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sagewritings · 5 months

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Shadows of Peace - Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

pairing: finnick odair x female reader

synopsis: in the aftermath of the war, you and Finnick attempt to grasp a sense of peace amid the ruins. while the external scars slowly fade, the internal turmoil within Finnick's mind persists, casting shadows over the fragile peace you both seek.

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: post-war, mentions of death, trauma

a/n: hello everyone! it’s been a while since i’ve posted here on my blog because of college and as an apology, i’m posting 2 fics for yall :> i just recently watched the ballad of songbirds and snakes and it took me back to my hunger games phase when i couldn’t focus on anything else whenever finnick would be on screen lol

the other fanfic is about young coriolanus snow so if you’d like to check that out (as well as my other works) you can check the pinned post in my blog :)

i hope you’ll like this one! happy reading!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The smoke from the rebellion had settled, leaving District 13 in an uneasy calm. Finnick Odair, the once-dazzling victor from District 4, stood on the balcony of his quarters, a ghost of the man he used to be. His eyes, once vibrant with life, now held a haunted look, reflecting the toll of war and loss. As he stared into the distance, memories of the arena, the Capitol, and the faces of fallen comrades flashed before his eyes.

The door creaked open, and you stepped into the room. The connection between you and Finnick was undeniable, a thread woven through the chaos and pain of the rebellion. You had fought side by side, relying on each other in the darkest moments. Yet, despite the camaraderie, an unspoken tension lingered between you two.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice breaking the heavy silence. Finnick turned to look at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Hey," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of the world. The two of you had survived the unimaginable, but the scars ran deep. Finnick's mind was a battlefield, haunted by the ghosts of the arena, the Capitol's manipulation, and the friends he had lost.

You approached him cautiously, your eyes searching his face for any sign of vulnerability. "Finnick, you don't have to carry this alone. We're here for you."

A bitter smile played on Finnick's lips. "We all have our demons, sweetheart. Some of us just got better at hiding them."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the scars that the rebellion had left on everyone. The cost of freedom had been steep, and for Finnick, it felt like the very essence of who he was had been sacrificed in the process.

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself held the weight of unspoken words. Finnick's gaze shifted to the distant mountains, a longing in his eyes that mirrored the ache in your heart.

"I thought winning the Games would be the hardest part," he mused, his voice a low murmur. "But it turns out, surviving them... that's the real struggle."

You nodded in understanding, your heart aching for the man before you who had faced horrors most could not fathom. Finnick's eyes met yours, a mixture of pain and yearning reflected in their depths.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "All the fighting, the sacrifices. For what? A broken world, a shattered existence."

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Finnick, we fought for a chance at a better future. We fought so that others wouldn't have to endure what we did."

He sighed, the weight of exhaustion evident in every line of his face. "I know, I know. But at what cost? Look around, and all I see are reminders of the price we paid."

You wanted to argue, to convince him that the sacrifices had meaning, but the haunted look in his eyes silenced you. Finnick pulled away gently, as if your touch burned him, and walked to the balcony once more.

"The Capitol took everything from me," he continued, his voice a bitter edge. "My family, my friends, my identity. And even though we won, it feels like I'm still in their grip, like I can never escape."

Your heart ached for him, for the wounds that ran deeper than any physical scars. "You're not alone, Finnick. We're here for you, to help you find your way back."

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking a lifeline. "I don't even know who I am anymore. The Capitol shaped me into their plaything, and now... now I'm just trying to piece together the fragments they left behind."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of frustration and empathy. "You're more than the Capitol's creation, Finnick. You're a survivor, a fighter. And there's strength in that, in the person you've become despite everything."

Finnick's gaze softened, a vulnerability breaking through the walls he had erected. "I just... I don't want to lose myself completely."

In that moment, you made a silent vow to stand by him, to help him reclaim the pieces of himself that the Capitol had stolen. The journey to healing would be long and arduous, but you were determined to be a steady anchor in the storm that raged within Finnick's soul.

Days turned into weeks, and the remnants of the rebellion slowly transformed District 13 from a war-torn refuge to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the scars remained, etched into the fabric of the survivors' lives.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the district, you found Finnick sitting alone by the shore of a small lake. His gaze was distant, lost in the ripples of the water as if seeking answers to questions that plagued his mind.

You approached him, the soft crunch of gravel under your boots announcing your presence. Finnick glanced up, his eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his gaze, but a glimmer of something else—resilience, perhaps.

"Hey," you greeted, taking a seat beside him.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the lull of the water and the fading sunlight creating a sense of peace. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had defined your recent past.

"I've been thinking," Finnick began, his voice breaking the quiet. "About everything that happened, about who I was, who I am now.”

You turned to him, giving him the space to share what was on his mind.

"I can't change the past," he continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But maybe I can shape my future. Find a way to be more than the Capitol's puppet."

Hope flickered in your chest, a warmth that spread through the chill of the evening air. "You don't have to do it alone, Finnick. We're here for you, to support you every step of the way."

Finnick turned to you, his eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I know. And I appreciate that more than you can imagine."

As the days passed, Finnick took small steps toward reclaiming his identity. He sought solace in the company of those who understood the scars he carried, forming bonds with fellow victors who shared the weight of the Games.

One evening, as a group of you gathered in the communal area, laughter echoed through the room. It was a sound that had been absent for too long, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Finnick, now surrounded by friends who had faced the Capitol's horrors alongside him, allowed himself a genuine smile. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a glimpse of the man he could become beyond the shadows of the Games.

In the midst of the healing, a connection blossomed between you and Finnick. It was a slow burn, a fragile ember that neither of you dared to name. The wounds of the past still lingered, creating a delicate dance between wanting to move forward and the fear of what the future held.

One evening, as the two of you strolled through the reconstructed gardens of District 13, Finnick spoke, his words weighed with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"I never thought I'd find something worth fighting for beyond survival," he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. "But being here with you, it's like... like I've found a piece of myself I thought I'd lost forever."

The admission hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you. In that moment, you understood that your connection went beyond the shared trauma of the Games; it was a lifeline, a source of strength that allowed both of you to rebuild.

"I feel it too," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "We've been through hell, Finnick, but maybe... maybe we can find a new beginning."

He nodded, the weight of the unspoken understanding lingering between you. As the moon cast its gentle glow over the quiet district, you and Finnick stood together, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the possibility of finding love amidst the ruins of war.

In the weeks that followed, Finnick and you navigated the complexities of a burgeoning relationship. It was a delicate dance, filled with moments of joy and vulnerability, but through it all, the connection between you grew stronger.

One day, as you sat together on the rooftop of the reconstructed buildings, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of pink and gold, Finnick turned to you.

"I never thought I'd have a chance at happiness," he admitted, his fingers intertwined with yours. "But with you, it feels like maybe... maybe I can find it."

You smiled, the warmth of the rising sun reflecting the hope that had blossomed between you. "We'll find it together, Finnick. Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together."

And so, in the aftermath of the rebellion, amidst the ruins of a broken world, Finnick Odair and you found solace in each other's arms. The scars of the past were still there, a testament to the battles fought and the losses endured, but together, you forged a new beginning—one marked by healing, love, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

As the days turned into months, the rebuilding efforts in District 13 continued. The scars on the landscape mirrored the healing process within the hearts of its people. Finnick's journey, too, progressed as he rediscovered pieces of himself he thought were lost forever.

The bond between you and Finnick deepened, evolving into a partnership built on trust and shared experiences. Together, you faced the challenges of rebuilding not only the district but also your lives. The echoes of the rebellion were still present, but they no longer defined the narrative.

Finnick threw himself into community projects, channeling his pain into rebuilding the world around him. The once-dull district started to bloom with life as gardens flourished, laughter echoed through the streets, and a sense of normalcy settled over the survivors.

One day, as you and Finnick walked through the bustling market that had replaced the desolation of war, he turned to you with a sparkle in his eyes. "I never thought I'd see something beautiful emerge from the ruins."

You smiled, grateful for the newfound hope in his words. "We're making something beautiful together, Finnick. It's a testament to the strength within all of us."

The scars on Finnick's soul didn't vanish completely, but they became a part of a larger tapestry, woven with threads of resilience and shared purpose. The Capitol's grip on him loosened, replaced by a determination to shape his own destiny.

As the seasons changed, so did the dynamics of your relationship with Finnick. The initial fragility evolved into a robust partnership. He learned to lean on you not just in times of despair but also in moments of joy. You navigated the complexities of love and healing, forging a connection that became an anchor in the ebb and flow of life.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the district, Finnick pulled you into a gentle embrace. The lights of District 13 shimmered below, a testament to the resilience of a community that had faced the brink of destruction.

"I never thought I'd find peace again," Finnick murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "But with you, I've found something more profound than I ever imagined."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "We've come a long way, Finnick. And we'll keep moving forward, together."

In the months that followed, the remnants of the rebellion became tales told to the younger generation, a history etched into the collective memory of District 13. Finnick, once haunted by the ghosts of the arena, became a beacon of hope for those who had faced the Capitol's tyranny.

Together, you and Finnick worked to ensure that the scars of the past didn't dictate the future. District 13 prospered, becoming a symbol of resilience and rebirth. Finnick's journey of self-discovery inspired others to find strength in their vulnerabilities, to rebuild not just the physical structures but also the foundations of their lives.

As the years passed, and the wounds of war healed, Finnick and you found solace in the quiet moments. The rooftop sunsets, the shared laughter, and the simple joys of everyday life became the pillars of your relationship.

One day, as you walked hand in hand through the district, Finnick stopped by a patch of blooming flowers. He plucked a vibrant bloom and tucked it behind your ear, a tender smile gracing his lips.

"From the ruins, something beautiful emerged," he said, his gaze filled with gratitude.

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. "And it's still growing, Finnick. Our story is far from over."

In the evenings, as you both sat on the balcony, watching the sunset cast its warm glow over District 13, Finnick would often reflect on the journey from the ashes of rebellion to the blossoming of a new life.

"I never thought I'd find love after everything," he'd say, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and contentment.

"You found more than love, Finnick," you'd reply, your fingers intertwined with his. "You found a new beginning, a chance at happiness despite the scars."

And in those quiet moments, with the echoes of the past becoming softer, you and Finnick would embrace the present and look towards the future, knowing that, together, you had found a strength that transcended the trials of the Games and the horrors of war—a strength that could build something beautiful from the ruins of a broken world.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #the hunger games #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #thg finnick

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eoieopda · 11 months

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meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it.

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it — your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain.

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance.

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however.

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs.

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind.

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night.

That rush of warmth you felt then — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job.

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”

“No, that was embarrassing.”

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink.

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?”

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —”

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point:

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?”

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise.

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning.

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict?

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty.

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex.

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk.

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer.

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own.

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness.

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars.

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more.

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank.

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now.

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can.

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement.

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No.

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going.

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap.

Once more with feeling: thank god.

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance.

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances.

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it.

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning.

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all.

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded.

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances, “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck.

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you:

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours.

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours.

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?”

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms.

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod.

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh.

Fuck.

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you.

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap.

Strike that.

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive. “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.”

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes.

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks.

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs.

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?”

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear.

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut.

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear.

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow, he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please.

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction · 1 month

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A BBC Merlin fanfic I wrote recently and then promptly forgot about

Merlin saves (tries to kill) Arthur

That one scene in A servant of two masters where Merlin is running at Arthur with the sword but he’s been fighting against the Fomorroh and finally wins.

(Part 2)

—

Arthur had been getting ready for almost half an hour, he still hadn’t gotten dressed but talking to Merlin about the suspected traitor was helped him to process.

