#so sorry if it wasn't what you were expecting

[scriobh-an-iontas]

The dream comes after a particularly bad day. Your children seem to be celebrating, or mourning, Aslan. It's a name you've heard them say, but you don't know who or what this Aslan is. Only that today is "his day". You want to hold them, to tell them that it's alright. You want them to fight like they did, to laugh and love like they did, like they did when the world made sense, and the sky didn't burn from war. You want to howl, to scream, to beg your children who are not children to be your children again. All these, and more, but you cannot. Something has taken this from them, from you, and it wasn't the war, no matter how much you tell yourself it was.

They whisper to each other on this day, and look at you like they've only just noticed you, really noticed you, for the first time since they got back from the country. You excuse yourself, unsure as to why you need to excuse yourself from your children in your own home, but you do, and you go to your bed, and you dream.

You dream of a vast garden, one full of trees with the ripest fruits, fruits you've never seen, but that you somehow know.

"Eat, Helen Pevensie, and be restored," says a deep voice.

You look up, and before you is a lion. Not a tame lion, though. Never a tame lion.

You know you should smell the sweetness of the fruit, but at that moment, you can only smell rot.

"I will not eat. You cannot give me a fruit and expect me to forget what you have stolen from me, child thief," you say. You don't know why you say it. That doesn't make it less true.

The lion ...

The lion diminishes, then looks away.

"They came of their own accord. Even if I had not called them here, if they had come under their own power, they would not have changed in their course, to come, and to stay. Their return was the only mercy I could offer," the lion says, as if that could change what he did.

"But you didn't return them!" you cry, months of sorrow bursting forward and striking the lion like a charger's lance. "You stripped them of who they were and who they had become and sent what was left to me! You broke them into pieces and sent those shards back after you had used them up, and call it a mercy? Jesus protect me from your cruelty!"

The lion winces, then speaks. "Will you walk with me?" the lion asks. "I wish to show you what they were called to protect."

You want to say no, but you think of your children, those strangers in your home, then steel yourself and walk towards, then next to, the lion.

You and the lion walk deeper into the garden, until you reach the ledge of a cliff. You know that it's high above the clouds, or it would be, on any other day. Today, though, the sight is clear.

Below is a beautiful country. Everything you could ever imagine to be a perfect land is here, you know it in your heart. The stories you told your children, when they were still your children, are alive here. Thriving. Happy. You know that if you went into that country, you'd see dryads, talking animals, tree-folk, magic.

"This place is not my country, not truly, but it is dear to me. It was trapped under the power of a terrible witch, until your children came, your sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. They destroyed the power of the witch, and freed it, and ruled it, ruled it well. They spoke of you, Helen Pevensie. They missed you."

You turn to face the lion. His eyes are wet with tears, as are yours.

"I am so sorry. If there had been another way, I would have taken it. There were none. So eat, Helen Pevensie, and be restored."

You take a final look at the land below, knowing somehow that you will never see it again, and go back into the garden. The lion follows you, saying nothing. You go from tree to tree, not sure what you are looking for, until suddenly you do. It looks a bit like an apple tree, and a bit like what toffee might look like if it was a fruit. Yet, in this garden, in this place, it is also moreso. It smells of home, and of here.

You take the fruit.

You eat it.

Each bite brings with it a memory of your children, as they were before they left, and as they are now, and of memories of them in this place. Not perfect visions, but living pictures, perhaps.

When you finish, you turn back to the lion.

"You aren't done with them yet, are you?" you say. It isn't a question, but neither is it an accusation.

"No," says the lion, his great shaggy mane tossing as he shakes his head. "But I will not again keep them away to myself, that I promise you. I will not say that they will return unchanged, but they will return in life and spirit as they left," says the lion.

You don't say thank you. That would be too much, and it would be a lie. The lion has taken so much already. This is the least he could do. But you nod, and you understand.

When you wake up, you feel refreshed, and restored.

When you walk down the stairs from your bedroom into the room your children are in, you feel, for a moment, as if you are their mother again.

You sit with them. You smile at your daughters, and at your sons. Then you speak.

"So. Tell me about Aslan."

They smile back at you, and they begin to chatter.

you have invited strangers into your home, helen pevensie, mother of four.

without the blurred sight of joy and relief, it has become impossible to ignore. all the love inside you cannot keep you from seeing the truth. your children are strangers to you. the country has seen them grow taller, your youngest daughter’s hair much longer than you would have it all years past. their hands have more strength in them, their voices ring with an odd lilt and their eyes—it has become hard to look at them straight on, hasn’t it? your children have changed, helen, and as much as you knew they would grow a little in the time away from you, your children have become strangers.

your youngest sings songs you do not know in a language that makes your chest twist in odd ways. you watch her dance in floating steps, bare feet barely touching the dewy grass. when you try and make her wear her sister’s old shoes—growing out of her own faster than you think she ought to—, she looks at you as though you are the child instead of her. her fingers brush leaves with tenderness, and you swear your daughter’s gentle hum makes the drooping plant stand taller than before. you follow her eager leaps to her siblings, her enthusiasm the only thing you still recognise from before the country. yet, she laughs strangely, no longer the giggling girl she used to be but free in a way you have never seen. her smile can drop so fast now, her now-old eyes can turn distant and glassy, and her tears, now rarer, are always silent. it scares you to wonder what robbed her of the heaving sobs a child ought to make use of in the face of upset.

your other daughter—older than your youngest yet still at an age that she cannot be anything but a child—smiles with all the knowledge in the world sitting in the corner of her mouth. her voice is even, without all traces of the desperate importance her peers carry still, that she used to fill her siblings’ ears with at all hours of the day. she folds her hands in her lap with patience and soothes the ache of war in your mind before you even realise she has started speaking. you watch her curl her hair with careful, steady fingers and a straight back, her words a melody as she tells your eldest which move to make without so much a glance at the board off to her right. she reads still, and what a relief you find this sliver of normalcy, even if she’s started taking notes in a shorthand you couldn’t even think to decipher. even if you feel her slipping away, now more like one of the young, confident women in town than a child desperately wishing for a mother’s approval.

your younger son reads plenty as well these days, and it fills you with pride. he is quiet now, sitting still when you find him bent over a book in the armchair of his father. he looks at you with eyes too knowing for a petulant child on the cusp of puberty, and no longer beats his fists against the furniture when one of his siblings dares approach him. he has settled, you realise one evening when you walk into the living room and find him writing in a looping script you don’t recognise, so different from the scratched signature he carved into the doors of your pantry barely a year ago. he speaks sense to your youngest and eldest, respects their contributions without jest. you watch your two middle children pass a book back and forth, each a pen in hand and sheets of paper bridging the gap between them, his face opening up with a smile rather than a scowl. it freezes you mid-step to find such simple joy in him. remember when you sent them away, helen, and how long it had been since he allowed you to see a smile then?

your eldest doesn’t sleep anymore. none of your children care much for bedtimes these days, but at least sleep still finds them. it’s not restful, you know it from the startled yelps that fill the house each night, but they sleep. your eldest makes sure of it. you have not slept through a night since the war began, so it’s easy to discover the way he wanders the halls like a ghost, silent and persistent in a duty he carries with pride. each door is opened, your children soothed before you can even think to make your own way to their beds. his voice sounds deeper than it used to, deeper still than you think possible for a child his age and size. then again, you are never sure if the notches on his door frame are an accurate way to measure whatever it is that makes you feel like your eldest has grown beyond your reach. you watch him open doors, soothe your children, spend his nights in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea with a weariness not even the war should bring to him, not after all the effort you put into keeping him safe.

your children mostly talk to each other now, in a whispered privacy you cannot hope to be a part of. their arms no longer fit around your waist. your daughters are wilder—even your older one, as she carries herself like royalty, has grown teeth too sharp for polite society— and they no longer lean into your hands. your sons are broad-shouldered even before their shirts start being too small again, filling up space you never thought was up for taking. your eldest doesn’t sleep, your middle children take notes when politicians speak on the wireless and shake their heads as though they know better, and your youngest sings for hours in your garden.

who are your children now, helen pevensie, and who pried their childhood out of your shaking hands?

[livin4woso]

Casual-(alexia putellas x reader)

Summary- You can only keep it casual for so long right well. alexia doesn't want to any further than you just being a fling occasionally. However, you want more from her. You want commitment.

It's not as if alexia didn't like you or that she didn't find you attractive it was just that you were a low time commitment when she occasionally fancied when her schedule gave her a few hours free.

While that was good for the first month a summer fling as she proposed the idea to you however after 3 months, you can't help but catch feelings for the women who is in and out of your bed atleast once a week as a 'stress reliever'. The sneaking around your teamates to hide this suitationship was thrilling at first, like an adrenaline rush now it was plain boring and felt like a guilty secret.

You wanted the blonde to yourself as while it felt exclusive to you, there was no agreement for alexia to stay put to you she could do what she wanted when she wanted. You know you're not the only person she has slept with as she came into training with a neck full of hickeys and you dont leave marks because it has to be a secret right and even the slightest trace would ruin what was going on between yous.

However while you can accept it a few times you had reached your limit as you can't help but feel jealous when you know she has other women in her bed yet you sit and wait for her like a kicked puppy waiting for her attention.

You texted her to come round yours, but you didn't tell her what for as you needed to express your feelings towards her before you drag yourself deep falling for the blonde woman more than you already had.

Alexia hadn't expected much other than the usual routine of hook up wake up entangled in eachother then leave on the morning without a trace and she wasn't going to complain as you were some of the best sex she had in the past few years. She got changed into some sweats as she was used to the routine and didn't need to get dressed up nice as its not as if they would be on her for very long.

You heard the knock of the door usually filled you with excitement was now one of dread as this could either go two ways. You opened the door and greeted alexia, and as you almost slipped into your familiar routine of her lips pressed against your neck, you stopped her.

"Ale, can we talk, please?" you said, trying to push her towards the sofa. "Mhm," she said, understanding the hint and sat on the corner of your L shaped sofa. "Look, i just needed to confess something. i like you, and i can't keep doing this. Just as a random fling, i want commitment ,i want you, " you said, pacing the living room trying to read her stoic facial expressions. "Im sorry y/n, but i dont feel the same. i told you this was casual, and that's it. You knew that from the start," she replied, almost heartless "yeah right casual" you replied, pushing the loose strands of hair behind your head as almost a stress reliever.

This was a rash decision but it needed to end "then im sorry but we're finished no more of this of us whatever you even call this because i can't do casual anymore" you replied almost shocked at your own words. Alexia was almost stunned at you but she didn't let it slip not for one second "okay and i respect that I'll leave and I'll see you at training" she replied getting up to leave your apartment.

However, you couldn't see her at training knowing the countless times you'd been wrapped in her arms wanting to be hers. So you texted your agent and Accepted the deal to transfer to Chelsea this was the final straw if alexia didn't want to commit to you the only way to get rid of her is to remove her from your life completely.

Once the move was completed during the January window, you were having one of the best seasons you have had in a while with many goal contributions to the team. Meanwhile alexia was having a harder time to adjust without you and she had many of time thought about texting you saying she had lied that night and that she also felt the same but she was just scared to commit herself to a relationship again.

She couldn't do that not to you after she knew she had ruined you so much to leave for a different country but also to herself as her cowardness and anxiety had led to her mistake. Many teammates had asked her why you had transferred so abruptly, but she would never admit she was the reason for it all because she wanted to keep things casual between yous.

[httpsdana]

30 & 5 from fluff with pedri?

Quiet Hours~Pedri González

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: this was a bit rushed sorry. A hector fic next <3

5-“stop laughing! I'm trying to tell you that I love you"

30-“What are you doing up?” “my personal heater went away”

It was well past midnight when y/n shifted in her sleep at the sudden coldness. Her hand reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed, only for her to be met with the empty warm bed.

She sat up confused, rubbing her eyes to try and clear the haze of sleep still clouding her mind.

She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, and shivered as her feet met the cold tiles of the floor.

She walked herself out of the room, and to the room that was only lit up in the house.

She saw Pedri in the kitchen, a glass of water in his hands but his posture seemed off. His shoulders seemed tense, not as relaxed as always. His back was to her, but when he heard her come in he quickly turned around.

“amor?” he said softly, his eyes softening at her sleepy sight. “What are you doing up?”

“my personal heater went away” she whined, making his face melt into a smile as she tightened the blanket around her shoulders.

“lo siento princesa,” he murmured, reaching forward to cup her face in his warm hands. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again.

“Why did you leave?” she asked him

He shrugged, his finger running over her cheekbone lightly.

“I couldn't sleep,” he said, although she wasn't convinced. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

“something's on your mind. spill,” she urged, making him sigh.

" it's just…I've been thinking about something for so long,” he started.

“about what?” she asked curiously.

" I don't know how to tell you” he breathed out.

“Are you trying to tell me that you've been stealing my snacks?” she couldn't help but tease him slightly before he shook his head.

“No, it's more serious. I-” she interrupted him again before he could finish.

“did you crash my car again?” she teased, her smile widening as she watched the blush rise up his neck. She couldn't help but laugh softly at his flustered state.

“stop laughing! I'm trying to tell you that I love you" he said, his voice rising slightly as he blurted out what's been weighing on him for a while.

The room went silent as her eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly at his confession. She hadn't expected him to say those words, not in this situation and in the middle of the night.

Pedri noticed her face and his face dropped immediately.

“dios mío” he sighed, his hand running over his face. “I knew this was a bad idea. lo siento”

As he tried to walk away, she was quick to pull his hand back.

“Pedri. Stop” she smiled slightly, as he avoided her eyes and focused on the floor.

“I love you too,” she murmured, making him look up at her quickly.

“you do?” he asked, his smile appearing on his face once again.

“Yes, stupid. I'd be the dumbest person on earth if I didn't” she joked, making him chuckle.

She grabbed the strings of his hoodie, before pulling him down so that his lips met hers in a reassuring kiss. He melted into the kiss as his hand reached up to cup her face again. When they pulled away they were both slightly breathless. She smiled at him before leaning her head against his chest.

“carry me to bed? I'm cold” she looked at him with a pout. He leaned down to kiss her pout away, before wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her effortlessly off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes already heaving with sleep.

“te amo mi vida” she murmured, before her eyes fully shut.

“te amo más preciosa” he mumbled back, unable to stop the wide smile from spreading on his face.

He placed her gently in bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around her then laying next to her. He pressed one final kiss on her forehead, before pulling her so she could lay on him.

And having her in his arms was the way he could sleep peacefully at night, especially after hearing her say those words back to him.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[esotericbluntbaby]

HIIIII i love your writing style so bad, i came on here to request something and then i see you doubt your own writing which is crazy cuz they're all good!!! can i request hamzah and reader in something worse than a situationship so she brings out like someone attractive along at a party or something (it could literally be a gay man that offered to help her idk) to see if it'd make him jealous and it actually does. IM SORRY if you get too mant jealous hamzah requests but i just yearn for him, PLS have angst in the beginning 😭😭🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼.

worsened aches

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: though toxic and envious, you realize that your situationship had to have gone through the worst in order to better itself for the sake of you and hamzah.

mentions: angst (expect it at this point), yearning, posessiveness, toxicity in a situationship out of confusion, she/her pronouns, both hamzah and reader are equally mean to each other so hopefully it cancels out, a guy making you uncomfortable and grabbing your hand, a fight scene, happy ending, sfw for the most part

listen to partynextdoor while you're reading lol. specifically make it to the morning or resentment but honestly any will do <3

--

"you're literally fucking crazy- what are you talking about?"

you and hamzah were currently going at it like two players on rival teams. though your relationship, or lack there of, was toxic and overly complicated, you both stayed in the same rooms you fought in because of the loneliness that consumed the both of you. obviously, arguing wasn't fun, nor was it ethical for the sake of your mental health, yet, bickering with someone else was somehow better than spending your nights alone and depressed.

you met hamzah because of how loud he was. you were, and still are, his neighbor who moved in a couple months ago. getting annoyed of the lack of sleep, you decided to march over to his apartment in the same manner that the guardsmen stomp in front of the royal palace; they had the queen to defend, while you had your sanity to fight for. over time, the friendship and simultaneous rivalry stemmed from that night and bloomed into the situationship you have right now.

you and hamzah technically aren't anything; technically, you and hamzah are nothing more than just friends who occasionally act coupley to fill the voids that call you to jump out of windows and balconies. you both were lonely, creating a seemingly win-win situation. he comes over whenever he needs someone to cuddle at night, or more than cuddle, and vice versa. it's been a system that's worked out for about eight-ish months now.

as all situationships do, it was bound to crash and tumble like hurricanes over the ocean. over time, the lack of a label caused more problems than einstein could sold. neither of you had a complete understanding of the boundaries you each wanted, nor did either of you want to risk creating a more serious problem than what it seemed to be by talking about it. so, over time, resentment built itself up within the foundations of the connection between the both of you as communication began to settle in the roots of the ground it was built on.

the night started alright; it was simple making out, occasional pecks on the cheeks and forehead, and constant physical touch. he even bought you food and fed it to you while you two sat on the couch and watched comfort movies. your presence was enjoyed as much as his was. it was normal that whenever hamzah was over, you'd completely lose sight of the bad parts of the connection you have after any part of him would touch you. however, the mood quickly changed when hamzah answered the call of another girl while on your couch. watching his smile expand at her words as you were cuddled up right beside him caused a pit to grow within your chest. it felt wrong. technically, given that you two were friends, it wasn't; however, the fact that he was all over you two seconds before you both heard the ringtone was, in fact, wrong. you moved away, distancing mountains and seas between you two on his couch, as eventually the call became silent and he hung up. you wouldn't speak to him. growing annoyed, he forced you to speak, to which you called him an asshole for "damn near flirting with a girl in front of you." thus, his gaslighting begun.

