#ever forgiven himself for not finding out and putting a stop to it sooner

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

i love you expanding on the zenin’s & megumi’s dynamic because like — there had to be so much more than gojo just getting megumi. it had to involve more politics, more manipulation, etc & you added to that.

( i always like that detail about gojo teaching megumi everything from the gojo playbook. like it made me realize that megumi was more gojo than zenin, which probably pissed off the zenin )

what made you expand on the great custody battle between gojo & the zenins for megumi? like the visitation rights? did gojo know how badly megumi was going to be treated? also how would you describe megumi dynamic with each prominent zenin clan member (ex. naoya, mai, naobito, maki.)

I am sooo convinced there’s an entire child custody battle political drama lurking beneath canon but gege denies me

Visitation rights:

The decision that the Zenin clan briefly got visitation rights was a combination of where Gojo was at that point in life and what a sheer, unmitigated shitshow adopting Megumi must have caused.

The thing is that the Zenin and the Gojo clan are established in canon as rivals at best and enemies at worst. Gojo swanning in like "I have discovered the Magic of teenaged fatherhood and want to teach this spunky, angry little dude how to Throw A Baseball. Btw he's zenin and the clan already sort of “”””””purchased”””””” him, meaning they already consider him property even more than they usually do with their kids. i will be keeping him tho. xoxoxoxoxo" must have been insulting to the Zenin. It must have been even more insulting that he could legitmately do that and overpower their entire clan without having to even try. It's bad even if megumi is just like, the run of the mill sorcerer. But he had the most powerful techinque in their bloodline. I legitimately think that Gojo almost started a war when he decided that his boyfriend had dumped him and he needed to immediately adopt a child about it.

The thing is that I think gojo really must have been committing the ultimate taboo for a society he was raised within. Older, traditional mindsets tend to think of children as property, and the clans are established to be almost exclusively self governed. Gojo making a Zenin boy his business would stomp right over that standard. Add in the complication of inherited techniques being viewed as almost a highly treasured clan heirloom within the invidual families, and you have a perfect recipe for the entire world being very very angry at Gojo for doing this.

And the thing is that present-day Gojo would have absolutely told everyone to get fucked, he does what he wants.

But this isn't present-day Gojo. This is seventeen year old Gojo. And he's just coming off three of the biggest failures of his life: 1) Riko's death, 2) Haibara's death and 3) Geto's defection.

Gojo has always been extremely self-assured as a character, but teenagers tend to be a little bit more uncertain and vulnerable than their adult counterparts, and Gojo, again, had just been hit by failure after failure. If there was ever a time in his life where he would have been looking for outside guidance, it was this one.

And the number one most likely candidate to guide him in this was Yaga.

I've talked in other posts about how Principal Yaga's dynamic with Gojo suggests he's not in the inner circle of trust the way that Nanami, Shoko, or even Ijichi is. I've also discussed how I think he compromises too much with the higher ups, why that works with his character but ultimately comes to the detriment of the students, and how he ultimately fails to protect the students in his charge.

The thing is that if Yaga was making the decision, he absolutely would have compromised with the Zenin.

Yaga very consistently is shown to care about the students, but to not protect them. It's also established that the most likely cause of that is the fact that he panders to the higher ups, even if he is more progressively minded than someone like Gakuganji.

In the past arc, geto and gojo have a throwaway line in a conversation about how Yaga's busy campaigning to be principal with the higher ups. we also have him 1) excluded from the people who know about Yuuji's survival, which 2) he later punishes Gojo for, albeit partially because of the disrespect towards Gakuganji and for hiding his survival.

That being said, if I was the principal of a school where my sister school's principal set up my entire first year class to die, i would not be punishing a teacher for disrespecting that man. I would be too busy beating him to death with my bare hands. Good luck trying some shit with my fucking students again you dead fuck.

i would simply not make it as an educator in this world.

Gojo would have had the entire world up in arms at him when he took megumi and refused to give him back. The Zenin, for obvious reasons--but also the higher ups trying to preserve the status quo and the other clans, who want to maintain their ability to rear and keep their children without outside interference. He would have most likely said to give Megumi back entirely, but I don't think Gojo would go for that complete of a surrender of him, especially after Megumi asked him to keep him with Tsumiki and to keep them in a place she could be happy.

But very limited visitation would 1) at least somewhat soothe ruffled feathers, even if they are still furious, 2) give megumi access to information on his technique that he could not possibly get otherwise, and 3) supposedly cause minimal damage, since they only get him for a few days a month and are supposed to love him more than anyone. It's the sort of compromise I could see Yaga pitching in the best possible faith--and it's the sort of compromise that I see blowing up spectacularly, because the Zenin are fucking insane.

