#one by sidestep’s own hands and the other by outside forces | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

codenamekiki · 1 year

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Title: The 9 to 5 Steady

Fandom: Fallen Hero: Rebirth

Characters: Sidestep/Iodine Becerra, Charge/Ricardo Ortega.

Rating: T, for allusions

Word Count: 3720

Shipping: none

Cross posted to AO3

A knock two doors down interrupted her morning drills and her eyes fluttered open. A dull spark on the horizon flared with the others floating there. Muffled words floated under her own door but she did not need to hear them to understand.

Another knock, another set of words, another wave of thoughts and emotions filtered from dreams to clouded wakefulness. She did not stir on the bed, fully clothed, always fully clothed, and inhaled slowly.

The hand fell sharply against her door, three quick raps, followed by a gentle, but firm, “6:30. Breakfast in thirty.”

“Thanks,” she called back, and the volunteer outside went on their way.

With a quiet breath in, she continued to stare at the ceiling, blinking slowly. It was the quietest time of the day. Plans beckoned. She would not have minded more sleep, but nothing beat the quiet before other minds started pressing against her, before the walls went up. Before she was constantly pushing pushing pushing back against something. She exhaled, as if eking breath from her lungs might eke time to a dribble.

Breakfast. Something on her belly before the day took over. Ten hours of free time before returning to line up for another maybe-bed. Two nights she had slept here and—

“Hey, Yodo, you in there?”

Two nights too many, apparently, she thought uncharitably.

Folding her hands over her belly, she purposefully kept her gaze at the ceiling. With a few more minutes she could complete her exercises. Her mouth did not move. Her eyes closed again. Any moment now they would move along and-

“Yodo?”

Her eyes cut sharply to the door, the shadow of feet beneath it. She concentrated, familiar pressure at her forehead. A moment later the “He-“ of another greeting was swallowed down in confusion and then in blessed apathy.

She stared at the door, waiting. A gentle shuffle of feet faded away and she exhaled again, this time more forcefully.

“Thirty minutes. Right,” she muttered and rolled to her side, feet on the floor. Two quick tucks and she was in her shoes. Her bag slipped over her shoulder and she was up. Even with the interruption—she did not need friends, people to ask questions or try to remember her—her facade did not break. Her calm demeanor stayed in place, mostly honest.

The time was her own. Even with the announcement for breakfast, the notice was gentle, an offer. There was no rat-tat-tat of blue-covered fingers at the glass. She inhaled sharply, too sharply this time and blinked away the memory. Here, she felt safe enough to risk the sleep behind an unlocked door.

She was the first in line for breakfast—showering was rarely an option for her in open spaces like this—where she avoided the powdered eggs and pea protein and instead globbed a lump of goopy oatmeal into the styro cup. It was the only excuse she had for the obscene amount of brown sugar she poured in after. With a carton of milk in her other hand, she quickly found a seat in the corner under the bright windows.

Cereal was familiar.

Sugar was not.

Milk was familiar.

Pinching and squeezing the carton open, less so.

But she could make her way.

The oatmeal went down easy, too easy—did she crave sugar because of conditioning, or—and she forced herself to slow, remembering the first times she had eaten too fast and too freely. However loosed she was, no one gave seconds to firsts vomited all over the floor. Watching the tables fill around her occupied her eyes and her thoughts and she put down the spoon.

Fleeting spikes of hope and desperation dulled as bellies filled. Looking for work, looking for family, staying under the radar, the paranoia of being found. Her eyes focused on her cup again, but her mind latched onto that broadcast. What crashed over her was an inane ruckus of a disordered chorus. She picked up the cup again and let the mundanity of schizophrenia relieve her alarm.

Two were eyeing her mostly empty table, approaching slowly. Before she could push them away, with eyes or with thoughts, a third joined them, beelining for an empty seat.

Before she could move, they ensconced themselves. Two across and one next to her. The one directly across nodded and then dug into his powdered eggs, smelling of sulfur and plastic. The eggs, not the person. Or maybe both?

Next to her, a woman she had observed to be called Elaine grinned at her, “What’s good, Iodine?”

Shrugging, she scooted her cup closer to her milk, preparing to abandon the table. In an instant she abandoned the milk to snap her wrist out of the path of a seeking grasp. Elaine’s searching hand hit the table with a low thud, and the woman grinned.

“Wow, you really are slick, aren’t you?”

Iodine stared, halfway to standing, but there was an echo to Elaine’s intention. She was willing to shout if she did not get her way, make a scene, draw any and all attention. Iodine bore it, even as holding position burned her quads.

The woman’s other arm perched on the table to mimic a casual conversation, and her mind settled, snapping between moods like a whip.

“How is it that a mousy rat like you sweet talked the director into private accommodations?” She blinked slowly, too slowly, old sunspots dotting her face and one tooth posterior to her right canine missing. “Don’t think it went unnoticed that you had a double to yourself… Unless, why, dear me! Iodine, did you blow her?”

There were no memories of the word in context that would explain the other twos’ sudden choking. But she knew a trap when she felt it. She tore her eyes away from their giggling and made full eye contact with the woman holding to her.

“You’re mistaken,” she explained calmly, holding her gaze.

Without waiting to be pounced again, she pulled away from the table soundlessly, bag still slung over her shoulder, both hands full.

People were still pouring into the cafeteria, and she slid around them without incident—don’t notice me. As she turned into the hallway, she cast a sideeye back to the table she had vacated, but no one was looking at her. The hole she left was like she had never been.

But people had been noticing other things… damn.

The front exit punched a doublewide threshold to the street, with a desk just this side for registration. The volunteer there clattered busy, clipboards and inventory, no nudge needed.

No one would stop her from leaving. Past the exit, sunshine teased and she resisted the urge to dart into it. Her eyes flitted once, twice for anyone who might be worth notice, but anyone passing by now was purposed, like her, and their intentions fluttered out and around her without cause for concern. One large step and she slunk along into the LD morning with only the usual worry.

Several minutes of walking ate the concrete beneath her feet in a comfortable rhythm. The sun slid steadily upward against a blue sky, hazy at the horizon. There was enough sugar in her belly to glaze a dozen donuts, and the sun was not yet hot, but she paused for boba, anyway.

With a cup that shrunk her hand, she slipped into line at the bus stop, only to hesitate when the 412 pulled up. Several passengers boarded, and no one departed. Through the windows the bodies seemed like rounds in a magazine—neat, tight, a deadly press.

The driver waited, staring, and she finally shook her head, “I’ll get the next one.”

The doors closed decisively, and as the bus pulled away, she took a slow drag from her tea. The transport disappeared down the hill before she continued. Likely, all the buses would be in the same state during rush hour. She kept to the sidewalk and out of the way, unhurried.

Almost an hour later, in the shade of several skyscrapers, she dropped herself onto an empty bench facing the road. It was a sort of plaza, still pleasant, too early for people to be taking lunch breaks. Late enough that coffee cups had been forgotten five feet from the trash. There were even some trees here, planted since the Big One, and they rustled calmly in the breeze from the ocean.

Her tea was mostly melted ice, but there was enough tapioca in the bottom to look convincing at a casual glance. Pulling a book from her bag, an old dog-eared, paper thing, taken from a box full of well worn oddities donated to the shelter, she crossed a leg over her ankle. With the bag tucked into her lap, she opened the pages.

And she read.

She read the area, the number of pedestrians, cars circling toward the narrow public lot down the block.

She read the PINs as they were tugged from the bottom to the surface of memories behind her. Useless without the attached card, which she could not touch. But still. Four digits. Transaction. Four digits. Transaction. Each one took less than two minutes.

She took a small sip of her sugar water and flipped a page one-handed.

One forty-nine.

One fifty.

Familiar pressure pulsed behind her forehead, creeping back toward her temples. She tucked the cup between her leg and the armrest without releasing the book. Everything was quiet for a moment… then steps at her back drew close, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. Turning over her empty hand, casually perched on her knee, she was ready for the note that was pressed into it. The man standing there did not linger, even as her fingers slid back like a snake to its den. He followed the impulse to get back to his meeting, his computer, his lover—whatever—and left. She pressed the twenty dollars into the open spine of her book and turned another page.

Not a bad start to the morning.

Buses continued to roll back and forth, expensive cars, news helicopters, one or two boosts overhead. Even from here she could see Sentinel’s blue cape. But she was beneath their attention—don’t notice me—and skimmed purses and minds until her tea was truly gone and she could turn no more pages in her book.

Yes, a very fruitful morning.

Sometime later when the plaza was beginning to fill, she put the book into the bottom of her bag, carefully laid it so none of its contents would flutter out. She turned toward the trash can—the coffee cups were still there—and hesitated at the sight of a man in a sport coat and polo. He was too muscled, neck running straight into his arms, to be a stock broker, and his face was too focused to be ignored. He was also drifting straight toward her.

Veering away from the trash can, she stuck the straw in her mouth again, sipping on non-existent contents. A normal motion, normal energy. But her brain was on high alert, and her heart was starting to beat the same.

Scooting around one of the raised planters, she angled toward the deeper cram of downtown. It was lunchtime now, and more people would be out and about.

“Hey kid,” a voice called, and she did not turn to look back.

Around her thoughts flew like airplanes, heavy and direct on a flight path, as she skirted between bodies.

One spiked through the traffic like a dart, and she took two steps back before he suddenly landed before her, crouched from a leap that cleared the top of her head.

A mod.

Shit.

She realized her mistake when he unrolled to his full height. It was not a mistake that she had run, no, but that she had run into the crowd. People were watching, now, too many to redirect or coerce. He smiled. Not like Elaine smiled. The threat was more subtle, still legible.

“That was a pretty neat trick you did back there,” he offered, sauntering toward her as he reached toward his pocket.

She held her ground against the training to take another step back, even as she explained, “You’re mistaken.” This man was not from the bank, and he was not LDPD, either. His shields were too steady, the cadence of gait his gait just wrong enough...

“Oh?” The curiosity sounded like acceptance. “Okay, then.” And he was still smiling.

Before he pulled his hand from his pocket, she relaxed. His shields weren’t that good. But he was not really trying to protect himself, either. Did he suspect, or…?

The same hand extended. A card rested between two fingers.

When she hesitated he laughed and jostled it in her direction.

“We’re people who know how to get things, and we like those kind of tricks. Maybe you even have a magic act.”

“Only if you count making sugar disappear,” she retorted, feeling the first bite of her own feelings making their way to the surface. Why was he hounding her? She was wearing a hoodie and a pair of ratty jeans that had not been washed in two weeks. And aside from whatever conjecture he could muster, he had not hear anything. There were no cameras to catch her movements. How…?

He laughed again, something about it more strained, but it least it was honest. She did not relax a hair, but neither did he pull the card away.

“Just take the card. Give us a call if you’re interested. No pressure if you’re not.”

“It kind of looks like pressure,” a new voice interrupted, and Iodine jumped despite herself.

But the body next to and just behind her was close enough that when she turned she bumped into the tall figure who was watching the scene play out.

She had felt nothing, heard nothing, and yet the man standing there watching her flounder like a salmon struggling upstream did so with professional interest. Certainly less than sport coat. But this was—

“Marshal Charge, good morning,” her original pursuer intoned, the same oily cast to his tone. His face had not changed, but his inner monologue had gone dark, furious. It was a lighthouse against the Marshal’s blank mindscape. “I didn’t know Rangers were in the habit of perusing business proposals on the street.”

“I didn’t know legitimate business proposals happened on the street, Patel.”

Iodine stepped away, enough to give breathing room, though admittedly that was more than most. The Marshal was not in his blue skin suit. She knew it well from the news and billboards, but she knew his face even better, and that could not be hidden by civilian clothing. He was wearing a button down and trousers with a matching jacket slung over one shoulder. There was a watch on his wrist that looked heavy enough to be weaponized.

His thoughts were—not quiet, but a dull buzz of noise that refused to make itself clear. A shield?

She could not stop staring at him.

That is until Sportcoat—Patel’s—thoughts turned suddenly chilly, rat out the girl and get him off my back… and she remembered the book in her backpack, full of ill gotten gains, suddenly very heavy to be nothing but paper.

He opened his mouth. Pressure in her forehead mounted beyond the tension of the moment, as she rammed past his meager shields.

WAIT

His mouth closed and he stared straight ahead, face gone slack.

“It’s fine,” Iodine interjected tightly, resisting the reaction to rock on her heels. Surely an icepick had been driven into her eye.

There was silence for a while until the shuffling of the Marshal’s feet, his body turned toward her—don’t notice me but he did—before he asked, “Really?”

She nodded quickly. “He didn’t really bother me. I was just startled.”

Patel was coming out of the daze, looking around as if remembering that yes, he had been standing here. There was a vice in her brain, squeezing. She was certain if anyone looked too closely they would see her veins at work.

“Are you sure?”

A spike of impatience, thrown by panic, lanced through her.

“Are you deaf, or just blind?” she drawled, forcing the words to slow as she turned toward him, half expecting him to recoil—surely he could see the psychic backlash on her face.

He looked repelled, certainly, but only in the normal way. And there was something… refreshing, in that, to be heard for her words, and not for the voiceless, touchless shove.

And she still could hear nothing from him. A bag of shaken paper, two winds slapping at each other, nothing of consequence to clarify what was going through his mind beyond the expression on his face.

“Thank you,” she intoned quietly and then darted away, shoulders hunching, as she slunk past Patel without stopping. She pulled her backpack straps tightly into her shoulders.

“You’re welcome,” he called at her back. Even at a distance she didn’t need to hear his thoughts to understand the sarcasm.

She caught the bus waiting at a stop across the street, not certain in the slightest where it was going, not caring about the numerous bodies inside.

She dropped into a seat at the back and watched as Patel and Charge spoke a few more words to each other and then parted ways without another glance. From this distance she could hear Patel’s lingering confusion, unvoiced. She glanced down at the card in her hand.

Two small letters: RK

Dropping her head against the cool window she crumpled the card before shoving it into her pocket. She took the second stop and changed buses two more times before heading to find a late lunch for herself.

With a bite of carrot cake crammed into her mouth, though she could taste nothing of the vegetable beneath a mound of icing, she flipped through the book carefully poised in her lap. The diner was mostly empty, but staff had memories as well as anyone else. Training and experience told her they saw more than anyone knew. Between bites she continued reading. Four hundred and sixty dollars. A very lucrative day. Too lucrative, if Patel’s notice had come her way.

How had he seen her? She had been operating for weeks now without issue. Had someone up high been watching? And if it was only him how had he seen? Did he have other mods? What else could those jumpers do?

Then the Marshal had shown up, the highest ranking Ranger in this part of the FEZ. The highest ranking anything in the FEZ. She jammed another bite into her mouth, making sure to scoop up a healthy stack of icing, and chewed as if she could grind her way through the problem with will.

Think, you idiot, she huffed and slurped at her milk.

The two had seemed to know each other, which said more about Patel’s invite than the entirety of anything else he had offered. And LD was a big city. They had been almost directly in the middle if the financial district. There was no reason for the marshal to not be there. Especially out of uniform. Somehow he seemed just as dangerous, and what was going on with his mind? That rushing white noise…

She shifted, uncertain, and the bunched up card pressed uncomfortably amidst her loose, soft fabrics.

She did not need to pull it out,

People who know how to find things…? What kind of things?

She rubbed at her head gingerly, willing away the lingering pain before reflexively shaking her sleeve from where it had begun to crawl up her arm.

Maybe it was all just coincidence. It did not feel like it, but she could admit that not everything was connected. It just… “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.” She had heard the lyric on the radio in passing. Even that had felt connected.

Shaking her head she chomped down on another too large bite of cake. She would have to avoid the city center for a while, stick to the outskirts. Find a new shelter.

Hell, if the progress she had made today would be worth days of hiding. Iodine suppressed the groan she wanted to loose, the scream, in favor of chewing on the cake until it was sweet, mushy, meal in her mouth. Milk washed it down, and she made her way out of the diner, paying to the penny on her order. If the server was affronted, they said nothing as she quickly made her way back into the city.

It would be a different shelter tonight. No more Elaine, no more, “Yodo, you in there?” No Marshal charge, and no more hanging around banks like a vulture waiting for a carcass. Her plans were on hold again, but they had been before, hadn’t they? It was a marathon, not a sprint.

As she slunk her way into the afternoon, a phone booth kept its place on the sidewalk next her. She stilled, turning to fully take it in.

Could she…?

She swallowed, the last of the sugar lingering on her tongue.

She had change, thanks to the cake, and the card was not so far gone that she could not make out the numbers in bold print.

A voice picked up, asking roughly, “Yeah?”

She swallowed, throwing out, “Patel?” and winced as her voice broke on the syllables. There was silence on the other end.

“It’s the girl from the bank.”

There was a scoff, quickly followed by, “You little shit. Did you really-“

“Can you find things or not?” she interjected, aware of the time on the phone. The time on her head.

For a long moment, there was silence again, the kind of silence she wished he had employed instead of calling her on the street. Then it was broken with a laugh.

“You didn’t turn me into the Marshal, I’ll give you that much. Yeah, we can deal. What do you need?”

She rested her head against the clear pane of the booth and closed her eyes. Maybe everything wasn’t lost. Maybe this could still work.

She opened her mouth and got to work.

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #FHR sidestep #FHR charge #ricardo ortega #iodine becerra

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faunswallin-blog · 3 months

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I'd describe freedom as this, "No one telling you how to live your life". That has been my families motto for thousands of years. For generations upon generations, my family has lived life their own way in the one career that makes any kind of sense. We are truckers.

It was once said that in the beginning the first of our line would haul cattle across nation lines in a combustion engine truck. I don't know how hard that was I'd imagine it is exactly like it is today. In the past folks had dilapidated roads, today the vacuum of space has vailuum wakes. Before truckers had to connect to their trailers with air hoses and pig butts, today I use gravtronics and counter lines. Out in the darkness of space I am but one trucker of the billions of people occupying space.

Lights began to strobe as I sat in my copilot chair with my feet up on the control board. I was continually writing my thoughts down to avoid the boredom of being in transit. After a minute of strobe lights an alarm began to sound. Putting down my stylus and pad and placing them in the chairs storage pouch I pushed myself off the panel and hopped up. Sidestepping over to the pilots chair I hit a few buttons as I spoke to myself. "Geez Bertha it's just another vailuum pocket", I slid a black glove onto my right hand, I can feel the wires inlaid pressing against the front and back of my fingers. With a flit of a finger a screen popped up in front of me. A sensory camera outside of my ship put a picture of my nearby surroundings on my hull in front of me.

"The new starships have force field reinforced viewports. I get handed an extremely late model Mack DX. All hull and no way to look outside unless you turn on a camera."