"hamzah, what do you mean, 'what's wrong with me?' what's wrong with you?"

he scoffed, "fucking nothing. nothing even happened- i have no clue what you're talking about. why are you making something out of nothing?"

"that's so fucking mature. you told me to talk, didn't you? or did i just make something out of nothing again?"

"oh my god, that's not what i meant- dude, why are you even mad? it's not like i did anything."

you raised your eyebrows, "my head was literally on your lap while you were flirting with her."

he slowly emphasized his words, "i wasn't even flirting with her."

"you made your voice deep like you were fuckin' neil degrasse tyson, are you joking? and what the hell was she saying that was making you laugh that hard?"

he put his hands up in defense, "it's not a big deal. so what if jess called me and i laughed when she told me a fuckin joke? it's not that deep."

your body felt like it was rising in temperature, "you're actually such a liar- we both know that it was that deep, bro. that's literally how you laugh with me."

"why does it matter if that's how i laugh with you?" he made a noise between a laugh and scoff and looked back at the television, "it's not like we're dating."

he was right. you weren't dating, so you can't be upset. you knew you mostly wanted that reassurance that he wouldn't find someone else while messing with you on the side, though you assumed that hamzah wasn't like that. you've had the run down of a bad dating history and horrible ex's and, yeah, hamzah was kind of bad. however, hamzah was bad in a way where at least it was to your face, unlike the infidelity and lies in your past relationships. unlike them, the worst that hamzah would do was get defensive over an argument or say something that was a little too mean on accident because he was genuinely just speaking his mind. honestly, the touch and treatment he gave you during the times you weren't bitchy towards each other evened out the slight toxicity; actually, even surpassing it. however, this was too far. this was a lie and you knew it. it was a lie that he specifically told to hurt you on purpose.

sure, maybe you could've gone a different direction with confronting him and maybe you were too aggressive with your accusations; but at the same time, you were also hurt that he would do that in front of you, as your head rested a couple of inches away from his heartbeat. the intimacy of the setting the both of you were in was overtaken by a green bogeyman; envy in its personified form.

the room fell silent as he kept on watching the movie. he only looked at you when you sniffled from tearing up so much. you guys have argued in the past, but never have you cried in front of him; this was vulnerability that you allowed to seep through you like sunlight seeps through the roots of a plant.

his attention was now fully on you, "are you crying?"

"hamzah, i want you to get out of my place."

"wait-"

you stood up and began to walk through the door, "let yourself out the door and don't come back. i'm done."

--

three weeks without him had passed and you were an emotional wreck; a wreck that was so bad that other cars on the road had to stop to see it for themselves. throughout the stages of grief, you were currently on the acceptance stage. you hadn't left you apartment ever since that night out of fear that he'd be leaving his, next door. a couple of times, you heard the knock that you two made for each other to signify that it was the other person at the door. with each knuckle to the wood, a pang in your heart thumped harder and with more rigor. luckily, it only lasted a total of a week before he stopped coming over.

since any romantic encounter or even simple things around your house reminded you of the man next door, you were going to continue to rot in bed whilst watching horror movies. however, the plan was quickly changed when rey, the gay man you met at a club a couple of months ago, decided to text you.

rey :p

5:42 pm | hey boo

5:42 pm | i haven't talked to you in forever

5:42 pm | how r u?

you

5:43 pm | im horrible

5:43 pm | u rmbr the guy i used to talk to u about

rey :p

5:44 pm | the one that was ur bf but also not ur bf?

5:44 pm | like the one that u showed me a pic of and i said he had the same eyes as central cee

you

5:44 pm | yeah

rey :p

5:44 pm | what'd the bitch do

you

5:45 pm | he was genuinely being an asshole

5:45 pm | he literally picked up the phone right

rey :p

5:45 pm | mhmmm

you

5:46 pm | it was a girl

5:46 pm | i was laying my head down on his lap

5:46 pm | and i guess she was the funniest person in the world or smth bc he was laughing his ass off like a fucking idiot

rey :p

5:46 pm | bro hell no

5:46 pm | r u serious

5:47 pm | r u okay

you

5:47 pm | bedrotting lowk lol

5:47 pm | haven't gotten out of my bed in like a full three days

5:48 pm | idk i guess i js miss him

rey :p

5:48 pm | it's reasonable

5:48 pm | im going to a party tn

5:48 pm | come with meeeeee

5:48 pm | maybe u just need a distraction

you

5:49 pm | idk rey

rey :p

5:50 pm | go get dressed and pls shower dont be stinky

5:50 pm | ill pick u up at like uhhhh 8ish

you

5:50 pm | fine

--

you were two drinks down when rey was only tipsy from one drink. being the designated driver, he didn't want to overdo it; yet, he reassured you that he'd take care of you throughout the night. you were simply enjoying his presence; however, given that it was his friends' party that he was going to, occasionally you were left by yourself leaning on walls or sitting on couches and getting up when a couple started to make out on the leather right next to you. after a while, you began to regret going; the more you were alone, the more you thought about how hamzah would be towering over you like some sort of bodyguard in order to make sure that nobody spiked your drink.

as you were zoned out and thinking about him once again, you suddenly came into focus when rey went up to you and gave you a side hug. confused, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him.

"are you thinking about him again?" rey asked, taking another sip of his seltzer.

you sighed, "is it that obvious?"

"if you wanna go home, i can take you. i'm sorry if i pushed you too hard to go out- i just didn't want you to stay home crying over some boy."

"no, yea, i get it. thank you, really, maybe i just needed to go outside. are you ready to go home?"

"i was just gonna drop you off and come back."

you didn't want to seem like a burden; rey was only trying to help you with coping. to have to drive a whole thirty minutes just to drop you off and come back seemed like too much to ask for; after everything that happened with hamzah when it came to begging for communication and reassurance, you hated seeming like you had too much to ask for. so, you took a deep breath and began to brave the waters even more; this was new territory for you that you were now forcing yourself to become familiar with for the rest of the night.

"no, it's okay. i'll stay- i kinda don't wanna be alone," you half-lied.

he put his hand on your shoulder reassuringly, "are you sure?"

"yeah," you sipped the vodka cranberry out of your red solo cup, "i'm sure.

"well," he began to give you a hug with his back facing the front entrance, "if you do wanna leave, tell me."

you hugged him back, "i will. thanks, rey."

unwrapping his arms from you, he walked in the direction of the party as you still stood near the entrance. however, you soon realized that his body was blocking the very sight you tried your best to avoid; hamzah was standing right in front of the doorway, dressed in one of the outfits that made you weak. standing with his friends, his hard expression fixated on you as he realized that some other guy was on you the way that he was. you locked eye contact, sensing the tense gaze he scorned towards you. you decided that it was time to go to the bathroom.

--

sitting on the cold tile for about twenty minutes helped ground you to the reality of your situation. you came to this party hoping to escape the emotions that he made you feel after basking and bathing in them for the past three weeks, however, the same guy appeared right in front of you at the worst time possible. you could go one of two ways: go bother rey and make him drive thirty minutes to and back from your house just to drop you off, or to stay in the bathroom.

considering that someone knocked on the bathroom door as you were pondering, you decided to choose neither of the options and chose a secret, third one: to stay so that rey can enjoy his night.

leaving the bathroom into a relatively empty hallway, you felt an odd stare as you walked past a tall man holding a beer in his hand. you heard and felt his heavy footsteps right behind you, trailing after you in the dark area. you started to walk quicker towards the end of the hallway, reaching the entrance to it that led to the living room where a couple of groups of people were.

"where are you going, pretty lady?" you heard from behind you.

you ignored him, finding his remarks uncomfortable and weird.

you felt his breath on your neck, "y'know, it's rude to ignore a man who's interested in you."

"leave me alone," you sternly demanded.

"what, are you a fucking prude or something?" he asked, grabbing your wrist.

"what the fuck? let go of me, now," you warned as his grip on you tightened, causing your heart to drop all the way to your bladder.

suddenly, he was being pulled off of you and pounded into by someone's fists so fast that it could possibly beat the speed of light; you could tell by the way that the figure punched that it was hamzah. you didn't even see him in the room before he was on the floor with the man from the hallway. you stood there, motionless with worry for hamzah's physical being, as people attempted to intervene and pull hamzah off of him. you watched as hamzah was pried off of him by martin, scolding him and asking him what he was doing. luckily, the man simply left the area and hamzah went into the bathroom, alone.

luckily, the room went back to the usual conversations relatively quick, since it lasted a couple of punches thrown in by hamzah; in addition, a couple of people were staring at you as you yelled at him to let go of your arm. you didn't know how to feel. what if he didn't get him off of you? would you have gotten assaulted? or even worse? however, those thoughts also simultaneously existed with thoughts of how hamzah got there so quick and why he just pummeled a guy into the floor, even after you two weren't on good terms. nevertheless, you went against your goal of avoiding anything hamzah-related and walked to the bathroom.

knocking on the door, he took a minute to turn the knob. he saw you in front of him and gazed at you with an expression that you haven't seen on him before; a mixture of everything felt tonight and, possibly, for the past three weeks. you got a good look at how his eyebags were more protruded as if the skin had a second layer. his eyebags mixed with the lilac and ruby shades mixed in led you to believe that he was struggling to sleep; it was as if you were looking at a mirror.

"can i come in?" you asked.

though you realize that this is stunting your ability to heal, his voice was comforting, "yeah, sure."

he sat down on the closed toilet, as you sat down on the rim of the bathtub besides it. he stared at his hand, bruises and redness already forming on his knuckles, as well as an open gash on his ring finger. you got up from the bathtub rim and crouched over to the cabinet below the sink, watching his eyes linger onto you as you searched for something to clean out his would and wrap it. taking out a roll of bandage and wound cleaner, you sat back down. you gently took his hand in yours and began to clean his wound.

"this might hurt," you mumbled.

you squeezed the wound cleaner as he winced, a sour expression with his eyebrows scrunched on his face apparent. you began to wrap his hand, trying your best to be as gentle as possible. you still felt his eyes on you, like you were a puppet performing in front of an audience.

you broke the silence, "are you drunk?"

"what?"

"y'know, have you drank anything since you got here."

"oh- no, no i haven't."

you ripped the end of the bandage off, attempting to tie it onto his hand, "so, you beat his ass completely sober?"

he chuckled, "yeah."

"it was stupid."

he gave you a look of disbelief, "what?"

"hamzah, you could've hurt yourself! what if he had a knife on him or a gun or just something-"

"you're telling me that i'm stupid for getting a guy, who was clearly making you uncomfortable, off of you?"

you sighed, "no, hamzah, you're not stupid. i'm saying that your actions were stupid because you could've gotten seriously hurt and i don't want to be the reason you're in the hospital. i don't want you to get hurt at all."

"well, would he have done it?"

puzzled, you tilted your head to the side, "who?"

"the- fuckin- the guy you were with- him- would he have done this for you?"

a chuckle of disbelief escaped from your throat, "why does that matter?"

"i saw him hugging you and shit, he should've done what i did- where was he when you needed him? why'd he let you go to the bathroom by yourself?"

"why does it matter if he was hugging me, hamzah? why does it matter if he left me alone?"

"because if you're gonna replace me with him, he has to be better than me!" his voice got slightly louder, causing you to jump, "fuck- if we're not together anymore, you have to find someone that could take care of you as well as i did or even better."

your eyes squinted with annoyance, "hamzah, you literally just said that we were just friends. what are you talking about 'we're not together anymore?' you were the one who said that we weren't ever together."

"i fucking lied, okay? i lied. i fucking lied to you because i can't handle the fact that you wanted more and i- i just- i can't be enough for you," he rushed as the information in his head that he wanted to let out was twice as fast as his words, "i wanted more too. fuck, i wanted more so fucking bad- you don't get it, but i'd be selfish if i just took you all for myself even if i couldn't give you everything that you deserve."

emotions began to implode within your chest, "are you serious? you could've fucking tried or, better yet, you could've just talked to me, hamzah! genuinely, what the hell are you even talking about with that 'i couldn't give you everything' shit. i don't want everything, i just wanted you."

your breathing became heavier as tears began to flow out of your eyes once more, mirroring the scene at your apartment that lead to this very encounter. though you laid in bed for three weeks, you didn't cry once, not ever since the time you last cried in front of him. every single fear was running rampant in your head from speaking to him with such vulnerability. yet, you soon realized that there was no point of holding back. he was already watching you intently and listening to every single word you were saying, gazing at you with longing eyes that yearned the longer you were sat in the bathroom. there was no turning back now, so you decided to tell him everything that you've been feeling and thinking in the past three weeks of agonizing heartbreak with one, singular sentence. with breaths heavy within your chest and tears now streaming down your face, you let go.

"hamzah, i just want you."

in that moment, hamzah saw the heartbreak in personified, human form. he watched you crumple apart in front of him like balls of paper about to be thrown into a trash can. hamzah went into the situationship with the thought that it would be the best possible outcome; the outcome where there's no mess to clean up, nor promises to keep, nor expectations to maintain. the situationship was, in his eyes, a way to keep you both from being hurt. knowing that his very intention was to not hurt you at all, as he watched you crying your eyes out in front of him, finally caused the the realization that he was supporting the very cause he was against.

hamzah didn't know what to do, yet, he knew he had to make this right for the sake of you, him, and the connection between you two.

hamzah lifted you up onto his lap, unsure and hesitant, watching your reaction to his actions. watching the tears on your face slowly stop sliding down and your breathing get slightly lighter, he believed it was okay. he wiped your face with his thumbs with such gentleness to it; in hamzah's mind, he has broken you down to the point where there's cracks in your skin, so he was trying his best not to shatter you completely. after gazing at your eyes with a sympathetic, longing, and apologetic stare, he gently brought your face closer towards his. he closed the gap between you guys' lips, a wave of nostalgia and comfort overtaking the vulnerability that was just in the room. over time, the kiss got more desperate and aching. your lips chased after each other as your tongues moves synchronously with the same feelings of past despair and hopelessness. your hands were roaming up and down each other's bodies as if it was meant to be explored by each other; as if you were both artifacts meant to be excavated. it lasted fifteen minutes; the passion radiated from you guys' bodies even after you stopped kissing to breathe. hamzah was the first to speak.

"i know you came here with a date, but i can't take it anymore. i need you in my life, baby, i need you back and i need you back now. the past couple weeks i haven't been sleeping or eating or doing anything besides just sitting there and realizing that i'm a fucking idiot. i never liked the girl that i was on the phone with and i blocked her right after i left your place, that night. i don't even know what i was doing and i shouldn't have even picked up in the first place- i should have never said we were just friends. i was lying. i was a fucking liar and you can do whatever you want to make me pay for that. you can slap me as hard as you can or burn my hoodies or anything, baby, just-please forgive me, i'm sorry. i'll do anything to have you back in my life-"

you cut him off with a slow, gentle, and lingering kiss, once again. pulling away, he admired you like he was in a trance that he wasn't willing to be broken out of.

"i'm not dating rey. he's here with another guy."

hamzah looked puzzled as he rubbed loving circles onto your thighs, "what?"

"he's gay."

"thank fucking god," he let out a sigh of relief, "i think i felt my heart genuinely shatter when i walked in on him hugging you."

you laughed, "you were that hurt over it?"

"of course i'd be. it's you."

"yeah, yeah, don't flatter me," you teased.

hamzah's expressione turned serious once again, "baby, please come back to me. i'll make it all up to you if you let me, i promise. i don't care how long it takes or what i'll have to do. let me prove to you that i can take care of you."

your expression also became serious, "it depends. are you taking care of me as my idiot neighbor who occasionally comes over to do things that friends don't do?"

you asked the question expecting him to answer that he'll do better than that, however, he surprised you once again.

he took your hand and kissed it, "no, i'll take care of you as your boyfriend, if you'll let me."

--

authors note!

hi guys this is so late i am going to bed goodnight!

[solarishashernoseinabook]

Pauline kept her face composed as she approached the small cabin. Fresh wildflowers were back in the window for the first time in a year, and smoke curled from the chimney. It was nice to see the cabin occupied once again, especially given the circumstances under which it had been abandoned.

But she wasn't just here today to say hello to Halt and Will.

A quick glance at the stable revealed Tug wasn't there, though Abelard was - Pauline presumed Will was on an errand. Abelard whinnied, and a moment later the door opened.

Pauline smiled. 'Hello, Halt.'

'Didn't expect to see you here,' Halt said, with his typical bluntness. He stepped back to let her in. 'There's some coffee left still.'

'Coffee sounds lovely. Did Will go somewhere?'

'Checking the snares,' Halt said, going with Pauline to the table. He drew a chair out for her, then went to the kettle. 'You didn't need him, did you?'

'No, actually, I wanted to talk to you. Thank you.' She accepted the coffee Halt gave her and stirred in milk. 'Horace is packing his things at the moment. He leaves for Castle Araluen tomorrow.'

'Hm,' Halt said. He took a sip of his coffee. 'He's a nice lad. Asks a lot of questions, though.'

'Well, you were very obliging, answering all his questions like that,' Pauline said. Halt just shrugged.

'You know, there was one thing he asked me,' Pauline said.

'Just one?' Halt said dryly, lifting the mug again.

Pauline made sure none of her amusement showed on her face when she said, 'Apparently, you told him Couriers in Gallica wear short skirts, so they can run faster. He asked why Araluen Couriers don't do the same.'

Halt paused with the mug halfway to his mouth. Pauline could see his mind working rapidly. She held a hand out and allowed herself a smile. 'It's all right, Halt, I didn't explain it to him. He's still young, and he'll figure it out one of these days.'

Halt visibly relaxed. 'Well then. Sorry he asked you that, Pauline, but he's very curious about things...'

'I can tell.' Pauline sipped her coffee.