Merlin hated this. The detachment from his own body, the fact that he was fighting for control over himself, that his magic had retreated so far from his reach so the fomorroh wouldn’t be able to use it. He hated that Arthur was grappling with issues he couldn’t help with and while Merlin made sure he failed to properly set a crossbow to kill him, made sure to hide his magic from Morgana and the Fomorroh, it wasn’t enough to fix this. He’d think about Leon later and beg the man to at least question him when he made such obvious threats to Arthur’s life.

His usual threats were much more comedic. Leaving Arthur to dress himself till he died of embarrassment, letting him fend for himself for a day till he starved to death or accidentally poisoned himself with bad cooking, stopping adding holes into his belt till he squeezed himself in half.

Just killing him was never something Merlin would say now he’d become friends with Arthur. Maybe while he was still a pratish prince, but not anymore.

Arthur opened the wardrobe, Merlin panicked for a moment until the crossbow failed. Fomorroh was angry, of course, but it gave him a little longer to break out of its control.

He could hardly focus until distantly, he heard Arthur ask for a sword and Fomorroh preened. Merlin fought harder than he ever had before, calling on his magic to do anything to protect Arthur as he desperately tried to take back control.

It felt like a gasp of momentary fresh air.

“Arthur,” he murmured, pained and weak.

Arthur turned back, but his hold wasn’t enough to keep Fomorroh back. Merlin was lost in his mind again by the time Arthur started to ask: “Merlin? Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. Fine. Ceremonial sword. Of course.” A distant voice that sounded like his own but distorted and broken echoed through Merlin’s skull.

“Yes…” Arthur looked him over and turned away. Arthur was saying something, Merlin used his voice as an anchor to reality. To remember that Arthur was his friend, his king, his destiny. That he would do anything to keep him safe, “but...can't trust anyone.”

Merlin hated the irony of it in that moment.

His hand was on the hilt of a sword.

Merlin struggled for control again. He’d do anything. He’d rather fall on the sword himself.

He held it up, testing the weight and ability to run a man through.

Merlin desperately fought, pushing his magic forward so he could at least protect Arthur.

“In fact, I think you, Merlin, are the only person I can trust.” Arthur said, his back to Merlin and the sword and all the bitter horrible irony of being the one to literally stab his best friend in the back after so many betrayals.

His body took a step, then another,

The door to Arthur’s chambers opened with a panicked Gwen and Gaius looking at him, horrified at what he was about to do.

Merlin felt a surge of magic finally win out over the dark forces that powered the Fomorroh’s will.

Arthur turned around, seemingly recognising the fear in Gwen and Gaius, and saw Merlin taking rushed steps towards him with a sword raised.

Then Merlin’s eyes flooded with gold as he froze, mid movement, gasping and trembling to hold onto the control he’d fought desperately for. He just needed a moment. It wasn’t going to last but if he could just-

“Merlin!” Arthur stumbled back, shock and confusion and betrayal on his face.

Arthur’s voice gave him a focus point to stay in control.

“Morgana-“ he forced out, focusing solely on Arthur and his best friend and keeping him safe no matter the cost. “Mind control. Fomorroh. Knock me out.” He looked to Arthur with gold in his eyes, seeing fear to match his own looking back at him, “Please.”

Arthur was frozen, but in the corner of his eye Merlin saw Gwen move, then his head snapped to the side with a sharp pain and everything went black.

—

Hope you enjoyed. Thoughts?? I might rewrite/continue this as a fix-it for the whole episode :)

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin fanfic #fanfic #i’m bad at tagging #a servant of two masters #fix it #sort of #it would be a fix it if I finished it

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nerdy-talks · 10 months

Text

Honesty and Mutual Feelings | Solomon X Reader | Obey Me! Nightbringer

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

! Trigger Warnings ! : mentions of alcohol intoxication and hangovers, spoilers to Lesson 17

*****

Author’s Note : After reading/playing through Lesson 17, I felt the overwhelming urge to show Solomon some much deserved love which resulted in me writing this fanfic (which will be under the cut ↓↓↓).

I did use some dialogue from Lesson 17, so please keep that in mind. Also, Reader will be written as MC. Anyway.... I hope you all enjoy! •◡•

*****

~~~~~

A bar is probably the last place a person who is already under the influence should visit.

However, that’s exactly where you found yourself.

Despite your vain attempts to prevent it from happening, Solomon had insisted that he was “not drunk” and “still had it together”, successfully pulling you inside of the establishment.

Seated next to your inebriated teacher, you both were engaged in conversation as you sipped a beverage of your choosing that he had kindly ordered for you.

Solomon was surprisingly talkative, moreso than ever, which you actually found quite pleasant.

A bit of small talk regarding a few different topics eventually lead to Solomon going into detail about his very first encounter with Asmo and how he had managed to enter into a pact with the Avatar of Lust.

Unfortunately, the mood changed shortly after that. Solomon became somewhat despondent, a gloomy expression replacing his once cheerful visage.

“You keep growing closer and closer to the brothers. And with every step you take towards them, I feel you getting farther away from me…”

“Aww Solomon, have you been lonely without me?” You teased, a smile tugging at your lips which the sorcerer immediately noticed.

“What’s that smirk for, MC? Are you amused that I seem like a jealous child?” He asked glumly.

“No, not really. But you do realize I was only gone for a day, right?”

Your lighthearted answer clearly wasn’t appreciated, as a sudden wave of irritation washed over your teacher.

“Right, sure! You were gone for a day… and then you said you wouldn’t be coming home at all, because you wanted to stay and game with everyone, that’s all!”

“No, it’s not like that. I had every intention on coming back.” You quickly retorted.

“That’s not what you said when I talked to you. Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, right? It’s not like you prefer spending time with me instead of those brothers.” The sharpness in his voice made you unsure how to respond, not wanting to argue with the drunken man in front of you.

“I was literally on my way back to Cocytus Hall when we ran into each other before.” You tried to explain calmly but to no avail.

“And yet you were with Satan.”

“He was just making sure I got back safely.” You added which only seemed to make Solomon scowl even more.

“Oh? So I guess that requires him to hold your hand?” He spat back, catching you even more off-guard.

“Solomon… you don’t have to feel this way.”

“I don’t?” A bitter chuckle escaped from the sorcerer’s mouth. “How can I not feel this way when you’re always choosing them over me?!”

Those words caused your heart to break. Of course you cared deeply for the brothers, but Solomon was extremely important to you as well. So knowing that you had unintentionally made him feel even the tiniest bit unwanted and this upset really hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Let me ask you something. If I had to pick between them and you, who do you think I would choose?”

The tipsy sorcerer stared at you for a moment before sighing deeply, his gaze shifting downward. “You’re really asking me that now? At this point, you’re just trying to rub salt in the wound…”

“I wouldn’t choose.”

Solomon perked up a little upon hearing this, surprised by your answer.

“What?”

“Or rather, I couldn’t choose. Yes, I enjoy spending time with Lucifer and his brothers. They’ve become the family I always wanted yet never had, and I will cherish them for the rest of my life. But Solomon…”

Gently placing your hand on top of his, you looked him in the eyes. “I cherish you, too. There honestly aren’t enough words to describe just how much you truly mean to me. You have helped me through countless obstacles, protected me on numerous occasions, taught me so many valuable lessons. I will never be able to repay you for everything that you have done and continue to do for me. And I am so sorry if it ever seemed like I was pushing you aside, because I never meant to make you feel that way. I would never do that to you. I love spending time with you and plan on staying by your side for as long as you’ll allow me to. So please… please know that you are irreplaceable to me and that you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Silence filled the air between you two as the white haired man seemed to mull over your words, sighing once again after a few minutes had passed.

“Sorry, don’t get the wrong idea, MC…. I’ve just gotten so used to having you around lately, so when I find myself alone for a bit I get a little caught up in my own head… So let’s just forget tonight ever happened, okay? You’ll do that for me, right? You’ll forget about tonight?” He asked, giving you a hopeful look.

“It’s getting late. Let’s take our time on the way home… go slow.” Your chosen response caused yet another shift in Solomon’s demeanor.

“Oh no, don’t try to change the subject. I’m not going to drop this until I hear you say you’ll forget. Actually, I have half a mind to demand that you promise it in writing right now.” He proclaimed with an intense gaze.

Raising an eyebrow at the sorcerer, you struggled to keep yourself from scoffing. “Demand?”

“Maybe I should even consider having you swear an unbreakable magic oath?” He continued, brushing off your comment.

Deciding it was best to just ignore your intoxicated teacher, you slid off the barstool and headed towards the exit.

“Whoa, wait up! MC! Come on, say you’ll forget!”

~~~~~

On the way back home, Solomon continued pestering you with a mixture of pleas and demands, all of which earned him zero response.

Even when the fog of alcohol got the better of him and you had to help the man walk, it didn’t stop him from insisting that you “forget all about tonight” as his arm hung loosely around your shoulders and his head rested against your own.

~~~~~

“I think you were right… I drank too much.”

Solomon’s admission as you laid him down in his bed caused the corners of your lips to turn upwards.

“Really? You could have fooled me.” You replied sarcastically, not wasting the opportunity to tease your teacher.

“Is that any way to speak to your master?” Solomon pouted, making you laugh slightly.

“No, I guess not. Sorry. Just get some rest, okay?”

As you turned to leave, a pair of strong arms unexpectedly wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards.

“Solomon!” You squeaked in surprise as you landed beside him, your back pressed against his body while he held you in place.

“Stay.”

That simple word was enough to make your cheeks heat up instantaneously.

“W-What?” You asked, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“I said stay. Stay here with me… you promised you would, right?”

Turning over to face your favorite sorcerer, you snaked your arms around his lower torso and nuzzled your face against his chest.

“Right.”

~~~~~

“Good morning!~”

Your cheerful greeting was met with an agonized groan.

“MC, please…. Not so loud.” Solomon whined, massaging his temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing in his head.

“Here’s some medicine. And some freshly brewed tea.”

There was no hesitation as the sorcerer popped the two pain relievers into his mouth and sipped the hot liquid.

“Oh, by the way. You need to wear your RAD uniform.”

Your statement caused the man to shoot you a questioning glance. “Okay. But why?”

“I forgot to tell you last night. Raphael is arriving today.”

~~~~~

After officially welcoming Raphael to the Devildom, Lord Diavolo granted everyone permission to go about their day as they pleased.

Before you were able to depart, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Hey, MC! Where ya goin’? Come on, we still gotta finish where we left off yesterday!” Mammon chimed, waving you over to where he and Leviathan were standing.

“We have to play at least a few dozen rounds of Devil Kart. They just installed new maps with so many more obstacles and terrains!” Levi added excitedly.

“MC is coming over? I’ll make sure to buy lots of snacks.” Beel smiled as he appeared beside his brothers.

In the midst of their one-sided conversation, you noticed Solomon exit the room.

“Actually... I have a few things I need to take care of today. But I’d love to spend time with all of you tomorrow.” You responded sheepishly.

“Tch. What’s so damn important that you can’t hang out with The Great Mammon today, huh?”

Instead of giving the Avatar of Greed an explanation, you hurried towards the door. “Sorry guys, see you tomorrow!”

“Oi!” was the only thing you heard as you ran out.

~~~~~

It didn’t take long for you to catch up with the surprised looking sorcerer.

“MC? Did something happen? I thought you’d want to spend time with the brothers.” Solomon inquired.

“Nope, everything’s fine. I told Mammon and the others that I’d hang out with them tomorrow instead.” You answered simply as you walked beside the white haired man.

“Oh? Any particular reason why?” He pressed, genuinely curious.

“Because I want to spend today with you. After all…” you trailed off for a moment before flashing a sly grin “I don’t want my hungover teacher to get lonely without me~”

Another pain-filled groan left Solomon.

“And here I thought you would let that go…” He grumbled, more to himself than anyone.