When I'm dealing with past versions of characters with very defined personalities, I sort of like to trace in the roots of their present-day selves in any backstory i make for them. Gojo of the present day is completely uncompromising when it comes to protecting his students and their youth. He is not afraid to butt heads with the higher ups and ruffle feathers to do it. So i decided to make that because he compromised when he was seventeen and doing his best, and Megumi paid the price, and he is so, so goddamn sorry for that. He doesn't let Yaga into the inner circle by the time we make it to canon because he was in the inner circle, and taking his advice directly resulted in Gojo's absolute biggest regret, which was letting the Zenin have unsupervised access to Megumi.

I think Gojo as a character is someone who refuses to repeat old mistakes, and what happened when Megumi was a child is something that he won't ever forgive or forget. A part of him still blames Yaga for convincing him to compromise with the Zenin and iced him out by the time we hit canon as a result.

Gojo and Megumi's treatment:

He had absolutely no idea how bad it would be for Megumi.

The thing is that Gojo approached it with the severely biased mindset of someone who thought he knew exactly how Megumi would be treated when he was with the clan, because it was supposed to be how he was treated growing up. The Six Eyes/Limitless user and the Ten Shadows were supposed to be corollaries. Megumi was meant to be to the Zenin what Gojo was to his clan, and if anything, the issue with his clan was that they treasured him too much. Gojo get up as this much beloved, much revered godling who was put on a pedestal and had all the distance of it.

In my mind, the issue with his childhood was that he was indulged to the point of being deprived of actual human connection or intimacy that he didn't truly get until Geto and Shoko.

In Gojo's mind, the biggest danger was that Megumi would be treated with too much reverence and distance, but he was spending the vast majority of the month with his big sister and the teen parenting trio. He would get plenty of normal interaction and intimacy from them. He thought that there would be no one in the Zenin clan who would dare raise a finger against him, because no one would have ever done that to him as a child. He never imagined that the Zenin would be legitimately dangerous to Megumi, and there were a lot of red flags he overlooked when the worst of it was going on because he assumed he already knew what was happening. When this was happening, he was completely burnt out, overwhelmed, mourning more than one friend, and struggling to meet the burden of being the strongest alone. He thought Megumi was acting out because 1) megumi already was getting in fights at school, and he made the mistake of thinking that Megumi was just a stubborn kid going through a sort of angry phase and 2) that Megumi hated them so much because visitation days meant he couldn’t stay with his sister. He didn’t realize that Megumi was fighting so hard to not go on visits because he was legitimately afraid of what the Zenin clan would do to him when he got there. For a lot of reasons that I won’t get into now, Megumi thought that putting up with the abuse was the cost of getting to keep his sister. He asked for help, told them that he didn’t like it at the Zenin compound and didn’t want to go, but he didn’t have the words to really explain what they were doing to him and gojo didn’t understand how bad it was. Megumi read this as “knowing and not caring” and thought the teen parenting trio knew how bad it was and that he just had to suffer through it or they’d take his sister away from him. By the time they realized what was really going on, it had escalated beyond the point of repair. Gojo has a lot of regrets.

Megumi's dynamic:

Naobito: Disturbed.

Naobito was the one who initially purchased Megumi from his father. And if Gojo hadn't had intervened, he would have personally taken Megumi into his household and raised him as the Zenin clan heir. He didn't really give a shit about Megumi until he realized he was the Ten Shadows, and after that, he felt completely entitled to him.

I think Naobito was always sort of insulted by Gojo's existence. He predated Gojo, is the thing, and he's the most powerful character that we know of in the pre-Gojo era other than Yuki Tsukomo, who wasn't an active fighter for the higher ups. As far as we know, he was the strongest until Gojo and Geto came along. Gojo potentially represented an immediate and violent shift of power from the Zenin clan to the Gojo, and it definitely would sting to be upstaged by a literal child.

The Ten Shadows returning to the clan represented a chance to correct that balance again.

If we accept that the Ten Shadows is a technique that can rival the Six Eyes/Limitless user, as well as the idea that the universe introduces “balances” to the birth of beings of power, then we at least have an environment where the Zenin may believe that whoever is next born with the Ten Shadows would be Gojo Satoru’s equal. Considering they value strength above all else, that gives them major incentive to desire the assimilation of whoever has the ten shadows technique into the clan.

But this was made a lot worse by the fact that the last ten shadows died.

The timeline in this is generally:

Second to last ten shadows: the one who got in the duel with the six eyes that gojo discussed in canon (~500 years ago)

Last ten shadows: child that was killed within months of discovering his technique (~200-300 years ago)

Current ten shadows: Megumi.

