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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 6 months

Text

(and if nothing brings you back) Surely, I'll roam through life in black

Mihawk x reader. NSFW!!

Title is an excerpt from Blind and Frozen by Beast in Black (again). Sequel to Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). There will now be a separate epilogue to this story!

Note - 13/11/2023: I have edited Built a haven to delete a brief reference to Kain, the reader's past lover, in order to focus on other, more important characters.

*****

Dracule Mihawk is a patient man.

It is a natural quality, and at the same time that self-restraint is one of the reasons he has come as far as he has. After all, you don't become the best at what you do if you get bored easily, or frustrated after a visible lack of progress after a few short weeks; while natural talent did undoubtedly play a role in making him the man he is, Mihawk knows it is the long hours he spent practicising his swordsmanship (every single day since he was five, hundreds and even thousands of repetitions of the same figure, of the same lunge or the same parry, until he could perform them in his sleep and through simple muscle memory) that has made him the most respected and feared adversary in the four seas. He has always known in his heart the way of the sword was his destiny, no matter how hard and long the way to the top would be, and that path he has walked, patient and persevering, confident that one day his efforts and dedication would bear fruit - which they have. Even so, he still practices, every day, with the same focus and tenacity of when he was ten, still until his arms hurt and his fingers bleed, and then a little more.

Dracule Mihawk is a very patient man, not least because there is very little nowadays that can actually excite his curiosity to the point of anxiety; no rival in the last decade has seriously interested him, no swordsman he has heard about or met has made him feel excited at the prospect of a fight (or rather, one has; but a full year after their first and only meeting, Roronoa Zoro still has a long way to go before becoming a worthy opponent. But that is not a problem; once more, he is patient, he can wait.) and no future plan or commitment has ever made him wish time would pass faster. He is not bored, per se; he is just perfectly content with the way he spends his days, without worrying about what the future may bring...

... except for a single, tiny (no more than fourteen pounds by now, according to a book he has accidentally found in his library and even more fortuitously leafed through until he has found the chapter about infant growth) detail... one that has kept him awake at night for the first time in his life, and that not even training until his body gave up and his mind begged for the relief of sleep has been able to banish from his thoughts.

You. Or, to be more precise, the consequences of the night you have spent together. Or, to be even more precise, the reason why you haven't made him aware of them like you had agreed to do.

That... your silence, and the suspicion you are not deliberately keeping him in the dark (why should you? You have promised to inform him as soon as you had seen your doctor, you have his transponder snail number, you know how important it is to him) but something is keeping you from calling... that is what is making him loose his sleep.

To be honest, he started feeling anxious (a feeling he has at first almost struggled to recognize, so alien it was to his personality) just a few days after you had said goodbye, a feeling that became harder and harder to ignore, and then to keep at bay, as the weeks succeded one another. At first, he wasn't worried - just irritated. Even the most ignorant man in matters of childbearing knows it could take a while, perhaps even a whole month, before a person has reason to suspect they are expecting, and a late period could be due to several reasons other than pregnancy. Also, according to the book, it is not uncommon for pregnancies to end in the first three months, for reasons not even the best doctors fully understand; perhaps, he reflected as he polished Yoru at the end of yet another day-long training session, you have decided to wait until you are reasonably sure your pregnancy is real and healthy enough to reach full term, before informing him. Given how important this is to you, how desperately you wanted to get pregnant and have a baby, you may have ordered yourself not to believe it yourself until then, as if you knew you couldn't bear to lose the child you had waited for so long...

He was sure - no, he had been ready to bet his life that you would call after three months, to tell him you were officially, undeniably pregnant with his child. You are not the sort of person who forgets a promise they made, and while he has not yet decided what role he would play in the child's life, if any, you knew (you had to know!) it was important for him to be aware of the truth. He expected to receive your call any day, and he was determined not to miss it, so much that for the first time in his life he started bringing his transponder snail to the training room, or wherever he had decided to practice in that day, to make sure he heard it ringing.

It didn't. Or rather, when it did, it was never the call he expected. It was never you, and while three months became four, and then five, and then six, Mihawk started feeling restless, and frustrated, and then worried. Why aren't you calling?, he kept wondering. The thought, that was rapidly becoming an obsession, was constantly on his mind (when he trained; when he ate; when he showered; when he fought, either yet another quarry the Marines had sicced him on, or some fame-hungry swordsman who thought they could measure themselves against him and invariably discovered they could not; when he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep) and threatened to drive him mad.

Six months after your night together, he had to stop lying to himself and seriously consider the hypothesis that you hadn't simply failed to contact him, whether because you had forgotten (absolutely impossible) or deliberately, but something was preventing you from doing it. Also, the two of you had never gone so long without meeting, and your few mutual acquaintances had not seen you recently either; you might have taken some time off from, or indeed put an end to, your activity as a mercenary when you realized you were pregnant, but that would not explain the lack of contact. Were you sick? Was the baby making you sick, and so weak you could not even hold a transponder snail receiver and speak in it? It seemed absurd: you were a still young, healthy woman, and even the most difficult pregnancy could not put a person into a coma! What could have been happened, then?

Has something terrible happened to you? It was, unfortunately, much less improbable than he would have wished; after all being a mercenary had to be one of the most unsafe, potentially fatal professions in the world, and your latest quarry might have turned out to be more challenging than you had expected, or maybe someone set to avenge one of your past victims had been able to sneak up on you and...?

He wanted to know. He had to - no, he needed to know, he reflected one night, the umpteenth in which he had found himself unable to sleep, as he looked at the starry sky out of his bedroom window, because while very little in the world had the power to upset or even just to actually interest him, he felt not knowing what had happened to you, and if you were safe and sound, could really drive him insane. You were strong, clever and resilient, but no one could keep their guard constantly up day and night, and so many dangerous things existed in the world; if you were hurt, and kept somewhere against your will unable to ask for help, he would move heaven and earth to find and set you free. And if it were already too late, if you had... died, either at the hands of an enemy or for some other reason...

In that case I really don't know what will become of me, he thought, then and so many times in the following months. He would have gladly stabbed himself in the heart rather than uttering those words out loud, or having someone else know he felt that way, but that was the truth and Mihawk was not in the habit of lying to himself.

The thing that vexed him the most was the inability to contact, and then to look for, you himself. He had not thought about asking for your own transponder snail number (something he had reproached himself for many times) and he even ignored the name of your island, which would have been the first place to search in. Worry and frustration prompted him to do what he never thought he would: call the Marines and ask... for informations.

"(name)? I haven't seen her in a while." Vice-Admiral Garp said, his tone pensive, on the day Mihawk contacted him "I was informed the man I had sent her to dispatch is dead, but she never came to collect the bounty, nor has she called or written to ask us to send it to her. I'm starting to think something bad has happened."

"Have you tried contacting her?"

"Of course we have. But her transponder snail has been deactivated since the first time we called, I don't know where she lives nor whether she has friends or family. Why do you care what happened to her?"

The sudden question, asked in a deliberately casual tone, took him by surprise for a moment. This doesn't concern you, Mihawk wanted to answer, but he stopped himself in time. He didn't particularly like Garp, but the older man was clever and relentless, not to mention he considered those like the two of you, pardoned pirates and mercenaries, like a necessary evil to keep in check; he would not go as far as to hurt a pregnant woman, and was probably already aware of your acquaintance given all the times you and him had sat down to drink and talk at the Marine HQ, but the least he knew, the better.

"(name) had promised to help me find a person I am interested in." he invented, confident a mere business deal would not interest the Marine much "A famous swordmaker she had been acquainted with years ago. She had promised she would track him down for me after her latest assignment, but I have not heard from her in a months."

"Had she now."

"What do you mean, Vice-Admiral?" Mihawk asked, suddenly irked; he didn't like the skeptic, vaguely mocking, tone the older man had used.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm afraid I can't help you, Mihawk; If you see her, tell her we'll keep the bounty for her."

As if he were the Marines' messenger boy. Mihawk disconnected without answering, sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand. It was as he feared: the call had been useless; you had disappeared, and he had no way to find you.

*****

And he still doesn't, six more months later, as he sits on the front steps of his house, a glass of red wine in his hand and his gaze facing the sunset, the familiar but still breath-taking view of the sky lit of red and black for once failing to catch his interest.

A year. A whole year spent thinking about you, worrying about you - and without you. He has sent word to his (very few) allies, acquaintances and whoever he could trust or owed him a favour, asking them to be on the look-out and inform him of any news, no matter how apparently far-fetched, about you.

It was all for nothing. You must have given birth by now, your baby should be around three months of age (has he ever seen a baby that small? Probably not since he was a very young boy himself, and he is sure he has never held one in his arms; well, he’s sure you’ll show him how…) but there is no trace of either of you. You seem to have disappeared into thin air, and Mihawk has never been so worried in his entire life. The possibility you are safe, having decided to hide and fake your death, doesn't even cross his mind; you had a deal, one he knows in his heart you would never break, both because you would have no reason to and because you would never do that to him (you wouldn't. It may sound presumptuous to think so, to believe he has some kind of influence over you, and he cannot claim to know what is in your mind... let alone in your heart... but you would keep you word, he would bet his life on it) which must mean that something is keeping you from contacting him, someone has hurt you, either keeping you prisoner somewhere, which would at least explain why you have disappeared, or worse...

You could have been killed. You could be dead, and the thought is so fiercely painful, the agony it fills his very being with so scorching and bitter, Mihawk wishes he could tear his heart from his chest, because if that were actually true nothing else, nor vengeance nor the passing of time, and surely not another lover, could ever give him the smallest amount of relief. So many people die every day, in some cases alone and unmourned, but the same cannot have happened to you, you are too... too smart and capable to have let an enemy overcome you, and too special and precious to have lived through something so terrible and humiliating...

And the baby? Your baby? What has happened to them?

Accepting to conceive a child together has been an impulsive decision, taken after just a few hours of reflection, but Mihawk does not regret it... and not simply because it has led him to the best night of his life. The thought of a child, of any child, hurt and killed would naturally horrify him, but to imaginehis own baby, his son or daughter, in danger or hurt... is it possible for a man to bear such an overwhelming grief?

He never thought he could feel like this; he never thought he would meet someone capable of arousing that sort of feeling in him, but he has, you have, and while Mihawk doesn't regret it, and knows he won't even if he does discover you have passed, the thought of losing you and your child before even having the chance to meet them... and to say goodbye to you, and... to talk to you once more, is... is...

He doesn't pray. He never has, and he knows in his heart it would make no difference, nor would he be able to find some comfort in it. Mihawk doesn’t believe in God, not in the benevolent, all-powerful kind so many people trust to make their lives a little more bearable or at least to reward them for their good deeds in the afterlife. What, who, he believes in, is himself, and this is why, after he woke up screaming from an horrible, excruciating nightmare (in which he opened the house door to find your reanimated corpse in front of him, a tiny dead body in your arms, telling him you were sorry you made him worry) he promises himself that if he ever finds you, you or the baby or hopefully both, he will never leave you again, and will give his life to protect you.

I swear, (name). I know you didn’t break your promise voluntarily; let me keep mine. Please, come back to me; I trust you. I can’t go on like this; not knowing is destroying me. Let me know you are both all right, and I swear I won’t let anything happen to you…

Are his feelings (fear, the instinctive protectiveness towards a child who is the blood of his blood, the memory of the night of passion you shared) getting the best of him, leading him to make a much deeper commitment than he would have been willing to had you, safe and sound, phoned him after a month to announce him you were in the family way? Perhaps. After all he does have a heart, but while he doesn’t intend to ask for your hand as soon as you meet again, he knows that whatever destiny has in store for the two of you, he will never regret his promise or the choice he made a year ago.

He never could, if you keep being part of his life. So he vows, in the privacy of his heart, and barely one day later he receives an answer; by God, by destiny, or someone else, he doesn’t care, but he has to quickly put an hand to his mouth to prevent Garp from hearing his sigh of relief.

“(name) has just called me.” The Vice-Admiral says; he sounds amused, as if his conversation with you had confirmed his suspicions about the reason why Mihawk was so worried about your disappearance. Lookin for a famous swordmaker indeed! “She has lost your number, but she was able to retrieve mine through an acquaintance who works close to another Marine base and asked me to convey a message.”

Silence.

“Mihawk?”

“I am here, Vice-Admiral.” he answers, in control of his emotions once more, even though he is clutching the transponder snail receiver so hard his knuckles have turned white “What is the message?”

“Simply her number, that she has asked me to give you. Do you have a pen?”

Mihawk does, but he needs to hear the number just once to know he will remember it forever. You are all right, he keeps repeating himself, alive and if perhaps not unharmed strong enough to carry out a conversation. Relief hits him, so sudden and overwhelming it almost hurts; did she tell you where she’s been in the last year? Is she all right?, for a moment he is about to ask, before thinking better of it; he will call you as soon as he finishes with Garp, who in any case he wouldn’t confide his fears in.

“I’ll tell her about the bounty she is owed. Good evening, Vice-Admiral.” he says, before hanging up and without giving the older man a chance to reply. He is alone, as always when he is at home, and Mihawk has never been so grateful for that lack of guests or, Gods forbid, house mates, because the last thing he wants is to have someone see him in that moment.

You’re alive. That is not enough to dispel all his fears, since as far as he knows you could be deadly ill or kept prisoner somewhere, and, most importantly, he still knows nothing about your baby, but suddenly he feels able to breathe normally for the first time in ages - in a whole year, that is. I knew you hadn’t forgotten your promise; that you hadn’t forgotten about me, he thinks, still worried but feeling a smile (a real, sincere smile, something no one in the world has ever seen on his face) open on his mouth. He remains still for a moment, the memory of your kiss and the sensation of your warm, solid body in his arms still etched in his mind, and a moment later he is already dialing the number Garp gave him.

You answer immediately; as if you were waiting for him to call. (You were. Desperately, fear and longing heavy on your heart; you needed to hear his voice like a person lost in a desert needed a glass of cold water, but at the same time you knew what you needed to tell him would destroy him, like it had destroyed you.)

“Mihawk?”

“This is him.” he promptly answers; until now you have always spoken in person and it has been a year since the last time, but he would recognize you voice anywhere “(name), are you all right?”

Silence.

“Name? Please…” he insists; that last word sounds almost alien on his tongue, but he can hear the call didn't fall, and the idea of you not wanting to talk to him is too painful to bear “Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I…”

“Is our baby all right?”

He can feel you hesitating for a moment more before slowly answering: “You needn’t worry; no one has been seriously hurt.”, which sounds too and unnecessarily complex when a simple we are both all right would have sufficed, but the determination in your voice is enough to reassure him “I’m sorry, I know I had promised to call you as soon as I had been to the doctor. I swear I would have, but…”

“Have you been kidnapped?”

“How do you know? Well, you’re right; I have been kept prisoner for a year, and my transponder snail was taken from me. I got free four days ago and I got home the day before yesterday. Mihawk, I…”

“Yes?”

Silence. Again. “I think it would be better if we spoke in person.” you state in the end “I’m sorry to ask you, but my doctor says I shouldn’t move for a few days a least, and my mother is of the same mind...”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mihawk quickly answers, perfectly aware he doesn’t even know where there is, and utterly unbothered by the issue.

“Really?”

“Of course. Give me the coordinates.”

You do, from memory, and he writes them down, just to be safe; he shouldn’t take more than a day to reach you, he is pleased to realize. “I will be there tomorrow morning at the latest.” he promises; most people would think twice before sailing at night in unknown waters, but he is not most people “How do I find you?”

“I’ll send someone to wait for you at the harbour. Mihawk?”

“Yes?”

“Were you worried for me?”

He snorts - inelegant, perhaps, but since you cannot see him…

“What do you think?” he pointedly asks, and he’s happy to hear you laugh, just for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (name).” he promises, and then he is the one hesitating just for a moment, before adding: “I can’t wait to meet our child.”

You say your goodbyes and hung up, quickly enough he can’t hear you burst in tears.

*****

He is sailing less than thirty minutes later, pleased to discover a favourable wind is pushing his ship in the right direction, and exactly twenty-two hours later his ship docks at the only little port of your island, in a warm, sunny morning he would consider a good sign, were he inclined to believe in that sort of things (he never has). The moment he steps on the harbour, mainly occupied by tiny fishing boats, a trio of men in livery approach him.

“Welcome to our island, sir.” the oldest respectfully tells him as they all bow in unison; he doesn’t ask for his name, Mihawk notices, nor does he mention it to make sure he’s addressing the right man “Lady (name) has sent us to meet you. Will you please follow us to the fortress?”

He does, and the brief ride in the small but elegant horse-drawn carriage gives him the opportunity to explore the place you call home. You had told him it was small, and it really is, little more than a rock in a relatively unimportant corner of the sea, but patriotism aside, he can see why you like it: the streets are large, the building well-kept, the marketplace the carriage passes next to thriving, and the flora seems to be as lush as you said it was, given the huge trees he sees in the squares and along the streets.

Still, sight-seeing is not what he has come here for, and when finally the fortress (a solid, relatively large stone building, wind-tossed flags at the top of the four corner towers and a drawbridge over a deep moat) appears in front of him, Mihawl feels his heart skip a beat, both looking forward to seeing you and at the same time fearing the state he will see you in. Such sentimentality, such an inability to put order among his feelings, is very unlike him, as well as the sort of things he has always done his best to avoid and considered an unnecessary distraction. Still, he doesn't regret those feelings; you are part of him now, an unexpected but not unwelcome state of things, and while openly discussing matters of the heart has never been easy for him, and he doesn't yet feel ready to give a name to the emotions you have elicited in him, he wants you to know, he needs you to know, he has never stopped thinking about you from the day you said goodbye...

About you, and about the child you have given him. The child, about three months old now, who he is going to meet in a few minutes.

Crossed the large double door of the fortress, the older man in livery exchanges a few words with another servant. "Lady (name) is in her quarters." he then reports "I'll bring you to her straight away, sir, unless you want to rest for a while. A room has been prepared for you."

Mihawk is not tired, but had he not slept for a week, his answer would be the same. "Bring me to her."

You like admiring the sunrise in the morning, as you prepare to begin your day, hence your quarters are east-facing. Mihawk is led to a small parlor, which might double as your study given the desk and the full bookcase on one side. A closed passage leads presumably to your bedroom, while an open double door gives way to a sun-lit terrace, where a quiet but serious conversation is taking place.

"... need to tell him. You owe him the truth, especially if you hope for your relationship to continue."

"I know that, mother. I don't want to lie to him, but... he told me he looked forward to meeting the baby... I can barely bear to think about what the doctor said, but to discuss it..."

"I know how painful it will be; for both of you. But you still have a whole life in front of you, and you need to come to terms with..."

The conversation quickly ceases when the man in livery steps on the terrace. "Pardon, my ladies. Your guest is here, lady (name)."

The terrace is a mostly empty semicircle bordered by a wrought iron parapet, the breath-taking view opening on the whole island; Mihawk doesn't even glance at it, his yellow eyes immediately drawn to the younger of the two women sat not far from him, semi-reclining on a deck-chair under a large straw umbrella, a pillow behind her back hiding a tiny but deadly machine gun.

You.

The first thing he notices is the weight you have lost. He has tried many times to imagine how your body would change because of your pregnancy, what you would look like heavy with his child; he was sure he would find you beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so. He even entertained himself wondering how it would have been to make love to you as you were visibly pregnant... and discovered the thought was not at all unpleasant.

The you in front of him couldn't be farther from those fantasies. No doubt because of the year you spent imprisoned, you are clearly underweight, your left leg, left naked by the short skirt of your dress, is braced and bandaged, a profound, overcome but persistent weakness surrounding you, as if the excellent care you are receiving at home still couldn't undo the ill treatment you have suffered.

A strong-willed, resilient woman like you would not be cowed by a slap or a skipped meal. What sort of violence and abuse did your captors have to resort to in order to break your spirit? Have you been beaten? Starved? Exposed to the weather in the coldest days of the winter? Have they... assaulted you? Whatever the truth, Mihawk suddenly wishes he could have them in front of him; after a single hour, those bastards would beg him to die quickly.

Then you smile at him, happy and relieved, and the desire for revenge is promptly forgotten - or at least put aside. "Hello, (name)."

"You came."

"You know I would have."

You share a look, brief but enough to make him feel as if the last year had been no longer than a day; he can see unmitigated joy in your eyes, and relief, and... wariness, almost as if you feared what could be said during the conversation he has come to have. Are you... afraid of him? Why? What do you have to tell him that could upset him to the point of...?

He notices, a whole minute later than he should have, that the baby is not with you, nor there is on the terrace a cot or a little bed you could have put them in. He is about to ask, when the woman sat on the chair next to you, at the other side of a small round table, stands and turns to look at him. He doesn't need to consider the evident family resemblance, nor to think back to what you have told him about your family, to realize she must be your mother: you have the same look, the same kind but piercing gaze in your like-colored eyes. "Good morning. I am lady Veressa, (name)'s mother. It is a pleasure to have you on our island."

"Thank you, my lady." Mihawk answers with a slight bow of his head; he is able to behave courteously with people of authority, whatever Garp may think "The pleasure is mine."

"(name), I will leave you with your guest. Please, do not overexert yourself."

"I won't, mother. Thank you." you answer, and smile when she bends to kiss your brow. A moment later the lady of the island has left, the man in livery behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

Neither speaks as Mihawk moves the free chair even closer to yours and sits; there are about a million questions he wants to ask, but for a minute he is content like this, simply looking at you, reassuring himself you are really there, clearly exhausted but alive, healing, and still beautiful enough to take his breath away.

