#but they are rotten and twisted so they have to make every moment as miserable for the other as possible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wh6res · 3 years ago

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UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

Text

Demon Comfort (3/3)

DECEMBER DRABBLES DAY 14 Sanders Sides: Logan, Virgil Blurb: Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet…he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge. Fic Type: Demon!AU, Demon!Logan Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Freezing, Burning, Hazing Talk, Manipulation Taglist in reblog. To Catch Up: Part 1 Part 2

He’d been staring at the pages of the book Virgil had brought for him for hours now, not taking in a single word written there.

How could he when his charge was late.

Logan tsked, tail tapping a staccato against the bed frame as he flipped the book shut, turning his head to glare at the door, doing his best to ignore the twisting in his chest the--the worry that he was feeling.

Virgil could take care of himself. He knew that.

But after having to rescue his charge twice from life or death situations. It was...stressful, far more stressful than it should ever be, to wait for him to come back home from class. Especially since it was easily becoming clear that despite his craving for a fresh start, despite the fact that Logan had gone out and handily taken care of the six people responsible for nearly cooking his human in the boiler room, that Virgil still was not happy here.

Logan paused, tilting his head as he felt the first threads of the familiar thundercloud approaching. Finally. He relaxed when the bedroom door swung open, a black and purple backpack dropping to the floor a second later with a muted thud.

If it weren’t for the fact that he was trying to stick to the very last shreds of the rules of conduct between demon and human where he wouldn’t reveal himself unless Virgil called for him, Logan would have been out from under the bed in a flash demanding to know where in the world his charge had been and why he was only getting home now when Logan knew the boy had finished classes before lunch and had a mountain of unfinished final term papers to complete and--

Virgil dropped to his knees next to the bed, a purple blanket pooling at his feet. “Scoot over.” He said, not giving Logan a chance to react before shoving his way under the bed.

“Wha--WHY?!” He choked out in surprise. This wasn’t---Virgil had never indicated an interest in visiting him under here before.

Yet as soon as he caught sight of his tear streaked face, Logan found himself automatically lifting one wing and shifting his position to hold out an arm so he could slip underneath, a hot spike of anger rising in his chest. Virgil didn’t cry. He didn’t--What had happened to his dark and broody charge?

Virgil didn’t hesitate, ducking under both wing and arm to curl up into his chest, his soft hair tickling Logan’s chin as the boy choked back a sob, clinging to him. “Ju--just hold me for a minute, okay?” He whispered.

Logan lowered his wing, easily hiding him from view as he tightened his grip around him, holding Virgil close as he ran gentle claws through his hair. “Of course.” He said, careful to keep his voice from echoing.

He frowned up at the pitch black cloud that hung like an anvil over Virgil’s head, catching only glimpses of the past four hours of torture his charge had been through. Glimpses because Virgil’s thoughts were being slippery, his human not wanting him to know exactly what had gone wrong. Annoying that. He shouldn’t have admitted to being able to see and influence the boy’s thoughts. “You’re safe here.” He whispered, fighting the fury rising within him as Virgil broke down, hot tears dripping onto his chest.

“I-I know. I ju-just--” He shuddered. “I hate this place.”

Logan blinked. Huh? How was that--just this morning his charge had once again shrugged off the light meddling that he’d done to the tangle of thoughts over his head to try and convince him to leave! Yet Virgil had been firm in stating that he was fine here.

Obviously he wasn’t doing so fine if he hated being here.

Logan ran his claws through Virgil’s hair, observing those twisting thoughts with no intention of meddling at the moment.

No, he was seeking to understand why the sudden change of heart when nothing he had suggested had worked. “We both do. Why do you think I’ve been trying to convince you to leave?” The cold for one was getting tiresome. Spring should be bringing warmer temperatures and yet up here in the north it hardly felt like they’d come out of winter at all.

“I just--” The dark cloud over his head seemed to grow darker. “I just...wanted it to change you know? How can I be a thousand miles away from my old life, and yet everyone here still treats me like I’m the scum of the earth? I just--I just...wish someone here besides you would like me. You know? Where I could just--relax and not constantly be worrying if I’m secretly hated and they’re gonna try and--and--”

“Lock you in the janitor’s closet?” Logan asked, his chest rumbling with a suppressed growl as he finally found the thread leading to the event that Virgil had been trying to hide from him.

Even with him drastically reducing his meddling with Virgil’s thoughts, it seemed like his charge really couldn’t catch a break here. Especially if this--this freshman hazing kept up. Even if Virgil kept insisting that it was nothing and that his...peers’…antics should stay unreported to the police--not that that hadn’t stopped Logan from going off and enacting his own little revenge on the people that had threatened his human’s life--it would only be a matter of time before he would need to guard his charge twenty-four seven to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

That was no way for a human to live. A demon’s guardianship was hardly a good guardianship after all.

Virgil gave a bitter laugh, thoughts swirling, giving Logan glimpses of the faces of the new people torturing his charge.

It was a bittersweet realization that. Sure he was proud his ability to terrorize others hadn’t been dulled with this...softening towards this one particular human, but if getting rid of the one batch of rotten eggs only encouraged another group to take up the calling to make Virgil’s life miserable---

“They took my backpack this time.” He whispered, resting his head against Logan’s chest. “I had to MacGyver a way to melt the hinges off the door with chemicals from the closet before I could escape. Then it took me another hour to track down where they’d thrown my bag--at least I found it.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring? That this time, he’d managed to get free by himself? If it was...it didn’t make Logan feel any better. Not when it left his charge in tears.

Not when it left him wondering what would have happened if Virgil hadn’t managed to MacGyver-whatever that meant- his way out of his predicament. Just how long would it have been before Logan would have realized he wasn’t coming back? That he needed help? It just--that ache that--that worry in his chest only grew stronger at the thought.

Honestly, he didn’t understand most human devices, but if he needed to obtain a freaking cell phone and enchant it so that Virgil would always be able to contact him he would. The hassle would be worth it if it meant his charge would remain safe. That at the first sign of trouble Virgil could call for help and immediately receive it.

Better than leaving him wondering if Logan would find him in time. If he’d--- He exhaled. “I know it won’t mean much coming from me.” He whispered, committing to memory the faces of the people he needed to go take care of next, all too aware of how much he, himself, had contributed to his charge’s woes while here. “But you don’t deserve this.”

Virgil let out a shaky breath, the dark cloud swirling over his head shifting to a lighter grey as he looked up meeting Logan’s slitted eyes. “I want to make a deal.”

He blinked, ignoring how his hearts leapt at the words every demon craved to hear at the unexpected phrase. “No you don’t.”

Virgil set his jaw, eyes unwavering. “I do.”

Logan frowned, fighting the desire to break eye contact to see what the twisting threads of thought were leading to. To find out why Virgil was requesting this now. No, it was best to hear it straight from the human himself.

He let out a slow breath. Knowing his charge, his reasoning would be convoluted and yet still make perfect sense. “I’m willing to hear you out, but I do not agree to agree to anything beyond that. You’ve already dealt with enough trouble in your life without adding a demonic deal to it.”

Virgil gave a wobbly smirk, hardly fazed as he tapped Logan’s chest with a single finger. “Your side.” He said. “You want me to move elsewhere. Want me to go to a different school. Someplace warmer. Safer.”

Logan gave a slow nod. “Yes?” Though wasn’t this deal supposed to be about what the human wanted to get instead of the demon?

“Then I’ll agree to moving. Even let you pick the school and the place I’ll stay at IF.” He stressed the word again tapping Logan’s chest. “You agree to three things first.”

Three things in exchange for one of safety? Typical human. He narrowed his eyes, tail tapping against the floorboards. “And those are?”

“One. You stop hiding under my bed like an overgrown dust bunny. Two. You become my roommate and go to the school you’ve chosen with me--don’t give me that look.”

Logan growled, tail dancing back and forth against the wall. He would give out all the looks he wanted thank you very much. Because that was---okay being out from under the bed would be wonderful but be a roommate?! “I can’t replace your need for human interaction and companionship, Virgil.”

Sure, it did make a nice loophole that his superiors couldn’t argue against because the human had requested his near-constant presence in this deal. But it couldn’t work. Demons and Humans weren’t meant to be roommates. It was hardly a healthy relationship when Logan had the ability to manipulate Virgil’s thoughts! Plus! Figuring out an adequate human disguise to uphold all hours of the day in order to go to school would be a nightmare and a half with the rituals and the charm work involved to hide his demonic looks.

“Three.” Virgil continued, ignoring Logan’s outburst, the cloud above his head shifting closer to white as he grew more fond of how this deal was turning out. “You pick out our other roommate or roommates. Ones who know you are a demon so you won’t have to disguise yourself when you’re home.”

That was---huh. So he’d only have to look human while in public? Logan tsked, claws carefully brushing Virgil’s tear streaked cheeks, his wings quivering with the urge to agree to this--this foolhardiness as his mind raced to find any downsides for his end of this deal. For any loopholes to exploit despite him not wanting to do anything of the sort to Virgil. Not when his charge was finally finally willing to move away from this awful place.

Except there was one problem. The humans.

“Most humans who willingly interact with demons are not the sort of individuals I would trust to room with you.” He said, shaking his head. His goal was to keep Virgil safe. Not set him up for further attempts on his life.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting. “I specifically said those who know you are a demon, Lo. That doesn’t have to mean they’ve interacted with others.”

Clever. “But I don’t interact with other humans!” If he hadn’t broken the rules, Virgil would never be having this conversation with him in the first place because he wouldn’t know Logan existed. “Demons don’t interact with humans unless they are summoned. How am I--!”

“I never summoned you though. And yet here we are.”

Logan had to look away at that. Avoid staring at the positively smug face his charge was giving him. “That’s different.” He finally muttered. Most demons didn’t care what happened to the humans they dealt with. Logan was an outlier in that sense. Sent to lurk under a bed as punishment and instead found that he liked it even if Virgil’s stubborn nature drove him up the wall most of the time.

“Different because you were hiding under my bed for who knows how long?”

He grimaced. It hadn’t even been a year yet. Not that long at all in human terms. “In a way.”

He flinched as Virgil placed a palm against his cheek, turning his head back to face him. “You were the monster under my bed until you decided I needed a Guardian instead.” He said softly. “Why can’t you go find another human whose needs are similar to mine? Find someone we both can get along with. And once you do, I’ll move wherever you want me to for school. Those are my terms.”

Logan hardly cared if another human liked him. He was a demon. Humans were supposed to fear his kind. But Virgil? His human needed a good roommate. One that would want to be around him, unlike Virgil’s current set that barely acknowledged his existence unless it was his turn to take out the trash. However, if he was out hunting for this good roommate…that would mean--

“I can hardly be considered a Guardian if you’re left defenseless while I’m off searching who knows where for who knows how long for this hypothetical person!” Logan retorted. “You would have to allow me to establish a means to ensure you’re safe while I am gone or that you could summon me if you find yourself in danger before I would even consider--”

“What sort of thing?”

