes, tolerance to extreme temperatures, and incredible immune systems. Like you. Or Apollo and Artemis. And of course, they weren’t enough. Hydra wanted more. They’ve always wanted more.”

You made a pause, those memories felt like thousands years ago.

“By the time they made Three, Four, and Five… One and Two had begun to… fail. They developed flaws.”

The fingers twirling your hair froze. Steve held his breath. He had thought about this ever since Natasha handed him your file, asking, ‘What do you think happened to the other eleven?’ He hadn’t answered, a terrible feeling gnawing at him that the others’ fates might have been far worse than yours.

“What kind of flaws?” You could hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Just…they weren’t flaws for me. But they stopped being perfect. Their immune system presented infections, something never happened before. Their recovery speed was not as fast as before, or they weren’t healing 100%. Or…speed decrease, lack of strength. And of course their minds started to … be uncontrollable or not manageable at all.” You sighed. 

Steve’s hand tightened slightly, a ripple of horror passing through him.

“Three, Four and Five presented earlier symptoms. Three was fast, but he lacked strength. Four was strong, but he wasn’t able to heal as fast as the rest. And Five was super smart but she was…weak. Well, not weak, normal.”

You paused, and smiled: “It was true, you know? The story Agent Frazer told. I was a great tree climber, and we used to have fun in that oak tree. But…” 

You felt Steve’s hand holding you tighter, and you hugged him back, your tone turned low.

“Four did that tricky thing of putting a rock on a pile of leaves. Seven hit against it so hard, and that’s right… he won’t stop bleeding, we headed to the base, and of course, got grounded as hell.” You inhaled: “Four died because of that. They sacrificed him, they were planning on doing so anyway, but it was used as a warning. They’ve put everything that ‘worked’ in Four, to ‘fix’ Seven.”

“What?” 

Steve felt every fiber on his body tensed, his chest growing tighter and tighter as you spoke, horrified at the realization of what Hydra had done.

“And of course, Seven didn’t last long either. He died about a year later. I think… he just couldn’t live with what was left of Four.” 

Your smile was thin, sad. “I saw the autopsy report. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He just…shriveled, or…died from a broken heart.”

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the next revelation.

“And today…I didn’t stop Frazer right away because… I was curious.” 

You buried your face in Steve’s chest, as you were ashamed of this little wish.

“I wanted to know…I’ve always wanted to know, how my brothers and sisters would be like…if they’d grown up. I knew Frazer was a fraud, but I couldn’t help it. He was identical to Four…and Four…he was just a kid, a bright, playful, funny kid.”

Steve clenched his arms and held you tightly as you were shivering uncontrollably. He was shaking too, his teeth chattering, it was beyond anger, he felt his heart filled with sadness and despair. 

He tried to speak several times before his voice finally steadied. 

“You were a kid too.”

“I was not a kid.” You responded, surprisingly quiet. “I was the kid. I was…the final version.” You looked at his horrified eyes as his expression shifted. 

You lowered your eyes at his sight, and calmly continued the story: “One and Two passed away when I was young, very young, I still don’t know what happened to them. But Hydra…just continued experimenting, Seven was good, but then he … turned off when Four died, Eight died as a toddler I think. So they just kept going, taking things out of this one, adding to the other… until they got it to the right perfect model… or at least… to one that wasn’t deteriorating with time and maintained a regularity.”

You curved your lip as you looked at Steve.

“The last number of the great Hydra’s Dynasty. Frankenstein number Twelve.”

“I’m alive. Because my brothers and sisters died.” 

Steve was in horror.

This pang in his chest, he didn’t know if he wanted to destroy something, vomit, or just…take the time stone, go back in time, and burn all Hydra’s bases he’d known down to the ground until they were ashes and dust. Until the very last of them were fucking burning and screaming in hell.

“They died so Hydra could have a perfect soldier?” His voice was barely more than a growl. “They were…torn apart so you could exist?”

“Well, it’s not like I have Eight’s eyes or Ten’s arms.” You looked at your hands. “It’s like…their DNA, their…existence, were transmitted to me. A prototype that succeeded, but the original versions…just didn’t make it.”

Your voice was like a faint ghost as you observed yourself.

“You know my powers, right? I can see…the components or layers of solid things when I want to. Not all the time, but it gives me a great advantage with stuff like machinery, weapons, gear, construction…I think I have Five’s intelligence too, and some of Three’s speed, or even a shadow of One and Two’s strength. And Eleven’s sense of humor—I’ve always thought we were twins…but this power…It’s only in me.”

“And it used to work on humans too, if I wanted it to.” You sighed in sadness and sorrow. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone, no one knows…not even Tony.” 

You intertwined your fingers with Steve’s, confessing in a calm voice.

“There’s something…in every living being, within their layers and layers of components, something impossible to explain—something divine, and impossible to replicate. And that’s like a golden thread.”

You traced a line in the air as Steve held his breath. 

“I see it as a line of golden glitter. Some shine more than others, like yours…yours is like a strong ray of sunshine, like all the stars in the sky unified within your being. That’s life. Or…the divine power of life.”

Steve held his breath in awe. There was something incredibly beautiful within the horrors you had to endure. He suddenly remembered all the plants in your lab and home, the leaves cascading from the ceiling, growing strong everywhere. He could picture it—the stunning view you’d have, all those waterfalls and cascades of golden strings, of living life.

He hesitated before speaking, his voice as gentle as he could make it: “And…you don’t use your powers on humans anymore?”

“No. I shut it down. Or it shut itself down…” You shook your head. “Hydra used my powers to make their experiments more…efficient. But my brain, or my powers, were too important. They didn’t dare experiment on me with something that might go wrong. I only had one brain procedure—the one that implanted all these keywords.”