'What did you tell him, then?' Halt said after a moment, lifting his coffee once more.

Pauline made sure Halt was in the middle of a sip when, with a mischievous smile, she said, 'I told him to ask you.'

okay okay but what if

Horace and Halt get back from skandia

and Horace asks Pauline why couriers in araluen don't wear short skirts like they do in gallica

[stvrnioloslvt]

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

pride

t.w: suggestive language, sexual tension

there was a reason why you tried to interact as little as possible with matt, way too scared by the effect he had on you each time you two would meet.

growing up, your mother had taught you two lessons that quickly became the fundaments of your own persona:

lesson number one, if you think you have mastered something, you have not. you're just overestimating yourself, and you can't risk that when there will be judges on the other side of the plastic walls of the rink.

lesson number two, if a person has an effect on you, they have power over you. and no one should have power over you, outside of yourself.

love wasn't even an option: love was a distraction, an emotion for those who've got nothing to loose. but you had something, you had your thing, that little passion young baby had for figure skating quickly became both your best friend, and your worst enemy. well, no, technically your worst enemy was your mind, always so fucking determined to make you the best out there, the number one in every competition. there was no space for distractions, and no space for mistakes, either. your mind and eyes were fixed on one thing only: perfection.

your little ambition, unfortunately, got quite out of control and you had soon learned to see the worrying consequences of it when your grades drastically dropped. sure, you were studying. but what could a stressed out mind ever memorise?

cherry had tried to help you more than once. poor, sweet, cherry, who had to live with you every single day. you were truthfully sorry for everything you put her through, sometimes wishing you had never met her just to spare her from your toxic side.

either way, cherry's help turned out to be useless, no matter how smart the girl was, and you still needed to bring your grades up. that's how you ended up replying to matt's messages a whole day later, asking if he could actually help you with that exam you couldn't pass no matter how hard you tried. he accepted, of course, always so polite even if he looked all tough and mean on the outside. you both had decided that you would go to his place after your skating lesson - which was right after his hockey lesson - and try to at least understand where the problem laid.

useless to say, you made a mental note to yourself: you had to focus on your studies, nothing else. no matter how hard he pulled and tugged your strings, you would not cave like this.

except, you did. you fell for matt harder than you thought, and you didn't even notice.

a soft puff of air blew from your lips as you entered the arena, sitting on one of the empty seats, your gym bag slipping from your shoulders and dropping down with a thump. you grumbled, reaching down to pick it up and put it on the seat next to you before slipping your headphones on. the hockey team was almost at the end of their practice, their coach had just blown into the whistle before announcing to cool down and then head to the showers.

"sturniolo, come here," he yelled, sitting down on the bench right outside the rink. at that command your ears perked up, slightly slipping your headphones to the side of your left ear to hear better what was going on. truth was, you had fully expected for chris to head to the coach, thinking that maybe he had done yet another stupid thing, so you were definitely surprised when you saw matt gliding towards the middle-aged man, carrying his whole weight on his right leg. you observed as his left foot didn't touch completely the ground, his leg slightly bent. right behind him, chris waved his hands in order to grab your attention. you looked at him with a puzzled expression as he took off his helmet, mouthing "watch now" while discretely pointing to his brother, a smirk forming on his lips.

your gaze shifted back on matt who had taken off his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair as the coach touched his leg in multiple points, asking where it hurt more. you couldn't really make out what was going on exactly since he had given you his back, but the two men seemed engrossed in their conversation.

chris reached you on the benches, motioning for you to move. "scoot over, ice baby, wanna see your reaction." you muttered a confused "what?" before the boy grabbed your chin with his long fingers, turning your head back towards the rink. your breath stopped in your throat for a second as you watched matt follow his coach's instructions, slowly falling to his knees and elbows while the older man crouched down next to him, keeping a hand on his lower back as he helped him open his knees as much as possible before coming back to the initial position, instructing him to repeat the stretch for a couple times. his head hung low, his long hair covering completely his face. well, fuck.

chris' eyes didn't leave your face for a second, not even trying to hide the amused expression printed on his face while your eyes bore into his brother's figure, almost drooling at the sight.

"enjoying the little show, baby?" he chuckled at your reaction, a little flinch taking over your body as you were brought back to earth by your rather annoying friend.

"w-what?" you asked, your voice raspy and feeble. your eyes didn’t leave matt’s figure for one second, your mind running miles per hour with not-so-innocent thoughts, hypnotised by the way his hips and legs moved. all of a sudden, his head shot up, his eyes straightway locking with yours. everything in that moment ceased to exist, wrapping you and matt in a bubble. he, too, looked taken aback by your presence there, his gaze slowly dropping to chris’ fingers sinking in the soft flesh of your chin and then to his brother’s satisfied grin. matt’s expression turned dark; if looks could hurt, chris would be grabbing his own hand in pain for how intensely matt was staring at the iron-grip his brother had on you, jealousy bubbling under his skin. 

you cleared your throat, excusing yourself before bolting out of the arena with your bag dangling in your hand, rushing towards the locker room. as you entered, you shut the door behind you with a loud bang.

you didn’t even notice cherry sitting on the bench, rolling her muscle warmers on her calf. “whoa, what- what is happening?” asked the girl, taking in your shocked and flustered appearance. you whipped your head around, your back melting against the wall as you slowly slid down on the ground. “one of the weirdest things in my life,” and just like that you began explaining to your best friend what had happened in the span of the last ten minutes, which definitely felt like hours. 

in the end, cherry groaned frustrated, complaining about the lack of action from both of you, rambling about how you two would never end up together if neither mustered up the courage to go talk to the other one.

“first of all, we do talk to each other. matter of fact, i’ll go to his place after practice since chris insisted he could help me study.” cherry raised her eyebrow at that, a sceptical yet surprised look on her face. you raised your hand before she could speak further, continuing with your remarks. “and secondly, i don’t want us to end up together, i ain’t got the time for that.” 

“okay you’re fucking ridiculous,” began your friend, but before she could continue the door opened and revealed the two sturniolo brothers, their helmets and skates in hand and weird looks on their faces. as the two spotted you and cherry, they quickly raised their hand in greeting before grabbing their gym bags and heading for the showers. matt was the first to disappear, still looking pissed off. chris waited for him to go to the showers room before he muttered as silently as possible “he’s pissed cause i had my hands on you,” snickering to himself as he, too, disappeared in the other room. cherry’s jaw hung low, excitement building quickly in her. “see!” she half-whispered, half- screamed, “i fucking told you!” 

“no, no,” you quickly interrupted her, jumping towards her figure to slap a hand on her mouth, trying to contain her excited blabbering. “shh, cherry, damn. get your skates, you need to burn some of this pent-up energy.”

you spent the next two hours training and training and training, trying to perfection your technique as best as you could, trying to ignore the two brothers sitting on the furthest bench of the arena, knowing that a particular set of eyes was planted on you the whole time.

“give him a chance,” whispered cherry as you closed your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. you had finished practice a few minutes ago, and after a quick shower you were ready to head towards the brothers who were waiting for you outside. “i’m serious, baby. you don’t need to be always so strict with yourself.” you smiled softly at your friend, nodding briefly before you reached the brothers who were waiting inside their car. the ride to their place wasn’t uncomfortable, but not pleasant either: you could tell matt was trying to brush off the events from earlier, failing miserably. and chris - well, he did nothing to ease his brother’s mind, constantly talking about memories he had of when you two met for the first time years ago. you really couldn’t tell if he was that oblivious to his brother’s annoyed attitude, or if he was working him up on purpose. either way, whatever his plan was was working perfectly. 

as you reached their place, chris finally quieted down. he was the first one to jump out of the car, immediately heading towards his room. 

matt sighed tired, running a hand on his face. “i’m sorry, i- had a long day.” you smiled sympathetically at him, feeling sorry for the poor boy who had to deal all this time with his brother’s constant teasing. “it’s fine, i know how obnoxious chris can get. by the way, how’s your leg?”

matt groaned, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch. “apparently i pulled a muscle and it hurts like a motherfucker,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the couch’s back. you put your bag down, trying to not dwell too much on how attractive he looked like that, manspreading and confident. 

“you can come sit down,” he said, patting the space next to him. “just give me five minutes so the pain subsides and we’ll get to studying.”

“yeah, no it’s fine, don’t worry about it. do you want some medicine? i think i’ve got something in my bag.” you replied, bringing your bag with you on the couch. as you sat down next to him, you rummaged through your things to find the little pouch you used to store your medicine. 

“no, i’m fine, it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“you sure? i’ve got a few things against the pain, i just need to find where they went-”

“baby,” matt’s hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling it out of your bag. your skin broke out in chills at the contact, your heart racing in your ribcage. “i’m serious, i don’t need anything. thanks, though.”

you nodded, staring at his hand still neatly wrapped around your wrist, not showing any signs of wanting to let go anytime soon. he gently pulled it towards him, making you turn slowly so that you were completely facing him. you observed as his eyes fell slowly to your chin, his free hand delicately lifting your head and turning it side to side to check if your skin had any marks from chris’ grip earlier. your breath hitched at the proximity. if you closed your eyes and focused, you were sure you could feel his breath gently fanning over your neck. you didn’t dare to speak, not wanting to mutter a single word in fear of fucking everything up. your mind screamed at you to pull away, to break contact as soon as possible, but how could you when it felt so good?

a loud noise broke the spell that had you both hooked, followed by music playing softly in the background. matt groaned annoyed, pulling back slightly to mutter “‘m sorry, it’s the fucking speakers, chris is probably convinced that he turned them on only in his room.” at that, you couldn’t hold back a smile from creeping on your face, chuckling softly. “may i say that i do not envy you?”

matt scoffed, an amused glint in his eyes. “yeah, well, understandable. don’t even know how you bear him as your friend.” you shrugged your shoulders, a silent way of saying “it is what it is.”

matt cleared his throat, his index finger running softly on your jaw. “he- he didn’t hurt you, right?” you shook your head, instinctively shifting closer to him. you felt his breath blowing on your lips, and you observed as his eyes shifted from your jaw, to your lips, to your eyes and then to your lips again. the air all around you buzzed with electricity, the tension between you two becoming almost palpable. 

“i’m- i’m sorry, i…” you whispered, hands shaking with anticipation. you tried to stabilize your breath, wanting to gain back control over your body that seemed to respond only to matt’s actions instead of your own mind.

“don’t.” he mumbled, finally closing the space between you two. his lips found yours in a delicate and tentative kiss, but once you kissed him back there was nothing soft left. his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing over your bottom lip. you whimpered quietly as his tongue grazed yours, his other hand leaving your wrist to wrap around your waist, helping you straddle him. 

“matt,” you moaned, fingers locking in his soft hair and pulling them gently. his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses behind. “‘m sorry, angel,” he whispered on your skin, his teeth nipping and sucking and painting your neck in violet marks. “couldn’t hold back anymore,” he continued, arms wrapping even tighter around your torso. your hands stroked his cheeks, bringing him in for another kiss. 

and while you two were busy on the couch, a song played in the background, tying everything together:

love' s gonna get you killed

but pride’s gonna be the death of you, and you and me.

© stvrnioloslvt

ও read other parts of this au here. asks and requests are always open!

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@sofieeeeex @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11 @frankoceanfanpage @ivysturnss @watercolorskyy @bluestriips @sllutty-sturniolo @hesvoid34 @mattsturniolover @emely9274 @boomshakalaka12381238 @lovergirl4gracieabrams @sturnsrecord @joselyncsblog

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 - 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐧𝐝

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Spoilers ahead.

Nobunaga: "Mai, Tell me everything."

Mai: "That's..."

The words caught in my throat before I could say them.

(No, I can't. I just can't say it.)

(If Mitsuhide were to disappear from history, I would be saved, but…)

(If I explain everything, it will only bring suffering to everyone in the Oda army.)

(To save him would mean abandoning me.)

I couldn't put such a cruel choice on the people who feel like family to me.

Nobunaga: "Mai, answer me."

Hideyoshi: "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Mai: "............"

I'd been praying that my voice would reach them every time I opened my mouth, but that wasn't the case now.

(Since I came to live here, I've grown to love everyone in the Oda army.)

(I treasure them deeply, without question, and I know they treasure me too.)

(Which is exactly why I can't bring myself to ask for help, no matter what.)

(I'm the only one who needs to suffer.)

I finally understood the loneliness Mitsuhide must have felt.

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai? You're still here, right? You can still hear us?"

(My voice still reaches them for now, but…)

I clutched the bell in my palm to keep it from making any sound and quietly stood up.

Masamune: "It's fine if you can't reply right away. You can write it down and send it to us later."

Ieyasu: "You should do that. It's more of a hassle if you try to carry it all by yourself."

Mitsunari: "Lady Mai, we're here for you. And of course, Lord Mitsuhide, too."

Hideyoshi: "That's right, Mai. So don't worry about it."

Keiji: "You're cherished, Mai."

(Yeah, I really am.)

I gazed at each of their faces, engraving them into my memory.

I knew that after this, I'd never be able to meet their eyes again.

(Thank you.)

(And...)

(I'm sorry.)

Swallowing the words I couldn't say, I left the hall.

When I got back to my room, I tried a few times before I finally picked up the brush.

(Sending a letter would interfere with people from this time, so this is probably my last chance.)

(While I can still connect with them, I need to make sure they know this.)

Even though I was freaking out, I took my time with each word, trying to keep my handwriting neat as possible.

(If I disappear, Mitsuhide will have no reason to fight against everyone.)

One of the reasons he raised his army was to have himself defeated to save me.

(I need to tell them that I'm gone and that they should stop him.)

I would beg them to welcome him back into the Oda army and not punish him.

And then I wrote my apology and gratitude to everyone in the Oda army.

Hideyoshi, thank you for always being so kind and considerate. I can't even begin to explain how much your kindness has saved me.

Masamune, the way you carry yourself has always inspired me. I'll always pray that your path will be a glorious one.

Ieyasu, thank you for always encouraging me with your stern words. I'll really miss hearing your blunt but caring voice.

Mitsunari, your smile is really like that of an angel. Please continue to light up everyone in Azuchi with that smile.

Ranmaru, being with you was so much fun. You're an important part of my life, and that won't change even if we're apart. We'll always be friends.

Keiji, although we've only known each other for a short time, your cheerfulness gave me so much strength. If I could have stayed in Azuchi longer, I'm sure we would have gotten even closer.

Lord Nobunaga, thank you for welcoming me into the Oda army. Thank you for everything. Please, please, take care of yourself.

Mai: "Phew."

I finished writing and immediately started on the last letter.

(What should I do? I don't have much time.)

(I have so much I want to say, but I can't fit it all in.)

As I thought of that person, tears began to fall, soaking the paper, and my hand, holding the brush, remained still.

The emotions were so overwhelming that I felt like my chest would burst.

(I won't blame you for your choice. Just let me make the same one.)

(I'll take all the divine punishment upon myself.)

I will not drag you into hell with me.

(I'll go alone, so you must survive in this world.)

(That's my final and only remaining hope.)

I managed to move my hand just enough to write a brief letter.

Eventually, night arrived.

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai, are you here!? You haven't responded since earlier. Where are you?"

Ranmaru: "What the hell is this letter!?"

Ranmaru: "..........."

Reading the letter left in the now empty room, Ranmaru froze for a moment before bolting out of the castle.

And just like that, Mai vanished from Azuchi Castle without a trace.

The following morning, the Oda army clashed head-on with the rebel forces.

Mitsuhide: "Do not falter. Forge your path forward! We will take Nobunaga's head!"

Rebel soldiers: "Yeah!"

Samurai, ronin, bandits, townsfolk, and villagers—all soldiers of different backgrounds, with their flags raised, charged forward under Mitsuhide's command.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga, glaring at the approaching large battalion, surveyed the battlefield from the rear of his army and coldly issued his command.

Nobunaga: "Scatter them."

Masamune: "Understood."

Masamune drew his sword and spurred his horse into the fray.

Keiji and Ieyasu quickly followed behind him.

Masamune: "Too soft! Bring them all at once!"

Keiji: "If you're gonna run, now's your chance!"

Ieyasu: "Move! Get out of my way."

The thick wall of enemy soldiers was quickly shattered.

Rebel General 1: "L-Lord Mitsuhide, what should we do?!"

Rebel General 2: "At this rate, it's only a matter of time before the enemy reaches our rear command!"

Rebel General 3: "What's with their strength?! These guys are monsters!"

Mitsuhide: "I don't remember giving you permission to retreat."

Rebel Generals: "!"

Mitsuhide: "Advance. Only forward."

As the sun began to set, the peaceful fields transformed into a hellish scene.

Swords and the bodies of the fallen lay scattered across the field.

Rebel General 1: "Move! We can't hold on any longer! I'm escaping!"

Rebel General 2: "Wait, you're not getting away ahead of me! I'm going too!"

The rebel forces, now scattered, began to flee in confusion.

However, the Oda army's rear guard wasn't about to let them escape.

Mitsunari: "I wouldn't advise turning your back. Don't waste your life."

Hideyoshi: "Don't think any of you are getting away. If you want to keep your head, drop your swords now."

Rebel soldiers: "H-Huh?!"

One by one, the enemy soldiers were overwhelmed by Hideyoshi and Mitsunari's forces.

The main force of the rebel army, which had been holding its ground in the center of the battlefield, was steadily worn down by Masamune, Keiji, and Ieyasu.

Eventually, the unit directly under the command of the generals was left exposed before the Oda army.

Rebel General 3: "I-It's over. I'm retreating!"

Rebel General 2: "You think you can escape alone?!"

Rebel General 1: "P-Please forgive me! I was just manipulated by Mitsuhide Akechi!"

Ieyasu: "I'll listen to your excuses in prison."

Masamune: "You guys are not even worth cutting down."