Logan frowned. Was the stress of three near death attempts addling his charge’s mind? Perhaps the air underneath the bed was’t flowing properly--he shifted, teleporting them both onto Virgil’s bed where he could have this conversation in a more proper format. After all, humans didn’t usually make deals under their beds. Though it probably was too much to expect his charge to draw a sigil on the floor. Not if he wanted his deposit back.

He kept a wing securely around Virgil as the human adjusted his position to rest more comfortably against him, a move that should be more counter-intuitive despite Logan’s proclamations of keeping him safe. There was too much trust here. Virgil had hardly done more than sharply inhale at them suddenly appearing on top of his bed.

“So?” He asked once he was comfortable, fingers brushing against the inside of Logan’s wing. “What sort of thing were you thinking?”

Logan shrugged a shoulder, trying to not focus on how relaxed Virgil was with him. “...I was considering a cell phone.”

The laugh his charge let out shouldn’t make his hearts flutter so.

Virgil grinned, shaking his head, the storm cloud above him glittering brightly despite it’s shifting state. “That’s so...human, Lo. But what if it dies? What if I get mine taken away? They’re hardly reliable despite how much I use mine. Isn’t there a sort of…” He waved a hand around. “Sigil or spell or mark? Something that you can place on me?”

Yes. But--

Before he could speak his charge ducked out from under his wing, grabbing at his backpack on the floor and digging into it. “I could draw something on me.” He offered, pulling out a pen. “And then you enchant it or whatever to--are you okay?”

That was---ha. Logan swallowed, wings shifting back as he looked his human in the eyes. “That is...it’s not a light commitment to make, Virgil.” He finally answered. “You shouldn’t allow any demon, let alone me--” Despite how much he desperately wanted it. It would be so much easier to ensure he could protect Virgil than using a cell phone. “--to mark you so. I doubt you want a permanent connection to me and a sigil once placed on living flesh cannot easily be removed.”

Virgil tapped his pen against his lips, tilting his head as he silently studied Logan.

His tail twisted at the scrutiny. “It’s too much of a risk.” He repeated, holding his hands palm up. “You have no guarantee that I will remain a...Guardian to you.” Though at this point he couldn’t see him being anything else. “I am a Demon. It’s not in our nature to--”

He cut off as Virgil reached out, resting his hands in Logan’s clawed ones, gently squeezing them. “Lo.”

His hearts skipped a beat at the nickname. Gah. If Virgil ever figured out how being called Lo truly affected him, far more than any deal would, he would be completely done for--he flinched, inhaling sharply as a purplish glow appeared, covering both of their hands as his charge gave a small smirk.

“You’ve saved my life twice now.” He said softly, leaning forward, unfazed by the glow.

Though of course Virgil would have no idea that this wasn’t normal, not when Logan hadn’t done anything!

“That’s hardly a demon’s nature now is it? To save someone? Someone who made no deal to gain such protection?”

….No. It wasn’t normal. He knew that. He-- Logan made a sound in his throat as the purplish glow shifted between them winding like a ribbon around their wrists. He eyed it warily, it was a sign, despite the fact that the glowing ribbon should be red instead of purple, that a deal was being struck though Logan had made no active attempt to initiate one. Hadn’t wanted--

“You’re no ordinary demon, Lo.”

No...he wasn’t much like the others was he? Interacting with humans...a human...with Virgil willingly without being compelled to. To want to protect his charge, seeking to help him instead of...well...continuing to make him suffer.

“If you don’t want the mark on me to be permanent then make it temporary.” Virgil said, maintaining eye contact. “Make it last as long as you need it to. But I know you know you want to know I’m okay. Is this not a good way to go about it?”

His breath caught in his throat. There was too much trust in him here. Far too much. Virgil didn’t know what he was getting into. He couldn’t--it wasn’t safe. “I don’t--” Logan swallowed, fingers trembling in Virgil’s hands as the ribbon pulsed around them. “A demonic deal is never safe.” He couldn’t risk his charge like this. Something would go wrong. It wasn’t worth it. “I don’t want to make this type of deal. Any deal with you.” He whispered, wings fluttering with heat as he broke eye contact, bowing his head to his charge.

“Lo?” Virgil adjusted his grip, squeezing his hands.

He shuddered, eyes burning despite his inability to shed tears, his hearts pounding like the drums of war as he clung to those hands, careful always careful so that his claws wouldn’t pierce his delicate flesh, wouldn’t draw blood to seal whatever deal this purple ribbon was trying to instigate. He couldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not proper.” He said softly. “A demon shouldn’t care about this. A demon would just say yes. But I can’t. Because I do. I care. I just want you safe, Virgil. Protected. Happy. A deal won’t-- I can’t---a demon can’t--”

“Perhaps.” Virgil tilted his head, peering up into Logan’s slitted eyes. “You should stop thinking of yourself as a demon then.”

He blinked, wings drawing back as the purple ribbon pulsed. “What?” But that--that’s what he was. Sure, he wasn’t acting like one currently, but no one would look at him and think he was anything else.

“Well...you’ve already said it yourself, haven’t you? Starting back when I nearly froze to death. What you really are.”

He’d said a lot of--Wait. Logan looked up, barely able to breathe from how tight his chest felt. “You...remember that time?”

Virgil shook his head. “Not all of it. But I do remember one thing, Lo.” He grinned, eyes glittering as the purple ribbon flashed a brilliant indigo, the bright warm light washing over Logan before he could blink.

“You’re a Guardian. My Guardian.” End.

#Demon Comfort #December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Virgil #Logic #Anxiety #Demon!Logan #Near Death experience tw #Hazing tw #Manipulation tw #December Day 14

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youryanderedaddy · 4 years ago

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The villain series II

The hour of judgement

tw: imprisonment, isolation, obsessive behavior, psychological torture?, coercion, slight hint of future Stockholm syndrome

The time was going by slowly. So slowly you could hear every click of the golden arrow on the dusty old clock up on the white wall. A second, a minute, a whole entirnity. Here everything was white, empty, unnerving. It was so cold you could see your naked flesh turning thin and blue, shivers running down your spine. Your teeth were clenching tight, but there was nothing to chew on. Despite constantly running your tongue trough your chapped lips, your mouth was still painfully dry. How long have you been in this tiny suffocating closet? Perhaps it had been too long because your dreams were filled with sun, warmth and the soft caress of Mother nature. Yet you always woke up in this stuffed little space, never left with enough room to breathe or sob or beg to be released.

"Gambit, please." You called out from inside in a quiet broken tone, fighting the urge to scratch at the door for his attention. For one you actually wanted to save up your energy and for two, you knew what was the consequence for acting like a pest. You couldn't stand another day of being treated like a stray. "Please, I am so thirsty I may die." You pleaded softly, your face twisted in desperation. You knew that showing weakness would only give him more power to destroy and the satisfaction of doing so himself, just like a demon feeding off the weak, but you couldn't find enough willpower to do better. To be stronger or wiser. Not when the nausea had overcome you yet again and the muscles of your gut clenched tight, mouth watering, forcing you to gag on your own stomach juices before throwing up every last drop of the acid liquid on the ground, making it even filthier than it used to be. The strong smell burned your nostrils and you wished you could cry, but your dehydrated body just wouldn't produce tears anymore. You were so tired and you couldn't even relieve your aching soul.

"Don't worry, my sweet angel." The villain finally replied, the malicious smirk reflecting in his teasing voice. "It's mostly believed that people can survive only three days without water." He chuckled shortly after. "But you have no idea how much time has passed, do you?" There was a long moment of silence, when all you could hear was the rhythmic beat of his rotten heart. You wondered whether it actually existed or you were just imagining it to calm your stretched nerves down.

"What do I need to do for you to let me out?" You asked suddenly, clinging to your last hope like a dying child to the end of the ship. "I will do anything, just please let me out!" You added, banging on the wooden door with both of your fists until your wrists turned red and sore. And even then you kept going, maybe eventually you would break the hard surface, trapping you away from the freedom you desired.

"It's really simple, darling." The criminal answered, laughing cruelly at your pain. The man hated seeing you so miserable and lonely but he could already taste the sweet victory on his lips. He had won. "Love me." The villain whispered, new sense of tenderness filling his lungs as he pictured the bright future awaiting. He couldn't wait to hold you down and take you, sleep next to you, turn you into the perfect little lover he had always dreamed of. "If you give me your heart, I will spare your body." The madman mumbled yet you heard him so clearly you regretted ever opening your mouth. But you were so exhausted and hungry, so deprived of your basic human needs, your pride stripped away long time ago. It didn't matter if you bent now because you had been kneeling since the first time the man saw you and decided to have you by force. And then there was Cedric... The person you loved, the one who adored you with all your little flaws and imperfections, who never gave up on you despite all the hardships. He wasn't here now. He couldn't feel your breaking bones or make you forget the pain with a kiss. You couldn't hear his sweet voice ringing in your ear like a melody. You didn't have a choice. Neither your desires nor your past life mattered anymore. This wasn't a performance. It was survival.

"Okay." You uttered lastly, hugging your knees with your bare hands. Your fingers felt cold on your skin but you kept reminding yourself that the end of your suffering was near. "I will love you just the way you want to be loved."

Your words provoked a chain reaction - the key was pushed in and the door opened soon afterwards. You were met with opened arms and a stern gaze fixated on your quivering frame. You pushed yourself into your feet, stumbling along the way because of the dizziness in your head. You found the right path towards the impatient waiting man, wrapping your sore arms around him. In return he held you close, squeezing your soft bruised body. The criminal was so warm and his embrace felt so Iight and airy on your naked skin. He placed a small kiss on your burning forehead - such a innocent loving gesture, making your blood boil in fear, but you just couldn't help yourself. Your life depended on pleasing a villain.

"G-gambit..." You sobbed, resting your head on his shoulder. His big hand was stroking your back gently, reassuringly. It created the illusion of safety - like everything was fine now. Like the man wouldn't torture you again just to hear you say those three sweet words for him.

"Oh darling..." He almost growled in your ear with a husky voice, filled with pleasure and satisfaction. The villain resembled a tiger who had finally caught his pray, ready to devour it in one bite. Instead he was playing around, scratching and licking the poor lamb, feeling powerful and strong. "Please, just call me Nicholas."

#male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere villian x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #male yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere prompt #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagine #yancore

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silence-burns · 4 years ago

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Please Hate Me //part 52

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

"We fucked up."

"No, we didn't."

"We had Peter. Now we don't have Peter."

Loki's eyes were completely dark from a spell letting him see through Barbara's, but still he waved toward the completely-not-suspicious building complex in front of you. "But we found him again. That surely counts toward something, right?"

"We lost the alien pin too."

"Which we also found, if memory serves," Loki shrugged, as if the search hadn't taken the two of you the better part of an evening. Who knew searching through half of New York and visiting places it might've been dropped could be so time-consuming?

The weather was pleasant, the air growing warmer as the seasons continued to change. It was one of those days where everything felt brighter, despite how disappointing the reality might be.

"I'm still voting for arson," Loki said, assessing the tall fence surrounding the area. An area which crawled with people trying their hardest not to look like agents of some super-secret government facility, and failing rather miserably.

"You might not have noticed, but buildings nowadays have systems preventing fire from spreading."

"Do these systems work against magic fire too?"

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like I spit magic fire on a whim?"