So they had just come off an overwhelmingly powerful Ten Shadows user, only to hurtle into the shame and humiliation of not being able to protect the next one. I like the idea that the six eyes and the ten shadows tend to pop up at the same time, so that means that the last six eyes got to grow and gain power while the Zenin were still licking their wounds from their heir being offed at a very young age. It’s insult to injury.

In the modern age, Naobito is coming off the humiliation of having been replaced by a literal child as the strongest sorcerer. He’s still harboring the ancestral humiliation of having lost the last ten shadows. And then gojo hits the humiliation of taking the new one right out from under his nose. Naobito bears that humiliation personally, because he’s the clan leader who should have brought Megumi into the fold and didn’t.

As a result, he’s just about obsessed with Megumi. He absolutely refuses to give up on bringing him back into the clan and grooming him to be the perfect, promised heir whose idea he’s been clinging to since before Megumi was even born.

There’s just something about how, in canon, Naobito had a clause in his will locked and loaded to make Megumi heir if anything happened to take gojo out of commission. I think that losing Megumi to gojo was personal to him, and that he’s almost fixated on Megumi as a result.

For his part, Megumi hates him and is a little afraid of him, though he’d never admit it. All of his interactions with the Zenin clan are skewed through the lens of “he was fucking six and just thought they were crazy motherfuckers who were weird about blood.” Megumi legitimately does not understand how important his technique is to them—he thinks they’d be possessive with any inherited technique, and he has sort of explained away any weirdness particular to him as it being because of what went down with gojo.

The Zenin view what they do to him as love. He’s the inheritor of their most treasured technique, and the only good thing toji did was name him blessing. It’s like Maki said—any resistance he has to them is attributed to Gojo’s influence, and they’re banking on overcoming it one day and returning him to the clan. Things like wearing the kimono and being called the ten shadows is a sign of genuine honor for them.

Megumi views it as a constant, persistent humiliation that’s probably just meant to spite gojo. They bought him because they’d buy any kid who inherited a technique, and then gojo saved him, which embarrassed the clan, so they’ve been getting back at him for it ever since. They can’t actually hurt gojo, so they hurt the kid he saved.

He’s dressed up like a doll in the kimono to mock him. Being called the ten shadows isn’t an honor to him—it’s dehumanizing. He has a name and they refuse to call him anything but his technique, which is why they bought him to begin with. From his perspective, it’d be like if you were hired for being Microsoft proficient and your boss refused to call you anything but “excel spreadsheet” because that’s all you were to them.

Naobito is the one who had “custody” of him as a kid in the clan, and he’s the one who called a lot of the shots with how he was treated. Megumi remembers him as the source of some of his most painful moments in childhood, and it’s undercut with this growing fear that Naobito won’t let him go. He’s sort of picked up on how obsessed Naobito is with him, and it scares him even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Naoya: about as bad as can be.

Megumi really hits all of naoya’s inferiority/superiority complex hard. The thing is that Naoya kind of is sour he didn’t get the ten shadows. He was born right after gojo satoru, to the heir of the clan. He wants to be strong more than anything, and the ten shadows is supposed to be one of the strongest things in the world. Megumi is toji’s son, who he’s got that weird obsession with. And everyone sort of presumes Megumi would be heir if gojo hadn’t stolen him, which is a position Naoya would kill for.

In my mind, Naoya was one of megumis biggest abusers as a child. It made him feel strong to be able to hurt him. It made him feel strong to be able to make Megumi feel weak. His father was obsessed with Megumi, but Naoya was just cruel to him.

Megumi is legitimately terrified of Naoya. There was a time in his life where he genuinely thought Naoya would kill him one day.

Mai: A missed opportunity.

Megumi does remember Maki and Mai. Playing with them was the only good memory he has from that part of his life. He thinks of them as fondly as he can think of anything that happened in that place, and occasionally hopes they're okay, but he doesn’t really think of having a relationship with her ever. That would require going back to the Zenin, and he won’t ever willingly do that.

I’ve talked about how Mai thinks of Megumi in other posts, but he really does occupy a slightly less bitter version of the space Maki occupies in her mind. He was kind to her when no one else was, and it really was something that meant the world to her. There was a time in her life where she wished desperately he would come back and be her friend again. He was the ten shadows and the presumed heir to the clan, and he didn’t let anyone hurt her or Maki and agreed that they could all be friends. He sort of fueled her hope that things would get better one day, and when he went no contact, it sort of crashed her into a realization that it never would.

Maki: potential for growth

Maki turned her back on her entire family so she wouldn’t be crushed down, and that’s not something that didn’t hurt her. She convinced herself she would be absolutely alone for the rest of her life, but it would be fine because she would be strong enough to stand alone. It wouldn’t hurt.

(It did hurt.)