Keiji: "What a pathetic bunch. How the hell did they even become generals?"

The defeated soldiers bowed in surrender, and after the rebel generals were captured, the battlefield, heavy with the scent of blood, fell into an eerie silence.

Then, the two commanders faced each other.

Mitsuhide & Nobunaga: "..........."

Mitsuhide didn't lower his head. Instead, he raised it and smiled.

Nobunaga: "This reunion came sooner than I expected, Mitsuhide. Though, it seems you didn't anticipate this outcome."

Mitsuhide: "What are you saying? I misjudged the strength of the Oda army. I underestimated your true power."

Nobunaga: "Oh? So even a man like you can get his calculations wrong?"

Mitsuhide: "Yes, I've been overestimating myself for quite some time."

Mitsuhide: "It's a real shame, but it seems my fate has finally come to an end."

Nobunaga: "I see."

Mitsuhide lightly lifted his chin, exposing his throat to the setting sun.

Mitsuhide: "I've long accepted my fate."

Nobunaga: "Is that so?"

With a sharp sound, Nobunaga unsheathed his sword.

The gleaming white blade glinted as its tip pointed directly at Mitsuhide's throat.

Then—

Nobunaga: "Ranmaru, bring it here."

Ranmaru: "Yes."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Without showing even a hint of confusion, Mitsuhide silently observed the events unfolding before him.

Ranmaru approached him, anger blazing in his eyes, and shoved a letter addressed to the Oda army into Mitsuhide's hands.

Ranmaru: "Read it, Lord Mitsuhide. I don't need to tell you whose handwriting it is, yeah?"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide: "Mai. Why?"

As if his soul had left him, Mitsuhide collapsed to his knees.

Standing beside him, Ranmaru trembled and clenched his fist tightly.

Ranmaru: "You're such an idiot! Both you and Lady Mai."

Ranmaru: "How could you shoulder everything alone and plan to disappear like that!?"

Unable to continue speaking, Ranmaru just stood there.

Beside him, Nobunaga quietly sheathed his sword, and the Oda warlords approached.

Masamune: "Throwing away your lives for each other… you two really are alike."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Hideyoshi: "I'll never forgive you. Not for raising your army, but for making Mai cry!"

Ieyasu: "Don't think you can get away with an easy punishment like being cut down."

Mitsunari: "There's work we expect you to carry out, even if it takes a lifetime."

Keiji: "Well, even if we didn't tell you, you'd probably do it on your own."

Nobunaga: "Leave, Mitsuhide. You're expelled from the Oda army permanently."

Mitsuhide: "Lord Nobunaga…"

Nobunaga: "Leave, and do what you must."

Nobunaga: "Even if it takes the rest of your life, find Mai."

Mitsuhide: "............"

Life slowly returned to Mitsuhide's eyes.

Ranmaru: "There's one more letter. It's from Lady Mai."

The letter contained only a single sentence.

Mitsuhide: "............"

Clutching the letter to his chest, Mitsuhide sank further to his knees, his face hidden from everyone.

Masamune: "That girl isn't the kind to throw away her life so easily."

Masamune: "Even if she becomes invisible to everyone, she'll keep on living, as long as her sanity holds."

Keiji: "That sounds like a living hell to me."

Mitsuhide: "No, I won't let it come to that."

Masamune and Keiji: "!?"

Mitsuhide lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes reflecting both endless despair and a glimmer of hope.

Mitsuhide: "If she's going to hell, then I'm going with her."

That night, news quickly spread throughout Japan that Mitsuhide had been killed and his rebel army had fallen apart.

Motonari: "Tch. Your prediction came true. How boring."

Kicho: "Don't complain. If that's how it is, we'll simply move on to the next step."

Motonari: "Hurry it up, then. I'd really prefer not to be bored to death the second time."

Motonari: "So? What happened to the mastermind who hijacked our plans?"

Kicho: "They haven't found Mitsuhide's head."

Motonari: "Being ripped apart in battle and disappearing without a trace? That's such a boring way to end, don't you think?"

Kicho: "There's no need to worry."

Kicho: "He's a man who treats others and even himself as mere pawns, but he wouldn't throw his life away for nothing."

Kicho: "Where he's gone, though, is anyone's guess."

And so, the seasons passed.

Mitsuhide: "The sun's coming out."

Watching the drifting clouds fade into the distance, Mitsuhide, dressed as a traveling performer, reached into his belongings and pulled out a bamboo flask, taking a small sip of water.

He closed his eyes and listened, just as he once did when he traveled with Mai.

Now, he was alone, searching for the sound of the bell that must still be ringing somewhere in this world.

Mitsuhide: "............"

He opened his eyes and smiled bitterly without meaning to.

No matter how many times he looked back or how many years had passed, the memories of the days they spent together never faded.

If anything, they had grown more vivid, deepening the emotions that continued to well up within him.

Mitsuhide: "Mai."

The name he'd said so many times on his journey slipped from his lips again today.

His only clue, the faint sound of a bell, led him on an endless search with no clear end in sight.

Mitsuhide reached into his robe, pulled out a letter, and carefully unfolded it in the sunlight.

He traced the familiar handwriting, achingly nostalgic, as he reread the letter for the umpteenth time.

The letter contained only a single line:

Mitsuhide, you're my light.

Mitsuhide: "You truly were an incredible teacher."

Mitsuhide: "You dragged out every emotion I had locked away just like this."

Mitsuhide: "Thanks to you, even traveling alone has been anything but dull."

The wound of their parting still bled, still brought him searing pain, yet, even that pain had become precious to him.

Mitsuhide: "What am I supposed to do, Mai?"

Mitsuhide: "The joy, the sorrow, the fear—I don't think I can let go of any of it now."

Even now, Mitsuhide clung to the memory of that happiness.

Ring

Mitsuhide: "............"

Mitsuhide looked around and a cool breeze rustled the grass and flowers.

Mitsuhide: "Are you there?"

Ring

The bell chimed softly.

Mitsuhide: "............"

He reached out his arm, grasping at the air.

It was as though he was trying to embrace the entire world—a world where Mai still existed.

Mitsuhide: "Mai."

He'd decided to chase her endlessly.

He'd decided to believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mai was alive somewhere in this world—even if he could no longer see her, hear her voice, or touch her.

He chose not to despair. He chose the hope that burned like hellfire.

Mitsuhide: "............"

The sound of the bell quickly faded away along with the wind.

Mitsuhide: "A game of tag, huh? Fine by me."

Mitsuhide: "I'll catch you without fail."

Mitsuhide: "I'll spend my life saving you."

Mitsuhide: "Mai. You are, without a doubt, my light."

And so, Mitsuhide began walking again under the gentle sunlight with a genuine smile on his face.

🦊 Previous Part

[apricitae-world]

BASHFUL DAWN

Xavier is exhausted after fighting against Soren and reliving his past. You try to help. [XAVIER X READER FLUFF]

THIS POST CONTAINS: Xavier X gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, Xavier is implied to have self-esteem issues, talking about feelings, cuddling and snuggling, my take on "Voyage of the Outcast" story chapter.

Enjoy.

BASHFUL DAWN

After the report of the college incident and the device left by Soren, Xavier had been missing from your life. The last day you two spoke seemed like a dream now, when he promised he would tell you everything.

Xavier always lies. Bile rises to your throat right after you wake up in the morning, plagued by the memories of your (boy)friend. Even though Xavier lived literally on the floor above yours, it seemed an invisible wall had been put between you.

You knocked on his door the following afternoon, but no response. You hadn't seem him in the Hunters Association for work either, Captain Jenna's brow furrowed in concern, but brushing it off like a "well earned rest". When you left the apartment to feed the stray cat, there was already a bowl of food in its telltale place. You visit Philos, inquiring poor Jeremiah to where his friend might have been. The man was sweating cold, saying he didn't know. Things reaching a breaking point when you visited your garden, the one you saved from a Wanderer oh so long ago.

It really felt like he was gone from your life, barely any signal of life to say he was there at all.

After a few days of trying to pick yourself up (Tara truly was a wonderful friend to hear your rants and watch your comfort movies), you see a familiar bedhead leaving a convenience store with five bowls of hotpot in hand.

"Xavier?" His lustrous blond hair was now matted and lifeless. His blue, shiny eyes did not reflect any light anymore, and his lovely white sweater, the one you stole and wore so many times, was almost falling from his shoulders.

He looked terrible.

"Hi." He says, still not meeting your gaze. You wanted to yell, scream, grab him by his arms and ask where the hell he has been. Even so, seeing him like this made your anger deflate like a sad balloon. "Are you okay?" You ask.

Xavier lifts his head, shocked. Guess he wasn't expecting that reaction either. "I was the one who ghosted you. I'm the one who is supposed to be making amends." He concludes and falls silent again. "I'm sorry. I keep messing up."

This version of your lover was nothing short of terrible. You had never seem him look so defeated. "Why didn't you reply to me texts? My calls? I dropped by your place so many times." Street lights and car honks were all around you, but you coudn't find yourself to care. In fact, your world seemed just too quiet.

"Let's go to my place. I guess I owe you an explanation." No more words were exchanged during the walk, and maybe you prefered it that way. The last thing you want is to make a fuss in front of the whole building.

The inside of Xavier's apartment was messy. Some dirty dishes here and there, unfinished books scattered around and no calm music playing. His trustworthy cleaning robot, the one he would not stop talking about a while back, layed gathering dust in a corner. The entire place seemed pretty much unrecognizable.

Xavier put some water to boil for his hotpots and sat beside you on the fluffly couch. "The first thing I should do is apologize. No one should go missing like that, especially after what we went through." You hum. A sign for him to keep going. "I tought things would be better if I tried to solve them by myself. No matter what, I want you to be safe. And happy."

"What makes you think I don't want to be part of this? Of finding things out with you?" You squish his face gently between your hands. He goes limp in your hold, content. "It's dangerous, and I don't even know if my plan will work at all."

"If you tell me what the plan is, then I can help you." You say matter-of-factly and raise a brow. Xavier's face scrunches and he laughs. His voice was a little hoarse, but beautiful as always. How you missed that.

"What do I have to say to make you understand we are in this together? Don't think you're getting rid of me so easily." He closes the distance between you, holding all of your body close against his. "I would never want to get rid of you."

Your lovely silence was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking against each other and the smell of something burning. "Xavier! The water for the hotpot!" You both look at each other with newfound horror before sprinting to the kitchen.

Some things never change.

-

The hotpots were delicious, even if you scolded him for eating instant food for a week straight. You both made a promise to clean the apartment on the following day and start putting things in order. Slowly.

"Thank you for being here. And not being mad." You think a little before replying. "I am mad, I won't deny. But I also like you a lot and don't want to lose what we have. If you promise me to be more open about what you want and what you need, we'll be alright."

"Okay. I'll try." Xavier takes a deep breath. "I love you." Thank goodness your boyfriend didn't have a phone right now, because your face was priceless: eyes open and mouth agape. "I love you too."

You two end up sharing a bed that night. His room was messy like the rest of the house, but you promised to fix it in the morning. As so, all the lights were turned off and you hugged Xavier from under the covers. Everything seemed alright in the world.

When the sun arrived the next morning, you two were still holding each other close. No matter how dark the night, there would always be stars to guide the way, and the morning would surely arrive. You hold Xavier a little tighter and drift back to sleep.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO REQUEST A FANFIC, DRABBLE OR FANART? TRY TIPPING ME ON KO-FI! IT HELPS ME BRING MORE CONTENT LIKE THIS IN THE FUTURE:

[computerwarrior]

Ark grimaced at Tyrace's answer, that wasn't want she was hoping or expecting, and it wasn't good at all.

Was it something a Medic could fix? Or, could only a User repair the broken code? Unfortunately they were Userless at the moment, so their options were somewhat constrained.

She looked to Tron, hoping that he had some insight into the matter.

For now, she gave Tyrace a sympathetic nod, "I'm sorry. We'll do what we can to help you out. Were you programmed for this System? Or were you adapted from another one?"

She was a native to the Grid, whereas Tron was from the Encom System, so they covered both options.

Ark was on the hunt. Using every skill she had as a System Monitor and a Renegade, she had been working hard to track a program without the program knowing that she was there. Unfortunately, that meant that she had to hang back further than she'd like to, but it was the safest option right now, until she got a better understanding of the situation. If she was correct, this program had a chance to be Tron, which meant she had to be on her best game to stay out of his notice.

This was a risk he shouldn't be taking right now.

He kept his head down as he wove his way through the crowds, his helmet rezzed only over the bottom of his face to keep programs from recognizing either of his appearances. He didn't want to draw undue attention as... either... of his faces.

Well... one was hos face anyway.

He kept his senses flowing through the Grid with every step, his eyes sharp as he tried to find any trace of the being that had been haunting this sector. If his information was correct... they could have another virus problem... if not... well then the worst that could happen would just be a random program having a laugh-

He felt his code shift unsettlingly, his steps stumbling for a moment as his processes slowed by just a nano.

Following. Behind. Careful.

He frowned to himself, continuing on his way down the populated street as he casually looked around. This place wasn't extremely popular by his standard... but it was still hosting twenty or so programs all going about their lives. Nothing... quite out of the ordinary just yet.

Suspicious...

He clenched his teeth, glaring down at his shadow.

You stated that before... and there was no one within a twenty click radius.

Silence for a long moment.

Female. Blue circuits. Blackguard Walk. Following.

He shouldered past a group of young programs gathering at one of the energy bars, their voices loud enough to almost drown out the voice in his head as he shielded his eyes against the lights. He stretched out his senses again to the Grid, closing out the bustle and digital noise of the Common Finctions to hone in on anything brighter.

[r3ynah]

Bat Father and Crow father

[Prolouge]

Summary: Batman becomes a cult sacrifice in exchange of trying to save a civilian, which leads up in him meeting his different universe self.

Batman had no time, one of the cultist had thrown a dagger at the kid that was meant to be the sacrifice, the dagger was flying at the direction of the center of the sigil which the kid stands frozen in fear, he had no time to think, so him being the nearest to the kid he immediately punched the other cultist he was fighting to the ground and dashed towards the child and shielded them with his body making him the one to get impaled by the dagger, blood spilled from his wound and splattered at the sigil on the floor, too busy protecting the child in front of him, he didn't notice that the circle began to glow an ominous dark purple, due to the fact another cultist pulled out a pistol from they're cloak ang began firing towards the Bat.

Batman eyed his children from the corner of his eyes, they were too busy with their own fights, Batman couldn't ask for help, the cult had a more people than they have expected, just how long was this cult running? the wound started becoming unbearable as the dagger still stuck on his side was making fighting and defending much harder.

The kid in his arms yelped making the Knight move his attention on the kid, making sure they haven't gotten hurt by a bullet, distracted the cultist took this opportunity to fire another bullet at the Bat's direction and before Batman could even think of his next move, the bullet was suddenly deflected by a sword? that came out of nowhere.

And in the blink of an eye, every single cultist was now falling to the ground one by one, the only way Batman knew this wasn't the doing of any sort of magic was by the black blur that was charging at the cultist at immense speed, much slower than the speedsters but definitely faster than regular people.

His children were as confused as him the cultists they were fighting was now also stolen and defeated by the unknown person that had joined the fight, which left them to recruit near the Bat still keeping their guard up.

They tried their best to keep up with the fast black blur that took down the cultist before they even can scream with precise stabs, now only a few cultists were left, screaming and shouting orders to each other as they did their best to shoot or strike the unknown person.

But to no avail before they can even lift their arms or shoot, they had already found themselves on the ground bleeding, as the last cultist fell on the cold hard ground most likely the cult leader, the man also stopped in his tracks making the Birds and the Bat finally have a good look at the appearance of the person.

 A male with blue eyes, that wore a green-and-white striped bucket hat with an emerald hanging off of it; to hide they're dirty blond hair, they also had on a green jinbei with a black undershirt with a red heart? accompanied by a black haori. But the most noticeable trait the man had was a pair of gigantic obsidian-colored wings that was on his back, and the dark colored sword that seemed to be glowing in his hand.

He was looking down at the laying cultist before his feet with an unreadable expression before crouching down to snatch what looks like a necklace on the person's neck before once again standing up with a groan, he then turned towards the Bats, making the group fix their stances into defensive not sure on what to expect, Batman glared at the man before him, the blonde man's eyes scanned them before his gaze landing on the dark knight.

The man grinned sheepishly rubbing his hand at the back of his neck, he strutted towards the group which still held their stances. "Sorry about the commotion, thought you all needed a hand." the man apologized his hands now behind his back his sword nowhere to be found.

"Who are you." Batman commanded, his hold on the kid slightly loosening due to the blood he lost, Orphan being the one that noticed urged Batman to give her the kid which Batman relented, now with the kid gone in his hands he advanced towards the man to display an intimidating front, he tried not to groan in pain in every step he made, now that they were a little bit closer Bruce could tell that the blonde man was a couple inches shorter than him, and of the same age.

The man showing no sign of being nervous or frightened by the infamous Knight of Gotham, only smiled and introduced himself his hand out for the Bat to shake.

"Philza Minecraft, pleasure to meet you."

[missmarveledsblog]

I gotcha cap ( Steve Rogers x Reader )

Summary: it wasn't lost on anyone that Steve was a technophobe, who wanted to gain a grasp of the modern world, it just didn't help the little infatuation he had on his teacher.

Warnings : none , fluffy, mutual pinning , idiots in love. this is 2 or 3 parts

If anything America's golden boy and one of Earth's most prolific heroes needed improvements on was ...well the technology. Even though he'd be out of the ice long enough, the modern inventions just were something he didn't get the hang of. Of course, he'd asked his fellow Avengers, bucky was just as clueless as he was so was Thor to be fair. Natasha just outright refused her only argument for the rejection was simple

" For my sanity and your safety "

Tony was a no-go for his safety. The kid well he did try but ended up more confused at the slang the kids were using these days needing maybe a whole new lesson.