"You have a ten million berries bounty to collect." he points out after a while; you, apparently expecting to hear something completely different, blink, and appear to struggle a little to understand the meaning behind those words, as if your activity as a mercenary were a long-forgotten childhood game and not the trade you have practiced since you were still a girl.

"Oh... right. I will have to call Garp again one of these days."

You smile, still nervous but happy; your hand reaches towards him, and he takes it in his, careful, as if it were made of glass.

"I have missed you, Mihawk."

"And I you." he promptly answers; he wonders if you realize how rare, and surprisingly easy, it is for him to utter those simple words. Something tells him you do "Are you well?"

"Considering everything I have been through, I think so." you answer after a moment of reflection; there is no trace of complaint in your voice, rather it is the matter of fact tone of a person who dispassionately acknowledges a situation and moves on "The doctors said I have been lucky, a few more weeks under the loving care of my jailers and I would have died. And my leg should heal perfectly, which is the thing I was most worried about."

"That is good to hear. (name)..."

"You want to know about the baby." you interrupt him, and there is something on your face he cannot name, but that makes him shiver; as if you were preparing yourself for an unpleasant chore you could not avoid. You told him no one got seriously hurt, which only partially reassured him, and he knows he won't be able to relax until he sees his child with his own eyes... "Am I right?"

"Yes. Where are they?"

*****

This is a conversation you can't avoid; your mother is right, you owe him that much and more, especially if he is to still be part of your life from now on, which you desperately wish for. Still, you would give half of your blood (not a small sacrifice, considering how much of it you have wasted in the last year) to avoid or at least to postpone it, and enjoy the quiet, comforting joy of having Mihawk close once more, after fearing for so long you would never see him again.

You breathe in and, holding tight as if preparing for a violent impact, you confess: "There is no baby. I... I had my period a week after our night together, and regularly after that, at least for a while."

You have time to count up to ten before you hear him answering; you can't look at him, and perceive he'd rather you didn't.

"I see."

"I am so sorry, Mihawk. It was my most fertile period, and we tried three times... I was so sure..."

This time he is the one interrupting you. "I know. It is not your fault." he murmurs; you can feel the emotion in his voice, without a doubt much more than he wishes you to, and that makes you feel guilty, as if you were intruding in an intimate moment "I... I guess this is good, after all. You have clearly been hurt, and taken prisoner. That is not the sort of situation you'd want to be pregnant, and to have a child, in."

You can't help but agree, and you swallow, hoping against hope you can stop talking about it and the two of you can enjoy some time together before he leaves and you can go back mourning what will never be in the privacy of your heart, but Mihawk's next words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

"Maybe... maybe we can try again." he slowly suggests; he has started caressing the back of your and with his thumb, and the intimate tone of his voice, a still serious but unmistakably sensual accent in it, is enough to make you shiver, and cry "Once you have returned to health. Our night together was... very enjoyable, I wouldn't mind doing it again, and I must confess the idea of a child has grown on me..."

You will not cry. Not in front of him, not now. Don't you dare, (name).

"I can't." you murmur miserably; you feel as if you were confessing a terrible crime, something to be ashamed of, which couldn't be farther from the truth, and this makes you angry "I... after I came back, my mother insisted the doctors carried out a complete medical examination, to make sure we knew exactly what was wrong with me health-wise; we thought it was important to leave nothing untreated. My period had stopped after a few months, no doubt because I was given very little to eat, so my women's doctor visited me, and discovered... she found out that I..."

That I can't have children, and never will. Your voice breaks before you can utter those words, but Mihawk seems to perceive them all the same, and the flash of shock and pain in his lovely yellow eyes, brief but too sudden and fierce to hide it behind his usual sangfroid, makes you feel the worst, cruelest woman of the four seas. "Mihawk, I am so sorry... I swear I didn't know..."

"I believe you. I... I am the one who is sorry, (name). I know how important it was to you."

It was, and it still is; otherwise part of you wouldn't wish you had died in the cell you had been put in. "I know, but... you just told me you had started liking the idea of being a father. Well, I'm sure there are thousand of women who..."

"No. There aren't." he curtly stops you, as if to make it clear that he considers the matter closed. The intention behind those words, that he cannot imagine, that he doesn't want, a woman who is not you as the mother of his child, should make you feel happy, and flattered, and it does, even though that is just the light of a single candle in the unending darkness of your pain.

A still bitter but peaceful silence falls on you, your hand still enclosed in Mihawk's; even now, despite the excruciating pain making you feel as if a beast were eating you from the inside, you feel comfort, and peace, in having him close.

"What will you do now?" he asks after a while, and you shrug.

"My closest relative until two years ago was a distant cousin I didn't particularly like; he died, but he has left a son, and my mother and I agreed the best thing to do would be to name him my heir. He is only six, so it is too early to know whether he is a good fit for the role, but I will ask his mother to let the boy come live with us, and we can prepare him to rule after my death. He is technically of my blood so the succession should not be contested... but honestly I don't care much at the moment. The good of this island and its people has been my first and foremost interest since I was a girl, but now... now I would wish for everything to disappear. That I could disappear."

He has never seen that part of you, dejected and fragile and hopeless like a baby in the snow, and normally you would be embarrassed to have someone you respect and whose opinion you value witness those moments, but you know Mihawk has a heart, even though few people can say they have seen it, and you trust he will not judge you.

He doesn't.

"The people who hurt you." he mentions after a while "Are they alive?"

"The man who kidnapped me is dead, as well as a few of his henchmen I had to kill when they tried to stop me from escaping. Why?" you ask, confused, but a moment later you look at him, and a tiny smile blossoms on your lips "You want to go avenge me?"

"It is what you deserve."

"You don't even know why they did it. For all you know they could have had a good reason to try and hurt me."

"I'm sure they didn't."

"It was partially my fault actually. Every mercenary knows they should guard against friends and families of their victims, and I am usually careful, but that day I had lowered my guard." you admit, still ashamed of that rookie mistake "I was returning to the Marine HQ with the head of my latest quarry, and I fell in the trap this man had set for me; I had killed his brother years ago and he wanted revenge. I thought he would have killed me, but instead he wanted to prolong my suffering. He kept me in a cell so low I couldn't even stand, he starved me, beat me, left me outside and it was so cold I thought pneumonia would kill me... he took my derringer, my favourite gun, from me and smashed it under a rock, and I swear, that was the..."

And then he kisses you. To stop you from blabbering, perhaps, or because hearing what you have gone through has made him lose control with both rage and relief; you'll never know, and in the end you don't care. He has bent over you, covering the short distance between your chairs, his hand delicately cupping your face and his lips... his cool, soft lips, both gentle and hungry, are pressed against yours, and that is enough to light the fuse, to make your heart skip several beats and moan with pleasure, the memories of your night together instantly filling your mind.

You part your lips, suddenly so hungry for him you don't even care someone could enter and see you, but before you can deepen the kiss Mihawk breaks it, gently but firmly moving away and forcing you to let the hand you had placed on the back of his head fall.

"I am sorry." he says, with the least apologetic tone the world has ever heard "I shouldn't have."

"Yes, you should have. Do you really think you need to apologise?"

"You are very weak, and hurt. The last thing you need is to exert yourself."

"Is that your medical opinion?" you promptly retort; you still feel dead inside, like you have since you learnt you are destined to remain childless, but you want him so much you can barely breathe, and that makes you bold "I will not die if you kiss me, Mihawk; nor if we sleep together once more, which I would really like."

"(Name)..." he says with a sigh, and for a moment you almost hate him; he looks, and sounds, like a patient adult dealing with an unruly child, which is frustrating and more than a little offensive.

"You told me a moment ago you would be willing to try again. I know I do not look my best right now..."

"Do you really think I care about that?" Mihawk retorts; he hasn't raised his voice, but anger is seeping in his tone, which you approve. Anything, even rage, is better than concern; anything is better than him treating you as if you were broken, even though you are "I never have. Not with you. I have never stopped wanting you since we last parted, and I still do, fully and desperately."

If there is a thing you can always count on with Mihawk, it is him being sincere. "Then won't you stay with me?" you ask, holding out your hand towards him; you have always found it degrading for a woman, for any person actually, to beg for that sort of companionship, but this is what you are doing, you are begging him to take you in his arms and make you forget, at least for a little while, and you feel no shame or embarrassment, because you know that he, a proud and severe man, will not judge you "I need you, Mihawk. Please, don't leave me."

Your crutch, that the doctor (reluctantly) gave you permission to use to move around instead than using a wheelchair, is leaning against the wall next to your deck-chair, but before you can reach for it Mihawk's arms slip behind your back and under your bent knees, and a moment later he's crossing the terrace door and then the parlour, you firmly but gently held in his arms.

"Mihawk, put me down! I can walk..."

"You clearly can't." he reasonably points out, a trace of amusement in his voice "And don't worry, you're light."

You don't remember ever being held like this since you were a very young child, and you immediately decide you like it, both because you can feel his heart beating, much faster than normal, against yours, and because the proximity allows you to kiss him, which you avidly do, your arms circling his neck. You feel nothing but desire and joy and relief as you cling to Mihawk, pouring your very soul in each kiss, not stopping even as you push your bedroom's door open to let him carry you inside.

You need him. Because you are hurt and weak and scared and he is the only one you feel able to receive comfort from, but there is more to it; he is part of you, in a way you would be unable to explain but that you cannot ignore. In the solitude of your heart, you know it to be true, and it scares you, but you are not sorry for it.

Mihawk delicately lays you down on your bed, next to the little table cluttered with medicines and bandages, mindful of your broken leg. He takes his plumed hat off, his eyes trained on you as he leaves it on a nearby chair, and then places Yoru against the nearby wall. "I thought I would never see you again." he murmurs; he doesn't elaborate, keeping silent on the thoughts and emotions that belief elicited in him. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to, but that is all right, because you can perceive what he feels and thinks all the same; looking in his eyes is enough. "I... I missed you very much."

He doesn't know how much of a treasure those words are to you; which means, you immediately decide, you'll have to show him.

"And I you."

You quickly untie the knots of your dress, but then you stop, enraptured as you observe Mihawk undressing. He is not exactly putting on a show for you, but judging from the smirk adorning his face, he is more than aware of the effect he has on you. His long coat is the first to go, then his dagger necklace, his boots, his pants and what he wears underneath. Soon he is naked as the day he was born, and he joins you on the bed, slowly advancing like a predator moving towards his next meal. "Are you ready for me, woman?" he whispers, and you smile, confident you can play his game and even beat him at it.

"Maybe you're the one who is not ready for me."

Still, your self-confidence lasts only a few seconds, until you have awkwardly slipped the lower half of your dress from under your ass and taken it off, leaving him free to observe your abused, weakened body. You wait, anxious like a young soldier being inspected by a superior officer, afraid of what you could see in his eyes.

"Don't pity me." you warn him softly as you welcome him in your embrace "I have been lucky."

Mihawk sighs, as if understanding your motives but reticent to accept them; he gently lowers you on the bed, propping himself with his elbow next to your face. "I wish I could make them all pay." he whispers, his free hand gently caressing the bruises, wounds and scars scattered on your skin, the tenderness of his touch enough to bring tears to your eyes. "More than anything else... I wish I was there to help you. To protect you. I know you can take care of yourself..."

"I clearly can't."

"You know what I mean. You saved yourself in the end, did you not? (name), I wish I could make it all go away."

He can't, not really, and you both know it; still, you can smile, as you take his face in your hands, and feel his desire pressed against your tight. "Kiss me." you answer "And hold me tight. That will be enough."

He doesn't answer, but Mihawk has always been the sort of man who lets his action speaks for him, and thank the Gods, actions is exactly what you need now. You sigh, finally relieved, as he kisses you again, your mouths chasing each other as your hands explore the heavy, warm body above yours, your single night together, by now a year ago, enough to make you remember what he liked and what gave him pleasure. Mihawk pants as he feels your fingers caress his smooth chest, lingering for a moment to tease his nipples, and then descend towards the firm roundness of his ass; you grasp at it, greedily kneeding his flesh, and his hips quake. "(name)..." he murmurs, his tone reverent and almost worshipful; you are in awe, moved and grateful you see in his eyes the same emotions that fill your heart "(name), how... how I have missed you..."

"Tell me what you want, Mihawk." you invite him; it is his comfort you crave, the passion and pleasure of your lovemaking to forget at least for a while you will never have a family of your own, but that doesn't mean you don't want him to find joy in it "I want to make you feel good."

Again, he needs no words to express his intentions. He grins before moving to lie on one side next to you, your legs interwined; you are still kissing passionately as his hand moves yours to his hard cock, that you happily caress and tease while Mihawk is greedily sucking on your neck.

"You'll leave a bruise." you laugh; you can't wait to feel him inside you, and at the same time this is enough, the intimacy of feeling him close, not to protect you or to assure you you are still valuable and whole after what was done to you, but simply to know he cares "And everyone will know what I, we, have been up to."

"Good." is Mihawk's curt reply, and a moment later he is nuzzling your cleavage, his tongue lapping at the soft flesh of your breasts. He makes sure you are looking at him before capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and even gently biting until you have to press an hand to your mouth, that a moment later Mihawk decisively takes off. "Don't." he orders.

"But..."

"Don't hold back. Scream if you want. Make the whole fortress hear, let your people know what their pretty lady is doing. Let all the men on this island know they have no chance."

Of all the things you could have imagined, Mihawk being possessive, even jealous, of you, would have been the last of the list. But you like it, you immediately decide, you like it a lot, so much that you lift his gaze towards yours with an hand under his chin, while the other grasps at his cock with enough force to make him quiver, and you see pure, raw pleasure explore in his gaze.

"I don't want other men." you confess; it is way too early in your relationship (assuming that he actually wants one; you know you do, and the disappointment would break your heart) for promises and commitment, but you know you'll never regret uttering those words "I only want you. All of you. Take me, Mihawk; I'm yours, whatever you want you can do it to me."

The sound Mihawk makes after hearing your words is not a moan nor a grunt, rather a growl, and when your eyes meet once more you know that he couldn't stop even if he wanted. He doesn't need to, fortunately, and you smile as you lift your hips, careful not to put your weight on your broken leg, and let him take off your panties. The moment you are finally naked in front of him, ready and so eager, you see him lick his lips as he lifts your good leg to wrap it around his hips. He kisses you once more, intense and devout and hungry, and a moment later you feel him push against you, and your body opens like the petals of a flower to welcome him inside.

The moment you are finally one, so close and intimately linked, the relief filling your body is so intense you could weep for it; you can feel his heart beat against your chest, and it is lovely, it is so amazing, because it beats jointly with yours. Mihawk's forehead rests against yours, his hand still caressing your hair.

He is smiling. "Now you're mine." he whispers, in what is both a claim and a promise; and then he starts moving.

*****

It is a good thing that he arrived in the morning, you reflect as you lazily caress Mihawk's chest, since you are free to enjoy the intimacy and closeness between you until it lasts, without having to waste time sleeping. You are lying on your back, pleasantly surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, and it is as if the world outside your bedroom had disappeared; another gun, that you chose to replace your lost derringer even though it doesn't carry the same personal value, is hidden under your pillow. You seem to remember you had some important task to carry out today, the opening of a new school or a meeting with some council member or other, but you are not sure, and for the first time in your life you don't care.

"Does your mother know about me? About us?" Mihawk asks after a while; he is lying on your right side, so as not to bump into your broken leg, and he has yet to let you go, his strong arms firmly encircling your shoulders and waist. Despite the intensity of his desire, he has been gentle with you, as you needed in your state but more than you wanted him to; still, you feel pleasantly sore, your body tired but content and satisfied as Mihawk's fervor still warms your skin.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. "Why? Would it embarass you?" you ask back after kissing his chest.

"Not at all. She didn't seem upset when she saw me, but perhaps she disapproves her daughter associating with a pirate."

You assure him that fortunately your mother has never demanded to choose who you made friends (or more) with, especially since you have become an adult. "Also, she wouldn't have the right to judge." you add pensively as you slowly turn on one side to return his embrace "Since she also fell in love with a pirate."

That also escapes your lips without you realizing; Mihawk does.

"Your father?"

"Yes. He... well, he was part of Gold Roger's crew. He was the navigator."

Mihawk's raised eyebrows suggest you have done what perhaps no one else in the world has: taken him by surprise - twice. "You are not joking?"

"Of course not. I hadn't been born yet, of course, but from what my mother told me their ship passed by our island during one of their voyages, and the captain decided to stop for a while to rest and restock provisions." you explain; many people would be excited to hear a first-hand account of a meeting with the famed King of the Pirates, but you have always been much more interested in the man who, in true pirate fashion, stole your mother's heart. "She, who at the time was the heir just like me now, was the one who went to welcome them at the harbour; she met my father, and for ten weeks they were inseparable. On the day the crew was meant to depart, she told him she was pregnant; she knew the sea was his home, and that no matter how much they cared for each other, and how amazing a father he would have been, settling down on land with her would have made him miserable. So she let him go, and they started exchanging letters. When I was little, my mother would read his to me to make me fall asleep; I never met him, but I kept his wanted poster framed in my room. Then he returned, suddenly one day."

Mihawk's fingers begin to move along your leg, tantalizing close to your crotch. "Was it after Roger had died?"

"It was. Apparently, Roger left his crew voluntarily, he wasn't captured as the Marines said; he had relinquished command to his first officer, but a few members of the crew decided to leave it. My father was among them. He didn't expect my mother and me to welcome him with open arms after seventeen years spent living as he pleased, he told us, but he had never stopped thinking and caring about us, and hoped we would give him a chance to prove it. My mother, who by then had succeded her father as ruler of the island, let him stay, with my approval, and so we had a chance to finally bond."

You don't tell him of those years. Of how you gradually got used to your father's presence in your life, where until then he had been just a picture on the wall; of how he slowly, patiently built a relationship with you, learning to know your emotions, your thoughts, your dreams and fears, and how equally little by little you came to trust him, to respect and finally to love him. Of all the things you did together, the quiet, pleasant afternoons spent fishing at the docks, your legs dangling next to his and the sun on your backs, his awe and pride as he saw how talented you were with a gun in your hand (your maternal grandfather had been the first to teach you, like his own had done with him) and capable in your recently started activity as a mercenary, and how he liked dancing with you while your mother played the piano. You don't tell him how happy you felt when he and your mother told you they had decided to pursue a relationship once more, and how proud and excited he was when you told him you were expecting.

You don't. You can't, because it hurts so much, still today, enough to feel your heart bleed. What you are able to share, although with a huge effort, is that one day, nine years ago, a merchant ship reached your island, ostensibly to exchange or sell the goods in its hold. The truth was very different.

"The ship's original crew had been massacred by a band of pirates, who had then stolen vessel and cargo to carry out the captain's plan. My father had been sure no one would recognize him from his past as a pirate; after all our island was so tiny and virtually unknown, and Gold Roger had been so famous few had ever paid attention to his men, especially one who had no special abilities and powers like him. He was wrong; one of the island's rare tourists had recognized him from his old bounty poster, and weeks later he mentioned it to his friends in a tavern. The captain of the pirate crew happened to hear."

"Did he know your father?" Mihawk asks, still holding you tight; he seems genuinely interested in your story, which does please you, but part of you regrets even starting it, spoiling the pleasant moment you were living together... and that you don't know how long will last.

"No, he didn't. The captain wasn't interested in my father personally, he just wanted to find one of Roger's men... and force him to reveal the location of the One Piece." you explain "My father told the captain he didn't know; that Roger had hidden his treasure in a place only he knew, and had brought the secret to his grave. The captain didn't listen; by then, his men had surrounded the fortress and announced we would both be killed had my mother, who had by chance been at the other side of the island when our home had been besieged, ordered the guards to force an entry. He told us he would kill both of us if my father didn't him what he wanted to know... and in the end he did. The pirate shot me, but my father attempted to shield me with his body; he took a bullet in the head for me, and he died, and then a few guards who had disobeyed orders broke into the room, and I got hit in the cross-fire. I survived, but I miscarried; and even though I had no idea, because I kept having my period as usual after that, it was then that... something must have broken inside me, preventing me from getting pregnant ever again. That day I thought I had lost almost all of my family, but I had no idea of how right I had been."

Your tale has ended; you spoke for a few minutes at most, but you feel exhausted, even more than after you had escaped from your captivity and dragged yourself back home. As you expected, discussing the loss of your father and your baby, and the fact that you are destined to never be a mother, has been an agony you would not wish on your worst enemy; last night you have cried yourself to sleep, and you thought the overwhelming, excruciating pain you felt was too much for a person to bear, and you would die from it. Now that you're able to rationally reflect on it, you know you're not going to be so fortunate: you're gonna live, potentially for decades to come, and this pain will never leave you completely.

A sigh escapes your lips. "I am sorry; this is not the sort of topic one should discuss when with... someone special." you quietly admit, and Mihawk grunts in disagreement.

"I think you and me are beyond this sort of things." he points out before kissing you once more, and despite everything, despite how dead inside you feel, the sensation of his tongue against yours is enough to make you tremble. "You didn't deserve it, (name)." Mihawk quietly adds; he can't make it all go away, no matter how dearly you both want it, but those few, apparently impersonal words matter more to you than any I am so sorry or display of sympathy "Nobody does, but you least of all."

"I agree."

You enjoy the quiet and intimacy between you for a few more minutes, sharing lazy kisses and touches that you know you have already developed an addiction for, and that you will never stop craving.

