#also gods getting this man out of his trauma responses is like pulling TEETH. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

Text

falling is easy, catching is hard

rated m | also on ao3 cw: recreational drug use, implied sexual content tags: friends with benefits, secret relationship, shotgunning, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sidekick-hero!!! Sandy, you deserve the world, but this 3000 word thing will have to do for now 💖

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

December 19, 1985

Steve Harrington needed sleep.

Eddie Munson had the only thing that would put him to sleep.

But Eddie Munson also held a grudge, a reasonable one, but an annoying one.

“You want me to sell you the last of my good shit? For half price?” Eddie snorted. “You’re out of your damn mind, Harrington.”

“Munson, please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Steve begged.

“Why would I do you any favors? You never did me any.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, waiting somewhat impatiently for a response from Steve.

Steve didn’t have one.

Eddie was right; He didn’t really deserve a favor from someone who had let his friends make his first senior year absolutely miserable.

But Robin’s voice looped in his head: “Be vulnerable sometimes, Steve. People may surprise you.”

“Listen man, I just really need to sleep, alright? I’ve tried everything else.” Steve sighed. “This is pretty much my last hope.”

Which was a truth and a lie. He’d already tried smoking some weed, knew that it worked.

Eddie’s forehead creased in the middle.

That’s kinda cute, Steve thought to himself before shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by big, brown eyes and shiny lips.

“You been to a doctor?” Eddie asked.

“The sleeping pills make them worse.”

“Make what worse?” Eddie pushed.

“The nightmares.”

Eddie nodded once, understanding flitting across his face as he relaxed his arms by his sides.

“How long you been havin’ them?” Eddie asked as he walked around to the bench at the picnic table, opening his lunchbox.

“I guess…technically years. They’ve been worse since July though.” Steve knew he had to be careful about what he said, couldn’t give away more than what the public knew about what happened at the mall, but Eddie seemed trustworthy enough to handle this part. “Doctors said it’s normal for trauma or whatever.”

Eddie nodded, whispered something under his breath, and shuffled through his box.

“Forgot you worked at the mall over the summer. Kinda crazy what happened,” he said as he pulled a small discolored plastic bag from the box. “I’ll make you a one-time only deal, Stevie.”

Steve ignored the butterflies in his stomach at the nickname, kicked at the dirt under his feet, and gestured for Eddie to continue.

“I’m not giving my product away for half price. I’m a businessman and that’s not a smart financial decision for my business.” Eddie held up a hand when Steve looked like he was going to argue. “But! I will share a joint with you right here, right now, for free.”

“Um. What?”

“I was gonna smoke this one tonight as a celebration for passing all my first semester finals by the skin of my teeth. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” Eddie’s smirk made the butterflies even worse.

Steve was going to regret this.

God, he was so stupid.

“Yeah, okay.”

Smoking with Eddie the first time was nice, but the second, and third, and fourth times were even better.

— — — — — — —

January 16, 1986

“You’re late, Stevie. I was starting to worry you’d gotten frostbite.” Eddie’s smile warmed Steve from the inside out, the shiver wracking his body more to do with the growing fondness he had for the curly-haired man in front of him.

Eddie was bundled up like they were in Antarctica, and to be fair, it was below freezing outside right now.

Steve offered to meet somewhere else, but Eddie insisted they come to his usual spot.

And then Steve saw it: Eddie had built them a fire. It was small, he probably didn’t want to draw any attention from the road, but it was throwing heat that Steve craved.

“Come warm up before we get into it,” Eddie waved him over, his gloved hands looking out of place.

Steve was used to seeing shiny rings on his fingers, blisters on his fingertips from playing too much guitar.

Steve stood next to him in front of the fire, holding his own gloved hands out to try to warm his body as much as possible.

“Any reason I couldn’t just come to your house or something?” Steve asked, not quite getting rid of the attitude in his tone.

“My Uncle has tonight off. He’s a pretty chill guy, but I think actively watching me sell drugs to someone would maybe cause a heart attack.” Eddie sighed. “I told him I had a date tonight so I couldn’t really have you show up after that.”

“A date?” Steve grinned, nudging Eddie’s arm. “I didn’t even bring flowers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but looked away to cover a blush. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to put out until there’s a dozen roses in my hand.”

He meant it as a joke surely, but something in Steve’s chest clenched at the thought of spoiling Eddie like that. Maybe not roses, that didn’t quite seem his style.

“I’ll try to remember them next time,” Steve managed to say, nearly choking on his own words.

What was he even doing? Flirting? Eddie didn’t even consider him a real friend, why would he want him to bring him flowers?

“Got a new strain tonight. It’s supposed to be a little stronger, but fades faster, so you should be good to drive back home in a couple hours.” Eddie pulled the baggie out of his pocket, lunchbox long gone after meeting twice a week for the last month.

Steve wasn’t really a customer anymore, no matter how they tried to keep up appearances that he was.

He still tipped Eddie, or tried to, but usually Eddie ignored it and just said it was a favor to help him sleep.

“How strong?” Steve finally asked as Eddie pulled the lighter from his pocket.

“Might make you a little floatier than usual. Not hallucinogenic, though.” Eddie knew he couldn’t handle that kind of trip. That’s why he stayed away from his other offerings. “I tested it out myself earlier this week.”

Steve wasn’t reading into that.

“Okay.” He fought off a shiver, this time from actually being cold. “Guess it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll drive you home if it’s too much.” Eddie’s offer was kind, going above and beyond what a dealer would do for a customer, but Steve wasn’t reading into it. “Or you can nap it off in the van for an hour or so before heading home. Whatever.”

Eddie lit the joint, breathing in long and slow, holding the smoke until Steve was sure he would pass out before slowly letting it out.

He handed the roll to Steve, who didn’t think about what Eddie meant by stronger, and took his normal pull, choking halfway through.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took the joint from him, his hand grabbing onto Steve’s arm as he coughed.

“Jesus Christ, man, you good?” Eddie asked him.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Sorry. It is a lot stronger.”

Eddie searched his face, relaxing as Steve’s breathing went back to normal. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe take it slower?” Eddie teased. “Or- no never mind.”

“Or what?” Steve asked, already feeling the heaviness that came with smoking.

“Ever shotgunned before?”

Steve’s heart stopped. He’d venture to say he was even stone cold sober again after that question.

“Um. No.” He hadn’t. He’d wanted to with Nancy, figured it would be the only way she would be interested in trying weed, but it never worked out. “Would it be easier?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Usually. We can give it a try if you want.”

Steve nodded before he really processed what he was being offered.

Eddie’s mouth would be very, very close to his. Possibly even on his.

And he’d be sharing breath with him, probably more than one if it worked.

Eddie pulled the picnic table closer to the fire and sat on the bench. He patted the seat next to him.

“Might as well get comfy, then,” Eddie said.

Steve sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth coming from his side, close enough to hear Eddie’s hitched breath when they made contact.

Close enough to want to be closer.

“Alright, so I’ll start with a small one, and you just have to breathe in when I breathe out.”

“Is it-” Steve played with a loose thread on his gloves. “Your lips are gonna touch mine?”

Eddie suddenly looked nervous, like he regretted offering this at all, and Steve couldn’t allow that.

“I don’t mind! I mean, I want you to!” Steve panicked. “Like, it’s fine! I know we have to for the whole thing to work.”

“Yeah. Um, it’s not like, weird or anything. It’s just me helping you get high.”

It wasn’t weird, but it definitely was hot.

Eddie took a drag, leaned into Steve’s space, and cupped his jaw, tilting his head back for easier access.

Steve couldn’t breathe.

But he had to, that was the whole fucking point of doing this.

His lips parted and Eddie’s warmth coated him, covered him better than the fire.

He breathed in as Eddie breathed out, his hand seeking contact with anything solid to keep him on this earth.

He found it in Eddie’s hip, his fingers gripping tight as Eddie lingered beyond the point of the smoke clearing from his mouth to Steve’s.

Their lips brushed lightly, an agonizingly soft touch that Steve tried his best not to chase as it drifted away.

He bit back a whine at the loss, opening his eyes to see Eddie still surprisingly close, pupils huge.

It’s just the weed, Steve thought to himself.

It definitely wasn’t their almost-kiss.

Steve breathed out, swallowing once the smoke was gone from his mouth.

“Good?” Eddie asked.

Steve should answer him, should nod and thank him for doing this, maybe ask him for another hit so he could try to blame his fidgeting on being high.

But Steve wanted to kiss him.

Not shotgun, not barely brush lips, not act like this wasn’t something more than what it started as.

Robin told him he deserved nice things, and he deserved to be happy, and he did.

So Steve let himself try to have a nice thing.

“Again?” Steve asked, leaning in before Eddie had a chance to take a drag.

“Woah, big boy.” Eddie’s hands grabbed his shoulders, not pushing him away, but holding him back from making contact that he so desperately wanted. “Think that first hit might have gotten to you already. Let’s take a minute.”

“No, I-”

“Steve. You’re high.”

His tone was final, and something about the way his eyes darted away made Steve think that maybe this wasn’t the first time someone tried to make a move on him because he was giving them something.

He didn’t know Steve was into men, either.

Steve could just tell him, though. Let him know it’s not just the drugs, that he’d already had feelings for him before.

But the high was kicking in and Steve’s tongue felt like an iron weight.

“How about I get you some water?” Eddie asked, pulling away and walking swiftly to his van.

Steve didn’t protest. He did need some water.

Eddie sat on the other side of the table when he came back, handed over a bottle of water with a small smile, and watched as Steve gulped most of it down.

“This is good shit,” Steve admitted, slurring his words a little from the effort of moving his mouth. “Better than usual.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice treat once in a while.”

They sat in silence for another 30 minutes or so, though the time didn’t even feel like it was passing to Steve until Eddie stood up and guided him to the passenger seat of his van.

“Wha-?”

“I’m gonna drop you off at home. You got someone who can help you get your car tomorrow?” Eddie buckled his seatbelt, Steve tried not to be too endeared. “Maybe Buckley? Or Wheeler?”

Steve’s brows furrowed.

Nancy had barely talked to him in months, not since she gave him one awkward hug after Starcourt. Robin couldn’t drive, or at least said she couldn’t. That’s why he drove her to school and all of her work shifts.

“Maybe you could?” Steve suggested.

Eddie sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

— — — — — — —

February 14, 1986

Steve got him flowers.

He hadn’t seen him since the night he drove Steve home.

By the time Steve woke up the next morning, his car was parked in the driveway with a note on his keys that said ‘Promise there’s not a dent on her.’

And then Eddie had ignored his calls. He’d conveniently never been at his spot anytime Steve had ever met up with him before.

He couldn’t even pass a message through Dustin because Dustin was too curious for his own good and would probably figure out that Steve wanted to kiss him.

Which is all Steve thought about for the last month while he figured out what to do next.

Robin was no help at all, said he should just corner him after Hellfire one night and make a move if he wanted him so bad.

As if that could ever be an option.

This was his last chance, though.

He’d confirmed with one of his bandmates – Garrett, maybe? – that he didn’t have plans tonight and refused to sell on Valentine’s Day.

Steve stood in front of Eddie’s trailer, a bouquet of white and pink daisies in his hand, feeling particularly stupid.

The van was here, so Eddie was here, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk up the steps and knock on the door. This was maybe the most idiotic thing he’d ever done and he probably should leave before he was seen by someone.

“Steve?” Eddie opened the front door, confusion clear even from a distance. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I said I’d bring you flowers.”

He felt so dumb, standing here holding a bouquet of flowers for a guy who didn’t even want to sell drugs to him anymore. He considered dropping the flowers and making a run for it, but Eddie leaned against the door frame and scrunched his nose up.

Like he was trying not to smile.

Like maybe Steve did something right.

“Better bring them in so they can get water, then,” Eddie said with a hesitant smile.

Steve would take any type of smile, as long as it meant he wasn’t being sent away with his tail between his legs.

He rushed inside, didn’t think about the smell of Irish Spring coming off of Eddie, or the way his arm brushed against his side as he passed him.

Steve stood in Eddie’s trailer, taking in what Eddie called home, holding the flowers in front of him with hope.

Eddie closed the front door and walked over to him, holding his hand out.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers just for me to sell you drugs again, ya know.” Eddie smiled sadly. “I would have let you buy if you really needed it.”

“You won’t return my calls so how would you know if I needed it?” Steve countered.

“Ouch.” Eddie sucked a breath in through his teeth. “You’re right. I, uh, was giving you some space.”

“What made you think I wanted any?” Steve took the flowers back from Eddie’s hand, setting them on the coffee table behind him. “If I wanted space, I wouldn’t have bothered calling at all.”

“That’s what Wayne said, but-”

“Well, maybe you should’ve listened to Wayne.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I fucked things up by wanting to kiss you. I’m sorry if the flowers are too much. I’m sorry if I’m too much.”

Steve couldn’t look at Eddie after his confession, or his attempt at one. It may have been more of an apology, but he figured his intentions were clear enough.

“Steve. Stevie. Look at me.” Eddie cupped his cheeks, that familiar warmth covering Steve in safety. “You’re not too much. Don’t ever, ever let anyone tell you that you’re too much. You were so high, I didn’t wanna take advantage. I thought if I just left you to think about it long enough, you’d realize what happened was just from the weed.”

Steve shook his head, reaching his hands up to circle Eddie’s wrists. “It wasn’t just the weed. You’d know that if you let me talk to you before now.”

Eddie rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone, eyes dancing across the freckles that covered Steve’s surprisingly sun-kissed skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.”

“You’re forgiven if you listen now,” Steve took a breath, letting his hands run down Eddie’s arms and settle on his hips. “I like you. A lot. Definitely more than a customer should, more than a friend should, maybe more than a regular boyfriend should. It’s okay if that’s too much, but it’s what I have to give.”

“You’re really something, Stevie.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I think I’ll take what you’re giving if that’s alright with you.”

“Please,” Steve breathed out as Eddie’s lips crushed against his fully.

Steve always felt so much, always gave so much, hardly ever had anyone who would take what he had to give.

But Eddie was taking it, forcing it from Steve to his own body, his own heart, like it was the only thing he wanted or needed.

“If you wanna buy tonight, you’re gonna be real disappointed,” Eddie gasped out against his lips when they came up for air minutes, maybe hours, later. “I don’t sell on major holidays.”

“Is Valentine’s Day a major holiday?” Steve asked, brows furrowing.

“It is when I get to have you in my bed.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“That sound okay to you, big boy?” Eddie was smooth. Who could have possibly guessed?

Steve barely got out a ‘yes’ before Eddie was pulling him down the short hallway to his bedroom and rattling off things he wanted to do to him.

Steve Harrington probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

But Eddie Munson would make it worth his while.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #birthday fic

651 notes · View notes

triptuckers · 3 years ago

Text

Honesty - Kaz Brekker x reader

Request: oh hell yea "I saw we could send in requests which you don’t need to tell me twice bc I have some things in mind if that’s okay? I had an idea for a Kaz x female reader where he’s had feelings for you for the longest time but has never acted upon those feelings due to his trauma. Until one day something doesn’t go as planned during a Dregs job because his thoughts are with you and he lost his focus for just a moment. This is the moment he realises he has to talk to you about his crush on you but when he looks for you he notices you somewhere secluded in the arms of Jesper making out. How would he react to the fact that the girl he has had feelings for has been secretly dating his right hand? Lots of angst if that’s okay? 😬" Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader (plus some slight Jesper x reader) Summary: When Kaz finally figures out his feelings for you, and wants to tell you about it, he finds something he wasn't prepared to see Warnings: angst oh god so. much. angst. let's see what else uhh mentions of violence, bruises, language, kaz being a lil jealous jerk Word count: 2.6K A/N: this is the one yall I got this request and HA I was so ready to write some heartbreaking angst, get ready for this one (also I wasnt sure if I had to tag this as kaz x reader of jesper x reader, but as you can see I went with kaz) TAG LIST (grishaverse): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy TAG LIST (Kaz Brekker): @mufnasa @Janesofia7 @stairscortana add yourself to my tag lists here

Because it was a one-person kind of job and it involved picking quite a few locks, Kaz told the crows to take the night off, while he took care of it.

Given that it was very rare for Kaz to tell you all that you could have the night off, neither of you was stupid enough to question it. Instead, you all wished him good luck and took off to do all those things you normally missed out on when you were away on a job.

Everyone trusted Kaz to be able to handle a simple job on his own. You'd spend enough time with him to know he'd be alright.

And he was.

It was indeed a simple job, all Kaz had to do was sneak into a merchant's home, pick the lock of the safe in the office, steal an important contract between two merchants, and get out.

Part of him liked the solitude of wandering around a big house in the dark. But another part of him wished you'd be there with him. Kaz had shook his head to get you out of his mind, and continued to do the thing he needed to do.

After successfully completing the job and getting the contract he needed, Kaz is standing in front of a closed door, listening for any sounds in the hallway on the other side of the door.

His minds wanders off to you again.

You'd wished him good luck before he walked out the door, and you'd given him one of you signature smiles. Saints, he loved your smile.

He was sure you could fix anything, all you had to do was smile at him. You comforted him in so many ways, and you probably had no idea. Though you could figure it out if you sensed something was going on.

The clues were all right there, all you had to do was find out all the times he asked for you help were all just excuses to be able to spend more time with you.

It was stupid, really. He would invite you up to his office to go over plans for a job, even though he had figured it all out already. He'd pair the two of you on jobs. He did anything to be able to spend time with you.

A cloud slowly moves through the night sky, allowing the moon to illuminate the room. The sudden light abruptly brings Kaz back to reality.

He'd been standing in front of the door for way too long, just thinking about you. He curses himself for losing his focus. For allowing himself to get so lost in his thoughts on you.

Kaz really needs to do something about it. It's almost embarrassing how starstruck he is by you. And he really can't have you distract him on a job like that again, even if you're not in the room with him.

After listening again for sounds in the hallway, Kaz slowly pushes the door open. Upon discovering the hallway is empty, he steps out of the office and makes his way to the front door of the house.

All the way back to the Slat, he's thinking of ways on how to tell you. He's never been really good at talking about his feelings. And he wants to make sure he tells you the right thing. The last thing he wants is to stutter to try and find the words to say to you.

Eventually, he settles on just getting you alone first. He'll figure out what to say after that.

The walk to the Slat takes a while, given that the Barrel is on the other side of Ketterdam. His leg starts to ache but he ignores it, he'd endured worse.

When he finally sees the Slat in the distance, he notices there are still some lights burning. The window of your room is dark. Kaz hopes you're just sitting downstairs.

But when he enters the kitchen, it's nearly empty. Except for Nina, who is sitting there having a cup of tea before bed.

'Hey!' she says. 'How'd it go?'

In response, Kaz shows her the folded piece of paper.

Nina grins. 'Told you it would be an easy job for you.' she says.

'It was.' says Kaz. 'Have you seen Y/N?'

To his surprise, Nina starts smirking.

'Oh yeah, I've seen Y/N.' says Nina. 'She went out back a while ago.'

Kaz moves to walk to the back door but Nina speaks up again.

'Kaz, I wouldn't do that if I were you.' says Nina. 'I don't think she wants anyone to see her.'

He gives her a confused look, not noticing the playful look in Nina's eyes. He then starts to worry about you. Did something happen to you? Why didn't you want anyone to see you?

Kaz quickly walks to the door and opens it, ignoring Nina who yells at him not to do so. He abruptly freezes in the doorway.

You're indeed there, but you're not alone. A tall figure, who Kaz quickly identifies as Jesper, has you pinned to the wall of the alley.

Aside from the street lamp, it's completely dark. It's hard to tell which limps belong to you and which ones belong to Jesper.

Kaz just stands there, rooted to the spot. He can't move. He just stands there, watching the girl he fell in love with kiss another man. And it's not just any other man, it's Jesper.

The cheerful sharpshooter who had been his right hand for so long. He'd been by Kaz' side for years, joining the Dregs just shortly after you had. Jesper had managed to save Kaz a number of times with his quick shooting. And now he's standing there, kissing you.

Kaz feels sick, like he's going to throw up. Like the air got knocked out of his lungs all at once. The world is spinning. This must be some bad dream, he was asleep and this is a nightmare, it isn't real.

But then you finally seem to notice something is going on.

You pull away from Jesper and look past his arm, to see Kaz standing there with a bewildered look on his face.

'Kaz?' you say, not letting go of Jesper. 'Are you alright? Did something happen on the job?'

Jesper turns around as well now, curiously looking at Kaz.

Instead of looking at you and answering you, Kaz turns his attention to Jesper. The sick feeling in his stomach fades away and gets replaced by anger. Jesper had the guts to kiss you, his girl.

Rage takes over, the same kind of rage that had gotten him the name Dirtyhands. It flashes like a red light in front of his eyes. Without wasting another second, Kaz raises his cane and jabs one of Jesper's legs, sending him to the ground.

'What the fuck, Kaz!' you yell at him.

You rush over to Jesper's side, but Kaz roughly shoves you away with his cane, kneeling next to the taller boy. He angrily looks at him, gritting his teeth.

'You don't get to kiss her just because I can't.' says Kaz in a low voice.

Both you and Jesper look confused, having no clue wat Kaz is talking about.

'Saints, what on earth are you talking about?' says Jesper, rubbing the sore spot on his leg.

'She belongs with me, and you can't kiss her because I can't- because I won't- I forbid you from it.' says Kaz.

You look at Kaz, not believing what you're hearing. You'd never seen him like this, so angry, so full of rage. And you'd never seen him use his cane to hurt his crows before.

'I don't know what the fuck you are talking about.' says Jesper. 'But I'd appreciate it if next time, you'd say something instead of using that damned cane of yours. Now if you could excuse us, we went out back to have some privacy.'

Kaz' eyes widen in anger and you watch in horror as he raises a fist and swings it down, hitting Jesper's cheek hard. Before he can strike again, you catch a hold of Kaz' arm and drag him away from Jesper.

You drag him all the way back through the door and into the kitchen. Nina looks up, probably having heard something was going on. It takes one look from you for her to hurry up the stairs, leaving you alone.

You take Kaz over to one of the tables and roughly push him into a chair.

'Stay here.' you say as you glare at him.

Kaz, a feeling of numbness washing over him, doesn't protest.

You walk out the door again and he can hear you softly talking to Jesper. A while later, you and Jesper walk into the kitchen. Kaz sees a bruise is already forming on Jesper's cheek, right where he hit him.

Jesper looks at Kaz with a mixed expression of pain and confusion on his face.

You find some ice and put it on Jesper's cheek.

'Keep that on there.' you tell him. 'Go upstairs, I'll come to your room in a second. I have to talk to Kaz first.'

Jesper nods and as soon as he's out the door, you furiously turn to Kaz.

'You're going to tell me what the fuck that was about right now. No lies, no excuses, you're going to tell me the truth. Now.' you say, dragging out a chair and sitting down in front of Kaz.

'You don't get to kiss her because I can't?' you say, repeating the words he said earlier. 'What the hell was all that about?'

Normally, Kaz knows exactly what to say. All the time. He's always got an answer ready. But whenever it's just the two of you, it's like he forgets how to talk.

'Well?' you press on. 'Say something, for Saints sake!'

When he still doesn't say something, you slam your hand down on the table, and Kaz flinches slightly. You never got this angry.

'I don't want to see Jesper kissing you because I want to do that. That should have been me.' says Kaz.

'Well you can't even take your damn gloves off, did you really think you'd be able to kiss me?' you say in a cold voice.

'With time, maybe.' says Kaz.

You sigh and softly shake your head. You've been part of the Dregs for years. You care a lot about Kaz. But the bond you have with him is just not a romantic one. Apparently, Kaz didn't think so.

'You fucking hit Jesper.' you say, your voice less loud. 'He's going to have a bruise on his cheek.'

'I was angry.' is all Kaz says.

'Clearly.' you say. 'You need to apologise to him.'

Kaz looks at you. 'Yes, Kaz, you have to say you're sorry.' you say.

When Kaz gets up, you stop him.

'Not now.' you say. 'He doesn't want to see you.'

Kaz sits back down again and starts to avoid your gaze. After sitting in silence for a while, you sigh.

'Why'd you have to do it?' you wonder out loud.

'I don't know.' says Kaz. 'Just- seeing someone else kiss you like that, it made me so angry. Like something snapped inside of me.'

'If your really feel the way you say you feel about me, why didn't you say something sooner?' you say.

'I was scared.' admits Kaz. 'That you wouldn't have me because I wouldn't be able to kiss you, to touch you.'

'Physical affection isn't the only thing in a relationship.' you say.

'I know, I know, I just-' 'Kaz.'

He finally looks at you and you can see he's hurt. But you'd rather tell him the truth than lie to protect his feelings.

'Even if you would be able to touch me, a relationship would have never worked. Not for me, at least. I'm sorry, Kaz, I'm not going to sugarcoat it.' you say. 'I love you and I care about you, but not like that. I'm in love with Jesper. We didn't tell you or the other crows because if word gets out, people will see it as one of our weaknesses. I don't want to know what they'd do to get to me, or to get to Jesper.'

You look at Kaz, scanning his face for a reaction. He's letting your words sink in, thinking about them.

'Look, Kaz, I'm sorry. I'd rather tell you the truth than lie to make you feel better. I love Jesper, and right now, I have no intention at all of breaking up with him. You're going to have to find a way to deal with that.' you say and you get up.

'Apologise to him tomorrow, I'll talk to him.' you say. 'And next time, use your words. Not your cane or your fists.'

Kaz watches as you walk toward the stairs, to get to Jesper's room. He watches you as you disappear out of his line of sight. Regret starts to set in. He shouldn't have hit Jesper. He just felt so angry when he saw you with someone else.

You love Jesper, and there's nothing he can do about it. Right now, all he could do was sit in silence, getting lost in his thoughts wondering about what could have been if he had only talked to you sooner.

Meanwhile, you have reached Jesper's room. You knock and open the door, finding Jesper sitting on the bed. He's still got the ice pressed against his cheek.

'Hey.' you say as you walk up to him. Jesper briefly smiles at you but winches immediately at the movement. You sit down next to him and carefully take his hand in yours so you could remove the ice and take a look at his cheek.

Indeed, the skin of his cheek is red, a bruise forming. You lean in to softly press a kiss to his cheek before putting the ice back in place.

'What did Kaz have to say?' says Jesper.

'Um, that he has feelings for me. And that seeing you kiss me just made him angry. That's why he hit you.' you say.

'Should've used his words instead.' mumbles Jesper.

'That's what I told him.' you say. 'But I also told him to find a way to deal with it, because I am not going to break up with you.'

At your words, Jesper smiles. 'Thanks for kissing my war injury better.' he says, making you chuckle. 'I love you.'

'Love you too, Jes.' you say. You smile and get up to go and get ready for bed.

Little did you know that Kaz was standing right outside the door. He'd stopped there on his way to his room on the top floor. The three words you spoke to Jesper stung in his chest.

He'd give anything to hear you say those words to him. But you had made it clear that wasn't going to happen. Eventually, Kaz would have to find a way to deal with it.

After all, both you and Jesper are two of his most valuable and skilled crows. He couldn't just dismiss you because you love each other.