The other first years actually started to pull her back from that. It’s that moment after her talk with Yuuta, where she tells herself that she shouldn’t fall for it and go thinking she’s actually been accepted. She thought she would be alone and suddenly, for the first time, she’s not.

Megumi was a half remembered child she played with one time growing up. He didn’t mean the same to her that he did to Mai, because she didn't consider him a source of hope that things would get better the way that Mai did.

At the beginning of the fic, he was a bit of a sore spot, but not because of anything about him. I tried to very lightly hint that she had a bit of a sore spot around the Ten Shadows because there was a time in her life that people used to think that maybe she'd get it.

From birth, people knew Gojo would be the six eyes and limitless user. I like to think the Ten Shadows is the antithesis of the Six Eyes in almost every possible way, so in my mind, the ten shadows is notoriously hard to spot.

And i think that there is some canon to suggest this. Namely, the fact that they didn't know Megumi would have the ten shadows (or they wouldn't have been waiting to see what technique he had), the fact that megumi's cursed energy aura canonically changes with the shikigami summoned (re: his entire cursed energy output changing when he summoned mahoraga for the first time), and the fact that a huge part of his technique is stealth. With Gojo, you feel him from the other side of the block, but Megumi can be hiding in your own goddamn shadow and you don't know it.

I also like the idea that the Six Eyes and Ten Shadows tend to show up within the same lifetime. So from the second that Gojo Satoru was born, the zenin had an eye on the ten shadows finally returning to the clan once more.

Maki is from a branch of the clan that appears to be pretty high in the zenin clan hierarchy. By the time that she would have been developing a technique, if any, Naoya would have been confirmed as having not gotten it. Maki and Mai were the only other kids in that upper hierarchy that we know of. Canonically, it's implied you don't see curses from birth (if i have the right translation, Gojo at one point asks Megumi if he's started to see them, implying it doesn't happen right away, and when the Zenin buy megumi, they talk about how they think he has potential, implying there's an uncertain period where you don't know if a kid will be able to see curses). The clan probably had a lot of hope for them.

At one point, Kamo mentions that it would have been better if maki or mai had inherited Megumi's techinque, and I like to think that was a shared sentiment. Gojo was seventeen and had already usurped their clan as the strongest. They were getting desperate for the ten shadows to return, and a lot of people looked to maki and Mai for potentially inheriting it. And out of the two of them, Maki is the one that came off as having power (because she did--it was just a heavenly pact). Maki was certain, and confident, and moved like someone strong. People really, really wanted it to be her for a while. When she talks about how her dad used to take her to see the kimono a lot, it's because he was hoping she would wear it one day.

Maki was never jealous of Megumi. She's better off without her family anyway, and she's confident in who she is. But at the start, he was a little bit of a reminder of the sort of fall she had from the Zenin clan's greatest hope to their biggest disappointment. She never held any of it against him, but he reminded her of bad memories and set her on edge.

That turned on a dime while talking with Tsumiki in chapter 5, when she started piecing everything together. And megumi sort of became this chance to heal from old regrets.

Megumi will never be what Mai was to her, but a part of Maki still hasn't healed from leaving mai behind and losing her. Her sister hates her, and probably always will, and maki doesn't regret what she did but she does regret that it blew back on mai. She couldn't stay for mai, but she doesn't have to stay to help Megumi. She's sort of been ushered into a perfect opportunity to protect him from her family the way she could never protect mai, and he already means more to her than she really wants to admit out loud. She genuinely wants to protect him from her family, and a bit part of that is so that way she can finally protect someone from them, instead of just... failing and losing them.

For megumi's part, it's the same as mai--he barely remembers Maki, but he did think of her as the source of the only good memory he had in the clan.

He ran off with Mai, and Maki tracked them both down. He stomped his stupid clan clothes into the mud, and they didn't hurt him for it, not even a little bit. They played together, and playing is something he never had time to do anymore. Mai was the damsel, and Maki was the brave warrior coming to save her, and megumi's dogs played the part of the terrible monsters who had stolen mai away. Maki bullied Megumi into carrying her "swords" for her, and megumi honestly didn't mind, because all people did was make him fight at that stupid compound, and he just was relieved no one was hitting him for once. it was one of the greatest days he can remember from that phase of his life, and Maki has since been one of the only two zenin he missed. He hasn't thought of her in a while. He'd be glad to hear she got out.