Out in the quadrant of space in front of me I saw an utter minefield of gas pockets. My eyes knitted together as my hand waved and opened wider as I toggled more sensory, kinetic, and ultra-wave cameras to show on my hull. "This isn't supposed to be here Bertha, did you turn left at Albuquerque again?"

The family joke brought a wry smile to my lips. My parents told me about a rabbit from the ancient era that tunneled underground that constantly got lost and would attack hapless hunters. I think my folks called him Roger Rabbit. Anyway, my left hand quickly plotted a course through the minefield before me. As I shifted and changed angles on my cameras, I plotted a route through the thickest portion.

Finally after Bertha approved my calculations she began to pick up speed as my truck dipped, yawed, and maneuvered the quadrant before me. I stayed busy as Bertha flew, the minefield seemed unending. As I flew through it I began to see salvage from other ships and popsicles. People thrown into the vacuum without any protection on as they freeze up and look like icicles floating or rotating in place.

I tried not to look at them as I traveled past. " Where there is trash...yep there it is, my destination." I pointed my chin at the battle in front of me nodding to myself as my hands continued to plot a course.

I guess I should let you know as a trucker I am not very fast. My Mack isn't built for speed it's built for reliability. I have reinforced hulls what little shields I have are usually focused on covering my gravitronic couplers. If that goes then my next paycheck goes. My truck and hauler are about 5 earth American football fields long and a dozen meters wide. My top speed on a wide open space with no obstacles would be the equal to a troop transport for most militaries. Right now there is a battle and one side may not be too happy to see me bringing a haul into their enemies ship.

"Okay Bertha, we came this far let's go the extra distance and get through this." I motioned to open up the throttle. And like a river snake I began to weave my way through the destruction to my destination.

I kept one eye on the battle ahead of me trying to guess each sides tactics. Reading battlefields isn't hard if one side has more ships then another then it's logical they will push forward, so long as it was the ship I was going to that was winning I could slip right in.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case today. I am headed toward a Universe Class military outpost. I don't usually take military contracts however the pay is excellent and Bertha has needs. Attacking them was a rebellion hodge podge of fighters and strapped together rust buckets. From the distance you wouldn't think the rebellion would stand a chance. Except they don't fight fair. Universe Class starships are in charge of logistics and military families. Sure they have firepower the quadrant is a testament to that. Unfortunately the rebellion fighters found the Achilles heel to any Universe Class ship. They put extra shielding over the bases personnel sectors. If you can hit that enough times the Universe Class will be forced to reroute power to protect its people making it more sluggish in response to attacks. Star fighters will be just as agile though orders are delayed to power fluctuations and the rebels have a toe hold.

I watched as I slipped from devastated ship to devastated ship using their massive blown out hulls to hide my slow bulk. The battle was brutal and if Bertha could make a bet I would put my money on the rebellion. But I want to get paid if I didn't deliver then I'd open myself up to all sorts of nastiness. So as any trucker would, I pushed up slowly and recklessly into the battle.

The rebellion fighters were black with splotches of white on their hulls as an effective Camouflage for long range cameras however the Universe Class fighters had their hulls white washed with colorful decals on their sides. I watched the white fighters and saw one fighter who seemed in control whose ship didn't wobble when flying straight. The wobbles comes from shaky hands on the flight stick. Pilot's adrenaline pumps and the brief moments between hails of projectiles some Pilot's shake their hands causing their ships to wobble.

I saw my ticket through the Battlefield. It was a whitewashed ship with a black top hat and two pink ears popping out of the bottom of the hat.

Every time this ship made a pass, I'd fly under him towards my destination. When the magic hat would finish an attack run, he would pull a tight looping barrel roll and jet back towards his carrier, then perform another loop and strafe another area. It was effective sniping, not engaging in a dogfight , but still allowing himself to cover his squadron.

It wasn't an easy approach for me the rebellion saw me first and they sent three fighters my direction.

I mentioned before thar I was slow, I forgot to add I am very agile. Bertha doesn't have a great top speed but I spent a good portion of my spare money on the highest level directional boosters. Attached at every 10 meters Bertha can dodge an astriod field of rock and metal with ease. As the fighters fired their projectiles Bertha rolled to the side boisting herself out of the line of fire as I plotted a course through a burnt out hull of a larger cargo hold floating dead in space.

Being small and long pays off. The fighters moving too fast refused to follow me and decided to wait for me to come out. Unfortunately for them they were in a battle and a sitting ship is a dead ship. When I finally extracted myself from the burnt out hull I saw three new dead fighters with holes in their viewport. If I decided to look closely enough I would be able to see droplets of frozen blood drip from openings.

But that is for rookies. I have a load to deliver. So I did my best to line up my approach based on magic hat was doing. After some strenuous maneuvers and a few too many close calls I managed to hail the UC Freeholt.

"Shipper ID Number" was the only response I got when I hailed her on the open channel.

"Graphite-Niner-Codex-Codex-Quiltex," I replied in my best calm voice. A stray projectile brightened up one of my sensors blinding me briefly. I would be nervous unfortunately I wasn't talking to a person yet, and the computer was analyzing my voice for stress markers.

Finally, a younger feminine voice replied "Welcome to the UC Freeholt. Please follow the lights to our receiving bay. You will exit you ship upon landing and place yourself in a confined area as we scan and unload your cargo hold. Is there anything you want to declare?"

I replied in the negative as I flew through the opened doors.

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astrovagrant · 5 months

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zari thots and things abt her worldview that will make me look iasip-level insane if i go into it:

1. relationship to art as a mangled reflection of self-worth (the need to be discrete and immutable amd objective and have pre-determined context - because her relationship to and conception of "art" is FUNDAMENTALLY flawed due to a few critical factors - as opposed to interpretable, multi-lateral, shifting both in form and meaning. prism. shifting colors. why are you trying so hard to be black and white.)

VERSUS

2. concept of change or evolution being both the driving force/thing she's holding onto and the flail she keeps herself in line with. stability is both a luxury that other people get but not her (bitter), but also if she fails, if she doesn't grow, if she refuses to take opportunities as they come, then she deserves what she gets. because she doesn't have a choice. and she's made her peace with that* - the caterpillar turning to goo before something else can kick and gnaw its way out of the wreckage. she needs to be powerful. she will do what she has to to get there.

*lying to herself but not in a way where she's cognizant that she Is lying. bc there IS nothing else. there can't be.

and then there's the... has never set a boundary that's been respected so never knows how hard to react to things she doesn't like and opts to wanting to Never look like she's out of control or vulnerable. there's the So So scared of so many things but pain and death aren't among them - related to (2.), but the earnest belief that she won't learn until she's suffered, that it's an integral part of the process, that she'll deserve what happens if she makes a mistake - ESPECIALLY if she makes it more than once.

and then there's the other things - that rules should be sidestepped, loopholes slunk through, but you can't break or evade a system if you don't understand it. that nothing in nature - magical or mundane - "doesn't make sense", it's instead her knowledge of it that's flawed. that she doesn't understand what people mean or feel when they discuss love. that there's a version of herself she needs to work towards who is unaffected by the world, and is merely an objective observer of it, a recorder, an analyst. that her needing other people is only a physical reminder of her weakness - that one day, maybe if she's perfect, maybe if she's powerful, maybe if she's what she needs to be, she can exist completely on her own. and she can complete her Goal on her own, and then she'll be free! on her own. because she has never planned for any kind of future outside of The Goal.

she is patient inside her goal and shortsighted outside of it - why bother? all of her passes over the whetstone are intended for one final shape and purpose. may that at least always be Her Own and not her being a pliant agent of someone else. please. she's spent far too long being Pliant. existing because someone else allowed it - needed to use her for something. she just wants to belong to and be defined by herself and no one else, and to owe nothing to anyone, even if it's only for a brief moment.

that's not how it works, of course - life isn't just this narrow hallway of pre-defined and singular loneliness, holding no one's hand and thinking you're better for it. but maybe she'll learn that too.

#zari #SORRY DID GET AN EENSY BIT OFF THE RAILS #pop campaign

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mayhemproduces · 8 months

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KANA vs Sardonyx

Well. Fuck.

We already saw the arrival of one legend tonight, with the promise of Gail Kim in tonight's co-main event, but THIS. This is something we never expected. Never could've even thought this could be an option - but by the look on Sardonyx's face, Abigail chose correctly.

Despite the fans practically on their feet for the arrival of The Empress, neither competitor seems to be dwelling on the reaction. Their eyes stay locked as KANA disrobes, and the referee calls for the bell. Sardonyx steps forward and offers KANA a handshake, a sign of respect for the legendary wrestler. Both women were once the most dominant wrestlers in their respective companies, both undefeated for over a year, but KANA doesn’t seem to care. She kicks away Sardonyx’s hand, and lands a forearm! Pleasantries aside, the action starts off with a brutal exchange of forearms, swiftly bringing them to the ropes. The referee calls for a break, and KANA barely gives Sardonyx room to breathe before nailing her with a hard kick to the chest, and Sardonyx rocks her with a forearm! Irish whip to the ropes, but KANA holds on. Sardonyx lands a nasty sounding kick to the side of the leg before getting KANA off the ropes, and hitting the Irish whip. She follows KANA, nailing her with a knee right into her stomach as she hits the ropes! KANA should be gasping for breath, but as Sardonyx rolls back, KANA nails her with a low kick on the thigh, before nailing her with another kick to the side. Sardonyx shrugs it off and fires back the same combo, almost mimicking KANA. Anything you can do I can do better - and KANA misses a strike! Sardonyx sidesteps the leg sweep, trying to hit a PK, but KANA ducks and rolls Sardonyx up!

1… 2…

Sardonyx kicks out, and immediately traps KANA in a reverse Armbar! She's got it locked in, KANA flat on her stomach and reaching for the ropes. She switches into a Fujiwara stance, intent on trying to take the arm home as a souvenir. KANA growls and grunts as she desperately crawls to the ropes - and she forces the break!

KANA rolls to the outside and cradles the arm. The referee steps outside to check on her, but after a moment, Sardonyx is out there as well. She knows she can't give someone like KANA any time to rest, and batters her with a shoot kick. Knocking KANA around the ringside area, and practically into the crowd, before KANA fires back with her own shoot kick. The sides, the chest, KANA whacking Sardonyx before knocking her down with a solebut. Sardonyx gets back up and hits an uppercut, shoving KANA into the ring apron, where Sardonyx nails her with a quick flurry of shoot kicks, before shoving her back inside the ring. She gets KANA up and hits a snapmare, nailing a kick right on the spine! But KANA stands back up, nailing Sardonyx with a kick to the side. Another kick to the legs, gradually knocking Sardonyx down, before KANA kicks the back, kicks the chest, knocking her into the corner. KANA switches into palm strikes, slapping Sardonyx to and fro before nailing a BIG roundhouse kick! Sardonyx falls through the ropes, but KANA pulls her back in and chokes her on the ropes.

Back in the center of the ring, KANA and Sardonyx throw low probing kicks, still feeling each other out, when Sardonyx puts her hand up for a test of strength. KANA slowly reaches up, but the moment their fingers lock, Sardonyx hits an impactful kick to the side of the leg, and switches into a wristlock. She grinds on the wrist, trying to take away one piece of KANA's striking abilities. They struggle to the mat, where Sardonyx tries to get KANA's shoulders on the mat. KANA turns things around, first getting Sardonyx into a kneebar, and then a heel hook. Sardonyx continues trying to roll through the ropes as KANA tries to inflict some serious damage to the legs. She hyper extends the leg, drawing out a painful hiss from Sardonyx as she tries to break free. She eventually does, but KANA rolls them back over and stays on top, getting in a chinlock. Sardonyx breaks out and locks in a Sleeper! KANA yells, and eventually gets out, and gets right back into the kneebar. Sardonyx rolls to the ropes, forcing the break, as she and KANA lock eyes once again.

Getting to their feet, they circle each other, and tie up. Sardonyx gets a side headlock, and drills her elbow into the back of KANA's head, before nailing her with an uppercut. Whipping KANA across the ring, Sardonyx nails her with a running uppercut in the corner, nearly taking her head off! She goes for another whip, but KANA reverses. Sardonyx jumps off the ropes and twists, nailing KANA with a springboard uppercut! She grabs KANA's left arm, nails it with a quick knee drop, before holding onto the arm and pulling her up, and hitting a knee lift right across the elbow. Sardonyx turns around, and gets the taste SLAPPED out of her mouth by KANA! There was some oomph behind that one, and KANA takes the lead with another series of shoot kicks. Sardonyx ducks a big spinning roundhouse, but KANA still lands a solebut, knocking Sardonyx to her knees. KANA goes off the ropes, and nails Sardonyx with a sliding knee strike! Quickly back on their feet, Sardonyx reverses a waistlock, but KANA leans down and uses her weight to pull Sardonyx down under her, and back into the kneebar! Sardonyx inches to the ropes, and has to grab on to force the break!

KANA off the ropes, but on the rebound, she runs right into a bicycle knee strike! The dastardly knee catches her right on the chin, and KANA is seeing stars as she drops to her knees, and Sardonyx follows up with a buzzsaw kick, catching KANA flush on the temple. KANA looks up at the lights as Sardonyx drops down, and nails her with the breakdancing leg drop! This match has been full of submission and vicious kicks, but both ladies are more than capable of busting out the flashy moves as needed.

Picking KANA up, Sardonyx wants a back suplex, but KANA elbows out. Sardonyx spins her around and hits her with a quick series of palm strikes. But as she goes for the big kick to end it, KANA catches her with a spinning back fist! Holy shit! Sardonyx looks out cold! KANA covers!

1… 2… Kickout!

KANA looks disappointed, sitting with her hands on her hips. She starts to stand, pulling Sardonyx up by the hair. Sardonyx shoves her while she's still on her knees, and KANA nails her with a buzzsaw! But Sardonyx gets up, and hits her with a Pele kick! KANA is face first on the mat, and Sardonyx pivots so her feet are on either side of KANA's face. Sardonyx hits a backflip, grabs KANA by the waist, and plants her with a deadlift German suplex, hips arched high into a bridge!

1… 2… Kickout!

That impressive move doesn't keep KANA down for three, but Sardonyx doesn't waste any time continuing her attack. She has to keep up this pace if she wants to win tonight. Sizing KANA up for another big kick, but KANA catches it, and locks in an ankle lock! Sardonyx steps on her left foot, hobbling, before she's able to break the submission. She goes for another Pele kick, but KANA dodges it and grabs the left leg, and drops down into another vicious kneebar, hyperextending the leg for a second time! Sardonyx buries her face into the mat, the normally expressionless mystery riddled with pain, as she's forced to retreat to the ropes. We've never seen someone force Sardonyx to go to the ropes so much. Normally it's the other way around, but that's what made her perfect for this exact scenario.

KANA drags her away from the ropes, trying to maintain control, but Sardonyx shoves her onto her back, and locks in an STF! She's got it locked in deep, but KANA rolls over Sardonyx's back, locking her left arm into a Fujiwara Armbar! Sardonyx rolls, trying to get to the ropes, but KANA climbs over her and locks in a Kimura Lock! As Sardonyx struggles, KANA wraps her left leg around Sardonyx's head, adding even more pressure to the submission. Sardonyx holds on, inching closer to the ropes, until she's able to get one of her legs on it, and KANA has to break. She stays on Sardonyx, grabbing her by the waist, and planting her with a German suplex! KANA jumps to her tiptoes to complete the bridge!

1… 2… Kickout!

KANA lets out a battle cry as she gets to her feet, and nails Sardonyx with a roundhouse kick! Sardonyx teeters, but remains upright, and KANA spins, nailing Sardonyx with a spinning back kick! Even still, Sardonyx doesn't go down! She's clearly rocked, and KANA lets out a battle cry before landing a second roundhouse kick, finally knocking Sardonyx to her knees! KANA rears back, and lands a third roundhouse kick! She goes for the cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

KANA pulls Sardonyx up, and Sardonyx tries to get another Armbar! KANA dashes to the ropes, clinging on, but Sardonyx doesn't immediately let go. The ref yells for a break, trying to physically separate them, but Sardonyx breaks only to turn around and thrusts her knees into KANA's stomach. She goes for a whip but KANA reverses, and Sardonyx nails her with a busaiku knee! KANA's flattened, and Sardonyx instantly picks her back up, holding her up under the arms. She pins, lifts KANA up, and plants her with the spinning electric chair powerbomb! The Black Onyx could end KANA's night right here, shoulders down!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

When KANA kicks out, Sardonyx grabs the arm she throws up and holds onto the hand. She stands, putting KANA through a pump handle. She pulls her up and tilts her upside, CRUNCHING KANA's neck against her knee! A nasty pumphandle neck breaker at that, and Sardonyx covers!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

A close call there, but KANA gets the shoulder up. Sardonyx stands, pulling KANA up with her, but KANA switches things around, planting Sardonyx with a German suplex! Both women are down after that one, crawling towards each other to engage in a vicious slugfest. Sardonyx throws the first punch, an elbow strike, and KANA throws one back. Brawling to their feet, KANA foregoes the strikes in exchange for a kick, the sound of leather slapping against Sardonyx's tattooed temple a sickening sound, only echoed as Sardonyx gives her one back. They exchange a few more kicks before Sardonyx pops KANA up, nailing her with a knee strike right between the eyes! KANA yells, and CRACKS another huge kick against Sardonyx's temple! Sardonyx crumbles, leaning against the ropes. KANA drops to a knee, exhausted, and the referee checks on her, making sure she's okay….

When someone emerges from under the ring! That's Julia Hart, and she cracks Sardonyx with something heavy, something shiny - one of Syn's titles, maybe?! The weapon is gone just as fast as it and Julia arrived, disappearing back under the ring, as KANA quickly captures Sardonyx, locking her in the KANA Lock! Sardonyx is basically out cold from that cheap shot, but the tight grip KANA has around Sardonyx's throat is pushing her past the point of consciousness, and the referee calls for the bell!

"Here is your winner, KANA!"

0 notes

diinferi · 9 months

Text

SPECIES

[POWER USER] You look human, but you are so much more. You wield a single supernatural power, and overall, your physical abilities and potential are at the peak of humanity, likely a bit more. You may pay an additional 200CP to be permitted to buy a second power. You gain a 200CP stipend to be used for the power section only.

ORIGINS

[CIVILIAN] You’re more concerned with living your life, than you are with superhuman power politics. Whether you’re a regular bystander, a killer for hire, or a nobody who just showed up out of thin air, you won’t be the center of attention right out the gate.

PERKS

[FAIR PLAY] It’s an unspoken rule among Power Users that an opponent in their lost form is out of the fight. Similarly, when reduced to a seemingly powerless state, enemies will refuse to finish you off until proven otherwise. Though they may still detain you until your power returns, and you are just as vulnerable to indiscriminate attacks.