He'd find a way to deal with it. But not tonight. For tonight, he settles for going to his room and opening a bottle of kvas instead.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

158 notes · View notes

zellerysworld · 4 years ago

Text

『 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 』

Sukuna x GN!Reader

WC: 6.7k

Tags: Angst, murder, reincarnation, heavy violence, language, suggestive themes, heavy trauma, mentions of genocide, origin story, slight soft sukuna

I rewrote this bitch three times trying to perfect it- and I’m still not 100% happy with it because there’s so many ways I wanted to write this. Plus I didn’t get the promotion at work so I just got depressed. anyways I wrote the story but @cqcophobiq requested a gender neutral reader. <3

A/N: Readers abilities are touching people to make them sleep, transfer memories, and see past (for those with DID, talk to the souls within the persons mind). They serves as a informant by going inside victims heads to look in their pasts for curses that were around them; informing teammates of location and grade level. They can also gain powers from whomever they touch for a short period of time.

Ex: Sukuna can give Malevolent Shrine to them for battle, but after one use/within five minutes, it vanishes. If they use powers that are harsh on the body, (domain expansions or strong cursed manipulation) they faint/get nose bleeds. *Reader only has abilities in modern times*

⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈

Around 1000 years ago, you ventured out into the woods seeking to kill a god. 1000 years later, you are reincarnated so you may meet this god once again.

⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈

Fear: that is all you felt while you watched the mass murderer known as Ryomen Sukuna walk throughout the same forest you were in. It took so long to hunt him down, and now the moment has finally come. You have trained for years to defeat the villain of your story, but his presence was more intimidating than you had anticipated.

He stopped to bend down, putting out a hand to stroke a sleeping fox. Surrounding the regular-looking male was a meadow filled to the brim with tall grass and flowers, hidden away by bamboo and birch trees. Everything looked so peaceful around Sukuna, as if he was a Dryad. ‘How could he look so peaceful?’ You thought to yourself. It also felt as if you were lied to, since most people told you he had facial marks and four arms, which he did not have.

It looked as if he were another human; that was until you flimsily attempted to move forward. Having been hiding within a large bush, you couldn’t see what was beneath you. And just like, a cracking sound emitted from the twig below you. You closed your eyes and rolled your shoulders back, whispering to yourself, “Oh fu-.”

Now, how exactly did you get yourself into this situation? And why were you in the middle of an uncharted forest trying to stalk Ryomen Sukuna? Well, it is a rather gruesome story for you to look back upon.

The Heian Age is at its peak in Japan, while Jujutsu sorcery is also at its peak as a ripple effect. (Many young children in this period began to claim they have “seen” curses.) Ryomen Sukuna was a young sorcerer, having attended the very school you attended. While amid his fourth and final year, and in your first year, he burned down almost every inch of the school alongside slaughtering over half of the staff and students.

You took it upon yourself to track him down with the intent to kill for revenge. Teachers that survived had entrusted you with information about him after learning of your plans. Granted most told you not to do it, but the ones that supported it told you information of his appearance, how he secretly practiced sacred and forbidden jujutsu techniques, and his unwavering strength. With every day that passes, Sukuna grows stronger at rates nobody can foretell.

So here you are, three years after the incident. The reason for why he did it is still unknown; But you trained to your breaking point for this moment to happen- having bled, cried, screamed, and thrown up countless times. Your classmates called you insane for thinking you could beat Sukuna, but none of their words mattered to you. Sukuna stole people from your life that you could never get back.

Now, back to your current situation. Sukuna shot his head up to the sound, his lips curving to reveal blades for teeth, “Myyyyyy Myyyyy!!! Do I have a challenger?” His voice stunned you, fear engulfing your mind as his body morphed into a four armed and nearly 8 foot tall being with black markings wrapped around his body. Although barely visible, Sukuna first saw your eyes that had such a curious wonder that was tinted with rage.

Before you could even take your bandages off to fight, he was behind you and holding your neck, “A jujutsu sorcerer, huh?”

Air left your lungs faster than anticipated, causing you to slightly panic. You closed your eyes, then leaned your neck over in an attempt to play dead, which worked but to only half of its extent. When your neck rolled to the side, Sukuna slightly loosened his grip. This gave you room to breathe before catching him off guard with a back-kick to his ribs.

The unexpected hit made his brows furrow, anger stirring in his stomach at your cleverness. When your clogs hit the ground, you took off running as if an army of samurai were in pursuit behind. And although you were fast, Sukuna was faster. The sound of his footsteps gave the warning that he was gaining up to you.

Logs and fallen tree branches were dodged by your legs as your jumped over them, Sukuna following behind. The sound of crunching grass as the demon-like man pursued you made the experience even more terrifying, knowing that with every step you took, he took two. There were so many sounds, making it harder to think with the already small amount of time given to you.

You made the judgement call to stop, believing that you could backhand him from behind by catching him off guard. However, it became apparent that you made a grave mistake the second two muscular elbows hit the left side of your waist. The feeling of your ribs cracking on both of sides of your waist when you slammed against the tree made you scream out in pain. Your eyes widened at having never witnessed strength such as his nor pain such as this.

Out of response to the pain, tears formed at the edges of your squinting eyes as your back slid against the tree. Sukuna approached you, cracking his fingers in excitement of killing another jujutsu sorcerer such as yourself. However, you had a trump card that was now in play.

You bit down on a piece of cloth that held the bandages on your left hand together. Ripping the bandages off with your teeth, Sukuna let out a menacing laugh, “You really think jujutsu can help you now?”

His left hand strangled your neck, pulling you upwards to be eye level with him. When Sukuna noticed that your orbs showed no fear, his brows furrowed in curiosity. Just seconds before he was going to snap your neck, both of your hands latched onto his arm. You forced a nerve connection, sending sounds of people screaming, children crying, and raging fires into his head.

The sudden sounds caused Sukuna to release you from his grip, “What-what Is this…?” He looked around, trying to see where the sound was coming from. You leaned against the tree while holding your left side, “How could you forget?” He looked down to you, his eyes widening at the realization of where the sounds came from.

“Those are the sounds of the people you killed!”

Sukuna froze, realizing that you were not just an ordinary jujutsu user. Catching him while he was still confounded, you put all your force into an aggressive headbutt. He stumbled back a few feet before growling at the dripping blood from his scalp. When he looked up, a smirked was smeared across his blood-stained face, “You’ll die here.”

His hands joined, making the symbol for a domain expansion spell. However, you temporary gained his powers after touching his arm a few moments ago. As he opened his mouth, you cut him off while bringing your hands together, “Domain Expansion!”

“What?”

Your eyes rolled back, “Malevolent shrine!”

The domain built around him, fear striking Sukuna’s mind at the sight of seeing you mimic his powers. His technique was too powerful for your body to handle though, causing you to stumble. You blinked twice before coughing up blood into your hands. Sukuna walked forward as the domain fell apart, his interest being piqued at how your powers work.

Looking up at Sukuna, blood fell from the crevices of your lips before you fell onto the ground. His powers completely defeated you from within, being too harsh on your body. When you hit the ground, all that was in your tunnel of vision was black. It felt like it was just a few minutes that you had been knocked out, but when you opened your eyes, the forest surrounding you was nearly pitch black.

“You snore.”

Hearing Sukuna’s voice, your body snapped up from the ground beneath you to find him sitting against an oak log. When you tried to use your hands to fight him, you quickly became aware that they were tied up. You huffed at the feeling of the rope while noticing the black kimono you wore had been taken off to reveal your white Cossack.

Sukuna’s lids opened to reveal crimson-colored eyes. In his current state, he was back to being inkless and having two arms. He glared at you with a sense of sternness, “Tell me how you did that.”

“Did what?” You snapped back, having no respect for him.

“Listen,” he stood and walked over to you, bending his knees down so his face would be in yours, “Only reason you are alive right now is because I say so. So, either tell me how you did it, or I’ll cut your hands off with my fingernails.” He sat down in front of you, crossing his legs and arms.

To be honest, death seemed better than having to deal with this situation. Before replying to him, you had to think if you really wanted to explain your powers. Either way around, you were going to die so it didn’t matter. Talking about your powers only delays your inevitable future. And it’s obviously been hours, so if help would have come, they were either killed by Sukuna or never came.

You sighed, leaning your head back before making eye contact with him. “My technique was used by ancient sorcerers; They call it ‘Somnium Nexum’.”

“I know all of the jujutsu techniques; how come I have never heard of yours?”

“Well, if you would shut the fuck up then I could explain.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at your disrespect, “Why do the generations become more disrespectful with each passing year?”

“Do you really have room to talk about disrespect?” You huffed, continuing, “My technique hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years now. It went extinct, until I was born that is. My hands… I use them to transfer memories to people, see memories of people, and temporarily steal people’s powers. That’s how I did it.”

“Those sounds were the people I killed. You were there that day?”

“Of course I was!” You shouted, anger filling your voice as tears formed at the edges of your eyes, “You killed people I loved! You ruined peoples lives…. WHY?! WHAT DID YOU GAIN?”

“I gained revenge.”

Silence fell between the two of you. The moon’s reflected light shined against your eyes as tears rolled down your flustered cheeks. Your lips parted to speak, but there were no words. Revenge? It didn’t make sense to you. What did all those people do to cause an anger such as his to exist?

Sukuna broke the silence, “If you run, I’ll kill you.” He leaned forward and reached a hand behind you, his lips being uncomfortably close to yours. Your thoughts closed at hearing a ripping sound, his hand pulling back.

“Look into my memories, and whatever questions you have will be answered. But then you’ll answer mine.”

You hesitated to move your hands, feeling fear in the back of your mind at how calm he was. Just a few hours ago, this man was trying to murder you in cold blood, but now he is acting… soft? It didn’t settle in your gut too well, but you had no other choice than to do what he says. Complying to his request, you raised your hand to rest the palm of it on his lower check and jawline.

“Close your eyes.” You commanded while closing yours.

He obediently closed them, letting the connection into his nervous system open into yours. The tears that were made at the thought of your dead classmates shifted towards tears of pain upon seeing Sukuna’s memories.

You watched from the background as jujutsu sorcerers stormed his childhood village and burned everything to the ground, both curses and humans alike. A young Sukuna was in the middle of it all, screaming for his mother as the fire surrounded him. From the fires, a sorcerer ran through and picked him up.

Sukuna screamed and kicked at the masked sorcerer. You noticed though, that the very badge that was embroidered onto your shirt was the same badge of the sorcerer carrying him.

When you turned to see where he was being carried, you noticed only the children were spared. You covered your mouth in disgust, seeing crying kids from ages of newborns to 5-year-olds being carried away. You watched a young Sukuna let out a loud screeching sound, black markings appearing on his face as his eyes turned red.

He sunk his teeth into the sorcerers’ shoulder and killed them, trying to run away before being caught by two other sorcerers who put him to sleep. One said through his mask, “This one is strong with cursed energy, he needs to be cleansed.”

You watched them carry him away. When you turned back around, you saw another memory of Sukuna at a slightly older age being tortured on a table as an instruction screamed out, “YOU ARE A DISGRACE!” Another memory appeared, the child being much older now as he sat in his room and communicated with a curse in its own language.

Memories upon memories flashed before your eyes of him training, talking to curses, and being tortured by humans. Then the memory that stained your mind of blood had appeared. The boy used his malevolent shrine against students and teachers alike, causing chaos with curses following behind him wherever he stepped.

Squinting to notice, you saw a pained look within his eyes as he killed the students that tried to fight him. He bent down to one and closed their eyes, “Humans have become the virus of this world. Jujutsu scholars are the creators of the virus.”

You came out of the link, speechless at everything you had just seen. Taking a deep breath, you looked into Sukuna’s eyes, “Why did they burn your village?”

He turned his neck to look away from your eyes, not wanting to be the person that breaks the truth to you. Although Sukuna didn’t know your name, he still felt an aching sensation at the bottom of his heart for you. There was finally someone else that he could tell of his secrets, but they were too painful. Yet he knew if he didn’t tell you, and instead killed you or forced you to go back, that you would never have a normal life anyways.

“Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Y/n L/n- but my name is not important. Tell me why they did that��”

“Y/n, do you know who your parents are?”

“Of course not. They sent me to the school when I was…”

“When you were what?”

Excruciating amounts of pain began to fill your heart. You saw the point he was making, and it stung your heart in an abundance of different ways. Everything around you seemed to disappear as you tried to remember who you were before attending this school. All that was found was blankness.

The early morning sky that beamed with stars of different shades seemed to become brighter as everything began to click. Nature surrounded you in this moment of harsh realization. It was comforting knowing that possibly a forest god was watching over you in the greens of their garden, but nonetheless painful.

You whispered with a cracking voice, “Why… Why did they tell us our parents sent us here…?”

“It was a coverup. Japan has become innovative these past two centuries, meaning out with the old and in with the new. Jujutsu sorcerers were falling behind, meaning they would eventually die out. So, they resorted to pillaging children. Although our fight was short, I can see that you have great strength and intelligence with your powers. You must have been a newborn when you were taken; otherwise, you’d remember.”

So many emotions ran through your mind all at once. Sorrow, pain, anger, rage, weakness, all of it. You hesitated, “So... -So, I never even had a chance?”

Sukuna looked into your eyes, “No.”

You gasped, feeling as if your lungs were collapsing while your breathing grew erratic. Everything you ever knew was a lie, and everything you were ever told was a lie. Any relationships you ever had with teachers was a lie, while any relationship you ever had with your classmates was fake. Sukuna saw how you struggled to take this information in, but he didn’t know how to make it easier for you.

‘Is there even an easy way out of this information?’ He thought to himself. Sukuna always knew everything around him was not real, so he couldn’t imagine the things you were feeling.

“Why didn’t… why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you try to find a way out and save everyone?”

Sukuna snapped back, “All of those kids are brainwashed beyond oblivion. Did you forget what you tried to do to me a few hours ago? If I were a normal person, you would have killed with that thing you did with your hands; And If I tried to tell people everything they ever knew was a lie, I would be dead.”

You slowly crawled backwards as he moved forward, “Do you think I caused all of that destruction alone? No. I had the help of curses, who are the only damn things that see humans for the shit they are! Over the years I have been out here alone, training and preparing myself for when I can defeat even the strongest of sorcerers.”

When he realized how uncomfortable you had become by his advancing, Sukuna moved back. “There was no helping them. The only reason I told you was because you would be forced to believe me.”

He was right. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Sukuna was right. They would all try to kill him if he told them what had known on all along. Humanity’s biggest fault will always be the fact that they are afraid of the unknown, and when someone tries to show them the truth of the unknown, they freak out in fear. The only reason you were not freaking out was because there was no unknown; you saw it all with your own eyes through his memories.

“Tell me, what are you going to do now?” He asked, slicing your thoughts in half.

That was a loaded question for the current situation, but it was a question that needed an answer. You cannot go back now, otherwise they would find out you know more than you should with how bad of a liar you are. For all they know, you are most likely dead right now and not worth looking for. You were just another slave to the elders’ horrific commands.

“I don’t know… Run away maybe? Get out the country while I can? But even then, sorcerers are all around the world. I would get caught and be killed eventually. Do the rest of the sorcerers around the world know about Japan’s doings?”

Sukuna scratched at his head, “I don’t know. I never tried to leave, but I was never bothered until now either.”

The sun began to rise, cracks of its light seeping through the forest trees as the night faded to the back of the forest. You bowed your head with a loud sigh, not knowing what your next move will be. Confusion filled your mind while the rising sun’s warmth worked to comfort you in this state of despair. With your emotions being thrown around like a tossed salad, the silence sounded so loud right now.

Sukuna broke the silence by hesitantly suggesting, “Stay here with me, y/n. Just for another day or two. I want to know more of these powers of yours. Maybe by then you’ll figure something out.”

You looked at him with such curious eyes, seeing him totally shift from the manic demon he was yesterday to this calm man who had a vengeful heart filled with pain. Crossing your arms, you asked with a sarcastic tone, “Where do you even live?”

“Are you suggesting I sleep in the woods like an animal?”

“Perhaps.”

He rolled his eyes while clicking his tongue, “Farther up in the mountains. I live by a hidden spring.”

You tried to stand up with Sukuna, leaning on the tree for support. He forgot that a rib or two of yours had been broken upon contact when fighting with each other earlier, making him cringe at remembering how quick he was to become defensive. “Here.” He turned around, getting on his knees. Sukuna motioned for you to get on his back, it being easier on your ribs for him to carry you this way.

Click here for a nice theme song. <3

Sukuna carried you to a log cabin he had built in the time he spent out here. For a few days, your aching body rested there as you thought of your next move. However, those thoughts eventually fled your mind. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. Time passed on as you stayed hidden away deep within the forest with Sukuna. Over time, his vengeance was forgotten with you at his side. All both of you wanted was to enjoy the peace of solitude together.

Everything had been so peaceful over the years. Sometimes you and Sukuna would bicker as lovers do, especially since you two were the only ones you talked to besides curses, but ultimately both of you were happy. That was until the world decided peace was never a real option for anyone in this violently terrifying world.

Morning dew clung onto the windows of the cabin you shared with your husband. It was the break of dawn as you awoke next to a sleeping Sukuna. He lowly grumbled at your movements, pulling you back into the bed by your waist. “What are you doing?” He quietly asked with a scruffy morning voice while hovering over you. Loose strains of hair covered your eyes, Sukuna moving them so he could have a better look at you.

You held onto the back of his neck with your bandaged hands, “I’m going to the springs for a quick wash.”

The shirtless man lightly kissed at your cheek, moving lower to your neck as he gripped onto your hips to keep you below him. As tempting as it was to stay in bed with him and enjoy some morning affairs, your bones ached from the hunting that was done the day before. With a roll of your eyes, you pushed the built man from your body as if he was a feather.

He let out a loud groan while moaning, “I should have never trained you to become that strong.”

“Oh shush, I’ll be back soon you whiney child.”

You put on a long, white yukata before heading outside to greet the horses you and Sukuna had tamed. “Good morning Ryko,” you sang while petting the horse’s neck before mounting her. You rode just a few minutes upwards towards the east, where the hidden springs lied. Winter was beginning to fade as spring slowly made its way into season, so hunting is hard for you and Sukuna.

Usually in the winter months is when your back and sides ache from your fight all those years ago with him. The best way for you to sooth your pains is to relax in the warm springs that nature provided in the mornings or late afternoons.

Upon reaching the springs, you jumped off Ryko and led her towards a tree to keep her tied at. However, you began to feel uneasy at how Ryko kept neighing and trying to back away from the tree. “Shhh, girl. Nobody is here.”

The sound of other horses made you eat your words. Your eyes widened as you turned, jumping out of the way at the sound of a metal mechanism clicking and firing. Ryko was shot in the head, her body falling over and bleeding out in the snow. Panic filled your body, being caught completely off guard. What were they shooting with and why was it so fast? When you looked up, you noticed the people on the horses had the same symbol of your previous school.

“Son of a bitch…,” you spoke, furrowing your brows at the sight of them. You had no weapons on you, forgetting to bring your bow and arrow for long distance defense. From the bottom of your lungs, you screamed out, “SUKUNA!!”

As soon as you said the name, the sorcerers began to panic, “She said his name!”

“Quick, kill her before he comes! She must be a witch!”

“What if he kills us?!”

“JUST DO IT!”

You were already on your feet, taking off as fast as you possibly could. As much as you wanted to fight with the physical strength you had gained over the years, you knew the helplessness of your abilities. Even if you could outsmart them and bruise their physical appearance, you were no match for 5 sorcerers with guns all at once with your jujutsu technique. You may be a powerful jujutsu sorcerer alongside Sukuna, but long-range fighting was never an option with your technique.

Speeding into the distance with all you had, the freezing temperature of the snow against bare human feet was only making it worse for you. You had hope that you could run into the woods just in time, but there is no shift in what a speeding bullet does to a human body.

While a few minutes away, the first shot had Sukuna on his feet. His eyes flung open, the nerve-wracking sound of a weapon he didn’t recognize that is not too far caused him to panic. His tattoos appeared as he walked out into the snow barefoot with only palazzos on. He began running into the direction of the sound, knowing he would be faster on foot than on horseback.

From the distance, Sukuna heard his name being screamed out by your voice, which struck fear into his heart. The scream was followed by another shot not even 30 seconds later. He picked up his speed, tears forming at the edges of his rageful crimson eyes.

When he appeared from the branches, the sorcerers were taking off. As much as he wanted to pursue them, he needed to find you first. Before he could even see you, the stench of blood coming from his left filled his nose. He turned, and everything seemed to go into slow motion. He ran at your side, seeing you struggle to breathe from the bullet wound in your chest.

“Y/N, Y/N SAY SOMETHING!” He screamed out, falling onto the ground next to you. He held you up, putting his hands over the wound to try to stop the bleeding, “Come on, come on stay with me. It’s okay, it’s fine-“

“Ry-Suk…I…,” you struggled to breathe, blood flowing out of your chest faster than Sukuna could react too. His tears fell onto your cheeks as his hands became covered in your blood. The white Yukata you were wearing was turning an awful shade of red.

He pulled your hand up to his lower cheek, closing his eyes so you can start a link between him and you. When it started, you transferred everything you had seen to his memories so he would know what happened without you having to speak. When he opened his eyes, your hand fell from his cheek as your body quickly lost energy.

Sukuna held you in his now bloodied arms, rocking you back and forth while whispering, “It’s alright, you’re fine. Look at me, I’m right here.” He watched as you slowly lost consciousness, your eyes losing the spark of curiosity in them that he adored.

You blinked a few times, each time your eyes getting heavier and harder to keep open. You gave him a meek smile and croaked out, “When the sun rises again, will you find me?”

Rapid tears fell from both your eyes and his as he leaned his head into your chest, “I’ll find you.”

You looked into the sky with lazy eyes before shutting them for the final time. Your neck fell backwards, and your breathing stopped; Sukuna felt your heart’s final beat. Feeling your soul leave your body, he let out a loud scream into your chest that could be heard from miles away.

He sobbed into your cold body, only to lift his head with a newfound rage that has set his body on fire. His tearstained face spoke millions of words, all of them meaning the same thing: destruction. He laid your body against Ryko, kissing your forehead and whispering, “I’ll be back.”

Standing up with your blood staining his hands and torso, he morphed into his full form. His lips spread into a devilish smile as he ran his hands through his hair. His speed was almost at light, taking off into the forest while chasing the horse tracks in the snow.

The sorcerers rode at a fast pace, but it wasn’t fast enough. Sukuna passed them up, turning on his heels to face the oncoming horses. When they got close enough, he raised both of his hands and grabbed onto the horses’ heads, pushing them down into the ground. Both the horses and sorcerers riding them died from the impact, striking fear into the other sorcerers following behind them.

“TURN, NOW!” One yelled out before their head was ripped from their body by Sukuna’s hands. He called out with a demonic look in his eyes, “Don’t be afraid to come out my friends!” Curses of all grades came out from behind trees, sending everyone into a panic.

“SPREAD OUT!” A female sorcerer yelled out, making Sukuna turn. He ran into the horse, sending her and the horse flying into a tree. She let out a loud scream of pain as the horse landed on her legs, rendering her powerless. Sukuna approached her, bending down to be eye level with her as she panicked.

He tilted his head, “The person you happened to kill was my partner. And a partner is a man’s peace, but when they are taken, they become a man’s rage.” He grabbed her hair, ripping her body in half. “If they cannot live, nobody can! Women, children, and men alike! IT’S GOING TO BE A MASSACRE!”

Curses killed the sorcerers left and right, slaughtering both them and their horses. Ryomen Sukuna has died, but the king of curses has been born. Curses obeyed his every command in fear of his jujutsu techniques and inhumane abilities. The beginning of his world domination had just begun…

Over a thousand years has passed since that day, which brings Sukuna to the present. Yuji was in conversation with Megumi and Nobara, while Sukuna was off wondering around in Yuji’s head. However, a certain name caught his attention.

“Yeah! I heard they use an ancient technique called ‘Somnium Nexium’, it’s only been seen a handful of times in the last few hundred years.” Nobara chanted while walking with her friends.

Sukuna turned his head at the sound, awakening on Yuji’s face, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Sukuna, go back!” Yuji yelled, groaning at the annoying curse.

He snapped back, “Oh shut the hell up. I heard Somnium Nexium.”

Megumi spoke, “There’s a new student. They use that power.”

“I bet your old ass has seen it before,” Nobara laughed.

Sukuna growled, “Matter of fact I have, and this brat could probably kill all of you with just one hand.”

Nobara’s shoulders shot up at his words, while Megumi cringed at the fact he’s most likely right. Yuji was just interested in getting to see them like the others though. However, the day was near its end, and everyone was heading into their rooms for the night. Yuji might have slept like a baby, but Sukuna stayed up in his mind all night.

He wanted to believe there was a possibility that it could be you, but from what the kids said, other people have been seen using the same ability. Wanting to dismiss the idea, Sukuna tried to not think on it and instead walk around Yuji’s head to annoy him, but that failed.

Night faded into day as the stars kissed the sky good morning. Another day began, and nothing was out of the usual. Just Sukuna being pissed he’s still in Yuji’s body after all of this time and training per usual.

Yuji made his way out of the dormitories after getting dressed, heading outside to see where Megumi was. He was also hoping to run into the new student so he could get to brag to Nobara that he meant them first. While walking down the outside corridor, Yuji pulled out his phone to text the group chat. In the midst of typing, he bumped into a student wearing a navy Hakama with a black kimono, the traditional sword training outfit for students.

For those who enjoy some theme music.(again hehe)

“Oh sor- Wait a second, you must be the new student! I’m Yuji Itadori.” He quickly bowed, giving you a large smile. Sukuna snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing Yuji’s thoughts when running into you; He hastily said within his mind, “Enchain!”

The sun took its place a tad higher in the sky to where it beamed against you. Your skin had a warm tone to it as the sun reflected into your eyes to create a small glint. Bowing your head as Sukuna took over Yuji’s body, you raised your head with closed eyes and smiled, “I’m Y/n L/n.”

When you opened your eyes, Yuji’s body had switched into Sukuna’s. It startled you before remembering that he was Sukuna’s vessel; yet it also felt as if you have meant Sukuna before. “You must be Sukuna. I feel honored that the king of curses took over Yuji just to see me,” you said with tremendous amounts of sarcasm.

Sukuna was speechless, his breathing going shaky at the sight of you. “Is it really you?”

You raised a brow while crossing your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He walked forward, wanting to get a closer look at your facial features. However, him walking closer caused you to back up out of discomfort. Your back hit against the railing of the wooden pathway, making you nervous. You snapped with a serious tone while ungloving your hands behind your back, “What do you want?!”

There was no response, just wide eyes, and a wide mouth. “Hey!” You yelled, but there was no response. Out of fear, you pulled your hand out and tried to grab his wrist to show something to scare him, but he already knew your move. Sukuna caught you by the wrist, then examined it to see if it was the same hand you had before.

Your eyes widened at how he knew what you were going to do, making fear begin to take over your body. “Don’t be afraid,” he spoke while moving your hand to his lower cheek. “Just… try to remember me.” So many questions ran throughout your mind, such as how did he know that people’s faces are what she touches? Either way, you were too afraid to decline what he was implying, so you closed your eyes at the same time as him.