"You did last week," Loki muttered. The memory was still fresh.

"Wow, so now I'm the bad guy, and not the sneaky little bastard that ate all the cupcakes I left for-"

Barbara came back, flying on quiet, if a little filthy and decomposed, wings. Loki blinked twice, shedding the spell connecting him to the bird. As much as he didn't mind the heights, Loki had to admit he wasn't a fan of the sharp turns and rather random drops Barbara's flying pattern involved.

Loki pointed to one of the buildings further inside the complex. The red, evening sun hit the countless windows with blinding intensity. "The bird thinks the boy might be there."

You looked at the long stretch of road leading to the complex, like a carpet laid out specifically for you, but the crowds of agents working in the area leading to it made you cringe.

"I still vote arson."

"Why don't we just walk in, though? I mean, it was SHIELD themselves that contacted us, right? It should be okay to just… pay them a visit without sneaking around like… well, like villains. No offense."

Loki frowned. He didn't look convinced. "I like sneaking around, though. It keeps me away from trouble."

"If that’s true, how did you get banned from the Moon twice?"

"Touché. Lead the way then, love."

The way took you down the asphalt road, busy with cars rushing both ways. Despite their past issues, Loki couldn't help feeling a little bad for the agents. For all the grandeur and importance they always described their life to hold, Loki's imagination kept on showing him pictures of ants in their little nests, crawling in their endless, pointless patterns.

The ants seemed to fall into a state of shock rather abruptly after laying their eyes on the two visitors to their nest. Some of them just stood there, looking after the figures marching right to the gates, while others ran in a seemingly random direction.

"That worked out better than I thought," Loki admitted when all the space around you cleared.

Barbara perched on top of the gates, screaming on top of her rotten lungs. The security guards looked at one another and then at the approaching god. Their hands went to their guns. Loki took that as a compliment.

"I know this might surprise you," Loki said, "but we are here to talk. Fetch us your Agent Cauldron, and be quick about it."

"Coulson," you whispered.

"Whatever."

"No matter how many times you ask me, the answer will stay the same - I don't know," Peter groaned.

His back hurt from sitting on the same, incredibly uncomfortable metal chair for hours, and the lights of the small and a little outdated office were starting to make his head throb with an upcoming headache. Or maybe the reason behind it were the endless questions to which he wished he know the answer.

Agent Coulson looked at the photos on the desk between him and the boy. These were nice pictures. If he were more sentimental, he might've put them on a fridge or maybe to the clipboard on the wall to his left. They were definitely worth taking a look at least once a day - it wasn't often one had a chance to look at a god and an ex-assassin, completely drunk, being led by a teenage boy on a spider-thread.

Peter glanced down at them too, and scowled.

"Yeah, well, we've met and hung out together, but I don't know where they are now. Sir, if I knew, do you really think I'd willingly stay behind?"

The agent didn't answer. He moved very little, in fact. Peter was unsure whether it was a part of some special, super-secret interrogation technique, but it was working. To make things even worse, the metal chair he had been given was making sitting still a nightmare.

"That's a fair point, Peter," Coulson nodded, "but do you think I would be pressing you so much if two of the most dangerous people on this planet weren't currently on the run with an alien artifact of unknown origin that might've been recently used to damage our Moon?"

That was a fair point too, Peter had to admit. He might've even grown a little worried after hearing such news, if only it all didn't sound so exciting.

"So you DO know what happened to it, right?" the boy leaned forward, with eyes shining with excitement.

Agent Coulson sighed.

It was a small, almost invisible display of all the emotions boiling inside of him that he'd never show. He knew better, and had far too many years of experience to allow that. Still, the situation was beginning to wear on him, especially if he spared a thought or two to consider what the two people that should absolutely never go off radar, could be up to at this very moment.

Last time Loki visited Earth, he led an alien invasion. Last time Coulson met you before you hesitantly joined forces with the Avengers, you'd already put two bullets in Tony Stark and were on the way to making it three.

Coulson allowed himself a moment to thank his hair for already thinning out or he'd be losing it in a handfuls.

And the worst part was, he actually believed the boy.

He had clearly helped with sneaking you through half the city and into his apartment, but there was no evidence of him helping you out too. Wherever Loki and you were, Coulson was sure he'd hear about it soon enough. He might even let the boy go, and monitor him long enough to see if you'd show up.

The decision wasn't an easy one, but the agent was left with very limited choices. After all, how likely was it that the two of you would just show up?

The phone vibrated on the desk in front of agent Coulson. He picked it up.

He blinked. And simply said, "Yes."

Peter did not like the absent look on the agent's face. He'd seen far too many movies not to recognize the moment the power shifted in the room. Just in time for something bad to happen. It wouldn't be a problem if it stayed on the screen - Ned and him would freeze with the popcorn halfway to their mouths in anticipation of what was to come. But here, in reality, far from the safe spot on a couch, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to know what was about to happen next.

Unfortunately, whatever powers weaved through the lives of people, deciding their fate and luck, rarely listened to young boys in their judgement. In fact, they listened to old agents even less, but that was something Peter was unlikely to ever find out.

Peter twisted on the chair biting into his backside, and looked back to the thick, metal door. He hadn't realized it when he had been brought inside, but the door looked like it could take a few shots from a gun and remain unscathed.

Peter was not sure what to do with that information.

The door in question decided to finally open and reveal the reason for the sudden tension. It didn't even creak, so the god walked in in complete silence. You followed him, not as quiet, but just as unexpected.

Your face lit up when you noticed the boy. "There you are!"

Peter looked at the agent. The agent looked at Peter.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me, sir, but I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The agent had no doubt that the boy was the least likely person to ever manipulate the god of trickery and lies, or the almost-ex-assasin into anything, but he didn't say a word. He only raised an eyebrow and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure?", as if there was anything pleasant to be found in the room. But lying was not solely a domain of gods, as all the agents in the world would probably agree.

And Coulson was a very good agent.

"We recently lost a boy, but it looks like he's just been found. Thank you for taking care of him."

"It was a pleasure," the agent smiled. "Although I can't help but worry if you have lost the pin too?"

"We wouldn't dare," Loki lied smoothly with an even more charming smile.

The god of trickery waved his hand and produced a pin seemingly out of thin air. Whether it was only a clever trick or an actual spell was something agent Coulson would never know, but for once he didn't mind. The pin felt heavy and looked just as the files described, but whether it was the real thing would only be revealed once a detailed analysis was completed.

Still, it somehow looked like the deal was fulfilled. Coulson would be lying if he said he'd placed a bet on that outcome.

Peter sprung out of the chair the moment you waved at him to go. The agents and armed officers waiting behind Loki and you on the corridor shifted with unease, their fingers laying on triggers. A small crowd eyed every move made in Coulson's office, which was to be expected - it was not every day a facility such as this one was visited by a god.

Especially one with a rather problematic history of attempted world domination.

"If we may, we'll take our leave now." Loki bowed stiffly.

"And what about the 'favor' you insisted on as payment?"

Something cold and ancient flashed in the god's eyes. "All in due time."

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki imagine #loki #loki series #loki marvel #loki laufeyson #loki mcu #marvel loki #loki fanfiction #I Love Loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)

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tsuraiwrites · 3 years ago

Note

"Shouldn't you be with him/her" for Fenders for DADWC? Please and thank you!

thank you so much for the prompt! this is definitely a piece that needs to be edited sober, but I hope you enjoy what I have here nonetheless. for @dadrunkwriting

Fic: Better to Ask Forgiveness

Darktown is as filthy and miserable as ever when Fenris steps off the lift, only barely missing a puddle eddying with putrid water. He adjusts the hood of his cloak, but even underground, there’s no escaping the rain. It sluices down the walls from pipes and holes above, the sewers for once fulfilling their intended purpose as polluted water forms shallow, fast-moving rivers on the ground. The smell is almost enough to cover the stench of chokedamp and rot.

Fenris moves gingerly, his long familiarity guiding him through the dark passages even with unsure footing. Only once does he slip, his foot plunging into an unpleasantly warm stream of sewage before Fenris can reel back. He curses, trying to shake the worst of the clinging damp away before it can sink into his leggings, but it’s of little use. His mood fouls further but he diligently continues on, not about to let the inconvenience of this whole matter stop him from reaching his destination.

No one bothers him as he approaches the clinic, either well-used to the sight of him or, more likely, wary of the large sword he carries slung over his back. Thus, his trip through the dank warrens of the city is quiet, giving him more than enough time to think.

Or more time to brood, as Varric would no doubt point out should he ever hear of this incident. Bad enough the dwarf was witness to Fenris’ shameful loss of control after killing Hadriana today. Bad enough Fenris put his foot in his mouth hard enough to choke on it not once, but twice. Bad enough that he’d already gone, head hanging, to Hawke’s door to apologize and ask for advice-

Fenris turns the final corner before his destination.

The lantern is out, and that of all things is what makes Fenris hesitate, his steps slowing to a stop as he nears the closed and barred door. If the lantern is out, that must mean the mage inside is asleep or working on his manifesto. The latter he does not care about interrupting, but if Anders is finally getting some sleep for once…

No, Fenris is just making excuses now.

Honestly he had not expected Anders to follow him out of that slaver den onto the coast, but in hindsight he should have; Anders’ footsteps ground in the sand louder than any decent warrior’s would. Fenris had been in no mood to listen to anything a mage had to say at the time, much less accept any platitudes he would surely offer, not after Hadriana tried to drip poison in his ear. So when Anders had put a hand on his shoulder, probably meaning to comfort or to question...

“Get your filthy hands off of me, abomination! Leave me be!”

His hands clench, gauntlets creaking in protest as he wrenches himself out of the recollection, still staring at the half-rotten wood of the door.

“Tell him you’re sorry, Fenris,” Hawke had advised him, as if words between them were ever that easy, when even months into their involvement a number of their conversations still end in sniping, though they’ve been much less vicious about it.

Until now.

Kaffas, but he’s stalling again. Before he can wander in any more mental circles he raises his fist to bang on the door. The wood shudders under his fist, but thankfully holds up under the assault.

“The clinic is closed!” a muffled voice calls from inside, confirming the mage is still awake.

“Then it is good I am not in need of healing,” Fenris says.

Silence descends but for the sound of water dripping, before his keen hearing picks up the rustle of footsteps approaching the door. There is the thump of the bar being lifted, then the healer throws the door open with a deep scowl on his face.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with him?” Anders practically sneers.

Fenris blinks, his irritation giving way to confusion for a moment.

“What are you talking about?”

“You went to Hawke’s house, I saw you with my own eyes. I figured you had your company for the night. Non-mage company.”

Saw him enter Hawke’s mansion? That meant Anders had been all the way in Hightown… to see Fenris? He takes in the mage’s damp hair for a split second before the last part of Anders’ statement sinks in.

“My company- fasta vass, mage, I did not seek Hawke to sleep with him! I went to apologize.”

Anders’ mouth falls open with shock for a long moment, his cheeks flushing with an all-too-familiar anger.

“You went to apologize to Hawke for being an asshole earlier and not to me?”