[troubatrain]

want you to want me - m. tkachuk

a/n: i’m awful at intros but this fic is my whole ass child. i started it months ago and i picked it up back and then i just couldn’t stop writing. now we’re at a whopping 10k words and i’m really happy with the way this one came out. i hope you guys like it as much as i loved writing it.

big thanks to @hookingminor @igor-shestyorkin & @tkafuckit for reading this as i wrote it and gassing me up ily all sm

warnings: smut

You were Matthew’s dream girl, and you didn’t have a fucking clue. You were leaning against the cold metal bleachers of your former high school, chatting with whatever teacher probably wanted to hear all about that shiny NWSL contract you signed right out of college with the Chicago Red Stars. It was well deserved, a few national titles in college put you in the position in the first place, and Matthew respected the hell out of you. You wouldn’t know, by the way he never seems like he actually wants to speak to you and the few snide remarks about your sport in general. That started forever ago, when Matthew royally fucked up any chance he had with you later in life because he was a competitive asshole.

It started when you were twelve, and middle school was nothing short of a mess. Matthew was growing into his own, adding a near foot to his height over one summer while his father and coaches doted on the fact that he was getting bigger. Getting bigger meant getting better, and for a few years winning was the most important thing in the world. But, becoming a hormonal preteen came with something else, feelings about the girl who sat three rows behind him in almost all of his classes.

Then third period gym class came around, and Matthew was a competitive monster. The kind of kid who took that way too seriously, and you accidentally became public enemy number one. You were the only person in his class who could even come close to beating him at anything, because you were just as much of an athlete as he was. Soccer had become your craft, and much like Matthew, you declared you’d go pro one day. So, Matthew did what any other insecure twelve year old boy would, he teased you relentlessly. It was awful, but by the time Matthew had gone off to play for the National team you had forgotten about his bullshit.

Apparently, you’d done something in a past life to warrant dealing with Matthew for longer than you ever anticipated. Jamie was your little sister, and Taryn’s best friend. Best friend was probably understatement, the pair were inseparable on and off the field. They trained together, they played on the same teams and that meant way too much time with the rest of the Tkachuk’s. You learned quickly, that the rest of their family was wonderful and Matthew seemed to be too thick headed to fall in line.

You tolerated Matthew, brushing his silly remarks off just like you did when you were younger. The thing was, Matthew didn’t want you to just tolerate him, but he didn’t know how to get you to stop hating him. You make your way over to Matthew who’d been standing next to his brother since the start of your sister’s game.

“Hi Brady,” You greet, tapping Brady on the shoulder who pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That annoyed Matthew the most, the way you seemed to love his siblings and despise him. In your defense, nobody was more supportive of your professional career than Brady, who’d made a promise to catch a game the second he could, “Hi Matthew.”

You were waiting for something from Matthew, an acknowledgement for finally achieving a dream of yours. You’d gotten the congratulations from the rest of his family, a massive celebration because Keith thought you deserved it. Matthew probably didn’t think you did. You could practically hear his smug little voice about how much his recently inked contract was compared to yours, because you’d heard it since you were kids. He used to rip on your athletic abilities every chance he could, something about how it didn’t matter how hard you could kick a ball you couldn’t hold a hockey stick so he was just better.

“You’re here!” You hear the chipper voice of your little sister approach, Jamie’s sweaty postgame arms wrapped around your waist. You’d been in Chicago, signing some paperwork and looking into finding a place to stay when you had to go for camp. You promised you’d make it back in time, and your flight landed less than five hours ago but you made it.

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself, watching his own sister push past him to see you. Taryn loved you, because sometimes she just needed a big sister and her brothers were in another country most

of the time. It was the part that killed him the most, seeing you with his family. You fit right in, a fierce athlete with drive that rivaled his own. Brady side-eyed his own brother, watching him instead of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was frustrated with his own brother for not just telling you the truth, that he teased you because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to handle having a crush on you.

But Brady was going to do it himself if his brother didn’t.

***

Matt, you don’t have a girlfriend right?

Matthew knew damn well he should not have answered his sister’s question, but when he realized her best friend had been sitting right next to her in the kitchen, his curiosity got the best of him. So he did, telling his sister he was single and sparing her details of any of the girls he’d gone on dates with the past year. That was his life is Calgary, a constant revolving door so no one would see what was underneath layers of sarcasm and angst. But every summer, he’d come home and wonder when he’d start to build a life for himself, and if he’d ever find that person to do it with. That was when his brain would start to wander, fantasies of a future that always seemed to involve you. He loved to imagine it, the years that you’d both spend supporting the other’s dream. Matthew would do anything to make sure you achieved yours, and he thought you’d do the same. Then you’d both settle down, the big house with the white picket fence and a shiny ring on your finger Matthew put there himself and years of arguing about what sport your future children would play - he’d even consider letting you have just one.

Unfortunately, none of that could be real until he figured out how to get you to hate him less. Taryn apparently had the same idea, and had been scheming with your sister for months. The two girls were looking at Matthew with devilish grins on their faces, like whatever they came up with would totally work.

“Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Your sister hums, sipping the smoothie they forced Matthew to drive them to go get, “It’s sad actually-”

“We think you should date,” Taryn explains, Matthew’s eyes went wide. His sister didn’t know the whole story, or just how far back this stupid fued went. Taryn always loved you, so Matthew just kept his remarks to himself.

“I know you know Y/N doesn’t like me very much,” Matthew explains, “So tell me how that’s going to work.”

“Apologize to her, if she can forgive me for anything she’ll forgive you,” Jamie sighs, thinking of all the times you’d shown her mercy when she didn��t deserve it.

“You’ve got to be sorry,” Brady interrupts, mouth full of food while he goes to go look for more in the fridge. He turns around, Matthew’s eyes giving him daggers, “What? You were a dick to her for years, you’ve got to fix that first.”

It didn’t take much convincing after that, Taryn had already planned out what Matthew should say to you. Matthew wasn’t going to repeat those words, because he knew exactly what he’d say to you if he ever got the chance. He was trying to fix his past, because the way he acted towards you was the one thing he regrets. 

So with the help of your little sister and the Find my Friends app, Matthew was pulling up to a soccer field he’d been to plenty of times. He used to run through the park nearby, catching a glimpse of your practices when you were in high school and Matthew was an afterthought. He hops out of his car, smiling when he could see you running drills alone. You were dribbling the ball, counting to yourself while you were weaving through cones you set up.

“I’ve never been good at those,” Matthew calls out, walking over to you while you stopped and caught your breath, “I kick the cones with my skate every single time.”

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are,” You tease, grabbing your water and guzzling it down, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to apologize?” Matthew admits, knowing his face was probably bright red. He was nervous, the good kind like he got before a big game, “I was just an insecure kid then, and you didn’t deserve what I did just because I was afraid you’d beat in something.”

Matthew left out the part where he felt like he was still that kid all the time. All of those insecurities about himself seemed to be picked up by every reporter in Canada when he was there. You bit your lip, pretending like you were trying to debate whether or not you should forgive Matthew at all. In reality, you would have forgiven him ages ago if he’d just apologized sooner. It was so long ago, and sometimes you thought Matthew’s constant taunting made you better. He was pleading, baby blue eyes staring at you sadly while he waited for your answer. He looked like he didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven, shoulders slumped while he tried to read your body language. It was something you noticed about Matthew forever ago, he could have everything in the world but when he looked at you he seemed almost sad.

“I mean I could forgive you, but only if you beat me,” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at Matthew, “If I win, I don’t have to and if you win all is forgiven.”

“Really? Isn’t that why we were in this situation to begin with?” Matthew points out, crossing his arms at you.

“I thought you weren’t that kid anymore,” You remind of his own words, testing him to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was. Matthew smirks, chuckling to himself, “C’mon Tkachuk let’s see what you got.”

Matthew shook his head, laughing and lining up next to you. You both counted to three, sprinting down the field at full force. Matthew knew his height was the only thing working to his advantage while he tried to keep up with you. You were nearing your finish line, and Matthew didn’t think he was going to win. You were going to forgive him regardless, but Matthew didn’t know that. His arms stretched out, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his chest. Matthew turned his body around, stepping over the line before you did.

“God, you’re such a fucking cheater Matthew,” You hit his chest, Matthew’s hands still firmly placed on your hips.

“I didn’t want to lose,” Matthew admits, all of his smug attitude diminishing immediately, “Just want you to forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you never pull that shit on me again,” You poke his chest, slipping out of his grip and running to your stuff before he could notice how nervous he was making you. 

No. Absolutely not. You told yourself while you checked your phone, rolling your eyes at the warning text from Jamie that Matthew was on his way, you couldn’t have anything but indifference to Matthew Tkachuk. It got harder everytime you saw him, the past few years had been nothing short of kind to him, he was growing from a dumb immature boy to a man more and more every summer. You turn around, peeking at Matthew who was sitting down and catching his breath, a winning smile on his face, the same kind he had the very first time he schooled everyone at floor hockey in middle school.

Maybe you could be friends.

***

Matthew liked having you as a friend, mostly because as of right now that was all he was going to get. You definitely didn’t trust him, which was valid considering Matthew had been a dick to you for years, but he was working on it. He had to, that uncontrollable feeling that he cared about you was getting harder to shove back down with every year that passed.

“You’re friends now, you don’t need to stare at her like a creep anymore,” Brady scoffs, watching his brother gawk at you from afar. Matthew couldn’t help it, you just had a glow about you, you always did, but somehow in the summer you were golden. Tonight you looked even better, maybe it’s because you smiled at him when he walked instead of scowling like you usually did.

“He’s in love with you,” Steph giggles, sipping her drink and giving Matthew a side eye, “He’s been staring at you all night.”