“Think again~” you replied with a giggle.

“Seriously, MC. Just forget about last night.” Solomon demanded, giving you a stern look.

“But I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” He snapped, not in the mood to deal with your playful jabs. Understandably so.

You quickly stepped in front of your teacher, forcing him to stop walking.

“Because it makes me happy knowing that I’m important to you and that you need me. And for the record... you’re extremely important to me and I need you, too.” You stated, a serious tone lacing your honest words in hopes of leaving zero room for doubt.

A look of shock was evident on the sorcerer's face as he stared at you, seemingly frozen in place for a minute.

“Well… I’m glad to hear that I can make you happy.” Solomon finally replied, shifting his gaze away from you as a crimson blush spread across his features.

You both continued on your way after you returned back to his side.

“Plus…” taking his hand in your own, you smiled at him. “I think it’s cute when you get all jealous and possessive.”

Before he could react to your comment, you leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

After a few moments, he spoke once again.

“I believe you owe me many more kisses. You know, to make up for all the teasing I’ve had to endure since last night.” Solomon smiled, earning a laugh from you.

“Well then, let’s hurry home so I can start paying off my debt.”

~~~~~

Thank you for reading 💙

#Lesson 17 had me feeling so soft for Solomon #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me nightbringer solomon #obey me fanfic #obey me reader insert #obey me mc #obey me solomon imagine #obey me solomon fanfic #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #solomon x mc #solomon x reader #obey me oneshot #obey me solomon oneshot #obey me fanfiction #obey me solomon fanfiction #obey me nightbringer lesson 17 spoilers

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shimmershy · 11 months

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There's Only One Thing Left to Say, This Time (Undertale Fanfic)

New fanfic time! When I started writing this, I got the idea mostly because 1. I've been having trouble "moving on" from things in my own life recently and wanted to try processing it through fic and 2. it was the end of the school year for me and I had been saying a lot of goodbyes, so it felt thematically relevant. I wrote almost the entire thing impulsively at like three am a couple weeks ago and really impressed myself lol.

Chara Week Day 7: Free (I know it's over, but shhhh it still counts)

Summary:

You're having trouble saying goodbye, but the thing is that you don't have to! If you keep Resetting just before it's all over, you'll never have to be by yourself again. Right? You haven't known them long, and maybe they weren't super nice at the start, but they were there for you every step of the way. They listened to you and helped you when no one else would. You can't just let them disappear… You can't. ...But you can't keep doing this forever, Frisk. You have to let me go.

Characters: Chara and Frisk

Word count: 4,763 words

(Ao3 link in reblog!)

There's only one thing left to say this time,

I hope you're fine, goodbye.

– “Goodbye” by The Altogether

It isn’t until the third True Reset that I realize what this is all about, and when I do, I feel silly for not realizing it before.

I can still feel the way the bitterness worked its way under my skin the first time you brought everyone back. Which, is actually quite impressive on your part! Seeing as I don’t have skin anymore. I suppose it worked its way under your skin, then, because you wouldn’t stop apologizing to me in your head as you made your way through the Ruins. I should have been the one apologizing to you, Frisk. It’s no business of mine what you do with your own life, and you have no business feeling my emotions for me. This connection we have can be troubling, at times.

Still, it felt like a betrayal, and you offered me no explanation, so I could not understand.

I understood a little better when you decided to stay with Toriel for a while. Despite my obvious frustration and impatience, you sat and listened to her snail facts. You let her show you that bug-hunting spot she mentioned, and you spent time helping her run errands and letting her teach you how to cook. You even got to the point where she started giving you classes, as if you planned on staying. I assumed it was sentimentality, then. Perhaps there was something about the Underground that you didn’t want to leave behind. Maybe you weren’t ready to go back to living on the surface just yet. It’s not as if I could blame you for that one.

What I didn’t notice (and what I am noticing now), was how much attention you were giving me. And well, it’s not that I didn’t notice. I was just too busy being annoyed about it, and rightfully so. Can’t the narrator of your life narrate in peace? I do not care for superfluous conversation. And that’s not even the worst of it. Frisk, you should not be so casual about sharing control of your body, That’s like, the one thing you should never have to share. Sure, it happened one time, but I only stepped in because you were so afraid, and I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was me that the spears were getting shot at. That’s different. I will not take control of your body just to eat a slice of pie. Your pity for me is insulting.

What’s troubling is that it doesn't seem to be going away.

You take your first shivering step into Snowdin (for the fourth time, I can’t help but note) without so much as a glance behind you. This time, you left Toriel with no hesitation, and I know it’s because you know I didn’t want to stay. You’re not even trying to hide it. This is when I finally decide it’s time to confront you.

What are you doing? I ask.

“I’m…walking?” you respond, confused, through thoughts. Your boots crunch satisfyingly through the snow to prove your point. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I huff in frustration.

Frisk. Why do you keep Resetting?

This stops you (and your crunchy boots) in your tracks, and suddenly I can feel anxiety radiating off of you. You weren’t expecting me to ask you this directly.

When you don’t respond, I continue, a little bit of venom coating my words despite my best efforts. For the third time now, you have made it to the end, broken the barrier, only to start all over again. Do you not feel even the slightest bit of remorse?

“Of course I feel bad!” you’re quick to say, as if you’re surprised I would assume otherwise. “But…we’ll still get there again in the end; it’s not that big a deal.”

That’s a horrible excuse.

“Why’re you so angry about it?” Your voice comes out sharp in the frigid air.

Why are you so stubborn?

“What’re you even talking about?!”

You’re trying to delay the inevitable.

You’re about to debate me on that, too, in a defensive way rather than a genuinely angry way. But you stop, because you suddenly understand that I understand, and the anxiety returns. You continue walking after a brief hesitation.

Goodbyes are never easy, I say, as gently as I can. (It ends up sounding forced anyway.)

You ignore me, and I allow you to.

~~~

What are you going to do once you get back to the surface? Once you decide to stay?

You’ve made it to Waterfall at this point, having made it through Snowdin without much event. You’re getting a little tired of doing the same thing every time; I can tell, but you would never admit to it.

You kick a stone on the ground, watching as it disappears into the dark grass. “I dunno.” (“I dunno-”) (“-dunno-”)

Your own voice travels around you in echoes and fragments. You really shouldn’t talk out loud like this in the middle of all these echo flowers. Number one, it’s annoying, and that should be reason enough, but number two, you shouldn’t make a habit of talking out loud to the voice in your head at all. People are going to think you’re weird. And I mean, you’re already pretty weird, but do you really want the reputation of “the weird kid who talks to themself” stuck to you even after I’m gone?

I didn’t even realize you were listening to all that, but you flinch at that last part, not only mentally but physically too, and I try to ignore the fact that you’re proving my point.

I hum thoughtfully. You “don’t know”? That’s certainly an issue then, isn’t it?

You start to fidget with the hem of your sweater and return to talking to me through thoughts, much to my relief. “I just haven’t thought much about it.”

This is a lie. But I don’t point that out to you.

You’re in a part of Waterfall that you’ve never seen before. Admittedly, it’s not much different to the parts you have seen before, but the fact that it’s new at all is good enough for you. You’re trying to explore the area as much as you can this time around, because you’ve realized just how expansive Waterfall really is and the curiosity you came here with the first time still hasn’t left you. You’ve barely seen a fraction of the place, and you definitely won’t manage to see all of it, but you’re certainly going to try.

I might take this time to remind you that no matter how many times you’ve befriended her in the past, Undyne is still hunting you down in this timeline. So maybe taking the time to look at every blade of grass there is to look at isn’t the best idea. But whatever.

There are quite a few echo flowers growing in this area, as I mentioned before. It seems more secluded than the rest of the caverns that make up Waterfall, if that’s even possible. You can see the main path you usually walk from where you’re standing, separated from you by a large expanse of luminescent cyan water, and an overwhelming sense of calm washes over you. It’s like this is a little cove carved out just for you, safe from everything that may hurt you. It’s hard for me not to feel the same sense of calm. Whether it’s just the spilling over of your emotions or completely and entirely mine is hard to tell, but it doesn’t really matter.

Why don’t we sit here for a minute? I ask. You let out a breath and descend to the ground, hugging your knees and resting your head against the rough cavern walls without hesitation, as if you were waiting for me to say just that.

It’s nice to just be here, for me, with you, like this. Together. Your hands are intertwined in the way that I know means you’re trying to hold my hand, in whatever way you can. We look out at the stillness of the water, listening to the sound of rushing waterfalls in the distance. We both must be thinking about the same thing, now, because although I don’t agree with the Resets, I understand why you don’t want to leave, to some extent. Have you convinced me that you’re right? Have I felt this way the entire time and simply didn’t realize until now? I can’t say for certain. But I’m becoming increasingly aware of my own fear of reaching the end.

“Chara?” you say, voice cracking a little. The sound of my name spoken aloud and echoed around by the echo flowers startles me. “It’s just that…I really, really don’t wanna be by myself again.”

I feel tears pricking at your eyes. The honesty in your voice stings.

You won’t be by yourself, I try halfheartedly. Everyone will be up there with you.

You reposition to rest your head on your knees. “You know what I mean,” you whisper, and after a moment you say. “You’re not gonna be there.”

…Right. Of course.

That is the funny thing about good things, see. About journeys and stories. And lives. They end. Sometimes (always) too soon.

I do not know what I was expecting the first time you made it to the surface. What, was I just going to live inside your head forever? Would you want that? Would I? The strangest thing happened when you stepped over that threshold where the barrier once stood, when everyone else followed you out. I felt you pull away from me, and then I watched the back of your head as you walked out into the sun. It was a bit disorienting. I wasn’t seeing through your eyes anymore, I was just…there. Watching. Barely even there, because I couldn't feel you there justifying my existence anymore.

I don’t think there was a doubt in either of our minds about what that meant. As everyone else chatted in awe of how beautiful the sun was, you looked back at me (although I don’t think you really saw me, just the empty opening of the cave). There was confusion, or sadness, or panic on your face. I’ve never had to read your face from the outside before, what a funny thing to realize. Whatever emotion it was, it was enough to make you Reset. And then again, and again. It really was for my sake, then.

This makes me feel a strange mixture of things, but the feeling of guilt sticks out like a sore thumb. Frisk, I don’t want you to feel any sort of…obligation? Or anything? To keep me alive. I’ve been wanting to be dead for a long time.

It’s a lame attempt at humor to lighten the mood, but as soon as I think it, I realize how unfunny it sounds. It kind of stops being a joke when it’s true.

Still, you reply, “It’s not like that. You know that.”

You are making some awfully bold assumptions here, though they’re not entirely false. I’m inclined to ask, what is it like then? Would moving on with your life not be the best option here? Everything is going to work out for you. And, hey, you won’t even have to put up with an annoying ghost in your head anymore.

“What if I like the annoying ghost in my head?”

Well, then you’re weird. But we’ve already established that.

That gets a smile out of you. “See? You always make me feel better,” you think, and I want to roll my eyes at that. I want to remind you of all the times I made you feel worse rather than better, but I stay quiet for now.

“…Before I came here,” you start, eyes trained on the ground as you fidget with the grass there, “I was alone a lot. It wasn’t so bad, but…it wasn’t so good either.” You shrug one of your shoulders. “I dunno. I didn’t think about it much. I had to take care of myself, and there was never anyone there…to say it’d be okay, or to tell me dumb jokes, or just be there…y’know?”

Yeah. I do know.

…

“I kinda panicked when I left the Underground and you weren’t there. You were just…gone, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even really mean to Reset, I just didn’t think, and I-“

You sigh.

“I just really care about you. You’re like my best friend, Chara- ‘N that’s what it’s like. It’s like saying goodbye to your best friend.”

Oh.

Ha ha. Yes, I really do know that, don’t I?