But you have to. At least for a while, because the strength you need to go on you have to find it inside you, and you can't do it if you're tempted to hold onto him.

"How long can you stay?" you murmur a moment after your hand has slipped downward to caress Mihawk's cock, tearing a satisfied moan from his mouth.

Mihawk shrugs. "I have -ah...!- no pressing duties to attend to. I can stay as long as I want." he explains; a moment, and then: "As you want."

"Oh, you're leaving me the choice?"

"This is your home, and your island. I don't want to be the sort of guest who overstays his welcome."

"You never could and you know it." you point out, and you shiver, feeling his fingers gently explore the expanse of your chest and belly; then, thinking that even the worst criminals are granted a twenty-four hours reprieve to put their affairs in order before the sentence is carried out, you propose: "What if I asked to stay until tomorrow at this hour?"

"That would be fine. Why?"

"Because I feel that if you stay longer, I won't be able to let you leave."

Mihawk reflects on your words; he doesn't seem surprised, nor particularly happy, about your proposal. "Then." he begins as he turns to cover your body with his once more; there is sadness in his yellow eyes, but even more, there is trust and warmth, and perhaps even love, even though that could be wishful thinking on your part "I say we relish the time we can spend together while it lasts. What do you say?"

You obviously agree; you take him in your arms and hold him tight, leaving everything else behind - for a little while at least.

*****

This fic is dedicated to @alphaash99 and @skynikan. Thank you for your support, hope you like this!!

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Steven John Ward #Dracule Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Mihawk x reader #Bellona's stuff

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masonmyluv · 6 months

Text

Part 5

A/N: a little bit of angst makes the story even more interesting 🫢

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, Fermin being an asshole sorry 🥺

"So I thought we could use these books" you said. "Did you take the whole library?" He asked laughing. "That wouldn't have been fair for the others" you said. "And I already browsed trough them, so we just have to read some chapters" you explained. "We should start then" he said, sitting on the couch and you at the kitchen island. Two hours passed and you decided to order some take out and then continue with typing your essay. After gaining more energy, you went back to highlighting paragraphs while Fermin was doing the same. You couldn't help, but your mind wondered to that wet dream a few nights ago, when he pulled you into his lap and kissed you passionately. Those plump lips of his moulding with yours. His tongue fighting yours for dominance. His hands that were either on your back or your ass, squeezing you against him.

"Y/N"

Yours were pulling his hair as you wanted to feel more of him. "Fuck" you moaned when you pulled away for air, his lips instantly going to your neck.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Fermin asked, waving his hand in front of you. "Y-yeah" you blushed, being caught red-handed. You just had a fantasy about the guy you were in the room with. "I said we should include facts and examples" he said. "Okay, I agree" you said, trying to push away any thirst thoughts of him when you had to focus on the project.

— the next day —

"We just have to do the ppt and it's done" you said, finishing the last corrections to the essay. Then you went on your laptop to pick a theme for the PowerPoint, but all of them were shit. "So I thought we could use this if you like it" you said. "Or maybe this one?". "Whatever you want" he said kind of harshly. He realised his tone was cold and somehow annoyed when you didn't reply and just closed yourself from him. When he said he wanted to get rid of the crush, he didn't mean to be mean towards you. "Y/N, I'm sorry—". "I think we're both tired. We should stop here. I'll do the ppt" you said, packing your things. "I can do it —". "No, it's okay. See you tomorrow when we have to present" you said, quickly walking out of his house. Maybe you really were annoying when it came to projects.

— in class —

Everyone could sense something was wrong with the two of you. You even declined the coffee that was already waiting for you on the desk, probably from Fermin. "You nervous?" Fermin asked breaking the ice, but you were reading your notes on the project. "It will be alright I hope" he continued. The professor entered the room, so you could just ignore his presence while your colleagues presented their work. "So, today we are going to start with Mr. Lopez and Miss Y/L/N" he said and your face fell. Why were you the ones starting? "Because Mr. Lopez has training in an hour" he said as if reading your mind. Of course, the football princess is busy. You stood up and Fermin after you, going to the front of the class with your laptop. "It will be okay" Fermin whispered.

The presentation was flawless, except some parts where Fermin forgot what to say, but you saved his ass. The professor told you you'll find the grades later today and gave the class a short break. "That went amazing" Fermin said, following you out of the classroom. "Yeah sure" you mumbled. "You're not staying for the rest of the class?" Fermin asked, knowing you rarely missed any. "Mind your own fucking business" you said, going to the coffee shop to buy a coffee. "I bought you a coffee earlier—". "Why are you following me around, Fermin? Don't you have training?" You asked. "What's up with you?" He asked annoyed. "How dare you! You're being an asshole, not even telling me we have to present first" you said, taking your cup of coffee. "It doesn't matter anyway" he shrugged. "Maybe not for you, but for me yes. That's why we're a team, we tell each other things like that. But obviously, you thought I was a perfectionist and didn't even care to tell me about this tiny detail" you said, storming out of the coffee shop. "Well I'm sorry, but it doesn't matter—". "Maybe for you because guess what? You already have your future, but I don't. Everything I do for Uni counts. And I don't want a stupid spoiled footballer to ruin it" you snapped. "Alright. I don't even need your help anymore. You're a perfectionist and obsessed with your grades. All you do in study all day. Go have some fun" he said angrily. "Sorry for not blowing smoke up your ass, fucking idiot" you spat, turning the opposite direction and walking away from him.

———

When you got home, you threw yourself on the bed and thought about how you had the impression Fermin had a good opinion on you, unlike the rest of your colleagues who thought you were introverted and studied all day. You felt betrayed and used. Maybe he just wanted to do this project with you because he knew you would do the job in order to get a good grade. How stupid you were to believe he actually saw you differently.

———

"Joder, tio! What's up with you?" Gavi asked as he nutmegged Fermin for the third time today. "Did something happen today with that project?". "Yeah, I fucked up" Fermin replied. "Why? You didn't get a good grade?" Gavi asked. "No, we did. I fucked up with Y/N. Told each other some things" and Fermin told Gavi everything that happened earlier. "Joder! I told you she's a keeper" Gavi said. He was mad at his best friend. "I know, I just... don't know. I actually like that she studies a lot and doesn't to parties. And these weeks I found the other side of her, because when we were together, she wasn't that introverted. I liked her like that" he explained. "Joder! You're in love with her" Gavi said. "I'm not" Fermin argued. "Even if you were, I don't think she wants to see you ever again" he said. "Thanks Gavi. Really makes me feel less shit now" Fermin rolled his eyes. "What should I do?". "Let her cool down. And maybe then explain everything to her" Gavi suggested. "Explain what?". "That you like her, idiot" Gavi said, slapping his head. "And don't tell me you don't. She came to take care of you when you were sick. She has feelings for you too" Gavi said. "Since when are you Dr. Love?" Fermin teased. "Since when my best mate is completely blind and stupid" Gavi said.

Hope you like it ☺️

#fermin lopez #football imagine #fermin lopez marin #fermin lopez smut #fermin lopez fluff #footballer imagine

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

Text

The Fox Hunt (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tighnari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A very brief summary of chapter 2 for those who had to skip due to CWs: You had been bottling your grief. You hired Alhaitham as an underboss and he tagged along when you negotiated with Diluc. (Thanks to his presence, you avoided getting kidnapped by the Visconti). When you visited the church, Rosaria offered to help you track Tighnari down and Cyno shared his story about losing his younger brother later on. At night, you decided to visit your old underboss's grave. An old friend, Dainsleif, found you in the cemetery, and helped you finally cry your eyes out for all the lives you lost that day.

CW: yandere & religious themes, mafia syndicates (therefore guns, violence, etc). Possible major character death. THIS IS AN INTERACTIVE FIC: YOUR CHOICES MATTER.

"O Capo! My Capo!" - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

—----

[4 years ago:]

"You seem to be stealing fleeting glances earwards the whole time I've been leafing pages."

"Ah, so you've noticed." You spoke sheepishly. "My apologies, Professor, but your ears are…"

Tighnari's ears boastfully straightened as he shrugged with a tiny smile.

"They do not feel as nice as you're imagining. They honestly just feel like any regular cat's or dog's."

"Your behavior says otherwise." You said. "But it's deserved. You groom it every other hour, don't you?"

"Hah?"

On a late 1910s night, renowned writer Professor Tighnari prepared his next discussion in the Innamorati Familia’s mansion.

Why inside such a dangerous place? Well, what is Teyvat without corruption? The Syndicates remained in control for most of Teyvat, and no military forces can quell their power. It reached a period where people cannot envision life without these organizations as detrimental to society. No man can exhaust the flames that burn brightly amongst the Fatui mafiosos, and should they try, they'll only find smoke in their wounded chest.

Professor Tighnari joined the Innamorati Familia when several academics from his university inexplicably vanished. The fox believes they'll target him next based on their trend of research topics. He initially gave his services in exchange for the security of his research, but unanticipatedly discovered that everyone in the Familia has values, culture– precious lives of their own. They were kind people who simply had a penchant for violence. As strange of a revelation as it may sound, they lived their lives hurting as little as they could with their religious restrictions upheld by their capo.

Not long after that, the hitherto snarky professor had become close friends with the aforementioned boss.

"Don't think I don't notice that every time I'm about to enter the room, you brush your fur like you're five minutes late to a party."

"I-I just wanted to look presentable, that's all. Do you think I'd show up to work with bed hair? Who am I? Dimitri?"

Aware of his sharp tongue but lacking the means to keep it in check, Tighnari accidentally insulted your underboss. The hairs on his body stood and he was ready to make a fool of himself by offering an apology, but your usually unreadable resting face looked warm.

"Mhm. Sure. I'll choose to believe that." Without hiding your curiosity, you turned back to his ears. His ears were not touched, despite your hands being close to his head.

"A-as you should." Fortunately, Tighnari is good at masking his emotions. If cowardice overcame him, he would encounter a blade's glimmer rather than your gaze. Tighnari digressed by returning to his books while maintaining the illusion that his thoughts were clear.

"Alright then. Platonically, can I pet you?"

"... Excuse me?"

"You're one of those Vulpes who always wondered why close friends would think touching your ears would make you angry right?" You told him in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

Tighnari is a smart man, yet he is unable to understand how your mind may go in circles and still arrive at a logical conclusion. He did ask, but it didn't make sense. You sincerely advised him to give up most possessions and gain a new perspective from the experience when he sought guidance on how your deduction functions. There is no way in hell that he would act in that manner.

You continued. "I'm just skipping that whole step. So, are we intimate enough for me to run my fingers through your hair?"

Tighnari snorted. "Phrasing, Capo."

"So, am I a close enough friend to touch you in that special area?"

"You'll never get me flustered– I might just bite you instead if you keep testing me."

"What a major shame."

Your gaze lowered to the pages he was writing. Tighnari is a well-known botanist at the University of Teyvat, a public university for bright students with limited financial resources. His intricate writing style regarding the fundamentals of bryophytes speaks volumes. You doubt that students can understand what he jotted down, but then again, Tighnari's an effective communicator.

In all honesty, you hated those books, not because of their contents, but because of the memories laced within them.

These were the type of pages you sift through in hopes that you will be the one to decipher a cure. Dottore used to help you sort through whatever books were more easily digestible. Nowadays staring at something related to moss feels akin to reading about an end of a long relationship. It was fun and exciting, but ultimately the compatibility led nowhere. As much as you want to tell him that he should take his research elsewhere, he'd probably reply with a sassy "Or what? Are you going cage me?" reply. Simply not worth the effort or time.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted in a pinkish hue. "Whatever. You can pet me if y–"

"Mosses huh? Why this area of study?" Those words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Tighnari tucked his tail underneath his chair, his eyes unblinking.

" … I have a theory."

You nodded, recognizing the shift in his tone. "Go on."

"The Goddess of Flowers often described in their books that Sumeru's mosses have an intricate healing property in them that can only be harnessed by those who are as knowledgeable as the Scarlet King."

"I never thought you were a devotee."

"I'm not," Tighnari answered. "I only believe in Gnosticism when it benefits me."

Spoken like a true University of Teyvat graduate.

"But phytotherapy is a rather complex and time-consuming field– why focus on this?"

"And why does a Capo like you know that?" Tighnari asked, and you digressed immediately to avoid him probing on things he need not know.

"–Our familia is doing fine, Professor. Hmm... Is there someone in particular that you're praying for good health–"

"You have Eleazar, don't you, Capo?"

You knew it. He saw the recollection in your gaze when you glanced at his books. You weren't surprised that he figured it out quickly. You were just waiting for him to confess that he knew your condition. However, you just didn't expect him to ask at that very moment.

This time, you patted his head without asking, tracing your fingers around his fluffy ears. You grinned. Your smile was just a centimeter off and your shoulders were square; neither of those rigid signs sent him a positive response. The way you held his ears was restrictive, far from the quote-unquote "platonic" gesture you offered earlier. Your soft chortles sent chills down his spine and your glare froze his nerves akin to Snezhnayan rivers.

"Hoping to sell that information, Vulpes?"

"Of course not!" Tighnari was shocked to hear himself raise his voice. "I'm not stupid."

You hummed and pulled your hand away. Tighnari may have acted tough, but you knew he was shaken by that exchange.

Oh well, it's not like you were being serious.

You just did that so you can hold his ears. (By the way, he lied. They're even fluffier than most animals.)

Unbeknownst to you, Tighnari found your touch enthralling. He shook by an entirely different reason compared to your assumption.

Talking to you was addictive. Tighnari could take his studies elsewhere, but what's the point if you're not there?

He chuckled.

Save for the low-volume classic jazz the fox played in the background, you both indulged in the comfortable silence of each other's presence. An atmosphere as cozy as this makes it tempting to brush your cheek against his shoulder and flutter your eyes shut– but the dawn hasn't crept in and you will not be deterred from your sleep schedule. Tighnari's pleasant pen strokes came to a halt, releasing you from your trance.

"Capo?"

"... Yes?" You sucked your yawn in.

"If– If I told you I could find you a cure, but I'd have to sell my soul for it, what would you do?"

"Easy question: don't."

He was taken aback. Tighnari did not expect that answer.

"But why?"

"I know that look in your eyes, Tighnari." You shifted on the sofa, doing your utmost to stay awake. "Those were the same eyes Dimitri had when he killed his step-sister. That's the gaze of a feral animal. You're part of my familia, Tighnari– I'm not letting another fratello of mine lose himself to greedy impulse."

"What if–"

"No."

You spoke dangerously low in the tone Tighnari hears when you interrogate those who were chained in your basement. This was not the voice you used to talk to your men. This (Y/n) was not just commanding– this Capo was daunting and domineering. And he would loathe being at the receiving end of your torturous whip and fingers.

Suddenly, Tighnari had an epiphany.

Before he could save a kind friend, the professor would have to save a cold-blooded murderer first.

"Alright. Fine then. If you don't want to be the patient who'll help me get a Nobel Prize then have it your way." Tighnari joked, but his mind was made up.

He won't do as you commanded.

"But don't think I'll stop studying mosses. The world doesn't revolve around you, Capo, I still have many to save."

And just like that, he retired for the night.

Once upon a time, these half-asleep conversations were routinely done in order to check up on one another. A Capo is the busiest person one could be in Snezhnaya, and it warmed his heart to know you allot some time for his mundane conversations. But these heartfelt gestures are now mere ashes behind Tighnari.

Never to return.

—----

[Morning, 1 AM:]

The Fatui Headquarters is a daunting place.

Filled to the brim with murderous sociopaths, no sane man would act juvenile amongst your crowd. This room never fails to make you feel small. Everyone, from 2nd to 10th, showed up dressed to the nines with capes and fur, which was slightly less grand than the funeral clothes everyone wore for La Signora. Their extravagant yet sensible winter attire contrasts sharply with your unimpressive standard Prussian-blue coat in the sea of whites and blacks.

"Can't believe you showed up."

You turned to face the front. Scaramouche, in his custom-made Kasa hat, sat on the opposite end and sneered with disdain.

This gremlin never took a shine to you. The feeling is mutual. Whenever he utters a nasty word, the impulse to clothesline him to the nearest tree arises.

"It's not a habit of mine to miss meetings, it's not gonna change now no matter your wishes, Scaramouche."

"You dare use that tone against me? Remember who you are talking to, number eight."

As the 8th Capo– higher only for Tartaglia (10th) and the 9th– you were looked down on by the rest of the Harbingers. Had the 1st rank not been filled by a fellow Khaenri'ahn, Archons know how mistreated you would've been.

"I have a firm grasp of my identity. Never have I shared your indecisiveness, number six." You spat. "What about you? Have you decided on whether or not you're human yet?"

Everyone knows that Scaramouche may not even be human, but no one would open that can of worms other than you.

He crossed his arms.

"Maybe after you figure out whose fault it was that your men died, you… or that fox?"

"SHHH!!!" Tartaglia shook his pointer finger near his lips. When he noticed you staring, he donned his best brotherly smile. "H-Hey (Y/n), what do you think about the rising inflation in Mondstadt City?"

Tartaglia actively avoided talks about the Innamorati Arson Incident. It's been days and he has not once brought it up. You recalled how when you first visited his manor, he asked about your experience in the church of Sumeru– and it was solely focused on what happened AFTER the incident.

… Now that you think about it, he probably made those stupid jokes about Alhaitham that day because he didn't want you to look so grim.

"More problems with their funds, considering how most of it is all gone." The shorter man managed to still find a quip along the way. "Honestly, why are they even here? Shouldn't they go back to selling matchsticks by now?"

You visibly stiffened.

"Shut it, Scaramouche." Arlecchino interjected with a sympathetic yet mildly condescending outlook. "They're still a Capo through and through, even if they're past their prime."

Prime.

That's how they referred to the Dottore who had never taken a dose of canned knowledge. The youthful and composed Dottore you were once friends with.

You've always dealt with the very murky morality of your line of work by contrasting the transgressions of your coworkers. At least you went through rehab and detox when you were hooked on heroin. Meanwhile, he hasn't done anything other than feed his addiction. Truly, Zandik is fortunate to receive a wage that exceeds his necessities.

You and a monster like him are not so different, not anymore. He is no longer human; instead, he is a corpse that runs back home covered in more scrapes than on his previous visit. As for you? Well…

Batting your eyes, you scoffed breathlessly. Are you really past your prime? Words failed to come up when you tried thinking of a retort, and perhaps that was for the best.

Finally, the man of the hour entered the room.

Like many Khaenri'ahn kids, you formerly held Pierro in high regard. He was the gleam of hope that even impoverished and orphaned immigrants might change the tides, even if it was in a world other than their home country. For most, he's the one who would nod his head upward. Pierro, the first Khaenri'ahn Capo, was the hero in the eyes of your younger self who lived off thanks to the table scraps of your even younger foster siblings. Tsaritsa knows you fumbled on your first meeting, and you were proud that was the only time you embarrassed yourself in front of him.

Considering how things are now, it certainly wasn't the case.

Pierro took a proud stance and showed no remorse for what had happened to you. His gaze veered in your direction. At that very moment, if you had been blinking, you would have missed the disappointed expression on his face. He promptly rotated the whiteboard after removing his sheets from his folders.

You stood up. "Lord Pier–"

"Let's start."

You sat back down again.

The entire meeting was a blur. You felt like you weren't there the entire time. Arlecchino eagerly chatted about her child soldiers whilst the other occasionally quipped a word or two. When her turn was done, it was Scaramouche, then Capitano, then Tartaglia– not once had the bottle turned to face you. The reason behind that is simple:

Pierro did not plan to call you, Number 8th, during any of his discussions.

—---

The meeting was adjourned, but far from over. Just as you were about to head to the cathedral, a lithe hand pulled your coat sleeve, stopping you from reaching the front gates.

You sighed, looking at their perfect doll-like fingers, there's no one else it could be other than…

"Shylock businesses aren't my style– ask Tartaglia instead."

"You know damn well that's not what I'm gonna ask, Brighella?"

"Then what is it, Kunikuzushi?"

He flushed red at your venomous retort.

Neither of you liked those names– unlike you, who dislike your Harbinger title purely because it sounds stupid– Scaramouche doesn't like hearing his baptismal name out of family reasons. Guess who's the more insecure one between the both of you.

"Are… Are you al– tch. Forget it." He paused before he scoffed and pointed his finger accusingly. Scaramouche grumbled. "I invested a lot of money in your casino project, so there better be some results!"

You nodded, barely paying attention to his tirades. His infantile behavior was never endearing to you; you either find it repulsive or boring. With the weighing pressure on your mental state, you were quick to chuck his new burlesque anger as mind-numbingly monotonous this time.

"Sure."

"Sure? Sure what, worm?"

"The Casino is not affected– the men who handled it are all alive. Zero casualties."

Unless you count Dimitri who used to manage the Casino in his spare time.

"That's good to hear." Surprisingly, he sounded genuinely relieved for what felt like their safety rather than financial compensation.

"Agreed. Are we done here?"

His grip on your sleeve tightened.

"One final thing." Scaramouche leaned closer. "Use caution. Tighnari had likely received divine favors."

"Maybe you're stupid or you just don't care, but my devotion to Gnosticism is just a front. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I wasn't concerned. Just can't have my idiotic colleague underestimate what the divine can do." He smirked. "Can't have you burning another property you don't deserve."

You yanked your sleeve away.

Heartless puppet.

"Goodbye, Balladeer."

—----

[Morning, 3 AM:]

With Felix trailing behind you (Alhaitham was in his Akademiya job), you both entered the church searching for Sister Rosaria.