“Perhaps you can look beyond your own nose for once and realize that I am standing here, speaking to you now!” Fenris snaps, then clenches his teeth as a wave of exhaustion follows. They will get nowhere in this if he flies off the handle at Anders’ every pointed remark. He tries to shove the bubbling anger down, lock it away. It doesn’t work well but his words do, for once, get Anders to close his mouth – and a flicker of blue cracks across the mage’s cheek for a split second before it’s gone. Fenris clenches his teeth but does not remark on the spirit’s presence, no matter how he longs to point out the loss of control it implies.

The spirit is not why he is here.

“May I come in?”

That, finally, seems to prompt the mage to realize they still stand half in the entryway, their discussion readily audible to any passerby.

“Fine,” Anders says, the wrinkle between his brows deepening. He moves out of the doorway and Fenris resists shoving his way in, waiting until the man is well clear to follow.

The clinic echoes with dripping water, though in the weak candlelight Fenris can see the buckets set out to catch the worst of the leaks. The room is thankfully otherwise deserted.

Anders picks his way back to his small, walled-off private space and Fenris watches his back until he reaches a makeshift writing desk. Curls of parchment covered with spidery handwriting cover the surface, but Fenris only has a moment to take them in before Anders turns, pinning him with a scrutinizing look. It finally prompts him to speak.

“I am sorry, for the words I spoke both in the caves, and after. It was wrong of me.”

Anders stands stiff for a moment.

“That’s all you have to say?” he asks.

“I will not try to placate you with flowery words, if that’s what you want,” Fenris grinds out.

“You could promise not to do it again, for a start!” Anders replies.

“Like you, I often do not think before I speak!” he snaps, then closes his eyes and reminds himself he can’t pinch his brow the way he would like to while wearing the gauntlets. “I can’t promise I will not lose my temper, as you well know.”

“I’m not asking you to not get angry, you’re more than entitled to feel anger after everything you’ve been through. I just-” He shakes his head, but before Fenris so much as opens his mouth to reply, he continues. “I thought you’d grown tired of my filthy, abominable hands.” Anders holds out those hands with palms up, spreading staff-calloused fingers wide. His mouth twists up like he’s trying to make a joke, but the words fall flat. “Tired of being with a mage. After the way you acted… You’ve been disgusted by me the whole time, haven’t you?”

“No!” Fenris denies immediately, before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Anders jerks as if surprised by his vehemence, dropping his hands. “That’s not the reason I pushed you away. I... needed to be alone for my own sake, which is exactly why I left without our company in the first place.”

“Then it’s my fault that I followed you?”

“Must you be so willfully obtuse? That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying? Spell it out for me, Fenris, because if I have to listen to one more person tell me about the evils of magic I’m going to scream, I swear to the Maker.”

Fenris wants to laugh. As far as threats go, screaming is the least of what a mage as powerful as Anders could do in response to anyone who challenges him. After a long debate with himself he steps forward, reaching out, half-surprised Anders even lets him take his hand. He is careful not to let the sharp edges of his taloned gauntlets dig into the mage’s skin.

“I’m not disgusted by you. I am conflicted by everything I have experienced at mages’ hands, but you have yet to hurt me with magic.” He takes a deep breath, “I… care for you, and value what we have together. But I need to be alone sometimes to collect myself. After what that bitch Hadriana said-” he cuts himself off before his temper can flare again, looking up to meet Anders’ gaze. “I will not abandon you in a fight, but if I otherwise leave, you must let me go. I will return.” Return to you, pushes itself across his tongue, but he bites it back.

That, he’s not ready to speak aloud.

“...Agreed,” Anders says after a long moment, his whole expression weighed down with expectation. “But I need something from you, too.”

Fenris doesn’t tense – can already guess what the man wants. He waits.

“Unless I actually break out in boils and spine twisting, don’t call me that again,” he says, tone level.

“Agreed.”

“Then I forgive you,” Anders says, easy as that. The mage tugs Fenris closer by the hand, and where Fenris expects to be pulled into a kiss, he’s instead swept into a fierce hug. Tentatively, he wraps his arms around Anders’ torso, trying not to let a faceful of unkempt, damp copper-blond hair get in his mouth. Anders’ grip isn’t quite crushing, but it comes close, and after a long moment Fenris feels himself relaxing against the warmth of the man’s body.

For now, it’s enough

#fic #dragon age #anders/fenris #fenders #da drunk writing circle

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 4 years ago

Text

On Illness and Recovery, or: Sickfic, Baby!

You know the drill! Please let me know if you liked it, and check my Twisted Wonderland fanfiction tag if you want other shit I’ve done.

Contains coarse language and emotional whiplash.

~*~*~*~

Some things stay true no matter where you are; the truest, right now? Schools are disgusting fucking petri dishes, as your miserable cold will tell you. Your cough had only been getting worse as the days went on, with it came exhaustion and a chill that wouldn't leave your bones. You should probably be holed up in your dorm instead of going to class, but that had it's own issues that you were struggling to solve.

"Are you done yet? I want to eat." Grimm's nose, and little else, poked out from a pile of blankets on your bed.

"Nowhere close. Shh." You taped the last bit of plastic over the balcony entryway, and swapped the roll of tape for a heavy duty stapler. "Hold that right there."

The skull-faced ghost held a packing blanket over the plastic as you stapled it in place. By the time you were done, you couldn't see much, which at least meant you could no longer see your own breath. Maybe now, you would be able to feel your own fingers.

Ah, they joys of your own rotten, ancient place - you wake up with frost on your bedsheets and your washbasin shattered from the ice within it. There were other rooms in the place, but most had holes in the ceiling or were too big to heat effectively. So now, you were going to live in one room, that you'd yet to figure out how to run electricity to, and only leave for class or the bathroom. Even if you were ill, could anyone blame you for still going to class when your own home had a nasty quirk of being even colder than outside?

Anywho, it was time to do some homework. By the light of an oil lamp. In five layers of clothing. Curled up so close to a tiny fire you might as well be inside of it. While your not-a-cat complained the whole time.

Yaaaaaaay.

~*~*~*~

"You really should be resting."

You scoffed. "You just feel bad because you're the one who got me sick."

"You can't prove that, everyone's had a cold the past few weeks."

"No one else has been exploring my tonsils, dude."

Idia clapped a hand on your mouth, which you did not lick solely because you were wearing a cloth mask. "Quiet! That's secret intel."

"What? No it's not, everyone knows."

"I don't want to advertise. Then I'm a raid boss and you're the rare loot drop."

You elbowed him in his boney ribs. "No one's going to kick your ass out of jealousy. Just because I'm the hottest bitch in this place doesn't mean I've got universal appeal."

"You're still the only girl and people are weird about it." He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and winced. "You're too warm."

"How can you tell? You've got gloves on."

"That's how bad it is. I'll make some tea."

"I'm not drinking anything out of the damned lab equipment."

He frowned. "I've never had anything bad happen, it's cleaned correctly."

"You're smarter than that. One of these days you're going to grow a tail due to residue in the glassware, and I'm going to haul you around in front of god and everyone by it, going 'I told you so' the entire time."

He blanched, knowing that that was not an idle threat, and someone laughed. "I think I should make that happen, just so we can see that."

"Jade, no. No magic mushrooms for my man, or any other concoctionary bullshit either."

Idia looked ready to die, so to take attention off of him you leaned over and poked Silver awake before he fell face first in the potion he was working on. Logically, you know his narcolepsy was debilitating. Right now, you wish you could have borrowed it last night. You don't remember walking up during the night, but you must have, because why else would you be so tired?

He started up, mumbled "thank you" and went back to stirring as if he hadn't been about to drown in dubious magichemicals. God, you wished that was you right now.

"Idia, deal. You help me get through this class, I'll grab some hot food and go home."

He made a show of hemming and hawing before saying, "Grimm needs to let me hold him when I drop you off, and I will."

Ordinarily, you would have just said "Ask him yourself and don't be weird about it," and Grimm would have simply told him no until sufficiently bribed. But Grimm was still in bed at home, saying you kept him up all night, so instead you bumped Idia with your hip and said "What, you can't think to ask for better pussy to fondle?"

Of course, you just had to say something crass at the moment where everyone went quiet. Even Crewel raised his head and both eyebrows at you. The only reason you didn't get a riding crop to the face and a week in horny detention (where, you assumed, they punished you for being a bad girl indeed) was Idia, rapidly going through every stage of confusion and grief, with a few currently unknown to man. You'd intended to tease him, but that sheer amount of confused, horny misery on his face was just too much, and you laughed so hard you bent over.

And coughed. In a short time, there was no laughter left, only miserable coughing from the depths of your chest that left you on the floor with your eyes watering. Someone thumped your back a few times, and when you yanked your mask off to catch a proper, if shallow breath, your mask was full of a red-streaked, pus coloured slime.

A fur coat was draped over your shoulders as everyone made various noises of disgust. "Class dismissed. Let's get you to the nurses."

~*~*~*~

"How in hell are you still mobile."

"Pettiness and a desire to not freeze to death."

Crewel narrowed his eyes at you. "Both lungs."

"That is what double pneumonia means, Professor."

You could see his whip fingers itching. "Yes, well. You can't come to class like that. And... Is it really that bad in Ramshackle?"

Idia raised a hand. "It was really cold the last time I was there."

"Ugh. I told Crowley we should have razed the place for an expansion on my dog run." He looked at you with a curious mix of genuine fondness and even more genuine disgust. "I'm not putting you up until your place gets fixed, you'll leak all over my furniture. Anyone here going to babysit?"

"I've done perfectly fine in my own dorm, I don't need to become the pet of another dorm."

"Those little fairies said that if you don't stay on bedrest and stay warm, you will die. I am not filling out that paperwork." He looked to you classmates. "Speak up or I'm docking a letter grade."

Silver raised a hand. "I think we could do it but I don't think D- Lilia would let me. Malleus would end up trying to play nurse and skip class."

"Oh god, no, we don't tell him I'm sick until I'm safely ensconced somewhere, he would lose his damn mind and I'd try to strangle him after a week of it."

"There are no spare rooms in Octanivelle. However, I could try some experimental medicines I've been-"

"Jade, no."

Idia was quiet, before speaking up. "I... I don't know if Ignihyde has a spare room, or would be good for healing."

He'd not left your side since your collapse, and gone so full of writhing, barely concealed anxiety he'd broke through the other side and simply shut off. You didn't get it, it wasn't actually anything serious. The nurses had pumped you full of medicine, you'd be up and about a week or two at the most, instead of the month's worth of hospital rooms and bad food it would have been.

Crewel sighed. "Time to start checking the files to see where you can be squeezed."

There was a cough, from the fifth student so quiet despite his size. Everyone had honestly forgotten he was there.

When he spoke up, it was to you, and not anyone else. "There's an unoccupied room down the hall from me. I think the weather in the Savannahclaw dorms will be good for your health. You shouldn't have to stay where you won't be wanted, or get sicker. Would that work?"

You looked at him, assessing. You and him hadn't talked overmuch, and he didn't seem to mind. But as severe as he looked? You could see the sincerity in his offer.

"That should work. Jack, right?"

His ears flicked, and his tail twitched. "Yes."

"Thank you, Jack. You're very kind."