“Wait, augh. I-I probably shouldn’t’ve said it like that, I’m sorry-“

No, Frisk, there is no need to apologize. It is fine. It’s fine.

Your fingernails claw into the grass and the dirt beneath.

I know. I know what you mean. I really do.

I try not to think of my brother. I fail.

I did not think you would care so much. It’s- (stupid), I want to say, but you are not stupid. (See, caring about me always gets people hurt), I want to say, but that’s not your fault. (What did you expect?), I want to say. (I don’t believe you), I want to say. (I don’t understand you), I want to say. I can’t- I can’t say any of that. I can’t say anything to you, right now.

You- you nod, a little concerned, but you give me space. You bring your hands together again and gaze out at the water again for a minute. Then, finally, you decide to continue onwards. You have a fish monster to face.

~~~

Being here doesn’t get easier, no matter how prepared I am after each Reset. The grey, achromatic walls and floors. The feeling of despair in the air. The stillness. It directly contrasts my memories of warmth and color and love in this home. It reminds me too much of dust.

I stay quiet as you kneel in front of the save star. It glows in a steady, consistent way, light flowing out from the center and disintegrating at the edges. A comforting feeling washes over you, as it always does, and you step into the house.

It’s as lonely as ever. You should just get this over with. The monsters that are always here to greet you at this phase of your journey stop you on your way to the kitchen.

“A long time ago, a human fell into the Ruins,” one of the Froggits begins. You stand there with your hands clasped together and listen politely, as you always do. I put up a mental barrier between myself and the world and try not to listen, as I always do.

The key on the kitchen countertop glints in the other room. You wait for the Froggits to finish speaking before grabbing it and returning to the hallway. You make your way to the far end of the hall to grab the second key, too, before entering my old room.

You open the gift boxes and take the locket and dagger out without a word. I relish the familiar weight around your neck as you reach back to fasten the locket’s clasp. It helps me find the words I want to say.

Frisk. I don’t want to keep doing this.

You’re surprised to hear me speak, but you listen.

What we talked about earlier… It’s not that I don’t want to stay. I think…you’ve helped me a lot too. And I’m really glad I met you. I’m just tired of feeling stuck in the past. A part of me…wants that, but. It hurts, being here but not being able to do anything. To fix anything.

Plus, I mean. You!! The barrier’s broken thanks to you! You and…Asriel, of course. At least, it will be. Again. It’s… I’m glad it worked out in the end. Even if it took a really long time.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could stay, at least a little longer, but I don’t want to take this away from them. Or from you. I made my choice a long time ago, and this is already more than I deserve.

…

Are you…crying?

You’re holding your arms around yourself, as well. What is this???

“A hug,” you say through thoughts, sniffling.

Oh.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that.”

It’s not your fault.

“I shouldn’t’ve kept Resetting, though. I knew it upset you the first time…”

I understand why you did it now, though. It’s okay, really.

“Okay…”

You rub your eyes with your sleeve and stand up, giving yourself a self-assured nod.

“Don’t worry. This will be the last time.”

~~~

When it’s time to fight Asriel, we’re both filled with determination. The nothingness surrounding us erupts in color and light, illuminated by kaleidoscopic starbeams and glimmering stardust. Attacks rain down on you from above, and you weave your body between them masterfully. You can’t evade them all, but I’m there cheering you on. A blast from Shocker Breaker shatters your soul; I reach out to press the pieces back together. But it refused!

Asriel floats above you, smirking with confidence in his power. You aren’t afraid of him anymore. You know all too well what he’s capable of, but you know him better now than you did when you first encountered him, just a human and a flower with a million untold secrets between them. He’d laid all his puzzle pieces out before you, and you can’t help but see the whole painful picture before you now. He’s stuck in a cycle, much like you but nothing like you at all. You’re going to help him bring it to an end. (Once and for all.)

The attacks keep coming, but you persist. You reach out to your friends within Asriel’s soul and remind them of who they are. Undyne, whom you admire for her enthusiasm and sense of justice. Alphys, whose intelligence and desire to do better inspire you. Papyrus, whom you enjoy hanging out with for his optimism and dedication. Sans, who tells you jokes that make you laugh and whose laid-back attitude puts you at ease. Toriel, who cares for you as her own child and made you feel safe when you first found yourself in this unfamiliar place. Asgore, whose presence is both comforting and sad, knowing of the difficult decisions he’s had to make in his life. Once you’ve reached out to all your friends, there’s only one thing left to do.

It seems that there’s still one last person that needs to be saved.

So you reach out to Asriel. And I do, too. He’s not the same as he was all those years ago, when we were just two kids playing in a muddy flower garden, and neither am I. But it’s still him, despite everything. He resists…and he’s still crying out to you as if you’re me. It hurts. I watch him do this every time, desperately latch on to the belief that I’m not really gone, and the ironic thing is that I have been here the whole time.

“I’m not ready for this to end,” he says, confident façade cracking.

It ended a long time ago.

“I’m not ready for you to leave,” he says.

I know.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again…”

…

“So, please…” His voice shakes, laced with despair. “Stop doing this… And just let me win!!!”

He raises his arms and summons all his magic for one final attack. Your vision is overwhelmed with color as the blast hits you, and you barely register the way he screams at you to stop holding on as your HP drops, with each passing second, to an impossibly low number. But it never reaches zero. You don’t die; your soul doesn’t shatter, because you’ve made it this far and you’re not about to give up now.

Finally, the world grows silent as the sound of magic rushing past your ears subsides. You’re exhausted, though Asriel is barely even paying attention to you anymore. He closes his eyes. Suddenly he seems so small inside his godlike form, too small to really be the Absolute God of HYPERDEATH.

“I’m so alone, Chara…” he says. “I’m so afraid…” They’re echoes of words I’ve already heard him say three times before, but they feel like acid nonetheless because it’s my fault and I’m the reason he’s like this, but you firmly tell me that it’s not. I don’t know if I can believe you, but I lean into you and try not to say anything more.

…

The world fades to black, and Asriel stands before you, looking the way I remember him once again. He’s covering his face, wiping away his tears and probably trying to hide the fact that he’s crying, too. He always was a crybaby, wasn’t he?

“I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?”

Ha. Indeed.

He pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “…I know. You’re not actually Chara, are you? Chara’s been gone for a long time.”

You open your mouth to protest, but… Come on, Frisk, I can’t do that to him. Not after all that.

“But… Are you sure?”

I’m not… I am not here to stay. It would be a mistake to get his hopes up.

You twist your fingers together, disappointed, but you close your mouth anyway.

I’m only half-listening as he continues, asking for your name (which you have given him three times already) and apologizing for his actions. This is the last time I’m going to see him, is it not? He will break the barrier, and then you will go to the surface with everyone else. And I… Well, I don’t actually know what will happen to me. I won’t be able to come with you. I know that, at the very least. It looks like it might really be the end for me. I don’t know how to feel about that.

You tell him you forgive him, as you do every time. It seems only fair to you, after everything he’s gone through. A part of you understands him, even though most of you doesn’t, and you hope the knowledge that somebody in the universe forgives him gives him some solace. He smiles at you sadly.

He can’t stay, he tells you. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes in concentration. The human souls gather around him as he rises into the air, hovering around him in a circle, and the monster souls follow suit, glowing in the darkness. With the combined power of the human souls and every monster soul in the Underground, each pulsing with the same desire…the barrier is finally broken.

It’s over. There’s a weighty sense of resolution to it now. I don’t want you to Reset again. I know you won’t.

I stare at Asriel through your eyes as he lowers to the ground again, head tilted down, eyes closed. He looks so tired. He tells you that he needs to go, that you should go be with the people that care about you. You should just forget about him, he says. As if that would be possible.

Every word feels like a countdown, and I want to do something, but I can’t move. I need him to forget about me. I can’t be here messing everything up. I don’t…want him to forget me. But I don’t want him to hurt remembering me. I don’t want to stay here… I don’t want to go.

You hug Asriel. To my surprise, your arms tighten around him as you allow me to slip into control. “Just for a minute,” you think. The feeling of warmth and his sweater under my fingers and my chin on his shoulder hits me so suddenly that I can’t stop my tears from running down your face. I relax into the hug, though. I close my eyes and try to forget where we are and what we’ve been through. I don’t want to let go…

When he finally pulls away, he gives me a weird look, but it’s gone in a moment.

“I’ll miss you,” I say without thinking.

He laughs. “Please don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

“You okay?” you ask as you slip back into control. Your presence is comforting beside mine in your mind.