The stained glass of the church had recently been updated. No one was surprised when disciples started taking away any hydro-related emblems from all northern churches. Even if those pieces of art are incredibly captivating, the fascists had already started utilizing them as a sign of movement, thus they are deemed not worth saving for future generations.

"Since when did they begin removing those things?"

"Since yesterday," Felix said with bags under his eyes. It's clear to you that he genuinely didn't want to be here. "Under Architect Kaveh's orders."

"I see. Go get some rest, Felix. There are surely some empty rooms in the convent."

"Thank you, Capo."

You let him leave.

Should you die today, you've already written a will that Felix will be the one to inherit your position. You'll let him have his quite-possibly-last good sleep before the Capo life keeps him busy.

You stared back at the glass.

In a way, architect Kaveh was similar to Alhaitham in that you were familiar with their names but not their faces. Even though he is consistently the first to offer to assist you with construction, this man always finds a way to decline your requests for an audience. The last time it was because he caught boar fever (how? ), but that was nothing compared to the time he wrote you a disorganized handwritten letter about how an Akademiyan spy sabotaged his clothes after breaking into his home and harassing him to gain confidential information.

... At least he has extraordinary talent. You can excuse any eccentric traits as long as a person's value outweighs the costs. That is the same reasoning you employed when you hired Alhaitham.

"(Y/n), is it true that you're going to find Tighnari?"

That voice couldn't be anyone else but your little fratella.

You were about to answer with a firm "yes", but when you turned around you felt a pang of guilt seeing how troubled she looked. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress in a suffocating hold and her eyebrows were knitted together.

"In Sumeru City? Of all places?" Barbara scurried and hugged your arm.

"Don't go. Please."

[CHOSE: REASSURE BARBARA]

"Mia sorella, don't worry…" you cooed and soothingly lowered your gaze before bluffing. "Sumeru City's a lot safer nowadays. Alhaitham told me so."

[DID NOT CHOOSE: SAY "GOODBYE"]

[FAILED TO UNLOCK CHANCE FOR SECRET ROUTE: "MUSICIAN VENTI"]

"No…" Barbara stiffened and tore herself away. She clenched her fist, but everything else about her was calm and resolved.

Barbara looks exactly like you when she's mad. She mimicked your traits so perfectly.

"No. You're lying. I heard Sister Rosaria talk to Inquisitor Cyno– it's not safe there."

"Barbara…" You traced your thumbs against her cheek. Her heartfelt display of anger almost successfully beseech you to reconsider. She slapped your hand away, but you kept talking. "I have to go."

“No. No, you don't– don’t be prideful! At least bring some of your men with you.” Barbara argued.

You can’t. Some are stationed to help with church work while others are with Visconti Diluc. You purposely made them preoccupied so that they won’t put themselves in danger (like you.) Besides Tartaglia, there’s no other Capo who loves their people more than you– and perhaps this overprotective nature will be your cause of death, but so be it.

“Sister Rosaria will tag along. I'll be back soon– like I always do." You scooted closer to her, bending your knees a bit. With an unnoticeably forced chuckle, you shook her slightly. "C'mon, it's me, your very cool older Capo sibling. Don't you have faith in me?"

"I-I…"

There are two things that can convince a pure-minded individual like her who has been sheltered from harm: a prayer and a cheerful smile.

"If you're worried about me, why don't you pray for my safe return?"

And you know damn those are the only thing that helps Barbara keep moving forward– the two things that help keep her sanity intact or else she'll break down. Religion is her sole solace. Despite living in poverty, she wouldn't sin. She's "used to hunger", that's just the type of person she was. Without prayers and smiles, nothing can help Barbara forget how her real biological sister left her in this chapel.

"Can you do that for me, sorella?"

Barbara paused.

Snezhnayan men are the most religious. The people of Mondstadt nor Sumeru couldn't possibly compare with how Snezhnaya rears their impressionable children. Barbara was raised in this chapel and Snezhnayan culture ran deep in her veins.

“F-Fine.” Barbara sighed. “I’ll pray for you.”

You ruffled her hair.

“Grazie, sorella.”

—----

After reassuring Barbara that you will be safe and praying to an archon you don’t believe in, you slithered behind the church.

"You watched everything earlier, I presume?"

Inquisitor Cyno didn’t move a muscle from his position. He was leaning by the wall, staring at the church cemetery. Still, he cracked up a small yet wholesome smile. He seemed pleased by your response.

[AFFECTION METER: 39.05%]

"It's in my job description."

You smiled sweetly. "Forgive my sins, Inquisitor, I forgot you were a professional stalker."

"Not stalking; I'm monitoring you."

"What's the difference?"

"Stalking has a more sinister connotation."

"Oh, then forgive me, your holiness." You theatrically bowed.

Cyno nodded. "You are forgiven."

You laughed loudly.

The inquisitor innocently raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. His pup-like demeanor shut you up. Apparently, that response wasn't a joke. Ex-priest Cyno wholeheartedly forgave you in a religious fashion.

Why is he only hilarious when he's not trying to be?

You cleared your throat. "My apologies, I suddenly remembered a joke, that's all."

"Would you mind sharing?" Cyno asked. "I want to find new comedy material. My previous jokes didn't seem to work."

You were about to cut it straight that he's the joke but ultimately decided to keep your mouth shut. 'You mean 'ALL your jokes don't seem to work.'' is what you wanted to say, but kindness is not the absence of mean-spiritedness. It is when you are restricting such actions.

“I don’t think you’d find it funny.”

“Is it an inside joke?”

How very kind of him to offer you a way out of this one.

“Something like that.”

“Then I won’t ask.” The Inquisitor nodded. "But there’s something else I want to request. Won’t you allow me to join you–"

"No."

[CHOSE: DO NOT INVITE INQUISITOR CYNO]

[AFFECTION METER: 25.00%]

Cyno paused.

You cannot allow him to join. Since you observed how the inquisitor and your new underboss interacted, you had a feeling that Cyno's presence would cause more issues than they would solve. He knew Tighnari well. He might even kill him before you do if he is provoked. Besides, it's not as though any sane man would hold an Inquisitor captive if given the chance; that would be like trying to wrestle an alligator to scare a dog.

Plus, you want to exploit Cyno and Tighnari's previous friendship against him. The safest course of action is to bluff and say you'll kill Cyno should that bastard try anything funny.

“Why not?”

“I hate to impose or be more indebted to you, Inquisitor. My conscience will not allow it.”

Cyno frowned.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to rely on others, Capo.”

“How very strange that I’ll hear that coming from you,” You said. “I know it is not my place to say this, but I’ve done my research and found out that you fulfill your duties alone. Candace kindly told me that you’ve always been a lone wolf, so I can’t say I’m persuaded by your advice.”

“Hmm. Understandable.” That’s all he could say. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You held his hand. He flinched, both shoulders tensed up like a shocked cat.

Your hands weren’t warm. They were cold. But as a desert dweller his hands oddly fit well with yours– a perfect balance. Unlike you, however, he had never used these hands to do evil. The Inquisitor silently wondered how would it feel like if these fingers wrung his neck–

Cyno closed his eyes.

He cannot think of such sinful thoughts.

“Please relax, Inquisitor.” You spoke, circling the back of his palm. “I know what I’m doing.”

Should those words be the whole truth, then you must know unsavory your actions must be behind the pretense of kindness.

You debaucher.

“Do you now…”

You grinned.

That effectively made his heart skip a beat.

Cyno doubts you somehow knew about your hold on him.

“Hmm!”

“Fine. Then I’ll let you be.”

—----

He shouldn’t do this.

He’s worried. The Inquisitor did work with the spy before–

But Cyno doesn’t trust Alhaitham.

Cyno handed the disciple a dagger.

Alhaitham is calculating and most of all selfish. This was the man who actively disobeyed the church’s teachings unapologetically. Perhaps such behavior is cultured in the Akademiya but Cyno cannot stand it.

Maybe that's why he tried stopping himself first, but after that fire…

Cyno's overprotective nature worsened.

He convinced himself that this feeling was a product of his past losses and argues that this is just a precaution. The Goddess has given him a second person to watch over. A second Usir. A new blessing to make up for his past transgressions.

And he will not waste this second chance.

"Take this. And do not forget my orders."

—---

[Morning, 4 AM]

Towering dome buildings, abundance of trees yet eerily silent streets– Sumeru City was not a tourist spot for amusement.

Considering these facts, Dunyarzard, in all her former glory, still built a large theater underground called The Zubayr Theater. She had the intention of making the city a more joyous location with her contributions, and it's sad to see that it had done little to brighten up its citizens. Then again, Dunyarzard probably won’t be bothered by this if she lived longer.

You would know this because she was once your friend too.

Dunyarzard...

It’s a shame an invasive fox is hiding inside her paradise-on-earth.

That, and a troublesome dog too.

You glanced at Alhaitham. He behaved strangely the entire time, glancing at his watch as if he were counting his seconds down. Soon enough, he walked closer and tapped your shoulder.

"(N/n)."

Assuming this is about the akasha terminal he let you borrow, you let him talk. "Go on, speak."

[AFFECTION METER: 28.00%]

"Tuqburni."

"… what?"

"Means you bury me in Sumeru," Alhaitham said, looking away sheepishly. "I decided it'd be best if you heard it again, even if Cyno isn’t here."

Is he trying to imply that an Inquisitor would care enough to kill him? Please. He’s an insignificant cog in the grand scheme of things. If he’s so sure you’ll lead him to his death then he should just quit. Go back to being an Akademiyan spy, it’s not that hard.

"Good to know." You'll forget about that word in ten minutes, tops.

He pursed his lips, troubled. "You don't remember what Tuqburni means?"

"Can't remember something I never learned."

Alhaitham frowned.

"I see…"

Sister Rosaria swerved her way between you two before pushing Alhaitham away with little force. "Take a hike. We don't have time to entertain you, underboss."

His nose scrunched. "Sister Rosaria, age 25. Weight 80kg, height 5'9, address–"

"Yeah, no shit I know where I live, so what?" The nun retorted. "Think you can take me on with your calculator, kid?"

You snorted.

"I'm not trying to intimidate you," Alhaitham spoke. "I'm letting you know that–"

"Whatever." Rosaria clicked her tongue. "Capo, what're your orders?"

Thank the Tsaritsa that Rosaria is here.

“We’ll split.” You pointed at the theater. “There are three main sections in Zabayr.”

You handed Rosaria a map. Alhaitham didn’t ask for a copy– he presumed that you already trust that he knew the location with the help of new technology. Instead, it was Rosaria who had a follow-up question.

“Where’s your copy, Capo?”

“They don’t need one,” Alhaitham answered. “They were here when the place was built– they helped Lady Dunyarzard build her dream theater.”

“I didn’t issue any orders for you to speak.” You glared. “Know where you stand, underboss.”

You cleared your throat. "As I was saying, we'll split up. I'll scout the theater, Rosaria outside the buildings, and you're on the apex building. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

—----

Despite saying "of course" confidently, Alhaitham found himself in a small library.

This was likely NOT the place you ordered him to find, but the wealth of information stored around here was relevant to your investigation. Why? Because these were records haphazardly left by the fascists.

Their intel was right. The theater was one of their headquarters.

"These runes…" His eyebrows furrowed. “‘A tool that can only be used if the wielder upholds absolute justice above all else and would sacrifice the means for a satisfactory end.’ None of these descriptors match the Akademiya’s records at all, except...”

Alhaitham's eyes widened.

This specific piece of information corroborates how Tighnari behaved thus far.

"However, if the Archons live with us and not Celestia then isn't it possible that Focalor is–"

His fingernails dug into the papyrus while his eyes frantically skimmed through its contents. If the contents of this papyrus were true, then what the hell was that collaboration between La Signora and the Adepti about? What the hell did they exchange?

Alhaitham heard the sound of breathing.

He turned around and turned on his terminal, hoping to reach you before the assailant stops him.

"(N/n), be careful! Whatever Tighnari's holding, that's a gn–"

[SHUTTING DOWN…]

—---

The Akasha Terminal buzzed, the signal muffling its voice. You surmise that this was caused by the theater's layout. The architect of the Zubayr Theater– which is funny enough, still Kaveh– specifically chose this location for its lack of noise. That being said, it would be nice to watch an actual play here now that Alhaitham wouldn't bother you with his senseless blather. Pity that no one's performing.

"… B… c…ful! Wh….. na… ri…ho…."

"T…s … ...sis!"

You shook your head and nonchalantly thought out loud.

"The terminal must be acting up."

There's no one there to accompany you in your confrontation with Tighnari should you encounter him, and you preferred it this way.

You opened the door to the main stage.

And you finally found him.

You spotted the back of his silhouette lingering on the theater’s second floor. Props were crushed and some built-in chairs were knocked over. Whoever wreaked havoc around Dunyarzard’s theater had to pay– but that isn’t your main priority. Your target is already right here.

The professor no longer wore his cotton dark caramel coat– instead, he replaced it with a blander yet bolder black one that made his figure look larger. His eyes were vacant, looking forward as if a person would warp from near the ceiling. The bastard appeared to be waiting for someone.

Someone that isn’t you.

"Hello, professor."

A chill shot down his spine as his eyes met yours. Tighnari looked down, seeing you stare at him with a small smile. There was malice behind your peaceful expression. He made indescribable noises when he took a step back. No one else was in the vicinity except for the two of you, but his thoughts screamed that there was nowhere else to run. Tighnari knew that look was nothing he had ever seen before– a look of pity and anger reserved only for a dead man walking.

He sensed bloodlust, and it was consumingly relentless.

"It's been a while. Mind if I bother you outside office hours?"

Tighnari's hands were trembling but the rest of his limbs were frozen. He couldn't completely deny the possibility that he could die at this very moment. After all, he had seen your agility wipe out an entire floor of men with two dull daggers. If that was lazily done to protect him, he can only imagine the full extent of your abilities. On the bright side, at least you were below him and he could sprint somewhere– he just didn’t know where that is.

When you go on a hunt, you don’t stop until you catch your prey.

The professor knows that damn well.

"N-No," Tighnari answered with false confidence. "No, I don't."

"Can I ask a few questions, then?"

Your way of speaking contradicts whatever thoughts you both had in mind. Your voice inflection bounced off lightly, but the air shifted as soon as you traced your holster.

He didn't reply, and you took that as a yes.

[FREE TALK EVENT: START]

[READER REPLIES MARKED IN RED]

"Why."

It came out more like a general statement than a question, so you repeated it with added conviction. You're not a static force. You're here because you willed it– you're here to satisfy your demands. Your lust for revenge.

"Why did you do it? Why did you burn my manor?"

Like a grim reaper appeasing their curiosity, you spoke calmly while simultaneously patronizing his inconsequential life.

Tighnari bit his lip. "You already know why–"

"But I need the confirmation, the closure. Any reason to make your death tenfold more satisfying."

"I did it so that you'd get your cure."

Your eyes squinted.

Of course he did. You don't doubt him. You've known his obsession with Eleazar and how he rightfully suspected that you're burdened by this illness.

But he took the whole truth and poured some out.

"That still doesn’t make sense, Professor Tighnari."

He took a sharp yet deep breath. Tighnari's treading on thin ice. He was scared not just for his life. He was scared that this would be his final moment when he had yet to give you what you needed.

"I had to–"

"Surely the cure for Eleazar doesn't involve mass murder."

You were remarkably calm. As opposed to your uncharacteristically feral actions during the previous few days, this argument was entirely typical of you. Strategic and reserved, but ready to unleash everything in a single strike.

"I…" Tighnari bit his cheek. He sighed exasperatedly. "Just. Just trust me for once, Capo–"

"Don't call me that." You tensed up. "You lost the right to call me Capo the moment you betrayed your familia. How can I trust you when I don't forgive you? Why trouble yourself so much when you can rip my head off my shoulders right now? I'm just another body between you and your precious cure, correct?"

He almost didn't notice how you threw a dagger mid-talk like pelting a mere pebble. Tighnari dodged it, albeit barely, and you calculated as much. You won't let him die until he hears everything.

You spat lowly. "You snuffed the lives out of the only people that mattered to me."

"Please don't be mad. I had to–" Tighnari spilled. "I had to or else Focalor wouldn't help me."

"How the fuck can I not be mad? You're a fox, I'm sure you can smell the hatred I have for you. Your olfactory system is sensitive, after all." You masterfully kept your voice calm despite the severity of your words.

"Your associates are such idiotic bastards then if they have to kill my men for a cure." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Where is it? Where the fuck is the correlation, Professor?"

"It's to prove my loyalt–"

"The only thing you've proven is that you're a piece of shit. Is this what fascism is about? I can't see why you'd ever want to be one."

Tighnari looked down and muttered something you didn't hear.

"Who said I wanted this to happen?"

You continued. "I know I was only spared because I was in the chapel– so take out your gun so we can settle this already."

You fired a warning shot, this time with a bullet and not a dagger, burying another close call between his tall ears.

There were so many things to worry about, but Tighnari relied on hopeless dialogue. It's the only tool he has left to de-escalate the situation.

Unfortunately for him, you're better with words.

"I don't want to kill you."

"Teppei."

"... What?"

"Lyudochka, Kazari, Bao'er, Viktor… " You cocked your gun. "Lindhart. Did you regret killing them?"

"Capo, I know what you're trying to do."

"You should or else we'd both look stupid."

"But saying their names won't change my mind. I've already decided that they're replaceable as friends."

Replaceable?!

"You bastardo–"

You fired a second shot– it missed. With a bit of spite, you aimed higher knowing that he'd evade. You didn't repeat the same mistake.

He ducked behind the second-floor barrier.

But didn't take its spiral pillar designs into account, and the gaps were exactly where you aimed at.

"GAH–"

His guttural scream echoed across the theater.

You shot him in the leg.

Whoever designed that barrier had great tastes– you'll thank the architect for this later.

It'd be so easy to just kill him now.

"Your fur will look better draped around my shoulders, Vulpes." You aimed with Tartaglia's revolver. "It's winter, is it not? Don't worry, I'll put it to good use."

The most significant thing he would do with his life is dying.

Lucky for him, you can’t grant him that just yet.

You still have hope.

You still believe that there’s a way to get rid of Eleazar.

And as much as you hate it, you also believe in Tighnari.

Rather, you believe in his abilities and nothing more.

With the "goodness" in your heart, you’ll let him finish what he started.

"But I’ll suffer through the winter for now. That cure is the only thing keeping you alive. The day you finish your research will be the day I finish you. After that, I’ll make sure to kill every last person you hold dear."

Tighnari huffed self-deprecatingly, clinging onto his wounded leg by the theater's second floor. gazing at you with a melancholic stare. "Jokes on you (Y/n), there's no one else but y–"

"Cyno. Collei."

His eyes widened.

You smirked jadedly. "I had Inquisitor Cyno keep her in our custody. Did you know that pain is heightened ten times more for those of us suffering from Eleazar?"

You traced your old battle scars. They were all healed, but their numbers will keep multiplying.

Each time you pinch, no matter how dated these may be, it's as painful as yesterday's wounds. Nothing prepared you when you were diagnosed with Eleazar. Each wound, each papercut– the pain clings onto you like a leech that can never be scrubbed out, or else it'll cling tighter.

"It's excruciating. That's why I was addicted to heroin– it numbs everything. Have you heard? Children are more vulnerable when it comes to drug addiction–"

"Don't." He faltered, lowering his gun. "Please. Don't touch them."

Bullseye.

Them. He used the word “them” instead of “her.” Despite Cyno’s impression, the fox still cares about him.

Maybe you should’ve invited Cyno to tag along.

You tilted the revolver sideways.

You want him to inflict even more pain.

If Cyno were here, you would’ve made sure he said all the wrong things and watched Tighnari squirm. After all, you do have the uncanny ability to get people to behave in the way you want them to, don’t you?

"Then parry this."

But you didn’t pull the trigger.

Surprisingly, Tighnari bravely climbed up and hung his leg by the barrier, making him more susceptible if you attacked. You can’t tell if you hesitated or you’re curious as to what he’s trying to accomplish– the second floor was meters high above your station– he’ll surely die if he jumped.

Sister Rosaria emerged from your peripheral vision, ragged and stripped of breath. It's a long way from the main theater to the bazaar– she ran when she heard your argument as soon as possible.

Tighnari fished something out of his pocket.

A blue light shimmered in what appeared to be a chess bishop.

… What kind of trick is this?

"Tighnari, what the hell are you holding?" Your nose scrunched, squinting at the small piece. You could've sworn you've seen that symbol somewhere– in large glass-stained imageries.

"Can't you see?" Tighnari croaked, angrily crying out in a desperate attempt to make deaf men such as yourself hear. "Focalor is the Hydro Archon– there's no better healer than her if you would just allow us to help you find a cure."

His eyes… Whatever it is you’ve said, it had its impact.

Tighnari lost his mind.

Sister Rosaria's breath hitched. Fortunately for both of you, she understood the situation.

"CAPO, GET BEHIND ME–"

"This is the Hydro Archon's gnosis," Tighnari yelled. "I'll prove to you– I'll show you that all those sacrifices were worth every drop of blood I had to spill. Maybe I haven't figured out how to heal with it now but destroying things has always been easier than fixing them!"

Gnosis?

What the fuck is he talking about?

Like the 7 gnosis the Tsaritsa collected?

That bedtime story?

"Fox, where on earth did you get that?!" Sister Rosaria pushed you near the exit door, mediating the argument. "Where did you steal that divine artifact?!"

"Dear sister…" Tighnari chuckled darkly.