~*~*~*~

Easy to see why the room was empty. You suspected it might have been a storage room, or that there had been a monastic order in the dorm at one point. A single bed just fit the far wall, with a chair, a desk, a bureau, and little else. But the far wall had a large window, and the room felt... nice. And a hell of a lot warmer than than your room in Ramshackle.

"It'll make an excellent sickroom." You set your schoolbag and an entire case of tissues on the desk. "Thank you again, Jack. You sure it won't be any trouble?"

"I've already cleared it with our dorm leader, he said he doesn't care as long as you don't rub phlegm on his things." Jack was a solid block of frown and muscle in the corner. "The window does open, you should keep it that way for circulation. There's a bathroom down the hall, there's showers in there. If you need anything or anyone tries to bother you, please let me know."

"Will do." You were already unpacking the few things in your bag, trying to get them arranged before another coughing fit took you.

"I can help get your things, if you need?" For a dude who was very do-that-shit-yourself, he was being very helpful.

"Idia's grabbing Grimm and anything else I'll need. He'll know what I want."

"I see." Silence, and more interesting ear flicks. "So."

"So?"

"You and him are..." He made a guesture with interlaced fingers.

"Yeah. Jealous?"

He snorted. "No. Just curious. He's a bit..." Hand wiggle.

"I'm a bit too. It works. Would have been nice if he'd gotten the hint before I had a ghost turn me inside out in front of him and everyone else."

"You know that's why you're so sick, right?"

You made a noise that was hard to decipher, that he used as cue to continue. "You never smelled quite right after that happened. Even after the healing. You're always a little..." He moved his hands, trying to grasp the right simile. "Like when a flower's starting to drop petals. Overripe."

How in the hell were you supposed to take that. What do you even say to that? Does everyone know you smell? Does -

"Oh god, you all know when I'm on the rag."

A single, curt nod, and you put your head in your hands and groaned.

~*~*~*~

A knock on the door

"Who is it?"

"Your worst enemy."

"Get your ass in here, Vil."

Vil had on... good lord. Mask, gloves, face shield. An absurdly fashionable CDC agent. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Vil. Means so much coming from you."

He stayed by the door, ready to flee if a spare germ came floating towards him. "Heard you're out of commission. Thank the seven, I'll get some peace in my life."

You flipped him the bird, but smiled as you did. "Don't say that. I'll made a sheet ladder and mix sputum in your cold cream."

"If you do that I will personally burn your clothes and replace them with something decent that you will hate."

"Try. Come to gloat?"

"Just a bit." He set a large cup with a straw at the very edge of the desk, straining at arm's length as he did. "This should unfuck your throat somewhat."

"Such language!" You waited until he retreated to the door before you took the smoothie. It was... very, very purple, and smelled minty. "Trying to poison me, finally?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I decide to poison you, it's not going to be through something that obvious. You will never see it coming, and then I'll sell your corpse to Floyd and everyone will just think he finally decided to go full crazy and Riddle is next."

You snorted. "Honestly? I think he'd shit his pants if I actually returned the affection. One time I saw Riddle give him a genuine smile and he had to go sit down because he started shaking so bad." That might have been because the smile was caused by Floyd cracking his head on a doorway and falling flat on his ass, but the point still stood.

When he stopped laughing, he turned to leave. "Take at least an extra week to get better, for my sanity. And don't give the creature any, it won't agree with him."

"Shh, I just got him down for his nap-"

Grimm made a horrible snort from your feet and say up. "Food?"

You made a look-what-you-did guesture at Vil, but he left instead of helping you deal with your beloved yowling idiot.

~*~*~*~

You woke up coughing in the dark. It took entirely too long for you to figure out where the hell you were, and why, and you took the offered tissue with great-

"JaySUS FUCKING CHRIST" You jumped back so much it was only Malleus's grip on your arm that kept you from going through the open window.

"People are sleeping, please do not yell."

"Don't yell my ass, how long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Since before sunset. Ortho was here first."

You leaned around Mal, to see Ortho sitting on the desk, scritching the belly of a drowsing Grimm. "Hello, Yuu. Your fever has gone down half of a degree since I took over."

The audacity of these idiots, you swear. "Both of you go home and go to bed."

"No. You need watching." Mal had not blinked once since you'd woken up, and how about that? His eyes glowed in the dark, or he had very strong eyeshine; either way, there was no iris around the blown out pupil. "You are very ill and need taken care of. I can do that, I took care of Silver when he was ill."

"Mal."

"Yes?"

"Do we need another boundaries talk?"

He frowned. "But you are ill."

"Mal, I will call Lilia and tell him what you are doing right now. I will personally write your grandmother and tell her you're neglecting your studies. I will get Leona down here and he will call you a simp until you go outside and fight him on compulsion."

"Those all sound terrible!"

"Ortho, don't kiss up because you're next. Why are you here and not home charging?"

"Idia wouldn't go home to sleep until I said I would let him know if you got worse."

You opened your mouth, and shut it again. Why's he so worried? You had to physically shove him out the door to go to his next class, looking like his heart would break, and he'd still skipped board games to fidget miserably in the chair Mal now sat in, looking ready to burst into tears every time you coughed.

Ortho seemed to read your mind. "He gets worried when people get sick. I got sick once."

Ah. That explained a hell of a lot that you were too polite to ask.

"... Okay, you can stay."

Mal perked up.

"You go home. I'll never go back to sleep if you keep staring all night, and you do need to sleep some."

Mal's face fell.

"You can come back tomorrow, after class."

He perked back up. "Goodnight, Yuu. I will see you tomorrow!" A brief kiss against your sweating temple, and he was out the same window he most likely came in.

"Hey, Ortho?"

"Yes?"

"If you can dim your lights a little, you can come lie down with me."

~*~*~*~

You were rudely poked awake by a giant asshole.

"Why are you in my nap room." Leona hovered over you with obvious displeasure.

You blinked and sorted yourself. Ortho was crammed between you and the window, hopefully dreaming of electric sheep, and Grimm was still dead asleep, the little bastard. "Jack put me up here because my dorm's a block of ice and I can't stay there on doctor's orders." Crewel might have a doctorate, it's not a lie.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I did." Jack was behind him, his own link in a chain of hovering displeasure. "You said it was fine as long as she didn't make a mess. I brought yogurt."

"Thank you-" More miserable coughing, with now everyone either rubbing your back or passing you tissues. Except Leona, who simply held back and watched. By the time you were done, he just nodded.

"I'm not moving you, but..."

"What."

"I'm calling in a favour next time Cheka gets pawned off on me. He likes you."

You'd argue that, but you liked the kid. "Aight. Everyone get out, there's too many fucking people in here and I'm discovering new and interesting depths of claustrophobia."

Leona didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be back after class with your homework. Maybe at lunch with something. Not before then. Stay put."

"Oooo, oo. I'm going with you, big guy." Grimm scampered over. "I'll get bored here all day. You can just nap."

You rolled your eyes "I can just nap. Jack, if he sticks with you, he's going to want to eat everything you do."

"I'll manage."

"Would you like me to stay?" Ortho was finally up, or maybe you hadn't noticed him exiting screensaver mode.

"I'd like you to tell your brother that I'm not going anywhere. Use those exact words."

He nodded, a faint whirr as he did.

"I'll see you guys later, okay? I need more sleep."

~*~*~*~

Someone gently shook you awake, and said someone was leaning in the window.

"Hey, Kalim." Why'd you have to be the center of attention when sick, and therefore couldn't kiss anyone to thank them for said attention.

"Hi! I asked Jamil to make extra lunch for you!" He set a covered dish on your knees.

"Thank you. Was he okay with that?"

"He was when I said it was for you. Everyone's heard that you're laid up!"

"News travels fast. Am I about to get even more popular?"

"You're always popular because you're great. Feel better! Jamil said he'll have extras tomorrow too. See you!" And off he went.

You needed to tell Jamil thank you, but he would probably just tell you to just stop talking about abolishing the monarchy instead. (Not because he didn't support the idea, but because he didn't want to be punished for not keeping the idea from Kalim.) What did he make, anyway?

"Oh, curry. Sweet."

~*~*~*~

The days progressed roughly the same. Drowsing most of the morning, lunch, more drowsing in between laptop stuff, maybe actual sleep. Coughing up far less gunk as the days went on. And entertaining an absurd fucking amount of people. Everyone seemed determined to check on you, even people who you'd never seen before in your life; Ruggie made something like 10k madol charging people to try and see you through the window before you cursed him out. Your Heartslabyul boys dropped in every couple of days to relate shit that they hadn't simply texted you (along with a pile of pastries from Trey and handwritten instructions on recovery from Riddle, the latter far less appreciated than the former). Floyd dropped in once to mostly complain about how you weren't around to eat the mushrooms he picked out of his food, tried to convince you to let him carry you over to the Monstro Lounge himself, and when you refused, kissed the tips of your fingers and left pouting. Jack, true to his word, dropped in at least twice a day to deliver food and homework, and once spent forty-five minutes glowering at anyone approaching the bathrooms while you took a shower that ached on your oversensitive skin.

Some people were far more regular. Every day like clockwork, Malleus perched in your window and was the world's friendliest, most affectionate vulture. Twenty minutes after that, Idia would come in, sit in the chair, and exude such concentrated grief that you were at a loss for what to do beyond asking if he wanted to talk about it, to which he would shake his head and simply resume sitting there, tapping away at his screens until the next panicked flurry of activity every time you made a unhealthy noise.

"You are allowed to go home. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm much better than I was."

He just shook his head.

"I will come get you if something happens," Mal offered.

More head shaking, and a "no" from his tablet, before adding, "Never again."

"I'll call Ortho and make him tag you out."

"I said no. And Ortho is with Lilia."

Lilia, small, beloved pest, has what you like to think of as a compulsive need to parent. He was god knows how old, had raised at least three of your classmates that you know of, and seemed to consider you his newest fledgling. After hearing about what happened, he'd taken it into his own hands to fix Ramshackle to... well, not OSHA compliance, but you wouldn't be cold.

"Does he know how much I appreciate it? Appreciate all of you, really?"

"Of course he does. He loves talking about you. He wears that shirt you made all the time."

"Which one? I've made him seven so far."

"When do I get one?"

"When they make T shirts that'll fit over your horns." Something drooped in the corner of your eye, and you looked over to see Idia shaking himself upright. "Hey, babe. When was the last time you slept?"

He took an embarrassingly long time to lie through his teeth and say "Last night" through his tablet.

"Yeah, no. Get over here." You took a moment to drag Mal's hand down before he could just do a sleeping spell, or something equally well meaning but deeply inappropriate.

"No."

"Please?"

You held your arms out until he couldn't resist, and soon you'd arranged his head on your chest.

"You hear anything more sloshing around in there?"

He shook his head.

"I am on the mend. I... don't really know what happened before. And I sure as hell don't know what you did to get him back. But I'm not going anywhere. So rest."

He gave a faint nod.

"I will wake you, if need be?"

To both yours and Mal's surprise, Idia answered him with a pat on his leg.

"Thank you."

Idia was already asleep.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what 'cyanosis' is?" You’d been stroking Idia's head for hours. Or minutes. Time flies, and you could not tell the difference.