“He apologized to me,” You confess, holding in that little secret about Matthew’s visit to the field even from your best friend. You had the same friends, the same group of people who’d been pushing the two of you to work it out for years. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them to know that they no longer had to worry about one of you blowing up because the other was there, you just wanted everyone to let it go too. Matthew deserved a little forgiveness, you could only imagine the pressure he felt on himself back then, and while he didn’t totally deserve your protection - you were going to give it to him, “Don’t-”

“Oh wonder why, I know it’s because he looooves you,” Steph teases, “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah I mean we’re both older and I’d like to think he’s wiser, and besides our parents are way too close,” You knew this was going to be your excuse for a while. It was better for everyone that you forgave him, Jamie and Taryn spent more time together than you’d spend with anyone and you're just as close with the rest of their family. It wasn’t untrue that it was in fact for the best, but that didn’t mean Matthew’s stupid dimples didn’t persuade you before you could think about anyone else, “Can we stop talking about this?”

Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you once that night, especially after the way Steph downed tequila shots and convinced you to join her. You deserved to celebrate, you’d accomplished something Matthew knew was your biggest dream because it was the same as his. He was proud of you, not that he’d gotten a chance to show it.

“If you’re going to go pro Y/N, you’ve got to start keeping up,” Brady chirps, watching you stumble over your own feet to walk over to him and Matthew. Matthew had seen this once before, a level of drunkenness where you turned into bambi but that was so long ago he never thought he’d see it again.

“I’ll go pro in beating your ass Brady,” You snap back, shooting daggers over Brady who was already cracking up, “Hi Matthew.”

“Hi,” Matthew’s voice was small, a weird sound considering he was usually the loudest in the room. Brady scoffs, walking away from the two of you before he snaps at how hopelessly in love his brother was. You turn your head in confusion, your mind far too hazy to realize why Brady was so annoyed in the first place, causing Matthew to chuckle, “Want to play? Might be best if we’re on the same team.”

Matthew’s thumb shot over to the beer pong set up on the other side of the room, a mischievous smirk on face, “I mean if it’s for the best.”

Matthew’s arm wrapped around your shoulders holding you close to his chest while you both played pong was definitely not for the best, and it wasn’t helping that stupid crush you had on him. You could feel Steph’s stare from the corner of the room, and you look at her to mouth a don’t at her. It was nice having Matthew on your team, finally a moment where instead of arguing with each other about who’s elbow was clearly over the table - you got to do the same thing to Brady.

“Brady you’re cheating,” You call out, Matthew’s head thrown back in laughter at your seriousness.

“You heard her Brady, elbows over the table,” Matthew breathes out, his body still rumbling with laughter at his little brother’s expense.

“Oh look at you two, you’re just gonna raise some winners one day aren’t you?” Brady chirps back, both happy to see you getting along and annoyed once he realizes that means he was going to get roasted by both of you now. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, tucking your face into Matthew’s arm in hopes no one saw the way you shrunk at that stupid joke.

“We’re winners right now,” Matthew calls out, his last ball landing in the cup and sealing the game for the two of you. Matthew would raise winners with you, it was something he thought about from time to time, but those thoughts were never going to see the light of day, “Alright drunky I think it’s time to get you home.”

“You can stay, I’ll just catch a ride with someone,” You waive Matthew off, who shook his head no at you before you even started speaking.

“One, my dad would kick my ass if he knew I left you,” Matthew starts with, holding up one finger with another on the way, “Two, we’re friends now and I’d like to make sure you don’t die before you see a pro game.”

Matthew had seen you this drunk before, but what he didn’t know was that getting you home would be more difficult than he thought. You started in the direction of your house, but apparently you were a runner and a speedy one at that. Now you were barely two blocks away from Matthew’s parents place and if he could at least get you there he’d be able to call it a night - which wasn’t fucking easy.

“Alright I’ve had enough,” Matthew huffs, jogging to catch up with you and scooping you into his arms. You were hanging over his shoulder, Matthew making his way down the street with the house in his sightline. You could have cared less, laughing your ass off while Matthew walked up the stairs and finally placed you back down on your feet, “Be quiet, go up to my room and get some clothes and go sleep in the guest room.”

You weren’t quiet, not at all and Matthew was amazed not one of his parents came down to see what all the chaos was about. After Matthew had to walk you up the stairs, running back down for some water and hoping you weren’t a disaster by the time he got back - he found you in his bed. You were curled up right in the middle, an old London Knights shirt on your body, Matthew’s favorite. Matthew grabs his comforter, throwing it over your body. He sighs, leaning against his door frame and smiling to himself at how comfortable you looked, flicking off the light and retreating to the guest room.