"If there's a will, there's a way."

He raised the chess piece to the sky.

"I'm sorry Capo– but this I swear: I never betrayed you." He spoke softly while his ears lowered. "Open your eyes– everything I do is all for your health and wellbeing. This little thing right here is worth more than your men. Easier to do things first before apologizing later, that's what you told me last time, right?"

"Fuck off." You didn't take a step forward. In this instance, Rosaria would handle this better than you could. "Take a swim in the river Cocytus for all I care– but don't you fucking dare dedicate that slaughter under my name."

[FREE TALK EVENT: END]

Tighnari grinned emptily.

[AFFECTION METER: ERROR.]

[AKASHA TERMINAL STATUS: DISABLED]

“I’ll never know.” He spoke softly. “I’ll never know why I like you so much. At this rate, I’m too afraid to find out.”

His hold on the “gnosis” tightened.

The bishop piece beamed.

“Farewell, my Capo.”

—-----

[6 years ago]

Alhaitham lived a monotonous life.

The same old nine-to-five schedule: wash up, dress up, eat, work, eat, sleep, and repeat the following day. When compared to his former self, he had a professional short haircut and was dressed in white dress shirts that were buttoned up. Alhaitham has the appearance of a plastic toy. Too typical and bland. Nothing exuded uniqueness.

He thought he got what he wanted. Alhaitham graduated and became an accountant, just like what he aimed for for years. As a child, he grew up under the misconception that he had something special. Alhaitham was the boy every parent preached about when their lackluster children produced little results. Maybe he was the smart kid everyone loathed– but his repertoire was genuine. The world handed him an easy-to-follow script, and he mindlessly fulfilled it with his innate abilities.

But for goodness' sake, if this is what success is, then why is it so empty?

His purpose in living had turned into nothing more than a bank's problem fixer until he returns to doing what he loved most:

Nothing.

What the hell is life boring him for?

"Tired of life, tesoro?"

Alhaitham looked up.

He saw an underdressed person wearing a white tattered shirt and lousily safety-pinned flip-flops. Had they worn white instead, they would be easily mistaken as a hospital escapee.

More specifically, they looked like they just got out of the heroin rehabilitation center just a few blocks down the street.

Alhaitham didn't send them away. They had a sparkle in their eyes, something that he lacked nowadays. However, there's something about it that made it more noteworthy compared to civilians around here.

Those pupils are (e/c) Khaenri'ahn eyes.

A natural trait, but its presence alludes to artificial happiness in the same manner endomorphs appear friendly and kind. No matter how lifeless a Khaenri'ahn may be, the gem in their eyes will always make them look more alive than the rest of the world.

They covered their mouth.

"Oh, pardon. I can't help but ask. You're rather down and I thought you needed a distraction..."

They didn't seem all that sorry when they immediately sat down beside him after that apology.

"Incorrect." He bluffed. "What makes you assume that?"

They smiled.

"I dare say you look like you've achieved everything you thought you wanted in life, but you're still feeling empty inside, aren't you?"

Alhaitham's head snapped back in their direction.

"What do you mean?"

"You work for the Banco Di Snezhnaya, around age 23, have a wage of 500 thousand mora per week," they chuckled, gesturing at his hair. "Aaand you probably don't own a hair dryer."

Stalkerish-ly spot on.

"How did you–" He clicked his tongue, disappointed at himself for becoming immersed in parlor tricks. "Nevermind. I'm not buying into whatever astrology thingamajig you're selling."

"Oh please, the only thing I'm selling are matchsticks. Hair dryers ain't astrology, ya dumbass, they're a new Fontaine invention." They huffed. "If my matchsticks could tell the future I would've achieved my dreams by now."

Alhaitham still can't phantom why, but he's oddly intrigued by whatever came out of their mouth.

"And your dreams are?"

"I want to become a journalist." They said, softly knocking their chest with a closed fist. "Future Teyvat Times journalist. The best of the best."

"Unlikely." Alhaitham muffled his laughter. Unlike most people, he can regulate his emotions masterfully well. "Someone like you who obviously achieved no real education? Give up on that dream while you're still ahead."

"Yikes. Already sizing up my intellectual capacity? That's rude."

"I'll see your dreams if it happens." He continued. "But it's my turn to guess things about you– you're a heroin addict who just got out of rehab and now you're stuck doing community service by selling matchsticks. Not only are you uneducated, but you also have a drug record so say goodbye to any stable employment."

They smirked. They were right– he's not the type to hold his tongue. That just makes him a better conversationalist.

"Close, but no dice." They snapped their fingers, pretending to be saddened by his faulty inference. "EX-heroin addict. I got out of rehab a year ago and I'm not selling matchsticks because of community service– that sure sounds better than the actual truth, though."

He'd rather they communicate properly with little subtext and implications. Alhaitham sighed. "Alright, fine. I'm hooked, what's the truth?"

"Don't tell me you can't tell." They raised an eyebrow before they pried their left eye open, showing off their unique pupil. "I'm an immigrant, so of course finding a job is as easy as becoming the seventh archon, ragazzo."

Their butchering of the Snezhnayan language further cemented that they're not from here.

"I didn't get any quote-unquote "real" education, but living on the streets? You'd be caught dead if you're not skilled at inferences." They said grimly, but the smile on their face never left. "That's why I know how to spot a person easily. I know a guilty murderer when I see one, and I know an unsatisfied man once I look down on him sulking by the fountain."

"Right. I forgot you're Khaenri'ahn." Alhaitham muttered.

"Well, then you must be the first person to do so. That's literally what everyone points out after looking at my eyes. Congratulations." They snickered.

"Why am I even talking to someone as arrogant as you?"

"I may be arrogant, but you're a lot happier now that I'm here, aren't you?"

Alhaitham froze.

"See? I'm pretty good at swaying people into behaving the way I want them to."

"What's your goal exactly?" Alhaitham pulled out his wallet. "Need me to buy a pack of cigars? I'm not funding your addiction."

He said that but he already took out 150 bills.

"Nah. That sounds great though but I was just trying to practice my conversation skills." They sheepishly told him. "I want to practice speaking Snezhnayan, and also cause I want to seem friendly."

"'Seem' friendly?"

They laughed. "Well, we all have secrets, don't we? There's something powerful about being charismatic yet setting boundaries all the same. Master both and you might just get somewhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alhaitham grunted.

"We've been talking for a while now– I'm (N/n), and yours?"

"That's…"

Alhaitham subconsciously glanced around.

Morepesok was not one of Teyvat's safest plazas. And they look Khaenri'ahn in the worst place possible, not that anyone besides him would appreciate that. Drugs are prevalent but it's not the only social cancer in the plaza. Petty thievery, human trafficking, money laundering, the list is bottomless and in no small thanks to the syndicates. Immigrants especially get a bad rep around here as either helpless victims or eager puppets, so forgive him for exercising caution based on generalizations.

They cringed. "Ah, right. Don't worry– no need to spill your real name, just give me something I can call you."

He paused.

"... Deshret."

"Well, well, nice to meet you Deshret. Is that from The Scarlet King's Court Jester?"

"Nevermind. Let's just change it to–"

"No no no! It's perfect." They said. "Very underrated bedtime story. The kids loved it… even though it was pretty dark and abusive."

"Many say it's a real tale."

"Do you believe that?"

It was also his favorite story as a child.

"Yes."

"Heh. I don't, but I don't want to make little Kaeya cry." They laughed. "As you can probably tell, I'm Khaenri'ahn, and we just don't have all these strange cultural beliefs you people have…"

They gazed down his thighs.

"Hey Deshret, isn't sitting with your legs together uncomfortable? Go on, cross your legs, or whatever. I don't mind."

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow before he slowly did what he was told. It's been a while since he sat this way. He trained himself to stop since it wasn't appropriate in the office, and somehow he forgot he could still do it outside work.

He relaxed. The change in posture was effective.

"... You're creepily perceptive."

"As I said, gotta be more observant." They chuckled. "Being liked is key to survival–"

Out of the blue, a loud metallic thud reverberated around the plaza. The both of them flinched at the sound and everyone turned their heads to its source.

"Hey, isn't that Adepti Underboss, Xiao?" They whispered.

The Adepti were incredibly busy that year. By June, a rat published a book entitled "Rex Incognito" where they detailed and provided evidence that Morax is the Geo Archon himself, which makes the piece both heretical AND entertaining.

The man, whom they both assumed was underboss Xiao, tossed a man upward till they landed on the roof of a nearby car. With his lithe yet muscular form, he swiftly disposed of a 70kg policeman like a garbage bag. No one moved a muscle in their direction. Not a single person showed empathy for the nose-bleeding cop in the middle of the plaza. The civilians pitied the car owner and not the injured man. Only children shrieked at the sound. For the rest? Just another Wednesday garbage cleanup.

There's no semblance of justice in Teyvat that remains in broad daylight.

Alhaitham closed his eyes, disappointed.

"Pathetic how the tri-mafia overpowers the military police in every way. The police are useless."

"Yeah man, fuck the system."

"Fuck the system indeed." Alhaitham nodded solemnly. They nearly laughed at how strangely innocent the word 'fuck' sounds coming from him.

"Wanna know what we should do?"

"I genuinely don't."

"Let's join the mafia together."

Alhaitham snorted. It's funny how he considered himself a pro at regulating his emotions moments prior because now he couldn't hold back the cute little chuckles that betrayed his lips. His shoulders trembled as well as his hands while he composed himself.

That was the stupidest idea he had ever heard.

"W-What?" They asked mid-laughter as well, clearly not considering their own enthusiastic suggestion. "Don't think we can overthrow the government together? Tsk, tsk."

They look positively malnourished. Alhaitham would bet on the chance that they'd achieve their dream journalist career rather than a stable life as a future mafioso.

Then again, Alhaitham looked very straight-laced and put-together before he joined Akademiya.

"Ah yes, an accountant and a matchstick vendor joining the mafia together; one of them might even become the next leader. Find out next time in chapter 3."

"Coglione, I'm the one who's going to be a journalist here, not you."

"Not with that awful pronunciation you're not."

They frowned. "You Teyvatans are so strict with your stupid lingua francas."

"But still, it's not a bad idea, isn't it? Let's meet each other again after we join the mafia." They nudged his side. "Same time, same place. C'mon, it'd be funny if the next time we meet you'd be holding your head thinking that there's too much excitement in your life now."

Alhaitham rolled his eyes before he looked down at his watch.

"At 6 in the morning?" He looked rather amused for someone who claimed to be uninterested.

They bantered back with the same vigor. "6 AM sharp of course, tesoro."

Alhaitham chuckled.

They laughed along with him.

"Heh. Anyways, say, what's it like being an accountant?"

"Well…"

Since then, the two of them began meeting weekly as Deshret and (N/n). They've used their morning hours as an excuse to get drunk in the crack of dawn. Both have forgotten what the true purpose of that time was,

But it's not as if they'd both remember that joke, right?

—---

Well, if that's true, then Alhaitham doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Something about that small conversation rekindled a fire in him– a torch he had never once touched for he saw no need for it. But after seeing how empty those cubicles were– how mechanical the bigger picture was– nothing had been the same for him. His conversations with coworkers were barely anything compared to what he shared with (N/n). Dialogues in the office were canned scripts, and they were oh-so-predictable.

And so that morning, he went up and quit his job before accepting the offer to be the Akademiya Syndicate's bookkeeper.

But (N/n) was nowhere to be found in their usual spot.

Not in the fountain– not in the old bar.

Where the hell were they?

Alhaitham asked the people of Morepesok if they'd seen them, but these efforts were futile. Some were eager to point out that they know what's-their-name-s, but none led back to where they were. And the street urchins that were familiar with the name (N/n) assumed they'd departed the country and gone back to their homeland.

He refused to believe that. Passions quite like theirs do not burn out as easily as he did.

As a result, waiting in Morepesok for (N/n) in the hopes that they'll return has become a daily ritual. For the first few days, no one was eager to approach the new Akademiyan mafioso; instead, he would monitor the time with a feverish bloodlust. Even in Snezhnaya's harsh winters, he is frequently observed by numerous concerned bystanders who urge him to get inside because it is cold out. None of their worries stopped him. He saw waiting as a chance to relieve stress. These quiet moments remind him of his humble humanity, and he was grateful to have ever met (N/n) because of this.

Yet they never came back.

But Alhaitham never held it against them. It's alright.

Thanks to them, he lived the kind of life he never knew he dreamed of.

"6 AM sharp, huh?"

The more he hung around the square, the more people thought they understood him. They were under the impression that this immovable man was not on a syndicate mission– he was just a lovelorn yet patient man.

"But I doubt I'm far gone. I just appreciate them. That's all there is to it." These were the words that helped him sleep at night. But if the term "lovelorn" simply means "unrequited" then perhaps the way he feels while waiting for them to return fits the description.

He was still sitting upright by the fountain in Morepesok Plaza, waiting expectantly for (N/n) to return like a dog.

—----

And even now, he waited.

Until (Y/n), Capo of the Innamorati family, found him lying on the ground.

(N/n) didn't come.

"(Y/n)..." Rosaria whispered while her face grimaced at the pungent and metallic smell. You both observed the pool of blood on the ground.

You and Rosaria narrowly escaped the blast of whatever divine power Tighnari conjured– and you’re still processing what happened in the theatre that you couldn’t comprehend the body right in front of you. If Rosaria wasn’t there to lift you on her shoulders you would’ve stood and resigned to your fate. Thankfully, you weren’t wounded, but the bump you had on the seats when the water pressure pushed you back nearly gave you a concussion.

In the end, you both came back for Alhaitham with soaked coats and socks, dripping from head to toe. Rosaria’s veil was discarded and left by the doorsteps as it was distractingly clinging to her skin– you would’ve done the same with your coat had it not been one of your favorite ones. Your cold and quivering limbs weep for respite but you remained steadfast. However, your mind does not share the same willpower. Your thoughts were slow but chaotic.

Just how did Tighnari flood the underground theater earlier?

Was that really a gnosis?

Why did he have one?

Where did Tighnari flee now?

You shook your head in an attempt to focus on what was in front of you.

Who attacked Alhaitham?

His neck is bleeding and there's a clean stab wound on his neck. The crimson trail trickled down to his exposed arm. With his back leaning on the wall and head facing down, Alhaitham did not move a muscle. You know little about Alhaitham but you did know one thing: he wanted to work with you far longer than your first guess.

Suppose he’s underqualified to be an underboss, after all, failing his first (and last) mission like this. You once heard Pantalone say that "Akademiyan spies are the weakest species in Teyvat" and your new "underboss" proved that right by messing up the marble tiles with his blood.

The collar you were supposed to give him feels useless in your pocket.

Maybe you should've picked Enjou instead. That crazy maniac would survive better than him, and he's just a merchant in the Abyss Market you like to gossip with.

Alhaitham is pathetic. Was pathetic.

"One of those fascists likely killed your underboss," Rosaria said, sounding awful like she was reading from a script. "It seems that Tighnari will do anything to stop you from maintaining your position."

That's funny, cause the only way those shits can achieve that is by burying you alive– and they failed miserably– comically, even.

Did they seriously think you'd weep for Alhaitham?

For someone as “replaceable” as him, as Tighnari would put it?

You've said it once and you'll say it again: that's fucking hilarious. Tartaglia would love this story– you're sure. They've already taken your best friend Dimitri, everyone else is secondary. You love your men, but they know they can never be him. Hell, you'd argue that if the others were equally loved, Alhaitham would be "less equal" than the others.

You didn't take a second look at Alhaitham, and not because you lack remorse.

The real reason is too boring.

He's not dead.

He's just unconscious.

Sadly no, that was not just the first stage of grief speaking. There's still some life left in him. He's nowhere near as cold as a corpse shouldn't be. Would've made your job a lot easier if he was, but he's still breathing, albeit shallow and excruciatingly so. However, that doesn't change the fact that he'll survive. All for one damn good reason–

Sister Rosaria was the one who attacked him.

The inquisitor must've left him like this hoping that fate will decide whether he lives or not, which means she was hesitant to kill him. In a way, your casual friendship with the nun saved your second underboss. This isn't your first rodeo– you've had good friends who tried to kill you once and vice versa, and it's nothing a visit to Angel's Share can't fix. Rosaria was merely a tool. Her feelings had nothing to do with this. It's a good thing your conversations with Sister Rosaria are never dull, you hate to imagine what you would've done to her otherwise.

Lucky bastards, both Alhaitham AND Sister Rosaria.

Still, this meant that someone else ordered you to assassinate your underboss.

Someone from the church. The very same cathedral you swore fealty to and devoted half of your life's work on.

You laughed furiously.

"Hahahaha! I see!"

Who the FUCK is the rat that tried to take what's YOURS?

You wrapped the scarf around his neck taut like a gauze and propped him upward. Alhaitham's weight leaned on your right side as you began lazily carrying him. It doesn't look like he'll wake up soon, so at least he wouldn't be bragging about getting carried by his boss.

Rosaria wore a stiff expression.

You both know the truth, and she's wholly aware you've pieced everything together. But you're not mad at her– any sister of Barbara is a familia to you. She's just following orders, and if what the church wanted was to frame Tighnari for this…

Then who's to say they haven't pinned someone else for any other crime?

But that's not what matters now– Alhaitham's situation is urgent compared to these half-baked conspiracies.

"He lives." You said. "Don't worry Rosaria."

Neither of you addressed how you subtly forgave her.

She placed two fingers on his wrist. The nun sighed a little too relieved when she felt his pulse.

"Good. Then we should go find help."

You smirked. "Oh, no need to worry. I know a medical professional nearby."

"Whoever it is you have in mind, you better make the right call, we're losing him." She spoke casually.

Neither of you showed any semblance of panic over a dying man.

Sister Rosaria, a child of the Archons, was more afraid of your fury than his stripping lifeline.

"Of course, Sister Rosaria."

In all honesty, he's by no means the "right call" for this scenario. But who else can you turn to,

other than Il Dottore himself?

—---

→ Common Route First Half Complete!!! ←

A/n: Did y'all think Alhaitham was going to die? Me too. Trust me, I'd give you guys a lot of chances to kill these three.

Btw, did some of their dialogue sound familiar? You're all very creative!!! I had to cut some responses off (I'm sorry.) because some were already similar while others currently don't fit the situation… But I hope some of you read it and went "oh, this is MY answer from the open-ended question (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)!!!" I want you all to feel like you're part of what builds Capo!Reader's personality!

Same as usual, the underlined word (Il Dottore) leads to the polls. Have fun voting!!!

Deadline: TBA

Taglist, thank you all for reading "OC!MC!" ❤️: @scaranaris-lil-niko @ruru-senpai-is-an-infp @vienettacream @theglowfly @vermillionite @nasidibakar

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cutecurly-hair · 5 months

Text

Hearts Unleashed (Part 4)

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Black!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Body Shaming

Words: 3,718

In future chapters I am going to change a few things and spice a few things up just for story purposes.

"Charlie, slow down!" I yelled, my breath coming in gasps as my heart pounded in my chest. The air was crisp with cold, but my body burned with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Trying to keep up with Charlie, my feet felt like they were on the verge of giving out.

He glanced back with a smug expression. "This is a race, isn't it?" he questioned, maintaining his brisk pace. I'd have a witty comeback if I weren't currently running for dear life.

As if reading my thoughts, Charlie offered a tempting proposition, "If you can make it to the finish line, I'll get you that milkshake you've been craving." He casually wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Internally groaning, I realized Charlie knew precisely where to hit me my weakness for sweets.

"Come on, Year 10!" Coach Singh's voice echoed across the field. "We've been doing this all term, and no one's beaten Charlie's time yet."

Feeling a surge of determination, I picked up my pace, pulling alongside Charlie. Gasping for breath, I managed to blurt out, "I want a vanilla shake with sprinkles on top." He shot me an impressed look, nodding, "A deal is a deal."

"Come on! Yes!" Coach cheered. "There you go, Y/N. Keep at it. Keep it moving!" she urged.

"Don't stop, Y/N, before Charlie leaves you in the dust!" she shouted. My face grew warm, and it wasn't just from the running. Maintaining my focus on the finish line, I couldn't ignore Nick Nelson's gaze fixed on me. My breath caught, causing me to stumble and lose my footing. Falling face first in the ground, Coach winced blowing the whistle.

I did not get up; I did not move I just laid there in embarrassment. as if the ground could somehow swallow me whole.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

As I pressed the bandage onto my knee, wincing at the pain, Charlie shot me a concerned look. "You sure you're, okay?" he asked, and I just nodded, trying to ignore the ache.

"At least you'll have a good-looking scar," he joked while struggling with his books from the stubborn locker. I scoffed, "Trust me, I've got enough scars already," giving Charlie a quick glance as he continued his battle with the uncooperative locker.

"You know we're going to be late for class, right?" I reminded him, checking the clock across the hall.

He grimaced, "Don't worry, I almost got it—" Suddenly, a loud ripping sound filled the air, and he gasped, eyes widening.

"Clearly, you don't," I teased, nudging him aside to take matters into my own hands.

Grabbing the books, I tugged gently, finally loosening them. I couldn't help but smile, saying, "See, it's all about the touch—"

"Hey," Nick Nelson's voice interrupted as he approached. Startled, I lost my grip, and all the books came crashing to the floor.

"Maybe it's not all about the touch," Charlie said sarcastically, and I could see annoyance written all over his face as he eyed the scattered books on the floor. Ignoring his comment, I crouched down to pick up the books, and Nick followed suit. As I nervously gathered the books, I cursed at myself, wondering why I was suddenly so nervous.