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes. 

“They didn’t brainwash me…So I remember everything. I was forced to participate in the experiments on my siblings. I didn’t know…I thought I was helping them heal, but they lied. I was part of it…!” 

Your breath quickened as the memories flooded back.

“I could see them. I could see how their life threads faded, losing their shine little by little. Strong, sparkling golden glitter slowly fading, disappearing. Like a spark extinguished…absorbed by nothingness. And after my last sister, Nine, passed away, I just…this power of seeing layers on human, it went off. I can only see threads in living beings now, nothing else.”

A terrible silence fell across the room. Only the soft beeps of the medical machines echoed through.

Steve sat up straight. He didn’t want to let go of your hand, your touch, but his body just reacted. It was too much, even for him. Your words were calm and serene, but the horrors and the cruelty behind them cut through him like a knife, piercing his soul and breaking him down.

He didn’t know what to say because…what was left to say? There was no comfort, no kindness, nothing that could soothe what you’d been through.

The fact that you remembered everything, that you saw brainwashing as a gift because you had witnessed every death, with genuine hope and devotion that you were helping, only to find out the goal was for you to be the perfect prototype. The guilt you must’ve felt, the despair of watching those threads try to hold on to life before they faded…

The image of you standing alone in this world after your last sibling was gone, facing all that darkness by yourself…he couldn’t imagine it.

“And then, everything is history.” Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“The project ended when Dr. Erskine actually succeeded in creating something…combined. I went into a cryostasis pod that eventually shut down. I don’t know for how long. Then one day, I just woke up in an empty facility, in the dark, and escaped. Natasha found me in the mountains. I think the lab sent out some kind of signal Tony detected, and she was sent to scan the place.”

You were relieved that your story had finally ended, or at least, the nightmare part. 

But Steve was stiff. 

He felt…waves of guilt crashing over him.

What year was that? When did all of that happen to you? Where was he? Could he have changed anything? If he had tried harder…if he had discovered Hydra's remnants in SHIELD earlier…could he have saved you?

“And I was…where?” He murmured to himself, trying to remember. “Wakanda…and then…it was the Blip…and I…I never knew…that you were here…until the night we met.”

“Steve…” You frowned, sitting up and placing a hand on his back. “I’ve told you already, what happened to me is not a weight for you to carry. I’m here now. And I’m with you. I’m safe.”

“Safe?” He could hardly bear the guilt and pain he felt. “Safe how? Look at you…you’re…” He took your hand, bandaged and scarred from all the glass and needles you’d endured. “How can you say you are safe…with me?”

He exhaled, his voice low as he suddenly tightened, his stomach twisting in pain. He didn’t know where to begin expressing the emotions, the guilt, the responsibility he felt for all of this.

“I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this. If I had tried harder, been faster, I should have protected you, saved you…if I’d just been there…”

“You did.” You put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around to face you. You could see all the emotions swirling inside him. “You did.” You spoke softly but firmly. 

“You ended Hydra, twice. I wasn’t used during the War, or after. And when you ended them for good, I was free. You set me free.”

Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. There was a huge lump in his chest and throat that intensified when you said that. The word you used—“used”—how could anyone in the world apply that verb to you? His heart ached so deeply that it took all his willpower not to break something.

You could see him suffering, so you caressed his cheek.

“And…” You cupped his face, your voice gentle. 

“And I had this new identity. I met Natasha, Tony…all these new friends, all this good in the world. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can live under the sunshine, see the sunrise, feel the wind, touch the grass. I even saw the sea for the first time, I had ice cream… And…” 

You inhaled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I got to meet the love of my life.”

“God…!”

The word escaped Steve like a desperate prayer.

Steve pulled you in, holding you so tightly that it felt like he wanted you to melt into his body. 

He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

You had suffered so much—more than he could bear to imagine—and yet you were here: Kind. Good. Pure. Selfless. All those beautiful words Natasha and Tony used to describe you and yet he thought they weren’t enough. 

He pressed his face into your hair, his breath ragged, trying to fight back the tears that stung his eyes. Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t he saved you sooner? He could have spared you so much pain, so much suffering, if only he had known, if only he had been there before the scars ever formed.

He clutched you tighter, as if holding you close enough might erase the past, might undo all the hurt. But he knew it wouldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take it away. And all he could do was hold you, trying desperately to protect you from any more harm, even as the weight of his guilt bore down on him, suffocating and relentless.

You held him back. You could feel his heart trembling and his soul aching. So you pressed a deep kiss to his cheek.

“It’s in the past,” you said softly. “I’m here now… hey, hey, look at me.” 

You cupped his face, and your vision blurred as tears fell. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to upset you, but I’m here now, and I’m just… so grateful, so happy… I’ve never felt this way until I met you, so… fearless, like… like the universe has rewarded me with this… rebirth, with meeting you, and loving you, and…”

“Stop.” It was more than Steve could take.

His voice was broken. 

“Stop. I…” He inhaled deeply and gently wiped away your tears. He needed to say something before your selfless, pure words continued to break his heart.

“I love you.” He breathed. 

The words came out like a sacred vow, a promise sealed with every heartbeat. He’d been holding them back for too long—since this morning, no, since the first day, since the moment he held his breath when he saw you for the first time. 

He spoke it like a promise written in the stars, one he would carry until the end of all things. Until his blood thickens into frozen ice, his bones crumble to ashes, and his soul dissolves into starlight, fading into cosmic dust at the very edge of time and the farthest reaches of eternity—he will love you.

You gazed into his eyes, a smile breaking through the tears. “I love you too.” 