The connection opened, allowing you to go into his memories. You walked around his mind, seeing yourself from his eyes whenever you first meant him over 1000 years ago. The memories flashed before your eyes, not understanding why you see yourself and how that was possible. Every bitter, sweet, intimate, aggressive, happy, and sad moment he ever had with you flashed before your eyes.

Colors you had never even seen before flashed past your eyes, showing you every detail of every moment you ever experienced with Sukuna. You saw a memory of yourself holding a bow and arrow, aiming it at a deer from far in the forest. When you took the shot, it struck the deer into the side.

You relaxed your shoulders, sighing in relief at making the hit. Sukuna watched with his arms crossed, “There’s so many ways that I love you, but by far my favorite way to love you is to watch you.”

With the roll of your eyes and a small smirk, you blushed and playfully punched his shoulder, “Let’s go get our dinner.”

Sukuna “loved” you? The sensations your body felt were foreign, making you feel nervous. There were moments where he held onto your hand while taking a walk through the forest, followed by other moments of him training with you in meadows. The moments you would hug his bare torso would turn into moments of intimacy, while moments of petty arguments would turn into moments of him holding you.

Love was the only thing you could feel from these memories. It was love that drove him to commit his crimes, and it was love when he would sit alone and ponder on what he’d do if he ever saw you again. He imagined that he would hug you tighter than he ever did before, destroy the world with you, and tell you everything he didn’t get to tell you before.

A squeezing sensation pained your heart, making you become so overwhelmed that you ripped away from the link. Sukuna looked into your eyes, seeing that curious look he saw in your eyes all those centuries ago when you first meant him in the forest. Shaking with anxiety, you moved forward to slowly wrap your arms over his body. He followed into the embrace, squeezing your back with his muscular arms while crying into your shoulder.

It felt unreasonable to fall into being the person you were in a past life, but you felt all the things he felt for you back then. Seeing his memories opened so many things in your life, when all along you thought you were just some regular jujutsu sorcerer who is the new kid at this school. In truth, you were never normal; seeing his memories just proves that. You grew up having dreams as a child that were always too blurry to see anything, but looking back you now understand that those weren’t dreams; They were your past.

When you closed your eyes, everything in your mind went blank. Upon opening them, they looked the same but had a slight change of hue that was barely noticeable. You pushed Sukuna away from you, starting to feel your old memories flood back in. He looked at you with a confused expression, not understanding what you were doing until you grabbed his face.

Your hands held his cheeks as you examined his eyes, “Sukuna? Is it really you?” You moved his face to see all the angles of his structure, trying to see if this was him. “Oh…,” There was hesitation in your eyes before tears began to fall from them, “You found me…” Sukuna pulled you back into the tight embrace of each other’s arms, holding onto one another like the world is falling apart around you.

From behind the corner, Megumi and Nobara watched with worried looks painted across their face. She whispered, “I feel like something bad just happened.”

There was rage within you, feeling your insides ache at the memory of how you died coming back to you. You were still the same person before gaining your memories back, but now enlightened of who you really were. Sukuna pulled back from the hug, looking beyond your eyes and into your soul. He could see the hungry look of vengeance within you.

Sukuna felt his time nearing its end as Yuji was fighting to come back in. He quickly held onto your shoulders with a crazed look in his crimson eyes, “Y/n, in due time we will take our revenge. Me and you, we will destroy the world.”

The next time the sun rises for Sukuna will be the last time it rises for the world.

⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈

#anime #yuji itadori #nobara #megumi #jjk ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #gn!reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #manga #Jesus Christ this took a while #romance #tragedy

226 notes · View notes

istherewifiinhell · 3 years ago

Text

reading process: chapter 196 (damn)

reading highlights: now with new and improved features

178 Yjh hesitating to fast ball special this weird little dude: pls dont die. kdj: look at me. bitch

179 Gah. can an author make a story so big even their monster cant eat it

180 I knew the 4th wall was gonna eat but i forgot IT HAS TEETH

shaking the no no can at 4th wall

gah okay yeah jesus lee sookyung [song accompaniment love run by the amazing devil]

the narrative will make you apart of it (threat)

181 '4th wall also isolated me from myself' DING DING DING

overall evaluation ⬛⬛... -> mood

gonna twach the sentient dangerous trauma response some... morals? interpersonal skills?

↳cant handle direct interaction, eats and sleeps. yea

↳im gonna take a nap right here

LJH: arent you and kdj.... yjh grimacing as being ask about his love life by his teenage ward

kdj funeral -> song accompaniment welly boots by the amazing devil (just because I left doesnt mean I'm not still there)

YJH sponsor -> praying for his fate eh?

182 [sponsors lhs 100 head pats]

SYS is literally your daughter 🥺. kdj dad who hates dads moment

183 lhs wants to be on kdj team :((((

I WOULD LIKE TO SEE LHS IN THE DRESS

(did hades make it??)

184 feeling differently after talking to 4th wall yeah pretty sure you had a break thru about dissociating there

yjh: looking with eyes not seen in TWOS -> kdj facial expression blindness trutherism

185 YJH: cause you know me sooo well kdj: starting to think i dont know this you that well

yjh thoughts: there have never been so many ppl who made it to here

"continue to live kim dokja now you have to save this world"

kdj u cant take your own medicine (yjh scheming)

LSK contemplating abt what shit is up with her son

Something lives IN THE WALL

186 other people feel pain with no wall. YES!

"I told him there is no such development [yjh death] in the ending i want"

'yjh desperate face' thats crushing to even read

187 hsy type cast as murder friend sorry bestie

god some classic kdj asshole moments -> guilting lhs and everything

"see the sight of a bearish man weeping" i would like to

jhw T.T oh my murder woman

188 making sys and lgy do this. your KIDS! -> generational Something or other

kdj to yjh: you cant change whats already happened -> this may be an unauthorized use of radical acceptance

your stigma is Literally self sacrifice based... DUDE

get killed by the narrative. your loved ones but also the story... for the story. AH

yjh im so sorry... this is devasting

Uriel... lol shes sweet ig

Demon king of salvation. so juicy (unionize hell lol)

189 LHS LGY YJH boy grief party

yjh widower era

min jiwon and han donghoon! yay

yoohan bonding?

190 Bihyung aw!

[I will pull all of you down from that fucking heaven]

191 a soul can't belong to anyone!

"I will destroy the world of the fucking dokkaebis"

192 ur still a jerk kdj. drama kid

193 yeah fuck the state jhw

do they all share a house 🥺

LHS is back with the army... okay putting a pin in that

yjh stayed in his room like a broken person... bruh

jhw was a bartender? did i know that? it makes so much sense tho

kdj ur story is told bc they love you!!

194 idk i was the only person reading this 1000 chapter work and when i left a comment some stuff changed

syswitz industrial complex... run that by me one more time

damn human life is just like hell, ive been saying this

195 demon trains? i know all about those

complete ur scheme. say somthing cool. pass out. kdj ur self parody at this point

rotation: recency bias is a hell of a thing. i want to partially tie up the parenting stuff with noting how often the constellation incarnation relationship was considered parental, how kdj views them (and indeed how weve seen quite a few be) really cruel, or exploitative, and well thats fitting for him to see that as parental isnt it. but then also. he has kids in his own care, and one is literally his incarnation. frankly im interested in both how attacking and dethroning gods is gonna impact his own godhood deal, his own parenting, and his view of his mothers job of parenting him

im not sure if i have any particular takes here but let it be know kdj is a bastard and a scoundrel and i shall not miss him. not from this distance. no but god that was a classic really jerk move level manipulation. need to re-calibrate the dials. whats worse is at this point i think he can fully understand how much emotional damage hes putting his loved ones through.

Also did you know we live in a society. this one is pretty nascent so far but the breaking of the Seoul dome is reminding us of normal human society, and its flaws, and with the demonic realm, blatantly stated, we live in hell on earth.

#some shit #orv blogging #this works better when i do the last bit first ahaha #god its long tho sorry it made more sense when i was doing on fri and sat both but #also used mentol joint creme and my wrist and elbow were just static while doing this lol #i have one last thought thats drifting jussst out of reach #smth. oh idk emotional paid moments. almost cry at work moments #*pain

11 notes · View notes

shushiyuii · 3 years ago

Text

Atlantic Runaways (Part 3)

Lol we got part 3, which is mainly just a lot of fluff and plot developement uwu

Warnings: Mentions of smoking, vore, trauma? Swearing.

Words: 1.8K+

He rolled in bed as his alarm went off, the familiar tune of the able sisters calling him into awakening. Much to his displeasure. How dare this alarm tell him to get up when wait- shit! He had a job!

He came to his thoughts as he shot out of bed, checking his phone to see that the alarm was late. “SHIT!”. But then stopped for a minute, he remembered it was a Saturday. Why would his alarm be going off on his day off?

Then he realised he was going too late for his meeting with Tubbo.

He grabbed his hoodie, rushed downstairs and ran across the street to the nearby park that he and Tubbo would meet up in.

As he ran his best friend came into view, with an unamused face of course. “Tubbo! My man!”. He managed to get out as he came to a halt, panting his lungs out. “About time, you dickhead!”.

“Sorry! Sorry! A lot of things happened yesterday…”. It came out almost abrupt but confusing as the reality of yesterday’s events were finally hitting him. No wonder he overslept, he was exhausted.

“You okay Toms?”. He snapped out of his mind and looked to Tubbo, “Fine! How about we grab some coffee from the café?”, “Sure, but I’m not grabbing coffee. I’m getting hot chocolate!”.

…

“Tubbo, it’s the middle of fucking summer…”, “THAT WILL NOT STOP ME FROM CONSUMING AND ENJOYING MY CHOCOLATEY BEVERAGE!”.

The two made their way to the café in the middle of the park, it was quite a famous public area so many people frequented the place. They took their orders, the hot chocolate and coffee with a side of biscuits. Because Tommy didn’t have breakfast.

The two just sat on their phones for a moment, the atmosphere of awkwardness raising, it was apparent to Tubbo that something was off about Tommy, he was normally more hyperactive, talkative, and well, energetic. Something was clearly on his mind, and he didn’t want to talk.

But Tubbo was determined to get answers. The drinks soon arrived and Tubbo put away his phone, sipping at his hot chocolate. Ignoring the boiling temperature in favour of looking dramatic. He looked at Tommy with narrowed eyes, but his attention was focused on his phone.

“So…”. Tubbo spoke up, Tommy’s attention went from his phone to Tubbo. “What’s up?”, Tommy asked while furrowing an eyebrow, Tubbo was acting differently.

“What’s going on? You’re acting differently.”. Tubbo usual tone is gone, replaced with a serious one. Oh god, it was a serious one. Did he do something? Was he suspicious? He didn’t really want to tell Tubbo what had happened.

“Uhh, nothing?”. Tubbo slammed his fist on the table. “Okay! Okay! Maybe almost got murdered yesterday at work?...”. Tubbo always held a level of intimidation so Tommy couldn’t help and spit it out, much to his displeasure.

“What?”, Tubbo spoke quietly, not wanting to get more attention from the customers that were already staring at them. “Okay, let’s finish this outside.”.

The two then quickly ate their biscuits and finished their drinks, Tommy grabbing a can of Coca Cola on the way out. The two then made their way to their usual bench, secluded from the rest of the park.

“So, what do you mean you almost got killed?!”, Tubbo asked the moment they sat down. Tommy almost choked on his cola. “Right uhm…”. He tried to find a way to put it.

“Basically, you know that trainer guy who was really sketchy?”, “Yeah…”. “Basically, he threw me into the water with a dangerous Mer? Well, not really dangerous now... But-“. Tubbo slapped a hand over Tommy’s mouth and pinched his own nose and sighed. “Slowly.”.

Tommy in turned sighed when his mouth was released, he was going to have to go into more detail. “Trainer guy I was working under was treating Wilbur like shit, course me and Wilbur weren’t on the best of terms but that isn’t a right to treat a creature like us like total shit! So, I stood up for em’ “.

He continued, “In turn, he got mad and pushed me into the water. As you know I’m not the brightest out there and I didn’t manage to suck in any air. So, I was drowning…”. “That’s how you almost died?...”.

Tommy looked down and nodded, his arms hugging himself. Tubbo comforted him with a hug, rubbing his back as Tommy leaned into the touch. “Mhm…”. He mumbled. The two stayed there for a moment, in comforting silence.

“How did you get out?” he asked once Tommy had calmed down. “I- Wilbur saved me. I don’t know why but he did, he fucking ate me while doing it too!”, “What?!”.

“Turns out some Mers have what’s called a brooding pouch, a place where they store young. Wilbur put me there for a while”. “Wait- Brooding pouch?! He ate you but didn’t eat you?”. Tubbo said in confusion to which made Tommy laugh.

“Yeah, turns out he can speak too! So, now I can actually talk to the bitch! And now we’re friends, I guess? Well, that and he actually comforted me after what happened, so after all that I walked home at whatever time it was and fell asleep.”.

Tubbo went straight into protective mode, hugging Tommy with a lot of strength, “I’m glad you’re alive! But Wilbur, you think you guys are friends?”. “I guess so, he seemed rather friendlier than usual”.

“Whatever it is, be careful. He could still be dangerous!”, “I will don’t worry! I just, I feel bad for Wilbur. I’m gonna try and do whatever I can to help… Wait- how come you’re okay with all this?”.

“Because I know you Toms, and I know I won’t be able to stop you even if I tried so you have my support, okay? If you need a hand lemme know”.

The two did their usual antics after that, playing around and such like they have since childhood and after all that he went to bed.

…

The next day went by quickly as he was mainly playing games and stuff. He tried to think of plans, something of what he could do to help Wilbur.

…

He woke up with a lot of energy that morning, he had plans and he knew that work is going to be absolute chaos.

The moment he arrived at work that day there was a sort of rush of anxiety and excitement, he was excited to see Wilbur again but also scared of the fact of how Wilbur would react.

He walked past the halls and into Wilbur’s containment. There stood the trainer, sitting on a stand, smoking his darn cigarette.

He heard the door open and looked over to see Tommy. His eyes widened in shock, coughing as he clumsily inhaled his cigarette. “Y-you’re!”. “Yeah, I’m alive. Shut it”.

The man opened his mouth and stood up, approaching Tommy menacingly. Tommy’s confidence faded as he brought up his arms to shield himself from the man. But the man didn’t even stand a chance as water splashed around the two.

And there was Wilbur, barring his sharp teeth, his eyes dilated as he saw the man staring down at his trainer. The trainer immediately backed off when he saw the Mer, running away cowardly out of the room. Leaving him and Wilbur alone.

Tommy looked nervously to Wilbur whose harsh expression turned softer as he looked down at Tommy, he leaned down to Tommy’s height. “You, okay?”. “Yeah, fine. Thanks Wil.”.

Wilbur smiled as he brought out his hand, offering it to Tommy to which he looked down at it in confusion, to which Wilbur responded by just picking him up completely. “Glad to see you’re okay, I’ve been worried”. He nuzzled Tommy.

“Oi, stop it bitch!”. It made Wilbur laugh. “Why are you so cuddly?!”, “You should know this, it’s common knowledge for mers”. Tommy took a minute to understand what he meant then the realisation hit him.

“Right, you bitches get attached to things easily”. And in response, Wilbur brought a claw to gently rub Tommy’s hair. “Right there, gremlin boy!”. “I am no gremlin!”.

The two then settled down with Wilbur swimming around in his small pool, which honestly made Tommy cringe with how small it was. “You hungry?”, he yelled out as he pulled out a heavy bucket towards the pool, it was filled to the brim with fish.

Wilbur popped his head out of the water, “Always hungry, honestly”. He swam towards the end of the pool where Tommy was, “Right”. He brought the bucket to Wilbur, to which Wilbur opened his mouth wide.

Tommy could make out the many sharp fangs, he could easily be swallowed whole. It freaked him out, he shrieked and stepped back. Wilbur closed his mouth and tilted his head in confusion at Tommy’s sudden yells. “What’s wrong?”.

“N-nothing, just you kinda scared me for a second “, “Oh! Sorry! Just thought you’d feed me like that”. “O-oh…”. Tommy then took a breath and came back close to Wilbur, Wilbur picked up on what Wilbur was doing and opened his mouth back up.

He then threw the bucket of fish into Wilbur’s mouth, who immediately swallowed the fish. Although not normally a part of a whale mer’s diet, it was the only thing that he could really give Wilbur to eat out here.

Wilbur then went back to swimming whilst Tommy laid his feet in the water and surprisingly, Wilbur didn’t mind it.

“So. Uhm- you okay Wil?”, “Just fine, Tommy” he answered as he swam. Fortunately, Mers could hear just as well from above the water, even if they were underwater. So, the conversation would be rather normal.

“How are you feeling after that day?”, “Fine, I talked to a friend about it. Got it off my mind and shit.”, “You told somebody about me?”, his tone changed. Tommy looked to Wilbur, “Y-yeah, I hope that’s okay!”, “Are they trustworthy?”, “Yeah!”, “Okay.”.

There was another moment of silence until Tommy spoke up, “Wilbur, don’t you hate being here?”. “Yes, I do, I absolutely despise it here. I hated it the moment I got here”, “Do you wanna go back to the ocean?”.

…

“Yes I do, but that isn’t possible.”.

“What if it is though?”.

“Tommy, you’d have to be a maniac in order to pull off an operation on your own”.

“Well I am a maniac, I’ll do it!”.

“Toms-“.

“Let’s run away Wilbur!”.

…

“Tommy!” Wilbur pinched his nose and sighed, “I get it, you wanna help and I’m all up for it. But it’s dangerous. I don’t want you getting hurt”.

“It’ll be fine Wilbur! Come on! Don’t you wanna get out of here?!”. Wilbur looked to Tommy who had determined eyes, he couldn’t help it, he found them adorable. He sighed again, “Finee, but we’re going to be really careful about this okay?”.

Tommy smiled and stood up, reached out for Wilbur, Wilbur happily hugged him back with his hand. It made Tommy laugh, which brought a smile to Tommy’s face.

“We’ll run away!”.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #giant!wilbur #tiny!tommy #tiny!tubbo #mer!wilbur #tw vore mention #Atlantic runaways au #Shushi's writings

111 notes · View notes

wintervvidow · 4 years ago

Text

apricity

part one.

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, blood mention, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 2,364

A/N: hi! welcome to part one of apricity! set in mid-captain america: the winter soldier. this idea has been in my head for a very long time and I am super excited to finally get it out. in this story I use the term “winter widow” , similar to the “winter soldier”, it has no correlation to bucky and natasha here. prolonged italics indicate a flashback. friendly feedback is appreciated! thank you! <3

ALSO: please know that future parts will take a WHILE. I just want to get the first part out to get the ball rolling.

MASTERLIST

The silence is what breaks her. She swears she would have been fine if it weren't for the silence, the screams of innocent bystanders no longer existed, the smell of gunpowder burning her nose and stinging her eyes. Aside from the erratic breaths coming from both their lips, you could hear a pin drop as their eyes stared at each other in a blinding intensity as Steve Rogers called out to him, “Bucky?”

The gun feels entirely too heavy in her hands as her lungs expand rapidly, eyes unmoving from the ghost of a man in front of her. Except he isn't a ghost anymore. He's here, alive. James Buchanan Barnes, her Bucky, alive.

He’s clad in all-black tactical gear, metal arm glinting blindingly in the sun. His eyes are a stormy shade of blue, same as the ones that haunt her in her nightmares, not the kind blue she wishes she could have back. The Winter Soldier is the shell of the man she was in love with, the man in front of her was the man she learned to love all the same. He protected her even when he didn’t remember her, even the brainwashing couldn’t fully get rid of the love they both had for one another. Although HYDRA fought like hell to make them both forget. It never worked though, fragments of memory always littered their conscience.

His brows furrow, overgrown hair in his eyes, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Deep down in her bones, she knew he was alive. The last time she saw him he was being wiped by HYDRA, his screams masking her disappearance into the winter weather. HYDRA searched high and low for her, yet they forgot that they were the ones to train her. HYDRA perfected her, taught her how to disappear into thin air, and that's just what she did. They went as far as to send the Winter Soldier to find her, but even he couldn’t track her. Florence was a ghost.

Florence Morozov was many things before she was an assassin; she was an immigrant daughter, a friend, a nurse, and her greatest title of all, the love of Bucky Barnes' life, his fiancée. The couple, along with the third wheel Steve, were inseparable in their younger days before the second war. Where there was one, the other two were usually not far behind.

The trio had gone to the Stark Expo the night before Bucky got shipped off to the war. That night Bucky had proposed with a small emerald ring, promising her that when he got back they'd get married, move into a little white picket fence house, and settle down. They dreamed of growing old together surrounded by their kids and grandchildren. Only that dream had been crushed under the heel of HYDRA, not long after Florence enlisted as a nurse and Steve became Captain America, notably leading the Howling Commandos. Florence worked closely along with them, acting as a medic when needed.

When Steve woke up from his 70-year slumber on ice, Florence had a lot of explaining to do. How she was alive, what she had been doing, where she had been. She told Steve what he needed to know, leaving Bucky out of the answers. She had to protect him, even if it meant lying to their shared best friend. She would do anything to protect Bucky.

Florence explained to Steve that when she fell off the train with Bucky, she had been captured by HYDRA and experimented on. She was sent to the Red Room to be trained and then sent back to HYDRA in the ‘50s. She was their puppet for 46 years, coined the name the Winter Widow before she disappeared in late December of 1991. Florence was on the run for 17 years before she was taken in by Clint Barton, joining S.H.I.E.L.D along with Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha and Florence grew to be very close over the years, the trauma they both shared bonded them. Natasha was the only one to know the full story of Bucky, every nitty-gritty detail that haunted Florence in her dreams. When Nick Fury had been killed, both Florence and Natasha immediately recognized the ballistics information, a silent agreement between the two redheads to only tell Steve what he needed to know, no more than that. Florence only told Steve that she knew the Winter Soldier, nothing more. Natasha understood her secrets, she had them herself, her response of, "That's not my story to tell, we all have secrets for a reason."

Florence quickly tracked everything up to this moment. Fury being attacked, Steve's description of the shooter, the Winter Soldier attacking them on the highway only minutes ago. And then there was the chase between the soldier and Florence, trying to divert him. And it worked, Florence had managed to distract him until he got too close, the pair of lovers engaging in hand-to-hand combat until Steve intervened.

And now here she was standing in the middle of the street with a bullet in her shoulder from none other than the Winter Soldier. Flashes of the mission in Odessa running through her mind, he had shot her in the thigh then, Natasha in the abdomen. Steve stood in shock as the ghost disappeared, leaving Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Florence to be surrounded by HYDRA agents and arrested.

Blood trickled down Florence’s shoulder as she was seated between Sam and Natasha in the back of the truck. Her shoulder felt white-hot as she grits her teeth, Sam nervously glancing at her every second. Steve sat across from them, visibly upset, lifting his head to glare at Florence, eyes cold, "You said you knew the Winter Soldier, that you two had a history, not that it was Bucky!" Steve felt betrayed, his oldest friend lying to his face for years about his best friend.

Sam angrily glared at Steve as Florence rasped her response with a shaky breath, "Steve, I'm kind of bleeding out right now. This is going to have to wait, just know I had my reasons. I did it to protect him. And you."

Florence knew this day would come. Bucky wouldn’t be a ghost forever. She fought herself internally every night, dreaming of him. It was always him; the good and bad, the Red Room, what happened after the Red Room, their mission in Romania, and every second in between. She was permanently trapped in her own personal hell.

Steve continued on, “It was him. He looked right at me and he didn’t even know me.”

Florence knew the feeling. Every time Bucky was reprogrammed, she had to convince him to loosen his grip around her throat, begging him to recognize her before he killed her. And every time he did, his eyes flashing in recognition and guilt. And then he would hold her shivering body against his in the confines of their shared cell, murmuring in her ear that he was sorry. And she knew he meant it. Even if his mind barely recognized her, his heart always did.

Sam questioned Steve loudly, causing Florence to flinch as she fell back down to reality, “How is that even possible, that was 70 years ago.” Florence felt bad for Sam, he just jumped headfirst into a dark world with more questions than answers.

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ‘43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. Florence, how are you even alive? Zola didn’t get to you before the fall?” Steve just asked the golden question.

Florence took a deep breath in, “I don’t know. There are gaps in time, I don’t remember much from it. They all said that the fall should have killed me but it didn’t. Then I became a lab rat. The end.”

Steve looked her directly in the eye for the first time the entire day, “They must have found him and…”

Natasha interrupted him, she knew where this conversation could lead, “None of that’s your fault, Steve.”

Florence shifted slightly, sharing a look with Natasha, silently thanking her for diverting the conversation.

Sam shifted beside her as another wave of blood oozed out from her shoulder, he turned to the guards, "We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck." Florence appreciated Sam’s protective and caring nature as Steve continued glaring daggers her way. Florence knew Steve wouldn’t understand her reasoning, too set in his ways of complete honesty all of the time. He didn’t understand what it meant to lie to keep those you loved safe.

The nearest guard flinched forward, flashing the taser at Sam before turning the taser on the second guard and kicking him unconscious. The guard pulled the helmet off of themselves, revealing Maria Hill, “God, that thing was squeezing my brain.” She motioned at Sam, “Who is this guy?” Everyone shared a collective sigh of relief at the sight of Maria.

After ditching the car, the team arrived at an undisclosed location. The doors of the truck opened, allowing sunlight to flood in. Steve helped Florence down from the truck, supporting her weight with ease. Blood continued to trickle from her shoulder as she leaned against him for support as Steve spoke while he half carried her forward into the building, “I’m not mad. I get why you didn’t tell me.”

Florence laughed slightly, her body weak, “Are you just saying that because I got shot and I’m currently bleeding out all over you?”

Steve scoffed, his body vibrating with the action, arm tightening around her, “No, Flo.”

Behind her and Steve, Sam called out for a doctor. People ran towards them from the opposite end of the hall, Maria Hill speaking over the sound of footsteps thundering down the hall, "Natasha, there's something you're going to wanna see. Steve, get Florence patched up."

The group broke apart for a short period of time, Natasha reappearing with a hopeful expression on her face as Florence grimaced in pain next to the doctor stitching her up, "Fury is alive."

All eyes remained on Natasha as she explained how Fury was alive, a medication Bruce Banner had come up with did the trick to fake his death. Florence looked to Sam as he digested this information, he didn’t know what he got himself into. She could feel Steve's eyes boring into her head, but she didn't dare look. Her mind was a constant loop of Bucky.

Flashback:

His calloused hand led her through the crowd of people, Steve trailing far behind. The trio had just gotten finished dancing and now they were wandering aimlessly through the busy streets of Queens. The air was brisk as it blew through Florence’s auburn hair, her dress fluttering around her calves. Bucky stopped in front of a movie theater, the lights casting a warm glow over his face as he turned to face the girl. Her cheeks were blushed pink from the chill of the air and a smile had been permanently etched on her face all night.

The news that Bucky was being shipped off in the morning loomed over them like a rain cloud but Bucky was determined to keep her smiling; at least until the morning. His hand abandoned hers, reaching down to fish in his pocket. He found what he was looking for quickly, the velvet box small in his hand. Florence gasped at soon as the box came into the light, tears welling up in her eyes. She knew what this was, she accidentally stumbled upon it when she was putting away clothes last week. A small emerald ring.