Standing up, I finally looked at him, and he gave me a soft smile. Quickly grabbing the books from him, I didn't want him to notice how sweaty my hands had gotten in the last ten seconds.

"Thanks," I said, smiling back. He looked down at my hands and quirked a brow, "You play the drums?"

I shook my head, "These are actually Charlie's drumsticks. I'm more into photography, actually," cringing internally at why that piece of information was necessary.

"Nevertheless, that's really cool," he said with genuine excitement in his eyes. My smile grew wider; it was the first time someone had complimented my love for photography. My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults again, and I didn't quite understand what this boy was doing to me.

Charlie cleared his throat. "We have class, so…" he intervened. I looked back at him, giving him a 'now you want to go to class?' look, and he just shrugged his shoulders.

Nick got the point "Oh right, sorry I had something I wanted to ask you...Do you think that maybe you can be our equipment manager?" he said looking at me hopefully but a look with uncertainty.

"I also think that you should join the Rugby team to, we have enough for the team but were not allowed to actually play against other teams without a reserve," Nick explained to Charlie, he continued "And I saw you run in PE and you're, like, really fast." he confessed.

Turning back to me, looking down at my knee worried etched into to his face. Making me remember all over again how I fell flat on my ass right in front of him, I swear I can feel my face getting hot. "So...I thought you might be interested." he finished.

Me staring agape at him not really knowing what to say, Charlie speaking up "I don't know how to play,"

"I can teach you how to play if that makes you feel any better?" Nick offered looking at me for my response.

Feeling a little hesitant, I joined in, "And I have no experience as an equipment manager."

"You just have to make sure that you have enough equipment for the game when the time comes," he reassured me. Still not feeling good about it, he could sense the unease in my eyes.

"There's only a good number of guys on the team, so I am sure it won't be too difficult for you,"

Crossing my arms, I replied, "I am sure I will be able to handle it; it shouldn't be that difficult."

"Wait, no. no," Nick said, shaking his head, clearly regretting his words.

I smiled, breaking the tension. Sensing my sarcasm, we both broke into laughter. I don't know why I like messing with him from time to time.

"Um… so, do you want to join?"

I might be over my head; I never get cold feet, but this was definitely out of my element. The idea of becoming the equipment manager for the rugby team and possibly joining them felt like I had stepped into uncharted territory. It's not that I wasn't up for a challenge, but sports and managing equipment weren't exactly my forte. Maybe I should have offered to take pictures for the yearbook or something.

Regret started to seep in as I made my way toward the locker room, spotting just outside of the door. "Charlie, why are you-" I stopped mid-sentence when I heard voices behind the door.

"He's, like, well skinny though."

"Can he even play?"

"I am sure he's a nice guy, but we actually want to be decent."

"Does he even like sports? Everyone knows that he is gay."

Glancing at Charlie, the look of absolute despair on his face mirrored the flood of laughter that filled my ears.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I interrupted, pushing through the door. The group fell silent, their laughter trailing off as they turned to face me. The tension in the air was palpable. The distinct aroma of sweat and feet hung in the air, making me scrunch my nose. "Did a cat catch your tongue, or is this the first time you've seen a girl before?" I snapped, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

The silence was deafening, and I caught a little smirk on Nick's face as he tried to hide it.

Charlie, not knowing what else to do, just said, "Hi."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

Watching the boys tackle each other on the field made me wince inside. I forgot how physical and intense rugby could be, and judging by Charlie's expression, he was probably having second thoughts about joining the team. Coach Singh had filled me in on my duties as the equipment manager, and it seemed I was essentially the team's maid. Cleaning uniforms before practice, ensuring gear was in good condition, and tidying up the storage room were all part of my newfound responsibilities. The glamorous life of an equipment manager.

"I am definitely too weak for this," Charlie muttered under his breath.

"Well, I'm sure it's not that bad. You just run and tackle, right?" I said, attempting to uplift the mood, though I was probably talking straight out of my ass.

"Y/N is exactly right. Where is your 'can-do' attitude?" Nick chimed in, coming into full view. My eyes widened as I took in the sight of him in his rugby gear. His athleticism stood out, creating a whole different demeanor that I am not used to. The lopsided smile appeared on his face, and all my coherent thoughts seemed to vanish away.

"She left. Long ago," Charlie retaliated, not budging for a second, trying to encourage him.

"I am sure that you can do it" I said giving him a nudged earning me a glare.

"Y/N why don't you just tackling me so you can give Charlie an example," Nick suggested like it was most wonderful thing in the world.

My jaw dropped, I can hear Charlie chuckling in the background, "Absolutely not!" I exclaimed shaking my head.

"Just try. Tackle me, I won't dodge. I promise," he said getting into position. "I will go easy on you,"

My jaw ticked. Oh, he definitely doesn't have to go easy on me. I was more than capable. "I won't hold back," I stated, and Charlie caught a glance of my determined face, kindly taking a step back.

"Come on, I bet you can do it," Nick persisted, giving me a challenging smile. The field seemed to narrow down to just the two of us, the anticipation building with every step I took. With a deep breath, I charged toward Nick, focusing solely on making a solid tackle.

His body felt like a solid rock beneath me as I pinned him down, the satisfying thud echoing across the field. I couldn't help but grin. "Was that good?" I panted, catching my breath.

"That was perfect," he replied, his surprise evident as he swiftly got back on his feet. The rugby team, observing from the sidelines, exchanged weird glances.

"Was it really?" I asked, a surge of excitement coursing through me.

"Yeah, it was actually pretty impressive," Nick admitted, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Now, let's try again while I'm actually moving," he suggested, his infectious smile revealing he was relishing the challenge.

"Don't you think it's Charlie's turn to practice?" I playfully suggested, glancing at Charlie, whose grin mirrored my own. Nick erupted into laughter, and the sound reverberated through the air, welcoming that fuzzy feeling again.

As he laughed, Nick's whole vibe shifted, and I could swear I saw glimpses of that rumored golden retriever in him. The warmth in his eyes and the sheer joy of the moment made me oddly glad that I had stepped in for Charlie.

It was in that moment, as Nick's laughter filled the air and the warmth of his gaze lingered on me, that a subtle warmth crept into my face. In the midst of all the fun, something inside me was starting to spark, even if I didn't fully realize it at the time.

The days melted together, leaving me with moments I'll definitely try not to forget. It's funny, from the intense tackling drills to scrubbing jerseys, I somehow became this part of the rugby world. Like, way more involved than I'd openly admit.

And then there's Nick. His smile? Always there. Every laugh we shared felt like this tiny step closer to... well, I wasn't quite sure. But it was something. The sun would set, casting this warm glow over the field, I would snap a few pictures here and there some with just the boys acting complete idiots or some with just...Nick.

Between the banter and the constant thud of rugby boots, Nick and I found these quiet corners where we'd talk about more than just the game. He'd patiently explain the ins and outs of rugby, which I'd sometimes compared to a mix of American football and soccer. Let's just say he wasn't exactly thrilled about that.

I hung around until all the guys had left the locker room, finally giving me the chance to grab my book bag. Coach Singh had made it crystal clear that I should steer clear when the guys are changing or in the locker room. It doesn't bother me much, but it's clear that some of the guys aren't thrilled about having me as the equipment manager.

Exiting the locker room, I caught sight of Nick lingering by the exit. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be gone by now?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but I couldn't help stealing a quick glance at him. I have noticed I have been doing that a lot lately.

He sighed "My mum is running late, actually. Are you going to be heading home by yourself," he asked looking around noticing no one is with me.

"Me and Charlie usually walk home together," I said lowly noticing that he is not even outside, Nick noticing my confusion he looked even more confused "I just saw Charlie leave a couple minutes ago? Do you need a ride I can always ask my mum," he offered his voiced laced with concerned already pulling out his phone.

I waved him off "Please, there is no need, I am fine with walking," you explained.

"I can't have you walking by yourself, it's almost getting dark," he explained already texting his mom.

Grabbing hold of his arm, I tried to stop him from texting. "Absolutely not! You're not winning this time!" he shouted, struggling to break free from my grip. He held his phone up high, just out of my reach, and for a split second, I saw his thumb brush the send button.

A triumphant smile broke out on his face, and my chest deflated. "I can't believe you did that," I sighed.

"You'll thank me later. You would've gotten frostbite by the time you got home," he argued.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I retorted, "I can handle the cold just fine, thank you very much," hugging myself tighter to conserve warmth.

He clearly didn't believe me, but I couldn't care less. "You know, you've got a pretty strong grip there," he remarked, wincing a bit on the arm that I had grabbed.

"I did say I wouldn't hold back that day, and I meant it," I replied with a proud smile.

"Are you sure you don't want me on the team officially? You could be a pretty good asset," he teased, well aware that it wasn't possible, and truth be told, I didn't want to join.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm sure the guys on the team would despise me even more," I confessed, lacing my words with sarcasm.

"Huh, what are you talking about? None of the guys think that" he asserted.

I chuckled. "Please, don't think I haven't noticed the things they say behind my back. Especially Charlie! That Harry guy really has some nerve-"

"Well, they can simply piss off then. You don't owe them anything. I don't know why they can be such dicks sometimes," he huffed, frustration darkening his eyes, his jaw tightly clenched. I began to realize that I had never seen him angry or upset before. Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked,

"Why did you even ask me to join anyway?" holding my arms closer to my chest.

"Well, I kind of noticed how sad you were about the whole Film club being shut down, so I thought this would help," he said lowly, scratching the back of his head.

A small speck of warmth started to fill my chest; my stomach started to get all fuzzy again. Did he care that much? I tried not smile from ear to ear covering it with a cough.

"We should get out, we'll get locked in if we stay here much longer,"

Walking out the school, I finally noticed how the seasons has changed, looking upon the trees noticing how the leaves have changed at such short amount of time. Reminding me that it's going to get even colder as the days go on.

A sleek black car idled on the school's side, and as I approached, an unexpected wave of nervousness hit me. The realization that I was about to catch a ride with the most popular guy in school, and more importantly, with his mom, made my palms slightly sweaty.

Nick graciously opened the car door for me, and with a mumbled 'thank you,' I settled into the back seat. An inviting blend of subtle vanilla, smoke, and musk lingered in the air. The warmth enveloped me, a clear sign that the heater was working overtime, prompting a sigh of relief as I sank into the seat, finding an unexpected sense of relaxation.

As the car hummed to life, Nick's mom, turned around with a friendly smile that illuminated the interior. Her hazel brown eyes seemed to effortlessly match Nick's, and the smile lines etched around her eyes added a touch of genuine warmth. He clearly inherited more than just looks from his mom.

"Oh, thank you so much for giving me a ride Ms. Nelson,"

"Oh, it is certainly not a problem. I can't have you walking home by yourself. Feel free to call me Sarah," she beamed, her gaze meeting mine through the rearview mirror. I wasn't about to call a full-grown adult by their first name; my mom would kill me for that.

Nick quickly got in car buckling his seatbelt, I can tell he's nervous just by his posture, I have never seen him sit that straight in my life.

"Where do you live dear?" she said, driving out of the school in the street.

"Its 5693 Railway Drive, it's called the Avalone Suites," I said hesitantly, I am still struggling to remember my street name.

"You accent is just adorable, I rarely get to hear it unless I am watching TV," she commented.

I smiled, appreciating the compliment, it better than getting gawked at from just speaking.

As we drove through the familiar streets, Sarah turned to me with a warm smile. "So, Y/N, how's everything at school? Making friends? Nicky has been telling about you being the equipment manager for the team."

Nicky

Nick flamed up like a Christmas tree, he looked utterly embarrassed. Sarah looked at him oddly for a brief moment. I tried to surpass a laugh. Has he really been talking about me to his mom?

I nodded, feeling at ease with her friendly demeanor. "Yeah, it's going well. I'm getting to know people, especially with the rugby team. They're an interesting bunch."

Nick chuckled from the front seat, "Yeah, they are something. But Y/N's been a great addition, though."

I blushed a bit, if I get anymore compliments today, I think I might just overheat. Sarah joined in, "That's wonderful to hear. Nicky always been social, but it's nice to see him meeting new friends."

With a glance at Nick, I added, "Yeah, he's been a great friend, too. Really made me feel welcome on the team."

Nick, looking briefly at me, gave a small, appreciative smile. Sarah, noticing the exchange, smiled knowingly. It was silence throughout the ride until we pulled at my house.

Getting out of the car being welcomed back into the cold air I made sure to thank Nick's mom and giving Nick a grateful smile "Thank you so much for the ride, I really appreciate it,"

Sarah waved me off with a warm smile. "Oh, love, it was the least I could do. Anytime you need a lift, just let me know."

Grateful for the ride, I said, "Thanks, Ms. Nelson. I'll remember that." With a friendly smile, I walked into the house, and the smile just wouldn't fade.

Mom, still in her work clothes and seemingly ready to start dinner, peeked through the doorway. "Back so soon? What's making you smile like that?"

I shook my head, "Oh, nothing much. Just got a ride from a friend." I kept it short; no need to spill all the details, especially about getting a ride from a boy and his mom. That might lead to more questions than I was ready to answer.

My mom shot me a suspicious look before pointing at my shoes. "Make sure to take your shoes off; I just mopped the floors," she ordered, retreating back into the kitchen. I quickly kicked off my shoes and headed to my room, feeling the relief of finally being in my own space.

As I opened my phone, I shot a text to Charlie to make sure he got home okay. Ignoring the stack of homework on my desk, I decided to scroll through Instagram. The usual suggestions of people I barely knew filled the screen, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught Nick's profile popping up.

My finger hesitated over the screen, stuck in that classic "to click or not to click" dilemma. After a brief mental battle, I thought, "Ah, screw it," and tapped on his profile.

Surprise hit me when I saw he was already following me. His profile was like a window into his life, and I found myself scrolling through the mix of photos and posts. My fingers moved across the screen, unsure of where to start.

I groaned at my own indecisiveness. Thinking for a moment, I decided to send a text, pondering over what to say. I hesitated over each word, the cursor blinking impatiently on my screen. "Come on, Y/N, get it together," I muttered under my breath, my fingers hovering over the keys.

I typed in a simple 'Thank you' and sent it, blinking twice at the text, realizing that I accidentally included a heart emoji. I could have sent a smiley face or something but for god sakes not the heart emoji. Fucking autocorrect.

Checking to see if Charlie texted back yet, but all he did was leave me on read.

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/cutecurly-hair/742105652967669760/the-weekend-flew-by-and-before-i-knew-it-monday?source=share

#nick nelson x y/n #nick nelson x reader #nick nelson x fem!reader #nick nelson x blackreader #nick nelson fanfic #kit connor #heartstopper #charlie spring #black!fem!reader #black reader #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper fandom #heartstopper fanfic

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feelyourrush · 2 months

Text

A Sonny Disposition || Tim LaFlour x F!OC || Chapter 001

Synopsis: Sonny, a freshman at Stratford University, is a bubbly and hyper-feminine fashion design student all the way from Australia. She's excited to be on her own for the first time, but settling into independence is proving to be more complicated than she anticipated. Thankfully, fellow student, piercing-lover punk, and hockey ingenue Tim LaFlour lives in the same apartment building as her and is more than willing to lend a helping hand—even if they seem to be from completely separate worlds. What will they learn from each other? What will they have the patience to teach each other?

Genre/tags: Pure fluff, no smut. A friends-to-lovers slow burn romance with mutual pining. Imagine two golden retrievers crushing hard on each other p much!! Slight age difference, big size difference.

Word count: 1,850

A/N: My first fic in the Matt Lillard tag! My first fic on this blog! My first fic in a long, long time. And of course I couldn't help but start a new series. Aiming for this to be a novella/shorter chapter book. Hope y'all enjoy and please leave feedback if you have it!!

"Honestly, Auntie Steph, Uncle Benny—" I let out a grunt, hoisting a large suitcase and out of the back of their trunk— "Don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine, and I know who to call in case I need any help."

They followed behind me, with Auntie Steph carrying a large dress form and Uncle Benny pushing a dolly with the rest of my things. "We know, love. We're just one call away, and your Auntie Steph has some clients downtown," Uncle Benny addressed me from behind the pile of moving boxes atop the dolly as we walked into the apartment building.

"Right. I'm down here at least twice a week," Aunt Steph said. She was a consultant for an interior design firm, handling top-tier clients. Famous actresses, hockey players, the like. I held the door open as best as I could, practically squished between the door and the railing of the small staircase up to the apartment building.

I was a few days away from starting my freshman year at Stratford University in Toronto. I was a late registrant, so by the time I got accepted, there was no housing left in the freshman dorms. Instead, I was assigned to an apartment typically reserved for the upperclassmen. It was still maintained by the university, but I supposed I still had perks. Living with the older students probably meant a bit more freedom, not that I was planning on doing much besides schoolwork.

My aunt and uncle were just like my parents, worrywarts. Except, I could at least dodge my parents somewhat; I came all the way from Australia where I've lived for the last... well, my whole life. They were busy with work so all they could do was drop me off at the airport. Between then and about an hour ago, when I met up with my aunt and uncle at the airport, I traveled alone and enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, and I appreciate having people who cared about me a lot—but my goodness, could they be overbearing!

I was trying to hide my anxiousness to get rid of my aunt and uncle, but I wasn't so sure how well it was working. "I know. I've got you both on speed dial," I said, flashing them one of my signature megawatt smiles as we careened my things inside.

Like in the movies, students were bustling across the lobby, traversing its small space with ease. They looked grown up, if that makes sense. I felt intimidated, to say the least, and had half a mind to pay a visit to the chancellor's office or find someone else in charge to see if they could squeeze me into one of the freshman dorms. I would take an air duct if it was all they had.

My apartment was upstairs, at the very end of the hall on the third floor. The building seemed older, less well-kept and modern like the rest of the university. The dusty spiderwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the scratched linoleum in my room gave the whole place a nice charm, though. It was lived-in, and felt grown-up, too.

I could feel the excitement set in as Uncle Benny emptied the dolly. Eventually, they plopped onto the sunken-in, emerald green couch in the middle of the living room. I laughed, watching them take their exaggerated breaths. We were a theatrical bunch.

"Somehow, we did it," Auntie Steph said.

Uncle Benny checked his watch. "Alright, honey. It's almost lunch time. We'll get out of your hair so you can get something to eat. Remember what we said."

"Of course," I said, giving them hugs as they stood up from the couch. Real good hugs, too, like the ones I'd given my family right before I got on the plane. It was a bittersweet moment, one that marked the end of my phase as that little kid who played dress up with her Barbie dolls and the beginning of my new chapter as a fashion design student. "I love you both."

"We love you too," Aunt Steph said. "We'll send our wishes."

After they left, I was so exhausted from my long journey that I thought I'd better rest, too. With a deep breath, I landed on the couch—and heard a crack of wood underneath me. I sank a few inches.

===

"Thanks so much," I said while signing my name on a piece of paper. I looked up at the gentleman with a polite, expectant smile.

"Are ya sure you don't need our help carrying this up?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at me. Behind him, a small crew of movers were transporting my new couch into the lobby.

"Umm..." I sized the couch up and down. It was about the same size as my old one, with three cushions. Knowing my parents, they ordered me something a bit hefty so it would last longer, made of real wood and all. I had the upper body strength of a squirrel, probably, but I didn't want to look stupid in front of the movers. I was grown up, after all, doing big girl things now. Surely I could move a couch by myself. Giving them all a thumbs up, I said, "I should be able to handle it. Got some friends coming soon to help me."

"Alright," the gentleman filed my papers away and gave his crew a shrug before walking out. "Have a good day, miss."

It was just me and a couch in the lobby now. "Hmm." I circled it, feeling its plastic wrap. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the cushions flying off while I was carrying this thing. I glanced over at the elevator, which was much too small to fit the couch on (and it probably would've been over the weight limit). Then I looked up at the stairs.

Not realizing I was taking up the space in front of the main entryway to the building, I heard someone clear their throat behind me, startling me.

"Uh... need a hand?"

I didn't know where to look first, because it certainly wasn't his face. He was a tall guy, at least a foot taller than me, bleach blonde, and he wore these giant black combat boots, faded gray jeans that had more than a little distressing on them, and a cut-off t-shirt that said The Ramones on it. He had a cornucopia of piercings on his face. Their silver beads reflected under the fluorescent light. I'd never seen anyone like him before.

I was probably gawking, because a second later, he spoke again. "You okay?"

I picked my jaw up off the floor. "Yeah! Yeah, totally. I just, um..." I chuckled awkwardly, patting the top of the couch.

"Did you order this thing?"

"Yes, I did," I said confidently.

"You know, the apartments come with their own couches, right?" He couldn't hide his smile.

"Yeah," I said, not so confidently anymore. For a scary-looking guy, he had a big, friendly smile. It caught me off guard, just like the rest of him did. "Mine, um, broke."

Despite his smile, I thought he was going to chew me out and tell me to move. But he looked the couch up and down, and then looked at me at least up (my lower half was covered by the back of the couch) and said, "Right. Well, I'm cool with it being here but I don't know if the rest of the guys will be."

"Rest of the...?"

Before I knew it, a slew of boys—men? students?—flooded into the apartment building, vaulting over the couch and brushing past me to go upstairs. They were all the same size and stature as him and for a second there, I was worried I would get trampled, so I stayed completely still, scrunching my face.