The best was of course last, Y/n. the newest addition although she'd been there two years now. She was up there with Tony probably even better when it came to anything electronic. She was able to hack the billionaire, only being caught because she wanted to. The company she was working at wasn't fully what she thought but hey it's why she took the job. She was an independent investigator that well noticed the fast rise of a company that seemed too perfect. So she got a job jumping through the hurdles, using her charm and charisma to integrate into the company and earn their trust then slowly she began to uncover the seedy secret they tried so hard to keep away. The wannabes were trying to be Hydra 2.0 only they didn't expect this newbie, the new office pet to uncover it all and drag them down with the click of her keyboard. The rest was history, now here she was living in the compound working in the lab with Tony and Bruce getting them intel and making missions that bit easier. The daughter of a former doomsday prepper and the skills she acquired of being alone well it was all that made her qualify and her enhancements helped to although that was a new title when she was growing up it was mutant. her father was one to hence why he was so paranoid , so ready to live in a bunker for safety of his family only to be the problem.

Y/n was sweet, she was friendly and patient. She was also funny, bold not afraid to speak her mind, strong worker. The beauty was everything and more that Steve Rogers could want so that infatuation had him almost nervous, yes nervous to ask her to help him with his problem. Thanks to Natasha's meddling he didn't have to ask because she took it upon herself to do so for him. A rare day off here he stood at the door of the main living room watching her setting up the various machines on the coffee table. The smile on her face was so bright and warm when she turned it made Shakespeare's words make sense. The way that smile was like a summer day. She was just simply an angel of perfection in his eyes, one that made his old self, the man before the serum who could barely look a dame in the eye or one that made his words jumble or stumble and stutter in a normal conversation. Professionally he was ok although he was still nervous but he was able to communicate clearly. Now here he was for a private lesson in modern technology with a woman who could render him speechless. This was gonna be hell, he was sure of it. Just as sure he was gonna make a fool of himself.

" hey steve ... cap?" she called making him stand straight .

" yes , yep hey " he smiled although forced through the flush of his cheek , in the start of what would be a barrage of self beratement .. internally of course .

" you ready " she smiled looking down at the table slight fixing the things laptop , phone and game console ? .

" yes sorry nats making you do this " he sat near her not too close but thanks to his enhanced senses he was encase in her scent .

" she not making me do it , dont worry cap i got you " she laughed . " ok i know you can write a report on the computer" she asked .

" y-yeah i can do the report but i because it like already there , tony made sure it the only thing so i just click , type and send " he nodded rubbing back of his neck .

" what about texting ? " she asked .

" no really well sort of " he shrugged .

" ok well we can go over the basics, if you don't understand anything don't be afraid to tell me so we will start with the phone from functions to standard apps " she smiled pulling the box out . " here this is for you " she handed it over .

" you got me a phone " .

"yeah, and I got you this ... open it " a mischievous smile on her face as she handed it over. Opened the paper and saw the blue red and white stars. It was like his shield but like a phone case. " I was gonna get you one online but I thought I'd make one a lot more sturdy and super soldier-friendly i got bucky to test it out in the testing phase".

Steve was speechless for maybe longer than he should of and for a new reason. Almost bashful looking down at it in his hand. So touched by the fact she took the time to craft and test this. The fact she took time to personalize it just for him.

" this is amazing thank you really " .

" no need to thank me cap i gotcha " she winked making his cheeks heat up.

The two sat while she slowly helped him set up the new phone, patiently step by step guiding him through what to do. In that time the space between the two, closer and closer while looking down at this device. The way she explained it to him and if or when he got confused she would show him again and again til he did. At one point the team stood at the door out of view of the two all sharing a knowing look. Peter took a few pictures maybe one to show them later in life. The way her attention was solely on the man although she could sense the extra eye and sure that the man at her side could feel them too.

" hey wanna continue this in my office" she smiled softly .

" yeah let's get this stuff " he stood quickly grabbing the different things scattered around them almost dropping them in his quest. Walking side by side and out of prying eyes they got to continue the lessons. He took a look around her office, her personal space. Little knick-knacks, pictures that all screamed her . Then when he looked at the computer slightly embarrassed in his own knowing how simple everyone had made it for him, how Tony made things easy from comms and devices nothing complicated more things only with a button or two. All the different little pictures or icons he recently learned scattered about. Now he knew he wasn't going to be some tech wizard but at least he wouldn't be clueless. More and more time he was less nervous he still was to a certain degree.

Weeks and weeks turned into months of lessons scattered between missions, meetings and public events. Although his knowledge of this was rusty, it was also still a vast improvement. Their communication improved and made her giggle when she would see at the end of each text -steve rogers. She tried to express that he didn't need to sign off on messages but she found it endearing in a way and completely, utterly adorable. She looked forward to the lesson, being in such a close space as Steven Grant Rogers was like a dream.

The blonde adonis was maybe the first and only crush she had had in such a long time. From his smile to his muscles that strained against the fabric. From his sweet and soft manner of Steve, to the strong protective manner and commanding presence that was Captain America it was virtually impossible not to fall for the man. Often thinking would he be Steve or cap between the sheets til she berated herself for thinking of a coworker, a teammate and a friend in such a way but on the same page she couldn't help the thought be in her mind.

next part

[481mclarg]

Scared to love you | AL65

★ I've never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.

STLY      •       FANFIC + SMAU

        • Arthur Leclerc x Male!Oc Driver

« K » Sorry for being late. I have a horrible migraine + the whole city run out of power (?) + 35 fucking °C

(bue, no estoy seguro si así se dice, pero la cuestión es que se cortó la luz en todo este pueblo de mierda donde vivo). (el verano es una verga).

Warnings: insecurity/anxiety? (being afraid to come out)

★          introduction. | one. | two. | three. | four. | five. | six. | seven. |

[ 💻 ] Google News. 2023.

BREAKING. Matteo Lombardi to race for Ferrari in 2024.

          Carlos Sainz Jr.'s departure from Ferrari was something that no one expected, and the fact that the Scuderia didn't even give the fans time to recover from the news before announcing Lombardi as his replacement was even more shocking.

          The Maranello team had an Italian back in the top category and one of the youngest drivers on the grid. His great results in the past couldn’t be denied or questioned, but what was feared was that it was a hasty move on Ferrari's part. Other teams had already experienced what it was like to promote a young driver too early.

          That pressure was transmitted to Matteo. He knew he couldn't disappoint, he had to make his team proud, his country, Giancarlo, his family, his friends...

          Being Charles' teammate was strange. He felt like he was constantly hiding something from the Monegasque, which made him nervous. The fact that his voice and accent were so similar to Arthur's didn't help.

          Arthur was a subject he didn't know if he wanted to discuss with Charles. The eldest knew that they had at least been friends, but it didn't seem like his brother had told him anything about what had happened between them on vacation, even though he often makes comments that seem a bit strange.

          He preferred not to give it much importance. In the end, he hadn't even spoken much to Arthur again. He felt a bit sad for Arthur; he had wanted to maintain their friendship. At the same time, he was grateful because he didn't know if he would have been able to talk to him without remembering Barcelona.

          Everything related to the country, Spain, and its city now related to Arthur. It seemed like a curse. Maybe it was a spell from the Monegasque himself so he could never forget it, so that in one way or another, he would be present in his mind.

          He didn't see him much either. His contract in Formula 2 had ended, joining the Le Mans Series and distancing him a little from the world of Formula. He also left the Ferrari Drivers Academy, so if he didn't go to see his brother at the Formula 1 races, he had no chance to meet him.

          Arthur didn't talk about Matteo with his brother either, even though the older one also made comments to him and asked if their friendship was surviving the distance of not seeing each other on the track on weekends.

          "Yes, everything is fine" he lied. Charles smiled, reminding him that he didn't have to worry, like he had told him in that call.

          The younger one wished that things hadn't changed between them. He wished he didn't have to lie to his brother about his friendship with his teammate. He hadn't spoken much with Matteo, and he wouldn't say that they were on bad terms, but there was clearly a pending talk that neither of them dared to bring up. It was easier to keep quiet and look the other way than to resolve it.

          The Italian had been clear: "I'm going to focus on my career." He didn't want personal relationships. He didn't have the time. He wouldn't waste his energy on anything other than Ferrari. He understood that. He had to. He'd seen him work hard for years. He didn't want to be the one to ruin his life's work.

          Although he understood Matteo's point of view, he couldn't say he shared it. He sensed a fear in Matteo that wasn't typical of the boy who left everything on the track. He used to risk everything in every race. Why did he look terrified now? He was more careful -he justified- not to say that he was simply scared.

          Scared of losing.

          He had always been afraid of ruining everything, so he played it safe. Without questioning, without trying. On the track, it was easy. He could learn when a maneuver would work and when it was better to wait; in life, he couldn't know until he tried. Until he failed and learned from the mistake. But Matteo could not conceive of failing. He could not allow it.

          "Would he have acted the same way if I had gotten a seat in Formula One?" He could not know, but he did know that from his position, risking a future seat or the current one at Le Mans, he would act.

          Why not? Why not be the ones to make that difference? Why wait for someone else to act, to decide what he was going to do? He understood that he could lose support, but why did he want the support of intolerant people? Who, even if he didn't speak, would still know that they do not support him?

          Yes, he was going to attract a different look on him. He would be judged even for how he breathes, but what does it matter? If he doesn’t do it, he knows that he will judge himself for the same thing. For being a coward, for being able to make a difference, for being able to show others, to show Matteo that you can be a driver even if you are attracted to another man.

          At the same time, it was a kind of new challenge: to show people that he could continue to have successful results, that his private life and preferences did not interfere with his knowledge and skills. It even sounded stupid to believe that they could question his performance as a driver because of who he was with in bed.

          First, he had to talk to his family. It would be better to talk about it in person, get over that silly nervousness, and prepare for the time to make it public. It was also important that his family heard it directly from his mouth and not from what others were going to post on social media or news portals. He wanted to seek their support, a hug from his mother, ask what his father would have thought despite already knowing that he loved his family no matter what.

          He really hoped to be able to reconnect with Matteo, to resolve the pending things they had left in that hotel in Barcelona but for now, he could at least thank him silently for helping to know himself a little better. To discover a part that he didn't know or that he didn't know he had. Thank him for giving to him the courage to speak out, and the new purpose of showing that nothing that happens off the track matters when talking about a driver's career.

[ 📱 ] Instagram. 11 Jun. 2024.

arthurleclerc65

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481MCLARG | 26 . 01 . 2025 | CORREGIDO

[zepskies]

Aww thank you, lovely friend!! 🥹💕 I tried my best to end this series with a bang lol, but also in a hopefully satisfying way that ties up the most important loose ends. I canNOT wait to dive into your thoughts on the grand finale!!

well, what a start! the action scenes were playing so vividly in my head, i loved all the details <3 and mato being a good son-in-law! love to see it 🤣

Ooh I'm so glad the action was gripping and vivid enough for you!! I don't love writing action scenes because it can be a lot of moving parts, but I try my best to make sure certain details stick out. And yesss Mato is on his A game now actually working with Dean! loll

felt a variety of emotions with this lol. sammy!!! i had a feeling he'd hear the commotion, so glad he's back!💓 (by now i think i've established my love for sam pretty well. 😂) i felt a bit confused too because cas what are you doinggg 😩 hopefully playing chess or something. 🤔 and it makes me sad that sam lost his hat, but his horse!!🥺 i'm not sure if it was his personal horse (like dean's baby) or not, however they shared a journey together :') wherever he ended up, i hope he's alright 💕

Oh I don't blame you loll. 😅 The "wtf?!" feeling with Cas was very intentional, even with the "yay!" of Sam being back in the game (even though he lost his hat and horse 🥲). But your instincts are right -- both of them were definitely playing chess on that one. I'm actually glad you wondered if it was Sam's personal horse because it's a thought I had and wondered if I should include that detail. In my head it wasn't his personal horse, but like you said, still a horse he shared a journey with. 💙 Though I also didn't specify this in the chapter, Cas/the soldiers took possession of Sam's horse, but he got him back afterwards (in the aftermath of it all).

phew 😅 also i cannot stop picturing the colonel from kfc every time sanderson gets mentioned 😭 white suit and all, the image won't leave my head loll

ahahaha yesss that's exactly what I was picturing, with Asmodeus's punk ass. 😂😂

absolutely beautiful <3 may he rest peacefully :(

Aw thank you for highlighting that line and Tahatan's dying words -- def one of my favorite lines for this entire series honestly.

i still don't like him but i will admit, this made me chuckle a little 😂 i really feel for mila and her people. it's just so unfair to be uprooted from your home like that :( and of course that grimy gremlin would go back on his word. the anxiety of it all 😩

Otaktay's redemption arc is slow on this one lol but I liked giving him that throwaway line. 😂

Oh yes, I drew historically from the "Trail of Tears" in American history, where the Native Americans/Indians were forced from their lands and they had to travel onwards to find new territory. It's a dark time that tends to be glossed over.

Yuuup gotta have our "bad guy goes back on his word" moment! 😅 If you've ever seen the movie Prince of Egypt, it's like that moment when the Jews are being chased after by the Pharaoh Rameses after he initially released them from slavery.

awwwww hell yeah i know that's right dean!!!😭🤍

hahaa YES! Dean's made his choice. 😌

ah yes that delicious pre-established relationship danger and peril angst, my hearttt 🥺 i love them sm<3

That moment where there's no time for goodbye, knowing you mind not see your loved one again. 🥲

i will admit this made me giggle 😭 I'm so sorry dean lmaoo :') the fight scenes were so cool though!! again, very vivid in my mind. didn't expect the otaktay save, but i'm glad he's gained some sense. and oh jack, i am glad he was spared but he fr just needs to distance himself from the colonel and his bs 🤠

ahaha I thought it was kinda funny too, ngl. 😂 Aw yay!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the fight scenes and that they felt vivid in your mind! Otaktay did step up, didn't he? Some new respect is brewing between him and Dean (finally), and you're very right loll. Jack just needs to go home and start a new life. Same with Cas and Benny tbh. 🥲

this was so cute 🥺 i was worried for her, but once again we see she's just as strong as she is stubborn loll

Oh yeah, Mila's still as tenacious and stubborn as ever! lol Pregnant ladies still kick ass, amirite? 😘

period benny. goodbyeeeeee and good riddance colonel 💅🏽 Šóta choosing peace was so mature of him, i'm glad he's not being so hotheaded anymore. completely understandable though given all that has happened.

Right?!! 😂 Begone, bitch~

And Šóta is finally maturing -- his father's death hit him hard, and he's learning what it takes to be a true leader. 💜

crying. just the sweetestttt 💞💞 to no one's surprise, i'm so glad sam decided to stay longer 🤣💗 given the circumstances i'm not sure how often he would be able to visit once he returns to his city civilian life, but at least for now he gets to spend time with his brother and good people -- family :3💘

Sam wants to stay with his bro as long as possible now that he's found him, especially for his nephew's birth. 🥹 And for that reason too (not knowing if he'll be able to visit again, or if so, how often). Family indeed! 💞💞

this had me meltinggggg 💓 they're going to be the sweetest parents. they're already so sweet to each other, i can't 🥺

You know, I did intend to stop here with Mila and Dean, but maaaaybe I'll have to come back to see how they're doing as parents and pillars of their tribe. 😏💓

sobbing. i love them so much, this was the most beautiful ending 💕 another wonderful series zep!!🤍:)

Omg thank you so much, Julia!! You don't know how wonderful it's been to get your support on this very niche little series that I didn't know if anyone would even want to read. 🥹 I always appreciate your input, but especially on The Honorable Choice/Outlander series. 💕

Outlander - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester!! 🥳 Now, the actual grand finale…

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, blood and violence, angst, fluff, and spice.~

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: One People

Dean straps on his bow and arrow, but first he takes up his gun from his thigh holster. Then he saddles up Mato and climbs up on his back.

The horse is raring to go, and for once he responds to the firmness of Dean’s tone and trusts him enough to obey his commands.

Šóta, Otaktay, and the other men do the same with their horses. Soon, they’re thundering down the hill into the village.

It’s already chaos.

Dean recognizes the blue uniforms of the U.S. Cavalrymen tearing through tipis and shooting with rifles and revolvers. They must’ve tracked Šóta and his men back to the village.

Men and horses are the main targets, but women and children are getting caught in the crossfire. Šóta purposefully knocks his horse into an officer who had his weapon aimed at Misae and her two daughters. Otaktay guides them in the opposite direction, pointing the way to escape into the forest.

Dean rides onward through the village. He and Mato leap over fallen bodies and horses, and Dean shoots at an officer who would’ve shot him first. He has to be careful with his bullets though. He only has two left.

He fights his way to the center, all the while searching for any sight of Mila’s dark hair. It’s almost impossible to see with so many people running and screaming and fighting. But when he hears a familiar voice, Dean cuts to an abrupt stop.

Chief Tahatan rides his horse, white and dappled black. He wields an ax as the horse rears up on his hind legs and lets loose a powerful bray. Just ahead of him is Colonel Sanderson, flanked by Benny and another officer. The Colonel holds a rifle poised in his hands.

“Stop!” Dean shouts.

He rides hard towards the scene. He takes aim with his gun, and he shoots. The bullet clips Sanderson in the shoulder. Yelling in pain, he recoils from the force of the bullet and misses his shot.

Dean’s just not fast enough.

The Colonel’s bullet ricochets off the ground and hits Tahatan’s horse. The animal whinnies and buckles, and he brings Tahatan down along with him, rolling onto his side and crushing the Chief’s legs and most of his torso under the horse’s weight. Dean hears the crunch of bone as the Chief utters a stifled grunt.