Bucky knelt down on one knee, flipping the box open, “Flo, you’ve been by my side through everything. You’re my best girl, always there keeping me in line. I love you more than words can say. I know I leave tomorrow and I should have done this years ago, but will you make me that luckiest man on earth and marry me?”

Florence flew into Bucky’s arms in a flurry of kisses and agreements, Bucky lifting her up and twirling her. He gently set her back on the ground, slipping the ring on her finger as she giggled. Bucky met her eyes, tears glimmering in them, “I promise you, when I get back you and I will get married, we’ll buy a house and we’ll make it a happy home; kids, dogs, a garden, all of it. I promise you.” By the end of Bucky’s promise, both he and Florence were crying in each other’s arms, each one clutching the other tightly, both hyper-aware that the future wasn’t promised.

Steve stumbled his way through the large crowd, catching sight of his two best friends hugging each other. He didn’t have the heart to break them up at the moment, so he watched on with a smile. It would all be okay.

Bucky sat in the test chair underneath the bank piecing the remnants of his memories together. He knew them. The man knew his name, or at least what he thought was his name. And he knew the girl he shot, memories of her smiling flickered through his mind. Yet they were complete strangers, their faces foreign yet home all at the same time.

Alexander Pierce was terrified of this day, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He knew of the attachment Bucky had to the Winter Widow, ever since she disappeared in ‘91, the soldier was harder to control, more agitated and violent. He screamed her name in his sleep and when they wiped him he was always mumbling about her when he became coherent. They tried to program it out of him, and when that didn’t work, they tried to beat it out of him, hoping she would vanish from his memories the way his blood washed down the drain. Nothing ever worked. The Winter Soldier was irrevocably in love with Florence Morozov and Alexander was going to use that against him.

The Winter Soldier’s mission was to kill Steve Rogers and Florence Morozov.

FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED. IF YOU ENJOYED, PLEASE REBLOG.

151 notes · View notes

why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years ago

Text

it’s a fucking metaphor!

Titans 3.08

i’ve finally gathered the mental and emotional resources to do this thing, so let’s go! as always, i’m typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. on watching this opening scene, i was thinking back to how gar was in s1, or even the early bits of s2. the way he idolised the others, particularly dick, and his readiness to go along with whatever they said, and the way he practically bled the need for acceptance. and here he is now, openly defying dick, fully open to and aware of the flaws of the people he loves and admires, knowing he is accepted no matter what and extending that generosity elsewhere. it’s a remarkable bit of character growth that’s... sort of blossomed in the background and so rewarding to see and acknowledge.

1.25. i guess what i really love about this conflict over how to respond to jason--as clumsily as it is sometimes written--is how their histories and individual traumas inform each character’s reaction. dick is torn between his guilt over what’s become of jason and his drive to do what batman had essentially given up on doing: he is motivated to track down red hood at all costs but there’s a sense that he’s not completely sold on the idea that the only way to stop him is to kill him. (he might go the comics route and try to put him in arkham? god, imagine if the season ended with jason in arkham.) kory’s never had much of a connection with jason in the first place, and jason has done one of the worst things he could do in her book: track and kill a member of her newfound family and is threatening to kill more.

and gar... sure. look. the idea of jason and red hood as separate entities appeals to him; that red hood emerged when jason was drugged to the gills by scarecrow and lost his usual inhibitions. gar’s struggled with what he becomes when he’s pushed to his limits, too--he did rip open that experimenting scientist with his teeth way back in 1.07, after all, and he was brainwashed by cadmus in s2 into becoming a literal monster. he needs to think, to know, there’s a dichotomy, a line that can only be crossed under extreme duress or by outside influence.

and he says--and we say--that he was accepted back into the titans in spite of what he’d done, but was he really? gar’s always struggled with his footing in this group; relegated to the caretaker, the tech guy, the gatekeeper, and sometimes punching bag even though everybody’s paying lip service to how much of a family they all are. perhaps gar reaching out to jason and offering acceptance is aspirational on his part: perhaps this is the effort he hoped the titans put/or will put into getting gar back, even when it would seem like he’s too far gone.

1.5. anyway my point is that i don’t think it’s worth discussing this in terms of right/wrong decisions because all of their reactions make a lot of sense given their backgrounds/personalities. gar is doing a fine job here of tracking down jason’s friends and trying to find him that way, but we the audience know that jason is ultimately going to end up an anti-hero/eventually-hero character, so with that knowledge in mind we know that gar’s reaction is the right one. it’s knowledge that the other characters don’t have, so to judge them on it is... uh, unfair.

1.8. also, molly is awesome, yay!

2. dick and barbara flirting over the phone is so cute! i love to see this side of dick: lighter, peppier, willing (even if somewhat reluctantly) to put his mission aside to go out on a date with his girlfriend. and i love how easy this makes his dynamic with kory too: it’s all very domestic and utterly delightful.

(also, re: the water leak in barbara’s office--you’re saying GCPD could afford fancy-schmancy table-wide touch screen computers and evil-lair lighting but needs its frickin’ commissioner to catch leaking water from above her desk with mugs and fishbowls????)

2.2225. this is probably a teeny tiny thing and i’m not sure i want to bring it up at all BUT. the fact that dick feels compelled to lie to barbara about not liking fancy gala food and eating something more substantial before the date? not a terribly great sign, though i wouldn’t call it a red flag per se.

“this from a man who forced his students to eat cauliflower crust pizza...”

3. so.... conner and kom are a Thing. huh.

in theory i really like the idea of them bonding over an innate alien-ness and longing for a place they could really belong. both of them are alien twice-over: conner a mix of kryptonian and human, practically generated in a test tube, and kom being somebody that was born different and rejected by her own people, now stuck on a planet dominated by an entirely different species. i even like them exploring this bond physically. i guess it’s the sense of... uneasiness around what we do and don’t know about kom that makes this scene land slightly left of centre to me. i think titans, especially through s2, has cultivated in its audience a sense of distrust even until the final episode, just in case somebody vital to the season is suddenly revealed to have had ulterior motives (i’m even low-key suspicious of leslie). i really want to see this kom-conner dynamic play out but the anticipation of watching the other shoe drop is sucking out the enjoyment.

4. for fuck’s sake dick, gar’s not your gatekeeper.

TIIIIIIIIMMMMM \O/

4.5. i love this nod to tim’s origins in the comics, the way he just comes in and lays out all his evidence and makes it clear to dick that he needs tim’s help as robin. the fact that he was there at the flying graysons’ last performance, he was obsessed with their acrobatic moves, and was observant enough to connect those moves with that of robin and later nightwing... all of this came together to put him where he is right now.

(i also love how he can’t contain his giddy excitement when talking about the day dick grayson’s parents died... to dick grayson. even if dick weren’t nightwing, that would be a deeply uncomfortable thing! yet tim can’t help himself, and i love him for it.)

4.8. it’s a testament to how much dick’s caught off-guard that he can’t come up with a better response to tim’s allegations other than “uh... he stole my moves! as you know, no two gymnasts in the world are allowed to do the same moves. now, let me escort you out while pretending poorly that i’m not at all shaken by this...”

4.9. i’ve talked about this before, but i find the logic around secret identities in this universe utterly fascinating. the titans don’t make much effort in keeping their identities secret: everybody seems to know that kory is starfire for instance, or that gar is beast boy. dick grayson is seen hanging out with kory a lot, especially at crime scenes. it won’t take a lot of sleuthing to find out that the titans are currently camped out at wayne manor, and to put two and two together.

my theory was that superheroes and villains have become such an integral part of daily society that it’s almost not worth it to seek out their secret identities, or that it’s just not a big deal anymore. like politicians or diplomats, not everybody bothers to look into who exactly their local politician is, but the people who know just... know. it’s a sort of unspoken social contract.

tim’s broken this contract by confronting dick about his identity, and dick’s not ready to deal with it. not entirely.

look at him! *pinches his cheeks*

5. ngl, it was quite satisfying to see jason knock the scarecrow out like that.

5.5. i guess... the question of jason’s culpability is always going to be a thorny one and would make for a great courtroom drama spinoff. there are a number of factors to consider: jason’s personality, the rough circumstances under which he grew up, his undoubtedly stressful transition to being robin, bruce wayne being... well, bruce wayne, never feeling accepted by the titans and having most of them turn on him, being roundly defeated and almost killed by deathstroke, alfred’s death, a fuckload of ptsd, his violent death, crane’s manipulations, coming back to life, crane plying him with a drug. but there is no easy line to draw between any of these factors to his actions. i think it would be a disservice to jason’s character to attribute his actions entirely to these things and rather irresponsible to do so. i think jason has to reckon with the fact that when he took crane’s drug, he wasn’t reckless and chaotic like the thugs he gave it to; the planning that went into hank’s death was meticulous and the way hank died--dawn essentially tricked into pulling the trigger that blew her lover into bits--is so drawn out and cruel.

5.75. it’s occurring to me that crane might have given jason a placebo. maybe jason’s dependence is psychological, and he’s externalised his fears in such a way that he believes crane’s drugs literally wipe them out, however temporarily.

in any case, the boy needs (more) therapy.

6. “he walked like robin...” fuck, tim

“gait recognition sweep” god, this show. i don’t know whether to laugh or cry. hey, once we’re done doing this gait recognition thingy, can we get a goddamn plumber in the house??? or move the commissioner’s desk so that sewage water isn’t dripping on her head or the million dollar touchscreen desk???????

6.5. oh no dick!!!!!! i am delighted that you got hurt but i feel ashamed about it! that looked like it really hurt!

he’s really not having a good time of it, is he. from being shot by a sniper to slamming at full speed into an suv, he’s got to be really fucking battered by now. and that’s just the physical side of it.

“can you believe that just over a week ago i was sitting in san francisco eating cauliflower crust pizza and feeling good about myself for the first time in five years...”

7. kory’s having visions again! now that she’s figured what they are, do you think the show’s just dropped justin? it’s curious that HPG hasn’t been brought up in a while after featuring relatively heavily in the beginning. hmmm.

8. dick’s in hospital but... he looks remarkably whole for someone who took a spill like that. you’d think he’d at least have a bruise to show for it. on the other hand, i love that the first thing he says is ‘i need to call home’. reminds me of season 1 dick and his clumsy attempts to explain away his found family as an ‘alliance of necessity’ or some bullshit. what a long way he’s come!

*gasp* dick’s hallucinating again!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m doing the dick’s hallucinating dance! can you believe that we’re carrying over these huge honking issues unearthed in season 2 onto season 3? can you believe?!!! all that time and effort i spent talking about dick’s mental health from last season has not gone in vain!!

... ahem. anyway. more on this later.

“hold on barbara, i think kory gave me the number to this therapist that she kept calling Hot Psychiatrist Guy...”

9. just an interlude to say that i’m barely halfway through the episode and i’ve already written 2k+ words... ugh. i’m going to try and be more concise.

10. man i fuckin love it when titans goes all out with its weird mindscapes and i’m extra glad that kory’s the focus this time. is that baby kom or maybe a secret sibling that neither of them knew about? was that lady luand’r? and is this place where kory was circling where the secret sibling is? it’s all very intriguing.

(if justin turned out to be that sibling... we’ve a real luke/leia situation on our hands.)

11. aw, i knew that nice security guard was going to die, but it still hurt to see him go :(

12. this show is so bizarre. like i get the mindscape as a narrative device, but jason using sex workers to try and vocalise his guilt about killing hank was just weird. like. i have to use tamil, sorry: idhulaan yaaru pa room pottu yosikara??? some things just can’t be translated into a second language.

i guess one way to interpret jason’s reckoning with what he did to the titans as a sign of him coming off crane’s drug, but i think it’s more to do with the disillusionment of realising that he was a mere pawn in a more sinister plan, and not, as he thought, a player in control of his destiny, rising to the purpose of liberating gotham of its fears in a way batman never could. along the way, he’s done some truly irreversible damage. it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

13. another hallucination! it’s really intriguing that it’s a young dick(?), younger than we’ve ever seen him, wearing an early-era robin costume from way before he even became robin. (this is also interesting in that it gives credence to the idea that ‘robin’ is an identity that dick created entirely on his own, and as a possible homage to his family.)

“old road, old house... it’s all gone.” i wonder what it all means.

13.5. it’s entirely likely dick’s hallucinating because of a brain injury from the accident, though just hallucinations without any other focal neurological deficit is unusual. he might’ve been microdosed with fear toxin at some point, though i wonder when... did jason do so after dick’s accident? did he get dosed at the factory from last episode?

it’s also possible it’s a continuing manifestation of dick’s issues from last season--which, if you remember, he never told anyone about and therefore never properly addressed. maybe he was hallucinating bruce wayne in a psychotic episode accompanying an acute stress reaction and maybe that’s what’s happening now. nobody’s denying that he’s under an extraordinary amount of stress right now. another way to look at it is that this is how he externalises conflict that he can’t bear to suppress anymore; if in s2 halluci!bruce manifested his insecurities and self-loathing, then these hallucinations... something to do with his fears, no doubt.

yet ANOTHER way to look at it might be: rachel is reaching out to him through their, well, psychic bond. after all, they were able to use that bond unconsciously last season to get the titans back together; maybe rachel has learned to gain a degree of control over it in themyscira and is sending across warnings? it’s all very intriguing.

anyway:

“i hear you skipped over the discowing suit in your evolution to nightwing... how could you??”

14. can you imagine, gar did all the work of reaching out to jason via molly and jason wants to meet dick? smh.

14.5. “i’m just a regular guy doing regular things” he says, standing at the opening of a secret old tunnel, like a secret person doing secret things, confronting someone who can now officially be called his stalker. neither of you guys are ‘regular’

14.8. ‘my dad was a cop and he taught me how to investigate’ - hmmm. i guess they’re trying to Explain Tim but i don’t think that’s really necessary. so he’s smart and he’s obsessed with batman and robin--that should be enough, imo.

15. that scene with scarecrow and his mother was... wow. i’m just laughing here helplessly, because what the hell? for a while i thought it was an extended dream sequence and i’m still not entirely sure that it isn’t...

anyway. i still love that titans is happy to throw out its plot in favour of extended character-exploration sessions.

15.5. it seems to me that this scene with crane and his mother (i have no idea if there’s anything in the comics similar to this) serves to move forward this season’s theme of harmful legacies and how parents can damage their children in the name of their mission. in a way it’s been the underlying message of the entire show but we’re really seeing it being reinforced this season. the titans, serving as a foil to scarecrow, are using the damage to rebuild themselves and actually work through their issues together, instead of spiralling further and further into the morass of their issues.

other than that... god, that scene was painful to watch. i can’t say i like this version of scarecrow or how this actor plays him at all.

16. i wonder what’s jason’s play here. i think he’s smart enough to realise that the titans aren’t going to just forgive him and let him be a titan again after what he did, and that dick agreeing to it is just a bid to pin both him and crane down. maybe it’s a ploy to trap them, get back on scarecrow’s good books so that he can have the drug again. who knows.

17. i absolutely felt dick when he said “we’ll bring him in and then re-assess the situation.” what the fuck else is he going to say? the priority is to get him.

so kory and dick are both hallucinating while potentially trying to rehabilitate their murderous siblings. CONFIDE IN EACH OTHER ALREADY

18. TIM NOOOO! you beautiful, reckless fool!

18.25. just to quickly address it here because i know it’s been brought up before: i think it’s perfectly justified to not have conner take tim to the hospital via superspeed because a) i don’t think we’ve seen conner do that with anybody so far and b) it’s probably not a good idea to submit tim’s body to that kind of stress without knowing what it would do to him. the paramedics with actual equipment and experience would be there in a few minutes, so on a risk assessment, i would say dick and conner absolutely made the right call.

18.5. i guess we won’t know what jason really intended to when the titans came to the pump to see him, but this is definitely going to set a big wedge in his relationship with crane. then again, crane got what he wanted--using starfire’s powers to blast through to the underground pipes--so jason can argue that this is exactly what he was working towards, too.

anyway, mortal peril, hallucinations, murderous family members, creepy visions and robins sprouting left and right. time to get rachel and donna on the scene, i think.

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #garfield logan #dick grayson #koriand'r #jason todd #tim drake #jonathan crane #conner kent #komand'r #aaaaah this is 3k+#*collapses in a heap*

25 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Note

i'm fucking losing it about that most recent post and i cannot get coherent words out about it because i get too excited about the possibilities and it is extremely hard to type while flapping but !!! oh my god!!!! oh my godd!!!!!!!!!

CW: Opening to what is definitely going to be a severe trauma response in the next piece, brief victim-blaming language

Jake watches the video, and Laken can't read his expression at all. It's grim, maybe - his jaw is set, and his blue eyes don't leave the laptop screen.

Youtube starts with a stupid fucking State Farm car insurance ad, and Jake is quiet and thoughtful before the ad even ends. He didn't argue with Laken, or suggest disbelief. He only texted come to the house and show me while C is at rehearsal, and Laken had hopped on two buses and walked half a mile, but here they are, now, only a little sweaty for their efforts.

Laken hunches over next to him, their hands over their mouth, thick wavy black hair falling over their eyes. They'd re-shaved the sides yesterday and the air moved over the shorn-short spaces as the fan turned overhead.

They don't speak. They just watch Jake watch Tristan Higgs dance. They watch Antoni, Chris's other brother, sit quietly on Jake's other side, his own dark eyes equally fixed on the screen. When the video ends, Jake hits the replay button and watches it again.

And again.

"This video is from eight years ago," He finally says. His voice is a deep rumble, barely a sound human ears can hear. “I mean, the dancing is from eight years ago.”

Laken swallows and nods. "Um, y-yeah. So he would be-"

"Fifteen," Jake finishes for them. "Give or take. If he's as old as I think he is. And this guy seems pretty fucking sure that Tristan Higgs is dead."

"Right." Laken swallows, uncomfortable. "So, Ben-... You remember Ben. He's, um. Been looking stuff up, and... He sent me some links to, like, old news articles, and... Um..."

"What is in the articles?" Where Jake's voice is rough-edged, struggling for control, Antoni's voice is soft, hazy with his accent, sliding over consonants and coasting the vowels. "What is he sending?"

"So, um, like... This double-... Uh, double-murder and stuff. These people that were killed and just, like, their kid survived, Tristan Higgs. Except then he disappears-... just drops off the face of the earth. But no obit or anything.”

Jake and Antoni look at each other, the men sharing an expression that communicates a wealth of information Laken isn't privy to. But the one thing they don't show is any surprise.

"-and... Ben's been messaging the guy that posted the video, and-... They're gonna meet, um, in a couple days. At, you know where La Mode is? The ice cream place where they filmed that bit in that old Vince Shield movie-"

"I know where La Mode is, yeah," Jake says, watching Laken carefully. He hasn't looked at them like this in a long time, since he first met them - calculating and slightly cold, considering the risk they pose to Chris and to everyone else in his house.

"I also am knowing that place," Antoni says with a nod, putting a hand on Jake's arm. Jake is tense - Laken didn't realize it until he suddenly relaxes, consciously, now. "Why is Ben wanting to talk to this man?"

"I, I don't know. He kind of, he's really intense about this stuff. You know, when he found out Chris was, um, was... a pet..." The word is ash on their tongue, gums up around their teeth, makes their stomach flip in disgust. "... He kind of lost his shit once we got Chris calm about it. I think he thought-... Uh, you know, people like Chris, they get targeted, and... so he's been thinking about that.”

“This isn’t his business, Laken,” Jake says, weary, closing his eyes.

“No, I know, but he's got a little brother who's the same age Chris was when-... this video must have been made. Who’s a lot like him. So I think he's... I don't know. Maybe thinking, you know, if it was his brother, he’d want someone to do all this... if-... if someone took his brother away."

"Yeah, I get it." Jake swallows, sitting up slowly, rubbing at his face. He's got a day-old stubble along his jaw, the kind that made Laken grin a little when they saw the rubbed-red, irritated jawline of the guy with black hair who answered the door, Chris's other brother kind of.

The one that Laken met the night Dylan told Ben and them where Chris really came from. Except... not this. Dylan hadn't known this.

"So, we need to get Chris ready-"

"Get me ready for, for, for what? Laken, why, why are you here?"

Laken closes their eyes and lets out a slow, soft sigh. Of course - the one night they needed Chris's rehearsal to run full-length is the one night he comes back early. They turn to look at Chris and give him a slight smile. "Hey, querido, we just, um-... So, there's..."

The video has still been playing in the background, forgotten, and the music kicks into the crescendo where the second gymnast steps up, catching Chris's attention. "What's, what's that? Is, is, is, is is is it-"

He goes silent as Tristan Higgs steps into place, shoots his bright smile towards Akio Nakamura, and does his first set of flips and spins.

The three of them watch Chris watching Tristan Higgs. They watch his backpack slide off his shoulder and thump to the ground. They watch his eyes - the perfect match to the eyes of the boy on the screen - follow Tristan and Akio dancing briefly back to back, his laughter as he drops his head onto Akio's shoulder.

Something in the line of his shoulders tightens. His skin is pale under the freckles, his hair suddenly seems too garishly bright against the rest of him. There are shadows under his eyes Laken has never seen before. He looks younger... and haunted.

They hold their breath until it ends, the two boys hugging and laughing, Tristan bouncing and rocking and flapping ecstatically when the routine went off without a hitch.

The video cycles to the next one, a different set of Nakamura's. Chris blinks and then looks at the three of them, eyes moving from one to the next. "Why... are you watching... that?"

His voice shifts, change, slips into a drip-drop of words, a slowly leaking faucet language that Laken barely understands when compared to his usual mile-a-minute. He stands perfectly still.

Once again, Jake and Antoni aren't surprised.

"Chrisha," Antoni says, gently. Jake's jaw works, maybe fighting for words that don't come. "That is you, we think. You were... are Tristan Higgs."

Chris's eyes move to Antoni. Then back to Jake. "No," He says, simply. "I'm... not."

"Chris?" Laken feels a wash of uncertainty. "Are you okay? We're pretty sure this is you."

Chris stares right through Laken, eyes empty, full of a kind of fog all their love can't break through. "No, I, I'm not. I'm... not him."

Jake is the one to push himself to his feet first, taking Chris gently by the arm to walk him back towards the doorway. "Chris-"

"I'm... not, not him," Chris says, looking up at Jake, up and up and up. "I'm... not, Jake."

Chris, Laken's sunshine boy, their love and light and life, is a dull bit of broken rock, sodden earth after too much rain, the sooty stumps of trees in an empty wildfire-wrecked field.

"I know it's hard," Jake says, folding Chris into his arms, and Laken watches with a twist of something that isn't quite jealousy, but isn't that far off. Chris will always turn to Jake, first. They can't compete with that - they don't want to, even, they just sort of wish they could. "I know, Chris. But Laken's right, this kid... I think that might really be you."

"No," Chris whispers, burying his head into Jake's chest. "No, no, no. I'm... not. I, I make myself, I made Chris, I don't want to, to, to to to-to be anyone else anymore..."

"You're still Chris," Jake murmurs, and holds him close. "You're still my brother. This just tells us maybe a little bit about what happened before I met you, that's all. That's it, Chris. Nothing has to change."

"Everything changed," Chris whispers, pulling slowly back. "Because I, I did it wrong. I, I, I moved, wasn't... I was, was supposed to hide... and, and be so quiet..." His hands move, one finger up to his lips, as though shushing himself. The empty look in his eyes is cracking open to a well of pain that Laken, for all the times they've held him after nightmares and all the meltdowns they've seen... They've never seen it quite like this.

He pulls away from Jake, and slowly picks his backpack up from the floor.

"Chris?" Laken shifts forward, but the look on his face when he glances back at them makes them stop short. "Baby, I-"

"Go... home, Laken," Chris says, and turns away from them. "Tris, Tristan Higgs is, is, is, is dead. He, he, he... he he-... he, k-... killed people, and he’s, he’s, he’s dead.”

He's gone, his feet heavy on the stairs, before Laken can say another word.

Jake and Antoni glance at each other - another immense conversation contained in a single shared look - and then Jake sighs. "Come in, Laken. I'll drive you back to campus. Ant, if you'll-"

"Watch the house and speak to Chrisha. Got it." Antoni gives Laken a soft, sympathetic smile. "These things are not easy," He says, softly. "You cannot pick yourself back up again, simple as that, start a story where you were left off. I will speak with him."

"But, I should-"

"You'll make it worse," Jake says, rough-edged again.

"Harder," Antoni gently corrects. "He will need us, who know what it is they do to our minds, tonight."

"Wh-what do they do?” Laken looks from one of the men to the other. “I, I know memory loss, I get that, and he was clearly-... hurt, so much, but-”

“They take a frightened man-... or, child,” Antoni says, voice gentle as always. “And they teach us that the person we were before was so terrible that the person we are now exists only to suffer.”

“But he’s just a kid, there, in that video,” Laken says, a token protest, voice weak. Antoni’s smile widens, slightly, in its sympathy for them. “There’s no kid on earth who could possibly deserve that. He doesn’t even remember what happened!”

“You do not have to remember a crime to be told you are responsible for it.”

“But-”

Antoni takes their hands in his, looking them right in the eyes. “When you are alone, and frightened, and desperate to survive... you will believe anything that gives you the slightest chance for a way out.”

Laken swallows, hard, thinking of Chris whispering after a nightmare one night, they made me a Romantic pet because I was a slut who wanted it all the time - their sunshine boy, who never ever does, effortlessly believing a lie, repeating back the names they called him, acting unbothered and like he barely noticed his own words.

Laken swallows back a flip of disgust at the idea of a teenager being taught to hate himself that way.

“Wh-what happens if he remembers everything they made him forget?” Laken’s voice is a whisper.

“If we’re lucky,” Jake says gruffly, “He doesn’t remember it all at once. If we’re not-”

A wail shatters their conversation, a low keening cry from upstairs, muffled by distance and closed doors, a sound of wild screaming wordless grief. All three of them flinch as there’s a resounding crash and a slammed door.

“If we not, that happens,” Jake says, and he’s on his feet and up the stairs before Laken can remind him that he’d said he would take them home. They move to stand, but Antoni lays a hand on their arm.

“Jake, first,” He says softly. “It is easy to be overwhelmed, in these moments. Jake first, and then you.”

What they feel now is definitely a little bit jealousy.

And guilt.

Chris’s screaming, his misery and pain, seems to go on forever, twist itself into the walls of the house and burrow in. Antoni leaves to comfort frightened people who stick their heads out of doors and ask what’s going on, people Laken doesn’t know and has never been introduced to. They look at Laken, consider them, and Antoni speaks to them with soft reassurance while Laken feels helpless, and hopeless, and pointless in this house full of hurting people, while their own hurting person finds comfort in his brother, not in them.

They turn back to look at Jake’s laptop, sitting alone and watching a group of gymnasts hugging after getting their scores, laughing.

The title dates it as a year after the dancing video.

By the time this one was filmed, Tristan Higgs was already gone.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

#chris the strawberry blond romantic #whump #memory loss #memory recovery #tw: trauma recovery #box boy #box boy universe #recovery whump #laken mamani: frankly i want to date them #tristan higgs #jake the shelter guy #antoni sings lullabies

148 notes · View notes

nohoney · 4 years ago

Text

Do It For Me - 3.3

warnings: 18+, threesome, polyamory, mentions of assault, toxic relationships

title song: Do It For Me

summary:

You trust him.