You wiped away the tear that traced down his cheek. 

“And we’ll have new memories. We’ll make a new life. And we’ll be together. And we’ll be happy.”

“Yes.” He smiled through the pain and heartbreak, swearing as a sacred vow, his voice a little choked as he clung to you just as tightly.

“Yes. We will. I promise. We’re gonna be so damn happy…”

Steve waited until you had fallen asleep. 

After everything—the confessions, the heart-wrenching words—you had been exhausted. He’d made sure you rested, gently insisting until your breathing slowed into sleep.

In the silence of the night, he walked quietly to the command room. It was empty now, the weight of the day still hanging in the air. He pulled up the files—yours, and your eleven siblings’—onto the big screen.

A deep sigh slipped from his lips.

There you were. Blurred, black-and-white images of childhoods interrupted, dreams shattered, lives stolen far too soon.

“Jarvis.” His voice broke the stillness, steady yet heavy. “Do I have overwrite authorization to change the ID names?”

“Yes, Captain.” Jarvis replied, his tone as polite as ever. “Would you like to change the names of these files and subjects?”

“Yes.” Steve’s gaze lingered on your face, captured in that haunting picture. “Change them all. M and the ID number.” He said with resolve, his words carrying the weight of a decision long made.

“In an instant, Captain.” came Jarvis’s response. The screen flickers briefly as the files change, HE00X to M00X, twelve names, twelve identities, rewritten in seconds.

Steve stared at the screen, his expression grave, but something deeper stirred inside him. 

This was it—the meaning he wanted to give your siblings, like an unspoken monument on their unseen graves. 

Something none of you knew, because the world hadn’t been kind, or good, or fair enough to tell you. But he had known it right away, the moment you spoke about that beautiful golden thread that was within every living being.

You weren’t experiments. 

You were this new name, and he couldn’t thank the universe enough for that.

The twelve of you were this name.

M.

For Miracle.

The End

Continue to:

6: Dusk |

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Woohoo...OMG I cried so much writing this ;_; thank you for reading thus far, hope you enjoyed the...intensity and the angst? xD

So I've been struggling with the name of the series, I was going to call it something like 'the golden thread', but then this image of Steve changing their ID names with this conviction and seriousness appeared in my mind as I was wrapping up Chapter 5, and it was something that's...so him, that's definitenly something he would do. So the name just popped up itself, I think I'll call it 'Miracle Nr. 12'. What do you think?

Ok so Chapters 6 & 7 are wrapped up already, I'll see you next Friday! Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist ;)

Taglist: @steviebbboi / @jamneuromain / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[samandcolbyownme]

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Warnings: strong language, vampire!Matt, mentions of blood, death, blood drinking, vampire!reader, killing, compulsion, angsty?, kissing, and a quick SMUT SCENE

Word Count: 3.6k | unedited

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“What do we do with the body?” You lick your lip, glancing up from Macie to Matt, “We can’t just-“

“I’ll get it. But you have to come with me.” He walks up to you, “Promise me you’ll stay with me.”

You take a deep breath, nodding as you look up at him, “I promise.”

He pulls you in for a kiss and steps back, “Go wash your face, if anyone spots you, I don’t want you to be covered in blood.”

“Matt, it’s four in the morning, who’s going to-“

He cuts you off, “You never know, okay? Can you just do that please?”

You nod and make your way to the bathroom. You stop, staring at your new and transformed self in the mirror. Your fingers run down over the semi dried blood coating your chin and you lick your lips, sighing at the taste as you turn the water on.

You wipe off, throwing the towel in the garbage before making your way over to change into a new top. You throw on a hoodie and walk back out to Matt.

He moves to pick up Macie, lifting her like her dead weight was nothing, “We’ll come back and get this taken care of, for-“

You cut him off, “When do we go after Damian?”

“One step at a time, baby. Okay? We have to focus on getting her to the woods first.” He walks over to you, “How are you?”

You nod, “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” He raises his brows and you sigh, “I’m hungry again.”

“That’s to be expected. We’ll have to get you on animal blood soon. We can start-“

“Animal blood?” You scoff, “That sounds gross.”

“I know, but it tastes the same.. after a few days.” Matt sighs, “Just stay with me. Once they find her, you’ll probably be one of the first people to be contacted, and you need-“

“I know, to be under control because I’ll be around people, but I-“ you stop talking as Matt cuts you off, “Hey. One step at a time, okay?”

You nod, “Okay.”

“Good, now..” he walks over to your room and you follow him, “Keep up.”

You smirk and jump out after him, following him the whole way to the woods. Right as you enter, you stop, looking around, “They found Jace’s body.”

“Yeah, I figured that would happen.” Matt tosses the body in his arms do the ground and reaches for your hand, “Didn’t think it would take them this long.”

You laugh slightly and look around, “I’m starving.”

He nods, “A few rabbits should be enough.. we just gotta-“

“What’s he doing out here?” You look at Matt, “Do you hear that?”

Matt nods as he looks around, “He shouldn’t be out here.”

“We can- I mean.. he helped didn’t he?” You look at Matt and he nods, “He just made it easy for us.” He looks down at you, “Come on.”

He leads you away, the sound of Graham’s footsteps growing louder by the second.

“Stop right here.” Matt pulls you in close to him, “We need to make sure he’s alone. Can you listen and tell me if you think he’s alone?”

You close your eyes, tilting your head as you focus on your hearing.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just him.” You swallow, growing more antsy as you just stand there, “When can we-“

Matt puts his finger to his lips and you stop talking, turning your head slowly as the footsteps seem to be right on the other side of the tree.