[LIFE MUSCLES] Powers are much like muscles. You are able to enhance your reserves of vitality, empowering any abilities fueled by them in the process. This is accomplished by repeatedly exhausting your reserves, similar to hyperextension of muscles. The gains will be substantial, but the effort will push your body and will to the brink.

[WARMTH OF THE LIVING] You have an eye for people, and immense resolve. When you call attention to others hypocrisy, even the abnormally stubborn struggle to refute. The more boldness and consistency you show to prove your points, the deeper they cut. With time, you can thaw the most frigid hearts, or plunge beacons of hope into the depths of despair.

[HUMANITY’S SPECIALTY] No matter what incidents or crimes you or those following your orders cause, you can always count on the media to have your back and cover it all up. Witnesses will keep their mouths shut with even the flimsiest justification, though they may still inform their immediate allies and take independent action against you.

[POWERFUL MIND] For agents like you, education is a convenience at best, and a distraction at worst. You have the intelligence to breeze through college and high-school level education with ease. One of your senses are similarly enhanced, like hearing comparable to a dog’s, or the vision to let you match a master sniper with just a pistol.

[SIDESTEPPING GOD] History clearly shows that the Rare Kind’s Divine Shield is not as invincible as it seems. You are a natural counter to abilities that nullify or drain other powers. You can’t ignore them outright, but you can find any loopholes to exploit, or overpower them with raw force, even if no such weaknesses appeared to exist beforehand.

ITEMS

[SAMURAI SOUL] A simple katana, but unmistakably one made by a true master. This katana is all but indestructible, able to be swung with enough force to cleave through several trees and even concrete, without so much as dulling the blade. Though this won’t let you go toe-to-toe against powers without the skill to utilize the blade’s full potential. Even in the hands of an amateur, it is still quite a deadly weapon to humans.

POWERS

[HOLY BLOOD] A power that allows you to control your own blood outside your body. By Exposing your blood to fresh air, you may control it with your will, and shape it into any form you desire, such as a sword, a whip, a bow and arrow, etc. This power also protects you from the blood loss or anemia it should cause, even with your neck slit open.

DRAWBACKS

None

FUTURE

[MOVE:ON] There is no rest for sinners like us. Your business in this world is done, now you must move to the next. Do you feel regret? Pride? Longing? Do you simply wish that you never have to see such decay again. No matter the world or universe, the evil in humanity is a constant, though perhaps the same can be said for their kindness?

#code:breaker #jumpchain #cyoa #code:breaker oc #file: information #file: jumpchain #file: build #file: text #file: chimamire

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aerosiderwrites · 3 years

Text

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #aerosiderwriting #ive been sitting on this for a while... sorryyy #its a lil messy n self indulgent but this was for Me anyway so [blows kisses to myself] for u beloved #see yall in another 4547589 months /j (hopefully)

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Hello awesome writer! Could you do a Spot Conlon x reader where the reader runs into Spot two days before they go to the newsies lodging house for a new job? Kinda like an enemies to lovers

spot conlon enemies to lovers <33

masterlist

It has not been the greatest day, to say the least. Brooklyn makes it hard to grow up here, hard to find a way to survive without selling your soul to make it. You’ve been making do with your family, but as the days go by, you know that you can’t stay forever. Anywhere would be better than that house, even living on the streets and rooftops like many of the city’s other teenagers.

You’re looking for a way out now, actually. Well-paying jobs are few and far between, especially for girls, but you do your best. You’ve got a few options right now, and all you have to do is figure out which one is the least bad. At least then you’ve got a shot.

Right now, you’re heading home for the day, distracted by thoughts of the workplace you just toured. There’s an option open as a junior, junior clerk at a nearby business, more a minimalist secretary than anything else. It would be inside, but your would-be boss was giving you weird vibes, so you’re not sure how you feel about it.

You hug your arms to your chest as you walk. It feels like you’re surrounded by bad options, with no good path forward. Some days, you swear the city has it out for you. Seconds later, a boy runs straight into you, as if confirming your thoughts.

You should just brush it off and ignore him. However, you’re tired and frustrated, and this boy hasn’t even apologized, so you refuse to let your temper fade away this time.

“Hey, watch where you’re going.”

You manage to put as much judgment into the words as possible and the boy turns around, surprised to see you addressing him.

“You talking to me?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did anyone else run into me?”

The boy has the nerve to grin. “Well, my bad, sweetheart. Maybe you should have moved out of my way.”

This just makes your blood boil. “I don’t remember this being my fault. You ran into me, remember?”

The boy smirks, looking like a devil in the flesh. “Do I remember? Who knows, love. Maybe you just wanted an excuse to stop me in my tracks.”

You scoff. “Oh, get over yourself. An apology would be fine, but seeing as I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon, I’ll be on my way.”

You move to go, but the boy neatly sidesteps in front of you, blocking your way. ��Come on, sweetheart, we were just getting started. You’re cute when you’re mad, you know.”

You let out a frustrated sigh as you walk past him. The boy, however, just keeps walking by your side. “You shouldn’t call girls cute if you’ve just met them.”

The boy pretends to frown. “What else would I do, lie to them? I’m an honest man.”

You glare at him. “What you are is annoying. Are you going to let me go now?”

The boy spreads his hands. “As I recall, you’re the one who called after me.”

You decide that you hate him, this boy and his stupid red shirt and the way he walks like he owns the city itself. “Well, I’m taking it back now. Good day, whoever you are, I hope to never see you again.”

He shouts after you as you go, loud enough to attract curious stares from passersby and make embarrassed heat rise to your cheeks. “Likewise!”

The next day is rough. You can’t seem to find a job, and you’re just about to give up hope when your eyes fall on a group of teenagers about your age crowded around a street corner. They’re out in full force, these newsboys, all angling to catch new customers as they walk home in the evening. Just like that, it hits you- why don’t you go join the newsies? The pay’s no worse than any other corner of this city.

Plus, it seems like it would be sort of fun. You’d hang around with new friends, spend time outside, get a roof over your head. What’s wrong with that? It’s too late to visit the newsies now, but you can go the next day. You go to bed without stress clouding your brow for once, a plan already in mind. Maybe the tides are shifting in your favor after all.

You’ve seen the Brooklyn Lodging House a few times before, so you’re able to find it without too much difficulty. You chose to visit during the late afternoon, when most of the boys are taking a break. They look up at you suspiciously when you first enter, and after clearing your throat and announcing to the general room why you’re there, one of them stands up to greet you.

He introduces himself as Hotshot, the second in command around the Brooklyn newsies. When you tell him you’re there for a job, Hotshot just nods, and starts to lead you towards the back of the building.

“Spot Conlon’s in charge around here. If you want to stay with us, you’ll have to talk with him.”

You’d been a little worried about this. You’ve heard the rumors about Spot Conlon, every working kid in the city has. They say he’s quicker to a fight than a bullet to the barrel, and his temper’s like a firecracker- fast to the flash, impossible to cool down. You don’t know how well your meeting will go, but if you want to stick around, you’ll have to win Spot over.

Hotshot stops in front of a closed door, and raps his knuckles on it. “We’se got a new kid here, Spot. They say they want a spot to sell papes with us.”

A vague sound of approval comes from within the door, and Hotshot nods to you.

He must be able to sense your stress, because he cracks a grin. “Don’t worry about it, honest. Spot’ll be fine so long as you don’t do something stupid.”

With those words of wisdom, Hotshot taps his cap once as if in salute and turns off back down the hall. You open the door, still glancing over your shoulder at him, and so you don’t see the boy in the room until a few seconds too late.

Instantly, your nervous smile drops. Surely, it cannot be. Surely, Spot Conlon, the number one newsie in Brooklyn and perhaps even all of New York, isn’t that insufferable from before, the one who’d run into you. Yet he’s right here, grinning now as he remembers just how he knows you.

You sigh. “It’s you.”

Spot spreads his arms. “It’s me. Lovely to see you again, darling. I missed you.”

You do your best to swallow back your anger. “I bet you did.”

You’d like nothing more than to storm out of this room and never see this far-too-proud boy again, but you need this job, more than you care to admit. So, you force yourself to stand up straighter.

“I’d like a job as a newsie. I'm a good worker, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Spot raises an eyebrow. “A good worker, huh? Got a fast temper, too. I saw that for myself.”

You give him a look. “If you’re just going to mess with me, I’ll go.”

He holds up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m just kidding around. Honestly, if you can’t take a joke, how are you going to roll with us? Maybe I’m not sure you’re up to the task.”

You stalk closer to him. “I am very much up to the task. Bet I can sell papes like nobody you’se seen before.”

Spot has the audacity to grin. “You sure about that? I’se seen a lot of people.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “No one like me.”

He considers this for a moment, then smirks. “I’d tend to agree with that. You know what, I’m in a forgiving mood. I’ll forget all about how you argued with me out of nowhere two days ago, and even let you join our ranks. I’m nice that way.”

Your mouth opens to complain about how you weren’t arguing with Spot for no reason, he literally ran into you, but Spot holds up a warning finger and you remember just who he is. This is the kid who’d rather fight a dozen guys than back down, right? You can’t go challenging him on just anything, no matter how much you wish you could.

You plaster on a calm smile and hold out a hand for him to shake. “It’s a deal.”

Spot’s grin broadens, as if he can sense just how much irritation he’s causing you and revels in it.

“It’s a deal,” He repeats, and shakes your hand.

If he holds on to you for just a few moments longer than he has to, it’s just to bother you some more. No other reason.

Despite your initial misgivings when you realized this meant Spot would technically be the boss of you, you’re actually having a great time as a newsie. True to your word, you quickly become one of Spot’s best sellers. He knows it too, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. All it takes is one grin and a wink, and you’ve got even the stingiest businessmen handing you coins for the day’s pape.

The life of it, too, is just wonderful. You found a new family in the Brooklyn newsboys, one that has your back without a second thought. If some boy won’t stop hollering at you, all it takes is one word and they’re leading a charge against him. One time, you absentmindedly mentioned that some man was staring and freaking you out, and the next day, your stalker was so battered and bruised that you hardly recognized him. The strangest part of that was that Spot’s knuckles were spotted with red right after that, but he didn’t say a word about the matter, so you just gave it up.

Spot. Some days you can’t decide whether or not he’s your best friend or your worst enemy. Every one of the Brooklyn newsies swears up and down that they can’t believe Spot lets you get away with so much, that if they argued with him half as often as you they’d end up hanging off the Brooklyn Bridge by their ankles.

At the same time, Spot seems to find pleasure in tormenting you, issuing sarcastic comments and cheeky jokes that push all your buttons. One day, he’ll spend hours talking with you out on the fire escape, and the next, he’ll steal your newsie caps so you just have to go beg him for a new one, only to tease you about being so reckless with your stuff.

It’s good, though, it’s great. You’ve felt more free than you have in years. It stuns you, sometimes, just how big of a burden you were carrying until you know what it’s like to live without it. You smile and laugh more than you have in so long that your cheeks hurt when you go to sleep at last, and your dreams are blissfully quiet of worries.

It’s a sunny day now, a beautiful morning straight out of one of the papes you’re trying to sell. You’ve already gotten through a good amount, right on track as per usual. You’re looking around for the next customer, and you see a new victim at last, just turning onto your street.

You won’t be selling to this fellow, though, he’s a friend of yours. In the time since you joined the Brooklyn newsies, Hotshot has quickly become one of your favorites of the red-shirted ranks. He looked out for you at the beginning, back when you were still getting your footing in the fast-moving world of the newsboys, and you’ve grown to appreciate his company.

Hotshot grins at you when he sees you. “How’re you doing, Y/N? Sold a few today?”

You hold up your bag of papes so he can see how many are gone. “A fair amount. How about yourself?”

He shrugs. “Not too bad. We can’t all be Y/N, master seller, you know.”

You roll your eyes. “You could if you tried.”

Hotshot jokingly folds his arms across his chest. “And how do I do that, out of curiosity.”

You flash him a triumphant look. “You grab some extras from kids who aren’t looking.”

With that, you neatly slide two or three papers out of Hotshot’s bag, tucking them into your own satchel. His eyes open dramatically, and he lunges at you to get them back. You’re anticipating the attack, though, and take off running down the street, a laugh tearing out of your throat. You wheel around streetlamps and empty vendor’s carts, and the only heartbeat you need is the sound of your footsteps on the brick and cobblestones.

At last, though, Hotshot’s hand latches onto your bag, pulling you into an abrupt stop. “Give those back, you thief.”

You laugh, handing back the pilfered newspapers. “I don’t think you’re being very supportive of me. I’m just trying to make a living, you know.”

Hotshot snorts. “So am I.”

The two of you are standing there, grinning at each other with Hotshot’s hand still resting on the strap of your bag near your shoulder, when you hear a pointed cough. Instantly, you two whip around to see Spot stalking towards you, looking icy.

Hotshot grimaces. “I think I’m going to head out. See you around, Y/N.”

You go to complain about him ditching you in the face of trouble, but the boy’s already gone.

Spot has reached you by now, and he looks irate. “Why aren’t you selling papes?”

You sigh, frustrated. “Because nobody’s on the streets right now. I’m fine, Spot. Go bother somebody else.”

Spot’s face grows even colder, if that was possible. “Stop messing around with Hotshot like that. You’re supposed to be focused.”

You want to laugh. “Are you kidding me? We were just talking. That’s not a crime.”

Spot scoffs. “He was flirting with you, and a lot. You’ll scare off the customers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Spot, that’s a lie and you know it. There are no customers to scare, and even if they were, two friends talking isn’t going to freak them out. Man, what is your problem today?”

Spot’s jaw clenches. “What’s my problem? You’re the one who won’t stop arguing with me. You’ll notice that Hotshot’s already back to his section, and no one else picks a fight like you do.”

You give him a look. “If you want me to be more obedient, just say that. You might be able to have the other newsies hanging on your every word, but I’m not like that.”

Spot throws his hands in the air. “You think I don’t know that? It’s like I can’t go a day without you causing problems.”

Your face hardens. “Then why did you even hire me in the first place? You’re the one who signed me on. Why’d you do it, some sort of power play? You wanted to make me regret ever seeing you on that street corner, and now I have to follow your every command.”

Spot looks away. “It wasn’t a power play.”

You let out a harsh breath. “Then what was it? Don’t tell me it’s because you genuinely enjoy my company, you prove that wrong every day.”

His anger is gone now, cooled off by some sort of hurt that’s replacing every bit of rage on his face. “What if it was?”

You do laugh now. “Why would I believe you? You just showed up here to tell me off for having a good time with my friend, then you yelled at me for not following your orders. I don’t think I get your point.”

Spot rubs a tired hand over his face. “That was different. He was-”

His voice trails off, but you aren’t going to let this go so easily. “He was what? You can’t just act like you care and then get mad at me over nothing.”

Spot’s voice is quiet now. “I’m not acting.”

You’re startled into silence, and Spot takes this as the motivation to keep going. “I’m not acting, and I didn’t have you join the newsies because I wanted to feel like I was better than you or something. I told you to stay the first time because I thought you were far too pretty of a girl to be so unafraid of me, and I want you to stay now because I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, even when I think you’re interested in someone else.”

Your voice is soft now, matching his. “Someone like Hotshot.”

Spot nods. “Exactly.”

It is silent, then, as you try to grapple with everything you just learned. At the end, you only manage a few more words. “I like you too, you know.”

At last, he meets your eyes once more. “You do?”

You nod slowly. “Maybe I like feeling like I am special. To you. Maybe I haven’t been picking fights because I don’t like you, just because I wanted to see you taken aback.”

Spot is quiet one more moment, then laughs. It’s a genuine laugh, so unlike the bloody-fisted boy in front of you that it surprises you. “I’m starting to think that you really are a sweetheart. How cute.”

You want to argue with him, but then he’s stepping forward and kissing you and you can’t quite find it within yourself to fight anymore. Sure, it’s fun to quarrel and watch his eyes flash when he’s mad, and it’s certainly fun to tease him, but this is better than all that by far. Something about the feeling of his hands drifting towards your hips, pulling you closer, makes you feel like you are the only one on this earth who matters to him.

And who knows, maybe you are. He’s proving it to you right now.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000

#spot conlon #spot conlon imagines #incorrect newsies quotes #spot conlon oneshot #newsies imagine #news in hindi #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies spot #newsies spot imagines #newsies spot x reader #newsies spot oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live x reader #newsies live oneshot

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griffintail · 3 years

Note

I love all the parental stuff you write, it’s all so amazing!! And I may have been thinkin about it a lot while at work, and I originally wrote this idea/prompt thing down on some receipt paper, but anyway!!

Y’know how Dream manipulated Tommy during Exile? Well, how would Dream react if a similar thing happened to his own child? If his child had been taken from him somehow, and is made to believe that no one loved or cared about them, that they had to behave a certain way if they wanted any smidge of affection, etc.? Like the kid, when Dream’s gotten them back that is, is obviously touch starved and sleep deprived and so many other things, but they don’t mention any of it because they’d been explicitly told doing so wasn’t allowed?

About how many pieces would Dream’s heart shatter into? I must know.

-Signed Angsty Anon from a Fast Food Joint🍔🍟

That’s a mood, I have an actual notebook I have at work to write work stuff...I write more in it about my prompts than my work stuff. I hope it’s to your satisfaction!

Little Terror

Pairings: Parental Dream x F! Reader

Part 2

WARNINGS! : TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, IMPLIED ABUSED, MANIPULATION, BLOOD, IMPLIED VIOLENCE

DO NOT READ IF THESE MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AND/OR CAUSE A TRIGGER!

(Y/N) was Dream’s kid. Dream didn’t have to worry, that’s what he told himself.

When she wanted to go with that…boy…he knew she’d beat the shit out of him if he got out of line. He taught her how to do that. She assured him though, there would be no need for that. They were in love and they’d be ok.

He should have listened to his fucking instincts. He knew he should have.

He found out by accident what was going on.

Dream trusted his little girl, she’d be ok, she was strong…but she was still his little girl and George and Sapnap were about to break Dream’s neck if they heard one more time how Dream was worried.

So.

The three of them went to where the pair had moved out. Dream remembered letting his little princess move away.

“I’ll be fine daddy.” She gave her sweet laugh as she slung her inventory bag on her shoulder. “Trent’s a good guy.”

“I just wish you’d let me meet the boy.” Dream huffed, his mask on top of his head.

“He lives so far away; I don’t want to force him to come all the way here and you need to keep everyone in check.” She grinned, a sparkle in her eye. “I’ll write, I promise. I know if I don’t Uncle George will cry.”

Dream laughed quietly as he nodded. “Yeah, he would. Just, be careful out there, alright sweetheart?”

(Y/N) put a hand on her sword. “I’m not the little terror for nothing.”

It had been so sudden but she wanted to be close to this boy she had started dating. She hadn’t written though as of late and he had begun to worry when for a few months, it just didn’t come. That’s what sent them out with Eret in charge.