"Not immediately, no."

"It's caused by a few different things. Hypoxia, hypothermia, that sort of thing. The blood in you doesn't have enough oxygen. So little that, instead of red, parts of your body turn blue or grey due to the lack of oxygen."

"I see." He looked intently, much as you did, at Idia's greyish nails and blue lips. "That doesn't seem survivable."

"Not if it's severe, no." The flames from Idia's head curled around your fingers, grasping at you even when he's not aware of it. "It's not something you see on someone as... lively as him. It's something I think about a lot. Whether it's to do with his magic, or that curse he won't elaborate on."

"I've heard rumours."

"Oh?"

"The Shroud family curse. Nothing concrete, for an origin. Madness, misfortune, and illness have plagued the family throughout history. Add in a trend of cousin marriage beyond the norm for upper-class families due to people not wanting to subject their loved ones to a cursed bloodline, and the tree is more of an notorious, ingrown shrub."

"That just sounds like shitty genetics and what happens to every family as the years go on, not a curse."

Mal shrugged. "is there a difference? Even in the sleeping curse my grandmother bestowed so easily, much of the power came for the fear of it. A girl grew up without her family because of the fear of it."

"True." You leaned down and kissed the top of Idia's head, feeling an unconscious smile as you did. "There must be a little hereditary something. He gets so anxious about this beautiful hair! He hates people looking at him, and he doesn't even realize it's because he's the most beautiful thing in any room he walks in."

"Thing?" Mal raised an amused eyebrow.

"Even the finest art in a museum doesn't have the benefit of being actually alive."

"Your capacity for love and beauty is enviable. Hunt would be jealous." He reached out and brushed a stray lock away from Idia's face, and you could feel another smile against your chest.

~*~*~*~

"Aight, so we've patched up holes in the walls, insulated the windows - Idia here," Lilia clapped Idia on the small of his back, causing him to make a distressed squeak - "smart boy, found some solar panels and we've got electricity up in your room, the kitchen and the bathroom by your room, not just the front room anymore! The rest we got the ghosts to help seal off to hold the heat in. I got you a space heater for your room, so you don't have to do a fire the whole time, and as long as you don't open the windows back up before spring, you won't freeze."

"Thanks, guys. One question."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to my room."

Lilia smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a walking prank and can't keep out of there, what did you do."

"Nothing this time! I promise!" He held his hands up. "At least you can stay home for the next few days, Crewel says you gotta be back Monday or he's going to start making funeral prep."

"I'm literally better, but if he does that I get to help. Always wanted to plan my funeral, I have very specific ideas about what flowers to use and preferred corpse disposal."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and not talk about funerals and their associated things."

"Sure thing, dear."

After settling in your room, most everyone cleared out, even Idia. The only person still there was Jack, looking this way and that with a stern look.

"Hey, Jack?"

He grunted in assent.

"So like, why'd you put me up and help take care of me? We've hardly talked before then."

He sighed. "You've been very nice to me."

"You sure? I'd remember you."

"Uh."

"Jack?"

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day, if chilly in the wind. The sun was warm, the trees turning, and you just came across one of your best friends.

"Hi buddy! Are you lost today?"

The very large dog shook it's head and pressed into your knees.

"Okay, you wanna walk with me? Come on."

You'd found this enormous white Malamute wandering campus the first time a few months ago, and after checking in with a few other students who kept laughing when you asked if he was their dog, simply decided to enjoy your new friend and run and play. He was very smart, and initially standoffish, but could not resist a friendly face and good ear scritches. Today, you and Buddy here simply ran around like a couple of idiots after a lost soccer ball until it was time to go eat.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Bye!" You held out a hand, and after a firm shake, kissed the point where his snout met the rest of his face. "Stay safe, I love you."

Buddy made a low grumble and rubbed his paws over his face, and you went off to supper.

~*~*~*~

"You couldn't have told me?"

"How do you explain that? 'Hey, I run around as a wolf sometimes and you mistook me for a lost dog so you lovebombed me and I was at a loss and by the second time it was too awkward to say anything'?"

"I've been playing with you for months! I let you run with Crewel's dalmatians!"

"I run with them as a person, too, that's nothing special."

You pinched your nose. "Everyone must think I'm an idiot."

"I'll deal with them. I'm sorry, Yuu."

"I know. You are my good boy, after all."

His tail started wagging in spite of itself, and you laughed.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #jack howl #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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femmeharringrove · 4 years ago

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when steve goes into labor early, he finds himself craving his mother's presence in a way he never has before.

he's always loved her, even if she never really loved him. growing up, she always just sort of avoided him - his eyes were so big and open and honest as he toddled about proclaiming his own love for just about everything under the sun - his nonna, the roses growing, and his mama. and she knew she should have loved him. hell, she wanted to love him, but she just couldn't. and since she couldn't love this little being who seemed entirely made up of love, she distanced herself.

and maybe as a child he didn't know, he was gullible enough to believe that she was just busy, just couldn't come play or couldn't help him plant a new flower, but he grew up and he saw everyone else's mother do so much better. and it stung. it did worse than sting, it ached in a way he just couldn't explain. and when he was fourteen he finally broke down and asked her why she didn't love him, and he'd hoped that she'd tell him otherwise but she was drunk and all she could do was break down and cry and ask for his forgiveness. she didn't remember it the next morning but steve's been haunted by the memory ever since, the knowledge that his mother doesn't love him.

of course he always knew his father despised him, there was no question of that. and now that he's having a baby of his own his aversion to the elder Harrington has only worsened. john harrington is a cruel being, he never should have been allowed near ant child, and steve was determined to keep him away from this one no matter what. he's already told the man he won't be allowed in the hospital, but his mother is supposed to be there. but it's the dead of night and the baby is coming early and as much as he cries for her there's no possible way to get her there in time.

still, billy's heart tugs at the way steve whimpers and says "i - i need her." but the thing is, billy knows the infamous misses harrington. and she doesn't deserve to be there when steve gives birth. but he knows exactly who does.

he does feel a little guilty about calling at such a ridiculous hour, but he isn't surprised when joyce answers, soft and groggy.

"hello?"

and billy pauses, because he doesn't know how to word this. he doesn't know how to tell her that steve's hours away from being a father instead of week, that he's crying for someone who doesn't love him, that billy himself is a little terrified. but in the end it just comes out on its own.

"he needs his mom."

and so joyce shows up at four in the morning and steve sobs against her because he's only ever been ready for the theoreticals. this isn't him reading a book on pregnancy, this isn't one of the kind mothers of hawkins sharing their delivery stories. this is steve, his stomach contracting miserably, his back and hips screaming, his heart racing because he's about to be in possession of a tiny little human being who's going to need him for everything. and this is also steve, barely in the third decade of his life, no real plan for his own future, staying up most nights because he's scared of monsters - monsters he'll now have to protect his baby from. and he doesn't know how to put those fears into words so all he can do is cry, and joyce, she gets it, she always does, and so she strokes his hair and soothes his fears as best she can.

and then there's claudia of course, who's been there since steve's first ultrasound, and she never leaves his room for long, not if she can help it. she holds his hand and wipes his tears and steve feels safe. claudia's always called him the older son she never had, and he feels more like steve henderson than steve harrington in those moments.

the kids won't leave either, because of course they won't. eleven and will overheard joyce on the phone the night before and when hopper tries to get them to school they outright beg to stay home because focusing is impossible knowing their honorary neice or nephew could be born at any second. and hop wants to make them go, but ultimately he can't. and once they get the all-clear, they call the others, and the next thing steve knows he's surrounded by a gang of not-quite teenagers looking him over for any problems and loudly expressing their excitement. and it's endearing, because it reminds steve that this kid has a plethora of babysitters at the ready - even if mike tries to act like he doesn't care, which is decidedly false judging from the panic that crosses his face when steve's hit with a nasty contraction.

dustin refuses to go home even as night falls, and max tells susan she's spending the night with eleven - which is true, but they're both staying at the hospital as well, hopper watching them while joyce stays firmly by steve's side.

on his right, as has been the case for the entirety of his pregnancy, is billy. holding his hand, pushing his hair out of his face, comforting and praising him through steve's low whines and pained groans. he doesn't know how many hours he spends pushing but it hurts like nothing else, like his body is being torn from the inside, and he wants it to stop but he needs to keep going. so he does, he grits his teeth and he pushes through everything, and in the end he's rewarded with the first wail of a human being.

and he doesn't cry right away.

not that he can, his body is catching up with that the hell just happened, his breath is still coming in quick, shaky gasps, and he feels like he's only hearing joyce, not listening. nothing feels right until he's given the solid six-pound weight of his baby on his chest. she's so pink, and her cries are subsiding slowly, but steve runs a trembling hand over the top of her head and realizes she's got the same dark fuzz from all of his baby pictures and then it smacks him in the gut.

this baby is his.

and he holds her close and cries because the amount of love in his chest is too much, he hurts with the intensity of it.

nikita rosaline harrington is her name, and billy tears up a little bit because of it. she's a pretty little thing, her nose is tiny and scrunches up whenever billy runs a fingertip down the tiny bridge of it. she's got her father's eyes too, big and brown and curious, billy's never seen anything more precious - or he thinks so, until he watches steve stare at her with the same eyes and nearly has a heart attack at how sweet the two of them are. and he doesn't need to complicate things right now, not when steve's finally catching his breath after months of hardship, but he knows in his heart this is his family. that's his baby, that's his - well, his steve. and he kisses them both on the forehead and promises he'll take care of them. he's not the dick responsible for knocking steve up, but it's an honor to do this, to step in.

to prove he's not like neil. he can be a dad, and a damn good one at that.

and steve, who doesn't even like letting nancy drive the party to the arcade without him being there, he trusts billy wholeheartedly to raise this baby with him. billy doesn't take that lightly.

joyce and claudia spend a good hour fawning over nikita, they've gotten her so many gifts and she ends up in the little cap claudia made and the outfit joyce got. max and eleven are just as thrilled, max kisses her chubby little cheeks and eleven stares at steve in awe for literally creating a life. will talks to her quietly and holds her like he never wants to let go, even though he does in order to let hopper hold niki for a bit.

there's never been a question about who her grandfather is. neil and john are simply unfit, and hopper's been a pseudo-dad to billy and steve, he's the only one who gets the grandfather status. there's a whole mix of emotion on his face as he bounces the cooing baby, telling her how nice it is to finally meet her and how he's gonna enjoy spoiling her rotten. when he finally gives her back to steve, the man has tears in his eyes.

"you did good, kid," he tells steve, runs a heavy hand over his hair before patting billy on the shoulder.

dustin holds her the longest, of course. he quickly comes to adore the fit of his finger in her curled palm, and he tells her about all the things he's going to teach her as she grows up. steve's fondly amused at how easily dustin takes to carrying nikita, in the same way steve got used to dragging dustin around. every time the curly-haired kid remembers to look up at the other people in the room, he gives steve the brightest grin, eyes crinkled with merriment.