Gritting his teeth, Dean brings Mato to a short stop in front of the Chief. Dean aims his gun at the Colonel. By now, the man is clutching his bleeding shoulder and staring at his former captain in disbelief. Benny is maybe a little less shocked to see Dean, but there’s conflict in his eyes—happiness mixed with turmoil.

The other officer is Jack Kline. He recognizes Dean too, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You…” Sanderson trails. He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Dean Winchester.”

Other officers come to join him, both on their horses and on foot. A few of them have wrangled women and their children, along with a few men. One man is dragging Mila along by the arm, even though she pulls and struggles against his hold. He has a long, jagged cut over one closed eye that streams with blood, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder how it got there. The man holds Mila’s own knife to her throat.

Dean’s heart falls into his stomach as he meets her gaze. Hers is angry, until she finds him. Her brown eyes are relieved and hopeful, but then worried for him. Dean reads it all there. He knows her face as well as he knows his own.

“Now this is what we call an interesting development,” Sanderson says, dragging Dean’s attention back to him.

Dean only feels moderately better when Šóta, Otaktay, Chatan, and a couple of the other men come to flank him on either side. Weaya manages to shuffle away from the officer at her back, just to go to Tahatan. He’s still lying there under his horse, breathing shallowly. Šóta itches to climb down from his horse and go to his father, but he can’t allow Dean to stand on his own.

“Apparently your death has been greatly exaggerated, son,” Sanderson says. He glances at Benny, who wears a grim, guilty frown.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean says, his voice laden with grit. His hand tightens on his raised gun.

Sanderson tsks at him while Jack wraps a rag tightly around his arm to help stem the bleeding. Afterwards, he adjusts his blue jacket and his Stetson.

“Is this really how you’ve been living for all these months? Like a dog, sleeping in the thatch with the fleas,” he remarks as he glances around. But his gaze stops on Mila. His brows crunch together as recognition dawns in his eyes.

“Ah, now I see why,” he says. He reaches for his pistol at his belt and points it at Mila, like it’s merely an extension of his hand. Dean’s jaw clenches. Chatan and Šóta become even more tense; their horses shift in place, picking up on their riders’ unrest. Sanderson notes their reactions, and finally Dean’s too.

“Instead of putting this savage bitch down, you took her for yourself, didn’t you?” Sanderson wonders aloud. His face breaks into amusement, as his deep chuckle echoes in the clearing. “You threw it all away. A promising career, your respect as a man, and even your life. A traitor to your goddamn country. And for what?”

His thumb pulls back the safety on his revolver.

“Enough, you bastard. You deal with me,” Dean tersely demands. He slowly lowers his gun, and his last bullet. “Let her go. Let them all go, and you can have me. Court martial me. Hell, put me in front of a firing squad, or put me down like a dog if that’s what you want… But let them go.” 

Mila breaths in sharply. She stares at Dean like she wants to protest.

“Ah, but ya see, I didn’t come here for you,” Sanderson says. Without taking his aim off Mila, his shifts his gaze down to Tahatan, who struggles for every breath. “I’m gonna wash this land clean, from here to the West Coast. However long it takes.”

“Colonel!” an officer calls out. He approaches on a horse, though he leads a man by a rope that ties his wrists behind his back.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock. It’s Cas, and he has Sam as his captive. Sam is dirtier and more disheveled since Dean saw him off not too long ago. He’s lost his hat and his horse, but he doesn’t look afraid when he meets Dean’s gaze, then the assessing Colonel.

“Mr. Winchester. I should’ve known,” Sanderson says dryly. “Here to reacquaint yourself with your brother? Though I’ve got a feeling you already have.”

“What’re you gonna do about it? Kill me?” Sam says. “In case you’ve forgotten, I work for the government too. I’m a prosecutor for all the surrounding counties in Kansas City.”

Sanderson raises a brow. “Is that supposed to intimidate me, son?”

“It should, Colonel,” Sam says. He nods at his brother. “The world already thinks he’s dead. Fine. But there’s plenty of people who know I traveled to Fort Laramie. People high up in the chain of command. If you hurt me, my brother, or these people, someone’s gonna hear about it. And soon.”

“He’s got a point there, Colonel,” Benny says.

“You shut the fuck up!” Sanderson barks at his captain. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you down where you stand. You and Novak. But believe you me, I’ll be dealin’ with you later.”

Sanderson continues to seethe. He thinks hard about the decision he makes next as he stares down at Sam, and then back up at Dean. He grits his teeth, his mustache twitching. Dean holds his breath, though he briefly meets eyes with his brother.

Slowly, Sanderson lowers his weapon away from Mila. Dean can breathe again, if shallowly. He doesn’t drop his guard though. In fact, he watches Sanderson even closer.

“I’ll give you dirty mongrels one hour to clear out of here,” Sanderson says, his eyes narrowed. “Anything left gets tied down and burned to charcoal.”

With that, he sharply tugs on his horse’s reins. He commands his men to fall back, and like the soldiers they are, they obey. Benny and Cas both cast Dean a backwards glance—one that tells Dean that he still has the loyalty of his friends. He now realizes that Cas brought Sam back for a purpose; it wasn’t to hurt him, but to help him. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole “capture” was Sam’s idea.

After the soldiers clear out of the area with the Colonel, Dean and the other men dismount from their horses. He beelines for Mila, gathering her into the safety of his arms. Then he spares a hand to grab his brother’s shoulder as he smiles.

“I think I’m more glad to see you the second time,” Dean remarks.

“I’ll take that,” Sam says. His grin is infectious, but Dean returns his attention to his wife. He touches her cheek and runs his assessing gaze over her body. He frowns as he examines the thin cut along her neck where the soldier pressed the blade of her knife.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” he asks.

Mila shakes her head. “I’m fine.” Though she inspects him the same way with a wandering hand across his chest. Dean takes that hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

It falls when he hears Weaya crying. She sits beside three other women, including Šóta’s mother.

“Father,” Šóta says lowly. His voice is a rasp as he kneels beside Tahatan’s broken body, holding his hand. The chief manages to raise his head slightly. He looks at his son, and then his gaze travels. Eventually, it falls on Dean.

Tahatan smiles.

“Under this sky,” he says. “We are one people.”

 He takes three more labored breaths before his eyes close. Šóta lays his father’s limp hand over his chest, which no longer moves.

Šóta’s mother gently raises her husband’s head to remove his long headdress. Among other things, it’s made of leather, glass beads, horsehair, and eagle tail feathers. Each feather represents a warrior’s honor earned in war, like a soldier’s insignia. 

With shaking hands, she places it on Šóta’s head. He takes a deep breath, and he looks up at the many tear-stained faces that mirror his own.

“We have to go,” he says.

Sam stays to help mobilize the tribe. He helps a mother join her children into one of the caravans, then he and Otaktay heft rolled up tipis and supplies into the back of it.

“You are a law man?” Otaktay asks him.

Sam nods. “That’s right.”

“Make better laws,” Otaktay says, and walks away.

Sam is left with a bemused look on his face. Dean comes over and thumps him on the back.

“Making friends?” he says dryly.

“Don’t think so,” Sam replies. He shakes his head and follows his brother over to the second caravan.

“Eh, consider yourself lucky. That guy pretty much hates my guts,” Dean whispers.

Sam raises his brows. “What?”

Dean explains the story in its simplest, briefest terms. Meanwhile, the mood around their packing is somber and quiet.

For Mila, it feels wrong. It’s wrong for them to have to leave the river where they’ve tilled and nurtured the land for three generations. It’s wrong to leave Chief Tahatan’s body wrapped beside Takoda’s on the hill without at least one proper night of mourning. She feels her grief down to her very core, but all she can do is sit in the caravan beside her mother and hold protective hands around the small swell of her stomach. Her tears fall silently down her cheeks and dissolve between the indigo beads on her dress.

She only raises her head when Chatan comes to check on her and her mother. He touches Mila’s cheek, drying her tears there. He leans in to kiss Weaya’s hand.

“We leave soon,” he says.

“Where is Dean?” Mila asks.

“Helping Šóta,” Chatan replies, but he stops short and corrects himself. “He helps our Chief.”

A few moments later, the caravans begin to move as the horses pull with the reins. Šóta leads at the front with a few of the warriors, but the rest of them ride strategically around and behind the caravans. Sam and Dean fall back to ride beside Mila’s caravan, where Chatan sits at the helm. Sam has been given the horse of a fallen warrior, while Dean rides Mato.

Despite how low she feels, Mila smiles at the sight of her horse allowing Dean to ride him, even with a saddle and bridle.

“Mato is being agreeable,” she remarks.

“You sound surprised,” Dean says, teasing slightly. “Told you I’d get him to trust me eventually.”

“More like wear him down,” she quips back.

“Hey, he impregnated my mare. Without my say so, I might add. I’d say we’re proper father and son-in-law.”

“Yes,” Chatan chimes in wryly. “That is what that means.”

Mila scoffs at him, but the gleam of good humor in his eyes amuses her. She smiles as she rubs a hand over her belly. Dean smiles too. It’s strange that he can still do that after a night like tonight, but seeing Chatan do it, along with Sam, and Mila, and her mother too, it gives him hope for them—for all of them.

Until the first gunshot fires into the air.

Dean freezes. His body coils tight, and he turns to look sharply over his shoulder.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Colonel Sanderson went back on his word. His cavalrymen are gaining behind them on horseback, hooting and hollering like it’s a game for sport. His jaw clenching in both anger and determination, Dean tells Chatan to speed up the caravan. He locks eyes with Mila for a moment.

Be safe, he tries to say with that look.

Then he gives Sam a nod; together they speed up to alert Šóta at the front.

“They’re gaining on us,” Dean says, gesturing behind them. “We need to lead them away from the caravans and pick ‘em off—as many as we can.”

Šóta nods in grim agreement, but he has a moment of hesitation as he considers Dean.

“You go with the caravans,” he says.

Dean shakes his head. “No, I’m ending this. Once and for all.”

“You are willing to fight your people?” Šóta asks.

The set of Dean’s determined face doesn’t change.

“I’m protecting my people,” he says. He looks to Sam. “Stay with the caravans. Make sure they get across the river.”

Sam agrees, and the men split ways. Dean turns Mato away from the group along with Šóta and Otaktay, and a few other warriors. The caravans continue with Sam to help guide them. Mila clings to the edge and watches with growing dread as her husband rides farther and farther away from her.

Dean can’t allow himself to look back. Instead of drawing his gun, he reaches for his bow strapped to his back and an arrow from his quiver. He takes aim at the first soldier he sees raise his gun, along with a steadying breath, and he shoots his arrow before the other man can fire. The arrow embeds itself in the man’s chest and knocks him clean off his horse.

Šóta and Otaktay follow suit. They shout out yips and battle cries on the air as they take aim. The soldiers begin to scatter out of their formation. They weren’t expecting the Lakota to go on the offensive. Sanderson has conveniently let his men ride ahead of him, but Dean hears him giving the orders from behind. The Colonel has his left arm wrapped in a sling while he holds his gun aloft.

“All right, mustang,” Dean says to Mato, tightening his hands on the reins. “Remind ‘em why they should be scared a’ you.”

He gives the stallion a subtle kick. It’s just enough for him to pick up into a full gallop. Dean tucks his head down and lets the horse speed forward like a bullet carving across the plain. The soldiers take aim, but that’s when Šóta and Otaktay join in from behind. They begin to take down the uniformed men, one by one as they weave between bullets. 

Dean tears between two officers and unbalances them. Mato, with his big head and chest, bulldozes straight through them. They shout in surprise and fear, and one of them even topples off his horse. Dean banks left and turns Mato around to finish what he started.

He retrieves his knife from his thigh holster and slices into one man’s neck, making him choke on his own blood. Dean forcefully takes the rifle off another man, and after flipping it around, hits him dead between the eyes with the butt of it—once, then twice until his nose breaks. He careens back off his horse into the dirt. Dean wracks the rifle and shoots the man for good measure.

The sound of a safety clicking back alerts him and turns his head, but he’s too late.

An arrow flies into the officer’s throat.

Dean looks over sharply. He finds Otaktay, lowering his bow.

Dean’s eyes widen. The other man just saved his life.

Dean nods in thanks, and Otaktay slowly returns the gesture. The moment is cut short, however, when Dean sharpens in alarm. Instead of opening his mouth to warn, he knows he has no time, not even to grab another arrow. He just throws his knife.

It carves through the air and hits Jack Kline where his arm meets his shoulder—his shooting arm that would’ve clipped Otaktay with his pistol. Jack falls off his horse and hits the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a hot rush. He groans in pain while clutching his arm. It’s not an easy wound, but he’ll live…as long as Otaktay doesn’t kill him first. Still on his horse, he towers over the younger man with another arrow notched.

“Wait!” Dean shouts.

He meant what he said about finishing this, but now looking at Jack, all Dean sees is a kid following orders. He doesn’t deserve to die like this, hundreds of miles away from home, just trying to make something of himself.

Otaktay looks up, wasting a precious second. Another beat, and a bullet tears into him, almost forcing him off his horse. Dean grits his teeth and speeds forward. Šóta rejoins them in time to help lead Otaktay away; he’s been hit in the side. There’s no telling how deep, but all Dean can focus on is the path ahead.

He comes face to face with Colonel Sanderson.

Dean raises his bow and arrow and ducks his head against another bullet, still shooting off his arrow. It misses its aim at the horse’s legs, but it spooks him enough to whinny in distress. It begins to buck off the Colonel.

“Whoa!” he shouts, trying to take back control of the horse. Dean rides in close and cracks a fist across Sanderson’s face. His head whips back with a pained grunt. Dean grabs his wrist and twists, until he feels tendons popping and the gun loosened from the other man’s hand. Then, Dean brings his elbow up into Sanderson’s nose and spills blood.

“Fuck!” Sanderson growls. He manages to land a punch of his own with his left arm, despite how it makes his shoulder bleed again. Dean recovers from the blow to his cheek and goes to grab that wound, digging in his fingers hard. He’s satisfied by the howl of pain Sanderson lets loose.

Dean doesn’t care if it’s a dirty tactic. He’s taking any opportunity he can, because right now, it’s not about his honor. It’s about protecting what’s his.

But Sanderson fights back just as dirty. He grabs Dean by the back of his neck and headbutts him, so hard he sees stars. Sanderson lands one more kick to Dean’s chest that almost sends him off of Mato. Dean has to grab on tight to the saddle and pull himself up, just in time for a lassoed rope to circle around his neck. Dean’s eyes fly wide in alarm. He slips his hand between the rope and his neck just in time before it tightens—because Sanderson tugs hard as he urges his horse into a gallop.

“Aw, sh—” Dean is yanked off Mato. He lands hard in the dirt, before he begins to be dragged across it.

Once again, the current is strong across Little Cheyenne. The first caravan has more horses to pull it through, but the caravan that Chatan is trying to lead starts to take on water. Mila and her mother sit behind him, along with Misae and her daughters, Tahatan’s widows, and Eyota and her husband.

The colt is doing his best to keep going, but Baby and two of the other horses are struggling in the pull of the river. They’ve hit a deeper patch under the water, and now it’s all the way up to Baby’s chest. She can’t handle the weight of the caravan along with the river’s current.

Sam comes closer with rope in hand, but Mila can see in his eyes that he’s trying to decide what to do. She grasps the edge of the caravan to pull herself up, and she points to the black mare.

“She needs help!” she calls out to him.

“Mila, sit down!” Chatan orders.

Mila turns back to her father with a determined set to her face. She knows his ankle has never healed entirely right. If he tries to do what she’s about to do, he’d probably fall into the river and get trampled by the horses. She knows what she must do.

She carefully stands up all the way and moves to the edge of the caravan, ignoring her father and mother trying to stop her. Sam’s eyes grow wide, but he tries to come in closer to support her. She steps out onto Baby’s back and slides into an astride position. The frigid water climbs up Mila’s dress and reaches her waist, making her shiver, but she ignores that too. She reaches out for Sam.

“Throw me the rope!” she calls out.

Sam follows her lead and does what she says. Mila not only catches the rope, but loops the ends of it around Baby’s bridle and around her chest. It’s hard work, especially because Mila has to tread water just to get the rope around the mare’s wide chest, but Sam helps her as much as he can.

When they’ve finished securing the ropes, Sam pulls ahead. With his horse leading Baby, she gets the momentum she needs to climb out of the dip, and eventually, cross the rest of the river.

Mila is sopping wet by the time they make it to the other side. Her braid has come loose, and so her hair becomes a black curtain around her face. She clings to Baby as she catches her breath, stroking the horse’s neck.

“Good girl. Big, strong girl,” she soothes. “Your father will be proud of you.”

Speaking of, Mila turns to look back. Across the river, the men are still fighting off the soldiers that sought to finish what they started last night. Mila scans with narrowed eyes for Dean.

“You all right?” Sam asks. He sidles up next to her and grasps her shoulder to make sure.

“Fine,” she breathes.

But she hesitates on a sharp inhale. Her brows furrow as she tries to make sure of what she’s seeing. Her mouth drops open in shock.

“Sam!” She points out the shape of a man she thinks is Dean. Sam follows her line of vision and becomes just as alarmed at what he sees.

Mila immediately takes her father’s knife from her shoe and cuts the ropes that bind Baby to the caravan. Mila puts her fingers to her lips and whistles sharply instead of kicking the mare. Baby sharpens to attention and heeds the command, just like she’s done for Dean a hundred times before.

Mila guides her back through the river.

Dean is being road hauled across the plain. He hits every bump, rock, twig, and dry patch of dirt in several yards as he twists and struggles to break free.