“Now.” Matt mouths and you were gone.

You grab Graham by the shirt and throw him to the ground, your knee on his chest, “Hi.”

“What the- y/n?” He blinks a few times, “What the fuck are you doing out here?” You tilt your head, looking into his eyes, “Why are you out here?”

“Damian wanted me to try and find Matt’s body and hide it.”

“Tell me what part of Matt’s disappearance you played.”

“I-I held him while Damian kicked his ass.”

“Why?”

“He said, that I needed to man up, do something to prove myself.”

“Hmm.” You stand up, “Do you believe in being in the wrong place at the right time?”

“What- I don’t, I don’t know what you mean? Y/n, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” His breathing grows more rapid, “Y/n.”

“Do you?” You look at him and he shrugs, “I mean, yeah I guess.”

“Do you want to know something?” You walk up to him, “You just so happen to be in the wrong place, but at the perfect time for me.” You spin him around, sinking your fangs into his neck and he lets out a yell, “F-fuck! Fuck!”

Matt walks out and stands in front of Graham, “Remember me?”

You tilt your head back and he falls down on the ground, trying to slide away, “N-no, there’s.. you were dead.”

“That’s what they all say.” Matt laughs and shakes his head, “they’re always so surprise to see that I’m alive and well.”

“What the fuck!” Graham groans, pulling his hand away to look at it, “T-there’s.. blood, you fucking.. bitch you ripped open my neck.”

You lick your lips and bend down, “Yeah, sorry. Just trying to get used to this whole vampire stuff.”

“V-vam-“ he scoffs, “What the fuck?”

“You’re going to die, Graham.” Matt bends down in front of him, “But you won’t be coming back like me.” He pats his leg and gives you a nod.

You’re behind the injured man, finishing the job by ripping through his neck and sucking his blood until he’s pale.

“Atta girl, baby.” Matt bites his lip and you look up at him as you stand up, “Am I pretty good at this vampire stuff yet?”

He squints, giving you a smirk, “I’d say so.” He walks over, pecking you on the cheek, “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

You’re down by the stream, sitting there in the last little bit of moonlight the night has to offer as Matt cleans off your face, “I think you should kill Damian. He’s the one who got you into this.”

“Yeah but-“

You cut him off, “No. I want to watch you get your revenge on him. I want to watch you scare him.”

A smirk appears on his lips and he nods, “Alright, if you say so.” He rinses his hand off and looks at you, “You know, you’re handling this change pretty good.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head and he shrugs, “I don’t know, I thought you’d be on a rampage by now.. I’m glad you’re not.”

“As long as you’re with me, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. You ground me.”

He smiles and gasps, “Oh, here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, “As soon as you- as soon as I killed you..” he laughs and you smile, “Right.”

“I went out, got Roman to get me this.” He reaches for your hand and you give it to him. He slides the ring on your finger, “It’s a daylight ring, so you don’t have to hide in the shadows all the time.”

Right as the words leave his lips. The sunlight of early morning creeps through the trees, reflecting off of your ring, “What.. would have happened if you didn’t give this to me?”

“You’d burn, your skin would literally catch on fire. I had to learn the hard way.”

Your eyes go wide and Matt sighs, “Yeah, I’m glad I remembered about it.”

“I appreciate it, really.” You lean in, “Thank you.” You press your lips to his and he reaches up to cup your face, “You’re not ready to be in a crowed yet, but when you are, it’ll help you blend in more.”

“We should probably get back to clean my apartment right?”

He nods, “Yes. Not a bad idea.”

“I’ll race you.” You immediately start running and Matt is right behind you.

You couldn’t explain it other than Matt was right, you felt free. You felt good. You felt like you could run the world.

You were loving this feeling.

That was until your hunger struck and an unsuspecting early morning hiker caught your attention. You immediately flew off the path, but Matt was hot on your tail.

But a split second behind.

You pounced on the hiker like a lion to its prey. Your teeth immediately sinking into the vein in her neck and sucking.

“Y/n!” Matt pulls you off of her, “That’s not what we said we were doing!” He looks at the girl struggling on the ground and he looks back at you, “You hurt her, but you can also help her.”

You clench your jaw, looking down at her before moving to kneel down, “Go to the hospital and say an animal attacked you..”

She gets up and immediately starts running back down the trail and Matt sighs, “Baby..”

“I-I’m sorry..” you look down, wiping off the blood from your chin on your wrists, then your pants, “It just.. happened, it just came over me I couldn’t-“

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“Trusted me?”

“No, no.” Matt pushes your chin up, looking into your eyes, “You did nothing wrong. I just need to stay with you.”

“No more racing?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No more racing, let’s just get to your apartment. I have a feelings this place will be swarming with cops and two of your bodies will be found.”

You nod, “Okay.”

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“It’s crazy how we can move and not be detected.” You say as you finish scrubbing the floor, “Why couldn’t we compel someone to do this for us?”

“Because, baby. We have to clean up our own messes sometimes.” Matt kneels down next to you, “But you’ll master the technique of being clean as you go.”

“I’m sorry about the hiker.”

“I told you, it’s fine.” He runs his hand over your hair and stands up, “I’ve been thinking about how I want to get back at Damian.”

You sit down, turning to face him as he sits down on the couch, “How?”

“Once the news gets out about Macie, I want you to act like nothing is wrong, we’ll feed you before so you’re controlled for a little. But you check up on him, make sure he’s okay, and that’s when I’ll come into play.”

Your phone dings and you pull it from your pocket, “Macie has been found. So has Graham. Both labeled as animal attacks and they’re ordering everyone in town to stay out of the woods, day and night.”