“Come on, she’ll be fine.” Sapnap nudged him, hands in his pockets. “She’s your little terror.”

Dream smiled lightly behind his mask. “Yeah. We’ll see there’s nothing…I just worry and I have been missing her.”

Three-day travel on foot, they made it to the village where (Y/N) said this guy lived on the outskirts of. It wasn’t hard to find the larger house outside the village and they came up, Dream knocking on the door. It took a moment but the door opened, (Y/N) looking at him, but…it didn’t look like his little girl. Her eyes were dull, with no spark to them as bags were collected under them. She had no smile on her face either but everything looked perfect and trim about her.

Her eyes went wide seeing Dream’s eyes as his mask was on the side of his face, sputtering.

“You…I—You don’t trust me?” She questioned.

Thousands of alarm bells were going off in his head and a thousand more went off after her words.

“What? Of course, I do (Y/N).” He gave her a light smile. “I just missed my princess, so did Sapnap and George.” He motioned to the men behind him. “So, we came to surprise you, surprise.”

She didn’t hold any sort of excitement in her eyes. Trent’s words echoed in her head as she watched the man in front of her.

If he really loved you, he’d trust you to be ok with me. Right? Because I love you and I trust you.

“I…I think it’s best if you guys leave.” She muttered.

Dream stood there as Sapnap and George were looking at each other in shock.

“Why? We came out here to see—” As he spoke Dream reach a hand over to put it on her shoulder but she flinched back from him and all movement and thought stopped.

She flinched from him. Why would she flinch from him?

Dream had seen men flinch from him before; Tommy, Wilbur, most of the L’Manberg people did after the war. But that was because he hurt them…

“What happened?” Dream asked carefully.

“I-I-I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sputtered, her mind running rapidly.

She couldn’t tell him, that was the number one rule!

“(Y/N), it’s me. Dream, dad. I’m here.” He spoke carefully. “What, happened?”

“What’s going on here?” Dream heard from behind him and (Y/N) shrank back behind the door slightly.

Dream didn’t not like the picture he was making and the tall, lanky man appearing did not help matters. The man was slightly taller than Dream but Dream slipped on his mask as he was anything but intimidated.

“You Trent?” Dreamed asked, stepping forward.

Trent looked to (Y/N) and then back to the man coming towards him.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“I’m her father and I want to know what the hell you’ve been doing with her?”

Sapnap stood a few steps behind Dream as George stood by the door.

“I have no idea what you’re talking—”

Dream simply shoved the man and he fell over. The masked man stood over him, his hands on his hips.

“What, did you do, to my little girl?”

Trent tried to kick Dream’s leg but Dream was quick to react, sidestepping his foot and instead stepping on the other man’s chest and putting his sword point to his throat.

“(Y/N).” Dream looked over at her, lifting his mask up enough to smile at her. “Go get your stuff, George will help you.”

She hesitated by the door as George stepped towards her carefully.

“Come on kid,” George said quietly to her and she nodded slowly.

She walked inside, Dream sliding his mask on as he grinned sinisterly behind it as he tilted his head as he looked at the man under his foot.

“Now, why don’t we have a little chat?” Dream laughed.

George was very careful not to make too fast of movements after seeing her flinch at Dream. He helped her pack the few things she had; George was concerned as he felt like she had less than what she actually left with. As he gathered everything up, he also saw how little she had in the way of personal belonging, such as pictures. The most significate thing he didn’t see was her old mask and that concerned him greatly. The color-blind man was worried about what Dream would do.

The pair came out, George carrying her bags to see Dream without his mask on, his hands in his hoodie pockets as Sapnap smirked next to him with no Trent in sight. George could spot the small bit of blood under the cuff of Dream’s sleeve. There was no blood on his weapons, so it was safe to assume he had used his actual hands and the other man was probably alive but he was never going to be the same.

“Hey sweetheart, let’s go home.” Dream smiled gently as he nodded his head.

Her hands twitched but she walked beside the three of her family members. Dream was on her right as George was on her left and Sapnap behind the group. The group of them walked in silence towards the Dream SMP land. As night started to drop, Sapnap and George made camp, and Dream and (Y/N) sat by the campfire.

When the two other men were going for firewood, Dream looked as (Y/N), who was playing with the end of her shirt.

“I don’t know what he did.” Dream said and she jumped slightly, making him frown deeply. “And you don’t have to tell me right away, but I’m here sweetheart. I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

She hugged herself as she looked around at their surroundings, expecting Trent to come out of anywhere.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She whispered. “But did you come because you loved me?”

“Of course, I did.” He assured her and she hugged herself tighter. “Can I hug you, kiddo?”

“I-I-I-” She stuttered.

He carefully scooted over and first put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened and Dream waited before he pulled her into a hug. With the hug, her entire body relaxed, having missed such a loving feeling. She started to sob and he pulled her into his lap and hugged her as tight as he could.

His little girl, she was so broken. He didn’t know how that lanky, bitch boy managed to break her but he did. Dream ran a hand through her hair as he rocked the both of them as his heart was broken seeing his little girl like this.

“It’s ok princess, I’ll make all this right.” He muttered. “I’m so sorry this happened, I’ll make it right.”

He hated himself. He should have gone with her the first day she left. He should have done anything! He had to make this right now and he’d do everything in his power to bring her back. To make everything right.

....

George and Sapnap came back seeing Dream holding a now sleeping (Y/N) as close as he could. Their friend looked so heartbroken as he held her.

“I should have killed him.” Dream said. “No one else will ever get away with doing this to her. Are we clear?”

The two other men shared a look before nodding to Dream.

“Crystal.”

Dream wouldn’t let this happen again and it was going to be a long time till he managed to fix his mistake.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #dream x reader #dreamsmp

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silentexplorer18 · 2 years

Text

Sharingan Eyes: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: When Itachi returns to the village, you step in to stop your brother from hurting Kakashi and your comrades. However, that battle is only the beginning of a series of events that will bring you closer to your best friend Kakashi at the cost of your family ties.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Uchiha Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, swearing.

Word Count: 8,900+

Note: I've been on hiatus for quite a while now, but I'm hoping to make a return now that things have improved in my life. Wishing everyone well! Thanks for reading!

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Kakashi gasped in horror as Itachi stared him down, something dark and dangerous flashing in his expression. “Close your eyes! Don’t look in his eyes!” he commanded, desperate to protect the comrades by his sides. Although the others relented easily, the gravity of the situation was not lost on him. This battle would be hell on his body. Yet, that was a small price to pay compared to the possibility of losing Kurenai or Asuma. “I’m gonna have to do this alone. My Sharingan against his.”

A gust of wind ruffled against the trio, and when Kakashi blinked, he found you standing between him and Itachi. Maybe he wouldn’t have to fight alone after all. “Welcome to the party.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Kakashi.” Your voice sounded much calmer than you felt. Your gut churned as you surveyed the little brother you’d once known better than the back of your hand. Or so you thought. “Take your own advice. Keep your eyes down.”

Kakashi wanted to argue, even considered it, too, but the severity of your tone rendered him silent.

Itachi hummed, eyes tracing over your masked face. You’d hidden everything but those two bright Sharingan eyes glowing back at him. “You always were one to make grave errors. I’m sure you’re aware you’re not strong enough to beat me.” His gaze trailed to Kakashi before snapping back to you. He wasn’t happy. “You haven’t satisfied the obligations necessary to beat me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. He’d learned so much about you. But everything you knew about him had been an illusion. “I didn’t commit the sin, but that doesn’t mean I can’t endure you.”

As Itachi’s eyes swallowed you whole, the mocking tilt of his lips never faltered.

The red world was just like you imagined it to be from Sasuke’s descriptions. A blood red moon hung overhead, clouds lazily obscuring the light. It was ominous. The dark intent sent a chill rippling through your body.

A world controlled by Itachi was hell itself.

At first, you stood in a barren plain, body washed in reds and blacks and the sickening silence of an isolated world. Itachi stood in front of you, posture relaxed and expression dull. “I’ll assume you understand how this works,” he called, voice echoing in your ears like a thunderclap.

Of course you understood. After you and Sasuke had found the information about the Uchiha Clan’s Mangekyou Sharingan, you’d learned everything you possibly could and pushed your own Sharingan to its limits. The only thing you couldn’t produce was this red world; some things you still weren’t willing to sacrifice.

Regardless, you knew exhausting Itachi—pushing him to his limits—was your best chance of saving everyone waiting for you in the outside world. The more you struggled, the more you fought back, the more you forced Itachi to exercise control, you would render him useless in a real battle.

Quickly, you leapt forward, hand swinging for Itachi. Your kunai clanged against his as he sidestepped your attack, dodging a second blow that sent you skidding into a turn. The world around you began to melt, dripping and turning until chains clasped around your wrists. Your brother stood before you, a blade poised to cut against your chest. Thrashing made the chains tighten, and though he wouldn’t display his weakness, you knew the action forced him to focus and strain more. He could keep you here for hours or days; his reserves were much stronger than your own. You’d tire against him. Regardless of your own strength, Itachi had the upper hand in this world, so you had to wear him out as much as possible while you still had the strength to.

Every slash of his blade felt like fire. With each struggle, your wrists snapped with the strength of the chains’ tightening. You spat at him, eyes blazing, gritting your teeth against the pain. Crying out wasn’t an option, not against Itachi.

Time passed achingly slowly. He was milking your pain for all it was worth, forcing weak groans and muffled grunts from your lips. The pain grounded you somewhat, but the bizarre passage of time didn’t help the desperation blooming in your chest. But you wouldn’t give in. You’d take the pain for Sasuke, for Naruto, for Kurenai, for Asuma, for Kakashi.

Endure. You’d endure.

Suddenly the world was blue and green and brown again. The only red you could see was in Itachi’s eyes and the swirls on his clothing. The real world had come back to you, Itachi had relented, you’d spent several days with him despite time not changing in this world, and— Fuck—

You stumbled, hand pressing against the water as you balanced on your haunches.

Kurenai began to ask a question, but Kakashi quickly intervened. “Do you need—?”

You threw your free hand up, gritting your teeth against the pain. It wasn’t enough to quell Itachi’s thirst. You had to keep pushing.

“You bastard. Is that what you did to him?” you snarled, already feeling the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders and fogging your brain.

Itachi stared at you, impassive. It was unnerving how little he cared, how deeply his heart had been twisted to darkness.

“No,” he hummed, gaze boring into your own. “I showed him what he had been incapable of stopping.”

The burning in your chest increased as you were swallowed yet again by his Sharingan eyes, those swirling pools of red like your own in every way but intent.

They were dead. You watched as he killed them again and again, blood glinting in the light of a blood red moon. He even killed Sasuke on your behalf, destroying the world you loved again and again.

The pain was worse now. Every relative he cut left a blooming slash across your body. Every scream rang in your ears, a symphony of death. And Itachi Uchiha was the conductor.

You shuttered as colors reappeared in your vision, hand briefly sinking into the water before you reestablished your chakra flow. You were fully on your knees now, body too spent to stand. Kakashi was watching you closely, gaze sharp as a hawk.

Six days. He’d spent six days with you in that world.

Even his energy had to be dwindling, though his expression was as impassive as ever.

“You’re as weak as Sasuke,” he sighed. “I was hoping you would have grown up by now.” Nevermind that you were the eldest.

You trembled as you breathed, lips shaking so severely that you couldn’t speak. This was the weight of your family’s Kekkei Genkai. You couldn’t stop Itachi, not like this.

Kakashi shifted his stance. He’d read your body language; he knew you were done. It was time to step forward in your place.

Reaching out, you pressed a firm hand around his ankle. “You can’t survive that, Kakashi.” As though that would stop him from trying.

So, Kakashi was swallowed whole by the Sharingan eyes. And you could only hope that he could handle the pain Itachi inflicted.

Barely conscious, you listened as Kakashi fell to his knees beside you, panting, exhausted.

Three days. He’d been there three days. You could tell from his breathing. But there was nothing you could say, nothing you could do in your barely lucid state. You could only focus on expending enough chakra to prevent you from sinking into the water below.

The last thing you heard was Gai’s voice, powerful and sure. In your periphery, you could see Kakashi’s hand dangling over Gai’s back. He must have fallen unconscious already. Reaching upward, you tried to grasp Kakashi’s hand, but the world turned to black as your fingertips brushed.

You hoped he’d be okay.

When the darkness dissipated from your vision, a blurry, golden blob slowly came into focus. It was a woman… a woman you duly recognized in the fogginess of your memory. Where were you? What was going on?

Your body ached as you sat up, pain stabbing up your back, across your neck, down your arms. Behind the woman, a wide-eyed Naruto, and a sobbing Gai, there was a bed adjacent to your own with a shock of silvery hair catching the sunlight. Kakashi. The battle. Itachi. Oh, it was all coming back to you now.

Grunting, you shifted so your feet could hang off the edge of the bed, wincing as you brushed some rogue shocks of hair from your forehead.

You cleared your throat. It felt gravely from lack of use; such a stark contrast to the screaming you did in Itachi’s world. But you couldn’t think about that, not when there were more pressing matters at hand. What had happened since you’d fallen unconscious? “How long have we been out?”

“Quite a while,” came the woman’s sharp reply.

Naruto interjected with a smile. “Pervy Sage and I had to find Grandma Tsunade first! And that took a while because she’s been everywhere. Pervy Sage stole my money, but I learned a new technique! I’ll have to show it to you and Kakashi-sensei!”

Ah, Tsunade. That’s who she was. A ninja powerful and fierce, but unused to the village she’d left many years ago. A Sannin; probably the next Hokage. And she was already glaring at you. Great, just great.

“That’s great, Naruto. I’m, uh, glad to see you’re okay.”

His grin brightened the room, and Lady Tsunade barely managed to hide her exasperation.

“Yeah! I’m great! And Grandma Tsunade said Sasuke’s going to be fine too!”

Sasuke. The memory of your little brother being cut down in a blood red world flooded through your body like a punch to the gut. Had Itachi found him? Killed him in the real world? Your eyes shot between Naruto and Lady Tsunade, a sick feeling tearing through your stomach. “What happened?”

Naruto’s smile vanished at your tone, and Gai coughed, schooling his emotions long enough to supply an answer. “He went after Itachi when he found out what had happened to you. Got caught up in Itachi’s jutsu.”

“But he’s okay?” you asked, directing your question back to Tsunade.

Her gaze was sharp as she replied, scrutinizing your reaction as though she had a Sharingan of her own. “Physically, there’s no lasting damage.” The real meaning behind her words was left unspoken: mentally, there was nothing she could do for Sasuke.

“Small miracles, I guess,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple groggily. The memory of your battle with Itachi settled at the forefront of your mind, and your thoughts fought to segment the hazy reality between the Mangekyou Sharingan’s world and the real one. Every move set off another aching muscle, every thought sparked another equally horrible one. Unintentionally, your gaze traveled to the shock of Kakashi’s hair poking out beyond Naruto’s arm. If you were feeling this terrible, you couldn’t imagine how much the experience had hurt Kakashi. At least you and Sasuke had bodies built to withstand some of the rigor the Sharingan threw at people; Kakashi didn’t have that luxury.

Lady Tsunade noticed your gaze, shuffling around Naruto to heal the unconscious ninja she appeared equally irritated by. You watched, waited, focused on the familiar glow emanating from her palm, and hoped he wouldn’t feel too terrible when he woke up. Wishful thinking.

He sat up almost immediately, a deep, uncomfortable grunt reverberating from the back of his throat as he did so. Despite his pain and obvious disorientation, he was a ninja through and through.

It only took a few breaths for him to make sense of his surroundings. Then, Kakashi shifted, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He blinked at Lady Tsunade groggily for a moment before his expression smoothed into disinterest. He’d recognized her. A few beads of sweat accumulated on his temple, but he did his best to hold her gaze. With each memory that clicked into place, his shoulders seemed to droop further. He was upset; it was obvious.

“Ah, disgraceful,” Tsunade tutted. “To be taken completely out of the game by two low-life punks like that. I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

The longer Lady Tsunade chastised Kakashi, the more his shame grew. It wasn’t noticeable from the exterior; his expression was as impassive as ever. However, you could sense the disappointment radiating from him in thick, pained waves. He’d risked his comrades’ lives, he’d fallen out of the game, he hadn’t stopped Itachi, and, most importantly, he hadn’t been able to hold his own in the battle of the Sharingans. Kakashi was ashamed of himself, deeply and truly, and that only upset you more. It wasn’t his fault! Itachi’s ability was beyond anyone’s capabilities, not just Kakashi’s!

“Sorry to… disappoint you.” His tone betrayed his emotions, gravely and heavy despite the relative nonchalance he attempted to mask his feelings with.

He was blaming himself for something totally outside of his abilities. He was putting the onus on himself when it had been up to all of you—especially you—to stop Itachi. This woman, she had no idea what she was talking about, what she was even chastising him for! Itachi was far more dangerous than some ‘low-life punk’ or simple rogue ninja! He was dangerous without the strength of his Sharingan, and his abilities, when honed with the Kekkei Genkai, were akin to staring death in the face. How dare she so carelessly wave away Kakashi’s efforts! How dare she pretend these men weren’t as dangerous as Orochimaru himself!

You bristled, gaze sharply turning to Lady Tsunade. Hokage title be damned; you weren’t going to let her speak so poorly of Kakashi and make him feel so terrible. “Itachi’s abilities are unlike anything anyone could anticipate, even someone as skilled as Kakashi. If it weren’t for him, it’s unlikely Naruto would be alive right now.”

“Oh?” Lady Tsunade asked, leveling you with a narrowed glare. She wasn’t the Hokage yet, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed pipsqueaks trying to tell her off. “Why’s that?”

“We weakened him. Temporarily, at least.” Your body ached from the fight and from resting in a semi-coma for who knows how long, but you shifted to rub your eye and scratch behind your ear. “What Kakashi did was stupid, stepping into Itachi’s gaze, but for the situation at hand, it was the best solution. Kurenai and Asuma would’ve fared much worse.”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes at you, voice surprisingly sharp after being unconscious for so long. “You’re one to talk. You practically let him kill you.”

You took a sharp breath, anger switching from Tsunade to Kakashi in an instant. “It’s my responsibility as the eldest. Your intervention could have killed you!”

“Well I couldn’t let you get hurt for me,” he snapped.

“Oh, but you could let you get hurt for me? As if that’s any better!”

Kakashi bristled. What were you thinking? You’d taken the same oath as Kakashi when you’d decided to become a ninja. You understood the gravity of the situation, the necessary sacrifices. Who were you to scoff in the face of his Nindo? “I’d die to protect this village! You know that more than anyone!”

“He wasn’t after the village,” you hissed. Lady Tsunade stared at you openly, and you turned away, voice lowering drastically. “He’s after something much, much worse.”