I am, I say. Yeah.

~~~

Outside, clouds drift lazily across the sky, a beautiful gradient from lilac to yellow to frame the setting sun. Over the edge of the mountainside, you can just barely see the tops of trees stretching out into the distance, leaves tousling gently in the breeze. Tall buildings silhouette the sky on one side, and on the other, more mountains.

The light streams in through the exit to the Underground, of which you stand behind. One of your hands is cupped over the other in front of you, and you run your fingertips over the knuckles absently. You have been standing here for a while, hesitant.

Congratulations, partner, I start in an attempt to ease the tension, you’ve saved everyone once again.

“We did,” you correct. “And Asriel.”

Of course. And now, think about it. Everyone is free for real. They can see the sun, the sky, the stars… There’s a whole future ahead of them. And you get to be a part of it. That’s amazing, is it not?

“Mhm…”

You could stay with Mom. She would make you breakfast in the morning, read you bedtime stories at night. I bet Undyne would be willing to teach you some sick fighting moves. Anime nights with Alphys.

“I could hang out with Sans and Papyrus.”

Yeah! You could learn how to make music with Napstablook. That might be fun. And Mettaton might need some help becoming a star on the surface, too.

You giggle. “I think he’s got that covered.”

Maybe. I smile along with you. But, aren’t you excited? Not everything will be easy, but you have so many people supporting you.

“I know…” You sigh through your nose. “You deserve all that too, though; it’s not fair.”

Hey. The lilac is disintegrating from the sky, fading into a deep orange. Some of the wind makes it into the cave, crisp air whistling through the doorway and cooling your skin. Hey, you know what? It’s worth it. It’s okay.

I think there are tears in your eyes again. Come on, please don’t cry.

I can’t stay here forever. I’m already overstaying my welcome, being dead and all. I was supposed to be gone a long time ago, but…I got to meet you by some miracle, and that makes it all worth it, I think. Even if I can’t stay.

“Charaaa…”

I laugh a little. Don’t worry about me, Frisk. Really. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

You hug yourself- “Hug you,” you correct. Oh. Okay. You hug me, and I, try to hug you back? It’s a little bit awkward, but I appreciate it all the same. The emotional vulnerability is starting to make me uncomfortable, but I need you to know I care about you. I know you’ll be okay.

Ha ha, this goodbye stuff is pretty hard, huh?

“Goodbye,” you say simply, with a teasing smile.

Oh, not so hard for you, it seems. Well then, “goodbye” to you, too.

I pause. …And good luck out there, partner. I think Asriel said it best: take care of everyone for me, okay? Even him.

You nod and give me a shaky little thumbs up. That’s the spirit! (Pun always intended.)

With a glance over to the others, who are in the other room, chatting amongst themselves and waiting for you, you decide you’re finally ready to go. You let everyone know, and the excitement in the room is palpable as you all make your way to the exit. They make a fuss out of you, ruffling your hair and smiling back at you. You let them leave first, and then at last, you step over the threshold yourself. I feel our connection sever.

And then I’m watching the back of your head as you walk away again. Before you reach the others though, you turn around to give me a small wave.

That’s it, I guess… I can’t exactly wave back, but I wish you well and thank you for everything. Together, you and I allow time to continue on.

#chara week #chara week 2023 #they're not in the cover art but the fic is mostly about them and Frisk so #undertale #safeutdr #chara dreemurr #frisk dreemurr #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #my art #chara #frisk #undertale frisk #undertale chara #🌼#also in reference to what I wrote at the beginning of the post. I wrote that a couple weeks ago. when I THOUGHT I would finish this #but of course I procrastinated on writing the last scenes so now I'm posting it quite a bit after the school year ended. oh well #still thematically relevant #writing is hard for me /except/ when I impulsively write at 3am and realize I've gotten to 2000 words without really trying. apparently. :I #also as a sidenote. this is just a one-off 'what if' scenario for me because the idea of chara not being able to come with frisk to #the surface makes me sad so. :(#sidenote number two. HOW did this become longer than Thunderstorms dude....... that was not intentional.

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kyleoreillylover · 5 months

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Hotel Room

Summary: After you fail to help Sami and Kevin retain their tag team championships at payback, you expect to be kicked to the curb for not being enough to help them win. But Sami and Kevin find it shocking that you would even think that at all.

word count: 3,229

warnings: mentions of abuse (but not in detail, but roman's an asshole in this), cursing, insecure reader that just needs love.

pairings: Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn x Fem!Black!Reader (platonic), Jey Uso x Fem!Black!Reader (platonic)

tag list: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius

a/n: This was inspired by a ao3 fanfic, and I put my own twist on it. I am obsessed with Kevin and Sami ( been obsessed since 2016 but wbk) need more of them!! wish they didn't split them up into different brands, but we got samijey to curb us lol. Hope ya'll enjoy! (also the pic of sami in the far right corner is just 😩)

From Sami 🩷: Hey…you kinda ran off after the match. I know you like to figure things out on your own and I don't expect you to do anything but know that me and Kevin here for you <3

To Sami🩷: Sami, I need you guys.

From Sami 🩷: You'll always have us, that'll never change. We’re in Room 203.

The empty hotel halls stretched for what seemed like forever, like a silent maze, the only sound echoing being the soft click of your heels against the polished floors.

You nervously wrung your hands together as you dragged your suitcase behind you, the heavy luggage not as heavy as the weight of defeat settling on your shoulders. Every step was painful, a reminder of the bitter loss you suffered earlier in the evening, and the almost non-existent tear stains that were slowly drying on your cheeks a reminder of how scared you were of how Sami and your other friends would react.

That was stupid. Sami wasn't Roman. None of your friends were him. But you couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation in your chest, couldn't help but push everyone away as soon as you came to the backstage area. You couldn't help but think they'd be disappointed in you. And most of all, you feared disappointing Sami and Kevin. Their reassurance meant the world, yet the fear lingered, gnawing at your resolve.

Before you knew it, you reached his hotel room, but your hand hesitated before knocking. What if Sami's response wasn't genuine? What if Kevin thinks your a disappointment? What if, despite Sami’s words, you were just a letdown to them too? What if he was being kind to you to later throw your words back in your face? You contemplated these thoughts as your knuckles hovered, hesitant to tap on the door.

Before you could make a choice to knock on the door or not, the door swung open, and all thoughts fled from your mind the second you saw Sami's handsome face peeking through the slightly ajar doorway, concern etched in his features as his eyes locked onto yours. His brown hues made you stop made you stop mid-breath, freezing you in a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Y/N." Sami breathed out, eyes scanning over your form, taking in the way expression and the faint traces of tears.

"Sami," you managed, your voice quivering slightly despite your attempts to steady it. You peered up at him, feeling small under his gaze but oddly safe. His caring eyes seemed to dissect your worries without needing any words.

"Come in."

The invitation was gentle, almost tentative, as if he was giving you space to retreat if you needed. You hesitated, unsure of how to react. But the concern in Sami's eyes dissolved any hesitation.

You stepped into the room, Sami's hand on the small of your back was warm like the hotel room, the lights flickering dimly as if mimicking the emotions flickering within you.

Kevin was sat on the edge of the bed, looking up from his phone , concern instantly etched across his face as he saw you standing at the door.

"Come sit down. Where were you? You left so fast that it was like you were never there." Kevin's voice was soft instead of the angry growl you expected it to be as he gestured to the empty space beside him on the bed. Sami quietly closed the door behind you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I-Im sorry… I needed some air," you mumbled, finally allowing your heavy suitcase to drop to the floor with a thud. You moved towards the bed, sitting down beside Kevin, feeling a lump form in your throat as you avoided looking directly at either man. The air felt suffoacting to you, and you knew lookin them in the eyes and seeing their anger and disappointment would be too much to bear.

You felt the bed dip as Sami sat down beside you, the mattress compressing under his weight. There was a heavy silence that lingered in the room, punctuated only by the subtle sound of Kevin setting aside his phone as he and Sami exchanged a silent look, both agreeing that this was way out of character for you.

Sami's hand landed gently on your shoulder, and you flinched at the unexpected touch, your body tensing as you looked up at him, seeing his brown eyes looking down softly into yours. He quickly retracted his hand, offering an apologetic smile though his concern grew tenfold at your reaction. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain anything if you don't want to. We're just glad you're here," Sami's voice was calm and understanding, void of any hint of frustration or anger.

Your heart clenched at Sami's genuine concern. It was a stark contrast to what you expected—no judgment, no anger. But you knew better than to take things at face value-that's exactly what Roman used to do. You know the game, and you didn't want to be played again.

"I-I messed up," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotions you were struggling to articulate. "I'm sorry."

Kevin tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at your words. "For what? The only people who should be sorry are Rhea and JD. It's not like you costed us the match. They did."

You averted your eyes as the memories of the match rushed back, blinking away the emotions threatening to spill over. "But it is my fault. I should've been more focused. I should've done better. I should've been better."

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to mask the vulnerability that threatened to spill over.

"Y/N…" Sami breathed out so softly that you could've pretended you didn't hear him if it weren't for his warm hand on your face that gently turned you to face him, your body stiffened at the touch, but Sami's hand was so comforting, so gentle, that you couldn't help but lean into it, looking up into his compassionate eyes. There was an understanding there, a depth that made you feel seen in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. "Talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better. Tell me what's wrong."

"Don't do that." You shook your head, feeling the pressure building inside, the lump in your throat growing larger. "Don't treat me like I'm weak. I can take the punishment."

"Wait, what?" Sami's hand left your cheek and Kevin stood up wide eyed at your statement.

"Did you just say what I think you fucking said?" The growl Kevin let out made you flinch as the man stormed towards you, a fury blazing in his brown eyes. It startled you even more when you realized he wasn't glaring at you, that he wasn't directing his aggression at you, at least in that moment.

Sami's eyes were just as wide, and you felt yourself instinctively shrinking backwards into the bed, as though expecting to get hit. Sami grabbed Kevin by his shirt collar and held him back, a quiet command ringing in the air that had no need for words, even though his eyes told all you needed to know

"What did you mean?" Sami asked gently, ignoring the scowling man in front of him, though the slight anger he tried to hold back in his voice betrayed him. "Y/N, what do you mean?"

Your voice was barely audible as you muttered, "Just…I lost. I have to pay for it now. It's the way it goes."

Kevin's lips curled in anger at your words, and Sami could barely contain himself either, and they took deep breaths, visibly controlling their own emotions before speaking again.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to pay for anything. You did nothing wrong." Sami cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and you could see the anger clouding his usual vibrant irises. "I don't have to guess who made you feel this way, but you don't deserve to be treated this way. You don't deserve to be thinking that this is your fault. This is not your fault."

You waited for the punchline, your expression a mix of pain, sadness, regret and guilt. But it never came.

You looked up at Kevin, noticing his expression had softened as he observed your facial expression intently, searching for something, anything that will reassure you that this isn't true, that you are not the burden you think you are.

Sami's hand on your jaw was warm, and it wiped away a tear you didn't even realize was there. His touch was gentle, so different from what you expected. You were waiting for anger, for disappointment, for something familiar, yet Sami and Kevin were nothing of the sort. They were kind, understanding, and concerned. Sami's voice cut through your thoughts.

"Y/N, listen to me," Sami's voice was insistent yet calm. "Whatever happened out there tonight, whatever you're feeling, it's not your burden alone to bear. We're here for you. You're not weak for feeling overwhelmed or scared. You're not weak for coming to us for help. And you're not weak for a loss you have no fault for."

Kevin's expression softened further as he took a step towards you, his tone much softer than before. "You don't have to pay for anything, okay? We win and we lose together." He sat next to you again, his arm inching towards you hesitely before encircling your shoulders in a protective gesture. "And that's how it goes. We're here to support you, not punish you. We're a team, we're a family, and we will never hurt you."

You looked between Sami and Kevin, feeling the walls you've built around you tremble. Their words held an honesty you hadn't experienced before, a sense of solidarity that contradicted your fears. The tenderness in their actions contradicted everything you were used to. It scared you. But it also made you happy, because it was everything you ever needed.

"I don't deserve this…" You choked on the words, the emotions lodged in your throat making it difficult to articulate your thoughts. "I've always been the weak link… It's always been that way."