Matt tilts his head, “Looks like it’s showtime.” He nods, “Call Damian, do you have his number?”

You nod, “Yeah, Macie gave it to me the one time we were at a party and her phone broke. She had him come get us.” You roll your eyes and look at him, “That was before you.”

He smirks slightly and nods, “I figured.”

You put the phone to your ear and it rings a few times before he answers, “Were you with her last night?”

“She left my apartment in the middle of the night, I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t stay.”

“And you didn’t go with her? Follow her? Something, anything like that? God you are so fucking stupid.” He sniffles, “that was my girl, y/n.”

Matt gives you a look and you sigh, “That was my best friend, Damian.”

The words tasted sour on your tongue.

“Sure as fuck didn’t seem it. You were so far up Matt’s ass you barely seen her. Always pushing her to the back burner. You weren’t her friend. She wasn’t anything to you.”

He hangs up and you stare at Matt and he tilts his head, “He’s dead.”

He stands up and starts to pace, “There’s no way he’s going to sit there and insult you after what he’s done.” He shakes his head, “No, no. He’s going to pay for everything. Me, you.” He clenches his jaw, “I’m going to make it hurt.”

“When are we-“

“Now.”

“You don’t want to wait?” You stand up and walk over to him, “What about-“

“Y/n.”

The tone in Matt’s voice and the way his eyes flicker silence you immediately. You swallow and look down, taking a few deeps breaths to try and control yourself.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, “I just- I’m..” he scoffs, “Unable to put into words how mad I am, and you need me right now and I just-“

“You’re still figuring things out, too.” You look at him, “While trying to deal with me, and now this.. it’s my fault.. I started this. We could have waited like you said and I just- I jumped the gun. I’m sorry.”

“They deserved what happened to them. All three of them. If it wasn’t you, it would have been me.” Matt walks over to you, “I’m sorry.”

He pulls you in for a hug and he sighs, “It looks animals are the only thing we can get you right now. I know it sounds gross, but you need to eat. I need you to be right here, with me.”

You nod, “I’ll give it a shot.”

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Back in the woods, deep in the woods, Matt is giving you pointers on how to hunt small game, “You gotta be quick.” He snickers, “And, it’ll be hard the first time, took me a few tries to catch a rabbit, so don’t be hard on yourself if-“

You catch a rabbit. First try. [Rip little buddy]

Matt’s jaw falls slack as he watches you feed, “Okay, there’s no way.”

You smirk as you drop it down to the ground, “What?” You laugh as you walk over to him, “Shocked I’m a better vampire than you?”

He laughs as your teasing remark and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, there’s another.” You lunge to get it, but you miss and Matt laughs, “That’s more like it.”

You throw a rock at him but he catches it quickly, “Hey now, no need to be a sore loser.”

“I’ll show you sore.” You lunge at him, slamming him up against a tree as you attack his lips with yours. Your hand runs through his hair as you kiss down his neck and he groans as you gently bite down on his skin.

“Y/n.”

“What, baby?” You bite your lip as you lean back to look at him, “afraid you might hurt me?”

He smirks and shakes his head, “No, no.” His hands grip your waist and he spins around, slamming your back against the tree, “I just like to be the dominant one.”

“I’m sure we can take turns.” You bite your lip and smile as he kisses down your neck. His hands move to push your pants down as you work at undoing his jeans.

“I’ve been waiting for you to want this.” He whispers as he lifts you up, “You have no idea.”

You look down at him, resting your head back against the tree as you feel him slip into you. You gasp, tightening your grasp around him as you feel him thrust in deeper, “Fuck, me too.”

His lips attach to your neck as his thrusts are quick to pick up a pace, “You still feel as good as ever.”

Your eyes roll back as the heightened feelings smack you like a truck, “F-fuck.” You move your head, connecting your lips with his, “Feels so fucking good, so fucking good.”

“Y-yeah.” Matt groans out, “It does.”

It doesn’t take you long before your both at your peak and you can feel him spilling inside of you with a loud groan.

You pant, moaning out as you come down from your high and he sets you down.

“That was so fast.” He laughs, “I didn’t.. think that would be fast, too.”

You nod, standing up to step back into your pants, “I mean, I guess..” you laugh, speaking between breathes, “it’s a good thing that we have eternity to see how many times we can do it.”

He bites his lip as he buttons his jeans, “You would be correct.” He kisses your cheek, “How’s the hunger?”

“I could eat.. again.” You sigh, “When is this going to stop being a constant thing?”

“Soon, baby.” He shrugs, “Took me a couple months. When I thought I was, I really wasn’t, so it’ll take a bit.”

“Once we get rid of Damian, we can leave right?” You look at Matt and he nods, “Yes. We can go, let’s just get you a few more animals before we finish this.”

You nod and spend the next hour hunting.

“How do you feel?” Matt asks as he watches you finish off another rabbi, and you nod, “Good.”

“Feel like you can walk up to Damian’s door and convince him to let you in?”

“Why would I need-“

“Oh, right. Yeah, you can’t just walk into anyone’s house anymore. You have to be invited in.”

You give him a confused look, “How come you’re able to come into my house without me inviting you in?”

He laughs, “Baby, that’s our apartment.”

“Right yeah.” You sigh, “Sorry, it’s been so long I must have forgot we added your name to it right before..” you trail off and he pulls you in for a hug, “I’m here now.”

“You’re here now.” You nod and he kisses your head, “Come on.”

You make your way through the woods and next thing you know, you’re at Damian’s front door, knocking with an empty box in your hands.

“Go away.” He yells on the other side and you sigh, “Damian. Please. Open the door. I have stuff from Macie.”