“What?” Tsunade’s interjection was abrupt but not wholly unwelcome. You didn’t like fighting with Kakashi, especially when neither of you were entirely right. The whole situation was a mess. You’d never expected to see Itachi here of all places. You also never expected to stand between him and Kakashi, though you were grateful for the chance to offer some short-lived protection. The debt you owed Kakashi for all the times he’d saved you had grown large enough already.

“He intends to become unbeatable,” you mumbled, blinking down at your lap. Memories of the confrontation with Itachi began to flood your mind, tumbling with the memories of him that already stained your heart an inky black. The pain, the cruelty, and the torture he inflicted on your family was a heavy burden to bear, and the memories only made it worse. What he’d done to them in the Mangekyo Sharingan, that had to have been real. The memories were too exact, too picture-perfect to be anything but true. Watching Sasuke die had just been a little extra embellishment on the neverending nightmare-story that Itachi inflicted upon you. Your chest still throbbed with the memory of kunai swipes and shuriken throws.

Lady Tsunade’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling your hazy mind momentarily back into the present. She must have been speaking to you; she sounded irritated that you hadn’t been listening, sharp, angry eyes boring holes into the side of your face.

“Can we… Later would be better… to have this talk. Not… not now.”

You were struggling to school your expression. Despite the years of training, you couldn’t hold your composure nearly as strongly as Kakashi could. Kakashi… would he understand you turning away the next Hokage?

The silence echoed through the room for several long seconds before Tsunade sighed. “Fine. But I expect a full report on everything Itachi is up to when you’re back on your feet.”

Your gaze returned to your lap, and you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding jerkily.

Naruto and Gai drug Lady Tsunade from your room a few moments later, and their chattering echoed through the hallway until they turned the corner.

Itachi. That smirk—the one Sasuke wore when he began putting up a decent fight against you—had turned into something sickening. Whatever he was before he left the village, Itachi wasn’t that man anymore. He’d grown into something even stronger, something even more determined to attain the power he desired. And you… the only way to stop him and save Sasuke was to do something unforgivable, something you couldn’t and wouldn’t ever do. Power wasn’t worth the sacrifice you’d need to make to attain it. You wondered if your family would have made the same choice, if they would have foregone the power if they’d known what Itachi desired to do to them. Their screams echoed so sharply in your ears, even if they were creations rather than genuine. It sounded so real.

“Why did you turn her away?” Kakashi asked, breaking through your thoughts with each syllable. He was always the best at that, chasing away the darkness that weighed on you like a snake slowly constricting around your neck.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, gaze turning red without intentional activation. Blankly, you stared at him, Sharingan eyes swirling lazily as you took in his masked face, his disheveled hair, the slightly worried pinch of his visible eye. You knew you were too far off your game, too concerning to let him abandon the topic without question, but you continued to stare at him nonetheless. If there was anything or anyone capable of snuffing out the darkness plaguing your memories, it would be Kakashi. You’d hold him close to your memories no matter what the toll on your body was.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the other images out of my head.” Your voice was tight and weak, exhausted from the pain your brother had inflicted on you. In front of him, you could let it show.

Kakashi’s expression softened, and he slowly stood, walking with uneasy steps to sit next to you on the bed. His hand found yours, gently holding your mind and body in the present. “This is real. We’re both alive. Whatever happened in there… you’re okay now.” He gave you an eye smile, but you could tell it was forced. The experience had jarred him, too.

You reached up, hand tracing the fabric of his headband. He’d fastened it as the others exited the room. “How are you? He hurt you, too, didn’t he?”

Kakashi paused under your scrutiny, and you knew he was trying to keep his face neutral despite the pain. “Yes. What… what did he do?”

“It’s the next level of the Sharingan. The Mangekyou Sharingan. A rare gift that he wants Sasuke and I to achieve so he can test the limits of his own ability.”

“How does one achieve that?”

You shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.”

He hummed, reaching up to swipe a thumb across your cheek, dispelling a fallen eyelash stuck to your mask. “Then you don’t have to. But could I ask you one more question?” You nodded once, jerkily, and Kakashi squeezed your hand a little tighter, trying to hold your mind there with him. “How long were you in there?”

The question stole the air from your lungs, sending a panging quiver of fear and anxiety and dread through your chest. “Six—” You coughed, trying to bring some sound back to your voice. “Six days.”

“He only kept me three.”

You could sense the guilt in his voice, which you tried to dispel with a sharp shake of your head that instantly set off an ache in the back of your skull. For someone without your physical capabilities, his ability to withstand even three days was remarkable—dreadful, painful, a testament to the horrors he’d endured, but remarkable. “That’s more than enough.” Hopefully he’d believe your honest answer.

Your eyes swirled as you stared at him again, hand squeezing Kakashi’s tightly. Everything would be okay as long as you didn’t forget him.

Weeks passed without incident. The horrors of Itachi’s return had dissolved into dull worries in the back of your mind. Lady Tsunade was working the ninja she could spare as hard as she could. Days bled into nights and missions drug on, one right after another.

It was humid when you arrived back in the village, Kakashi tiredly walking at your side. Being Jonin, neither of you would receive much of a break. You’d report to the Hokage, receive a new mission, prep, head out by morning; it was another cycle of the same old pattern. At least, the pattern felt like it was getting old very fast.

Being in the village again filled you with relief. Though, that only lasted briefly. The civilians bustled about with their usual fervor, but something was… off. It was too quiet. There weren’t any Genin jumping from the roofs or haggling shop owners.

Kakashi’s nose was tucked into a book, but you knew he was just as aware of his surroundings as you were. So you shifted, chin barely tilting in his direction as you murmured, “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, gaze resting on his book despite his sudden disinterest in reading. “Something’s up.”

Kakashi’s observation had been the understatement of the century.

Standing in the Hokage’s office, you remained stoic and shell-shocked. Your brother was on the run? Naruto had gone after him? Shikamaru had been in charge of the group? No. This was all wrong. Sending Naruto after him was the surest way to make things worse. She didn’t understand… she didn’t see Sasuke’s motivations the way you did. Oh, fuck.

“What did you say?” Kakashi demanded, leaping forward to slam two desperate hands on the desk. Surely this was a mistake, a hallucination, heck, maybe he was dead! Anything but reality! Sweat beaded on his exposed temple. The others weren’t experienced enough for such a dangerous mission. “You sent Genin after Sasuke?”

“Well, what else could I do? You know the state that this village is in right now.”

Kakashi sighed, head and shoulders slumping with her statement. While his muscles loosened, yours only seemed to tighten, hand curling into a fist and gut coiling dangerously. Did the Hokage really underestimate the severity of this situation? Was she really this unaware?

“Anyway,” she continued, smirking self-assuredly, “I have a contingency plan in place.”

Contingency plan. Sure. As if that would be enough.

Kakashi stood still for a moment, and the silence lapped around the room in threatening waves. Surely he wasn’t thinking of abandoning the Genin, abandoning your brother…

He turned, catching your eye, and you had your answer. Nodding once, you turned on your heel, preparing to lead the both of you out of the office.

“Hey! Where are the two of you going? You both already have missions assigned to you!”

Your jaw clenched at the sound of rustling paper, and Kakashi stepped in with an excuse before you could blow both your lid and your cover.

“We… have an errand we need to run. Be back in a bit, don’t you worry.”

The rustle of fabric behind you suggested that he waved, but you paid little attention to that. Sasuke was running for Orochimaru. He was following the same siren song that had allured Itachi from the village all those years ago. And you needed to stop it.

Your mind whirled with preparations. Your brother had left days ago, and the Genin had gone after him. He’d left voluntarily, with a group of Orochimaru’s followers. They’d surely section off, delegate individuals to stay behind and hold the Genin back. He’d keep pushing forward. After two days, he’d surely be near the border. It would be a race for you and Kakashi to catch him.

Startling you from your thoughts, a whirl of red and pink raced toward you. Sakura. Her eyes were wide and worried, expression pained at the thought of losing either of the teammates she so deeply cared for. Walking a few paces ahead, you tried to give the student and her sensei a little privacy. And although you didn’t eavesdrop, the warm smile and the light tone with which Kakashi spoke almost managed to reassure you as much as it had reassured Sakura.

Again, the two of you continued forward toward the village gates. Out of Sakura’s earshot, you glanced at Kakashi, noting that he was just as tense as you were. The mission ahead wouldn’t be easy—mentally or physically. “How do we find them?”

He used the same words that he’d used on his student, and though his voice wasn’t quite as light as it had been with her, his sentiment was still reassuring. “Just leave it to me.”

The pack of dogs appearing in front of you wasn’t surprising. You’d been friends with Kakashi long enough to know his pack members by name, though many of them had lost their puppy-fluff in the years since you’d seen them last. At one time, you’d helped Kakashi patch together vests for them all, wrestling them into the blue fabric after cleaning them from a particularly messy mission.

They’d grown since then, as had Kakashi, and it looked like several of their vests had been updated, too. On some of the smaller dogs, you could still see the uneven lines you’d drawn, the few wonky stitches preventing the fabric from resting flat on their sides. The sight distantly made your heart warm, though it really wasn’t the time for that.

“Okay, guys, fan out and start looking for Naruto and Sasuke’s scent,” Kakashi requested, expression impassive and voice firm.

Pakkun regarded him for a moment. “Did you say Naruto and Sasuke? What’s going on? What happened to the two of them?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now time is of the essence.”

“Right,” Pakkun conceded, eyes flickering briefly toward you before landing on Kakashi yet again.

“Let me know as soon as you pick up their scent. We’ll be there immediately. Alright, scatter!” With a sharp wave of his arms, the summons dispersed in all directions, racing at nearly unseeable speeds.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours before flickering toward Sakura. She’d been hiding behind the gates while he talked to his pack, but you didn’t try to stop her. Sasuke and Naruto were her team; she’d worry regardless of whatever placating words you or Kakashi tried to reassure her with.

Stepping forward, you caught his wrist. “This is not your failing,” you murmured under your breath. “It’s mine.”

A howl echoed through the air before he could respond, and the two of you darted into the forest after the noise, racing to find the hound before it was too late. You hoped Naruto was still alive. You hoped Sasuke hadn’t crossed the border. You hoped—a ninja’s greatest weakness.

Catching up to Pakkun didn’t take long. You and Kakashi raced quickly through the trees, and he seemed just as eager as you were to find and protect his Genin.

“Their scents lead this way,” Pakkun confirmed. “Naruto’s is fresher than Sasuke’s. They’re a bit muddled with other people, but I can still make out the two of them.”

“Good work.”

The ninken hummed, and the three of you continued onward, darting through the trees after the boys—both loved, both too young to die.

Maybe Naruto and the others were too slow. Maybe Sasuke would change his mind. Maybe the Genin could stop them all. Maybe.

Kakashi rushed along beside you, brooding silently in his own thoughts. He’d watched the boys go after one another; he knew they were capable of killing one another. He’d been too optimistic, too naive, that things would work out. He’d seen goodness in the world when there wasn’t any.

Pakkun sniffed the air again. “I’m gettin’ a bad feeling about this.”

“What’s wrong?”

Pakkun turned his head, glancing at Kakashi as the three of you barreled through the forest. “The scents are diverging. Sasuke and Naruto separated from the rest.”

Your heart froze, shuddering in your chest. “No,” you breathed, forcing yourself to run faster. “No, Sasuke, you wouldn’t.” You’re not like Itachi, your mind roared. Don’t do it. You’re not like him, Sasuke!

“He wouldn’t what?” Kakashi demanded.

You shook your head, forcing your body forward once again. “Pakkun, we need to move faster.”

“Right.”

Kakashi gasped when his eyes caught the dark chakra looming overhead. “This isn’t good.”

None of it was good. But the darkness made you run faster.

“This isn’t happening. This isn’t—” You leapt, following Pakkun’s path through the trees. Pushing yourself harder, you kept pace with him, willing all of you to move faster yet again. “You aren’t like this,” you growled under your breath. Sasuke wasn’t Itachi. He wouldn’t kill Naruto. He wouldn’t claim power that way. Right?

The darker the chakra grew, the faster you ran, and the more you doubted everything you thought you knew about your little brother.

Rain began to pour like a cold river from the foliage overhead. Your clothes began to stick uncomfortably to your body, but you continued pushing forward. Faster, you had to go faster. Sasuke. Naruto. They were the only things that mattered now.

Kakashi turned, glancing at Pakkun. “It’s raining. Will it wash away the scent?”

“No problem. We’re already close enough. This way.”

Pakkun leapt forward, landing on the edge of a ravine. You landed beside him, Kakashi only a few seconds behind you. There was a body beside the river, all blond and orange and unmoving. Kakashi and Pakkun raced toward him.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes scanning the scenery a moment longer before moving to join the others. Sasuke was nowhere to be found.

Pakkun was standing at Naruto’s side, but Kakashi remained crouched as you landed, shoulders slumped, face dejected. He blamed himself. But he shouldn’t have. This was your fault!

You willed your feet to move forward, crouching beside Naruto’s body. Had Sasuke…

Pakkun interrupted your thoughts, looking up from a scratched headband. “It’s Sasuke’s,” he confirmed gravely.

Kakashi sighed, moving beside you. For a long moment, he kneeled before his pupil, head bowed, eyes closed in silent agony. His hand clasped around the cool metal of Sasuke’s headband. Naruto had finally managed to scratch it. “I’m too late. Forgive me,” he muttered, and the breath caught in your throat. He began to shift into a stance to lift Naruto, but you stopped him with a single movement.

Gentle, terrified fingers ghosted over Naruto’s pulsepoint, searching for the answer that had you sick with worry.

Slow, faint beats greeted your searching hand.

The rain roared in your ears, even as you gratefully breathed out an answer to the question Pakkun and Kakashi were both silently asking. “He’s alive. He’s— Oh, thank goodness.”

Your brother hadn’t murdered Naruto. He’d had restraint or dignity or something else in his heart, something that kept him from becoming as dark as Itachi had become. Thank goodness.

The reality made you breathe a little easier, though the faintness with which Naruto’s heart fluttered still was enough to concern you.

“He’ll be okay,” you confirmed, “but he needs to see a doctor.”

“I’ve got him.” Kakashi’s arms slipped under his student’s back and legs, cradling him close to his chest. Naruto was his student, his brave, courageous, foolish student. And Kakashi didn’t want it any other way.

The rain made it slightly more difficult to climb up the ravine, but with persistence and a few carefully placed kunai, all four of you made it back to the top safely. You adjusted Naruto so he was draped across Kakashi’s back, and the headband Sasuke discarded was slipped safely into your pocket.

The metal burned against your chest, lighting a fire of pain and guilt deep within your soul. All of this should have been prevented; you were the reason it hadn’t been. You were the reason Sasuke had abandoned his village, his friends, and his sensei. You’d failed him. You’d failed them all.

And now that Sasuke had come up with a plan to defeat Itachi, you doubted that you would be enough to discourage his destructive path. If his best friend couldn’t dissuade him from Orochimaru and revenge, who could?

As you stood watching the raging river below, the downpour began to cease. The dark clouds shifted, moving farther downwind, and the sun began to break through once again. The view would have been beautiful if your hearts weren’t weighed down by the heavy burden of knowledge. Your brother, he was gone. Both of them were.

“All that rain, I won’t be able to follow his scent,” Pakkun noted, sending you a sympathetic glance. “But keeping Naruto alive is more important than finding Sasuke.”

“Yeah,” Kakashi breathed. His head was still bowed in shame and disappointment, shoulders slumped even as he carried Naruto. “I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

He looked so sad, so broken. Even if neither of his students had died, it was still another dark stain of loss maring his soul. He thought he’d failed, broken the promise he’d made with his nindo yet again. You couldn’t let him believe that.

Gently, your hand caught his arm, drawing his attention away from his feet and back toward you. “This is my fault. I should have been outright with you from the beginning.”

“What?”

“It’s… a long story.”

Pakkun huffed, turning to face the general direction of the village. “We’ve got time. It’s a long way back.”

You nodded, adjusting the damp mask over your nose. “We should start moving. Naruto’s an easy target for the Akatsuki like this.”

Kakashi’s pace was slow despite the speed with which ninja could travel. To be fair, both of you had exhausted quite a bit of your reserves by racing through the forest. Even then, you knew the pace was to facilitate talking; he wanted to know the truth, the full story. So you’d oblige him.

“This is my fault,” you began, “on two counts. The first began with the end of the Uchiha clan.”

Slowly and without interruption, you explained the information Itachi had left for you and Sasuke after the massacre. You’d made the executive decision to train as hard as you could to put a stop to Itachi; you were the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect your little brother. But you weren’t willing to make the same sacrifices Itachi had made to attain the Mangekyou Sharingan. That was your first failure, though you dared not call it that knowing the alternative.

Then, you explained Sasuke. “They should never have been left alone together. Sasuke… his ability to attain power—the same power that allured Itachi—was right there in Naruto, his best friend. I don’t know why he didn’t do it… maybe because he cares too much about Naruto or cares too much about not becoming Itachi. Regardless, his alliance with Orochimaru is power-based. He wants to overcome Itachi and make him repent for the massacre. I—” you looked away, posture rapidly mirroring Kakashi’s dejected one. “I wasn’t fast enough. I failed Sasuke.” My little brother.

Kakashi remained silent for a while as the two of you worked your way back to the village. Some of the twigs stung against your arms as you ran, but you hardly paid attention to that. Would Kakashi forgive you? Would Kakashi still be your friend despite your failure as a ninja? As a sister? Would you be able to forgive yourself?

“You said it involves killing your best friend,” Kakashi murmured quietly. “And Itachi knew you hadn’t yet.” He hadn’t forgotten that conversation. That day at the river, the day both of you had fallen to Itachi’s damn Sharingan eyes. “How?”

You felt your chest tighten, fear swirling in your heart. He had to know the answer. Kakashi just had to. Did he really not understand after all these years? “Because,” you replied weakly, turning to check the sky for the time but only finding leaves that waved mockingly at your unfortunate circumstances, “he was standing right beside me.”

Kakashi bit his lip under his mask. He had been standing beside you that day. He had been fighting alongside you. He let you save him, only to save you in return. He was your best friend?

Of course you were one of his closest friends, if not his best friend. But could he really be the same to you? Your best friend?

Before he had the chance to respond, the medic nins appeared in your peripheral vision, calling out questions on the state of Naruto and what had happened to him. Naruto would be okay, Sasuke was missing, and, despite the blame you so thoroughly placed on yourself, Kakashi couldn’t shake the guilt in his heart. This mess was his fault, too.

Although it was obvious Kakashi would remain guilty for his actions and inactions, just as you would, another thought rooted itself deeply in the front of your mind. Sasuke was gone. Itachi continued to be gone. Your clan was dead. And your best friend didn’t realize you saw him that way.