“Anything?” you turn your head and ask against his lips.

“Anything…” he echoes back to you. “And fucking everything…”

“For me?”

“All for you princess.”

3.1 ✧ 3.2 ✧ 3.3

It’s not that you want to defend Jun in the first place for strangling you, you think he definitely deserves a kick in the balls or something, but Touya is not against beating someone blind for touching you and would not be sorry for going overboard. You had one scary instance where you went out together to a social on campus, back when he was still Dabi to you. A drunk frat guy grabbed your arm too hard, too insistent that you drink with him and his buddies when Touya left to go have a smoke, leaving behind a bruise on your bicep. Touya witnessed it the moment it happened and he dragged that guy to a hallway and proceeded to beat him silly.

You can’t move fast enough as Touya moves through the house, his eyes rapidly scanning the faces of the remaining partygoers and searching for Jun, damn near out for blood. Keigo has no idea what’s going, trying to ask what was wrong and you’re calling out for him to not do anything crazy and to calm down. “Jesus, fucking wait! Dabi! Dabi, I swear to god do not do anything!” you call out him, uncaring as you capture the attention of several of the people still in the house.

Keigo tries to grab Touya’s arm to get him to slow down and get a sense of what is happening. “Dude, talk to me! What the fuck is going on?”

“(Name) got fucking strangled and I know exactly who did it.” Touya growled and shook Keigo’s arm off. Turquoise blue zeroed in on his target who was standing by the sliding door leading to the outside.

You’re pinned by Keigo’s gaze when you come up behind him, his eyes now registering how badly bruised you are around your neck. You can see how his eyes harden instantly but his hands are so gentle when he pulls you to him, carefully cradling your cheek in his hand. “Who did this (Name)? Who put their filthy hands on you?”

It looks like Keigo might be on board with the ‘beat Jun’s ass’ club.

There’s a loud slam and a screech of ‘what the fuck dude?!’

Touya has Jun pinned against the glass of the sliding door, both his wrists restrained in Touya’s large hand while the other is grasped tightly in Jun’s hair and squishing his face into the glass. He’s got one leg in between Jun’s spread out legs, taking the assertive stance and ready for any kind of struggle he may receive. You can practically feel the malice rolling off his body in waves and you’re genuinely scared to approach the situation but you don’t think you can take witnessing Touya get violent on your ex-boyfriend, even if he deserved a good punch in the face.

“You fucking touch my girl and put your goddamn hands on her! I should shatter your fucking kneecaps!” Touya growls and slams Jun against the glass. “You think that you would get away with it, huh?”

“Dabi, stop it!” you tell him and look to Keigo, pleading with him to do something to stop Touya. But Keigo has that same look as your boyfriend, wanting to inflict pain on the person who hurt you and does nothing despite you shaking his arm and begging for him to calm the situation down. People begin to gather to see what all the ruckus is, cell phones slowly coming up to record what is surely going to a chaotic clip.

Jun is such a jackass, he hasn’t changed that loudmouth of his when he’s obviously in trouble. He taunts Touya as if he’s got any power in this situation at all. “I don’t see why you’re so pissed off man. Isn’t she, like, one out of the four other bitches you see? I think you can stand to rent her out to me for a little bit. It was just a little choking, nothing I haven’t done with her already.”

Touya slams Jun against the glass again, his teeth grinding so hard you swear that you can hear it from where you stand. “Oh my fucking god, Jun! Shut the fuck up! It’s like you’re trying to get your ass handed to you!” you tell him frustratingly, remembering this unsavory part of his persona when you used to date him. “Dabi, he’s drunk. He always talk like an ass when he’s drunk so just let him go.”

“This bastard fucking strangled you and you expect me to let him get away with it because he was drunk?” he hisses at you. “You think I’m supposed to be okay seeing you walk around with all those bruises on your neck because he was drunk?”

God, this was not how you wanted your night or your roll to go.

There’s a look of realization in Jun’s eyes at Touya’s words and he cranes his head the best he can to get you in his view. You can see the way he squints his eyes towards you and registers the damage he had inflicted on you, his mind sobering up a little. It’s not an excuse that he was drunk for what he did to you, it absolutely is not, but it’s clear that he had overestimated just how hard he grabbed you and didn’t actually mean to do it that hard. Honestly it felt a little rough for you but you didn’t anticipate either that you’d get bruises. Jun deserves a consequence for strangling you but you’re not asking him to get maimed or anything like that.

You don’t want him to get hurt but Touya will inflict a punishment he sees fit though, regardless of how you feel.

The severity of the consequence should never exceed the crime… right?

“Shit… (Name), I didn’t know that I-” Jun starts speaking to you but yelps when Touya bends his head back with the hand he still has planted in his hair. “S-Shit Dabi, I’m trying to apologize! I seriously didn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Touya growls and you swear the entire room just freezes. “Don’t you say her fucking name, don’t you fucking look at her, you don’t get to say shit to her. You’re speaking to me now, understand?”

“Keigo! Fucking stop him!” you beg once more and pull on his arm. You’re getting flashbacks to that frat party, especially as Touya drags Jun to the backyard, it mirrors the memory of him dragging that poor frat boy. When you move forward to stop himself yourself, Keigo holds you back and just tells you to stay with him. You wrestle in his arms but he holds you tightly, shushing you with his lips pressed against his temple and telling you that everything will be okay. Your heartbeat is rushing in your ears and you feel light headed, anxiety rising and the scene in front of you feels unreal and you feel yourself to dissociate, your mind attempting to protect you from the trauma of witnessing Touya’s temper a second time.

There’s two boys that rush from the house to pull Touya off of Jun.

“You kicked his ass plenty Dabi, you gave him what he deserved.”

But Touya doesn’t feel like it’s enough, damn near lunging at the defenseless Jun on the ground.

Jun is an idiot, especially when he’s drunk, he used to come to your old apartment in the middle of the night sometimes a little beat up from being in a bar fight. You could remember your disappoint in him, that you told him if he kept on being a jackass while he was drunk then he’d surely get himself killed one day by the wrong person. And then you would bandage and clean up his scrapes and ice his bruises, kiss his cheek and keep him company until he fell asleep.

It’s wrong to think this in the moment since you’re with Touya, but you want to run to Jun and make sure he’s okay. You want to stop his bleeding nose and ice the poor bump on his head, tell him that he’s going to be okay. You want nothing more than to nurse his wounds because you still cared; Jun was wrong, you’re still too fucking nice. Even after that break up and him putting his hands on you, you couldn’t bring yourself to seriously consider him getting hurt as a proper punishment.

Touya better not find out that you feel that way.

You feel like your brain is going into overload, the memory of that first time witnessing Touya’s anger colliding with this experience now. The ecstasy and alcohol still coursing through your system definitely do not help either. Drugs, alcohol, and anxiety don’t make a good combination; you remember that very clearly from that first house party you attended with Keigo and Touya. They mix together and you feel like you are both flashing back to that memory but are also present in this moment, that same anxiety rushing through every part of your body and unsure how to handle itself, your body does one thing in response to all the stress.

You pass out.

━━━━✧

The instant it happened, it felt like everything moved in slow motion as you watched Touya grabbed that drunk frat boy and moved through the crowd of uni students who were either drunk or on something. The music was loud but you still kept calling him, shouting the loudest you could to tell him that it was an accident. Maybe that guy really did mean to grab you that hard or he really was just too drunk to register the strength of his grip on your arm, but a bruise on your arm was not the worst thing that could have happened with a drunk guy at a college party.

That didn’t stop Touya from clearing out a hallway of the frat house to beat that poor frat boy, you had watched helplessly because pleading didn’t get him to stop. So you did the only thing you knew would get his attention: you cried. The moment Touya heard your sobbing he had stopped instantly, coming to you shush you. There was blood on his knuckles and you had dared to look just a bit past him to see the frat boy with a bloody nose and blood stained lips. The guy had come out with just a busted nose and a slight concussion and when the fraternity president caught word that it was Touya that beat one of his brother’s, he took you and Touya to the side a week after to find out the story.

“He grabbed her, left a bruise on her arm after she said that he wouldn’t leave her alone. You can’t tell me that if you were in the same situation that you wouldn’t have done something about it?” Touya asked as he had lit a cigarette between his lips.

The fraternity president had sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking. “I’m not saying that I wouldn’t have done the same, but I have a duty to protect my brothers Dabi. The proper thing to do would have just been to bring him to me. Now my brother has to take two weeks off to recover, I had to lie to the goddamn dean that he got too shit faced and fought with one of the pledges. The fucking frat house is on a probation now!”

You remember as you stood close to Touya, keeping your head down and somehow feeling like this was all your fault even though it wasn’t.

“Do you think he went overboard?”

You bristled at the question, not prepared to be spoken to again and thought that the boys would just talk it out amongst themselves. You had looked between the two of them and rung your hands together out of a nervous habit when you were put on the spot. You could never condone Touya’s actions because he clearly went too far over a simple grab on your arm, but you were scared of what his reaction may be if you spoke what you felt.

“You don’t gotta say it, it’s on your face.”

It’s not like that fraternity president saying it for you made it any better.

Touya had huffed, puffing on his cigarette and blowing out the smoke. “I fucking defended her, end of story.”

“Dabi… there is such a thing as excessive force. It’s clear that my brother was too insistent and grabbed her a little too rough, but fucking shit it did not have to come to that. I’m sorry but something has to be done, my brother deserves a little bit of justice too.”

“Hm…” Touya threw down his cigarette before telling you, “Go wait in the car.”

“But Dabi—“

His glare had sent you practically scurrying back to his car, waiting in the passenger seat as you watched from where you were. The worst case scenario was that you thought they were going to fight each other but they just stood where they were and continued to talk. At least they did up until you watched Touya lean in close to the fraternity president’s ear before he had pulled back and walked back to the car and got into the driver’s seat. You didn’t dare say a thing, the tension in the car palpable as he turned on the engine and drove back to his place.

You waited patiently for that so called justice the fraternity president spoke of but nothing had ever happened, trying to ask Touya what exactly he said to dodge any consequences of what he did. But you were forced to move on and leave the incident behind because he refused to tell you anything, just that he did what he thought was right and that he did it for you.

It was one of the first instances you learned that Touya will withhold what he feels likes you don’t need to know.

And you don’t question it.

━━━━✧

When you open your eyes, you’re lying in the backseat of a car and assume that you must be in Touya’s car. You still feel hot and groan over the fact that you passed out, feeling like shit since the ecstasy was still processing through your system. Thankfully you were already on a come down so you’d just have to ride it out again, though it would be slightly more raggedy considering the circumstances of why you fainted. Your teeth ache and your mouth feels dry, smacking your lips and slowly sitting up in the backseat. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like it.”

It’s not Touya or Keigo that speaks to you.

You jump as you look to see who’s in the driver’s seat, now recognizing that this was not in fact Touya’s car but a complete stranger’s instead. Despite your sluggishness, your body tries to go into overdrive to save yourself from potential danger, reaching for the door handle to just tuck and roll out the car. But the driver anticipates your action and locks it just in time, the vehicle slowly coming to a halt at a stop sign. The driver turns back to you and hands you a bottle of water, “I don’t normally take any favors from anyone but Dabi promised that if I took you back to his apartment then he would do something for me.”

It’s Shigaraki.

You warily take the bottle from him, the cap unbroken so at least you know that it’s new and it doesn’t have anything in it like a roofie. Chugging the water, it helps calm you down a little but you’re questioning why you’re being taken home by this stranger instead of by Touya or Keigo. “Why are you taking me home? Where’s Dabi and Keigo?”

“I don’t know who Keigo is but I’m assuming that’s Dabi’s friend when I pulled up at that house. He didn’t say where he’d be, just told me to take you back to his place and watch over you until he gets back.”

Whoa… Touya hates having people at his place. The fact that he’s letting this Shigaraki guy into his apartment to watch over you, that definitely speaks volumes because Touya likes to watch over you himself first and have Keigo take care of you if he’s not around. You still don’t know what this guy’s relationship is to your boyfriend and you don’t know who he is period so you keep your guard up for now. You see your purse on the floor of the backseat and you pick it up, finding your phone inside and seeing that the time was almost four in the morning. “When did you come get me?”

“Not too long ago, maybe like ten minutes ago. Your fucking boyfriend was blowing up my phone and telling me to get my ass to that stupid house all just for me to babysit you.” the words are mean itself but there isn’t a bite to them, a hint of annoyance at most. “He mentioned that you were on ecstasy, didn’t want you to be alone on your come down.”

Your phone has no messages from Touya or Keigo and your mood drops even lower; you want to be with them. “Did they say what they were doing? Where they would be?” you ask as Shigaraki pulls into the guest parking of Touya’s complex and turns off the engine of the car. The door clicks and you’re able to open the car door, stepping out into the crisp air of the very early morning.

Shigaraki walks ahead of you, carrying a little backpack that’s slung on his shoulder and he pulls his hoodie over his head. “I didn’t ask, I don’t really care about what he does in his personal life.”

You unlock the door to Touya’s apartment with the spare keys and allow Shigaraki in first. It’s so strange to be in his apartment and not be with either Touya or Keigo for company. Shigaraki leaves his shoes by the front door and goes to sit on the armchair, a recent purchase that you and Touya bought together. You see him pull a handheld game device out of the backpack he was carrying and just fixate his gaze on the screen of it, not paying you any attention.

Closing the bedroom door and locking it, you go to the bathroom with your phone and try to ring either one of the boys; they both go straight to voicemail.

It feels better to be cleaned up and in loungewear, though your body craves the affection of your boys. They always take care of you when you go through your come down, this would be the first time you go through it without either of them. So you walk back into the living room to see Shigaraki still sitting in the armchair with his game, two glasses of water on the coffee table, obviously one for himself and the other for you.

Keigo left you his pack of gum in your purse, tossing it on the coffee table after popping a new piece into your mouth. You take the throw blanket from the little storage underneath the couch cushion and snuggle into the fabric. The fabric vaguely smells like Touya’s cologne and you know that he’s slept on this blanket without washing himself up first which would normally annoy you but you’re grateful this time, feeling like this is the closest you can be to Touya at the moment.

The tv is turned on and you just run a random sitcom series to watch, keeping the volume low enough where you think it won’t distract Shigaraki from his game. Without neither of the boys to take care of you during your come down and this stranger keeping you company instead, you feel even lonelier. All you can think of is where they are and what they’re doing, why their phones aren’t on and when they’ll return to you.

You want something to distract you.

“Who are you to Dabi?” you ask to Shigaraki as you shift your gaze to him.

He doesn’t answer right away, seemingly focused on his handheld but he answers vaguely, “Just an acquaintance.”

You shouldn’t ask, you know you shouldn’t because if Touya wanted you to know then he would tell you himself, but you ask anyway, “Why did you come here that one day? What did you need to talk to Dabi about?”

Shigaraki answers vaguely again, “Just some business between us, that’s all.”

“When you came by that day, I didn’t see him until the day after. I came back over here and he was high or something like that.” you don’t think you should be explaining all this to Shigaraki on the off chance that Touya and him aren’t involved like that but you can’t stop running your mouth. You’re still so curious about that day and this guy could be the only person to fill in the blanks of what happened that day. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“What Dabi takes is up to him, I just made sure he got back here alive.” It’s just more vague answers and it starts to frustrate you.

You’re not certain if Shigaraki is under orders from Touya to keep his mouth shut or if he’s just naturally dodging the questions without a prompt from Touya in the first place. It seems like he doesn’t want you in his business either, not exactly looking happy that apparently he was harassed to babysit some girl that he doesn’t know. “What did Dabi promise he’d do for you? It’s not like him to reach out to other people for favors, especially when it comes to me.”

The handheld device plays soft music that suddenly shifts into a different soundtrack, hinting that whatever game is being played means that he probably went into a battle or something. “He just said he’d do something for me, we haven’t worked out the details just yet. Just pretty much wanted me to come get you in a hurry, so here I am guarding his princess while she sobers up from her roll.” You hear a victory anthem before the same soft music from before plays. “I didn’t even know Dabi had a girlfriend this entire time, didn’t think he was capable of being locked down by someone.”

You ask all these questions but no light is shed on who exactly this character is.

“Are you, like, a drug dealer too?”

The little game plays whimsical music, little chirps and tones that sound much too cute for a scary guy like Shigaraki to be playing.

“Did Dabi tell you anything?” he asks you when he looks up from the screen of his game to look at you.

You feel nervous under his gaze now and regret asking your question, you feel like the wrong answer given to this guy will bare a really bad consequence. “No. He doesn’t tell me about that kind of stuff, doesn’t want me to know. I can’t ask him myself, he’d just get mad at me. And it’s just,” you pause to take a breath and hoping that this next sentence won’t get you or Touya in trouble, “when he came back that day after we met, he came back with a case full of drugs. So I’m just taking a guess that maybe you’re his supplier?”

Shigaraki stares at you and you stare back.

He looks back down at his game and continues to play it. “I’m not into getting high or using any of that shit but Dabi likes to sample it if he’s interested. He’s got the strongest tolerance out of anyone I know. Though not to say that I haven’t had to revive him once or twice.”

Oh god… the thought of Touya overdosing and dying makes you spiral even more.

What kind of life is Touya leading? And you have to wonder what exactly his plan was in life before you came along and what his future ambitions were. Talking about the future wasn’t really something that came up, you were surprised that you’re coming up pretty close to the one year mark. You have to figure though that with how serious things seem between the two of you that it’s a discussion that has to come up sooner or later.

“No more questions, you need rest.”

You snuggle into the blanket and inhale Touya’s cologne to bring you a sense of comfort. All you want is to be sandwiched between the boys right now. They’d give you head massages, play with your ears, pass you back and forth to cuddle with, and they’d just coddle the fuck out of you. And they’d know exactly when it was okay for you to fall asleep during your come down, without them you’re just pretty much guessing.

You pull up your phone and go to your photo album, scrolling through your favorite pictures of you and the boys. Touya isn’t really one for taking pictures, he’ll be in it but he rarely looks into the lens and gives a smile. There’s more photos of him looking away but the best ones are the candids that you and Keigo liked to take. Those images of him captured in soft moments or when he’s genuinely enjoying himself, never mind that some of them have lines of coke in the corner of the picture or that he only looks so relaxed because he’s high on opioids. One of your favorites you captured so him just smoking a cigarette outside with the sunset just beyond the horizon.

The next picture you pulled up was of Keigo and Touya together, the both of them had fallen asleep in your bed waiting for you to come back from your lectures one day but passed out from drinking the night before. The more you looked through the photos, the more you missed them and wondered when they would be back.

It was useless to try again but you rang their numbers one more time, sighing when it went straight to voicemail again.

I miss them.

“Do you know when they’ll be back?” you ask Shigaraki and hope that he’ll have an answer for you.

Shigaraki just shrugs his shoulders in answer and continues to focus on his game. “Dabi didn’t say. Though if I had to guess I’m assuming that he doesn’t want to be away from you for too long, he wasn’t exactly happy handing you off to me. He threatened that if I touched you the wrong way then he’d have my hands.”

“Well he’s gotta trust you to some degree if he placed me with you right?” you asked him. Touya doesn’t trust anyone outside of you and Keigo so Shigaraki must fall within the circle somehow.

“He considers me not as scummy compared to other people so that’s the only reason why I’m here.”

You make yourself comfortable against the couch and look at the tv, not really paying attention to what’s playing. “I’m tired but I feel like my body won’t let me rest.”

Shigaraki’s game beeps and in between what sounds like a battle, he offers something in his bag to help you sleep. You highly doubt that it’s melatonin that he’s offering you in the bag and tell him that you’re not allowed to take anything if Touya’s not the one providing it to you. As tempting as it seems to take something to help you sleep, you don’t know how your body will react to taking something while on a come down.

“You’re a big girl aren’t you? Dabi shouldn’t have to be the keeper of what you can and can’t do.” But you want to be good for Touya and follow his rules, more than anything you want to be good for him and be rewarded for it. Shigaraki’s cares are so little as you decline his offer, shrugging his shoulders and continuing on in his game with a quiet, “Suit yourself.”

You don’t know exactly when it was you fell asleep but when you wake up, you’re in the one place that you’d been wishing for the past few hours; curled up right in between Touya and Keigo.

The sun is out and if your curtains weren’t covering the window then you’d be getting the full blast of sunshine. You can see the dark circles underneath both of their eyes from staying up who knows how late, you had no idea when they returned and you figure that Shigaraki must be long gone. They breathe peacefully in their sleep and you just notice the placement of their hands, Keigo sleeps behind you with his hand on your hip and just one finger tucked in the band of your panties while Touya has his hand placed underneath the back of your knee and just simply holds it there.

The question of where they were can be put on hold for now, this is all you want in this moment.

━━━━✧

It’s hard for you to not bring it up every time either of them give you something or when they move to hold your hand. They’re not trying to hide it because they know it’s obvious but you’ve already learned from the both of them when to not ask about certain things. If they wanted you to know, you would have been informed by now.

They must have been too tired to clean up completely that night you passed out, you woke up before them and peeled back the blanket to see their hands with some dried blood and their knuckles bruised. Touya acts the same as ever and so does Keigo, but he’s careful to give you that warning look or a little tap on your thigh when your eyes lingered too long on their hands.

It’s been a little over a week since that night, burning curiosity that neither of the boys will cure for you. So you have to investigate on your own but without directly involving yourself, you ask a friend who’s still connected to your ex to find out how Jun is and make her promise that she won’t ask you any questions if she discovers something.

She gets back to you rather quick in just a few hours, it surprises you. But the only thing that she can inform you is that Jun’s still pretty beat up from the party with a broken arm and a black eye. “I heard that Dabi and Jun had a fight at that house party and that you passed out. But everyone says that some guys took Jun home after pulling Dabi off of him, he must have been acting up with one of the dudes that took him home, we both know how he can be when he’s drunk. That idiot is always starting fights when he’s wasted.”

That’s the story that she told you but it doesn’t feel right. When you look down at the boys’ hands, you get a strong feeling that something more went down. Touya was the only one beating down on Jun at the party while Keigo kept you at bay, so you have to question why Keigo’s hands look as if he had also beat someone up when you clearly remember that it was just Touya inflicting the blows at the party. Not to also mention the fact that you woke up in the care of someone else after passing out instead of with them. But you won’t ask, they won’t tell you anything and you figure that it must be for the best. Just like what Keigo told you before, if Touya doesn’t tell you anything it’s for your own good.

To the best of your ability, you try to move on from it.

Touya sits behind you, propped up against the headboard and holds your legs spread open for Keigo who lays on his stomach and eats you out. A playlist sets the mood in the room, playing from the little bluetooth speaker on his bedside table that is surprisingly loud. You recognize the beginning of the song that plays next but you can’t quite put your finger on where you heard it before, like it’s been a while since you’ve last listened to it.

“Cum on Keigo’s face, c’mon pretty girl. Do it.”

Whatever he says, you’d do anything for him, you trust him, you love him… you think.

Touya’s humming in your ear in tune with the song and it triggers the memory of where you’ve heard it. The bass of the song, the little piano that plays in the back, the chorus and lyrics. It’s a fitting song, the one that’s playing in the background. It’s the song that he played on loop the first time you sat in the back of his car. You didn’t pay much attention to it the first time but when you listen to the lyrics, you now realize how fitting they are. “I’d do anything for you.”

You let out a little pitched whine when Keigo presses the tip of his tongue onto your clit.

The bruises on their knuckles are fading but they still serve as a faint reminder of a night that you probably won’t get any answers if you ask what happened, just like that night you unknowingly ingested LSD.

Touya’s shown you things you’ve never done before, things you probably wouldn’t have even given a chance if not for him. He makes you feel like never before and you want as much as he will give to you, you have him in a way that no one else has before.

You trust him.

“Anything?” you turn your head and ask against his lips.

“Anything…” he echoes back to you. “And fucking everything…”

“For me?”

“All for you princess.”

Keigo kisses up your body, licking a stripe up your neck and captures you in a kiss, taking your attention off Touya. Any thoughts you have about Jun or that night, their touches and their words erase it for the time being. You drown in the affectionate names, drunk on their attention, whining and mewling, their cocks wiping your mind blank as they fuck you into the mattress.

Neither of them have dared to wrap their hand around your throat even though you do desire it but the bruises are still tender. So only soft kisses and careful caresses around that area in the mean time. Too caught up in your own ecstasy, you don’t see how their gazes soften when they look at the bruises, unable to see the correlation of how they go just a bit softer for you up until you asked to be hurt and for them to be mean to you.

So they give you what you asked for, sharp smacks to your ass that make you cry out, bite marks all over your body that make tears gather in your eyes, pulling their cocks out from you and making you masturbate in front of them for not begging the right way, and degrading you when you’re unable to articulate any coherent sentences when they fuck you silly.

And as mean as they were to you per your request, they’re extra nice in the after care as Keigo massages your sore body and Touya rubs soothing lotion on the sensitive parts of you skin. You ignore the fading bruises on their knuckles, knowing that it’s no longer important what happened that night but you make them promise that they don’t leave you with someone else the next time you have a come down. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Of course they promise you.

Touya will tell you if he feels like you need to know something, that’s how he protects you, how he keeps you safe, how he keeps you his. And you fell for it, genuinely believing that this is his form of love for you. Early in the beginning you didn’t even think that the two of you would come this far, that you’d just tell him how you like to be fucked and eventually things would fizzle out, especially with the whole ordeal with the side whores. Yet here the two of you are, bordering on the edge of an unhealthy love that neither of you can recognize.

He confessed to you himself that he’d do anything for you, that you’re all his and he makes you feel like you’re the one for him. You’ve given him your trust and hopefully you’ll eventually confess more than just your lust to each other.

━━━━✧

Touya’s glad that he’s finally able to bite, choke, and kiss at your neck again just a month later though it was a hassle for you to cover up every time you had to go out, the weather starting the transition into colder temperatures later in the night but still warm enough during the day time to wear short sleeves. He’s relieved to see that the bruises are gone, he felt like every time he saw the marks he would get that same sharp rise of anger like the very first time he saw them. He knew something was fishy when he heard that thump upstairs and when he stepped into that room with you and your ex, not trusting how you withdrew into yourself but he didn’t want to act without a probable cause.

He had watched two guys from the party drive off to drop Jun off at wherever he lived, but not before he bribed one of them with a little extra something so that he could get the asshole’s address and pay his own little visit later on. At that moment, he was more concerned with making sure you got home safe, the only other person he knew that would probably do him a favor was Shigaraki but only if he did something in return. He wasn’t a fan of leaving you alone with him but he would be damned if he was going to let that Jun bastard off for what he did to you. The punishment had to be executed the soonest it could happen. He gave him an easy beating at the party but it wasn’t enough, Keigo believing so too and riding in the car alongside him after securing you in Shigaraki’s car.

It was so fucking satisfying hearing Jun’s terrified whimpers and pleas, he has to hide how giddy he feels when he remembers Keigo breaking the fucker’s arm.

His knuckles feel a bit better, it only took a week or so for the soreness to go away.