They were all carrying duffel bags and hockey sticks, dressed in Stratford jerseys and sweatpants. I put two and two together. When the dust settled was around the same time I realized I could ask them to help me carry the couch up, but they were already gone by then. I looked over at the guy and we seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Do you think I could—"

"Hey, do you need—"

We chuckled, realizing we talked over each other. He said, "I got you." Then, he hollered up, "Hey! Sammo! Bowman! Could use a hand."

They spawned from above, almost racing each other to the bottom of the steps. I couldn't help but laugh at how rowdy they were.

"Oh, we got a new couch for the spot, eh?" asked Sammo, whose name was on his jersey. Bowman splayed across the couch for a laugh before hopping back up.

"This is..." the blonde guy looked over at me, furrowing his brow.

"Sonny. I'm Sonny," I smiled.

"Tim, you caught yourself a girl from down undah?" Sammo teased.

The blonde, who I knew now as Tim, continued. "....Sonny, and she needs our help carrying this to her apartment. Apartment...?"

"13."

"Damn. That's all the way at the end of the hall, isn't it?" Bowman asked.

"C'mon, boys. Sonny's new around here. Let's be polite and make her want to stay," Tim said. It was then that I noticed he also had a duffel bag and hockey sticks, which he set down outside. They each took a side and I went to lift my own, but I was met with a hand up from Sammo.

"Don't worry about this, me'lady. Don't want you liftin' up a finger." Sammo grinned.

So, I took careful steps behind them, figuring I shouldn't insist to be in the way, and watched them pivot with every bend of the staircase. This was a whole lot easier than careening this whole thing up myself. I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I let those movers leave.

Finally, they set the couch down in the middle of my room. It seemed to be no effort to them at all. I wore a warm smile.

"Thank you guys, so much," I said, holding my hands together.

"Ah, don't mention it. C'mon, Sammo, let's go." The pair left my place, and me and Tim, alone.

I chuckled, feeling a bit awkward. "You really saved the day," I said. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," he told me. "Looks like we were at the right place at the right time." He smiled. "Well, Sonny, it turns out I'm actually in the apartment right underneath you. Number six. So if you need anything else..."

A sort of dread filled my stomach. You could hear every step you took in this place thanks to the creaky wooden floors. I was already a bit worried about bothering my neighbors with my endless nights of sewing and my impromptu dance parties, now I had to think about not bothering Tim. Strange and yet adorable and super helpful Tim. I tried to hide how horrified I was with a smile right back.

"Cool. I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thanks again, and, um, see ya around."

"See ya."

#tim laflour fluff #tim laflour x reader #tim laflour #matthew lillard x reader #matthew lillard #poc writer #senseless 1998

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meetmyothersouls · 8 months

Note

Chapter 6 here:

As you wish <3

Back To You

Jonah Hauer-King x first person reader

Warnings: This chapter is pretty short but there is a reason for it that will make sense in the next chapter! Things start to heat up a bit!

Chapter 6

I grab the last of my things from my nightstand. Phone, a book that I had apparently been reading. I'll have to restart that. It's all so strange to me still-to know that I had a whole life within the walls of this house. A life that I still can't remember.

I turn around and before I'm able to make a full step I run into something. Or rather, someone.

"Sorry! I'm sorry," Jonah says, steadying me. His hands are on my hips to keep me from falling. I look down at them and he removes them promptly. I still can't decide how I feel about him and I. Which is why I thought this whole mountain trip thing was a good idea. Maybe it'll all come back to me in the English mountains.

"You scared me," is all I manage to say.

"I didn't mean to creep up, I just-you seemed deep in thought. I didn't want to interrupt."

Jonah looks down at me and I can't take my eyes off of him. His face is as sweet as his smile and kind as his eyes. He looks like he'd never be capable of hurting anyone. And right now, he looks like he stepped straight out of a fairytale, even dressed in something as simple as black jeans and a t-shirt. He looks down at my lips and as much as I don't want to notice-I do. I lick them, maybe it's instinctual or maybe it's because I just want him to kiss me. I move my hands to the back of his neck as quick as the thought enters my mind. I pull his face down until his lips are inches from mine. I can't stop myself and luckily, he doesn't stop either. His lips are on mine and we're kissing. They're soft and move with mine in perfect sync. I keep waiting for him to pull away, to tell me that he wants me to be absolutely sure about the kiss. And the truth is, I'm not. Maybe my mind doesn't remember him and our relationship, but my body does. My body needs him. Jonah's hands find their way back on my hips, he spins me, my knees buckle, and I fall back onto the bed. He hovers over me, careful not to put weight on my still sore body. My fingers tangle in his hair and he moans just slightly into my mouth as we deepen our kiss. I'm not sure how far this is going to go...or even how far I want it to go, but it doesn't matter because once his phone in his back pocket starts ringing, we instantly stop. Jonah's hands are on either side of my head, holding himself up. We're both breathless, staring at each other intently.

On the fourth ring I manage to ask him, "are you gonna answer that?"

Jonah stands, he clears his throat before answering. "Hello?" He paces the room, before exiting momentarily. I quickly run into the bathroom and splash water on my flushed face. I'm not sure if the move I made was the right one, but it certainly felt right in the moment. When I come back out, Jonah's walking back in.

"Jorge and Haven already left together. I gave them the address."

"So, I guess that means we're riding together?"

"You don't have to go, y/n," Jonah says. He steps toward me, and I sidestep him, I'm not sure if I can handle being close to him again without feeling the urge to have his mouth on mine again. To think I had him naked and on top of me at one point. "Did you hear me?"

"Hm?"

"I said you don't have to go. Not if you don't want to."

"I want to go," I say, I pocket my phone and grab the book off the bed. "I think it will be good."

"For your memory?" Jonah asks.

I nod. "And for us." I walk out the door and pretend like I don't see Jonah's massive smile on his face or the adorable dimple that's so prominent when he smiles that way. If I look too hard we might not end up leaving.

After about two hours of Jonah driving and me dozing off several times, I feel the car slow as we turn.

"Are we here already?" It's already dark, and I can't really make out where we are...not that I'd be able to pinpoint our location anyway.

"No, we still have several hours' worth of travel. But we left a bit late, and I'm not the best at driving at night," Jonah swallows hard. He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. It's raining lightly as we make our way into a quaint hotel.

I gasp out loud as I step inside. The inside of the hotel looks like something directly out of The Shire. There's a faint smell of freshly baked bread that wafts wonderfully through the air. The walls are covered in trinkets and old pictures. There are hand carved whimsical looking souvenirs that resemble wise old wizards. Dream catchers of all sizes pepper the walls some with feathers trickling down, some covered in beads. One wall has bookcases lined all the way down from ceiling to floor. I'd love to spend some time looking at them, but Jonah gently touches my shoulder. "I know you want to look at the books, but I'm afraid you'll be up all night like last time if I let you."

"Last time?"

"We stop here every time we travel. It's your favorite hotel." A sweet smile spreads across Jonah's face and I realize that this may have been part of a plan to jog my memory. I don't even care, I love this hotel so much, if we just decided to stay here, I'd be okay with it.

We climb the steps of a winding staircases coated in what looks like moss and vines and make our way to our room. When we get to the door, Jonah turns to me.

"No, before we go in, I just have to warn you-"

"Warn me about what?" I arch an eyebrow.

Jonah turns and inserts an ancient looking key into a lock on a round door. And as I step inside, I realize what he's worried about. The room is tiny, likely to coincide with the aesthetic, but what stands out the most to me is-

"There's only one bed."

Tags: @danielabetancourth @luna2034 @wandamaximoffbae @twinkledinkleg-blog @justagirlwholovedtoread @nonsensical-nonsence @paramorelvrr @thedonswife13 @miniemonie2001 1 @jonahhauer-kingg

✨ let me know if you’d like to be added to my Jonah tag list✨

#jonah hauer king #jonah hauer-king #jonah hauer king imagine #jonah hauer king x reader #jonah hauer king gifs #jonah hauer king fan fiction #jonah hauer king x y/n #fan fiction #my writing #back to you

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yelenasdiary · 9 months

Note

Okay so Yelena/Florence moves to Paris and finds this small building that also has an apartment on top of it. She decides to buy it and make it a little bakery since she loves to make pastries. She puts up fliers/papers all around the city to look for a few people to help her. Cue in Reader needing a job since she's fresh out of college and was looking for a job. She goes in for an interview and is immediately hired on the spot. The two get along quickly and become friends.

Everything else is up to you whether they start dating or not. Just basically full on fluff

You're Hired!

Pairing: Baker! Florence Pugh x Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Finally getting a job also meant you gained a new friendship.

Fluff | No Warnings | 0.8K |

AC: Thank you for this!! I went with Florence as you can tell! I also don’t think I’ve written a ‘variant’ for a celebrity before, I hope you enjoy it!! Sorry it’s not super long but I’m open to doing a part 2! X

After a long few years of back-to-back filming and press tours, Florence decided to do something a little different. She brought a building in the heart of Paris that had a small apartment on top of what she'd turn into a bakery. She's worked hard coming up with a menu that would offer plenty of baked goods, desserts, and a small list of main meals. The bakery would give her the chance to explore her skills as a baker and cook and a slight change to her busy lifestyle.

The bakery took a few months of renovations before everything was set in motion for the opening to be planned. Of course, the actress turned baker would need staff, so she printed off plenty of flyers and plastered them all around the city. A week after doing so, Florence's diary was booked for the following week with interviews for potential staff. Of course, she had to keep in mind that there might be a few people only applying with the chance to meet the actress, but she was confident that people would respect her enough to let her do her job.

Fresh out of college and looking for work, you stumbled across one of the coming soon bakery flyers. You'd decided to take a gap year, meaning you'd work for a whole year before working out what your next step would be. This would give you the chance to save and hopefully explore and learn new things about the new chapter of your life. You wanted to make your parents proud considering they sent you to college in Paris and saved you the hassles of student debts.

You'd been applying for jobs for months, a few interviews here and there but lucky just hadn't been on your side, maybe it was because your French lacked a little, but you still were able to understand what you needed too. After sending your resume and cover letter to the email on the flyer you couldn't help but build up some hope that you'd hear back from the owner. The job was basically a perfect fit for you, you had all the skills listed and it was only a few blocks from your small apartment.

It was a Thursday afternoon when you stepped foot into the bakery, smiling confidently as you shook hands with Florence, keeping it stickly professional.

"Hi, I'm Y/n, it's lovely to meet you" you spoke, shaking the blonde's hand with a firm grip. This was something Florence noticed instantly, she smiled, "Thank you for coming in, please take a seat" she offered before sitting down with your resume in front of her. "I noticed you just finished college, congratulations! That's big" Florence smiled once more as she looked up from your resume.

"Thank you, it was a long road, but I really enjoyed it!" you replied, hoping your answer didn't sound too fake. Of course, college came with its pros and cons but you will forever wish you'd never be under the amount of stress college gave you.

"You should be very proud! Now, I won't keep you too long, I know these interviews can be a lot, I just have a few questions and by the looks of your resume, that alone answers most of them" she replied with a light chuckle.

"Sure, I'll answer anything you want" you smiled.

"Have you ever dealt with an unreasonable customer? How did you handle it, and how would you handle it today?"

After answering the woman's questions, the two of you found yourself getting side tracked and sharing stories with one another. The bakery was full of laughter, and you no longer felt like you were even at a job interview.

"I'm not going to bother telling you that I'll call you, you've got the job!" Florence smiled.

"Are you serious?! Thank you so much! I promise you won't be disappointed!" Your hands were shaking with the last of your hidden nerves leaving your body.

"I can tell you're a hard and honest worker, I'm very excited to have you join the team! We open in two week's time so you have plenty of time to prepare for whatever you need, I'll have a uniform for you to pick up next week and I'll email you any documents I need signed before end of next week" Florence went on to explain. You stood from your chair and shook your new boss's hands once more before thanking her.

----

A year later, you found yourself promoted to manager of the bakery, Florence thought you were the best fit for when we would return to her other job. Not only that, the two of you grew closer as friends and you were happy to say that Florence was one of your closest friends!

There were many nights spent laughing over wine and cheese boards, baking goods for the following morning, sharing different ideas for the long-awaited future for the bakery. You were sad to know that there would be a time when Florence would return to acting but she promised it wouldn't be for a long while yet!

#yelenasdiary asks #riveramorylunar #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #fanfiction

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lostsoulaltair · 8 months

Text

The Seraph Trait and How it Came to be

Hello everyone, it sure has been so long since I updated theories, analysis and the sort. A lot happened.

Anyways, as mentioned before, I'll discuss about the seraph trait and how the confirmation was given in the latest chapter.

P.S: Everything is held within a neutral view

Long ago, we used to question about this mysterious trait that appeared within children, their rate was so small but not impossible. Along this, the Mikaela trait was also prominent to appear as well.

But, how can I say the chapter 129 gave an answer?

Let's take it step by step.

First:

After Shikama did the taboos enlisted by the angel of punishment sent by God:

Indeed, those angels who followed Shikama, would be chained to hell, they would never reach the light they craved for. Earth was long punished after Shikama's sin.

Second:

Once Shikama rotted forever, he eventually embraced the darkness, he had to wait for eternity to finally think with a cold mind to set a new plan into motion.

Such plan was creating humans; humans born from mud just like the different myths that exist in different cultures:

Given that Shikama could no longer use "light", he was bound to channel "darkness". And the best creatures for that were humans; humans capable of creating "sin"

Third:

Once the dolls were created, these dolls did harbor a sense of curiosity, but they lacked something fundamental, something that even the bible does imply and that is the sense of self awareness.

-Before

-After:

Once the souls of the angels in hell were channeled, they were set into the dolls of mud created by Shikama and Yu:

These fallen angels that rotted in hell, they didn't display awareness of who they were given that they rotted for a millenia, they had a new chance but now, the main question starts.

How did the seraph trait and the Mikaela trait began?

This very trait began the very moment the dolls and the souls of the angels were merged together.

What do I mean?

The angels that once walked Earth with Sika Madu, began walking as mortals, but even so, even if they carried or inherited their souls, only few would carry the same traits as who they were in their former selves.

Sika Madu made sure these humans or dolls he created imbued with the souls of the fallen angels would breed, giving as a result the history of humankind within the ONS story.

Furthermore, just like the souls of the fallen angels allowed humans to gain the sense of self awareness, it also allowed one human to interact with the angel Mikaela's corpse, a bridge, a channel of communication was created on which the angel Mikaela was allowed to move his soul in one of those dolls, that of course, being Yuu.

A soul is not merely an aspect of energy but rather, it register traits of one's self, something that gives characteristic or definition to give us shape of who we are; in that regard, it is way visible as to why the angel Mikaela and Yuu's personality were so akin.

And as I stated before, given that souls carry on information, this whole memory set we got in the chapters, is a process called "regression".

A "regression" is not just like remembering the past through normal ways; it is going way beyond, whenever it allows people in real life to remember their former selves or not, is is unknown but there exists a book about a man that was able to do such feat.

The reason why Yuu had no memories of his past is due to something that I might bring as repetitive but:

"A soul can find a matching vessel, but a vessel can't gather pieces of a mind"

It means that a vessel would need to endure a lot to remember each exact detail of their former past selves. But given that in Owari, Mikaela Shindo/Hyakuya had to use a lot of power to open all the doors that led to Yuu's distant past, this feat of regression allowed Yuu to finally discover who he was.

It could be said that Mika was the key needed to unlock the door to the mystery, to Pandora's box.

As a side note, the current vampires along the black demons are shadows of those who walked with Sika Madu long ago.

Still,

#owari no seraph #ons chapter 129 #owari answers #owari no seraph analysis #the seraph trait #yuichiro hyakuya #mikaela hyakuya #angel michaela

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boygiwrites · 7 months

Text

Harley D. Dixon 23

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Warning for strong themes of suicide in this chapter because of Beth, and well, everything else.

Herschel left the farm all by himself while we was out.

As the sun sets behind the porch railing, Lori explains to Rick and Glenn that Beth's in shock — the thing I was in this morning. She tries to mutter it under her beath, but I hear just fine that she tried to kill herself by slicing her wrists up. Different to how Momma did it, but I know just about every way there is, and that's one of 'em. If I were Beth, I would'a just jumped out the window. Prolly would'a worked, but maybe she didn't want it to. Lori and Patricia found her just in time to save her. She's laid up in bed now, apparently still staring at the wall.

Rick keeps glancing at me throughout the whole conversation. I don't know why he's doin' it, but I wish he'd cut it out.

Herschel told us today he'd learnt what grit was, but I guess he ain't learned enough to deal with his daughter wantin' to die, 'cause he hopped in his truck and took a trip to town to get away from it all. Maggie begs the two of 'em to go bring him back, and they agree.

"You got any guesses where he might'a gone?" Rick asks, putting his hat back on. Always savin' people. "Parks, stores, houses?"

"Hatlin's." She answers unhappily. "Bar on main street. He practically lived there in his drinking days. If he's gone anywhere, it's there."

I can't imagine Herschel in a bar. My Daddy and Uncle Merle used to rot away in bars when they was angry or sad, but that was them.

Rick must be thinking the same thing. "I didn't take Herschel for a drinker."

"He gave it up the day I was born." She half-smiles. "Didn't even allow liquor in the house... But not anymore, I guess."

"I've seen the place." Glenn assures her, holding her shoulder and turning to Rick. "I can drive us there."

"Okay." Before they turn to leave, he murmurs to Lori, "Does Daryl know 'bout Beth yet?"

She shakes her head and glances at me, too.

He warns her, "Well, you're gonna want to. Harley's been havin' a tough go of it and I ain't sure how this is... gonna affect her."

She gives a look of understanding. "I'll go talk to him now."

When he comes down the steps, he crouches in front of me. He's got his Dad-face on, the one that's all nice and reassuring.

"Hey, you did good today." He tells me. "How 'boutchu go find Carl and read some comic books together or something for a while?"

"Alright." I lilt, watching him gently clap me on my shoulder before following Glenn down the path toward the cars.

But as soon as they're gone, I don't go find Carl. I take myself around the side of the house and slouch between two old barrels in the grass, hiding from everyone. I've gotten real good at swallowing down the need to cry, so that's what I do. At some point, the darn ringing returns.

I wish some little animal would cross paths with me, so I could take my knife out and stab it dead. That'd make me feel better.

Merle would smack me if he saw me like this. Don't cry, Harley. Don't cry. Been a long, long day, but you don't gotta cry.

The sun soon disappears under the earth.

"Sh, sh, sh. Baby, it's okay." The night is quiet, but our little tent is filled with my pent-up sobs. "It's okay."

I wish I could go to sleep like everyone else, but I can't. The day's finally caught up with me. Rick and Glenn still haven't returned, but the farm's been a mess without 'em all the same. Dad's been watching me like a hawk since Lori spoke with him, and dinner was spent in silence, and I been trying not to cry for hours. He keeps crooning the same thing to me over and over. It's okay. I hear that stupid lie every time things aren't okay. It don't get any more okay-er no matter how hard I bawl or scream into his shoulder, or wish with all my heart and all my body, right down to my toes, that I weren't such a little wuss. I wish Sophia was alive. I wish Shane made it to Fort Benning.

Seems I'm always hurting. If anyone asked me what I did best, I'd say this. Sometimes feels like all I was made for.

I did good faking my way through the day, but as soon as I laid my head down to go to sleep and realized that I couldn't no more 'cause of my ear, I finally broke. Can't shoot, can't hear, can't sleep. Everything, even the way I curl up at night, been stripped from me.

"It's not okay," I moan, hating that when I close my eyes, I can still see the things I don't wanna. "S'all wrong. It hurts."

"I know it does, chicken. But I'm 'ere. I'm always here." He murmurs into my hair, holding me even tighter to his chest. "Just get it all out."

I wanna tell him I can't, it don't work that way. If you could cry yer sadness out, I would'a lost all mine by now. But he already knows. Just like me, he's made up of sadness. Most people say we're alike 'cause our matching scowls, our little moles. But more than anythin', it's that.

I don't think I've ever been this type of angry before. There's just nowhere to put it. There's no-one to blame. It's just inside me. And I think it'll be there forever, like my bones are. There's no use being sour at Rick or Dad for killin' Shane. You can't get mad at people when there's no right or wrong to it, when they was just doin' what needed to be done. Shane was crazy, we've always said it. He done so many things he shouldn't have. No, I ain't mad at them for that. Or at Glenn, or T, or Andrea for helping 'em. Not at the bullet that shot my ear off, not at the Greenes' God for takin' all my friends away. I'm just angry at being alive.

"He said it was gonna be d-different this time." He said a whole bunch'a things, but that one I remember. "Daddy, I want it t'be different."

"It will be, baby. It will. I'mma keep you safe with everythin' I got, okay?" At least that one's not a lie. "You know that."

"But I'on care about me." I pull back, my fingers twisted in his tank top. "It's everyone else that's dead. It's Shane and Sophia a-and Momma and Merle and Morales and prolly Meemaw and Kyle and my cousins. I'm sick of it! Ain't no point in movin' on if people gonna keep dyin'!"

"Don't talk like that, Harley Dixon." He gently scolds, brows twitching into a frown. "Don'tchu ever. There is a point."

Well, I don't get it no more. "I ca-an't even sleep properly, Dad."

"Well, let's just try again. You can lay on yer other side." He offers. "Dad'll read you another story, huh? Or you want me to sing again?"

"No." I croak miserably. I don't want a story. I don't even want a song. "Even if I go to sleep, t-that's ruined, too. I get nightmares. And when I wake up, it's the same thing all over again. Eatin' scraps and cryin' and takin' ringing meds just for somethin' else bad to happen."