Alone. In a village full of people, you found yourself completely alone.

The city slept that night, but Kakashi couldn’t. Pain, guilt, worry, and confusion attacked him whenever he thought about resting his head on a pillow. Sasuke had left for Orochimaru. Naruto had nearly died trying to stop him. And Sakura was sick with worry. He’d failed them. He’d let his team down. Again.

Starlight glittered off the memorial stone, twinkling as faint wisps of clouds obscured them. It would have been serene if it weren’t for the dark, heavy weight on his heart. How could he enjoy anything when so much had gone wrong? When he’d failed to protect those he loved most yet again.

At least you were alive. That had to count for something.

Your words from the afternoon flitted through his mind—death and best friend. You wouldn’t kill him because you loved him too much. You’d thrown away your chance at saving your brother just to keep Kakashi alive.

Of course, if you really wanted to kill him, he could’ve stopped you. You were strong, but his abilities still slightly outmatched yours. But would it matter? If you really wanted to kill him, if it was the only way to save Sasuke, would he let you? He’d dedicated his life to serving the village, but for you, he thought he just might be willing to sacrifice himself. But only for you.

With a huff, he shook his head sharply. Morbid thoughts were a bad sign; he needed to get himself together.

Pakkun greeted him with a quiet, somber, “Hey,” from the center of the summoning circle. Without words, the ninken knew why Kakashi had called on him. In the middle of the night, with the pain of a failed mission (albeit one Kakashi had created for himself) and the memories of Itachi’s power still looming over his head, the thing Kakashi needed most was to be a little less alone.

But he wasn’t the individual Kakashi needed to be with right now. No matter how hard he tried, Pakkun couldn’t replace the comfort that another hurting person could bring. And he happened to know just where to find one.

For a short while, the two of them sat in silence, Kakashi’s glazed eye watching the memorial stone while Pakkun’s gaze traced the dark forest surrounding the village. However, the unmistakable smell of you prompted him to start talking.

“Why aren’t you with her, Kakashi?”

Kakashi merely squinted his one visible eye, but it was enough for Pakkun to read the confused expression on his face. “We got separated when I brought Naruto to the hospital. What does that have to do with—”

“No. Why didn’t you find her tonight? You’re both out wallowing when you could be—”

“What do you mean ‘we’re both out’? I thought she went home.”

With a huff, he gestured northward with a paw. “Nope. She’s out. Has been for a while as strong as her scent is.”

He was gesturing toward an area soaked with not only your scent but your memories. Your childhood home. The Uchiha compound.

With two surviving children, the compound had been left to you and Sasuke. However, neither of you had wanted to live there. It was soaked in death, blood, and memories of Itachi you wished that you could burn.

Your memories of the Mangekyou Sharingan only made the place more somber. In your mind’s eye, you could see where each person had been killed, who each long-dried bloodstain represented. The sight made you sick, and you suddenly understood all too clearly why Sasuke had wanted to stay as far away from the compound as humanly possible.

Tears soaked into your mask with each step you took. The compound was empty. Your family was dead, all except for the two brothers vying for enough power to kill one another.

Your little brothers, your once baby-faced little brothers that were swaddled with shuriken blankets and begged to play tag in the yard when you were training. They were gone. And they wouldn’t look back, not for you.

You were alone. Alone and unwanted. All because you failed. You hadn’t been able to save your family because you were away on a mission. You hadn’t been able to stop Itachi because you weren’t strong enough. You hadn’t been able to protect Sasuke because you loved Kakashi too deeply. You’d failed them all, and now you had to suffer for it.

Tracks of fire burned from your eyes, tears hot against the cold night air. You didn’t care. The stinging saltwater was nothing compared to the aching hole in your chest. Would you ever be enough to help anyone?

Soft footsteps behind you were answer enough as you turned to find a shock of white hair arching up through the moonlight. Kakashi’s gaze was soft as he took in your damp lashes and bloodshot eyes. Seeing him set off a fresh wave of tears and you hiccupped as they, too, soaked into the already damp fabric of your mask. He’d come to find you.

Wordlessly, Kakashi closed the distance between you, gloved hands reaching out for your shoulders. His touch made you squeak, too unused to comfort, but you leaned into him regardless. There were no platitudes or words of reassurance as he stared down at you; for that, you were grateful. Kakashi knew better than anyone that words wouldn’t bring the dead or the living back.

“I’m losing everyone,” you whispered, words warbling with your sobs.

“Not me. You won’t lose me.”

He pulled you close to his chest as your hiccuping breaths began yet again. Even without seeing your face, he could envision the agony in your expression. And there was nothing he could do to fix that.

For what felt like forever, he held you tightly, masked nose nudging along your hairline in the most comforting gesture he could manage. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t leave you behind. He believed in you and wouldn’t abandon you. Whatever happened next, you’d get through it together.

When your cries had reduced to sniffles, he shifted away enough to wipe a thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they could soak your mask even further. You were cold enough as it was; getting sick would only make things worse.

His voice was soft when he finally spoke, a hushed tone fitting for a delicate question asked in the dead of night after a terrible day. “Did you want to be alone right now?”

“No,” you sniffled. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Why are you up anyway?”

Kakashi hummed noncommittally. “Just out for a walk. Wanted a little exercise.”

You huffed at him, brows arching expectantly. For someone who disliked lying, he certainly omitted the truth quite often. “Try again.”

“I wanted to read Make Out Paradise under the moonlight,” he offered. “For the ambiance, of course.”

“Ah.”

He looked away from your pointed stare, embarrassed at how easily you could read him, how relentlessly you cared. He’d come to comfort you, but you weren’t willing to leave it at that.

“My time with Itachi is stuck in my mind.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to inspect the Uchiha crest painted on the wall, paint fading from lack of care. It looked so much like the abandoned Hatake compound, so much like his own bloodied home. “Makes it hard to sleep.”

He didn’t mention how difficult carrying Naruto back was, how difficult it was to know his student had gone rogue for the sake of power and revenge. He hadn’t been able to save anyone, not his first team, not his Genin team, not anyone. The only balm for his aching heart was being able to hold you now, to comfort you and protect you in the only way he could. If this was the closest he could get to saving you from the pain and darkness in this world, he’d do it ten times over. Both of your hearts had suffered enough for one day.

You reached out, fingertips brushing against the edge of his rumpled sleeve. “It gets easier,” you whispered. “Over time.” You coughed, gaze flickering toward the Uchiha crest, the jagged scar where Itachi had thrown a blade, and Kakashi watched the glassiness return to your eyes. “Sasuke’s not in the apartment. I can’t… it’s too quiet knowing that he’s not coming back…”

He nodded, shifting so your hand pressed more firmly against his arm. He was by your side; he wouldn’t leave you. Without warning, he wrapped an arm around you once again, tucking his face against your shoulder. “I’m glad I found you tonight.”

“Me, too,” you whispered, holding him a little tighter. He needed you as much as you needed him. Even if Kakashi didn’t say it, you knew by the way his body relaxed against your own and the deep, unrestrained sigh that he’d kept in for far too long. It had been a bad day. A bad week. A bad year.

But you’d survive it together, just like you always had.

After a few long moments, Kakashi pulled away, offering you his arm. “Come home with me,” he murmured. “Neither of us are going to sleep tonight.”

He was right. So you looped your arm in the crook of his elbow, relishing in the safety his companionship provided. Because you weren’t so alone after all.

Kakashi’s apartment was messy. Evidently he had mirrored your earlier actions, dumping your mission gear around the apartment you shared with Sasuke before escaping into the night.

After the worst missions, it was easier to take a breather from your pack and your supplies. Stepping away from your work—your life as a ninja—helped you find your humanity when you felt lost. Kakashi felt the same way since he’d learned to somewhat cope with tragedy without running himself into the ground.

His kitchen table was littered with spare kunai. The room smelled faintly of weapon oil, but the air was still largely bland. Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly for a ninja—his apartment didn’t smell like him. It was sparse except for the clutter, and largely impersonal.

His apartment wasn’t really a home. Like the place you shared with Sasuke, it was simply a temporary reprieve between missions. A bed, a kitchen, a bookshelf, and some hidden compartments for weapon cleaners and first aid kits was more than enough for a workaholic ninja.

There was a photo of his Genin team on the bookshelf. One of its twins was downturned on Sasuke’s desk. The sight was like a blade through the chest. Kakashi looked so happy to have a team, and now...

“He liked learning from you,” you breathed, fingertips tracing the frame. “Even if he didn’t show it, he enjoyed how hard you made him work and how much you helped him improve.”

Kakashi huffed, draping his vest on the back of a chair. “I shouldn’t have trained him so much. He’s a walking weapon.”

“He would have been either way. His parents died—”

“Because of those damn Sharingan eyes,” he growled, wrenching off his gloves. “They’re like a curse. Everyone connected to them is evil or tortured! Sasuke even turned to evil to avoid being tortured!”

Kakashi dropped onto the couch with a sigh, anger fading back to disappointment. This whole mess, it all was because of the Sharingan eyes and the power that they held. One clan and everyone they were connected to were forced to suffer from the intense power that still wasn’t enough to satiate all the clan’s members.

Even he had committed atrocities because of the eye despite not being a member of the Uchiha clan. He’d killed and almost been killed, and for what? It was all because of the stupid eyes and the stupid curse that came with them—

“No,” you interrupted, moving to sit beside him. “No. That’s not true, Kakashi.” Your eyes glowed red in the darkness, and a moment later your mask was pooling around your neck. He watched your determined expression as you reached forward, shifting the headband away from his eye, letting it glow back at you in return.

Blood. It reminded him of blood.

But your voice was earnest as you took his hand, squeezing tightly. “It’s not all evil. It doesn’t have to be all evil. We’re good people despite this. We’re good people because of how we choose to use the Sharingan. You and I, we’re good people, Kakashi.” Your voice cracked with desperation, and it made his heart ache. He could hear how much you wanted him to believe the world hadn’t merely gifted terrible curses onto once good people. It was more complex than that; it was about the user. “We are not bad because of the Sharingan. It isn’t evil or a curse. It depends on how it’s used. And you aren’t bad.”

Your eyes were shining with the fervor of your words. Moonlight swept through the window, highlighting your face. Even with the Sharingan eyes, you looked warm and compassionate and so determined that Kakashi dimly understood that none of this was his fault, that he wasn’t bad.

Slowly, gently, Kakashi’s hand caught your cheek. A calloused thumb grazed your skin, hiding just a bit of you from the bright moonlight. You leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering before catching on his yet again.

“It can be beautiful if you look close enough.”

Suddenly, his hand shifted from your cheek to your eyes, blanketing your vision in darkness. There was a rustle of fabric before his warm breath ghosted across your lips—a silent question. You pressed against his hand, and that was all the invitation he needed to crash into you with a soft, insistent kiss. It was warm and gentle, a soft press of lips that made your head spin and your heart flutter. With a sigh, your hands slid from his arms, fisting the fabric along his sides.

Neither of you felt the kiss had lasted long enough, but when Kakashi pulled away, both of you were panting, breaths shuttering at the warmth blooming through your chests. Happiness.

His mask was back over his lips when your vision was gifted to you once again, and you stared at him with wide blown pupils in the Sharingan. Wet, panting lips glistened in the moonlight as you studied him with a gorgeous, dazed expression. Your hands released from his shirt but didn’t retract from his sides, held close from the intimacy of the kiss.

Taking in your appearance and your words, Kakashi realized you were right. The worst gifts could be beautiful if they belonged to someone as incredible as you.

And from the way you looked at him, eyes drinking him in like you wanted to leap forward and capture his kiss yet again, Kakashi realized that maybe his Sharingan could be beautiful, too.

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm hoping to finish up some more Kakashi fics soon. In the meantime, though, feel free to hang out as I get back into the swing of things! :) I"m so glad to be back from my hiatus!

#kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi fanfiction #naruto #hatake kakashi #kakashi naruto #mangekyou sharingan #kakashi hatake fic #kakashi hatake fanfic #silent writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Fully Completely 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation, harassment, blood

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: It’s me again, ya girl. We get more Loki and tomorrow more Zemo and I’ll see if I can get more done through the week + headcanons!

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4: Bring me back in shackles

💀💀💀

You lunged at Loki with a snarl. The cold air flew up the bottom of your shirt and reminded you of your naked legs. You clawed at his throat as he caught your wrists and held you at bay, your feet fiery on the bitter ice. He kept you in an awkward dance and suddenly you were plummeting back as he hooked his leg around yours and swiped it sideways.

You hollered as you slipped but were caught before you could meet the hard ground. Korg hooked his arms under yours and put you right. You jabbed your elbow into his ribs and turned on him as he yelped in surprise.

“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.”

Korg stopped you from swinging at Loki and you turned to aim your fist at him instead. He dodged it and you sensed the crowd forming along the street as the flames and sirens drew the club from The Asp. Your ire diverted as you saw Bucky stride down the sidewalk and you stormed away from the large redhead.

“You see this? See what he’s done?” you shrieked, “you just gonna stand there.”

Bucky said nothing as he came to a stop and his men watched you in shock as you raged in little more than your tee shirt. You were so angry you could hardly feel the cold. The smoke tickled your nose and you looked again at your burning shop.

“Nothing! You coward!” you lurched forward and Jerome kept you from reaching Bucky as he came between you.

“Hey, don’t. Don’t. You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he hissed under his breath, “stop!”

“Stop? Don’t you get it. He’s letting this happen. He as good as set the fire himself,” you fought against your brother as whispers swirled in the air, “it’s my shop!”

Someone snapped their fingers and again there was movement behind you. Korg’s large hand settled on your arm and he tugged. Jerome kept a hold of your other elbow and glared at back at him.

“What are you doing?” he squeezed your arm.

“Jerome,” Bucky said, arms crossed and unmoving on the sidewalk, “let her go.”

“She’s my sister, I’m not going to let them--”

“You’ll do what I say,” Bucky insisted, “your sister made her choice, time to make yours.”

Jerome looked between you and the biker. Bucky wouldn’t even looked at you and the woman a few feet behind him, his girl, watched in terror. She stepped forward and touched his arm. She whispered to him and he shrugged her off.

“I won’t tell you again, Jerome,” Bucky growled, “you’re a part of this club, you don’t just leave.”

Jerome inhaled and stared at you. You saw his eyes glistened and he gulped. His hand dropped from your arm and he backed away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head.

“Disgusting,” you sneered, “all of you.”

Korg dragged you back and you tried to twist free.

“You’re a coward, Bucky Barnes,” you yelled as kicked out, “you’re all a bunch of cowards.”

Korg hooked his arm around you and lifted you easily. You flailed and wriggled in his grasp, tossing your head back and just missing his jaw as he grunted. He turned and walked back towards Loki. You saw his green eyes and the way they glimmered over his smug grin.

“Fuck all of you!” you barked as the chattering voices grew louder, “all of you!”

💀

As you neared the old Victorian house where Bucky had Loki holed up, you didn’t stop snarling and clawing at your captor. Korg had you over his thick shoulder but walked silently as if you weren’t even there. When Loki got close enough, you reached out for him and several times he snickered and sidestepped you.

You latched onto the door frame as Korg tried to carry you inside and after a moment, he wrenched you away so hard your fingers bent back. You hissed and twisted on his shoulder until he was forced to put you back on your feet. He gripped your wrist as Loki closed the door and you were too quick for the larger man to get you under control.

He grabbed your elbow only as you shot your foot out and caught Loki in the crotch. The lithe man grunted and stumbled back. He leaned a hand on the wall as he bent over and held his breath. Korg hooked his arms through your other and kept your arms behind your back as he reined you in.

There was a stark silence as Loki stood straight and coughed. He rolled his shoulders and looked down his nose.

“Take her upstairs,” he pointed along the ancient banisters.

You were forced away from the thinner man and your toes hit each step painfully as you tried to kick back.

“Let me go!” you grunted and threw your head back into his shoulder, “why the fuck do you listen to that asshole? Come on--”

“He’s the boss,” Korg said lightly as he struggled with along the creaky hallway.

“You’re just as bad as him, you bastard,” you threw your feet out and planted them on the door frame as he tried to veer you through.

“Look, miss, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, “but if they boss tells me to, I will.”

He pulled you back and quickly angled you past the door frame. You stomped his feet but he barely noticed and turned to face Loki as he entered, keeping you at bay as another eruption of anger swept through you.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you know that?” you snarled, “I’m going to bash that dumb look off your face, you mother fucker--”

Loki rolled his eyes and his lips pursed as he ignored you and went to the closet. He pulled out a leather duffel and searched through a small case. He revealed a pair of cuffs and you scoffed.

“Oh no, no, no,” you wriggled wildly, “you can’t be serious. Let me out of here.”

“Well, darling, since you’ve felt it necessary to assault me and threaten me further, I can only take the proper precautions,” he kept away from you as he rounded Korg, “this should do, bring her here.”

You were wrestled over to the wall as Loki waited by the ridged radiator. It took several minutes for them to get your wrist hooked in the metal cuff, the other locked around thick leg of the heater before it hooked into the wall. Korg let you go and both men stepped away as you lashed out at them, only to yank on your shoulder painfully and fall back.

“That should hold her for the night,” Loki waved away the other man, “get your sleep. We have some driving to do tomorrow.”

“You can’t keep me here,” you sneered, “you’re crazy!”

“I’m crazy? You who gives me demands as you sit bound?” he chuckled and shed his coat and then his suit jacket, both carefully folded over the back of the antique chair, “and on the authority of this town’s keeper, I can do whatever I want with you…” he turned as he unlooped his tie, “and I surely will find many things to do to you.”

He dropped his tie on the polished table and unbuttoned his cuffs. He then worked on the buttons along the front and shrugged out of it. He flung it into the tall basket and sat to untie his shoes. You wanted to laugh as he was surely still slipping and sliding around in those things.

You looked away as he continued to undress. You boiled in rage and hatred as your lip curled. You pulled on the cuff until it hurt. You gave up and looked at him as he sat on the wide queen bed.

“You know what, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hit girls, right?” you taunted.

He lifted a brow and reached over to pull the chain on the lamp. The room went dark and you watched his dark silhouette lay across the bed.

“Good night,” he slithered, “you should be cozy.”

“Sleep tight, princess,” you spat.

He sighed and there was a brief lull. He got up suddenly and moved through the dark. He grabbed the tie off the table and approached you. He kicked your leg aside as you darted your foot out again and he gripped your chin. He straddled you and forced the silk deep into your mouth.

“I don’t want to have to cut that tongue out… yet.” He squeezed your chin and backed off of you.

He went back to the bed and you kept your eyes on the legs of the table. You could not spit out the tie or make a noise around it. You hit your head on the wall and hissed through your nose. You bent your legs to your chest and pulled them under your shirt.