You’re his good little doll, not asking questions despite the obvious evidence on his and Keigo’s hands the day after. You have your suspicions but you’ve learned well to not ask unnecessary questions and he just had to reward you in the best way that he knew how to, making you a cock drunk mess until you were too stupid to say anything but his and Keigo’s names.

It’s getting close to a year since the two of you made it official, a few weeks away actually and Touya’s surprised himself that he’s committed himself this far. He wouldn’t trade anything else in the world for what he has with you. He watches you with a fondness he’s never had for anyone else and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you stay with him, right where you belong. It’s so good that you’re compliant, Touya would hate to have to fight and break you to make you stay with him.

You and him are walking downtown together, his arm slung around your shoulder and making casual conversation about the upcoming cold weather and needing to buy new winter clothes. The two of you are going to meet up with Keigo at a bar later on so you kill some time. You want to stop inside a little boutique and see what they have, Touya will just stand outside and have a smoke while he waits for you, he doesn’t mind. He lights one up between his lips and brings his phone out of his pocket, messages about if he has more oxys and xannies. He responds back accordingly, puffing smoke out between his lips with ease and sucking in more nicotine into his lungs.

He pockets his phone and stomps out his cigarette as you come out the store a few minutes later with a little bag in hand. You talk excitedly about what you purchased and Touya listens absently, his eyes just briefly looking to the side when he sees him for just a quick second.

Jun stands a decent distance away, his arm still in a sling and cast. He’s frozen in place when he’s caught under Touya’s sight, absolutely petrified. You don’t see him because your back is to him, completely unaware of the silent interaction between your current boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend. All Touya does is subtly lift his arm from the small of your back and clenches his hand into a fist while keeping his gaze on him; it’s all the warning Jun needs to turn on his heel and walk the opposite direction.

Keigo waves to the two of you when you arrive at the designated bar, already having found a table and he just has a round of waters for now along with some chips in the center to snack on. Touya lets a little smile come onto his face as you barrel into Keigo’s arms, greeting him with a kiss and excitedly holding up the little bag you had shown to him earlier. Touya honestly doesn’t remember what you bought nor the store that he stood in front of waiting for you.

All he thinks about that in the moment is seeing Jun on the same street you stood on, seeing Jun with that fucking smug look on his face when he entered that room at the party, remembering Jun fucking begging to stop the pain as Keigo had him restrained so that Touya could inflict more pain on him before Keigo wanting his own turn as well. For a moment that bastard is all he can focus on to the point he has a headache and feels like he needs to pop a few oxys. But you pull him from the storm of his mind with just a simple touch to his thigh, looking to you and he sees your face, your smile… and he feels calm again.

Jun is the past and he’s your present, there’s no need to focus on what has already happened.

Although if Touya had the choice of going back in time to deliver an even worse consequence to Jun, he would absolutely do it in a heartbeat.

He’d do it for you.

━━━━✧

Part 4 of the Us Series: Tell Me (When You’re Ready)

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #tw assault #us series

77 notes · View notes

hongism · 5 years ago

Text

mists of celeste ➻ three

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part three

"First order of business," Yunho starts as he gets up from his stool. "I need to run some basic scans on your arm to gauge the injury and infection. Then a full-body scan to see how far the infection has spread. How long have you had the injury?" He moves around the bed you're placed on with quick steps, a tablet in hand.

"Th-Three days," you stammer, watching him work. Spectre cuts in, and you almost forgot he was standing nearby with a brown belt in hand.

"Four days. Today is the fifth," he says. Yunho glances over at him, eyes wide in question.

"How do you know…?"

"She was on the bridge of the HMS Revenge. Considering that Hongjoong destroyed the ship four days ago, this is the only logical explanation." Spectre motions towards you with his head. "I noticed her on the second day, to be honest. I only wanted to see how long it would take for her to reveal herself. Until I saw the blood trails, at least."

"Ah yes, that makes sense." Yunho nods before bringing his tablet to hover over your arm. Blue light emits from the bottom of it, a faint stream of light that cascades over your bare skin.

Now that your military uniform has been stripped, you can see the injury better, although you don't particularly want to see it. It's bruised black and blue, blood all around the hole that is shiny and fresh. It oozes a bit still, although the liquid is not all red, and you're certain that it's the infection mixed in as well. Not something you would like to look at but the blue rays coming from Yunho's tablet are quite fascinating to watch as they dance over your arm. You don't feel the touch of the light; you can only see it as it moves as though on its own accord. Sure you've had injuries time and time again, but the treatment methods for them were never like this. No fancy tablets with strange lights. Although the military has always had a more traditional approach to everything they do.

"Hm. The bullet is in there pretty deep, huh? It… uh, it's in an awkward spot. The bullet tore right through your brachialis muscle along with a bit of your bicep. Moreso, the nerves all around the path of the bullet itself seem to be a bit fried? I doubt that makes any sense to you, but in layman's terms: two muscles have critical damage, and that's not something we can immediately fix. I can remove the bullet with an emergency operation to cut the arm open and take it out, which is the best course of action. The nerves can be… I'm not sure how to say this in a way that will make sense to you. Hm, well. The nerves can reconstruct themselves over time. When I do the surgery, I can help them along a little bit but I don't think it's needed. Nerves try to repair themselves by shrinking back and resting for a period of time. After the rest period, they grow back as they were. Muscles can do the same sort of thing but not in cases of extreme trauma. A muscle damaged in extreme trauma creates these gaps that are too large to fill on their own so scar tissue forms in the gaps as a way to compensate. Does that all make sense?"

"I have an infection-induced fever," you state. "I don't understand anything you're saying." Yunho raises his brows.

"I'll take that as a no." Yunho lifts the tablet higher and drags it through the air above your head all the way down to your feet. The blue rays conform to your body as they move, widening and contracting with the folds of your clothes. "San, could you do me another favor? I need you to go get Woo so I can have an assistant to run the operation."

"No, no, I can do it," Spectre answers with haste. His eyes dart between you and Yunho. "Woo won't be necessary. I can help you." Yunho stands up straight, pulling the tablet back to his chest one the light retracts from your body, and stares at San. He looks ready to argue about the topic but never opens his mouth to retort. Instead, he releases a deep sigh: a sign of relenting. San's lips quirk upwards into a small smile of victory.

"Fine. Get the anesthesia injection, a scalpel, tweezers, and gauze." Spectre turns away from the bed upon hearing the command. You watch him walk out the corner of your eye, thinking over Yunho's words.

"Anesthesia?" You repeat. "I thought you said you didn't want to use anesthesia on me."

"I didn't want to. But that was before I ran the scans and saw the extent of the damage to your muscle. I'm not getting this bullet out without trouble, so numbing it is pretty much the only comfort I can give you."

"Wait San – the belt. I need it." San passes said object to Yunho by tossing it across the bed. Yunho folds it in half. "Here, you're going to want to bite down on this." He holds it out to you, and you take it between your teeth, glancing up at Yunho as you do. He then reaches around you to pick up the bottle of vodka from his table. "Please – well, please try not to jerk your arm while I do this."

Yunho grips your arm at the elbow, a small effort to keep you steady as he tips the bottle towards your wound. You clench your teeth around the leather belt before the alcohol even touches your skin. Anticipating the worst helps quite a bit, in fact, because the second the first drop of alcohol lands on the wound, you're screaming around the belt. If not for the death grip Yunho has on your elbow, you would be thrashing. It's the worst pain you've ever experienced. Far worse than being shot, far worse than burns or frostbite, hell even getting shot by a laser hurts less than the pain you're in at the moment. Yunho keeps the steady stream of alcohol going, flushing the wound out. The mix of blood, infection, and alcohol is causing a grotesque foaming mixture that drips from your arm to Yunho's hand and onto the bed.

"Hang in there, I'm almost done," Yunho mutters, voice barely audible behind your muffled screams. He continues pouring alcohol over the wound until it runs clear but the pain doesn't let up even after he stops. "See, that wasn't too bad!"

His cheery tone and optimism only make you want to punch him in the nose. Luckily for him, your punching arm is out of order at the moment and you're in so much pain that you can barely feel the limb. All you can do is spit the belt out. Yunho catches it before it hits your lap. He inspects the leather, a small laugh escaping his lips as he sees the indentations of your teeth along the belt. You all but bit through the leather on both sides.

"I hope you didn't like this belt too much, San," he calls to the man who stands on the other side of your bed. He's gathered the materials that Yunho asked for, all piled up with the other stack that Yunho already had.

"Oh, I didn't. Captain did though."

"You took this from Hongjoong?" Yunho asks, voice rising as he gapes at the other man. He grins like a Cheshire in response. "On god San, you're fucked if he finds out."

"That's why he won't find out. Can't miss something you forgot you had."

"That's not the way h—"

"Anyways." San passes the shot of anesthesia over to Yunho, interrupting his train of thought.

"Yea, yea. We need to work fast to get the anesthesia in so there's enough time for it to kick in and wear off before the 47 hours are up." Yunho takes the shot in one hand, his other hand squeezing around your elbow. He pokes at the skin a few times then presses so hard that you release a loud noise from the sudden pain. The needle enters your arm so quickly that you barely feel the pressure. Warmth is the only thing you feel for a moment, a cozy yet uncomfortable sensation that spreads down to your fingertips and all the way up your arm. "Okay, we'll need to give you a bit of time now. The anesthesia will take a bit to kick in, so in the meantime, I need to run an IV drip for dehydration. Just for putting some fluids back into your body that you've lost through all the sweating and vomiting. Not to mention you probably haven't had a lot of water in the past few days. I'll also do a drip later for narcotic painkillers once the anesthesia begins to wear off. Okay? All standard protocol for an operation like this, I promise."

"Let's just get it over with," you murmur back. He frowns at you, a small "okay" leaving his lips before he continues his work on you.

The combination of your fever and the pain is bringing a piercing headache. You don't notice that Yunho moves around the bed until his hand reaches for your left arm. You yank it away as though burned. His eyes go wide at the forcefulness behind your action. A moment later though, he tries again, fingers closing around your wrist. You try to tug away but his grip is a bit too powerful this time and you fail to release your arm from his grasp.

"I need your uninjured arm for the IV. There's too much damage on your right arm to get these fluids into your bloodstream."

"Use my right arm or no arm at all," you hiss back. Your fingers clench into a tight fist, knuckles going white from the pressure.

"I already saw it," Yunho whispers. There is no point in whispering, as the room is silent aside from his voice, so San can hear the words as well. Still, you freeze. The tension leaves your arm and you let it fall limp in Yunho's grasp. "I'm sorry. I saw it when we were getting the uniform jacket off."

"Whatever," you say, looking away from the man. The plain, white wall before you is suddenly much more interesting. Despite the length of time that has passed since you received the brand, the memory always remains fresh. The sensation of searing hot metal being pressed against the inside of your wrist, the pain that resonated through your whole body, and the feeling of five pairs of eyes glued to you as you received the brand. It's all too real and present in your mind. Just the thought of someone seeing the brand is enough to send you headfirst into those memories.

"How… how did you get it?" The healer inquires. His voice is quiet again, no doubt hesitant and uncertain about asking the question. You barely feel the next needle that enters your arm.

"That's none of your business," you respond without looking his way.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for intruding. I'm just – just trying to make conversation to distract you from the pain."

"Well, talk about something else. Not my past."

"Understood." You catch sight of Yunho's small smirk out the corner of your eye. Despite your confusion, you decide against asking him about it and wait for him to contain what he's doing instead. He places small round patches on various points around your chest, deft fingers dipping under the fabric and back out without you even feeling it. "These are just for keeping an eye on your heart rate. It's good I checked too because your heart rate is awfully slow. Could be due to the infection or your body is trying to conserve. Normally I only see it this low if the patient is asleep though."

"Need anything else?" San asks. He steps forward, hands coming to rest on the foot of the bed.

"Not right now. I think we're – wait. Wait." The level of panic in Yunho's voice does not comfort you one bit. Especially when Spectre's face shares the same level of concern. "Something isn't right." Yunho swipes furiously at his tablet, fingers moving so quickly over the screen that you can't tell what he's trying to do. "She was shot in the arm… outer arm with no exit wound, the bullet still present in the brachialis muscle right against the humerus. Why does she have pneumothorax too?"

"English please?" San asks.

"Punctured lung. It's a punctured lung that could collapse at any minute. Yours looks to be a pinhole, meaning it's small and acute. You should recover just fine without any treatment if you were a healthy adult but there's a serious infection running through your blood and that means it could cause complications if not treated. More importantly, I can't do an emergency operation like this if your lungs aren't fully functional. I'd need to put you on an oxygen mask just on the off chance that your lung collapses during the surgery but a one percent chance is still a chance."

"What caused it? I haven't noticed anything." You try to sit up a bit to look at Yunho's tablet but he pulls it away before you have the chance.

"It depends on all sorts of factors. Do you know how long you've had a lung problem?"

"I didn't even know I had a lung problem," you retort.

"She's been on the ship four days, Yunho."

"Okay, okay. We can worry about that in a bit. I need to get the IV drip in now." You glance forward as Yunho approaches your arm with another long needle. San is blocking your line of sight. He doesn't look back at you; instead, his eyes are fixated on your arm, rather your wrist where the chain brand resides. Subconsciously, you turn your wrist away only to have Yunho resituate it again as he inserts the long needle.

"You're looking pretty pale again," San comments. You take a deep breath but find yourself unable to respond. All the white in the room begins to blur together. All the strength left in your body is ebbing away. "Yunho, she's looking pretty fucking pale!" The man's voice climbs in volume as his form blurs into nothingness. Yunho keeps working on your IV, securing the catheter and tubes with a piece of tape.

"Shit, hey. Hey. Hey, stay awake." Yunho reaches over, patting your face with his palm. You push him away with a weak shove as a wave of coughs overwhelms you.

"Is this normal? What do you need? What's wrong with her? What do we do?" San rambles. Yunho rubs at the skin between his brows as San speaks.

"Shut the fuck up, San. If Woo were here, he would know what to fucking do since he helps me ninety percent of the time." San leans forward, smacks Yunho's hands away from his face, and grabs hold of his collar.

"If you don't want my help, then you're on your own," San hisses as he yanks Yunho forward. A weak laugh escapes your lips.

"Do you all fight this often or am I just special?"

Yunho sighs at your half-hearted jab and pushes San off him. He reaches for his ear, beginning to speak again but this time it's not directed at San.

"Wooyoung to the med bay for emergency operation assistance." The moment his hand leaves his ear, San is back in his face.

"Call it off!" He yells. Yunho deflects San's anger with a surprising sense of calm.

"I'm not letting a girl die simply because you don't want him to be seen. The fact of the matter is you don't know what the hell you're doing so you're of no use to me."

"Your damn savior complex is going to be the end of everyone on this ship."

"Then we were doomed the minute I set foot on the ship. Wooyoung is the only one who knows how to help me conduct emergency operations and laser surgeries. You need to fuck off and let me do my damn job. It's my job to save people, no matter the cost. Yours is only to kill them. So, why don't you listen closely and hear the wheeze in her breaths? The sweat on her forehead? The residue from her arm? If I don't get to work quickly, then you'll have a body to haul out. Do you want to be responsible for her death?"

At those words, San stands down. He leans back and stands up straight ahead, the fury dropping from his features as he moves. He turns away from the bed but something in you causes you to lunge forward with a sudden bout of strength and catch his wrist. He glances down at you with widened eyes.

"Thank you… for – for saving my life." San's gaze softens. A smile almost crosses his lips but he stops it before it can show too much.

"I did nothing except prolong the inevitable," comes his response. The words are spoken in a cold and emotionless tone, much different from the tone he used with you previously, but you no longer have the strength to even think straight. Your hand falls away from San's wrist as you fall back against the bed. Yunho lets San leave the med bay without exchanging further words with him.

Instead, the healer finishes connecting all the IV tubes and fluid bags.

"You're probably going to pass out," he mutters, bending over you and resting his palm against your forehead. "We'll try our best to work quickly and keep you under during the operation, okay?" You can only nod against the pressure of his hand. He eases you further into the bed and makes sure you're flat against the mattress. The action is like the magic touch for you to fall unconscious. Before your vision goes completely black, you see a new form enter the med bay, one with tanned skin and hair that looks like coal and ash. You don't have the chance to look over the rest of his form before the darkness overtakes you.

✦ ✦ ✦

Waking up again takes far too much effort. Your whole body feels as though it's made of pure lead, and you can't even open your eyes easily. You can't recall what happened before you fell asleep or where you are; the confusion only grows further when you're finally able to crack your eyes open.

White. The color is all you see for a few moments before your vision clears up some. The brightness of your surroundings blinds you. You shift and push your head to the left. Wires and tubes are all around you, two lead to your arm and another to your face. You try to feel around but you aren't able to; the strength hasn't completely returned to your body. All you can do is move your head from side to side for the time being. You check your other arm. There's a large white bandage wrapped around your bicep and you can't recall what's underneath it.

The clink of metal distracts you. It resounds from somewhere in front of you, and as you twist to look in that direction. A man with tan skin stands near a sink. You peer at him. Something about his figure seems familiar but you can't place it. Seeing him brings reality back to you, however, and you recall how you got here, a Cheshire cat finding you in a crate, the gentle giant healer who helped you.

"Wh-Where am – where am I?" You stammer out, voice cracking and hoarse as you try to talk. The man jumps at the sound of your voice. He drops what he's doing and turns towards you, eyes wide and curious as he looks over at you. Now that you're more awake, you can see more clearly and get a better look at the person with you. Besides the caramel tan, he bears dark hair that's almost black but not quite. The color is more between silver and grey but the color of his hair is the least interesting thing about him. There is a metal collar around his neck, a thick block that stands out against his skin, and you peer at it in curiosity. A collar? I don't… You don't have time to look at him, however, because he's rushing towards you a second later.

"Oh, you're awake!" He chirps as he comes closer to your bedside. "You're aboard The Horizon, ship belonging to Captain Kim Hongjoong. I'm not sure whether you remember it, but you were awake for a little while before the surgery." At his words, vague memories of a healer and a man with a strip of white hair float to the forefront of your mind. "You had a pretty awful fever though so it might be a bit hard to remember. Yunho – the healer, if you remember him – patched up the pinhole in your lung and kept it from collapsing with quick laser surgery. We also removed the bullet in your arm and drained the infection. He patched it up with stitches as best he could. He said that it was hard to close without some skin grafting, but he didn't want to do that so he just closed it without the extra graft."

"How – hold on, how long have I been here?" You ask. The sudden barrage of information catches you off-guard. You're still waking up, brain not coming back to full functionality, yet this man doesn't seem to care about that one bit.

"Oh! Hm, I think you've been on the ship for maybe a total of seven days? If you include the first four stowaway days, that is. Otherwise, you've been asleep for three days."

"72 hours," you mutter to yourself. You remember something about the captain telling Yunho that he only had a certain amount of time to fix you.

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"72 hours… but the captain gave Yunho 48 hours to fix me."

"47 actually!" The man corrects with a bright and blinding smile, his teeth shining under the yellow light above your heads. "Captain only gave 47 hours to fix you, but it only took Yunho 17 so."

"Wh—What do you mean?"

"We were up for 17 hours trying to fix you up. Captain was impressed at Yunho's speed so he said that you could have extra recovery time. Oh, if you pretend to still be resting, you could get longer recovery time!"

"Why is everything in this room so damn white?" You mutter as you push yourself into a sitting position. The man shakes his head.

"No, no, no! You shouldn't get up!"

"Why not?" You protest, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm fine, I feel fine, and nothing is going to rupture. Laser surgery doesn't leave tears or stitches either so it doesn't matter."

"No!" The man argues, voice climbing in volume. You blink up at him, eyes wide from the sudden outburst. "Yunho told me not to let you leave, and I won't go against what Yunho wants. If he says you stay here, then you stay here."

"This is ridiculous. Now I'm being kept here against my will? Am I a captive now?" You scoff as you continue to get to your feet. The man moves with surprising haste. He leans across the space in front of you, snatches up something from the table, then grabs your head. You try to fight back but he has already caught you and overwhelmed you. Something sharp pierces your neck. You cry out at the pressure but waves of warmth wash over you next. You stumble backward when he releases his hold on you. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fall back onto the mattress as your strength leaves your body again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but I had to do it. I won't go against what Yunho says." His voice sounds somewhat remorseful. You're losing consciousness so fast that the world spins around you and as you glance over at his hand, you spot a large shot. You'd recognize that almost anywhere. The military use them religiously, a typical weapon that you would brandish when dealing with insurgent civilians. High grade emergency sedative shots.

"Y-You…" You can't finish the sentence before the exhaustion overwhelms you and you pass out yet again.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s that time~ new chapter! i hope you all enjoy it! please let me know what you think so far and what your fav part has been or anything about the story!! i know things are moving rather slowly at the moment bUT i promise it’ll pick up in the coming chapters, we just gotta get through this ish first !!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

449 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG, some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it.

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway.

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience.

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain.

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands.

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more."

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet.

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring.

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected.

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough.

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago.

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you.

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better.

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home.

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from.

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing.

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering.

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas.

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd.

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal.

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault.

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name?

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do.

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why.

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success.

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts.

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point.

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process.

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing."

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar.

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks.

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you."

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered.

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space.

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat.

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him.

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive.

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already.

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you.

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles.

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows.

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off .

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse.

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think.

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own.

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want.

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way.

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear .

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you.

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are.

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them.

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you.

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself.

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all.

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long.

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar.

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off."

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws.

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?"

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper.

"You are going to wish that you could die."

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it.

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body.

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight.

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats.

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have.

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages.

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself.

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom.

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns.

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.”

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs.

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says.

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them.

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you.

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers.

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out.

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues.

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest.

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head.

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is:

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead.

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway.

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer.

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you.

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.”

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal.

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference.

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is.

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new.

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will.

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking.

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore.

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that.

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you.

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings.

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment.

Someone says your name and you swing.

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor.

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway.

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to.

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building.

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too.

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you.

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love.

If you can love.

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed.

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself.

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is.

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there.

Until the night when it’s not.

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win.

You would take it back if you could.

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster.

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal.

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them.

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive.

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips.

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again.

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly.

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you.

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you.

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist.

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair.

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out.

“I didn’t-”

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have.

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking.

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her.

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan.

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing.

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it.

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips.

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with.

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go.

Frustrated, you pull back.

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown.

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress.

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees.

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh.

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free."

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath.

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat.

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve."

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits?

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again.

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time.

Not with Taehyung.

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him.

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating.

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could.

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up."

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind.

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been.

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately.

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you .

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you.

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder.

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come.

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.”

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for.

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose.

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena.

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake.

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs.

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have.

He’ll learn.

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it.

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face.

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes.

The giant swings.

869 notes · View notes

pertinax--loculos · 3 years ago

Text

Update

Gonna try a new thing. I've seen these weekly updates from other writeblrs and it appeals to me because I can blather about writing or lack of writing (if it's been one of Those weeks), I can also include anything else I want, and it's a manageable goal to have for a start.

Tentatively breaking it up into writing, reading OR watching, real life (if applicable), and possibly excerpt (again, if applicable).

So! (Warning: This is long. I seriously babble like nothing else.)

Currently Writing Absent That Night (tagged: WIP: ATN)

wordcount: no clue, it's all on my phone and I've been writing scenes I'd previously written snippets for, so it's a mash-up. (Which reminds me I need to back it all up at least onto my computer.)

Proud of the short summary I did for my pinned post, so repeating it here:

Agent Latrell has been chasing the thief known as Nox for more than three years; but when bodies start turning up at his crime scenes, he’s the only one who believes Nox isn’t responsible. Unfortunately, he’s also the only other suspect. In order to clear his name, he’s going to have to find the real killer; and the only way to do that is to team up with a criminal who, it turns out, he knows absolutely nothing about.

still love love LOVING this WIP. I've got pages and pages of notes, and it is probably getting a wee bit too complex with subplots and suspects etc, but I'm an overwriter anyway so if I end up with a 200k word draft then shrug. More to work with

dunno if I mentioned or just thought it was obvious because I know it so well, but it has an enemies/rivals-to-allies(lovers?) (sub?)plot. So I've been pulling out a lot of threads there

technically I'm up to about halfway between the catalyst and break into two. Definitely not hardcore plotting but I do have an idea of the beats I wanna follow in the back of my head

Nox is still a fucking mess. I should probably stop piling trauma onto him, poor guy

my favourite creation this week is Mark Gault, who is a secondary/minor character who is amazing in every way. He is both essentially a ruthless mercenary and the "I LOVE MY WIFE" guy. (I also keep calling him Grant, instead of Mark, because he's actually the father of a character who first appears in Phase Two of CASCADE. (!!!))

basically happy with how it's all going this week. Regular writing is getting the juices flowing and it's easier to come up with ideas even when I've only got a vague notion of what is supposed to happen in the scene.

guys i am such an overwriter this is ridiculous please send help this scene was supposed to be like 2.5k total and it's turned into 4-5 scenes and is like 10k long dear god--

Currently Reading Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater, book three of the Raven Cycle

I have not just jumped in at book three of a series, I have read the previous two.

in the last week.

I've read eleven books in the last five weeks, so that's... something.

they have all been thrillers except for this series. (And also Girl One, which despite being marketed as a thriller was definitively NOT a thriller. Which, yes, I should've guessed from the tag line, but I'm still mad about it.)

I am in love with the prose. It feels similar to mine, but Better, and I have been unconsciously mimicking it.

(which may be a problem when I finish it and am still writing ATN, but that is an issue for Future Pockets)

ngl I was not a fan of the way the first book ended. Not only did I have to reread the final line multiple times in order to even begin to grasp it, but I kinda think it's a dick move to end on a cliffhanger, even for an established author and clear indications this was gonna be a series

(but you bought the next book, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU??)

very very much enjoying the series, to be concise (ha!). Love the characters and it's all pretty tightly paced. The overarching series arc kiiinda maybe feels a bit slow/irrelevant, and some of the motivations annoy me, but I keep reminding myself it's YA in which the motivations are in character, so

not far into this one yet but so far so good

I wrote this earlier this week and since have begun thinking the series arc is becoming more relevant, but am reserving judgement. Reading slower with work and reading but still enjoying it all

Real Life

continues to be mostly a pain in the ass. Apps in for a second job, research on next year ongoing

update: may have the dream second job, basically waiting for confirmation (fingers crossed!)

one of my housemates is the literal devil, although even that is being quite kind to her. The nice one is moving out because of it. People keep asking how I've lived in this house for three years. I have no answer.

enjoying writing time in evenings and feeling mentally pretty good thanks to exercise

Excerpt Long, nearly 900 words, but a favourite of recent pieces and also something I coincidentally wrote today. Nox and Latrell's third meeting, when Latrell is still, uh... resistant to the idea of working with him:

"Why me?" Not at all the way Latrell had intended to phrase it, but he couldn't take it back. He continued, quickly, instead, jumbled thoughts pouring out of his mouth. "Surely that's the least you can give me. You come to me and ask me to fucking help you after you've made the last three months of my life living hell, you can at least fucking tell me why the fuck that is. You owe me that much. I'm not letting you fucking walk away until you fucking answer me that."