The door slowly opens and he looks out at you, “Just set it down.”

“No, you’re going to let me in and we’re going to talk about this. She was my best friend, too. She helped me with the while Matt thing, Damian. I owed her a lot.”

“Just leave-“

“No.”

“God you’re so fucking stubborn.” He closes the door and unlocks it, “Fine. Come in.” You slowly extend your foot out over the threshold and walk in with ease.

You walk over to the table and set the box down, “Can you do something for me?” You look at Damian and he sighs, “What?”

You stare into his eyes, “Invite Matt into your home.”

Damian looks at the door with zero hesitation, “Matt, please come in.”

Matt walks in, closing the door behind him and Damian blinks, “What the fuck!?” He looks from Matt to you, “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything.” You shrug, “What makes you think I did?”

“Because I just-“ he scoffs, “I just invited a dead dude into my house for one.. and two-“

Matt is there with his hand around his throat in a flash, “I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.” He throws him against the wall and you stand there with your brows raised.

You lean on the table, crossing your arms as you watch Matt walk over and pick him up, holding him against the wall to where his feet barely touch the ground.

“How are you here? I fucking killed you!?”

Matt laughs, “Wow, didn’t even need to compel it out of you.” He looks at you, “You see this?”

You nod, “Yeah, it’s almost like he’s proud of it or something.” You turn your attention to Damian, “Are you?”

“I’d do it all over again if she asked me to.”

“Who?” You told your head, “Ohhh, you mean your dead girlfriend? Yeah, she told me everything when I compelled it out of her.”

“She also blabbed to her friend about it, so..” Matt sighs, “I should make you turn yourself into the cops, but.. that won’t be as fun.”

“As fun as wh-“

Matt squeezes his throat and he starts gasping for air. Hes practically purple by the time he drops him to the floor.

Damian tries to crawl away but Matt steps on his back, “Yeah, no we’re not doing that.” He picks him up and looks at you as he spins the weakened man towards you, “Tell y/n you’re sorry.”

“Fuck you both.”

“That didn’t sound like an apology, baby. Did it?” You purse your lips, “I’m getting hungry, again.”

“In a minute baby.” Matt slams Damian against the wall and looks into his eyes, “Why did you kill me?”

“Macie hated you. You made her unhappy. I was only trying to make my girlfriend happy.”

“Bullshit.” Matt steps away and takes a swing. Damian groans and falls to the floor. Your eyes, along with Matt’s flash as the smell of the blood coming from his busted cheek.

“Matt.” You whisper, “I’m-“

Matt lifts Damian up and bites into his neck, “Come on, baby. Join me.”

You flash over, attacking the other side of his neck with your fangs and you can feel the life leave the body in your grasp.

He drops down to the floor with a thud, and you turn to Matt, pulling him in for a kiss. You lick the blood from his chin and he licks it from yours.

“Are we going after Amara?” You whisper as you tilt your head back, “She also knows.”

Matt shakes his head, “No. I think it’s time to just go.” He leans back, “start our lives together. We can go anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” You ask with a smile and he shakes his head, “No, baby. We can go everywhere.”

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Happy Halloween my babies! I hope you had a spooky-tacular day! Thank you for choosing my fics to read, i appreciate and love you all so much! 🖤 I’ll catch you in the next one!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[trixxiephantomhive]

W.I.P Wednesday 11/16/2022

Bartender!Luka

Luka was just zoning out and serving customers the night Marinette returned. She entered with no fanfare, just quickly over to the bar seat she found the night a week or so back. Luka didn’t even remember her at first, until after she ordered and he caught the sound of her heart. The Music that made her seem so kind at first glance.

“You know, People usually… Come to bars for alcohol. Not glasses of water and fries. That seems more of a diner thing.”

Luka chuckles at this small girl while he serves her what seems to possibly become a new usual.

“Technically you’re labeled as a Bar and Grill. That just seems to cater more to the bar side, You don’t have a bouncer. And I got a lot of work done last time.” Marinette looks up at him, plainly stating her fact of why it makes perfect sense for her to sit there with a glass of water and especially good cheesy fries.

Luka smirks and nods as he wanders off to help others. During the night the acquaintances catch each other's eye a multitude of times. Luka quickly darting away from the attention each time. The night gets later and later, and Marinette begins to sketch more and more, Losing herself in the work. After what feels like no time at all she feels a tap on her shoulder. So suddenly in fact, she screams and goes to attack with a pencil “AHH!!” “Woah, woah. It’s just, your friendly bartender here. We’re closing up and I wanted to give you some time to get out of here”

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

The hospital was shockingly easy to break into, though Dabi supposed it was more due to it being built for keeping mentally ill people with quirk restraints in as opposed to keeping villain terrorists with full access to their quirks out. A distinct oversight considering exactly which top ranking hero's wife was being housed there.

All Dabi had to do was burn open a hole in a metal fence hidden behind an overgrown bush (and if he almost set fire to said bush multiple times in the process that was nobody's business but his) and then climb a particularly perilous tree, shimmy across an extremely narrow and dubiously sturdy ledge, and slide the window open with one hand, all the while clutching a bouquet of blue rindous in the other.

Easy.

No sweat.

He could do it with his eyes closed. Probably. At least he'd say he could if anyone asked, which they wouldn't, because if anyone found out that the A rank cremation villain Dabi was breaking into a hospital to leave Endeavour's wife flowers every few weeks they'd be too concerned about the fact that they were now burning to death to ask any further questions.

Dabi always frowned slightly whenever the window slid open without resistance. The hospital still hadn't fixed the latch, which was great for Dabi since he wouldn't have to break it again, but he couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed by the hospital's incompetence.