The chill finally broke through your fury. Your feet were raw from standing outside in the cold and even the heat of the radiator hardly helped. You smelled of smoke and it reminded you of your rude awakening. You tugged on the cuff again and it clinked.

Even if you weren’t cuffed, you wouldn’t have slept. You were too angry and heartbroken. That man burned down your livelihood, he wouldn’t get anything else.

💀

You dozed here and there but woke with your back wracked each time. You sat against the wall, too stubborn to curl up on your side like you truly wanted to. When you woke for the last time, the room lightening with the dull winter morning, you felt a pressure in your bladder.

You groaned and stretched your legs. The night came back to you and you pulled again at the metal cuff. You wiggled it until it made an annoying metallic clicking but it was hardly loud enough to disturb the other person in the room. You knocked on the metal with your knuckles and you heard the soft snort.

“Stop that,” Loki’s voice was rough from fatigue, “I mean it, stop.”

You kept on until he rose and stomped over to you in his silken pajamas, his top entirely bare. You’d been too worked up to notice before. It only meant he was vulnerable. You stopped as he got close and you pushed yourself up on one foot and kicked at him. He caught your ankle and then grasped your other and pulled your legs out from under you.

“Enough,” he growled, “enough.”

You made a face at him as his tie remained firmly lodged in your mouth. You tried to talk past it and he tilted his head and huffed. You stilled and attempted another word. He poked his fingers between your lips and pulled on the tie. He retracted his hand right before you bit down.

“Darling, you tread a thin line,” he warned as he tossed the tie away, “if you didn’t insist on being such a pest, you might spend the nights to come on something a little more comfortable.”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

His eyes flipped to the ceiling and his jaw tensed. You wanted to grin but you also really had to go.

“I have to pee,” you said, “but if you’d rather, I can just let it go right here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he tutted and stood, “a little patience would do us both a favour.”

“I have no desire to do you any favours,” you snapped.

“Yes, but I might do you one,” he took the key and hung it from his index finger, “or I might take your suggestion and let you languish in your own filth.”

You sucked in your cheeks and flared your nostrils. You let out a long breath and raised your free hand defenselessly. “Fine, my bladder’s about to burst.”

He neared you cautiously and bent to uncuff you. He swiftly latched onto your wrist and dragged you to your feet. You pulled back your other hand in a fist and he pointed his finger in your face.

“Don’t,” he warned pointedly.

You shook away the anger and dropped your arm. He drew you after him and led you to the doorway on the other side of the bed. He let you through into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

“One minute, darling,” he said from the other side, “remember this kindness the next time you think to strike me.”

You made faces at yourself in the mirror and rolled your eyes. You slid down your panties and sat to let forth the building stream. When you finished, you rinsed your hands and heard a tap on the door.

“I’m coming in, darling, I do hope you’re decent,” he purred grossly.

You reached out to the folded straight razor as the handle turned and backed away from the door. He took a step in as you opened the blade and you lunged at him without pause. He caught your hand and squeezed it painfully. He spun you and threw you against the wall.

“Oh, darling, did you think I forgot about that?” he snickered as he freed the razor from your grasp, “you are too predictable.”

He aimed the end of the blade at your neck and you flattened yourself against the wall. He poked the top of your shirt with and hooked it under the cotton. He slashed through the fabric easily and you felt the hot slice down your chest, shallow but enough to bleed as the incision quickly grew hot.

“The next will not be so nice,” he warned and folded up the razor, “now,” he threw it into the sink and grabbed your arm, “back to the beginning for you.”

You elbowed him and he snaked his arm around your neck. He locked you in a hold and forced you across the room He bent you and stretched out your arm painfully, just enough to hook you in the cuff again. He retreated quickly as you struck out at him again and he laughed as you were pulled back by the metal.

“You will remain thus until you can show me you can behave and I promise you, you will not outlast me,” he smirked, “if you might take some time and truly think, you will realise what I could do for you instead of to you.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you sat against the wall and splayed your feet out, “fucking asshole.”

“Well,” he said, “you do need some clothes, I expect, and I need some proper boots as you suggested yourself. The roads have cleared you did a brilliant job on your repairs so I will be spending the day in the city,” he stretched his arms above him as he strode around the room, “I’m certain you will be just fine without me but it would do you well to miss me.”

“That’s amazing, some peace and fucking quiet,” you retorted as you pulled the slashed front of your shirt closed and your hot blood seeped into the cotton, “I think I’ll like that a lot.”

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ichorai · 3 years

Text

frozen hearts, flaming arrows ; p.sh

parts ; one. masterlist. two coming soon.

pairing ; fire!seonghwa x ice!reader

summary ; two enemy clans. one icer healer, one flamer soldier, one brewing war. love was never meant to be a part of this. but then again, when is love ever supposed to be a part of anything?

words ; 7.3k

warnings / includes ; cursing, violence, a make-out scene !!, future suggestive / mature content, hwa being sexy as always, ANGST okay this is a lot of ANGST and hURT, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers trope lol

a/n ; bet yall didn’t see this one coming lol but yea pls enjoy !!! im rlly excited for this series omg !!! im sorry this part was rlly short and kinda bad kkdfjdf but this is just the beginning and i swear part two will be much better !!

A snowflake glowing a luminescent blue lazily floated above your palm, multiplying into several others until you held a mini-flurry in your hand. You walked past all the frosted-over trees, huffing in deep breaths of cold air as your boots stepped over piles of unblemished snow and crispy dead leaves.

Being a healer was exhausting. Though you were still fairly new to the job, you couldn’t help but lay all the blame on yourself for being incapable of saving a life today. You just… hadn’t expected there to be that much blood. Icers had thicker blood for a reason; it wasn’t usually a problem. The head healer tried to reassure you that you did everything you could, but you couldn’t stand to be in the medbay for much longer. You needed air.

And that’s how you ended up here, head spinning dizzily as you stomped through the wintry grey forest, releasing out a frustrated groan from the bottom of your lungs.

“You’re dangerously close to our territory, Icer.” The sudden deep-timbered voice had you flinching so harshly you hit your head on an icy tree branch. “I’d watch my step if I was you.”

Breath caught in your throat, you watched with wide eyes as the Flamer stepped out of the shadow of a tree. He was undeniably handsome; his irises were dark, flecked with a fierce gold the same hue as the edge of a fire, his slicked-back hair a nightly black, and a curl of his carmine lips that was nowhere near friendly. An obvious insignia of a red flame was embedded into his unwrinkled jacket, a clear sign of this man being from the Fire Tribe.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized I was so close to the border.” You murmured, backing away slowly. The small snowflakes that you had accumulated in your palm quickly dissipated into the air, but miniscule particles of snow still floated around you, no doubt a result of your quaking nerves.

Noticing this, the man watched curiously as a snowflake drifted by him. He raised a finger towards the ice crystal, a small orange flame bursting out of the tip. The snowflake melted into a droplet of water, falling to his feet. You noticed the snow had melted away from him in a large circle around his shoes, now standing in a patch of wet grass. Even from the great distance between the two of you, you could still feel the wavering heat pulsating from this strange man.

“What are you doing so far away from your people?”

You knew you shouldn’t be talking to a Flamer stranger. They were dangerous, and it was common knowledge that Icers and Flamers weren’t on the best terms as of late.

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to pick up. At his raised eyebrows, you continued on. “I’m a healer. It was a lot of pressure not to mess up.”

He nodded, his curiosity getting the best of him. He stepped closer and asked, “Then why are you a healer?”

“Because I’m good at it.” The words came off far too snobbish for your liking, so you quickly added in a sheepish tone, “Also because I like helping people.”

The two of you fell into a queer silence, before he nodded, somewhat satisfied with your answer. The Flamer turned his back to you, “I best get going now. The lands aren’t going to patrol themselves. Run back to the rest of your people, Icer.”

You could feel his heat retract as he walked away. More snow fell to cover his tracks, as if the strange man with flaming eyes was never there.

It wasn’t until the same time the next day that you found yourself strolling towards the forest, back to the same spot last night, feet acting to their own accord. You paused in your steps when you realized where you were heading.

Would you really risk getting a Flamer angry at you for getting too close to their borders again? With not another thought, you pushed back the doubts and walked onwards… it wasn’t like you actually crossed the border. There was a large grey strip of forest land that belonged to neither tribe; it was far too costly to maintain and the forest gave them nothing but bugs and piles of dead leaves.

Much to your surprise, the man was already there, watching you with those glowing eyes of his. “What are you doing here?” He hissed.

“I can ask you the same thing,” You retaliated, arching an eyebrow.

The cold wind whistled as it blew past you, but you were planted firmly to the ground. He, on the other hand, grimaced quite obviously as the breeze tousled his neat hair about, sending dark strands careening into his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” You said with a small smile. Although he pulsated with heat, that only made him feel the frigid sting of the cold wind all the more. At the sight of his shivering form, you wondered just how bad a Flamer can be.

He eyed you suspiciously before stepping forward quite boldly, sticking out a hand, “I’m Seonghwa.”

There was a strange arrhythmic thump in your chest. Now that he was so close to you, the lilith-hued snow around your feet started to wilt away as well, your cheeks flushing at the sudden rise in temperature. Icers weren’t very good with heat, that was obvious.

And when you took his hand, it was as if he was the coldest thing you’ve ever touched. But that couldn’t be it… you couldn’t really feel the cold much. Nonetheless, you gripped his palm unflinchingly, staring him dead in the eye. It became like some sort of challenge, but the both of you knew that you had obviously won. Seonghwa winced at how freezing your fingers against his were.

“Do you come here everyday?” The Flamer asked once he retracted his hand from yours to shove into the warmth of his pocket.

“Yesterday was my first time. I wasn’t planning on coming back today, but I just ended up here on instinct.” Your boot scuffed the pristine snow, avoiding the way his gaze seemed to quite literally burn holes into you.

Seonghwa frowned slightly. Funnily enough, the same exact thing had happened to him. He wasn’t on patrolling duty today, so really, he had no cause to be out here. He could be curled up with a book in front of a nice, warm fire, instead of standing in the snow with an Icer, of all people. Gods, he must be crazy.

“So… what are you doing here?” Your seemingly innocent question had Seonghwa struggling for words.

In all honesty, he had been curious whether or not you’d come back. An Icer healer in the Grey Forest was more than enough to pique his interest. Nothing remotely gripping ever happened in the Fire Tribe (other than the various men and women who threw themselves at him whenever they got the chance). He hadn’t actually expected you to come back.

“I’m… hunting.”

“It’s illegal to hunt outside of your tribe lands, everybody knows that.”

“Who said I was hunting for an animal?” Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest to try and look somewhat menacing, but you just grinned. “I was looking for a book I lost.”

You hummed slightly, “Right.” As you waved your arm about, little snowflakes seemed to trail after you, and Seonghwa watched in masked fascination. “Can’t you just admit that you came to see me again?”

“Who’s to say that it’s not you coming to see me?”

“Hmm, let’s just say we both came to see each other. I’ve never seen a Flamer up this close before.”

Seonghwa blinked down at you with wide eyes, as if realizing just how small the distance between the two of you was. His cheeks reddened quickly as he cleared his throat into a fist, stepping backwards and almost slipping on more snow. When he attempted to sidestep the large wet puddle he’d created because of his rippling heat, his foot caught onto a tree root and he tumbled backwards. Snowflakes clung onto his dark hair and he shivered yet again. You tried to conceal your sniggers behind a palm, but Seonghwa still seemed to notice, his blazing eyes narrowing in mock-offense.

“You’re enjoying this,” He stated with an accusatory tone.

“Of course I am,” You replied through muted laughs. “I’m sorry. I would help, but I’m afraid I’d only make it worse.” To emphasize your point, you shook your hands slightly, blue crystals of snow whirling about.

Seonghwa’s fiery eyes seemed to soften at this. He pushed himself up to his feet, now shivering so harshly that you could hear his teeth chatter. You’d only known this Flamer for less than two days and yet he’d already managed to tug at your heartstrings.

“You should go back and get warm. I’ve read about Flamers and their immune systems… you guys are absolute babies when it comes to the cold.” Out of instinct, you reached out to touch his arm, like you did to most sick patients. But of course, you paused just before the tips of your fingers brushed against his jacket, curled your hand into a palm and forced it back down to your side. “I wouldn’t want you getting a fever just to see an ordinary Icer.”

Seonghwa cracked a half of a smile, shaking his head in disbelief.

But when he spun on his heel to leave, you called out before you could stop yourself, “Will I ever see you again, Seonghwa?” He stopped in his tracks without turning to looking at you. Stomach coiling into a tight knot of tension, you awaited in the palpable silence, a heavy lump forming in your throat.

“Next time, let’s go somewhere a bit warmer, yeah? Meet me closer to Flamer territory, by the river next to the largest tree in the Grey Forest. If you get to see me shiver, I get to see you sweat, Icer.” And then he continued on his way, until his lithe form disappeared behind the misty haze and the frosted shrubbery.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just what were you thinking, agreeing to meet with a Flamer? Were you always this stupid or had you just realized now? You couldn’t believe you were spending your free time with some random Flamer from the Fire Tribe.

Thoughts of doubt swirled about in your head as you wove your way through the Grey Forest. The low rumbling of the river had you gulping down a large lump in your throat. It was already far too warm for you liking, the little snowflakes that buzzed around your head slowly melting away in water droplets. You didn’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before; not even back when you performed your first major surgery. There was just something about Seonghwa that you couldn’t stay away from… like when your Nan used to tell you no sugar candies before bed, it only made you crave for them all the more.

By the time you spotted Seonghwa leaning against the large tree, you were panting heavily, perspiration marring your skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” The Flamer chimed, seeming to be in a much better mood now that the tables have turned. He seemed quite at ease, not a bead of sweat to be seen. “Already worked up quite a sweat, have we?”

Pathetically, you lifted your arm to conjure a small snowball, proceeding to press it against your head for cool relief. It quickly melted into a slushy of ice and water, dripping down your hair. You frowned, while Seonghwa grinned in return.

“Not so fun, is it?” He teased while you kicked off your boots and dipped your feet into the river, moaning in relief at the slightly cooler temperature of the water. You wished to make it colder, but much to your disappointment, the water wouldn’t crystalize because of how quickly it was rushing by.

Seonghwa crouched next to you, but still kept a decent length away, picking up rocks to skip across the river. For that, you were grateful, because if he made you any warmer than you were at that moment, you would’ve gotten up and stormed back to Icer lands.

“The first time we met,” You started after flicking water onto your face to cool down, making Seonghwa glance at you with curious eyes. “You were telling me to go back to my territory. But now, you made me come closer to Flamer lands. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “You’re just… not what I thought an Icer would be like. It made me curious.”

“And what did you think we’d be like?”

A small shrug lifted his shoulder, “Cold. I mean, not that you aren’t, but cold as in… your hearts would be frozen over as well. I grew up with stories of Icers freezing Flamers to death and placing them in their gardens as statues. But you don’t seem like you’d do that kind of stuff. Especially when you told me that you were a healer.”

“For me, everybody knew the story of how the Fire Tribe would lock the Icers they captured in a sealed room, and the snow they made would melt and they’d slowly watch as the room filled with water, unable to turn it into ice because it was too damn hot. And eventually… they’d drown.” At the last few words, you frosted over your fingers and dunked them beneath the waters’ surface.

Seonghwa’s horrified expression made you chuckle slightly.

“Well, for the record, we don’t do that. We aren’t barbarians.” His words were said huffily as he crossed his arms and turned fully to fix his rapt gaze on you.

“I know. It was merely a silly childhood legend.”

The hours dribbled away fairly quickly, you and Seonghwa exchanging tales of your childhood that only increased in absurdity the farther you recounted. He told you about his friend, San, and how they once snuck into Wind Tribe territory to steal rare Gustberries that only grew in the harsh fields of the Breezers. You told him of Hongjoong and Wooyoung, the former being your closest friend and the latter constantly getting himself hurt. Laughs and giggles and the quiet hum of the river filled the silences in between the gaps of your vivid conversations. The more time you spent talking with him, the more you found yourself growing fond of the fiery-eyed man. Who would’ve thought?

By the time the sun had already set, you and Seonghwa were sitting much closer than when you had first sat down, his heat pulsating through the air in waves. To be honest, you didn’t quite mind the subtle warmth after you got used to the initial shock, but you knew you were pushing your limits. An Icer shouldn’t be out in high temperatures for this long.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, head swimming dizzily as you sucked in lungfuls of air. Slightly concerned, Seonghwa reached out to help you find your feet, but he pulled away at the last moment, just as you had last night. The tables really have turned, you thought in mild amusement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” You swayed on your feet slightly, pressing your cooler palm against your warmer-than-usual forehead.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the cold. You guys are absolute babies when it comes to the heat.” He said, mimicking the same exact words you told him yesterday. A weak laugh slipped past your lips, as you leaned against a tree branch.

Oh, everything was just too hot. You’ve been out of the snow for too long…

All of a sudden, the world was flipped onto its side, damp grass pressing against your face. You could barely register Seonghwa startled yelp before everything went dark.

“Hey. Icer, are you okay? Icer! Y/N, come on, I put you back in the snow, I don’t know what else to do.”

Though your head pounded as though someone had whacked you with a tree branch, you could just barely make out Seonghwa’s concerned tone. When your eyelids fluttered open, you were met with the sight of the Flamer’s handsome, yet alarmed face.

“You okay?” His words came gentle and soothing.

Puffing out a small sigh, you nodded tiredly. Being back in the snow felt much better, “Yeah. Thank you,” You croaked out sheepishly.

Seonghwa beamed down at you, before shuffling away so as the snow around you wouldn’t melt. But just as soon as the smile graced his features, it quickly dissipated into a frown, “Don’t scare me like that,” He practically scolded. “You win, okay? Next time we can stay in the snow.”

Breath caught in your throat, a heavy blush laid over your cheeks, “Next time? You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Seonghwa said somewhat nonchalantly, shocking you.

“I… well, thank you for the, well… uhm, getting me back,” You stumbled over your words the longer Seonghwa stared. Oh, what was this man doing to you? “I have some… healer things I need to do… so, I best get going… erm -” Without another thought, you pushed yourself onto your knees, snow crunching underneath your breeches as you leaned over towards him.

He was so warm. His face, especially, once you brushed your far-cooler lips against his cheekbone. The Flamer reared back with a ridiculous, startled expression, eyes comically wide. One of his hands came up to clamp against the cheek you kissed, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

“It was really nice talking to you. Thank you again,” You murmured while hiding a grin behind your palm. With that, you turned on your heel and left the blushing Flamer alone in the snow.