He lost his knife to save Otaktay, and he’s probably lost all his arrows along with his bow. Dean grits his teeth, as he can hear Sanderson’s insane hooting and hollering on the wind whipping past his ears, and not much else.

He doesn’t know where Šóta is, or if even Otaktay’s still alive, but his last thoughts aren’t about them. Instinctively, he thinks of his wife. It’s not even a coherent thought. It’s just her name, her face, her hand on his heart.

And the rope snaps.

Dean grunts as his momentum slows. He rolls across the dirt and grass to a stop. He probably has road burns and cuts and bruises all down his back, but at least he can stare up at the morning sun and breathe.

Heaving for free air, he tugs the rope from around his neck and shoves it off. He hears familiar horse hooves galloping his way. Somehow, he manages to raise his head.

Now, either the sun is playing tricks on him, or a black shape is thundering towards him.

Apparently, his eyes aren’t lying to him. Baby slows to a stop, and Mila climbs down from her back. Mila rushes to his side and kneels beside him after putting away her knife. She takes his face into her gentle hands.

“Dean?” she says, her voice tinged with desperation.

He grabs onto her wrist and smiles weakly, looking up at her soulful brown eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

She sighs and shakes her head, despite the tears in her eyes.

“Be quiet,” she laughs. Dean just grins.

She cups the back of his neck and guides him up slowly into a sitting position. His back is a bloody mess, but they’ll deal with that later.

“You all right, brother?”

Dean’s smile drops. He clutches at Mila’s arm protectively, but he looks up at Benny Lafitte. His horse shifts in place. Dean finally notices Sam is there too, with his gun trained on Benny. But Benny’s gun is raised right back at Sam.

They’re joined by Colonel Sanderson. He wears a self-satisfied look on his face as he approaches with his pistol held aloft.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Ain’t this a picture. Traitors and savages.”

Mila keeps her back to the Colonel; she stubbornly defends Dean with her body, even though he’s gathered her to his chest protectively. With his right hand, he subtly reaches for the gun holster at his thigh. One last weapon. One last shot.

He shares a look with Mila, silently asking her to trust him. She gives him a subtle nod.

“Captain Lafitte,” Sanderson addresses Benny, even though his gaze is straight on Dean and Mila. He holds Sam in his periphery. “Now’s the time to take a stand. Are you gonna serve your country and put these three in the ground where they belong, or are you gonna join ‘em?”

Benny stares back at his superior officer. He thought he understood before, but today is when he truly understands why Dean made his choice.

Benny lowers his weapon down to his side.

“This ain’t the law,” he says. “This ain’t justice. It’s just pride, plain and simple. Your pride, Colonel.”

After a moment of genuine surprise, Sanderson rolls his eyes. He shifts his gun off of Sam and points it at Benny next.

A trigger fires, but the bullet that hits its mark is not the Colonel’s.

It’s Dean’s, and it hits Asmodeus Sanderson between the eyes.

Dean lowers his silver, smoking Colt down at his side, where Mila moved just in time for Dean to take his shot. He holds her to him now, taking in deep breaths.

Benny and Sam both look to Dean with shock still in their eyes, but before either of them can say anything, they notice Cas stumbling over on foot with a wounded Jack Kline leaning heavily on him. They’re flanked on both sides by Šóta and Otaktay. The latter has a cloth tied tight around his middle. His bullet wound just looks like a nasty graze.

The other warriors that remain follow behind, and they have Mato and Baby in tow by their bridles.

Dean realizes that Cas and Jack are the only other survivors from the rest of the unit. Šóta has taken them prisoner. He orders the other men to force Benny off of his horse. They shove him closer to Cas and Jack.

Dean quickly tries to raise up onto his knees, though it’s hard for him to stand. Mila helps him the rest of the way, and he keeps his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“We will make an example of these,” Šóta says, nodding at Cas, Jack, and Benny. They look rightly nervous, shifting their gazes towards Dean.

Dean raises his hands to placate Šóta (and hopefully reassure his friends).

“Šóta, I know these guys. They were my men,” he says. “They were just following the Colonel’s orders.”

“And what does that mean to me, Dean Winchester?” Šóta says. He climbs down from his horse, his headdress of feathers tousled as a breeze rushes through.

“It means they won’t follow us,” Dean says. “They won’t tell the Army what actually happened here. They’ll keep their word if I ask them to. So I’m asking you…trust me. Trust me like you’ve trusted me before.”

Šóta seems to consider it, even though he doesn’t exactly like the idea. Otaktay seems to like it even less.

“We won’t betray you, Chief,” Benny says to Šóta, and to the other warriors. “We respect you, and we don’t want any more trouble. For us, or for Dean.”

Šóta considers this with a tilt of his head. Before he decides, first, he turns to Otaktay. Other than Dean, he’s now the man Šóta trusts most.

Otaktay looks over at Dean. Between them, there’s an understanding. Finally, there’s also respect. Otaktay returns his gaze to his leader, and he nods.

Šóta expels a deep breath. He addresses the three soldiers.

“Go. Go in peace, or next time, there will not be peace,” he says.

The soldiers breathe in relief.

Dean steps forward with Mila’s help. There he shakes each man’s hand. He’s said goodbye to Cas and Benny before, but somehow, this feels even more final than the last.

Benny and Cas are given back their horses. They help Jack up first, then Cas climbs up with him. Benny mounts his own horse, and Sam, Dean, and the Lakota watch them leave the way they came.

It takes days to cross the plains and maneuver through the mountains, but Šóta leads the rest of the tribe to safety within Sioux territory. They find a place to settle along the Big Cheyenne River, northeast of the Black Hills.

There they will learn the land and what to plant and forage there for the late autumn harvest, as summer ends. There is where they will honor the dead who couldn’t make the journey. There is where their traditions will be celebrated, old and new.

Like today. The men have painted each other with blue circles around their faces and blue lines across their foreheads, chins, and cheekbones. The women are painted similarly in red. It symbolizes change in its many forms, but most of all, it symbolizes new relationships, and new responsibilities.

Today, it’s Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. This ceremony formally welcomes Dean into the tribe by marriage. It also recognizes Sam as his brother, and so, it acknowledges Sam as a friend to their tribe as well. They are now all family. One people.

Dean sits with his brother around the large firepit, where a roasted boar is already half-eaten. Dean has shared a lot of meals with these people, but somehow, this one is the best he’s ever eaten. Maybe it’s the company, he thinks, as he laughs at some old story Sam is trying to tell.

“No, no, no, that’s not what happened. Let me tell it—”

“What, so you can make stuff up?”

“Oh, I’m making stuff up?”

Mila giggles quietly, but it’s enough to earn Dean’s attention. She sits at his left, and he turns to her with an amused smile.

“What’re you laughing at?” he teases. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her in.

“You,” she replies. “You and your brother. You’re worse than me and Šóta.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. He points over at her cousin, their esteemed Chief, who’s busy making shadow creatures with exaggerated voices to impress the kids. Right now, it’s a big grizzly bear that threatens to eat the closest child.

“Worse than the grizzly?” Dean says.

“Hmm, maybe not,” she says with a laugh.

That evening, Dean is glad he convinced Sam to start sleeping in his own tipi. He agreed to stay until Mila has the baby, but while Dean is grateful to have his brother here for a few more months, he still wants some much-needed privacy with his wife.

He “helps” her undress for bed, all the while distracting her with lingering kisses across her neck and shoulders, winding his fingers into her long hair. He wraps his arms around her and cups her full breasts from behind, satisfied by the arousing way she moans.

“They’re heavier,” Dean whispers in her ear, gently squeezing her breasts. She hums in response. “Your thighs and hips are thicker too, nice and soft for me.” He squeezes those too for good measure.

“I am changing,” she admits. “Are they good changes?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, his lips moving against her throat. He gently turns her around and guides her down to lay on the bedding and furs. He palms at the best change of all—the growing swell of her belly. She’s gotten bigger, and growing a little more each week. Dean really wants to meet his kid.

He dips down to lay a path of slow, tender kisses down between her breasts, and over her belly. Mila smiles and threads her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long, brushing past his ears.

“Do you want a son, or a daughter?” she asks him. It’s not the first time she’s asked, but she wonders if his answer will change now, after everything they’ve gone through to get here. She finds that her own answer hasn’t changed.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t care. Either one.”

All he wants is for the baby to be healthy, and for Mila to be healthy too. He moves back up to claim her lips. When he kisses her like this, he hopes she knows what he’s really saying. Just in case, he says it anyway. He says it out loud to her for the first time.

“I love you,” he says. He pauses, then smiles a little. “You know, you’re the only woman I’ve ever said that to.”

She smiles, because she knows. With her hand over his heart, she knows.

And when their son is born a few months later, she has a dream. She dreams of an eagle’s wings that shift from white to gold in the light.

Dean plans to give him a name he picked out weeks before, Elijah. It was his father’s middle name. But she will also give their son a name.

Ikíphi, the name her uncle, Chief Tahatan, gave Dean Winchester himself.

Because one day, she knows her son will be worthy of it.

AN: And there we have it! A more definitive end to Dean and Mila's story. 🥹

For those of you who read and enjoyed this, thank you so much for sticking with me through this sequel of The Honorable Choice. This was an idea that wouldn't let go of me once I started, and it's the first time that I've written something like this. 💖💖

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

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Series Tag List (Part 1)

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean @k-slla

[eternalwritess]

jjk matchup for @tamaaamaa

i match you with... 𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓾 𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 ██ 20% _ ████ 60% _ █████ 80% _ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

✎ I feel like the two were you were in separate classes when younger until you eventually weren't and were paired up together to go on a mission. It was likely a class mission though and one that Satoru couldn't just finesse his way out of because it was important in some way or another

✎ You were both basically forced to work together by Yaga as he wanted Satoru to work with someone who wasn't Suguru or Shoko and get along with someone else for a change. He knew Kento wouldn't take it and neither would Utahime, and he didn't think Haibara would do too well so he chose you

✎ Not gonna lie he probably thought that you were slightly annoying at first, but that's his first reaction with 90% of people that he meets so don't take it too personally and just give him some time to warm up to you

✎ Soon enough though he started to have fun with you and your energies really matched each other well and you both started to actually get along with each other. He liked how positive and laid back you were with everything

✎ In terms of confession no one had to force him to do anything, he did it all himself. Going up to you at first was hard and when he actually started forming words he stumbled a little but he got the thing out eventually :)

✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

✎ You probably introduced him to video games in terms of actually playing them and stuff like that. Although he can't do it for too long because I'd imagine that looking at a bright screen for too long would hurt his six eyes, but he likes listening to you play at the very least and he'll look up every now and then and comment on what you're doing

✎ He understands all of your brainrot, he might not get it the first time you say it but he's a quick learner and can pick up on certain terms... also he's probably come across it himself and has a little too. So having you there to understand it would always help him feel like he's not totally crazy lol

✎ When he learned you could dance he wanted you to show him as he was genuinely curious about all of it. Mostly because he knew that Utahime also danced and he wondered if it had anything to do with your cursed technique (whether it does or not is up to you). He really likes it though, mostly because he likes watching your hair and how it moves when you dance or just your arms or legs

✎ He's asked you to draw him before... I'm sorry but this was 100% inevitable and he's going to bother you into doing it and... well you really should've expected this

✎ Night owl you say? Well that's perfect! Because I'm 90% sure that canonically Sarotu does NOT sleep at all so this is perfect for him! He stays up with you all of the time and even with you being a night owl you're probably the first to fall asleep

[armpirate]

RED || Jungkook | Ch. 4

MASTERLIST Previous ||  Next

Pairings: Demon!Jungkook x fem!reader  

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, fantasy, past life

Warnings: Explicit language, mention of death and suicide, demonology, violence, rough sex

Summary: Y/n thought her life couldn't get worse after losing her parents in a tragic accident. Years after, she's aware of everyone moving forward, while she's in the same place, isolated and alone. She struggles to find meaning in a world that seems indifferent to her grief. Desperate for comfort, to feel the deep connection she had been missing, she starts the manifestation, expecting an inoffensive entity to walk with her that rough path. What she doesn't know is that she awoke the mysterious entity tied to an old necklace around her neck.

Jungkook, a mysterious and seductive figure, appears in her life, offering the company she craves. But as his presence grows stronger, so does the unsettling sense that there's more to him -and the necklace- than meets the eye, unfolding all the reasons that took him to that place.

Now, as the past bleeds into the present, Y/n must fight with her growing feelings for the demon who seems familiar yet dangerous. Jungkook is determined to reclaim his power, but in doing so, he may doom Y/n once again. Bound by fate, the two are locked in a dangerous mix of love, redemption, and the looming threat of destruction. 

Will they break the curse that has haunted them both, or will history repeat itself with devastating consequences?

Chapter duration: 18 minutes

Chapter warnings: Explicit content, smut, explicit language, oral sex (female receiving), edging

The classroom hummed with quiet energy as her classmates filled their notebooks and clicked their pens. The professor, a wiry man with a sharp voice, stood at the podium, gesturing emphatically as he delved into the themes of romanticism in literature. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes in the air, but Y/n barely noticed any of it.

She sat in the middle row, her notebook open to a fresh page, pen poised but unmoving. Her eyes were fixed on the professor, but her mind was a battlefield.

If her lack of sleep wasn't enough, the reason of it kept digging in her head, becoming louder than her own thoughts. At first, they were mere whispers that made her straight up in her place, but as days went on, his voice was clear, cocky and entitled. She went from being scared to being annoyed by him in a matter of two days.

"You know this is pointless, don't you?" the voice slithered into her thoughts like smoke, warm and smooth, yet carrying a cold undercurrent.

Y/n's grip on her pen tightened. She kept telling herself to ignore it, willing her focus back to the professor's words. He was explaining the duality of love and despair in the works of Byron, but the voice was louder now, more insistent.

"Byron? Really? I could show you passion that would make his verses look like a nursery rhyme."

Heat crept up her neck as his voice deepened, laced with a teasing chuckle that sent shivers down her spine.

—Miss Y/s —the professor called, breaking her trance.

—Yes? —her head snapped up, eyes wide.

—Could you summarize the point I just made? —he asked, arms crossed, his gaze pointed.

She stammered, her mind blank.

—I... uh...

"Oh, little one, let me help you out," Jungkook purred mockingly in her head. "Tell him the point is that all these poets were just sad little boys trying to impress women like you."

Her cheeks flushed.

—I'm sorry, I zoned out —she admitted, sinking lower in her chair as a few of her classmates chuckled softly.

The professor sighed, shaking his head before moving on. Y/n exhaled shakily, staring at her notebook as if it could anchor her.

"You're adorable when you're embarrassed," his voice crooned.

—Leave me alone —she muttered under her breath, her pen pressing hard against the paper.

"Now, why would I do that? You called me, remember? I'm here to stay."

She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply to steady herself, but it only gave him more room to invade.

"You're wasting your time here. What's the point of all this? Writing papers, reading books... it won't get you anywhere. I can give you so much more."

Y/n opened her eyes, glaring at the blank page in front of her. She pressed her pen to it, attempting to write something, anything, to drown him out.

"Still trying to ignore me? Fine, let's play a game," he said, his voice turning mischievous.

Suddenly, the sound of his voice was accompanied by phantom sensations: a brush of fingers against her arm, a whisper against her ear.

Y/n flinched, her pen slipping from her hand. Her breath quickened as she glanced around. The room was normal; no one else noticed anything amiss. She went back to her paper, holding the pen tight as if that would keep her from hearing him, but she felt like something was gripping on her hand, closing tight around her fingers before she found herself writing something.

JK

She dropped back on her seat as she was aware of how powerful that thing was, to the point of being able to control her movements.

"That got your attention," he chuckled. "I wonder what your classmates would think if they knew what was really distracting you."

She was too worried about the power he had to care about his cocky comment. He was able to move her hand and force her to write. Which made her wonder... if he wanted to harm her, he'd be able to.

"Oh, cut that shit" he sounded pissed "If I had enough energy and power to kill you, trust me, I wouldn't waste it on that". she rolled her eyes at his choice of words, before trying to get back to hearing the professor's voice explaining one of the theories he was explaining before she focused on him.

"Besides..." she palmed her forehead when she heard his voice interrupting the class again "killing someone with your body would be a mistake". She gulped hard after that statement.

She was reminded how that thing had seen her fully naked, watching her touch herself for him. And that moment that made her feel so sexy and empowered back then, just made her feel embarrassed.

For a second, she wondered if she was going crazy, if that voice was a symptom of schizophrenia and she was sick enough to believe whatever it was she summoned was speaking to her.

"You aren't going crazy, and I do exist. You're going to regret ever doubting me as soon as I have enough energy to materialize in real life".

As he said that, the pages of her notebook flipped quickly, making some strands of her hair move with the air, before it closed abruptly.

She stood up, desperate to leave. And while she felt some eyes, the professor's being one of them, on her, she couldn't care less. She gathered her things quickly, feeling his laughter echoing in her head as she hurried out of the room.

The hallway was empty and quiet, a stark contrast to the mess in her mind. She leaned against a wall, pressing her palms to her temples.

—Get out —she hissed—. Get out of my head.

"But you like it when I'm here," he murmured, his voice soft now, almost tender. "Don't you feel it, Y/n? The way we're connected? You'll see soon enough."

Her knees threatened to buckle as his voice faded, leaving her alone in the silence of the hallway. For now.

As the waters seemed to calm down, she returned to class, sitting back in her place.

In between classes, she stayed there, flipping idly through her notes while waiting for the lecture to start. Scissorhands' habit of arriving late had given her too much time to dwell on her thoughts, and that voice had been eerily silent since the morning, which somehow made her feel even more on edge.

—Hey, Y/n?

She glanced up to see Alex standing beside her desk, holding a notebook. His wavy brown hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he wore an expression that was equal parts hesitant and friendly.