Sami's hand on your jaw tightened slightly, not in a forceful way, but in a comforting manner, making you meet his gaze. "Listen to me, Y/N. That is not true. You've never been a weak link, and you never will be. And you know why?"

Sami's hand left your jaw finding yours gently, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Because you are one of the greatest wrestlers I've ever seen in the ring. Your heart, kindness, skill, dedication, no one else can compare to it. And no one has a bigger heart than you, that's why I'm proud to call you my best friend, and I know Kevin feels the same."

Sami gestured to Kevin, and you leaned into his arm as you looked at him, his usual stern expression softened by a hint of concern. His eyes were reflecting empathy and affection, a sight that caught you off guard.

"I know I don't say it a lot," Kevin started, his voice softer than usual, "but what Sami said? It's true." His arm around your shoulder tightened ever so slightly. "You're family. And we would never hurt family for something stupid like a title loss, unlike-"

Kevin cut himself off with an irritated huff, his eyes briefly reflecting an emotion you couldn't quite pinpoint before he recomposed himself. Sami's grip on your hand tightened gently, a silent reassurance as he exchanged a knowing look with Kevin, comforting him as well until he finally composed himself enough to turn back to you. "We love you, okay? I love you, and I can't let you think that you're anything less than the amazing person you are. We've seen you at your best, and we've seen you when you're not okay, and let me tell you, even then, you're badass."

You didn't know how to take it from here. You were not used to receiving such unconditional support and affection since your start in the bloodline. It felt foreign yet strangely comforting. A part of you wanted to believe their words, to let their reassurances seep into your core and heal the wounds of self-doubt that had been festering for so long. So that's exactly what you tried to do.

"Thank you," you murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I… I'm sorry. It's just that.. he used to.."

"You don't need to tell us anything you don't want to." Sami interjected gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "We understand."

You nodded with a meek smile, squeezing Sami's hand in gratitude. "Thank you for being here for me. I appreciate it more than I can say."

Kevin leaned in, placing a firm hand on your other shoulder. "We've got your back, always. No matter what." His tone held a sense of finality, as if he was making a solemn vow.

You took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders, albeit ever so slightly. Their words was a salve to the wounds you kept hidden for so long. It was a warmth you hadn't felt in ages, a comforting embrace that slowly began to mend the broken pieces of your spirit. You looked at them, feeling gratefulness swell in your heart for having these two by your side.

"Thank you," you repeated, your voice steadier this time. "I… I really needed this."

Sami offered a comforting smile. "Of course. Now how bout you take a hot shower, let off some steam, and we can get some rest? And if you don't feel comfortable rooming with us, we can ask Jey if you can room with him."

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "No, this is good. Thank you, really."

Kevin nodded, a brief smile crossing his features. "Alright then. You need anything else, just ask. We'll be right here."

Before you could rise from the bed, Kevin pulled you down and engulfed you in a tight hug. It was unexpected, but the sincerity in his embrace was undeniable. Sami leaned in, joining the hug, wrapping his arms around both you and Kevin, and you relaxed into their embrace, feeling a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long time. The weight on your chest seemed to ease, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.

As you separated from the hug, a genuine smile adorned your face. " I'll take that shower and get some rest. But thank you, both of you."

They nodded in unison, their expressions reflecting both understanding and determination. "Anytime," Sami said, his voice holding a softness that touched your heart.

You gave one last smile to them before you made your way to the bathroom, and as soon as the shower was turned on Kevin stood up abruptly and faced Sami, his expression hardening into an angry scowl. Sami, observing the sudden change in Kevin's demeanor, rose cautiously, concern etched on his features.

"Kevin, what's going on?" Sami's voice held a tinge of worry as he watched his friend's reaction.

Kevin clenched his fists, his jaw tensing. "I'm gonna beat Roman's ass."

Sami interrupted, his tone urgent as he put his hand on Kevin's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Kevin, you can't. Not right now."

"Stay out of it, Sami," Kevin retorted sharply. "This is about her. About what he's done."

Sami hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by Kevin's intense emotions. "I know, trust me I know. But we can't just go in there and—"

Kevin interrupted, brushed off Sami's hand and turned to face him, anger seething in his eyes. "Did you know what he was doing to her? Did you know how he treated her?"

Sami's eyes widened in surprise and hurt at the accusation. "No, Kevin. I didn't know. If I had, that would've been the last day Roman would have a career." Sami's voice held a note of defensiveness, hurt that Kevin would even think he'd knowingly allow such mistreatment.

"How could you not know?" Kevin's voice wavered between anger and disbelief. "You acted like everything was normal!"

The accusation stung Sami deeply, and his voice turned raw with emotion. "Because I didn't know, Kevin! I trusted Roman at the time, you know that! I trusted her judgment, you know that! How could you think I'd let her get hurt? How could you think I'd just stand by?"

Sami's voice raised slightly, a hint of frustration surfacing. "And don't you think Jey would've been the first to know? He was in the bloodline longer than me, he's the closest one to her besides us. We both know Jey would've torn Roman apart for even touching her."

Kevin seemed to visibly calm down at Sami's reasoning, though the tension in the room lingered. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I just... I can't stand the thought of someone hurting her, you know? Of him, out of all people, hurting her."

Sami nodded, his features softening with empathy as he placed a hand on Kevins' shoulder. "I get it Kev. My heart was ripped out of my chest the second I heard what she said."

Kevin nodded, his gaze downcast. "Me too. God, I wanted to kill him right then and there. I still do."

Sami looked at Kevin for a moment, the two of them gazing at each other before Sami brought Kevin into a much needed hug that they both needed in the moment.

Kevin slowly returned the hug, his body tense but gradually relaxing in Sami's embrace. Sami held onto the hug for a moment longer before releasing Kevin, hoping to reassure him, while trying to reassure himself.

Sami held onto the hug for a moment longer before releasing Kevin, hoping to reassure him. "I'm scared too, Kev," Sami admitted softly. "But we'll figure this out, okay?"

Kevin nodded, a steely determination glinting in his eyes. "Yeah, we will." He glanced towards the door after a comfortable silence spread between them and the shower stopped running.. "I'm gonna go grab something to eat downstairs."

Sami felt a tinge of suspicion but nodded in acquiescence. "Alright, grab me some food too, I'm going to bed." Kevin nodded and dabbed Sami up before heading out the door.

Once Kevin left, Sami sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the situation settle on his shoulders. He prepared for bed, trying to quell the swirling thoughts in his mind.

Meanwhile, Kevin stepped outside and pulled out his phone, dialing Jey's number. He knew Jey would go ballistic, and that's exactly why he needed him. He was done with Romans bullshit over the past 3 years. His ego, his cockiness, the pain he inflicts on others.

But that pain will mean nothing like the one Kevin, Jey and Sami will inflict on him for hurting you.

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therealtsk · 4 months

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What Your Favorite Worm Ship Says About You

some people have found my crusty, old ass tumblr post on this very topic, so im making a new one with my updated opinions! Cause those are, in fact, allowed to change. Enjoy! Taylor x Lisa: you're into relationships that could be dysfunctional or healthy with one push in either direction. also something something sun lesbian moon lesbian. Taylor x Rachel: You love dogs, and you want a girlfriend who can kick your ass. You're also into bomber jackets. I respect you. Taylor x Alec: Sadly, you do exist, and you did make it weird. Go away! Taylor x Amy: You read altpowers on the daily and complain about canon worm being too grimdark. Solid odds on you having never read worm. To be clear, it's worse if you have. also something something FBI OPEN UP Taylor x Victoria: You like the vibes of Lisa and Taylor's dynamic, but you want them to be a little more heroic and a little less dysfunctional. But only a little. Taylor x Clockblocker: You're straight and liked that one joke that cropped up. I also haven't seen any of you in a hot minute, thank god. No offense but this ship is mad boring.

Taylor x Sophia: You've come to realize that Sophia is a great character who gets done extremely dirty by the rest of the fandom. Also, rivals to lovers. Taylor x Emma: This can go one of two ways. Either you adore childhood friends to lovers, or you love enemies to lovers. Either way, you're obsessed with hurt and/or comfort fics. Taylor x Theo: You actually read Worm and recognize that Theo is criminally underrated in the fandom. Now just stop shipping him with Taylor and you'll complete the next step on your journey to enlightenment.

Taylor x Simurgh: I can't say for sure you're a anime fan, but you're definitely at least a little bit of a monsterfucker. also something something inherent eroticism of being world-destroying power couple. Taylor x Greg. You read Worm SI's unironically and get really defensive when people say that Greg is an incel. Completely unrelated, you haven't spoken to a woman other then your mother in five years. Taylor x Cherie: I've been informed this is a ship. I've yet to be informed as of a reason why I should like it. Cherie likers stay mad!

Lisa x Rachel: I don't remember the last time I saw this ship that wasn't also tagged as a polycule with Taylor, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're an OT3 enjoyer.

Lisa x Victoria: You’re into the “enemies to lovers” trope, but more of the "Spiderman x Black Cat" type then the "you murdered my entire home town but i can't help but find you sexy" type. Also you have a thing for blondes

Lisa x Faultline: Your ideal relationship dynamic is bickering married couple. You're also into heist movies.

Lisa x Simurgh: You have a thing for smart girls... who hate you. Also, you really liked Part of the Whole. Contessa x Alexandria: You're fucking based. Also something something inherent eroticism of girlbosses winning Contessa x Numberman: you're friends with Peri and enjoy memes about pants and math Numberman x Jack Slash: You think serial killers are hot and are starved for m/m ships. Danny x Eidolon: You're losersexual and are starved for m/m ships. Also you frequent r/wormemes Danny x Miss Militia: Honestly, i think you all died out. I couldn't be happier, this ship is fucking dumb. Amy x Literally Anyone Besides Taylor: listen, there's like a hundred different jokes i could make here, but all of them boil down to amy defenders always defending the rapist for some reason so let's just agree amy defenders are fucking cringe and move on Dragon x Defiant: You understand that this is unironically the only healthy relationship in worm with some of the best character growth and romance in the entire story, and a majority of all of it happens off screen. You're extremely bitter that so many fanfics do both of them so dirty they get beaten into different characters. Alec x Aisha: You like the idea of this ship, cause two pranksters making everyone miserable is the kinda vibe you enjoy, but constantly run into the issue that Alec is...well. Alec. That or you're into Alec's brand of shit, in which case, FBI OPEN UP Aisha x Missy: You read It's Cold Out There Every Day. I did too. Fuck, this fic is so good. I'm going to go cry about the ending again. Lily x Sabah: Yes, you know the age gap is a little problematic, you just want to be happy with your relatively healthy canon lesbians goddamn it Purity x Literally Anyone: You don't understand why people keep calling you racist. You're not! You're just weirdly defensive of the hot milf who murders people of color and seem to constantly bring up that Kaiser didn't actually believe the nazi propaganda he was peddling. You are racist btw Taylor x Brian: You...are Wildbow

#worm #parahumans #wormblr #shipping #all of my opinions are objectively correct btw #if you disagree with me you are wrong and must improve yourself #@ everyone reading this and being upset i didn't include your incredibly niche ship: stay mad #jokes aside im only including stuff i've actually seen in like.#more then one or two fics

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eternalsams · 10 months

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Bitter Taste ➻ Miguel O'Hara

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!miguel!reader

warning/content: swearing, violence, blood, some ATSV spoilers (but would take place before ATSV events)

summary: Miguel thought he was Nueva York's only Spider-Man, he was wrong.

words count: 1.7k

a/n: English isn't my first language, so please take that into consideration. This is straightly inspired by a tiktok I saw and been obsessing over for the last couple days. (@/soumart_1 on tiktok who made that incredible fanart and inspired this fanfic). Also I tried to use a bit of Spanish but I'm really not bilingual, if you see any weird sentences, feel free to correct me :)

a/n (2): I may write a part 2 if you want, this could even become a series if you like it that much but for now, it's a one-shot.

(my gif)

Miguel was standing in front of his screens as usual, and Lyla was pestering him, as usual. She kept repeating he should take a break and rest, that the multiverse won't collapse if he took a nap. But he knew better. He knew only him could protect the entirety of the multiverse. He rubbed his eyes tiredly but didn't move from his spot, his eyes scanning every screen in front of him, looking for a single trace of an anomaly. "I can see you're exhausted, I don't need to scan you to know you need to sleep." Lyla's voice would soon turn into a nightmare for Miguel if she didn't stop bothering him. "I don't need to sleep. I didn't create you so you can pester me all day long." He grumbled, crossing his arms on his chest and stroking his chin and cheek, pensive. "At this point, it's all night long..." He could hear the little lady mutter as she sunk into her holographic chair. Miguel sighed and opened a new screen before tapping a well known code and before Lyla could stop him, she disappeared with a little bubble sound. Now he was left alone for the rest of the night and he could focus on his task.