Nox was silent for a long moment. He ran a calculating gaze up and down Latrell, as if searching for something; it wasn't apparent whether or not he'd found it when he said, softly, "And if I don't?"

Latrell was abruptly very aware of the weight of the handcuffs in his back pocket. He would have to move quickly. There was every possibility Nox would see this coming, especially if he'd been arrested before. But Latrell was quietly confident. He inched his hand back, keeping it subtle, eyes on Nox's face.

"In that case," he said, as evenly as he could. His fingertips brushed warm metal. "Perhaps we should try something--"

Everything went white.

For a moment Latrell thought he'd somehow lost consciousness; that he'd underestimated Nox's affinity for violence, that the man had punched him or otherwise managed to incapacitate him without otherwise moving. Then it occurred to him that he was still thinking, which essentially took unconsciousness off the table, and he realised, vaguely, that it was an illusion.

It was very, very convincing.

The entire world was an endless expanse of emptiness. Utterly, absolutely white, a whiteness that could not and should not exist. Latrell was overcome by a sensation of falling, of plummeting into nothingness; he had to concentrate to feel his feet still on the ground, to know he was still upright. He had nothing to orient himself. There was no up, no down, no left or right. Just that endless expanse of a lack of colour. He was hanging in nothingness, or everything.

"You forget who you are dealing with, Agent."

Latrell swallowed down nausea. Nox's voice came from startlingly close, the sound of it somehow wrong, which objectively he knew came from the fact that his brain was convinced it should sound small and insubstantial in this endless void but it sounded normal because he was actually still standing in the alley. It was academic knowledge only. He still felt like he was tipping or falling or rising, weightless and disoriented. He had no voice, no ability to open his mouth.

Experimentally he tried to take a step. He couldn't lift his foot off the ground. Physically, he was sure he could -- he could still twitch his fingers, if he thought about it -- but his mind was convinced that there was nothing to step away from, nothing to step onto. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. A brightness that wasn't a light, a void constructed of the pieces between atoms.

Nox's voice came from his other side this time. "I have attempted to do this civilly, but there are other options."

It was a struggle to concentrate on his words, close as they were. Latrell tried to narrow his focus to only sound, tried to ignore the nothingness he was suspended in, tried to tell himself it was all an illusion. Just something Nox wanted him to see. The Orn, threaded through his eyes or brain or soul, acting upon Nox's orders.

It didn't help. He was still in freefall.

"Do not," Nox's voice came, a bare whisper in his ear, breath brushing Latrell's neck, "Presume to test me."

Abruptly the white disappeared. Latrell was back in the alley, trying to adjust to the change of light, trying to find where Nox had gone. Turning his head made the ground roil beneath him and he staggered, utterly disoriented.

Fingers closed around his forearm, steadying him, and Latrell looked up to find Nox inches away.

"Easy, Agent," he purred. His smile was more a baring of his teeth.

Latrell wrenched away from him, staggering until his back connected with a comfortingly solid wall. He was dizzy, brain still adjusting to reality, but he managed to straighten his spine and set his shoulders. He kept his hands in front of him. In Nox's view.

"Do we have an understanding?" Nox said, still silky and low.

"Screw you," Latrell said, voice faint and alien.

Nox's smirk sharpened. "I thought so. Lovely chat, Agent Latrell." He sauntered past where Latrell stayed pressed against the wall, hesitated at the corner of the alley. "Keep up the good work."

He stepped forward and disappeared from view.

Latrell's breath left him in a rush and he doubled over, bracing himself on his knees. His head still spun, the unpleasant sensation he'd come to expect from vertigo. The backs of his eyelids were painted with a stark blank white. Every time he blinked he was engulfed.

It was far beyond any illusion he'd ever experienced. It was approaching the type he'd only ever read about in scientific articles.

You forget who you are dealing with, Agent.

Perhaps he had. But this assault supplied more than a reminder.

It also provided a piece of the puzzle.

#we'll go with #weekly update #WIP: ATN #excerpt #pockets muses IRL #god you can't tell i'm an overwriter at all can you #somebody please shut me up #>.<

2 notes · View notes

kaiunkaiku · 5 years ago

Note

Could you do some Todoroki sickfic (emeto if you can) where he just kind of pushes through and tries not to let anyone know because he’s only ever been treated like he’s weak and useless when sick. And when the other students in the dorms find out they fuss over him and he doesn’t know how to take being taken care of like that. Also I just found your blog tonight and I love it!

I have discovered that writing Todoroki is exhausting and writing Midoriya is plain weird and doesn’t feel right, but I enjoyed writing this nonetheless. Emeto isn’t really my niche and I find writing it hella difficult, so here’s an attempt.

This is like vaguely 2nd/3rd year, Tododeku and Kiribaku are established, and even though it’s not mentioned Mineta has been kicked out. Content warnings include referenced canonical child abuse, emeto, implied panic attack, and vague discussion of trauma left by mentioned child abuse

Now on Ao3!

Enjoy!

He wakes up feeling… off. That’s the only way he can really put it – he’s not in pain, his head isn’t swirling with unpleasant thoughts, he’s not reeling from a nightmare, he doesn’t feel ill. Just off.

So he tries his best to shake it off.

By the time lunch rolls around, there’s a persistent hum in his head. It’s distracting, and leaves him just a touch woozy, but he’s worked through much, much worse. It’s no big deal. He’s lagging maybe half a second behind everybody else today, but no one has commented on it, or asked about it, so he assumes he’s doing a good enough job at hiding it.

By the time Kirishima ropes him into a video game tournament, Shouto feels like he’s going to puke. There’s a churning pit in his stomach that makes him regret eating lunch, makes him regret eating breakfast, makes him regret last night’s dinner. Definitely makes him regret waking up.

It’s a well-known fact that video games are the one thing he’s genuinely terrible at, and no amount of Kirishima trying to teach him has improved his skills, so no one questions it when he surrenders his controller to Shinsou after three consecutive losses.

The room gets loud as Jirou gives her controller to Kaminari, like it always does as soon as someone gets the insane idea to pit couples against each other. Shouto retreats to the far corner of the big couch, decides to tough it out for a game or two. Leaving immediately would look suspicious, and someone might notice, so he sits quietly with his knees pulled to his chest and hopes no one will look at him twice.

Bakugou is staring at him from the other end of the couch.

It’s fine, Shouto tells himself even as a cold wave of anxiety washes through him. Bakugou continues to stare, face completely blank, and Shouto knows this is the one person in the class who genuinely does not care, but there’s something unnerving about his eyes. Maybe it's just the hollow bruises under them – Shouto knows for a fact Bakugou didn't sleep last night, because he woke up to explosions sometime around three in the morning, and Kirishima has been hovering worriedly all day – but the blankness of his expression seems very deliberately arranged. Observant. Shouto swallows thickly and tries to find something else to look at.

The motion on the screen makes his nausea worse. The shouting of his classmates makes his headache worse. He can’t concentrate on his phone. Bakugou keeps staring at him.

Shouto finally excuses himself quietly when he’s fairly sure he’s about to start smoking soon, because he can feel his control of his powers slipping. It's fine. He can let that happen once nobody can see him.

They can't see him weak. They can’t. He knows it’s irrational, because these are his friends and they care about him and he cares about them, but the thought of it sends him into a spiral straight down to such a dark place he throws it away before he can do more than scratch its surface. So he escapes into the stairs, not wanting to stand in the elevator, he can’t be still right now, and tries to look as casual as he possibly can.

He doesn’t even make it to the second floor before he hears his name from behind him. His heart jumps to his throat and his stomach drops, and it takes him a second to sort out that it’s his last name and not his first, and there’s no threat, no anger, no fire in the voice. He can’t help but freeze on his tracks anyway.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Shouto comes face to face with wide red eyes as he turns around; feels he can’t breathe with the rush of relief when it’s not piercing turquoise that greets him. Some of it must show on his face, because Kirishima takes a step back immediately and raises his hands up, concern clear in his expression. Bakugou is standing a few paces behind him, leaning on the wall and staring at his phone. “Because you don’t look like you are.”

Shouto feels sick. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be in his room, alone, so that nobody can see him like this, so that he can take the time he needs to pull himself together. He swallows and takes a breath.

“I’m fine,” he manages. He thinks his voice is steady.

“You sure?” Kirishima looks suspicious. Shouto knows he means well, really, he does, he does, but he just… God, he can’t do this. Even thinking about admitting weakness, let alone showing it, sends alarm bells in his head ringing, makes him see the floor of his home through tears, has his father’s voice in his head yelling at him for being useless, and his scar burns all over again, scalding water running down his face and the tears in his mother’s eyes–

His breathing is picking up pace. He’s gonna start crying. He’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna have a panic attack. His body is hot and cold on the wrong sides. He’s gonna– he can’t– he doesn’t– he can’t–

“Todoroki, shit, Todoroki, hey, come on, sit down, okay?” Something touches his arms, but it doesn’t feel like human touch so it doesn’t make everything worse. By the time he realizes it’s Kirishima’s hands with his quirk activated Shouto has already catalogued the touch as non-threatening, so he lets Kirishima guide him to sit down and push his head between his knees.

It takes him too long to notice that there’s steam coming off his skin.

“That’s it, man, just listen to me and breathe. You want me to get Midoriya?”

That sends a new wave of conflicting feelings through him – yes, he wants Izuku, yes, please, Izuku is good, would be great right now, but Izuku would just worry and fuss and worry and Shouto doesn’t want to make Izuku worry, doesn’t want to bother him, and besides, isn’t Izuku out training with Uraraka? Or was it Tokoyami? Why can’t he remember? Uraraka and Tokoyami are two totally different people who hang out with totally different groups and have totally different quirks and Shouto can’t remember which one of them his goddamn boyfriend is training with– did Izuku even say? He can’t remember that either.

“N-no,” he forces out. Realizes he’s been gritting his teeth. “He’s, he’s training, don’t bother him, it’s–”

“Okay, no,” Kirishima interrupts him. “I asked if you want him here. It’s about you. You’re the one that’s not okay, yeah? So do you want him here?”

It… makes sense, what Kirishima is saying. But it doesn’t. It does; he feels terrible and he would like to have his boyfriend here, and it’s what other people do, too, even in their class. It doesn’t; things like this can’t be about him, he can’t want or need things, how horribly selfish would that be of him.

In the end, he nods. He has to force the motion, to force himself to allow it. He’s still got his head between his knees, but he swears he can almost feel the way Kirishima grins at his response despite not looking.

“You gonna be okay if I step into the hallway for just a sec?” Kirishima asks. He hasn’t stopped touching Shouto’s arms, and the touch is somewhat grounding. He still has to put conscious effort into breathing, and he’s just a tad afraid he’s going to lose the focus he needs to keep it up if Kirishima lets go and leaves him alone with Bakugou.

There’s a steady tapping sound, almost background noise but not quite; a persistent, consistent tapping, volume just enough to be clearly audible even without concentrating. Just a bit louder than a clock. Not as sharp. Shouto is not entirely sure how long it’s been there.

Without even meaning to, he starts counting it. Pacing his breath to it. It’s easy; almost natural. Maybe he’ll stay on track even if Kirishima steps off for a moment.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Breathe in four, hold four, breathe out four. Every exhale feels like he’s going to throw up, but it’s almost a background thought. He makes an affirming noise to tell Kirishima that he probably won’t spiral down if he lets go, so Kirishima pats his shoulder and tells him that he’s okay.

He’s not okay, but he also doesn’t start panicking again. He risks a look around him to see Kirishima take two steps up and disappear into the second floor hallway, and notices something that damn near messes up his newly-found breathing rhythm all over again.

Bakugou is still standing several stairs below, leaning on the wall. He’s typing something on his phone, and he doesn’t look quite as murderous as he usually does – tired, still, but his frown is considerably less deep than usual. He’s probably texting Camie, then, since it’s likely not Kirishima.

But the thing that really catches Shouto off-guard is the fact that he’s steadily tapping his right foot on the stair he’s standing on.

The rhythm sounds very purposeful.

Shouto is not going to chase that thought.

He keeps breathing.

XxX

Izuku is going to apologize to Uraraka later. He doesn’t make it a habit to just ditch his friends, really, but Kirishima sounded worried over the phone and he has barely seen Shouto all day, so he takes off running the moment he hangs up, leaves most of his stuff behind along with Uraraka as he puts his quirk to work.

He dashes straight through the common room and into the staircase, and almost collides with Kacchan, who graces him with a glare and turns his attention back to his phone. Normally, Izuku would say something to him, even just a greeting, or an attempt at placating his temper, but before he can say anything he spots Shouto sitting a few stairs higher. Kirishima is sitting next to him, close but not touching.

“Shouto.” The name escapes from his lips in a whisper before he can even think it. Shouto’s head snaps up, and Izuku has to restrain himself from launching at him with One for All activated; Shouto’s face is pale, almost white, and the fleeting look of terror that flashes in his eyes before recognition makes something clench in Izuku’s chest. Shouto’s breathing is labored; controlled.

Kirishima moves away as Izuku hurries forward, knees hitting the stairs so he can get his hands to Shouto’s face. Faintly he registers Kacchan moving past them to join Kirishima, and the two continue their way up the stairs. He’ll thank Kirishima later.

“Hey,” he begins, thumb coming to trace the edge of Shouto’s scar. Shouto shivers. “Talk to me, what’s going on? Kirishima sounded worried so I came as fast as I could, I need to apologize to Uraraka about that later, it was kind of rude of me to leave her there like that but you’re not okay, are you? She’ll understand, she’ll probably bring my stuff back too, I should probably text her, though, just to let her know, I probably won’t be going back anyway…”

“You’re rambling,” Shouto says, voice faint but a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Izuku snaps his mouth shut and feels heat on his cheeks. Then Shouto shivers again, and Izuku manages to see him swallow thickly before he ducks his head back down. He frowns.

“Sorry,” Izuku offers. “But really, what’s going on? You don’t look good.” Shouto doesn’t feel good, either – his skin is clammy, and just by touching him Izuku can tell he’s not in full control of his quirk. There’s steam coming through his now-damp clothes.

Until now, Shouto has been somewhat curled into himself, hunched over and hugging himself. Now, though, his grip on his biceps tightens and and he curls up some more, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It pains Izuku, how Shouto always seems to try and make himself disappear when he’s feeling bad.

One day, once he’s graduated and established himself as a reputable and reliable hero, he’s going to punch Endeavor as hard as he can, and then he’s going to bring flowers to Shouto’s mom.

“I’m not him,” Izuku reminds gently, still tracing the scar. “Nobody here is. It’s okay.” It breaks his heart to even have to say the words, but Shouto takes a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, so at least it’s a useful reminder. Shouto tends to forget, sometimes. And sometimes Izuku tends to forget that it’s all too easy for Shouto to follow that train of thought. So they’re kind of even, however that balance works.

“I don’t feel good,” Shouto finally whispers. He sounds almost scared. Izuku is about to start prodding further, ready for a guessing game, when he sees that same swallow-shiver combination he saw earlier.

“You’re sick?”

A shrug. A still moment. A hesitant nod.

“Okay.”

It takes some convincing, and some coaxing, and some help, but Izuku manages to get Shouto up and into the hallway. His room is closer, as opposed to Shouto’s which is located in the fifth floor, so Shouto agrees to relocate there.

By the time they make it into the room, Shouto is shaking, and also swallowing repeatedly. He hasn’t stopped hugging himself and he’s still hunched over. Izuku keeps a steadying hand on his back, but he doubts it does much.

He leads Shouto straight into the bathroom with little resistance. Shouto sits down against a wall next to the toilet, draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them. His breathing is picking up again, and Izuku doesn’t know whether it’s anxiety or nausea or both.

Minutes tick by as Izuku draws patterns on Shouto’s arm and shoulder and rubs his neck, and Shouto’s swallowing becomes convulsive and he keeps shaking. One particularly harsh shudder runs through him and causes a patch of frost to spread on the wall. His breathing is becoming shallow.

Izuku doesn’t know how much time has passed when something finally happens. One moment they’re leaning on the wall and the next, Shouto is scrambling to get the toilet lid open. A sick-sounding belch makes Izuku wince, and is immediately followed by a retch. Shouto clutches the rim with white knuckles, and Izuku moves to hold him.

Shouto shivers against him and heaves, but brings nothing up. Izuku wraps his arms around him for support, both emotional and physical, and gently shushes him at the probably involuntary whimper that follows. Presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“Just let it happen,” Izuku mutters. “You’re okay, just let it out.” It’s like being in a sauna, holding Shouto like this when he’s not in full control of his quirk, but Izuku brushes it aside – it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it is. Shouto is definitely far more uncomfortable.

Shouto shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, but the following attempt at a deeper breath is interrupted by a gag. Izuku resists the urge to sigh, and instead continues muttering reassurances as he rubs Shouto’s back. Keeping him grounded in the present is important; vital, almost, Izuku would say. He’s witnessed too many times how things like this – feeling bad, vulnerable, not in control – tend to throw Shouto right back to his childhood.

He’s not profusely apologizing and promising he’ll do better next time, so what Izuku is doing must be working.

It takes a couple more minutes of heaving and retching before Shouto brings up anything, but when he finally does, it’s like he can’t stop. Izuku very deliberately does not look, instead focusing on trying to calm Shouto down. He runs his fingers through Shouto’s hair, down his spine, and eventually brings one hand to rub his stomach. Shouto whimpers at the contact but doesn’t reject it.

Izuku loses track of time. Shouto keeps dry-heaving for a good while after it’s clear there’s nothing in him to throw up anymore, and he’s shaking like a leaf. Izuku can’t tell whether he’s feverish or not; one of the few drawbacks of his quirk – even medical professionals have hard time with that, since Shouto’s temperatures tend to go haywire when he’s not in full control, which is almost every time he’s not feeling well.

When even the dry-heaving eventually tapers off, Shouto slumps lifelessly against Izuku. His eyes slide shut and his breath slowly evens out, and the shaking dies down. An occasional shiver still runs through him, as if as a reminder, but otherwise every sign of what just happened melts into exhaustion.

They sit on the floor until Izuku decides a cold, hard bathroom floor is no place for anything. Shouto is not asleep, not quite, but he’s well on his way there, so Izuku nudges him alert from his exhausted not-quite-slumber gently.

“Shouto, hey,” he almost-whispers, smiling a little as Shouto’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Shouto makes a sleepy noise that could mean literally anything, and it sounds absolutely adorable; there’s just not much Izuku can do with that. Shouto’s eyes open more, left one somewhat droopy, and he maneuvers himself so that his face is against Izuku’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he replies. It’s not really what Izuku was looking for, as far as responses go, but it’s something.

“Then how about a bed? Some sleep?”

Shouto makes another sleepy noise, though this one sounds distinctly approving. He makes no attempt to move, however. Izuku lets him be for a moment.

“That means we have to get up, Shouto,” he tells him.

It takes some effort, but not as much as Izuku feared or suspected it would. He could technically just lift Shouto up – he’s strong enough to carry him and has done so in the past – but he doubts the swift change in position and altitude would be of any benefit. So he helps Shouto up from the floor slowly, makes sure he doesn’t go suddenly white again now that some color has returned to his face, and carefully walks them out of the bathroom. He gets Shouto a soft, oversized shirt to change into (it’s probably Shouto’s own shirt that’s been left in Izuku’s room at some point, actually). Manages to convince him to drink some water.

Shouto seems to fall asleep the moment Izuku lets him do so, looking completely drained. Izuku likes the sight of him surrounded the All Might themed bedsheets – it looks right, like he should be right there. Like he belongs in Izuku’s bed.

Izuku texts Uraraka and Kirishima, and picks up a book.

#my writing #emeto #tododeku #sickfic #fanfiction #whump fic #bnha #cosycrow #askbox

77 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

Disaster Lads: A Collab, Part One

This is part one of a five-part collab piece I did with @whumpiary! In which our disaster lads meet and the inevitable ensues.

CW: Referenced drugging, forced drinking, referenced past noncon, some dubcon fuckiness and trauma response headspace. Things get darker as we go, and more explicit, too. But also Kauri flirts and it’s adorable. Just a fair warning. I’ll do warnings for each individual chapter as we go.

Tagging Kauri’s crew: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @spiffythespook, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly

Kauri isn’t entirely sure how it happened, but somehow his back is against a wall, a drink is in his hand, and there’s a man leaning over him with that grin on his face that Kauri usually likes… but today, he doesn’t.

The bar is kind of dark, and there’s a band playing something that mostly sounds like sad yelling over geese honking to Kauri, but everyone had cheered when the band came onstage so maybe he just doesn’t get the music. He’s not even dressed for the bar, honestly - he’s in his big black zip-up sweatshirt, Dustin’s so it hangs off his shoulders and his hands are mostly covered by the sleeves. A thin thrift-store t-shirt and ripped-up black skinny jeans, the faded old checkered slip-on sneakers he’s had forever… he looks halfway homeless.

The guy has him cornered anyway, and Kauri is feeling all the other drinks he’s let guys buy him tonight, kind of spinning and silly with the alcohol in his veins. It makes it easier not to feel uncomfortable, but part of him is.

He wants to say no, but the word sticks in his throat.

“Come on,” The guy says, leaning over him - it feels like looming - and pushing even closer into his space. “I bought you the drink, the least you could do is a little something for me in return.”

I don’t want to, Kauri thinks in something like a panicked wail.

The man’s knuckles brush the side of his throat and it’s probably a flirtation but Kauri thinks of Owen’s hands around his neck - it feels like a threat.

“Wh-what… what did you have in mind?” Kauri’s voice is airy, a little breathless. His heart is pounding, his face is flushed, and maybe he looks into this… but he’s not. But it kind of seems like the guy maybe knows and doesn’t care.

“A lot of shit, honestly, you’ve been on my radar a while, but first… let’s start with you finishing that drink.” He reaches out and takes the glass out of Kauri’s hand, raising it to his lips. The first sip of syrupy-sweet cocktail seems more like liquid ash on Kauri’s tongue. “You’re a pretty cute drunk.”

“Am… am I?” He asks when the man lets him stop drinking. “I, I don’t want-”

“Have another drink,” The man interrupts, and pushes the rim of the glass against his lips again.

Cass had been watching the guy with the curly hair and the cute smile on and off all night. Partly because he's pretty. Partly because he looks like he’s dressed for a soup kitchen rather than a bar. But mostly because he looks familiar. Annoyingly familiar, in a way that’s maybe more significant than ‘hey didn’t we fuck in a bathroom stall one time?’.

The girl Cass has been chatting to is very, very, very boring. Stupidly boring. So it’s ridiculously easy to focus his attention just over her shoulder at Curly Hair and the guy who’s got him pressed against the wall in the corner, and the pink drink that’s being held up between them, fed to the shorter of the two like it's the holy fucking grail.

Desires are sticky. Syrupy. And in a bar like this, with music like this, with people like this, revulsion is bitter and obvious. Like whiskey in apple juice. Like smoke under perfume.

Cass wishes he'd had more to drink. A couple more vodka tonics and he'd probably refuse to give a shit. But he's annoyingly sober, and he can't help but notice Curly Hair sort of glance around, looking for an exit that doesn't exist.

Cass watches as he smiles, tilts his head. Cass' stomach lurches. He's seen that head tilt. Fuck, Cass has given that head tilt. I want you to want me but I don't want this.

“Hey Kirsty," he says, serving a grin to the blonde next to him. She frowns.

“It’s Kristie.”

“Right. Kristie,” Cass says. Easy smile, a finger tracing circles on the back of her hand. “You wanna go dance? I’ll catch up in a sec”

The girl pouts, grabbing his hand, “Aren’t you gonna come? I kinda thou-”

“Kʀɪsᴛɪᴇ, ɢᴏ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ.”

The girl's frown melts into a grin faster than she can notice what’s happening and nods her head enthusiastically, like dancing had been her idea in the first place. And then she’s gone, melted into the pulsing mass of bodies.

Cass needs to get out of here. In a bar like this, with music like this, with people like this, the feeling of I don’t want this is so loud and grating it makes Cass’ heart catch in his throat. And then there’s the other guy. Cass can feel the fucking lust pouring off of the guy. Not just the desire for an easy lay but the absolute exhilaration of a predator who’s got dinner trapped. Or is about to, Cass thinks, eyes following the asshole’s gaze to where they're fixated on a sickening cocktail he’s feeding the smaller guy.

Cass pushes himself away from the bar. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid because he promised Lou he wouldn't pick anymore fights and because this is none of his business and just because the guy seems familiar doesn't mean Cass knows him but he still finds himself snaking to the corner, anyway, grabbing the tall guy by the elbow-

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” he says, feigning rapt enthusiasm.

The taller guy looks Cass up and down. His hair is annoyingly perfect. Like if you tapped it, maybe it'd make a sound like knocking on hard plastic.

“I don’t think so,” the guy says, shark teeth twisted into a grin. Cass watches as his grip tightens minutely on the glass he’s holding. Yeah, fuckhead. Wouldn’t want to lose that, now would we? “If you don’t mind, we’re kinda busy.”

And he's turning back to Curly Hair, who is melting into the wall, a skittish mess of maybe he’ll talk to the new guy - if it’s what you want then I want it - I don't want this - just say no kauri you can just say no - I want this I want you - just say no stop it stop - no just drink it don’t make him mad - I don't want this and Cass really fucking wishes he'd had another few drinks because then he could just walk away, but instead he hits the cocktail careening out of Tall Guy's hand, a spectacular pink mess over the guy's crisp white shit.

Kauri flinches back, hands up over his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the mess.

"Shit, dude. Sorry. I'm such a klutz," Cass grins, holding up innocent hands with a shrug. "That roofie wasn't expensive or anything, was it?"

And sure, maybe this was none of his business, but it's so satisfying when the guy shoves him into the wall. Maybe even more satisfying than the sound of the crunch of the guy's nose breaking as Cass headbutts him in the face.

The guy stumbles back, hands over his nose as blood starts to pour, screaming half-formed curse words that are muffled by his hand and the nasal sound of his voice. From behind the bar, a bartender yells, “God damn it, no fighting! What the fuck, Kauri?!”

Kauri curls back against the wall, his wide, frightened eyes going from the bloody pink-stained man to the new guy who had hit him with his whole entire head and back again. “I’m sorry!” He shouts back to the bartender. “I’m sorry I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, well, do something about it!”

Kauri gives the bartender a look of incredulous terror. He’s 5’7” and all lithe, willowy flexibility and he has the brute fighting strength of a very small kitten.

“Like what, exactly?!”

The guy drops his hand - the bottom half of his face is a mess of blood now - and with a snarl, pulls his fist back to punch Cass again.

“Stop them fighting over your dumb hot ass or I’m calling the cops, Kauri!”

The name sticks in Cass' head as he lets the guy land another punch, hard on his cheek.

"Kᴀᴜʀɪ, ɢʀᴀʙ ʜɪs ᴀʀᴍ," he says, on impulse, because the guy is kinda huge and Cass isn’t particularly strong, and he’s been in plenty of fights but he usually only stops them by not really being conscious anymore.

Kauri’s hands snap out thoughtlessly, grabbing the guy’s other arm and helping Cass shove him face-first against the wall, only to freeze up, eyes widening even more in terror as he has no idea why he just did that.