"you have the coolest dad ever, niki," he informs her proudly, and steve's finally beyond the need for cool points but it's touching nonetheless.

mike and lucas meet her in the morning, and lucas immediately charms the baby with a little song as he rocks her back and forth. he declares himself the fun uncle, which dustin protests, but steve and billy know lucas is correct. mike is the only one who just knows how to hold a baby, thanks to a baby sister, so he takes nikita from lucas like it's nothing and stares at her little face for a long time. the emotion there isn't something steve can read, but he sees the way mike draws her closer after a moment and smiles.

mike's a protector, even if he likes to act like he doesn't care sometimes. and steve, who's just as protective, knows that niki is beyond safe with him.

when robin meets the baby she nearly screams. but then she remembers how new those little ears are and settles for the biggest grin as she swipes niki from billy and walks about, cooing all sorts of nonsense to her little neice. "she's too cute," she gushes, planting a kiss to the baby's forehead. "i'm taking her home. sorry, dingus." and steve protests, but they both know she isn't about to walk out of there with a baby. robin loves kids, but she doesn't think motherhood is for her.

it's certainly not for everyone. and that thought doesn't occur to steve until his mother shows up, nearly a day after niki is born.

he watches her go to pick nikita up and his heart twists and he wants to reach over and take her back. his hands stay clenched under the blanket as the woman smiles at the baby, then at steve himself.

"you made a cute one, i'm not surprised," she muses, and then she says, "don't you just love her?"

and steve, he can't really respond to that.

billy's his saving grace, picks up on the shift and ends up gently convincing misses harrington to come back another time. when he turns back to steve, the brunette has tears already streaming down his face.

"why couldn't she -?" he tries, but billy doesn't need him to finish that sentence. he moves closer and wraps steve up in his arms and for the first time decides that he hates both harringtons, not just john.

because steve's easily the most loveable soul he's ever stumbled across. he looks at nikita and all he can see is a little steve, and he hates the boy's parents for refusing to love the vulnerable little soul they brought into the world.

#steebie writes #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #co parenting au #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.16 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Where was the one place that Red told Stretch not to go? Right.

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Read ‘Into the Woods’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Thin branches caught at Stretch as he slowly stumbled his way through the darkened woods. Twigs catching at his sleeves and scraping at his bare ankles as if trying to hold him back. He ignored it, ignored the annoyance and the scratches they left behind. One snagged and held until his t-shirt tore under the strain and still, he walked, following that faint, sweet song.

In front him of sparks seemed to form from nothingness, flickering lights dancing right before his eye sockets. Beneath the gauzy layers muffling his consciousness were vague thoughts of old legends from Waterfall about ghost lights that led travelers down wrong paths to their deaths, drowning them in still hidden pools where even their bones would never be found.

He remembered telling those stories to Blue at bedtime, whispering those haunted tales and then pouncing on his brother when he’d least expect it. Drawing out shrieks and laughter, his delight worth ending up with a little bro sleeping next to him in his bed that night after a nightmare.

He remembered it all and still he did not, could not, stop walking. It all seemed dreamy and distant, felt like his feet didn't belong to him, only vehicles carrying him deeper into the shadows beneath the heavy boughs rustling above. The lights seem bigger now, the sparks collecting together and forming into a larger shape. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, it was fluid, changing even as he looked right at it.

For the first few steps, thin moonlight glinted through the branches. No longer, every stride carried him deeper where even the moon couldn't penetrate. The only light was the face in front of him and when had it become a face? Stretch wasn’t sure, but he followed it, fascinated by her parted lips where that song formed and was cast out between them, drowning in it as surely as those who lost their way in Waterfall.

Her face was as white as the moon’s, surrounded by a cloud of long, pale hair, nothing more than a face that hovered out of his dreamy reach. He kept walking, following along with the double enchantment of that voice and face, even though that vision began to blur, melting like candlewax into something else entirely. Beneath the veneer of loveliness something was hidden, awfulness lurking under the surface, rotten with sharp teeth. The head hung in the air in front of him and slowly he was beginning to see what was dangling under it. Glinting wetly was no body at all but horrific, dripping entrails that heaved with every croon of song.

He could see it, yet even as something deep within his soul was howling in terror and beating against the bars of his mind, he only felt a sense of numb lethargy. That song ended and he only stood there, blinking dumbly and yearning for its return. She reached out to touch him, her spindly fingers tipped with long, curling claws, and he didn’t flinch as they brushed his cheekbone, caught him under the chin to yank his head painfully up.

“Too old.” Even those few words were sonorous, as lilting as a lute. That beautiful voice warmed him, so lovely, the most gorgeous thing he’d ever heard and the disappointment it held made him want to weep. He might have cast himself at her feet to plead forgiveness if not for her ruthless grip on his chin. She let out a disgruntled hiss, low and sibilant, “Much too old…a Monster? No blood, no flesh, no bite—ah, but wait.” She leaned in, sniffing delicately and something about that was familiar, something— “but you have magic, plenty of sweet, delicious magic.” She smiled and he stared dreamily at the rows of razor-sharp teeth, her long tongue lolling out and leaving a sheen of dark saliva on her lips. “You’ll do.”

It was only when she came closer and he could smell the fetid stink of her breath that a worm of panic finally wriggled its way through his calm. Gone was the angelic aura, her appearance twisting instead into that of a haggard ghoul, an anglerfish dangling her lure. He could smell blood and decay, and something worse, rotting meat and vinegar.

Her jaw seemed to unhinge, showing a gaping maw wide enough to swallow him whole, her gullet a deep, moldering gray that exhaled a fresh stink of vinegar, and he still couldn’t move, his silent shrieks only in his own mind as she drew him closer.

As she reeled him in, a loud, cracking sound filled the clearing, a splintered branch falling heavily to the ground. It broke whatever spell that held him and with a violent wrench, Stretch tore away from her, turning and running in a blind panic. He couldn’t see, crashing painfully through the trees in front of him but he could hear and behind him was something else tearing through the branches and tree trunks.

Stretch didn’t dare look back, he only ran, all the panic he couldn't feel earlier boiling up in him. He wasn’t even sure if he was going the right way, lost in a panicked flight away from whatever was following him. Reaching for his magic was pure instinct, for an attack, a shortcut, anything at all. He nearly gagged at the agonizing burn as it rejected him yet again, a splintering throb of pain jabbing into his temples.

He stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell, skittering in damp leaves and barely caught his balance enough to keep running, tearing through the whipping bushes, thin branches snapping around him. There was no time, nothing he could but let loose the screams denied to him earlier as something heavy caught him right between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling to the ground, knocking the breath out of him.

“no!” Stretch panted out, clawing at the dirt, fallen leaves scattering as he tried to crawl free, grasping at weeds that pulled up uselessly from the soft ground. “no, no, no.” His voice rose into a panicked scream that only cut off when he was abruptly rolled onto his back. He cringed, expecting to feel needle sharp teeth sinking into his skull, crunching him down in a single gulp, and his skittering regrets were only for his brother, his dear, sweet little brother worrying over him back in Ebott and who would never know what happened to him.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, nothing but deep, heavy breathing coupled with the weight holding him down.

Stretch braced himself, taking a trembling grip on his sanity as he finally opened his sockets and found himself looking up into a pair of deep red eyes set in a large white skull. Bony paws were on his ribcage, pinning him down into the leaves and dirt. The creature was skeletal, like him, but like no skeleton he’d ever seen. The frontal bone of its skull was ridged with bony outcropping like horns or antlers, its sockets large and slanted, and its wide mouth was set with the teeth of a canine predator. But this was no dog or wolf, nothing that belonged in the current animal index. It was something prehistoric, dragging its bones from the murky depths of time to stand above him and stare with burning crimson eyes.

Thick, damp breath whuffed into his face with blistering heat and Stretch could smell its breath. Not fetid meat, but something oddly spicy, something---

It looked him over, crimson eyes flicking down and up, and then through that mouth of sharp teeth said perfectly clearly. "Did it bite you?"

The only sound that escaped Stretch was a near wheeze, "nnnnnnn...?"

The creature snarled louder and Stretch flinched, cringing away from those jagged teeth as it demanded, louder, "Did it? Did it bite you!"

"n-no," he shook his head frantically. "no, no, it didn't."

“You’re sure?” Another growl, more breath scented with that strange spice and when Stretch didn’t reply, another loud, feral snarl, “Are you sure??”

“yes!!” Stretch screamed back, coughing on a near sob.

The creature sagged, some of its ferocity draining into peculiar relief. Its claws dug in briefly as it moved, large paws settling on the forest floor as it released Stretch and padded away. “Don’t move,” it ordered.

He very nearly disobeyed it immediately, don’t move, what the fuck, who did Not Wolfy think he was fooling? Stretch was three seconds from fucking gone when a loud, ghastly shriek came from far too close, that same unearthly voice from before.

The beast snarled again, but not at Stretch, it turned and directly that roar in the direction of a faint, moony glow that wasn’t the moon, not at all. Stretch closed his sockets and didn’t move, shivering as the cold ground beneath him seeped into his clothes.

There was another round of incomprehensible growls and shrieks, all too close, and exhaustion was spreading through Stretch with the cold, it all seemed like so much, too much, and all he could do was croak out a miserable, “please,”

“Be quiet!” From much closer than he’d expected, and that voice held nothing of the sibilant appeal that led him into these woods. It was deep and rough, dark as the night sky and the words bitten off on jagged edges. “Stay quiet and don’t move. Don't run, it'll only make her chase you. Give me a moment to calm her down."

More growls and shrieks filled the cold night air that seemed to count as a sort of language, and Stretch could only lie there in the surreality of two creatures of woods arguing over him. He didn’t want to look, still couldn’t help opening his sockets a bare slit to see that horrible head hovering in the air in front of the creature that was like a reverse Night Fury, all sharp teeth that snapped and clenched, their voices squabbling loudly.

Mini-Smaug didn’t look at him, but it spoke again, low and steady. "She's angry that I am attempting to steal her rightful prey and the only reason she's not fighting for it is she hadn't bitten you yet. I told her you're mine.”

It…She? Whatever she was, she didn’t seem too happy to be giving up her midnight snack to the local dragon contingency. She huffed angrily, baring needle-sharp teeth then turned in her hovering way to vanish into the woods with a last angry shriek.

Falkor’s evil twin watched her go, waiting until that pale unearthly glow faded entirely before turning back to Stretch and the only light in the clearing was the crimson of its eyes.

Laying there so far from home, for the very first time Stretch wished that he’d never gotten on that bus. He didn't even have his phone to tell his brother goodbye, could taste his bitter regret from not answering any of those worried texts. He couldn't teleport, couldn’t fight. He was useless, always had been, and so too would be his death.

He could hear footsteps moving across the clearing, soft in spite of the creature’s size. Stretch squeezed his sockets tightly shut and managed a single, desperate plea. "make it quick."

There was a significant pause, a moment of utter silence, then, "What?"

"please, make it quick," he begged. "don't drag it out. eat my soul first, get it over with." The rest of him would dissolve to dust pretty quick after but he didn't see a need to mention that. He let his soul form in his ribcage and a new silvery glow filled the small clearing, the light seeping through his thin t-shirt. Hopefully this creature wouldn’t take too close a look at it before starting its meal or else the deal might be off, and Stretch wasn’t sure he wanted to consider what might be worse.