A few hours and a couple of coffee cups later, Miguel was seated in an uncomfortable chair, his eyes burning from exhaustion and his brain begging for a break. But no, he kept looking at the screen and sometimes checking on the weakest universes, the ones where the anomalies tend to land in the most. He was so focused on his work and so tired that he didn't hear the portal opening below his platform. He could've heard it if he was well rest, but he wasn't. And he would've heard the web sticking to the ceiling if he wasn't so focused on the screens and so stubborn on finding an anomaly. But he didn't hear any of that. He didn't know he was the prey of a new kind of predator. The kind that didn't need lights to see in the dark and that could almost smell his exhaustion from another universe. He didn't hear the steps getting dangerously closer to him but he did feel the claws digging into his shoulder and throwing him on the ground. He groaned in pain and rolled over on the floor but when he looked up, fangs and claws out, he didn't see anyone. His eyes turned from brown to red and he tried to look around him in the dark, but his sight had been severely damaged by the screens he'd been watching for hours now.

He frustratingly groaned and when he got on his feet, he only heard rushed steps on his left before feeling claws slicing the skin on his neck. He immediately held a hand to his throat to check the wound and he could feel it wasn't a deep cut. Which meant that the thing attacking him didn't want to kill him immediately, it wanted to intimidate him first. "Whatever you are, I am not scared of you." He said out loud, looking around and trying to focus on what he could hear. But only the sound of his blood pumping and his heart racing in his chest reached his ears. It had been a long time since he had to use completely his senses, normally he'd only use his strength to stop his ennemies. But this one seemed to be smarter than the anomalies he was used to chase down. "Eres débil." (You're weak.) He heard a rather feminine voice chuckle in the dark. The jab didn't make him laugh at all but rather grumble something. He stretched his neck and winced when he felt more blood coming out of the injury. "¿Por qué no te muestras ante mí?" (Why don't you show yourself to me?) Miguel groaned before wiping some blood off his neck with his wrist. "¿Qué tiene eso de divertido?" (Where is the fun in that?) The woman chuckled once again before he heard her swinging above him. He was starting to hear more perceptibly and see more clearly now, his senses getting used to this new enemy.

The next time he felt her approaching, he focused on his hearing and swinged his clawed fists in her direction, earning him a yelp of pain. He smiled in victory and jumped in her direction, claws and fangs out. But what he didn't hear was his enemy immediately recovering from his attack and jumping on him at the same time. They collided, groaned and rolled over on the floor. Miguel could almost see clear as day and he could discern long dark hair and a tan skin. Two red orbs were staring at him and he was sure his were staring at her the exact same way. "Cabrón!" (You bastard!) She hissed and the lights turned on when Miguel's back collided with the commands. He straightened up and looked up at his enemy before freezing. The woman attacking him was wearing the exact same suit as him, the only difference was that the red parts on his suit were orange on hers. The shock on his face wasn't similar on hers though. She knew exactly who he was when she attacked him, there was no doubt. "Who the fu-" He murmured before she jumped on him once more. He dodged her by a hair and when he went to grab her ankle, she shot her organic webs on one of the desk in the office and threw it in Miguel's direction. He received it right in the chest and humphed, pushing it off him.

"Enough!" He growled out and grabbed her wrist when she threw herself at him. Her claws were out, her eyes shining red and fangs menacing. Just like him. With her strength, she pushed him against the nearest wall and sank her claws in the concrete next to his head. Her second hand was held back by his grasp but was dangerously approaching his face. She snarled at him and with the remaining strength he had in him, he pushed her back and spined her around so he could slam her body against the wall. She squirmed to get free but his hold on her wrist was strong and before she could even think about using her legs to get away, he pinned her to the wall, crushing her body with his. "That's enough." He groaned in her ear as she kept growling like a feral animal. "I'm gonna ask you questions and you better answer me correctly. Who are you?" He struggled to keep her in place. "Why would I tell you?" She said in a thick Spanish accent. "Wrong answer." He grunted as he snaped her wrist to break it. She yelled in pain and rested her head against the wall, taking deep breaths to concentrate on her healing. "Again. Who are you?" He asked once more. The woman took a deep breath to calm down and opened her eyes to stare at him, her pupils turning back to brown. "Creo que sabes quién soy." (I think you know who I am.) She said as he kept staring at her for a moment before grabbing her elbow and twist it awkwardly. "Wait, wait, wait! I'll tell you who I am..." She immediately submitted. He released her elbow but didn't let her go, waiting for her to speak.

"I'm Michaela O'Hara." She introduced herself, slowly retracting her claws. Miguel froze for a moment, he put two and two together and understood she was another version of himself. "Why are you trying to kill me?" He asked, tightening his grip on her wrist because he knew she would never stop trying to get free. That's what he would do. "Actúas como un loco y casi destruyes el multiverso!" (You're acting insane and almost got the multiverse destroyed!) She growled at him, showing her fangs. "I paid the price of my mistake, I won't do it again." He said, his voice low in memory of his daughter. "Dios mío... You think you're the only one who lost Gabriella? Pathetic... I'm not here about her, I'm here about Miles Morales." (Jesus Christ...) She explained and he frowned. "What about the kid?" He loosened his grip on her and she immediately noticed it, deciding not to mention it. "I know exactly what you want to do to him. That's what I would have done. But you're wrong, Miles is not an anomaly, not more than us." She slowly pushed back from the wall, taking advantage of his distract. His eyes snapped back at her and he frowned once more. "How did you manage to stay hidden from me? I would've noticed you." And by I, he meant Lyla. "You think I would have let an idiot like you keep an eye on me? Oh, Cariño... Yo era el que te vigilaba." (Oh, Honey... I was the one keeping an eye on you.) She chuckled. "Do not think you're the only one who thought about exploring the multiverse." She said with a little smirk as she showed him another version of his multi-dimensional watch.

Only then he noticed she got free from his grip and when he tried and grab her once more, she just swatted at his hand. "And, by the way, I'm not actually trying to kill you. I just wanted to stop you." She walked around his office, looking at the multiple screens. She went to tap on some board before Miguel grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch anything or I'll break every single bone of your hand." He threatened her. "Relax, Grumpy. I will not break anything. You should get that checked out." She said, pointing at the injury on his neck. He brought a hand to his wound and hid a wince of pain. She silently chuckled and turned around, looking at the different universes shown on the screens. "Puedo?" (May I?) She asked as she pointed at the keypad on the desk. Miguel quietly grunted but nodded his head, watching attentively what she was doing. She entered coordinates and a new screen appeared with a number at the top. "Earth-203." Miguel read in a whisper. "Where I'm from, it is basically the same as here. Year 2099, flying cars, bullet trains directly to the moon, bla bla bla... Except I'm Spider-Woman instead of Spider-Man. Well, I'm Viuda-Araña." (Spider-Widow) She explained as she discreetly placed a microchip under Miguel's desk.

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rainbowsandscholarship · 3 months

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HUSKERDUST FANFIC - Bitter Ichor

Summary:

Angel yawned, fighting the urge to stretch yet again as he passed the gate. But he was interrupted as he stepped past, noting something new near the door. A shock of red? Some grey.. Some.. gold.. His eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at and all exhaustion evaporated. His feet carried him frantically to a scene unlike anything he could’ve expected. There, just before the stoop, Husk lay motionless, his once vibrant fur matted with blood and his body twisted in agony. Beside him, the remains of a dismembered exorcist and the cat’s angelic-steel playing cards lay as the grim remainder of whatever violence had unfolded. or Angel finds Husk severely injured next to a dead exorcist.. and strangely he's bleeding golden ichor.

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel angel #hazbin hotel husk #husk #husker #huskerdust #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #fanfiction #Hazbin

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aaeeart · 11 months

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He's a bit upset

There's a fanfic hidden bellow.

Quick need to know, this a part of my Inquisitor Kanan AU, Kanan is among other things convinced that his crew is dead and when he does come across them he believes they're a force vision and a part of some form of elaborate torture made by the Inquisitors.

Now let's say at some point he got rescued...

Hera lingered in the doorway of Kanan's cabin, a place she had stood countless times since he was taken. Fearful of entering, she hesitated, her unease only amplified by the room now being occupied once again. Kanan sat huddled in a corner, on the frigid ground between his bed and meditation seat. He didn't meet her gaze, his form slouched, elbows resting on his knees, eyes tightly shut. He could have been sleeping.

"What?" His words sliced through the air, icy and detached. Hera swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, and stepped into the cabin.

"Kanan," she said softly. A flicker of surprise crossed her face as he opened his eyes and met her gaze, if only for a fleeting moment. Immense sadness shimmered within his yellow irises before he shuttered them once more.

"Leave me alone," he whispered, his head sinking low as he clenched his teeth. The urge to rush to him and offer solace tugged at Hera, but she heeded Ahsoka's counsel. They needed time for the Jedi to heal. Instead, she settled herself by the open door.

"Do you know where you are?"

Kanan snorted in response. "Good one."

"You're on the Ghost," Hera said, her brow furrowing. "You're home."

"I don't understand why you all think it's necessary," he muttered, raising his head to fix his gaze on the opposing wall.

"You're with your friends, with me," Hera pressed on. "You're safe."

"Stop it, will you?" Kanan growled, his fists clenching tightly.

"Stop what?" Hera asked, her confusion genuine.

"You can't deceive me again, and you know it," Kanan declared. "You've already made me do what you want, I'm not playing this game anymore."

"Kanan..." Abruptly, he turned, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto her green ones. A shiver coursed through Hera's spine. She never wanted him to regard her with such intensity, as if he yearned for nothing more than to tear her apart.

Hera could feel her heart wrench as Kanan dismissed her. She understood he had endured torment, likes of which she likely wouldn't be able to imagine, nor would she want to.

He spoke of them as if they were a trick of light, a speck of dust in his vision that would disappear if he so much as blinked and spoke to them as if they were someone he despised.

She couldn't bear to see him suffer alone. Not when she still felt responsible for it.

Hera met Kanan's gaze head-on. "Kanan, please, listen to me," she implored, her voice laced with urgency and sincerity and she hoped, kindness in the truth of her words. "I swear to you, you're safe. We're not your enemies. We're your family."

Kanan's brow furrowed, his eyes burning with anger. "You expect me to believe that?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and frustration. But a sarcastic smirk curled on his lips as he continued. "What's the plan this time? You gonna make me shed a tear for the good old times? Maybe have a heart-to-heart with my padawan? Sorry, but I'm not biting."

Hera's determination hardened as she refused to back down. "I know it's difficult, Kanan. But look at us. Look at me. It's me." she said, her voice unwavering. She extended her arm. "You can tell, Kanan."

Kanan's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He was clearly torn between the lies of the Inquisitors and the longing to believe in the safety of his friends. An inner battle raged behind his eyes.

Hera longed to see the blue green color of the tormented gaze...

Kanan slowly reached out to her.

Hera smiled with relief.

Then she felt a tightening pressure wrapping itself around Hera's throat. She gasped for air, her eyes pleading with him.

"Enough!" he bellowed, his voice laced with bitterness and sorrow. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or someone. "Show yourself! You've done it! So end it!"

Alarmed by the loud outburst, the rest of the Ghost crew stormed into the cabin. "Hera!" Sabine exclaimed, watching their captain suspended in mid-air.

"Kanan, let her go!" Zeb shouted.

Hera dared a look at the broken jedi and saw him looking straight at her, his face tightened in a mixture of fear, sadness and uncertainty. She attempted to say his name, but all that came out was a choked gasp.

"Kanan!"

Kanan's grip faltered, the anger dissipating as a flicker of recognition ignited within his eyes when Ezra spoke. With backwards stumble, he released Hera, his hand falling to his side. His shoulders slumped, burdened by his inner turmoil.

The three sentients gathered around Hera, helping her sit up. Chopper however rolled towards Kanan and shoving into his leg, spitting out curses in binary. Kanan watched the droid with an empty bewilderment.

"Chopper, stop it!" Hera snapped at the astromech.

Kanan looked at the Twi'lek, wide eyed, tears lining his vision. Clearly fighting with himself, Kanan whispered her name in a very weak voice.

"It's us, mate," Zeb assured him.

Kanan gave him a distracted look, then glanced at Sabine, Ezra, and finally at Chopper, who returned to Hera's side. A tear slid down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, looking down, waiting for something.

Hera rose to her feet and took a step towards the jedi, ignoring the warning looks from the others.