From then on, you saw Seonghwa practically every day. Oftentimes, you’d meet in the snow and stroll through the Grey Forest until it got far too warm and the both of you would have to turn back. The moment he’d see your skin dampen with sweat, he’d have the two of you abruptly changing course, steering away from the heat of the Fire Tribe. You thought that was incredibly thoughtful of him.

Once, Seonghwa discovered a more shallower part of the river that you could actually crystalize to keep yourself cool. That day was a good day. You had gently taken his scorching hand and tried to help him run across the ice before his heat could melt it away. The two of you left soaking wet, boisterous grins painted across your lips.

Hongjoong, being your closest friend and all, was constantly questioning and badgering on about where you went every afternoon. After all, you were a healer and your tribe needed you. But, however selfish it was, you didn’t want to stop seeing Seonghwa… he made you feel things no person from the Ice Tribe had ever made you feel.

The more you saw him, the more you had the urge to yank his stupidly sharp jawline towards you and shove your lips onto his. You’d imagine the way the warmth radiating off his skin would feel underneath your frigid palms and lips. You thought back to the second-long cheek kiss you gave him a couple months back, a fond smile tickling at the corner of your mouth.

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked from beside you, nudging you slightly. Over a long course of time, the pair of you grew more and more comfortable with one another, inching closer and closer with each meet-up. At this point, you were practically sitting on top of him, one of his legs intertwined with yours and your head laying on his shoulder, the both of you leaning against a frosted tree trunk. Seonghwa smelled of sweet, burning sugar with a heavier scent of roasted coffee beans. He also often complained about how cold you were, although his tone was always fairly light and lacked any true bite.

“Nothing,” You were quick to say, pulling your head away from his shoulder to peer up at him.

Shrugging off your strange attitude, Seonghwa glanced down at you with excited eyes, “You wanna see a new trick I learned?”

Without awaiting your answer (because he knew you’d say yes anyway), Seonghwa cupped his hands together and pulled them away to produce a thin orange flame morphed into the shape of a shooting arrow. You watched in rapt fascination as the fire-arrow spun in the air when Seonghwa whistled sharply. Then, he pushed it away to embed itself into the tree across from you. The tree’s dry bark was quick to catch aflame, but you flicked your hands and caged in the fire with frost, the orange dying out into the blackened wood.

“Learned that during archery,” Seonghwa beamed down at your bemused expression. “You know, only the best Flamers can morph their fires into shapes. It takes a lot of concentration.”

With no effort at all, you twirled your fingers to make an intricate rabbit out of ice, whiskers and fur and all, holding it out to Seonghwa with a minuscule smile. The Flamer scowled slightly, and touched the tip of his finger to the clear crystal, watching it dribble into liquid through the gaps of your palms.

You rolled your eyes to the side before leaning your head back onto his shoulder with a content sigh, “Don’t you compete with me, Park Seonghwa. You’ll never win.”

Much to your surprise, he didn’t bother to argue, and instead pressed his warm nose into your frosty hair, humming, “Yeah, yeah. And who was the one that fainted in the heat again?”

“If I recall correctly, you’ve caught more than three colds just this year! And it’s only the fifth moon, too!”

His hands suddenly darted out to tickle your midriff, to which you squirmed away with a smothered laugh.

“Hm, wanna put it to the test? I promise I’ll go easy,” You said teasingly once you managed to capture his wrists. You could feel his pulse rapidly thumping against the pad of your thumb.

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, you’re not the one that’ll be hurting.”

“Oh, you’re on, Icer.”

The two of you stumbled onto your feet and you held yourself up in a defensive stance. With a faint smile, Seonghwa mimicked your position. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very fair fight; you were a healer and he was a well-trained fighter.

But nonetheless, you were the first to throw, a frozen ball of ice the size of your fist hurtled towards him at top speed. Seonghwa was quick to react, blasting the ice with orange flames until it melted mid-air. You frowned and lithely dodged behind a tree when he reconjured his fire arrows and sent them after you. In retaliation, you quickly brought up a thick ice barrier with a laugh, smothering the thin lines of fire away with the sole of your boots.

The air was chock-full of his crackling flames muted by your snow, crystalline icicles dripping from nearby tree branches, and lame taunts tossed back and forth by the both of you as you play-fought for another couple of minutes.

Seonghwa might’ve had the upper hand in combat, but you knew how to play dirty. Just as he was stepping forward, you sent a sheet of slippery ice to slide underneath his boots. With a bewildered expression, Seonghwa flailed about for a moment, the small fire he prepared in his palm dying down to glowing embers, before tumbling down into the snow.

“That was low, Y/N,” The Flamer huffed out whilst trying to catch his breath against the pale white mound of snowflakes, glaring at you with playfully narrowed eyes. You were glad to see that he wasn’t actually angry at you.

“Do you call defeat, Seonghwa? There’s no shame in admitting it, you know!” Your jaunts were light-hearted as you walked closer to him and Seonghwa found himself grinning despite the cold stinging his skin.

Sticking your hand out to help him up, Seonghwa eyed you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, his playful nature fading away into something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Instead of pushing himself up, he suddenly pulled you down with him, a startled shriek leaving your lips and echoing across the Grey Forest. You fell on top of him with a grunt of pain, meeting his glowing amber eyes with your confused ones. During your hazy moment of puzzlement, Seonghwa tugged you closer, his warm palms curled around your forearms gently.

And then, without further warning, he kissed you. This one was nothing like the first kiss you gave him. That one was merely an innocent peck on the cheek. But this one… this one held passion and furtive desire and yearning. The both of you most definitely wanted this, it was quite clear by now.

Your senses were overwhelmed in the best way possible. All you could smell was him, the heavy undertone of roasted coffee beans sending your head into a cloudy daze. Your lips were slanted against his hot ones, noses of starkly opposite temperatures bumping against one another in your moment of desperation. You weren’t sure where to place your hands, so you balled them up against his jacket, just close enough to feel the hardness of his chest underneath.

For you, everything was hot, searing with a need for more as his plump, warm lips laid over yours. For him, however, everything was cold. The snow beneath was a mild annoyance, and yet he was willing to bear through it for you. You were equally freezing, but Seonghwa welcomed the cold for once, a dangerous ache that would grow to be lethal if neither of you were careful.

A small, frosty sigh left you when he pulled away for a second to stare at you with those intense eyes of his. You stared back with part-confusion and part-longing, lips agape. That apparently set something off in him, because he sat up with you straddling his hips, hands now encircled around your midriff as he kissed you more passionately, leaning forward so your back arched into him.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why were you feeling these emotions for a Flamer of all people? Why couldn’t you have just stayed within your own tribe? Turmoil churned about in you as you kissed him in somewhat of a frantic manner. You hated yourself for loving it so much.

The second time he pulled away, you were both gasping for breath, lips swollen and clothes rumpled and askew. You could tell he wanted to kiss you again, and probably a thousand times after that. To be frank, that was all you wanted as well.

But you knew this had to stop. And so, when he leaned forward to capture your lips with his again, you flinched none-too-subtly and slid off his lap. An expression of genuine hurt flickered across his handsome, reddened features. A twinge of guilt gnawed away at your stomach as you got up onto your shaky feet.

“Go home, Seonghwa,” Was all you could find yourself saying with a hoarse voice. “You’re going to catch a cold again.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. And so, you left him laying crestfallen in the snow, hurriedly making your way back to Icer lands, small blue snowflakes trailing behind you and cold tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

The next day, Seonghwa didn’t show up. You waited by your usual meet-up place, gnawing on your lip anxiously, glancing every which way in hopes of seeing the raven-headed Flamer. In the midst of your worrying turmoil, more and more snowflakes emanated from your skin and it didn’t take long for them to accumulate by your feet, completely covering your boots in a pristilline white blanket. You stepped out of the feather-soft pile, opting to impatiently trudge about in an attempt to steel your nerves.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Seonghwa’s heartbroken expression was imprinted into your mind, leaving you in a mess of guilt and regret and anger.

Why did you have to push him away? Seonghwa, your first non-Icer friend, shoved away as if he meant nothing. You released a frustrated groan, smacking your palm into your forehead.

It made sense that he didn’t want to see you. If you were in his shoes, you probably wouldn’t leave your room and have the light of day touch your face for a whole moon. The idea of Seonghwa upset just didn’t sit right with you. Nonetheless, you could do little else than bide your time for him, however much you hated waiting.

He didn’t show up the next day either. Nor the one after that.

By the fourth day of waiting, you started to feel twinges of discouragement, but you never gave up, determined to set things right with Seonghwa. The niggling thought of him never showing up was one that often pestered you while you patiently awaited his return, although always quickly shoved down into the corner of your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you would do if you never saw him again.

It took just over a week of waiting for him to come back. At that point, you hadn’t thought he’d come back at all, reluctantly accepting that you’ve ultimately ruined your friendship with Seonghwa.

And so, imagine your surprise when his voice rang out through the trees, your name rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Y/N.”

Startled, you flinched so hard that your head hit a branch that hung lowly on the icy tree you were sitting beneath. It reminded you so much of the first time you met him that you couldn’t help but crack a smile after your initial pained grimace.

“Seonghwa,” You gasped, eyes round with shock and mouth agape. “You’re… you’re back!”

The excitement in your voice didn’t go undetected by either of you, but his features were set in stone, unmoving and neutral. Those blazing eyes of his seemed to bore holes into you, and you felt strangely naked underneath his gaze. You noticed that his appearance was more disheveled than ever, eyebags dark and hair not neatly slicked back like usual. He looked broken, but far too proud to admit so.

“Seonghwa…?” You stepped closer, the frosted leafy foliage crumbling under the pressure. This man was someone you deeply cared about, and you knew he felt the same about you.

So why was he staring at you like you meant nothing to him?

A shiver ran down your spine, a sensation that only Seonghwa could bestow upon you. Which was ironic, because the cold feeling that tickled down your spine was ignited by a man with powers of fire and heat.

You and him didn’t belong together. That was clear as day by now.

“Seonghwa,” You mumbled again, reaching out to him once close enough.

He shut his eyes as if looking at you were torture. It stung more than you liked to admit, so you retracted your fingers, clenching them into a fist and dropping them back by your side awkwardly. The air was so tense, so utterly uncomfortable, you could feel the crack in your heart splinter into more branches.

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” Your bottom lip trembled. This wasn’t the Seonghwa you’ve grown to be so fond of. This man scared you. You had half a mind to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense back into him. Where did your Seonghwa go?

An angry huff escaped his lips, misting visibly out of his carmine lips. The very ones you kissed a little over a week ago.

“You can’t… just… don’t say my name. Please. We can’t be like that anymore. We can’t do this. We can’t keep seeing each other.” Seonghwa’s stoic mask disintegrated into raw emotion. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you mirrored the same exact expression.

There was a part of you that wanted to yell and scream and throw sharp icicles at him until he had no choice but to run back to Flamer territory. Anywhere, as long as it was far away from you. The other, more rational part of you, whispered that he was right. After all, you were the one that pushed him away first. It was only fair.

A broken bone won’t heal if you keep putting pressure on the wound. Being a healer, you couldn’t just ignore your own teachings.

But for just once in your life, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to hold Seonghwa tightly in your grasp, no matter how dangerous it was. You wanted to call him yours, and you wanted to be his. You wanted to kiss him again, despite the small action being the ultimate downfall for the both of you.

And so you found yourself croaking out, making sure to emphasize his name, “Seonghwa, you know just as much as I do that there’s something here between us. You can’t just ignore it and toss that all out the window!”

His face screwed up in an effort to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. Perhaps what he felt for you wasn’t yet as strong as what he’d call love, but he wasn’t very far from it. He cared too much for you, so much more than anybody else in his life.

He needed you. And because of that, he had to let you go. Fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t something to be taken lightly. If his tribe knew about this little escapade of his, they’d have his head and would finally have a good enough reason to declare war. Regardless, it was only a matter of time. The Fire Tribe has hated Icers for centuries and centuries, teetering on the brink between neutrality and complete bloodshed.

“We have no choice,” The words were said in a low tone, rumbling deep down in his chest. Seonghwa shuffled closer, so close that you could feel his familiar heat wavering against the ice once again. You longed to reach out and place your hand on his chest, feel his heart thumping against his ribcage frantically, just as yours was. “Do you know what they’d do to you - to us - if our tribes found us together? It’s too risky, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m a healer. I can take care of myself! And we can just stay careful like we always have. Besides, people rarely come into the Grey Forest anymore!” Your words came out fast and jittery and panicked. You thought that you had already come to terms with losing the man that stood in front of you, but you were far from acceptance, you knew that now.

Seonghwa carded a pale hand through dark strands of hair, “I’m sorry, were you not the one that told me to go back home? You started this. You wanted this!” He was so agitated that when he swung his arm back to his side, small crackles of fire lit up his fingers.

Something inside you snapped, “I most definitely did not! It was just… all too sudden and I needed time to think. Now that I’ve already thought, there’s no need for us to run away and never see each other again! You’re overexaggerating, Seonghwa.”

“No, you don’t get it. Don’t you know, Y/N? Our tribes are verging on war. We’re supposed to be enemies, you and I. Don’t be daft!” His voice raised a notch or two louder, and you found yourself shrinking into yourself.

Tears pricked your eyes and you looked away from his fierce gaze, “We don’t have to be a part of that. We can just -”

“Just what? Pretend? We can’t play picnic in the forest and act like our people aren’t planning to slaughter each other!”

“You know what?” You shouted so loudly that the birds nesting on treetops fluttered away, a mass of dark wings and agitated squawks. “If you want to walk away from this relationship, from me, then go ahead! I won’t stop you. Fuck you, Seonghwa. Fuck you for throwing this away the moment it became something more.”

“You were the first to push away!” He protested, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Well, I’m sorry!” You cried out, furiously swiping away the tears that dribbled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I was scared! I’m willing to try again, but you’re not giving me the chance. I waited for you every day, you know.”

“I know. I saw,” He said, suddenly quiet. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

The two of you stared at each other defiantly, heavy breaths misting the air in front of you. His nose was tinted a deep pink, no doubt because of the cold.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa said after a long while. “And you shouldn’t come back here. Ever. I need you to know, Y/N. I’m doing this because I care about you. I expect you to do the same for me.”

Then, after casting you a forlorn expression, he tore his blazing eyes away and stiffly swiveled around in the snow. A gust of wind tousled his hair and he blew out a sigh of pale white mist. The cold made his nose red, and you subconsciously noticed the way he shivered slightly, brushing snowflakes off his sleeve. You’d miss that.

You’d miss him.

His heat grew fainter as his long strides took him further away from you. Your tears had crystallized on your cheeks uncomfortably, a frozen reminder of what you’d lost. You had half the mind to storm right up to Seonghwa and force him to stay here, by your side. That was the child speaking within you, however, and you were no longer a child.

Flicking the solidified salt water on your cheeks away, you did just the same as Seonghwa had minutes ago, trudging your way back to Icer lands. Little did either of you know, the two of you cried fresh tears along the whole journey back.

The last time you ever stepped foot in the Grey Forest was just the day after. Your eyes were puffy and aching, hair a terrible mess, and a wax-sealed envelope was tightly clutched in your hand.

There was a chance that Seonghwa would never come back. In fact, it was most probable that he’d never get the precariously written letter you left by the usual meeting place, considering what he told you yesterday.

Fond memories sunk its sharpened claws into you, stealing away your breath as you cupped both hands over your mouth, overwhelmed in every way possible. You were far too drained to cry, having emptied away all your tears the day before.

And so, you brushed stray snowflakes off the periwinkle-hued wax stamp, placing it down by the tree stump where Seonghwa usually sat.

Then you muttered a quiet, broken goodbye, stomping back to Icer lands. You were never going to see Seonghwa again.

Dear Seonghwa,

I know you told me to never come back. I won’t, I promise. I just wanted to leave the letter because… we never properly got to say goodbye, did we?

Well, congrats, you big dummy. You’re right. You always were, and you always are. We were never supposed to be friends. I mean, I suppose we’re enemies now, aren’t we? It was quite the foolish fantasy we had going on there, huh? I get it, we have to stay loyal to our respective tribes, we can’t risk getting caught, so on so forth. I just hope that when war is declared (which doesn’t seem to be long from now, to be quite honest), I won’t see you on the battlefield. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.

So, I guess this is goodbye. It’s a little hard to believe that I won’t ever get to see your stupid face again. Remember when I threw a snowball at you so hard that it broke your nose? You panicked and blood went splattering everywhere and it didn’t stop until I got you to calm down. For a highly-ranked Flamer soldier, I’d expect you to be less squeamish at the sight of your own blood. It’s alright, though. As a healer myself, blood still freaks me out just a bit.

I thought I ruined your pretty face for all the poor ladies and gents who were mad in love with you back at the Flame Tribe, and I felt so guilty. And then you smiled! I remember feeling envy and astonishment at the same time because how the hell could one look pretty while smiling through a broken, bloody nose?

I’m glad I didn’t ruin your face, though. You’d probably get really mad at me if I did. But you would’ve forgiven me eventually, right?

Frankly, I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness for what I did. And no, I’m not talking about hurting your precious face (they say a once-broken nose makes a man more attractive!). I’m sorry for pushing you away, Seonghwa. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared and I needed time to think. I hope you understand that. If you don’t, that’s okay as well.

If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t have stopped kissing you. I could’ve carried on for days and days and days on end. Did you know that you’re the second person I’ve ever kissed? Don’t ask about the first, drunk Wooyoung isn’t really something to brag about. Well, for the record, you were the first kiss I actually enjoyed. Congrats.

Of course, all this doesn’t mean that it was entirely my fault. I waited for you for a week, and you did nothing but hide behind trees and watch. That was real shitty of you, to put it plainly.

I’ll miss you, though. I’ve never felt this way about any Icer and I doubt I ever will. Of all people to set my sights on, it just had to be a Flamer. What rotten luck we have.

Goodbye forever, Seonghwa. Stay safe, alright? For my sake.

With much love,

Y/N.

Seonghwa read the letter through so quickly that his pupils seemed to be moving at lightning speed. Then, with a numbed heart, he read it a second time, this time much slower.

By the third time he reread each of your carefully handwritten words, warm tears of salt water were running over his cheeks. His face had grown considerably hotter, the salty liquid steaming misty tendrils against his skin. He was angry. So, so ridiculously angry. At himself, at this stupid rivalry between the tribes, at you for being so goddamn perfect. Of course you’d managed to squeeze in jaunts and jokes in a farewell note.

There was a part of him that wished he’d never come back to the Grey Forest and found the letter. Fat droplets of his tears trickled down his jaw and soaked through the parchment, marring the intricate ink characters. With a gentle sigh, Seonghwa brushed the dampness away and stiffly flicked his wrist.

The letter burst into glowing orange flames. And Seonghwa watched on, stifling down the urge to break down into a fit of chest-wracking sobs, until your goodbye was nothing but a measly pile of blackened ashes on his palm.

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