Silence, then the creature made a sound that Stretch slowly recognized as laughter. A strange clattering sound rose up and he opened his sockets again to see the creature rolling around in the leaves, still chuffing out great guffaws. Okay, getting eaten was bad enough, he didn’t need to be seasoned with any extra humiliation. He glared at the creature and huffed out, “what the hell is so funny?”

It rolled to its feet, clawed toes gouging into the leafy soil and returned that glare with sour amusement, "I'm not going to eat you, fool," it growled out scornfully, "The taste of idiot would spoil any meal. I told her you were mine, not mine to eat."

How that sort of face could raise its brow bones suggestively, Stretch didn’t know, but it took a minute for those words to combine with that expression. When it did, his shock and fear didn’t lesson, only took on another flavor.

"oh. oh, yours…you…uh." Stretch sat there dumbly, staring at the creature with wide sockets, ‘cause holy shit, it was fucking huge. He wondered if he wasn’t better off getting eaten.

The beast let out an irritated huff, its long tail lashing agitatedly. “Don’t look at me like that, I told her that to get her to leave, not because I was after a mate.”

“oh. right.” At least some part of him had already been consumed tonight, because someone had obviously already eaten whatever sense he still had rattling around.

“She won’t bother you again, but she’s hardly the only one out here looking for an easy meal. Can you walk?” The beast sat down, tail curling around its feet, and Stretch took that moment to scramble to his.

He gave himself a once-over, wriggling his ankles and bending his knees. Everything hurt, sure, he was gonna be one huge bruise tomorrow, but nothing was broken, thank the stars. “yeah, i’m okay.”

"Good,” The beast yawned, a weirdly benign way to show off those rows of menacingly sharp teeth. “Now get out."

Get out. Right. Getting out sounded like a top-notch plan. Stretch looked around at the woods, at the trees towering over them. There was no path, just a bunch of damn trees that all looked the same in the dark. "pal, i would love to, wanna tell me how?"

The creature let out an annoyed grumble and stood, pushed past him in a rough scrape of bone, "Follow me, outsider."

Follow me. Welp, he was at least seventy percent sure this one wasn’t gonna eat him and if they bumped into anything else that might, those claws and teeth would probably dissuade them better than Stretch’s current brand of useless. Cautiously, he trailed behind the creature, two steps behind that long tail that moved with sinuous ease. He still wasn’t sure quite what this guy was, but asking seemed kinda rude, all things considered, what with the saving his life and all. Seemed like getting saved was starting to become a trend here in Backwater and it was not one Stretch liked much. Someone else needed to take a turn at playing Lois Lane because he was done with his turn

But that didn’t mean that all questions were off the table. “what was that? that…lady thing?”

The creature didn’t turn around. “She was a penanggalan.”

“well, that sure cleared things up,” Stretch muttered. He followed the creature over a fallen tree, wincing as he scraped his ankle on the bark. “how did you even pronounce that? it sounds like you gargled with broken glass and chased it down with a bottle of motor oil.”

The creature didn’t seem to care much about linguistic issues, it didn’t even look back at Stretch to make sure he was keeping up, only kept forging the trail. “Be that as it may, it is what she is.”

“evil penguin, got it.” Then warily, not sure he wanted the answer. “so what would have happened if she’d bit me. you would’ve handed me over with a bone apple tea and a napkin?”

“If she’d bitten you, I would have had to kill you.” It was said so matter-of-factly that at first it didn’t even register.

Once it did, the new murder threat did not sit well. Stretch stopped, clapping a hand over his mouth against a sudden rush of nausea and took a stumbling step back as he stared at the creature in horror. “you…what??”

The creature paused then and this time it looked back at him, crimson eyes cutting through the blackness. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“oh, like that’s reassuring!”

“It would have been necessary,” the creature said heavily. Their tail lashed agitatedly. “Their bite is infectious. You’d soon be covered with running sores and an insatiable urge to spread that bite to others until you died in slow agony. There is no cure, it’s generally an exceedingly rare disease. They usually eat their prey entirely.”

“oh, well, nice to see they have their own version of pandemic control!”

The creature turned away and started walking again. “Better that than the alternative.”

“so why didn’t you kill it, then?” The evil penguin was still out there looking for a snack and whoever it ran into next time probably wouldn’t be so lucky.

The creature stopped again so suddenly that Stretch ran into it, wincing as that agitated tail lashed against him like a whip.

“And are you one who dictates what should live and what should die?” the creature demanded. “Do others get to be predator or prey by your leave? She was hunting in the manner of her kind and you think you can demand her life as penance for that?”

“uh.” His first instinct was to say fuck, yes, but a harder look at it all made him think this guy had a point. As much as he didn’t want to be anyone’s lunch special, could he really fault another creature for simply doing what they did? It was an uncomfortable thought and maybe one he’d revisit later, but for now he only said, softly, “no. i don’t. you’re right, sorry.”

The creature stared at him with those burning eyes then swung back around and walked on, Stretch at his heels, and there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

The walk back took longer than he expected; it was slow going, it felt like the trees were closed in around him and he kept stumbling into them, the rough bark scraping his bones and catching at his clothes. It was getting colder as well, his thin t-shirt and shorts offering little protection against the chill. Stretch started to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself to hold in whatever meagre warmth he could, but he could still hear the dull rattle of his own bones as he shook.

The creature paused and made a weird, rough sound deep in its throat.

"what? what it is?" Stretch looked around a little wildly, half expecting to see something else crawling out of the shrubbery, ghouls, vampires, the knights of Ni, who the fuck knew.

What he wasn’t expecting was for the creature to say abruptly, "Get on my back."

"uhhhh.” There was probably a good reply for that, but Stretch felt like his mind short-circuited, leaving him with only a mess of vowels and constants to string together into incoherency.

"Get on my back," the creature repeated impatiently, “I'll carry you."

Well. If this guy was gonna eat him, he'd already be chow. When in the woods, do as the creatures did, he guessed.

The creature crouched down and Stretch managed to clumsily clamber up, using the bristling bones as handholds until he could settle on its spine. It was more comfortable than he would have guessed and almost before he finished the thought, they were off. He scrambled to grab hold, clinging desperately as it ran unerringly through the woods. Its large paws were silent as they fell on the underbrush, never missing a step or falling for a trick of shadows, weaving easily between the tree trunks and bushes so that they didn’t even brush against Stretch’s legs. He huddled down against the spine behind that large, ridged skull, and into the warm bone beneath him, and let the world fade around him.

It seemed like hardly any time at all passed before the creature slowed again, then stopped. Stretch slowly loosened his hold, half-expecting to find something blocking their path. But in front of them was the tree line and he could see a single yellowed light in the distance, the one from Red’s porch.

Stretch slid off the creatures back and took a couple of stumbling steps towards it, choking on relief and wonder.

“how did you know to bring me here…” Stretch trailed off and looked back. Those crimson eyes cut through the darkness and memory clicked like a key turning in a lock, a half-forgotten dream of crimson eyes through window glass, staring in at him. “it’s you! you’ve been watching me!”

The creature only gazed back at him, unperturbed. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“the fuck you don’t, you liar!” Stretch sputtered. “I saw you outside my window, you…you creeper!”

Maybe not wise to shout names at the dragon creature who’d saved his life, but it’d been a long night. Didn’t seem to matter much, the creature only rolled their shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “You’re a stranger on my territory. That bears watching.”

“oh, are there bears out there now?” Stretch snapped. “are they spying on me, too? ‘cause i have the right to bear arms of my own, you know!” Or, you know, he bet Miss Maggie sold civil war muskets alongside the bicycles and probably wouldn’t bat an eye to sell him one.

An irritated exhale puffed smoke out through the creature’s nasal cavity. “All you have to do is stay out of the woods, fool. Even you should be able to manage that.”

“i didn’t mean to go into them the first time, my dog—my dog!” All his anger slid away and Stretch fell to his knees on the ground, his skull in his hands, “oh, fuck, the dog, red is gonna be so upset.” Tears were burning in his sockets, he’d fucked up big this time, Red was so kind to him and all Stretch gave him in return was bullshit and pain.

“Outsider, look up.” Gruffly said, but not unkind, and he did, still blinking hard. To see the dog sitting on the porch, wagging his tail happily and brimming with delight from their adventure.

“you little bastard,” Stretch said, relieved. Seriously, he was glad Mutt was okay and not only because it’d give him a chance to murder the brat himself.

A nudge at his back made him startled and he turned to see the creature next to him, “Go on, outsider. Count your luck this once and don’t come back to the woods.”

Like he was about to hop on Trip Advisor to plan another tour? “trust me, you wouldn’t catch me in there on a bet.”

“Keep your bets and stay away.” The creature turned and started walking towards the woods, only to hesitate, glancing back with those deep red eyes staring at him unblinking. “Outsider,” it said, softly, “I would have hated to kill you.”

“yeah, well, i would’ve hated to die, so, thanks, dread pirate roberts, i’m off.” Stretch didn’t wait for a reply, only scrambled to his feet and headed towards the house, but he could have sworn he heard a soft sound behind him, almost like a laugh.

He trudged up to the porch, squinting in the glaring yellow light and the dog let out a happy bark, tail wagging furiously.

“shhhh!” Stretch scolded. He snagged his bag from the chair on the back porch, he’d had more than enough of the night air, probably enough for ten years or so. “i’m mad enough at you right now, if you wake up red, i’m selling you to the kids tomorrow along with the candy.”

The dog only kept thumping his tail unrepentantly, following Stretch into the house all the way up the stairs to his room. He hopped up on the bed next to Stretch as he sprawled out on the thin mattress, settling in with a sigh by his hip.

Probably Stretch should take a hot shower and wash away any lingering stench from…everything. At the very least he could curl up on the bed in a ball of incoherent, gibbering terror, probably nobody would fault him for that. Probably.

Instead, he dug out his phone from his bag. It felt heavy in his hand, the weight of it more than mere electronics and he only held it for a long moment. Then he opened the messaging app and started scrolling through his brother’s old texts.

They were hard to read. The first few only curious, barely tinged with worry as they wondered where he’d gotten off to so early and with every lack of reply, the texts were worse, moving through panic to angry scolding, then outright fear before finally into resignation. His little brother was so very worried and had no idea where he was, if he was truly safe, and Stretch couldn’t even promise he was.

hey bro, i have a place to stay, he wrote, made some friends. i’m doing okay.

It was the truth. Mostly.

He started to set his phone aside, but before he could, it buzzed with a reply despite the late hour. Stretch took a long, slow breath, let it out, then checked the message.

That’s good. I love you, Pappy.

Tears stung in his sockets again, trailing down his face in twin warm streams. He wiped them away impatiently, then had to fend off the dog when he tried to lick them away with a whine. Once he was no longer in danger of smothering from a wet tongue, he texted back a hasty, love you, too, bro.

Stretch closed his sockets and let his head fall back against the thin pillow. One hand settled into the dog’s thick fur, the sturdy warmth of its body cuddled close to him and in the other, he held his phone tightly against his sternum, right over his damaged, aching soul.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

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