—Oh... hey —she replied, sitting up straighter. He wasn't someone she spoke to often, but she remembered him from previous semesters, a guy who was always polite and asked thoughtful questions in class.

—I heard you're pretty good with poetry analysis —he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly—. I'm kind of struggling with the Keats assignment. Mind if I borrow your notes?

Y/n smiled faintly, appreciating the distraction from her turbulent thoughts.

—Sure, but I need them for the exam. I can lend you my book if you want, it has some annotations.

—That'd be amazing, actually. Thanks —he said, visibly relieved.

She packed up her things as the professor finally entered, signaling the start of class.

—I'll grab it for you after class. Meet me at the cafeteria?

—Sounds good —Alex replied, flashing her a grateful smile before taking his seat a few rows ahead.

At the campus cafeteria, Y/n and Alex settled into a corner table. She handed him the book, and he flipped through it with genuine interest.

—This is great —he said, pausing to look at her—. Thanks again. I owe you one.

—It's no big deal —she said, sipping her coffee.

"It's no big deal" his voice returned, mocking her. "I can't believe you're actually losing your shit over such a lame excuse to get to flirt with you".

Alex leaned back in his chair, observing her for a moment.

—You seem distracted lately. Everything alright?

Y/n hesitated, not wanting to burden him with her bizarre experiences.

—Just... stressed, I guess. College and work, you know how it is.

—I get that —Alex said, nodding—. If you ever need someone to rant to, or just chill with, I'm around.

"Or someone to fuck with... I bet he'll be more than pleased to help you out"

She had to fight hard to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

—Thanks —she said softly.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics: books, upcoming assignments, and Alex's hopeless attempts at cooking, which brought a few laughs to her otherwise heavy day. For a little while, Y/n almost forgot the weight pressing on her.

"Is this how humans flirt nowadays? I'm going to puke" he was back after almost twenty minutes.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and the familiar, low hum of his voice whispered in her mind, bringing her back.

"He's trying too hard, don't you think?"

Y/n stiffened, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug.

—You okay? —Alex asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

She forced a smile, nodding.

—Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired.

"Tired of pretending? Like you're interested in how he burned a chicken breast in a damned oven?" his voice was sharper now, a cruel edge lacing his words with some mockery.

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, trying to block him out. She focused on Alex's kind eyes and his steady voice, grounding herself in the moment.

But then the lights above them flickered, just once, but enough to draw Alex's attention.

—Must be a wiring issue —he said, shrugging it off.

"Or maybe I'm reminding you who really has your attention" that voice hissed.

As Alex reached for his cup, a sharp cracking sound echoed from the table. Y/n looked down to see a jagged split running across the ceramic surface of her mug. Coffee seeped out, pooling onto the table.

—What the hell? —Alex frowned— Did you get burned?

She shook her head quickly, wiping the mess with a napkin, her heart pounding.

—It's nothing. Just a cheap mug.

But Alex wasn't convinced, and neither was she, as hard as she tried to get that voice to shut up.

—Are you sure you're okay? You've been on edge ever since we got here.

"Tell him" his voice sounded manipulating, eager for her to confess "Tell him the truth. Tell him he's wasting his time," he purred, his tone mocking.

—I'm fine —Y/n snapped, the sharpness in her voice, surprising even herself.

Clearly, she didn't want to be as rough with him, but the person in her head who wouldn't leave her alone, but Alex was the only one she could speak to without looking like a maniac.

—Okay, okay —Alex blinked, taken aback—. No need to bite my head off.

—I'm sorry —guilt gnawed at her—. I didn't mean to...

But her apology was cut short as a strange heaviness settled over her, her hands moving quicker than she could realize as she started picking up her things.

She wanted to leave, but at the same time she wanted to stay. She didn't realize when she got to walk so fast to sneak outside the cafeteria, until Alex grabbed her elbow and stopped her.

—Hey, you don't have to leave like this.

—I'm really not in the mood —she explained, feeling her body more tired than usual.

But Alex didn't seem reassured.

—Y/n, is there something going on? You can tell me.

"Tell him the truth, doll. Watch him run" his voice teased, dripping with malice.

—I'm okay —she shook her head, trying to clear the sound of his voice—. Just worry about giving me back my notebook before the exam —she continued, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

—Alright —Alex sighed, his worry evident—. But if you ever need to talk, I'm here.

He hesitated before walking away, leaving Y/n standing alone in the middle of the hallway, her mind spinning with fear and confusion.

"You can't escape me" he whispered softly, his voice sending a chill down her spine.

But she wished she did, yet, at the same time, she hoped she would never feel as lonely as she did weeks back.

Y/n unlocked the door to her small studio, her thoughts still scattered from the day's events. The night lecture had run later than usual, and she'd taken her usual route to the station under the streetlights, feeling uneasy but dismissing it as her overactive imagination.

Dropping her bag on the floor, she exhaled deeply and leaned against the door. The air in her apartment felt heavier than usual, but she brushed it off, chalking it up to exhaustion.

Her phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her pocket. A message from Alex lit up the screen:

"Hey, did you get home safe?"

She frowned, touched by his concern but also surprised. They hadn't exchanged numbers earlier, so he must have gotten it from the class group chat. She started typing a reply when another message from him popped up.

"I saw someone following you to the station"

Y/n froze, her fingers hovering over the screen. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she reread the words. There was more to his text than just that, but her brain omitted it and avoided reading it, because she knew it would only make her panic even more.

Her mind immediately went to the shadowy figure she'd been catching glimpses of for days. She tried to steady her breathing, telling herself it could have been anyone, a random passerby, a coincidence.

But deep down, she knew better.

Her necklace, warm against her skin earlier, now felt icy cold.

Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. She swallowed hard, her thumbs moving quickly to type a response.

"I'm fine. Thanks for checking in."

After hitting send, she set her phone on the table and paced around the living room, her anxiety mounting.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a text. The screen lit up with a notification from an unknown number. A single text:

"He's a rat"

The message sent a chill down her spine. Her breath caught as her pulse raced. She instinctively looked around her barely lit apartment, feeling the oppressive weight of the air around her.

—You —she whispered, clutching her necklace.

A faint chuckle echoed in her head, smooth yet menacing "See you in your dreams".

After that, that night it took her longer to fall asleep. She wanted to see him, she was curious to see more of him, to listen to him, to witness his body in motion further than the memories she got. Her eyes fell shut at that hope, her breathing becoming calm as she felt as if her soul was taken somewhere else.

He walked around the bed, until he was standing in the same spot where he was before getting near her. He tilted his head, both hands back to his pockets, while he looked at her body from head to toe. His gaze made her feel exposed, although she was still wearing all of her clothes.

It probably was the most wanted she had ever felt.

With a thunderstorm in her mind, which made her whole body react to his eyes only, she found support on her elbows to lift her torso again and make his pupils lay on hers once he was done with the visual traveling through her body. Once his eyes connected with hers, it felt like he was finally able to see everything he needed, just to decide what he was going to do to her.

"I'm going crazy over his full of himself attitude" she thought.

—I was also annoyed when you let that... human flirt with you that way —he commented, reminding her he was in her head.

Her eyes went down almost immediately when she felt the mattress sinking down on her feet. His parted thighs were on the bed, finally letting his hands off his pockets so she could appreciate the black ink decorating their reverse -yet only one tattoo got her attention: he had "JJK" in the middle of each one of his knuckles. She immediately remembered what he forced her to write in her notebook, wondering what those letters could mean. Was it his name?

Before her thoughts could go on any longer, his warm fingers encircled one of her ankles, dragging her over the mattress suddenly.

Her eyes kept their trip through his body with enjoyment, trying to understand how that man wasn't created by her imagination. When her eyes landed on his face, he was playing with his lip rings, his mouth curved in a malicious grin while his eyes watched her as if she were a prey cornered by the big predator.

She certainly was feeling like one.

He slowly bent over her, both hands at each side of her head, while his eyes pierced on hers. Her heart pumped aggressively against her ribcage as soon as his breath hit her lips. It was as if her body was doing everything possible to feel him closer. She was so ready to receive him, to feel his lips on hers... that she didn't realize she moved her head in his direction until he clicked his tongue and moved back. Before rejection could settle in her brain, a new wave of pleasure emerged as the digits of his right hand closed around her neck, pushing her head back on the mattress.

His mouth ghosted her lips, just drawing them with a thin layer his warm breath created, doing the same to her cheeks, her jawline... until he reached his own fingers on her skin. He then moved back to her lips, tilting his head while his eyes sent shivers through her body as they pierced into hers.

—I'd love to see you getting naked the way you did the night you touched yourself for me —his seductive tone drove her insane—. Too bad I have no patience when I'm the one in charge.

A gasp burned in her throat when the buttons of his shirt felt ridged against her skin, able to feel the garments of his shirt and his pants. They felt soft, but raspy at the same time.

It took her a second to realize.

He was faster than her, grabbing her hands in the air and pushing them back on the mattress over her head, when she attempted to cover up her body under him. It was an ill and desperate attempt. His face fell back near hers while he held my wrists against the sheets.

—Don't make me think of a new punishment —his voice sounded soft, but his eyes were bright with a dark warning that made her shift under him—. I hate having to change plans. So keep your hands up there if you think about touching anything else that isn't me —he slowly moved his hands away from her wrists—. Got it?

She nodded, and it seemed like it was the only thing holding him back from keep going. He needed to know she understood and accepted his rules, he needed to know she was giving him the power in her dreams he couldn't yet have in real life.

His lips moved past hers, going straight to her jawline and neck, tracing each one of the imaginary lines that were crafted by his fingers moments ago, while he ventured down her body. He gave loud sloppy kisses on her cleavage, and she had to hold with dear life onto the sheets above her head when his teeth tightened around one of her nipples. Her back arched instantly when a new wave of pleasure ran over her body.

—I want you to look at me, baby —it was so sinister how he looked at her while his tongue twirled on the hard button, but hell she didn't love it—. There's nothing interesting going on in the ceiling.

His tongue felt wet and hot when it fell flat over her hardened bud. Although he didn't do anything with it, instead, he allowed his saliva to be covered with his warm breath as he kept looking at her, the reactions he could drink from when he wasn't even touching her properly. She was so responsive, so lost in her own senses, she didn't realize he broke the only command he gave her.

Y/n felt forced to look down when he stopped moving, finding him midway on her belly. It was then when she realized he was still fully dressed. The sleek black shirt left unbuttoned at the collar allowed her to see part of his packed chest and abs, while a gold chain with a striking cross pendant, which reminded her too much of the one she was wearing, rested in between his pectorals.

—It is the same —he explained—. It's a temporary reminder of how linked we are, both in my realm and your world. I told you, doll, you have no escape.

His fingers teasingly pinched her chin before he went back down her body, the sound of those open-mouthed kisses filling her ears again, the image of him so close to her core too hard to bear. But again, he waited. He made sure her eyes were fixed on him, with no possibility of moving away, before he laid a kiss on her pubes and spoke:

—You smell so fucking good —he parted her legs, and pushed them apart a bit wider with his shoulders, finding a spot he enjoyed a little bit too much—. It's like you're screaming to be tasted.

—Plea...

That plea got interrupted by a moan when the tip of his tongue dig in her slit, collecting every single drop of her juices. Since that moment, her body spirals into a rush of pleasure she couldn't come back down from, only increasing when his tongue reached her clit and started swirling and twirling around it.

His eyebrows were furrowed while working his mouth and tongue on her wetness, working her up to get her as desperate as he had been waiting for ever since her voice dragged him back to that limbo he hated so much. It took her a few seconds and a groan against her core to understand that expression meant nothing but to show how concentrated he was on pleasuring her.

—You taste so good —he groaned again in between sucking and licking—. So good you're making me wonder if you're the demon hunting me, and not the other way around.

He looked up to her while saying that, her wetness glistening over his lips and chin, before he went back exactly to where he was. He made her jump by the fast rhythm of his tongue all of sudden, while his lips suck on the bundle of nerves.

There was no more holding back as she desperately moved to dig her fingers in his hair, trying to feel him closer, trying to keep him there, while her legs also started surrounding his shoulders, trapping him completely. He pulled them apart, giving him enough space to work her up like she deserved, groaning against her clit again, eager to feel her clenching again around nothing when he moved his tongue low enough.

But all of a sudden all those frenetic moves disappeared.

Y/n couldn't even feel his tongue nor his mouth anymore, and thinking the way her shut eyes were the problem, she looked up to him again.

He moved away when she needed him the most, and by the look on his face he wasn't willing to give in to her needs.

—If I tell you to stop flirting, you stop —he licked his lips.

He played with her lower lip on his thumb, looking at her with a smile while she was just unconsciously pouting, not succeeding at masking how annoyed she was.

—Trust me, this is harder for me than you —he finally said—. If I had made you cum, I'd have gotten more energy than just teasing you. But brats like you need to be taught a lesson, even if that means to make some sacrifices.

She was close to asking him, to try and convince him to go on, but the room went totally dark.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself back in her bed. Alone, frustrated, mad... but so turned on she could feel her core throbbing still.

—Oh, fuck you —she shouted, dropping her body back on her bed. 

https://www.wattpad.com/1507571002-red-jungkook-chapter-4

[hungermakesmonsters]

Congratulations for the first 500!!! 🎇🎆🌞😎

I'd love something with Billy Russo. (With a Reader would be lovely, but he is fine alone too.) For reasons unknown I was reminded of Hulme's poetry. I hope that maybe this fragment inspires you.

That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.

Oh, God, make small

The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,

That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.

So, I wasn't familiar with that poem but after reading it, it gave me major angsty vibes (I'm so sorry if that's not what you were wanting/expecting). It wasn't the sort of angst that I could really attribute to any version of Billy I've written so this is a sad little stand alone thing. And I kind of strayed from my normal style for this one, so I hope you like it! 😅😅

Cold

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : PG 

Warnings : angst and suggestion of cheating (though in my head it probably wasn't more than kissing)

The night sky used to be a comfort.

As a child he'd look up and see all the stars in the sky and think about how big the universe must be and it made him feel less alone.

But now — now it was suffocating its vastness, empty, lonely. Smothering.

The stars no longer shine like fairy lights, instead they're pinpricks in the sky letting all the light and joy seep out.

The world is cold and destitute, it's empty and lonely.

And it has been since the day you left.

He's a broken man now, made of fractured pieces held together by nothing more than some sick cosmic joke. All because of you. All because he dared to love you in the only way he knew how. Poorly.

Your words still echo in his mind as he walks, a half burned down cigarette all but forgotten between his fingers; 'when will it be enough, Billy? When will you have enough?'

He didn't know then that he already had everything, that he had the whole world in his hands. So, he kept wanting, kept chasing more and more, not realising that you were slowly slipping from his grasp.

Warm moments became cold as the distance grew between you.

He thought you were pushing him out but, really, he was the one finding it harder and harder to close the distance between you.

Drink tells him to blame his childhood, his malformed understanding of love — he's broken, you should have known that from the start, and you shouldn't blame him for what happened because of it.

But, even in his stupor he isn't that selfish, that ignorant.

He doesn't want to admit it, but it was easy. Far easier than he ever would have imagined; drink and playful words whispered in the wrong ear, hands straying to places they shouldn't. It was an empty display that left him with nothing but regret and the knowledge that he was going to lose you.

He broke your trust.

He broke you.

The dying embers of the cigarette burn his fingers and he thinks that it's the only thing he's felt in weeks. The first sensation in his numb body since you'd slapped him, since you reached into his chest and tore out his heart with nothing but two little words. It's over.

The love was gone, just like that.

And for what?

He can't say. Even now, weeks later, he doesn't understand why.

Maybe it's some fault of his character, some defect he can't correct. Or maybe it was fear — fear of allowing himself the happiness that he found with you, fear of it being taken from him. He cut off the limb early and cauterised the wound before there was even an infection to stop.

He hurt himself then to save himself from agony later.

But, as he walks — stumbles, really — he knows that he was wrong, that it was too late. The infection had already spread. It was him all along, he was the infection, the rotting flesh that needed cutting away in order for you to be free.

He loved you.

He loves you.

His eyes flicker skywards again, hoping for something, some spark of the comfort he used to find there, something to see him over until he's with you again, until he wins you back.

Even the familiar streets mock him, taunt him with memories of you; huddled beneath a blue umbrella together in the rain, or you snuggled into your hat and scarf when it snowed. How many times did you walk these streets together? How many times has he taken this path to meet you?

The road seems longer alone, like he'll never reach you, never find his way back to you.

Billy knows that he shouldn't be there, that you don't want to see him or hear from him again — dozens of unanswered called and text messages are a testament to that — but he can't stop.

You're the only light he sees at the end of a very long tunnel.

The stairs to your door feel insurmountable, his lungs straining in his chest with every step.

How long has he been walking in the freezing cold, no coat, no jacket to protect him from the winter wind?

His hand trembles and aches as he grips the rail, closing the distance step by step. He has to see you — even if it is just one more time. He thinks that maybe he'll survive this if he gets that much; one last chance to see you, one last chance to say goodbye.

When he reaches your door, he thinks of the spare key in his pocket and ow it probably no longer fits the lock. He doesn't try it. Even in his desperation to see you, he knows that that wouldn't be fair.

So, he knocks.

And he waits.

And waits.

And when the door opens and he sees you again, he realises what he's lost and that the pain he feels will never go away.

"Billy?" You say.

And it just too much to hear your voice after so long without it. His legs buckle and he drops to his knees, and all the sobs he's held back for weeks claw their way to the surface, leaving him a broken mess in front of you.

"I'm sorry," he gasps out as his body shakes from the cold and the force of his sobs. "You were right about everything."

He doesn't know how long he stays there, how long he cries and apologises before you drop to your knees and gather him in your arms, letting him feel your warmth again.