Didn't they know just about any unwanted creep could crawl through a fence, climb up a tree, shimmy across a ledge, and climb into this window? If he weren't a highly wanted criminal of secretive origins he'd write a formal complaint.

Maybe he should just murder whoever was in charge of security, they might be replaced with someone who actually cared for the safety of their patients. He tucked that idea away for later.

For now he had to focus on making sure Rei Todoroki was asleep and wouldn't notice him, she was usually out like a light at this time of night, she hadn't even stirred that one time a piece of ledge dislodged beneath Dabi's foot and he let out a rather undignified squeak of terror. Maybe she was being sedated, he hoped it was willingly, he didn't dwell on that thought, it wasn't as though he could do anything about it if it wasn't.

He could see the outline of her body under the covers from the little amount of light provided by a streetlight beyond the boundary fence, no movement, good.

The vase was still on the windowsill, excellent, one time it had been moved to the bedside table and he'd almost had to crawl right inside to reach it.

Dabi pulled out the old wilted rindous and laid them down beside the vase before carefully passing the fresh flowers from one hand to the other, shifting his grip on the windowsill, leaving his body vulnerable to the unforgiving laws of gravity for a brief moment. He cursed his weak stomach as it lurched violently at the minor jolt, it didn't matter how often he did this, it made its displeasure known each and every time.

He tucked the flowers into the vase and gave the still figure on the bed one last glance before getting ready to shimmy back across the ledge. Something about her looked... odd, misshapen almost, maybe she'd gone to bed with her dressing gown still on. Strange since she didn't normally feel the cold.

He didn't have the luxury of dwelling on the thought, the nurses could be around for check in any minute, agonisingly they were never on a regular schedule.

He had just shuffled away from the window when fingers as cold as his own suddenly wrapped around his wrist. He spun his head so fast he nearly lost his balance, but the grip on his wrist kept him steady against the wall.

Steely grey eyes latched onto his as Rei Todoroki leaned halfway out the window, holding onto him tight.

"Touya." she breathed, expression bright and almost smug. "I knew it, I knew it was you. They said I was delusional , that you were dead, that Enji must be leaving the flowers, but he never remembered my favourites, but you knew, you always picked them out of the garden for me."

Dabi froze, mouth slightly ajar as a denial danced on the tip of his tongue, his reason keeping it at bay.

No, I'm just some random villain breaking onto hospital grounds to leave you flowers, Touya who? Like shit she'll buy that.

Instead he tugged half heartedly at his wrist.

"Let go." he growled.

"Don't leave me Touya." Rei almost sobbed, her grip tightening.

"Let go mum." said Dabi, his voice weaker this time.

"Touya please," he could see tears starting to glisten in the corners of her eyes under the pale streetlight. "Don't leave me."

No no don't you cry don't you dare cry, because if you start I'll start and the last thing you need to see right now is the fucked up living corpse of your son bleeding from the eyes.

Rei's grip was bruising, he could almost hear his wrist creak under the pressure. She probably wasn't even gripping that hard, as tough as he acted there was a reason Dabi stuck to long range attacks, his body was barely more than a brittle bag of bones, a stiff breeze could dislocate his joints, especially with how many times he'd popped his own wrists out of place to slip out of handcuffs.

"If I stay I'll be caught." he argued, wriggling his wrist more urgently, maybe if she felt it pop she'd let go. "I have to go."

"He won't let me leave." Rei said, her words coming in a breathless rush, frantic, desperate. "The doctors cleared me months ago but he won't let me leave Touya. Fuyumi tried everything, Natsuo tried everything, and Shouto wants to help but he's just a child."

Her eyes were wide with panic, the more Dabi pulled away the further she leaned dangerously out the window.

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do?" Dabi hissed, almost on the verge of panic himself, "I'm a criminal, a villain, you think anyone's gonna listen to me?"

"You're the only one left who can help me." Rei's voice was as steady as her hand. "I need you Touya."

Dabi very very much did not like how effectively those words punched the air from his lungs. Needed, she needed him, not Fuyumi, not Natsuo, not even perfect precious Shouto, she needed him. The failure, the fuckup.

No fuck you, you are not that pathetic, get it together you idiot.

"What do you want?" Dabi asked, his voice almost pleading as he kept tugging at his wrist, it still hadn't popped out, of all the times for his joints to behave themselves.

Rei leaned so far over the ledge that for a moment he almost thought she had lost balance, she stared at him with a burning intensity.

"Get me the fuck out of here."

edit: there is now a part two!

[quilteddreamz]

Be fed.

Come gather my fearful ao3 friends! Come indulge in what I have salvaged from the flames!

Fic below:

"Not A Morning Person"

Part 1/3

Your closed lids scrunch as sunlight casts over them, harsh against your waking mind, you turn. hiding away in a plush pillow. 

Mornings were your nemesis. Your mind, sluggish to wake, dreading leaving the warmth of your sanctum. Sounds of birds and the world bustling outside weren’t enough to convince you it was worth it. The warmth carried a lulling comfort, ready to take your mind under again. 

Silicon brushed against the bottom of your foot. You retract your foot back into the warmth, hiding away from whatever had disturbed it. You groan in discontent, nuzzling your face further into the pillow.

Static crackles in a soft chortle. 

Silicon hands return to cup your cheeks, one lifting your head from the pillow.

“No,” You whine, pulling back. You weasel your head under the covers, curling up in a grumpy ball

“Sunshine, “ Sun sings, softly. You could feel him tugging on the duvet. “The birds are singing-”

“No.”

“The sun is shining-“

“Go away.”