"You better calm the fuck down, man," Cass says, twisting the guy’s wrist so it twinges just a little behind him. He feels amped up and shaky with adrenaline. He hopes he looks as feral as he feels. The big guy blinks, slow and stupid as he tries to catch up with what just happened. "'Cause either I'm gonna kill you or the bar staff are gonna call the cops on your ass. And we both know what they're gonna find in that glass.”

The guy's eyes widen in shock, then narrow. “You can’t prove-”

“You roofied me?” Kauri asks, as though the multiple comments Cass had made had only just sunk into his mind. He felt himself reel with horror, trying to pull away, but his hands just… don’t want to let go of the man’s arm. Panic was a drumbeat in his mind. He knows what roofies are, Nat told him about those, and that they taste kind of salty but there was a salt rim on the drink the guy bought him-

“You were going to roofie me?”

“That jackass broke my nose!” The guy yells, although it comes out more like dat jackash boke by dose. Cass kind of wants to interject that he probably didn't break the guys nose, but it doesn't really seem like the time. “I’ve been talking to you all night and you just believe some asshole that walks up and punches a stranger?”

“I… I…” Kauri cringes back from the fury in the man’s voice. He’s going to be hurt, and he’s terrified, and the only thing on earth he wants right now is to get out of here and away before the man’s hands are around his neck just like Owen’s, it’ll be like that, he’ll hurt and hurt and then pass out and if he can just maybe make nice the guy will stop being angry-

“I, I’m sorry, you-... you did buy me the drink, that was… that was nice… but, but if he saw you-"

"He didn't see shit."

The guy did not seem to realize that that wasn't exactly denying he'd done it.

Cass feels cold fury run through him. He can feel the lust-turned-sour, good-night-wasted annoyance that the guy in front of him is vibrating with. And the panic pouring off of Kauri, so palpable and crystalline it may as well be his own. The want to run away, to get out of here, to back down, to apologise, make nice. They mingle together in his head.

Who the fuck tries makes nice with the asshole who was gonna drug them? He tries to ignore the ‘you sure used to’ that creeps into his head.

Cass doesn't care. He wants to run away and he wants to get out of here but more than that he wants to make someone bleed. This guy walked into the bar tonight, sought out the most vulnerable guy he could find and thought prey. He deserves to know what that feels like. He flips the guy around, pressing a hard hand to his chest to keep him flush to the wall.

“I think I’m gonna call you Scooter,” Cass says “You look like a Scooter”

“The name’s Matt, jackass,” the guy growls. It takes way too much effort to pronounce the M. Cass grins. Matt, huh?

"Alright, Mᴀᴛᴛ. Tᴀ��ᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ G ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ. Gɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ,” he says. The guy blinks, reaches mindlessly into the pocket of the shitty jeans he’s wearing and pulls out a nondescript little bottle. Matt is staring at the drugs like he can’t imagine how they possibly got into his hand. Cass grins. It’s nice to stare at a predator and make them feel small. "I think he should have to drink it. What do you think, Kauri?"

"Jesus Christ," Matt says, nasally and strangled. "Why did... What the fuck, I should knock your teeth out!"

Kauri grabs the pill bottle out of his hand and tries, despite his hands shaking so badly the fucking bottle rattles, to look like he's reading, carefully keeping his eyes unfocused so they won't try to settle on or understand the letters. Kauri steps closer to them both, putting his hands up slowly, like a man being held hostage.

"Look, you guys, we can just… nobody has to fight," He says, pitching his voice lower, cocking his head just a little to the side. "The bouncers are gonna kick us all out in a second and, and I don't need-... We don't need that, right? Matt? We don't need to, to have anybody closer than this. Just us, right?"

His heart hammers, heartbeat so strong it's nearly knocking the breath out of him. His voice is airy, and soft, and just a little flirty under the fear.

You can fix this. No one calls the cops, no one tells, no one looks too close.

"You didn't n-need that, I'd have… have gone with you anyway, Matt…"

Kauri, you can't say yes if you don't know how to say no. He ignores Nat's strident voice in his head and slides just a little closer, the rise and fall of his chest and the whites around his eyes the only giveaway of his fear. He can see bouncers and he has to make this better before too many people are looking at them.

Matt snorts a kind of bitter, angry laughter, then winces as that burns his injured nose. "You would. The ones like you always do, right?"

Kauri freezes, all the color draining out of his face. The bottle of pills drops to the floor and rolls away, kicked by someone walking by and getting lost somewhere in the crowd. "What?"

"Tell your fucking White Knight to fuck off," Matt says reaching out to grab Kauri's left wrist. "Kauri Grant."

Cass doesn't have time to figure out why the fuck that name sounds so familiar. All he needs to know what's happening is in that look on Kauri's face. He's seen that look. God, he's given that look. Whoever Kauri Grant is, he needs to be the hell away from here. Now.

"Okay, seriously buddy, we don't want anymore trouble," he tries, taking a quick glance at the bouncers closing in behind them "How about you let this go and we do too?"

"I'm not letting go of shit," says Matt, with a smile full of blood. He has one hand locked over Kauri's wrist, pushing up against the leather bracelet there. "Do you have any idea how much this little whore is worth?"

Cass swings the punch before he even has the chance to think what that could mean. Which is maybe not a great move, actually, with bouncers headed their way and a bar full of patrons who are starting to look over. It's especially not a great move because Matt swivels, jerking out of the way, sending Cass' fist straight into the side of Kauri's skull.

Kauri's world crashes at the impact, stumbling back and falling hard onto his side on the floor, head bouncing against the sticky woodgrain, blinking against the black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

It doesn't stop the panic.

Kauri Grant Kauri Grant Kauri Grant

"Y-you can't," he tries, his voice sounding weird and off to his own ears, pushing himself up. "Can't, can't turn me in-"

"I wasn't going to, before that little shit showed up," Matt says with a nasty note of triumph in his voice, one Kauri knows too well. "The guy who just hit you."

Kauri manages to stand up, catching the bouncers too close, too close, and he grabs onto Cass's arm. "He was… was trying to hit you," Kauri says, voice shaking. "And you-... tried to drug me."

"Like no one's ever drugged you before," Matt sneers, and Kauri swallows, hard, and doesn't protest. Matt waves at the bouncers. "Hey! This is Kauri Grant!"

The frozen fear in Kauri thaws and he jerks at Cass's arm to yank him not towards the door but deeper into the bar, pushing through the crowd towards the other side of the stage.

Kauri Grant Kauri Grant Kauri Grant

Cass knows that name, why does he know that name?

It doesn't matter. What matters is they get the hell away from here right now. He turns in Kauri's grip to look over his shoulder, locks eyes with the asshole who seems intent on ruining this poor bastard's life.

"Mᴀᴛᴛ," he yells as he's hauled away into the crowd, "Sʜᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ."

It's not exactly elegant but Matt slams his jaw closed so hard Cass can see him wince against the jolt of pain through his bashed in face. Cass cackles as they disappear into the mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

He feels high. There's twin feelings gripping his chest, the thrill of a fight and the blinding panic of running away. The rush of beating someone at their own game twisted with the knowledge that they need to get the hell out of here before they're caught. He has no idea what's happening but it's fast and it's thrilling. It's making him dizzy, making his blood pump electric. He barks another laugh as he dodges some random guy's elbow, grips Kauri's hand even harder and lets himself be pulled.

"God, who the fuck is Kauri Grant?"

Kauri pulls him to a small door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY just to the side of the stage, shoving it open and stumbling out into a dark alley, the sudden chill on his skin the only reason Kauri realizes he's sweating.

Out here the noise is gone, there's the sound of sirens far away, and Kauri's eyes dart around, thinking, before he pulls Cass to the right, further down the alley, stepping over refuse and empty beer bottles.

"I… I am," Kauri says, voice thin. The side door they just left opens and he pulls Cass quickly against the wall with him to hide behind a dumpster. "I'm Kauri Grant." He swallows hard, panic still beating at the back of his mind, and slowly slides down the wall to sitting, putting his head in his hands.

"You hit really hard for how skinny you are, d'you know that?"

Maybe it’s the sudden cold, or maybe it’s the way Kauri’s holding his head, but waves of exhaustion and regret and fear hit Cass all at once. He ducks down as voices and noise filter wide and loud, and then go squashed and muffled again with the swinging of the door.

“Fuck man, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, ducking his head to assess the damage. “I didn’t even think”

He reaches out a hand, pulls it back before contact. He really doesn’t know how to do this. The whole… God, what did Fuckhead McGee call it? The whole White Knight schtick. Is he meant to go find ice? Buy the guy a drink for his troubles? Usually when he finds himself kneeling on the wet concrete of an alley in front of a stranger it’s for a very different reason.

Cass sits back on his heels and laughs, loud and unabashed. He’d listened to that girl at the bar talk about her boyfriend for forty minutes when he should’ve been finding some pretty guy to sneak away with. And then he found a pretty guy and punched him in the face. Which… wasn’t always a dealbreaker, but even in the now relative quiet of the alley his heart is still slamming like there’s something to run away from and his brain feels cracked open and Jesus Christ, this night is already just so fucking dumb.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says between giggles. He tries to calm it down to a grin. “I swear I’m not laughing at you, Kauri Grant. Did I, um…Is your head okay?”

"Yeah, my head's fine. I've been hit before," Kauri says, not quite muttering, rubbing his hand into his black curls. "Not usually in the head, but, you know, it's kinda empty anyway." He flashes a bright, deflecting smile, looking up at Cass.

Kauri's head cocks slightly to the side, something in his smile changing, softening a little. Not quite flirtation, something more in self-defense. "Can you just say Kauri, please? I don't, um, I don't like his name. Very much. It's just, that's what they call me…" His voice trails off. "Thanks for, um. For catching that guy… I didn't know he put something in it... I didn’t know he knew.”

Cass frowns a little, trying to understand. Didn’t know who knew what?

"Okay you have to back up, you're giving me more questions than… than answers right now..."

But then the pieces of Kauri he's seen through the night start falling together. The skittish eyes that didn't match with the flirting smile. Thanking the guy who would have happily held him limp in a basement. The wanting and wanting and wanting paired with the desperate need to run away.

The ones like you, that guy had said, looking at Kauri like he was something to be eaten. The ones like what? The ones who met conflict with apologies and desperate bids for distraction. His eyes flick to the bracelet on Kauri's wrist, thick and leather and out of place amongst the rest of his "robbed a Good Will" ensemble and too wide, really to be stylish. Just wide enough to hide a tattoo, maybe. Or a brand.

I don’t like his name very much. Cass feels himself paling.

"Oh my god, you're somebody's," he whispers. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. Swallows the dry lump in his throat. "You're meant to belong to somebody."

Kauri jerks his arms back against himself, pulling the sleeve of his sweatshirt over the bracelet about ten minutes too late.

He looks up at Cass, blue eyes wide and pleading, and reaches out his hand to brush his fingers against Cass's hand, pitching his voice lower.

"You, you don't have to tell anyone. That I'm, um. You don't have to. I can… I can-" He has no idea how to say this. He focuses his thoughts on what he knows, falling back on training. I want this. I want you. I am an active participant in fulfilling my owner's desires.

"I can, um. Whatever you, you want, if you won't say you saw me?" His voice shakes - he can't seem to stop it. He has to hope it sounds like the good kind of nervous and not the terror he really feels.

Cass feels his stomach drop, something catching in his throat as fingers brush the back of his hand again. The tug and pull of I want this. The tilt of Kauri’s head is so tempting it looks rehearsed. I want you.

“That’s…” Kauri’s eyes are gorgeous — huge and blue and desperate — and Cass has to close his own just to think straight. “That’s not what… I, um.”

I want this. I want you. Resolute and relentless against his thoughts. I want this. I want you. Over and over and over again. Frenzied and pleading and wanting and fucking terrified. I want this. I want you.

Cass curls his fingers around Kauri’s, running his thumb along the other boy’s palm. I want this. I want you. Something in him feels shaken up and loose at the hinges from feeling it. It feels wrong. Too familiar, too close to home, too close to… something. Please let me want this. Please want me too.

Cass closes his eyes again, shakes his head. Maybe it’s just the after effects of being knocked crooked. Cass did punch the guy in the face. And it’s been kind of a fucked up fifteen minutes. Maybe they both just need the distraction. The relief of something simple and easy. And if they're both actively participating in something dumb and fun and stupid, maybe it’ll be enough to make them both feel better.

“Look, I’m not… I’m not gonna say anything,” he says, tugging Kauri’s hand closer, tracing a line up his arm. I want this. He smiles, let’s the pulse of it spur him on “We can just have fun, okay? I’m not gonna say anything”

Relief washes over Kauri, a wave of it that nearly knocks him over. He’s doing it right, his voice is right, all the training is working and letting him slide into an easier place in his head. His smile isn’t quite sincere and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but the relief in it is very real.

Besides, the guy is cute, and Kauri would’ve gone home with him, too.

The ones like you always do.

There’s an unease - he doesn’t always like that things like that are true, about him - and he chases it away by closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts. I want this, I want him - and that part definitely isn’t a lie - and I’ll be safe if I give him this.

“Okay, um, th-thanks,” He says, voice just a little breathy, ducking his head with another shy smile.”I’m, um, I’m up for basically anything, basically always.” He gives a cheeky little grin and a laugh, like that’s a joke he tells to a lot of people and has memorized the timing on. “Just, I’m not trained for-... I don’t go in for pain. That’s it. Hey, so, um, you know my name… what’s yours? So I know what to scream later.”

He’d heard that in a movie once and always kind of wanted to say it.

Cass laughs, broken harmony against Kauri's own. The line is lame but it doesn’t really matter. Kauri makes it charming. He is ridiculously good at this.

"Cass. But usually people just stick with ‘oh, God'," he laughs, moving in closer, grin against grin. He leans in to brush his lip against Kauri's jaw, slow and teasing, hands staying steady on the guy's knee as Kauri hitches in a breath and shivers, turning his head to give Cass a better angle for it. "And I go for anything."

He wants this. They both do. The relief of something familiar and safe. Just a minute of stupid normal. I want this. Cass plants a kiss at the corner of Kauri's jaw. I want him. Cass lets his hand slide from knee to thigh. I'll be safe if I give him this. Cass pulls himself closer in, brings his fingers up to tangle in the dark curls at the nape of Kauri’s neck and… and…

I'll be safe if I want this.

The wave of revulsion that runs through him is slow and sickly, like hot tar, like molasses. Familiar and foreign in the same mouthful.

"Sorry. I, uh," he pulls back and he can feel the ghost of Christopher's hands on his hips, pulling his hair back, lips against his cheek – Don't hesitate, darling boy. Show me what you want.

“Hey… you okay?” Kauri murmurs the words, and it’s with real concern, shivering at the feeling of Cass’s fingers in his hair, slipping his own hands to touch lightly at his ribs on either side, a question and a test.

Cass feels adrenaline gripping him but that's fine, that's good, because wanting and fear walk the same line anyway. I'm an active participant. Which doesn’t feel like the shape of a thought that’s his but is close enough to that it doesn’t matter. He wants this. It's safer to want it. Then you don't have to think. You don't have to feel. That's why places like this are fun, why nights like these are so good.

So like every other night like this, he pulls in close to prettiest guy in the bar, pushes down the resistance in himself, and kisses him fucking senseless.

Kauri’s head tilts back and up for it, twisting his fingers hard into Cass’s shirt to pull him in even closer, until his head bumps back into the wall behind him and he loses his balance, falling back to sitting on the ground with a soft, sweet little laugh, a breath of air before he lets Cass kiss him mindless again.

The safest he’s felt for weeks is times like this, a man’s hands on him, a man’s mouth on his, knowledge and certainty that someone wants him, that he has something to give other people, some way to earn their kindness and repay it. His hands slide up Cass’s neck to tangle in his hair, too, pulling him in as close as he can get on the ground in a dark alley, skin lighting up everywhere they touch.

“H-hey, I can’t, ah-...” He breaks free, and flashes the shy little smile again. He feels so good now, safer, because he’ll be good and he knows Cass meant it when he said he wouldn’t tell, he looks like someone who won’t tell anyone, and Kauri has to trust him. “I don’t… I’m technically homeless. So if you think I’m taking you home, uh… welcome to my house, I guess,” He says, gesturing at the alley around them and then laughing a little to himself.

He’s gotten himself this far, but there’s still a hint of the artificial conditioning twining all his conscious thoughts. I want this is real and true but it’s also what he knows how to say, and I’m safer if I want it, I matter if someone wants me and I want to matter to someone runs under honest desire as he moves to slip his hand up under Cass’s shirt.

“H-how do you, how do you want to… um… this?”

Cass practically vibrates at Kauri's touch and he leans in even closer. Every touch is a relief. His body has been begging for this, for touch, all week

"Well I'd say we could go back to mine but…" Cass thinks of white walls, screaming fluorescents. His tiny quarters with the single bed and the sliding door that Tucker swans in and out of as he pleases. "Mine's not really much of a house either. So I guess we'll just get creative at yours"

He catches Kauri's lips again and pulls himself in closer until he's all but straddling the guy's lap. Kauri moves his body against Cass's like he was custom made for it. He lets his hand come to a gentle rest on the column of the guy's throat, his thumb tracing the line from his chin to his collar and back up again.

This is all Cass has wanted all week. To wrap himself in someone else's wants and just disappear for a bit. And yeah, maybe it feels a little off tonight. A little sickly. Like eating overripe fruit. But it's also been a long time since he's been this close to sober and trying to hook up with someone so who the fuck knows.

"Gotta say, I love what you've done to the place," he adds, breaking the kiss with a grin as he glances around at their elegant surroundings. Kauri laughs, almost a breathless giggle, glad he’s found someone with a real sense of humor even if it’s to keep him from telling anyone who he’s seen. Cass brings his lips to Kauris throat and let's his voice buzz electric along his jugular "I usually swoon for just one dumpster but three? You're such a romantic."

Kauri tips his head back against the wall behind him, staring up into the flat, featureless sky. As soon as Cass says the word Romantic, though, he goes perfectly still. Every muscle tense, for just a second it’s closer to holding a frightened animal than a person.

“Uh, th-thanks,” He manages, shakily, pushing the nerves back down. Just another way to call him a slut, like everyone else does, but he’ll do what he wants and be safer that way. It doesn’t matter if he calls Kauri a whore or a slut or a Romantic, it all means the same thing - people like him. People who can’t stop themselves, who don’t know better, who are nothing and no one unless somebody is touching them.

Cass is nice, and his hands and his mouth feel so good, and it doesn’t matter what he calls Kauri. What matters is giving him what he wants.

He makes himself relax, consciously, and slides his hands around behind Cass, shifting his hips up, letting training take over again until the nervousness could die back down. I matter if someone wants me, it doesn’t matter why or how, I’m safe if I want this.

“If you want, I could, um, could g-go down on you,” Kauri breathes, rolling his hips up.

Cass feels himself grinning at the same moment as he feels his stomach clench in a knot so tight he can hardly breathe. Wanting and fear walk the same line. The latter is easy enough to ignore.

"Fuck yes," he all but moans, swinging his leg around to sit against the wall beside Kauri. Cass fumbles for the button of his jeans. He wants this. Kauri does too. Cass can feel how much he wants this. Kauri wants to feel safe. He wants Kauri to feel safe. And he also wants his brain to shut off and stop screaming discomfort just because the water’s a little muddy.

It doesn't matter if he wants it because it's gonna feel so good once it's happening he won't even care. And then he'll make Kauri feel so good, Kauri won't care either. He won't care about being wanted. He won't care about being safe because Cass will make him feel fucking fantastic.

And all of that would’ve been fine if Cass didn’t look up and catch Kauri’s eyes. He feels the knot in his stomach twist. In less than a second any spark of libido he had had rots and dies. There’s no want in Kauri's eyes. No nervous excitement. It’s not eagerness that’s pulling their bodies in close.

Desperation and terror were just one hell of a cocktail. Especially when finished off with resignation.

Cass closes his eyes and let's his head fall against the wall with a dull thunk.

“No,” he whispers. “No, hold on, stop.”

He really wishes he'd had some ket. Or at least a bit of molly. Just something to blunt the edges of whatever the fuck is happening right now. Something is wrong with him.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, shaking his head. He doesn't open his eyes. "Something's wrong, I can't do this. You don't… you don’t..."

Kauri’s hands are still tangled in Cass’s shirt at first, and he slowly pulls them back, worried, leaning forwards to try and tilt his head and look closer at Cass’s face. No no no no. He’s done something wrong. He doesn’t know what, or how - it had seemed right, like it was all happening the way it was supposed to and soon enough he’d forget to be scared and just feel good things until it was done, and if it was good enough Cass wouldn’t tell anybody about him in case maybe he saw him again.

That’s how it works. Kauri gives, and he gets safety in return. But this isn’t safe.

You don’t even know if you actually want it or if you just think that because they made you. It’s what he thinks the end of that sentence probably is, because it’s what Dustin said when Kauri tried, and it’s what Jake said, and it’s what everyone tells him over and over again. That he can’t even know what he wants, because Owen wanted him brainless and a slut.

“I’m sorry, is it… something I’ve done?”

Cass scoffs a laugh, knocking the back of his head into the brick wall to try and shake his thoughts back straight. What the fuck is he meant to say? Sorry bro, my telepathy killed the mood.

“No,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face “No you didn’t do anything, you just… you’re just-”

You’re just too fucking close to my kind of broken.

There’s a harsh sort of panic bouncing off of Kauri in waves at the rejection. What the fuck is Cass meant to do though? He can’t pretend like everything’s fine because it’s not. He can’t tell him to piss off because then he’d really be an asshole. He can’t fuck him because it’d be… that’d be...

Cass’ stomach lurches. He slams his hands down against the concrete with a growl, kicks at an empty bottle by his leg. It scrapes harsh against the ground in a loud, grating circle and Cass flinches his foot back like it cut him.

“Jesus Christ, this is fucked,” he says, laughter twisting his voice and making it bitter. He looks over at the person who pulled him out of a bar fight ten minutes ago. This random person who he'd started a bar fight for fifteen minutes ago. This random fucking person he shouldn't give two shits about. Cass shakes his head, "You don't wanna be here, man. Just go home."

Kauri snorts, almost bitterly. “I can’t, remember? I don’t fucking have one. Although I guess I could go sit on the bus…” He sighs, watching Cass - and he’s not always good at reading people’s intentions, but he can read emotions fairly well and he can see that Cass looks nearly sick, either angry or upset, and he just takes in a deep breath, putting his hands up over his face and then down again.

“No, I get it. It’s because I’m a pet, right? It’s, you wanted to see what it’s like with a pet. You saw me with that guy and knew, and you thought you’d try, too, and you can’t… don’t want to, once I’m really here.”

Cass is shaking his head before Kauri even finishes speaking. Who calls themself a fucking pet?

"What the fuck? No. Jesus Christ, no," he screws his face up, rakes his hand through his hair.

Cass can feel something volcanic starting to bubble up inside of him.

He had done everything right tonight. He hadn't had too much to drink. He'd helped some random guy in trouble just because it was the right thing to do. He'd taken Kauri’s lead and then he'd read the warning signs and he'd stopped. He’d fucking stopped. How was he still the bad guy?

"No fucking way are you putting that bullshit on me," he spits. "You're the one who pulled me out here. I was just trying to help. You don't know what you want, then don't fuck with people's heads!"

“Fuck with people’s-” Kauri’s own voice edges with real anger. “I didn’t fuck with anybody’s head! I just, this guy hit on me and bought me a drink, and you showed up and said it was drugged! I didn’t do anything wrong, people talk about wanting to try out pets all the time, I-”

He catches himself, cutting off his own voice all at once like turning off a radio. No no no, if you make him mad he’ll tell someone or he’ll get really really mad or…

Kauri looks away, down at the alleyway pavement, scraping at it lightly with one shoe. “... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get angry. You were really trying to help, and, and that was really nice of you, to do that. I was just trying to, to pay you back, I guess? Besides, you’re… really fucking cute, so…”

It's the exact same trick he'd tried on the guy inside, Cass realises. Make nice with the wolf and hope that it'll be kind when it eats you alive. It's too familiar and too close and aimed at him and Cass wants to retch. It's burnt sugar disgusting. The desperate need to stay safe, to keep everything calm. No matter the cost. No matter what you give away.

"See, that is exactly what I fucking mean. Two seconds ago you were so mad at me you were basically screaming and now you're apologising and telling me I'm cute just so I'll..."

Cass breaks off, shakes his head, staring up at the hazy not-black of city sky at night. He shoves away the twin claws of rage and confusion as he meets Kauri’s eyes again, tries to keep his voice even and something close to calm.

"Look, I'm not- I'm not gonna say anything, alright? Whatever your deal is, I'm not gonna tell the cops or whatever" Cass tries for a smile "Trust me, I'd be just as fucked."

“Would you really?” Kauri blinks at him, no sign of that earlier flash of anger left, either in his posture or in his expression. He’d done what he’s best at, when it comes to being mad - just pushed it down until he didn’t feel it any longer, and he could see things from the other person’s point of view. Like understanding that Owen was mad because he’d tried to talk to someone when he wasn’t allowed, and that Dustin was mad because Kauri wanted more than he was willing to give, and the way everyone was mad that he wouldn’t sit still.

“And thanks. I won’t tell you what the reward for ‘information regarding my whereabouts’ is, though, if it’s all the same to you.” He tries for a small, slightly sidelong smile, more sincere than his last attempt had been. “Are you a runaway, too? Is there a reward out for you?”

Cass only barely stops himself from balking at the remark. Kauri says it so casually, like having a price on your head is just an everyday annoyance they might be able to bond over. Just all in a day. “Uh… no. No, there isn’t. I would just…” I would just have my contract re-assessed. Risk having my indenture reset. End up permanently locked in the lab. Or back in Christopher’s den. “My, uh, employer wouldn’t be very impressed if you get what I’m saying”

He adjusts his grip on his arm subconsciously, thumb running over the scar that sits along his inner arm. He’s always sort of wondered if one of Tucker’s little chips is there, just sitting by his radial bone, too close to the artery to risk cutting out himself. Guess he’ll never know.

He snaps his attention back to Kauri. Matches the guy’s smile with his own.

“But a reward, huh? Fuck man.” he says. A lofty one at that, apparently. Kauri Grant. Maybe that’s why the name was familiar. He would’ve seen it on the TV or something. Jesus, he’d had to help the one fuckin’ guy with a more tragic backstory than him. He laughs a little, like this is just some sort of watercooler gossip. Mondays, huh? “What did you do, kill your keeper?”

"My, um, my owner. And… no, I-I couldn't-" Kauri's eyes widen with real horror at the thought. "No, I would never have… um, he was, wasn't always that bad… I probably, I just-... I mean I did fuck up, but I didn't hurt anybody."

He looks away from Cass, a little uncomfortably, and says, "He, uh. Got mad when I fucked up. He broke a promise, and I… left. I guess you'd see it eventually, since there's no way I wasn't gonna take my shirt off for you."

He pulls down on the stretched-out neckline of his shirt, and even in the dim alley, a bit of a large, twisted scar shows over his collarbone.

"He paid a lot of money for, for me. I wasn't supposed to be able to leave. I took out the thing he put in to control me."

76 notes · View notes