She extended her hand towards him a second time.

This time she thought she saw flicker of teal in his eyes as their hands met.

TBC...

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groversimp · 1 month

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I was wondering if you we're planning on doing anymore Christian!reader fanfics? You're one of the first people I've seen actually do them, and I really enjoy them as a Christian, fanfic enjoyer, no issue if you don't make another one but if you do can it be a Percy, Grover or Luke one you can make it to your imagination🩷

Was a Full Sun, And I Knew

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!!!! God bless, He is risen!

I decided to write for Percy, but I plan on having a Grover one coming out soon

warnings: female!reader, you wear a dress, you and Percy are implied to be Catholic but it’s not specified so, don’t be late to mass kids.

“We’re gonna be late,” you called as you put on your earrings in the mirror. You were currently standing in you and Percy’s small apartment dining room, adjusting yourself in the mirror hung on the wall.

“No, we’re not.” He calls back, with a carefree laugh. You roll your eyes, mutter a bitter “yes, we will” under your breath. But, you can’t fight the smile as he struts out- giving a playful turn as he shows off the suit matching your dress.

He approaches, pulling you in by the waist as your hands comes around his shoulders. Percy holds you so delicately, so softly. As he presses his forehead to yours, you can almost hear the silent praises running through his mind.

“You look perfect,” he whispers to you. The words almost missed, but how could you miss them when you’re always yearning to hear him?

“You look perfect.” You whisper back. Connecting your lips in a chaste kiss, you take a step back to start walking towards the door but Percy follows, pressing quick kisses to your lips.

You push him off of you, but take his hand with a soft grin. “Now we’re definitely gonna be late.” You say, huffing as you check the time.

You two weren’t late, barely there by a minute. Sally rolled her eyes as she scooted over on the pew, allowing you and Percy to sit next to her.

As the smell of incense took over, and you felt the ghost of holy water just barely gracing your forehead- you smiled softly.

You were safe, you were happy. Surrounded by what you loved most: your Savior, your Percy, and your people.

#pjo fandom #pjo x reader #pjoverse #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fandom #x catholic reader #x christian reader #SFW. SMUT IS BANNED. KEEP YOUR WEIRDNESS OUT OF MY RELIGION.

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vladdyissues · 3 months

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I like Vlad and the concept of Badger Cereal... But in canon, Skulker was probably a better frenemy to Danny...

Because 1. Skulker never flirted with Danny's Mom...

2. Danny and Skulker have some level of actual respect for each other, while Danny only hates (and kinda fears) Vlad in canon (Danny felt a bit of sympathy for Future Vlad, but that's it)...

3. Skulker teams up with and succeeds in helping Danny at least 4 times (in prison, facing Pariah Dark, facing Ghost Writer and the green asteroid), while Danny teaming up with Vlad ended with them losing to Pariah and later Vlad only helping last minute to lock Pariah away, or Vlad ditching Danny to get attacked by Vortex...

This isn't Vlad hate, I'm just saying that most people overlook Skulker's potential, as a frenemy to Danny. 🤔

I'm gonna have to politely disagree with you here, anon 😂 Skulker attempted to straight up kill Danny—repeatedly—and makes regular threats against his life. He wants Danny's dead, flayed carcass nailed to his trophy wall, in no uncertain terms.

This is his enduring MO. Vlad had to step in and literally save Danny's neck in Bitter Reunions.

It makes Vlad's flirtations with Danny's mom seem pretty negligible, to be honest.

Skulker also tried to slaughter Dash along with Danny in Micro Management, and he pitted Valerie and Danny against each other in Life Lessons for the sole purpose of hunting the stronger of the two.

Cranial tether ball is pretty damn metal gruesome. This dude is like the bloodthirstiest Klingon who ever lived. Except for the Christmas episode and his brief cameo in Phantom Planet, he's never not presented as a serious threat to Danny's life. He's out for blood and guts in the worst way. I just don't see him ever reaching "frenemy" status with Danny (in canon, at least; what happens in fanfic and AUs is a whole other ballgame, just like Badger Cereal and Cheese Melt).

#asks #danny phantom #skulker #danny fenton #vlad masters #valerie gray #hjbendergifs #hjbedit #meta

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shenachigans · 1 year

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LOST YOU | Natasha Romanoff

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

CW: angst no comfort, mentions of cheating (Nat), implied that Nat has a cock, implied WandaNat, pregnancy (Wanda)

PROMPT: 44 — “I need you to tell me the truth” Prompt pt. 3

A/N: Trying to cure my writer’s block by using prompts (I have no idea what I wrote, kindly excuse this mess). First time writing for Nat. Let’s just say vision was human and can impregnate for more drama. We love drama. *wink wink*

A/N (4/3/23): I added a paragraph or so to make it seem that the baby is Nat’s, which means I debunked the whole “Vision is human and can impregnate” thing where we don’t know if the baby was Vision’s or Nat’s, but it was clear from the beginning that it’s Nat’s huhu.

WORDS: 1,721

Lost You — Pt. II

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

“I need you to tell me the truth,” you croaked out as you tried to hold your ground from breaking down in front of her, but the crack in your voice ruined your facade. You can’t keep letting her get away with things, not anymore. You’re tired and drained. You couldn’t do this anymore, for your sake. You didn’t want to hate her, even when you should, considering she had been hurting you. “You can’t keep lying to me, Nat. ”

Natasha expected to see you sitting in the middle or at the edge of your shared bed, doing something to occupy yourself as you waited for her to retire to your shared chambers, but she wasn’t expecting this. She wasn’t expecting the usually prim and proper room littered with clothes and your luggage—and you, putting your clothes away, your back facing her. You shakily breathe, “How long have you been seeing her?” She hesitantly walked toward you, heels clacking against the wooden floor with each step. “What are you talking about, detka—”

You interrupted her with a scoff when you turned to face her with a pained and angry expression, and she immediately shut up upon the sight. She always acts clueless for someone who could easily see through someone’s facade. You thought that it was pathetic of her to deflect what you said. “Don’t change the subject, Romanoff!” you hissed. Oh, you’re mad. “Stop lying and tell me the truth! You know what I’m talking about.”

Only when she saw your glistening eyes with unshed tears that she realizes what you said. Her stomach churned, and her heart dropped. Natasha balled her fists, and her eyes widened, but she refused to look at you and deemed that the floor was suddenly more interesting to look at. Regardless, she reluctantly nodded, indicating that she would tell you the truth. Her eyes pooled with unshed tears as a wave of regret and guilt washed over her. She got caught—right before she could end things with her.

“How long?” Nat shivered at your tone. Her eyes flickered to yours and caught a glimpse of your expression before you turned away and continued gathering your things. It was emotionless—dead—and it was because of her. She flinched when you repeated your question with more context, more daggers through your heart as you emphasized that word. “How long have you been cheating on me? With Wanda?”

“Two—” Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat, and it felt like she had digested a bitter pill. She cringed at her words. “O-Only two months.” You closed your eyes, and your dam of tears shattered. Your cheeks stung as salty droplets cascaded down your skin. ‘Only two months’? Three years of marriage down the drain because of a sixty-day affair? Nat saw you tremble and put a hand on your mouth to keep yourself from sobbing, but it didn’t work. She wanted to hold you in her arms but knew it would only worsen the situation.

“WHY?!” you snapped, turning around to face her again. Your eyes and cheeks were red as tears continued to roll down your face. “Was I not good enough? Did I not please you enough? I gave you everything! I gave you my soul and body to use as you pleased, so why?!” You saw that Natasha was silently crying but was trying to stop herself from doing so. You knew the answer, but you carried on regardless.

You weren’t giving her enough attention because of your demanding work as a doctor and she was an Avenger, both needed by the world, but you gave her everything when you could. Natasha just needed more, but you weren’t there when she needed you, so she found someone else: her fellow Avenger who had just lost Vision. It was supposed to be a one or two-time affair for meaningless sex, but the ex-assassin kept returning to her, even when you were free from work. She was going to end things before she lost you, but she was too late.

“Does she have something I don’t?” Natasha denies it. “Does she let you use her better than I do?” She denies it. “Does she make you happier than I do?” She denies it. “Then why did you not choose me over her?” She doesn’t answer, and you sigh, running your hands through your face before placing a hand on your chest as you mutter, “I’M YOUR WIFE, FOR FUCKING SAKE, NATASHA!” The word ‘wife’ triggered her to fall to her knees and watch as you sat at the edge of the bed in frustration, hand holding your face as more tears ran down your face. “You could’ve told me you wanted more. I would’ve given everything up to make you happy. You just needed to tell me, not her…”

You were a sobbing mess because of Nat, and it greatly pained her how badly she had hurt you. She doesn’t even know why she keeps coming back to her because you are the one she loves, not her. Natasha shuffled on her knees before you, gently grabbing your wrists as she pressed her forehead against yours, mumbling, “I’m sorry,” over, and over again. You had so many unanswered questions, but the answers will only add more daggers to your bleeding heart. You couldn’t take more pain, not when a bullet of news had pierced your heart hours ago. “Divorce papers are coming in a few days,” you sniffled. “I don’t want anything; just leave me be.” You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to leave her, but you couldn’t stay.

The ex-assassin’s eyes widened at your statement. You’re leaving her. She doesn’t want to lose you. You were the greatest thing that had happened to her, but she overlooked the fact and messed up. “No, no, no, no,” she rambled. “Please, let me make things right. Give me another chance. Please. I can’t lose you, Y/n.” Natasha’s tone was genuine. You looked at her eyes, and they were begging you to stay and forgive her, but you couldn’t. A cheater will always be a cheater.

“Wanda revealed your affair and begged for my forgiveness this morning, begging me to forgive you and that it was her fault for causing this mess.” You bitterly chuckled. “I was going to give you one more chance because I love you… but she’s with a child.” Your future ex-wife’s eyes widened when you uttered the words she feared. Her worst fear about her two-month fling came true, but she couldn’t accept it. “T-There must be a mistake!” Nat’s eyes were pleading that it was false news. “It can’t be my child!”

As much as Natasha hurt you for cheating and getting someone else pregnant, it pained you to see the horrified expression on her face. You wanted to hold her in your arms, but it will only keep you from leaving. “The only one she was ever with when she lost Vision was you,” you trailed off and reluctantly cupped her face, making her flinch and tighten her hold on your wrists. “Vision is a robot, Nat. He can’t physically have children with Wanda even if they wanted to…” Natasha wanted to cut you off, to shut you up from speaking, but she was too broken and in shock to do anything, making you say your words to slap her in the face with a reality check; “The baby is yours.”

You felt her hands tremble, and your lap was damp with her tears. You didn’t want to stay with a cheater, even if you loved her with all your heart. You can’t be mad—you weren’t mad— just sad and disappointed at yourself for not making her happy. You deserved this. “I can’t stay, Natalia, even if I wanted to.” The older woman cried, tears gushing down her face and pleading with you that she can make this work like how it was before when nothing was wrong, “W-Wanda isn’t in the right emotional state to carry a child, she’s still grieving a-and, and and she wouldn't want to raise a child she doesn’t even want—”

“She wishes to keep the child, Nat… I let her,” you tenderly, yet sadly, smiled as you pressed your forehead against hers. The room was filled with questions about why you approved Wanda’s selfish request. You let another woman carry your wife’s child, but that's the thing, Natasha was soon to be your ex-wife. While it hurt you that Wanda wanted to keep the child, you realized that the child had nothing to do with breaking your relationship with Nat. It was Natasha’s own actions, as well as yours, that led to this situation. You knew Wanda was grieving Vision’s loss, and you hoped her baby would bring her comfort and help her have a breakthrough. Natasha hated how you were always so selfless, willing to sacrifice yourself for someone else’s happiness.

“Don’t leave me, Y/n, please. I can make this work, I’ll cherish you, I love you—please—” Natasha sobbed, and you felt her tears sting your tear-stained-cheeks. She knew that you wanted the child to grow up in a healthy family, which means you had to be out of the picture so they wouldn’t grow up feeling that they were a mistake and ruined a relationship that wouldn’t work out anyway. You want them to feel loved, to be surrounded by the people who raised them. You’re leaving because you love Natasha and you consider her child as your own, but she doesn’t want to lose you.

You let go of her face to leave, but Nat’s immediate vice grip around you prevented you from doing so. She got up from the floor and fell onto you, pressing her body against yours as your back collided with the mattress. She prevented you from leaving by tackling you into a hug, straddling your waist as her arms wrapped around your torso. The ex-assassin was stronger than you, so trying to get out of her grip would be futile. You reluctantly wrapped your arms around her neck as tears started to run down your face again, mirroring her. Natasha’s sobs and another wave of apologies filled the room. You let her hold you for the last time because she knew she truly had lost you.

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