"That's the way life is, Harley." He tells me, a little stricter this time. "I can't change it any more than you can. People die—"

"People mourn," I quote him with a roll of my wet eyes, "Life moves on. I heard."

"Stop it." He don't like that I mocked him, not one bit. Not when it comes to this. "It's true. We move on. We keep livin'."

"Well, maybe I don't wanna. Maybe I'm done."

Herschel says I got a thing called grit. Dad says I'm his brave girl. Carl thinks I'm some sorta badass, but really I'm just a nasty, broken little thing called Harley Dixon. I don't wanna keep living if living's full of death. Maybe it's better the other way. Beth thinks so. Momma sure did, too. I never got to ask her if it worked out like she wanted and got all her sadness taken away, but I like to think it did. I like to think there's no bad things where she is, only good and happy things. She ain't watched Shane die. She ain't stood at Sophia's grave. She ain't hurtin'.

"Little girl," Dad's voice is thin and shaky like a whisper, but also very, very, very angry. "I know you ain't just said that."

I stare right back at him through my tears without a word, 'cause I did say that. Not to hurt him, but because it's the truth.

He slowly starts shaking his head. "Nah, I ain't raised you this way. I ain't raised a girl that gives up."

My wobbly frown deepens. "So that's what Momma was, then? She was weak?"

"Yes. Weak an' stupid." He says unapologetically. "And I won't have you talkin' like her. Over my dead body, girl, I won't have it."

"And how's that?" I challenge him. "You gonna make Sophia come back? You gonna fix my ear? You gonna make Shane—?"

"Weren't me that did that, Harley. Weren't Rick, weren't nobody but himse—"

"—Come back? You gonna kiss it all better and sing a song?" I taunt, shouting in his face, "They're all dead!"

"I know they are." He argues, taking a moment to suck in a breath. "I'm sorry I ain't find Sophia. I'm sorry 'boutcher ear. I'm sorry you're hurtin' and I can't do nothin' about it, but this type'a talk ain't what's gonna help you, Harley. It's bein' strong. You gotta be stronger."

"But I ain't," I tell him, and the tears are back now, streaming down my face, 'cause I'm right. I ain't strong. "I'm just nothin'."

"You're my little girl, is whatchu are." He says sternly, voice cracking. "I love you more'un anythin'. How you think hearin' that makes me feel?"

Probably makes him see the little traces of Momma on my face. Makes him feel like he's failing the same woman twice.

But I'm just so tired, and I just don't care. "I'on care how it makes you feel, Daddy. I'on care 'bout nothin' anymore."

Being empty must be worse than being full of somethin' like anger, 'cause this is the thing that really gets to him. Under his pair of twisted brows, his sharp eyes start to well up, his mouth curls into a sneer. The crickets outside chirp happily either way, dutifully filling the silence that comes. For the first time, I think my Dad is wrong about something. There is no point in moving on. Bein' strong, that's a waste. Shane said we deserve for things to go differently, go better in some way that ain't so cruel, but it didn't. It won't.

"You're fuckin' scarin' me, Harley." He utters thinly. "You ain't never talked like this."

I know. I ain't never stayed down after a hit, but I been strong for so long, I think it's just ran out.

I don't answer him. Instead I confess quietly, "I think I wanna go sleep in somebody else's tent tonight, Dad."

I need out this stuffy tent. If I could sleep alone in a hole somewhere, I would. I'm done arguing. And he's done, too. He wordlessly slides me off his lap and helps me gather my bedding, trying his best not to tear up more than he already is, muttering to himself, swiping at his eyes. He leads me back to main camp, where all the lamps are shut off and the fire pits are smoking. The night air cools my hot, red cheeks.

He taps his knuckles onto a crate just outside the Grimes' tent, and before he even steps back, there's shuffling inside.

The zipper peels back, revealing Lori's sleepy, moon-lit face. She takes us in with a confused look. "Daryl? What are you doing over here?"

"Listen, I'm sorry for wakin' ya." He murmurs, putting on a level voice. "Came to ask you if... Harley can bunk with you guys tonight."

"Uh, sure." She agrees kindly, encouraging me to step inside by my shoulder, taking my sleeping bag from Dad. "Everything alright?"

"No." He answers gruffly. No point in lying. He don't give up anything else, and she don't pry. He places a kiss to my hair. "Night, chicken."

"Night, Dad." I force myself to say back, 'cause I'm grateful he ain't just kept me stuck in our tent, and that he really listened.

As he gives me one last glance and then leaves, Lori zips the tent up and lays my bedding down next to hers and Rick's. Carl snoozes away in the corner, an open comic book splayed out over his chest. I bet Lori knows what's the matter with me. Rick saw that thousand-yard stare I had after they killed Shane, knows how I been hating myself. He no doubt told her everything. But she's too nice to say anything.

"Here, sweetie." She takes my lumpy pillow and sets it down. I wiggle into the sleeping bag. "Comfy?"

I give a nod, even though laying on my back feels real strange and I don't got Matilda anymore.

She smiles blearily and crawls back under the covers. "Wake me up if you need anything."

And that's that. I stare up at the sky through the Grimes' tent, counting the stars through the black mesh until I fall asleep.

Sometime during the night, I bolt awake, sweating, crying, confused. Shane, I couldn't save him. I watched him die. Again. A gunshot, blood, shouting, dying, searing pain and a dog tag dangling from a broken mirror. Darkness, and then two little hands on my shoulders, shaking me. A boyish, worried voice telling me, hey, it's just a nightmare. I cling to them. Carl. He's here. I don't think before I let him hug me. I sniffle into his neck as he pets the soft spot between my shoulder blades like his Momma and Daddy do when he's upset.

"It was him again," I shudder. "Shane. I miss him. I miss all of 'em."

Life moves on, Daddy said. But how's it that mine ain't? When's that moving part happen?

"Me, too." His arms tighten around me as much as a boy's can. "You're allowed."

After that, I remember the sound of blankets shuffling, a flashlight clicking on, a comic book being quietly read to me. I remember my eyes closing, heart slowing, and I remember thinking he's gonna be the best big brother one day. In a way, he already is.

The next morning, my eyes flutter open to the sight of a quiet, empty tent. By some miracle, I must've slept in a little. I hear the fire crackling away outside, the clinking of spoons on bowls, muffled conversation. After taking a minute to yawn and stretch, I crawl out the tent.

"Ah, there she is." As I round the camping chairs, Dale sends me a warm smile. I take the seat next to him. "Just in time for breakfast."

I glance up at the second storey of the farmhouse, imagining Beth behind one of those pretty windows. I wonder how she feels about waking up this morning. I know I'm exhausted, and all I've done is open my eyes. Another day of eating scraps, crying, and taking pills. Ironically enough, Lori interrupts my spacing out by holding out two little white capsules and a water bottle to me. She's speaking, but I'm not hearing her. I throw both pills back and wash 'em down so I don't gotta look at 'em any longer. I hate that my body can't work on its own anymore.

"Harley." Lori's voice comes quick and sharp this time, startling me. "Are you listening?"

I glare up at her. She's standing so close to me that I don't know how I couldn't hear what she said the first time. "Huh?"

She looks at me like I've done something strange. "I said, 'You can't take those on an empty stomach'. Are you hungry?"

"Oh. Yeah." Now everyone's lookin' at me like that. I reach under my hair and nervously tug on my ear as she turns and fills a bowl with the creamy soup cooking over the fire. I've never not been able to catch what someone's saying like that. She hands the food to me. "Thanks."

As conversation picks up again, I struggle to pin certain words being said, especially when they're from Andrea, who's sitting the furthest from me, and Lori, on my left. S'like half the world's gone silent, and the other half's just a high-pitch squeal. God, it's makin' me mad. I claw at my ear again, as if there's somethin' stuck in there, like a wad of earwax or a cork, but there ain't nothin' in there but the ringing.

A scary thought crosses my mind. If you can't hear for no good reason, that means you're deaf. I can't be deaf.

When Andrea looks directly at me and says something that I think's meant to be a joke, I snap back, "I can't fuckin' hear you, Andrea."

Her smile drops pretty fast, but I don't feel bad. I feel frightened. To my surprise, I don't get told by anyone to mind my language.

Lori just looks at me all pitiful-like and hesitates to guess, "Is it the ringing?"

I'm tired of hearing about the ringing almost as much as I'm tired of hearing the ringing itself. "It ain't the damn— I just can't hear proper."

She glances side-long at Dale. "Herschel did say..."

He sighs, looking a little stressed, before scooting his chair closer to mine and clicking his fingers on my right ear. "What about that?"

It sounds like a far-away thud, thud, thud, where it should actually sound like a snap, snap, snap.

"S'dull." I mutter unconfidently.

He moves to my left ear. This time, there isn't even any thud, thud, thud at all. It's just silence.

When I say nothing, he leans back. "I'm no doctor, but... It seems very obvious to me."

I'm not a doctor neither, and neither is Lori or T or Andrea or Carl, but it's all rather obvious to us, too. I can tell, 'cause they're all lookin' pretty uncomfortable, like this discovery has already ruined the rest of my life as I'm just sitting here. I'm losing hearing in my left ear. That's what it is. As soon as Dad mentioned my hearing to Herschel, and when it got worse at shooting practice, I was scared this would happen.

Ain't nobody shocked. I was never gonna walk away from a gunshot to the side of the head with all my hearing intact.

I guess whenever somebody talks, I'll just have to try reading their lips.

"I had a teacher who was deaf." Carl offers this up like it means anything. "She was really nice and smart. Everyone liked her."

I almost feel like scoffing at him, Wow, thanks so much, Carl. You've cured me.

"It's really nothing." Lori's quick to reassure me, covering for his shitty attempt. "Hundreds of people live like this and they still thrive."

"Hell, I think I'm going deaf sometimes, too." Dale jokes. "And I'd say I'm doing alright, wouldn't you?"

"Sure, Dale." I try to chuckle, staring down at my cold soup.

Nobody mentions the fact that having sharp senses is what keeps you alive nowadays. If a walker sneaks up on me, I won't hear it.

It's then that Dad walks into camp, looking nearly as tired as I feel. He mutters a good morning to everyone, and Lori reluctantly stands to go collect my bedding for him. I waste no time hopping out my seat and going over to hug him, locking my arms around his neck as he kneels to hold me close. I said a whole lotta things last night, and so did he, but I don't think either of us is angry at the other over it. We can read each other well enough to know. He kisses my cheek before pulling back and taking my things from Lori.

Clearing his throat like he does when he might cry, he asks me, "You sleep well, chicken?"

Instead of answering, I just hug his waist and Lori changes the subject. "Daryl, just a heads up. That thing Herschel spoke about..."

"Damn it." He sighs when what she's implying clicks. He reaches down to soothingly pet my hair. "And they still ain't back, are they?"

"No. But we both know Harley and Beth are... in some type of way. We need him."

"And y'all want me to go and fetch him, huh?" He guesses, taking a long moment to consider. Then, "Y'all be grateful you been good to me."

"Thank you, Daryl." She exclaims. "Thank you. We've always been able rely on you."

He scoffs. "Maybe not always."

"Well, enough." She smiles. "They said they were headed to a bar in town called Hatlin's. I think you'll wanna head there first."

"There even gonna be anythin' he can do?" He mumbles so I can barely make it out. "I mean, the guy ain't David Copperfield."

"Well, in the old world, I might've suggested trying out a hearing aid, but now... I'm not so sure."

He grunts. "Them things need batteries, don't they?"

"I think so, but not any standard ones we'd have. You're thinking of finding one, aren't you?"

"I'd turn the whole fuckin' country upside down to get her one, if it's what she needs." He says. "Maybe some old dead guy's wonderin' around with his. Maybe I find one in a doctor's office. Either way, ain't no bill attached to 'em these days and if there's one out there, I'll find it."

She admires the determination in his eyes, lips twitching into a smile. "Rick will help you. I know he will."

"Best I go find officer goody-two-shoes and company, then." He agrees. "Look after my girl for me."

She nods. "That goes without saying."

"I love you, baby." He tells me, which is how I know I done messed up. Takes a lot for him to randomly tell me he loves me, and I guess all that talk last night about giving up was enough. He even places another kiss to my cheek, pinching it after. "I'll see you later."

"I'm sorry, Dad." I mutter.

"I know." He understands I can't help what's happening to me, or how I feel. "I'm gonna get whatchu you need. It's gonna be alright."

I'm not quite sure what I need, but at least the adults seem to know. At least some part of me can be saved.

After he leaves to put my bedding back in our camp, I climb back into my seat and watch the blue truck bumble down the drive and eventually, through the trees. Dale encourages me to finish off my soup in that annoying way my Dad always does, but I only eat a spoonful or two before my stomach shrivels distastefully and he tells me I've tried enough for this morning, so I take to curling up and staring at the fire.

I know if Shane was alive to see what he did to me, he'd be that word Lori likes to say, appalled. He never wanted to hurt me.

A hearing aid. It's one of them things I've never had to think about until now. If I had to go back a couple months and tell seven-year-old Harley, with her long, straight hair and chubby cheeks and bright, green eyes, that I look like a boy, got half an ear, and need a hearing aid, I think she'd hit me upside the head for being a liar. But I know now that you gotta be ready for anythin', like dead people in barns and a last-minute gunshot, and now, I guess, the need for a hearing aid. I have to try squash that feeling of shame. It ain't good for me, but it's always there.

I almost make myself chuckle imagining Carl tryna make being half-deaf badass. He's so relentlessly supportive. They all are.

It's too bad, then, that I still feel this way. This numb and hollowed out, alive but-also-dead way.

The way Carol must feel, and maybe the way Dad felt after Momma died.

"Thank you." Maggie tells Lori and Jacqui in the kitchen, as I stand in front of the fireplace in the next room over. "This is nice of y'all."

I see what Glenn was talkin' about now, about Maggie's great grandfather lookin' like a bald Georgie Washington. He's sitting all proper and important-like inside a photo frame on the mantle, like all people from forever ago do. But there's also newer photos, ones with color, like Maggie and Beth as little girls, posing with horse riding trophies and smiling together at old Thanksgivings and Christmases. I feel happy just looking at them. Baby photos, kind-looking people, school photos. We never knew the Greenes before, but I feel like now I might.

"We just thought you could use some help." Lori replies. "It's been a difficult time for all of us, especially Harley and Beth."

"I appreciate it. Sharin' your supplies, that means a lot these days. You wouldn't mind helpin' me toss it all together will you?"

"Not at all." Jacqui pokes her head around the arch and calls out, "Harley, you wanna come help Maggie finish cooking?"

With a little flinch, I turn to face the three women, remembering why we came here in the first place. We had some tinned vegetables and whatever else left over from breakfast, and Lori thought we'd offer them to Maggie, who's in the middle of cooking a meal for Beth.

"I guess." I hum as I head into the kitchen. It ain't like I got anything better to do. "What're you makin'?"

"Potato soup." Maggie pulls a few bowls from the worn cabinets with a smile. "Well, veggie soup, now."

"Hopefully Beth will feel a little better after a warm breakfast." Lori muses. "It always helped me."

All their words are muffled, as if I'm underwater and they aren't, but I can still just about make out what they're saying.

When Maggie places the bowls on the counter and sees me peering over the ledge, she chuckles. "Let me grab you a stool, huh?"

She grabs a mini wooden step-ladder leaning against the pantry, pulls it open, and sets it down for me. I step onto the lowest rung. She fills a bowl with water from the faucet and slides it in front of me, instructing me to how to rinse off the fat, muddy potatoes and lay them on the dry rag afterwards. It's an easy, mindless task. I get to work while they start slicing up the vegetables and opening the tins.

As Maggie scrapes carrot into the pot, she jokes, "I been makin' so much soup recently I think I forgot how to make anything else."

"Good thing we've taken a liking, then." Jacqui smiles. "I've never tasted a tater soup good as y'all Greenes'. You know your stuff."

Feels like I'm back at the quarry again, helping prepare our next meal from whatever scraps we had, listening to the women gossip.

"Pssh. I'm tellin' you, as kids, Beth and I loathed the day Wednesday came around and Momma'd make her famous potato soup." She scoffs, grinning at old memories. "She always put too much salt in, said it was good for us. But all it was good for was makin' us barf."

Lori makes a sassy face. "I'm taking it the recipe's been tweaked a little since then."

Maggie smirks. "Wouldn't be eatin' it if it hadn't."

"Must've been nice, growing up with food on the table that's straight from your garden."

"Yeah, it was. Fresh peaches and apples to take to school, home-made bread and the like. We've always lived this way."

"Pretty perfect, if you ask me." Jacqui agrees. "Me and my fiancé were always eatin' take away all the time. God, I miss it sometimes."

"A nice greasy burger sounds so good right now." Lori moans, like she can almost taste it. "Oh, and some curly fries on the side."

They all laugh. It's a little funny. I remember her back in the beginning, braggin' about how her family never ate fast food. Now look at her.

As the conversation drifts to more boring things, I find myself thinking about Beth again. We sure grew up different, but we got broken the same way, at the same time. We clearly been thinking about the same things. She was just brave enough to actually pick up a knife and do something about it. I wonder if she knows now her Momma and step-brother been dead a long time, that they weren't sick at all, and were just bodies needed mourning. The Greenes were a little late to that, but it's like Meemaw used to say, better late than never.

I wonder if Beth regrets what she did. She could be dead right now, in a mound of dirt right next to her Momma.

When I was littler, I used to think Dad could read my mind when I was thinkin' unsavoury things like this, and that he'd give me in trouble right away. I thought that's how it worked with adults and kids, but it ain't. I can think whatever I want and it's safe inside my head.

The potatoes get peeled and diced and thrown into the soup like everything else, and then my new job is to help wash dishes.

When we're down to the last few, Maggie says I should take the bowl of soup up to Beth, 'cause they've got this handled.

"Sure." I agree before hopping down, wondering why my heart's beating so fast all of a sudden.

The door to Beth's bedroom creaks open.

I don't bother waiting for her to give me permission to come in. I just creep in all on my own, because from what I've heard, she hasn't talked all day. Her room is exactly like I would'a guessed. Like something out a trendy teenager's magazine, with a nice white desk covered in perfume bottles and hair clips and crumpled paper and books, blonde pop star posters stuck to the walls, a fluffy, cutesy rug, a teddy bear thrown on the lounge chair sitting by the window. Even the Mp3 player Maggie was telling me about, laying forgotten on the floor.

I carefully set the hot bowl on her nightstand, but something keeps me curious, and I don't turn to leave just yet.

Beth's staring at the wall like they said. Not out the window or anything. Just at the wall. I can't imagine her humming sweetly and letting me borrow one of her shirts, giggling at something I said from the other side of the bathroom door. She looks like a totally different girl.

"I went into shock too, yesterday." I randomly muse. "Or at least that's what Rick said. He's the one with the cowboy hat."

I think I might still be in shock. I'm talking and walking around, but inside, I feel like whatever statue Beth's turned into.

"I ain't sure if anyone's told you about it, but you prolly heard the screamin'. The man my Daddy stabbed, Shane, he took me away. We got pretty far. Sometimes I think about what would'a happened if we got even further, but... he was meant to die. Some people just are."

At that, she breaks her gaze away from that spot on the wall and looks me right in the eye. "Do you think I'm one of those people?"

"I... I ain't smart enough to know." I say honestly, before an awkward pause takes over. "'Cause I was only in grade two, y'know."

Carl seemed to find that funny when I first told him, but Beth just looks uninterested.

"And you?" She hides her bandaged wrists under the covers when she catches me looking. "What're you meant for? Dyin', or somethin' else?"

"I think, um... All I'm meant for is suckin' up hurt." I confess. "Like, there's all this bad in the world, and when there's nobody left for it to go to, it goes to me. Maybe I'm just unlucky. Maybe I done somethin' wrong. That's how life is, my Daddy says. So if that's the 'something else', I think I'd rather just be the type meant for dyin'. That's what my Momma did. She was in pain, and then one day... She wasn't."

"She killed herself," Beth says as fact.

"Yeah." I mutter, feeling the weight of the locket crush down on my chest as I take a seat on the edge of the bed. "She did."

"Was she the sort meant for dyin'?"

"No. She weren't." That much, I'm sure of. "She was just meant to be my Momma."

Beth's pretty eyes gloss over as she says very dully, "Our Mom's dead, too. Right before I thought I was about to die, I imagined what she'd think of me when we'd meet in heaven. She'd be ashamed, I know. Somehow, that was so much worse than the thought of going to Hell."

"Well, maybe your God made sure you didn't die." I guess, hoping it's comforting. "Maybe he wants you to live for everybody else."

A tear beads up on her waterline before sliding down her pale cheek. "I just don't know what to do. I think I'm ashamed, too."

"My Dad says you just gotta be stronger, but I don't know how." I wish I did. "I'm sorry. I'd tell you if I did."

"It's okay." With a sniff, she sends me a tiny smile. "You know, you're kind. I can just tell."

That makes me smile back. Something about my rugged hair, my mean face, my missing ear must still be soft like it was before.

Author's Note.

Sorry for the longer than usual wait between chapters! I've been dealing with intense writer's block recently so it just took me a while to get this out, but I'm pushing through!

I hope you're ready for a familiar face to return next chapter! ;)

PS. I wanted to thank you all for the touching dms and messages I've received recently, both on here and on ao3. It's still so mind blowing to me that there are so many people out there who hold a special place in their heart for this story just like I do. I'm so grateful for you all :) 💙

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