“And you-“ The duvet is roughly pulled up, revealing your groggy eyes, “-need to brush your hair,” His grin widened at your disheveled state.

The duvet is tossed to the end of the bed, better revealing your frown. You flip over onto your stomach, face down into the mattress. 

Your sanctum is stolen, ripped away by the beaming Sun. But that wouldn’t stop you from lazing around.

Sun huffed. The bed dipped beside you. Hands looped under your waist, lifting. You gripped the fitted sheet like a bristling cat.

“Don’t act like a toddler,” Sun chided. He did a sharp tug, breaking your hold. 

Sun shifted to sit on his calves, holding you like a doll in his lap. Your head rested against his chest chasm, faintly hearing the whirring of mechanical life. 

His hands rubbed your sides, another futile attempt to cure your drowsiness.

“My, my, you're awfully tired this morning, Sunshine,” He mumbled.

His hand cupped under your chin, angling your head back slightly.  Cold fingers petted the dark circles under your eyes. His smile twitched.

“What time did you fall asleep?” 

You stilled. Truth sat bitterly on your tongue. You swallowed and lied: “The usual time.”

“Mhm,” His upturned eyes tilted. He unfurled his leg and stepped off the bed, taking you with him. Your legs wrapped around his torso, feet barely touching. His strides are long as he takes further from where you want to be.

Passing the hall mirror shows you how unbelievable your lie was. Below your tired eyes were dark, soot-like circles. Pale skin painted your normal vibrance. You looked dull at best— worst a zombie.

The kitchen held the faint scent of Sun’s cooking, yet looked spotless. You swore the robot was incapable of causing a mess.

You’re lowered down at the table. Your heavy eyes blink at the eggs in front of you. Cold and sad. They had sat here a while.

Sheepishly you smile, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Sunshine!” Sun peppily replied, though from the way his hands clenched the back of your chair, you doubted it was genuine. “I’ll go make you a coffee.” His bells jingled as he walked to the counter.

You picked at the eggs with a fork, watching the cold yolk run free. Guilt mixed with your tiredness. You hadn’t meant to stay up late. It wasn’t your fault your favourite show was running a marathon late into the AMs. Now you held the ire of the animatronic— and likely his brother as well.

Taking a bite your guilt grew. It tasted wonderful.

Jingling bells had you lift your head. Sun returned with a steaming mug, setting it down. You thanked him, softly blowing on it.

You sipped— face twisting at the harsh bitterness. The sugar Sun normally added was missing. You nearly spit, but Sun’s taut grin stopped you. 

“Good?” 

You nodded, perusing your lips.

This was going to be a hard day.

---------------------------------------------

Hope y'all enjoyed! Part 2 should be up tonight or tomorrow on ao3. If ao3 is not up it will be on here :3

If you have time later go give this a kudo on ao3! it's in my linktree.

Hope you all have a wonderful day/night 💜

[crow-aeris]

Hubris was the downfall of many men.

He remembers indulging in one of Jason’s many long-winded rants about literature, hearing his brother ramble on and on about how pride was the thing that killed John Proctor. Sure, Abigail made have been the leading cause of all those deaths, but John could have lived- could have seen his sons grow up- had he went through with the plan and lied… and yet, it was only because of a man’s pride did he leave behind his wife and sons.

And now as he lays alone and dying far, far away from family and friends… Tim couldn’t help but think hubris was what led him to… this.

His independence, once a blessing- now a curse, had him set out by himself with no foreword or warning to any hero or civilian whatsoever.

He feels… cold? Empty… Irritated. Oh what a time to be irritated, though Tim wasn’t all too sure who exactly his irritation was directed towards…

Bruce? Sure, he hadn’t been the best of fathers, but… he was all time had. Bruce hadn’t known Tim was going on this stupid trip, so he couldn’t be blamed.

Dick? Tim’s own personal hero? No, never. Dick might’ve hurt him before, but Tim couldn’t force himself to hold that grief even if he tried. Dick was spending the weekend with his friends, so Tim doubts he’ll find out about this until much later.

Jason? Despite being a grade a asshole, Jason cared. He had vehemently opposed Tim’s trip, and now he could see how it came back to bite him in the ass.

He laughs shrilly, tone nearing hysterical as Tim feels himself stop shivering… That wasn’t good, right? He read somewhere before that the moment you stop shivering, is the most dangerous.

Tim forces himself tighter into a ball, fighting to stay awake as he clung desperately onto his fleeing thoughts.

What about Stephanie? She got on his nerves occasionally, but those moments were few and far between.

Damian? Well, despite… everything, Tim has been trying to repair their relationship with what little scraps existed prior.

Cass? God, no. Tim could never be angry at her. She does her best, and honestly? Tim commends her for it.

Duke was a sweetheart. Kind, determined, and optimistic even after everything he’s gone through. he was the embodiment of sunshine through and through.

…

……

………

…………What was he thinking about?

He was… sleepy. Tired….

…Where was Bernard? Where was Kon? He was… numb. Was he supposed to feel this numb?

Taking a little nap wouldn’t hurt, right? It wouldn’t hurt at all….

“Oh, Detective, look what mess have you gotten yourself into? This is why you never should have left my side”

[suchawrathfullamb]

no because you do not understand how much I need domestic cop!Will/surgeon!Hannibal. you do not

[melle-otterwise]

Post S15 Destiel domestic

Dean is trying to give Miracle a bath, except somehow Miracle manages to dodge the bathtub and splash all its containing water on poor Dean. Of course, Cas is not helping 😌

(Also, it might or might not be Cas's grace inside a vial, around Dean's neck 👀)

Thanks @hectatess for the idea 💙