Matthew hated the guest room. He hated how hard the mattress was and after a few hours of no sleep and tossing and turning - he gave up. Matthew hoped no one else was up, but not to his surprise his mother was already in the kitchen, and judging by the look on her face, she knew who was upstairs.

“Care to explain?” Chantal smirks, raising her eyebrows at her son. Matthew’s face got red, his landing on the back of his neck to cover the blush.

“She fell asleep before I could even get her to the guest room,” Matthew shrugs, hoping his mom wouldn’t push it any further, “I, uh, apologized the other day.”

“Good,” Chantal hums, a knowing look on her face. She didn’t like to push Matthew, her one kid who seemed to be a little rougher around the edges than the others, but that silly feud never sat right with her, “Here, bring her a coffee, I’m sure she needs it.”

Matthew nods, grabbing the mug his mother was holding out and starting to make his way up the stairs. He heard the tell her you made it from his mother and shook his head. He knew what she was thinking, especially with the way Chantal seemed to talk about you. His mother thought you were nothing short of perfect, and Matthew would be a liar if he didn’t think the same thing.

“Did I fall asleep here?” You’d woken up confused, your question only answered by the jerseys hanging on the walls, you were in Matthew’s room. You rub your eyes, the door creaking open way too loudly for how dead you felt.

“Only after you almost fell down the stairs and ran three blocks in the wrong direction,” Matthew chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you the mug, “You know you’re fast right?”

“Yeah,” You muse, smirking to yourself and taking a sip of coffee, “I’m sorry I did that to you, and stole your bed - I can go.”

Matthew stopped you, telling to finish your coffee and relax and he’d drive you home after. You fell into a comfortable conversation, something Matthew never thought would happen.

And watching you walk up to your steps in his shirt still wasn’t something he thought he’d see, but it was better than he imagined.

***

“Hey it’s Jamie, can’t get to the phone right now…”

You groan, tossing your phone onto your bed and continuing your pace around the room. It was well after midnight, and your sister had been out all night, and past her curfew. Usually you’d cover for her, definitely taking the prize home for the cool older sister who picks her siblings and their friends up from parties. That’s what had you so worried. Sure, Jamie was a teenager and she snuck in a few little white lies with your parents just like you’d done, but Jamie always told you the truth. She’d check in with you more than her parents, letting you know that she’s going to be out late but she’s safe and if she needed anything she knew who to call. You texted sometime around ten, just checking in since it was Saturday and you were sure she had a more riveting social life than yourself. No answer. Then eleven rolled around and you didn’t hear anything, so naturally you double texted and now it’s twelve thirty and you still haven’t heard anything. You cross your arms, looking at your phone as if you could will an answer into existence. You grab it, dialing a number you weren’t even sure would work.

“Hello?” Matthew’s voice appeared on the other side of the line, clear confusion in his voice. You let out a sigh of relief, hoping Matthew would have the answer you wanted to hear so desperately.

“Is my sister at your house?” You ask, biting your lip and throwing on a pair of sweats so you could pick her up and murder her for scaring you like that. You were sure it was innocent, Jamie slept over at Taryn’s all the time, staying up way too late watching movies or when Jamie would hide going to a party from your much stricter parents.

Matthew tells you to give him a minute, and you can hear him walking through the house. By the time you heard a door open and a small fuck under his breath, your stomach dropped, “She was supposed to be home by midnight.”

“Alright, thanks anyways,” You sigh, “Do you know where they might have gone? It’s just, Jamie hasn’t answered me in hours and she usually does even if she’s out past curfew and I’m just-”

“I’ll be at your house in ten,” Matthew says, his keys alright in his hand and his foot halfway out the door. He was more mad than worried, sure his sister was out a party past curfew. Matthew was her biggest brother, and he was far more protective over her than Brady ever could be. He hated when she did this, and Matthew was pissed. You waited on your steps, Matthew car coming into view while you sprung up and practically sprinted into his car.

“You look mad,” You observe, as if it wasn’t completely obvious. You knew why, trying countless times to remind Taryn that her brother loves her and that’s why he’s like that. You thought he could go a little easier on her, but you wouldn’t dare get in the middle of that.

“I am mad,” Matthew grits out, knuckles white on his steering wheel while he drives slowly down the street. You just drove, in hopes you’d find what was obviously a house party and hopes your sisters were inside. You squint, hoping your eyes weren’t fooling you.

“Wait, pull over I think I see my neighbor,” You yell, Matthew’s foot flying on the break and you hop out. You were right, the bright orange tuft of hair you saw was like a miracle, “Hey Henry have you seen my sister?”

“Oh yeah I think she’s still inside,” Henry points to the house behind him, music blasting and a party in full swing, “I think she’s with Taryn.”

Matthew hops out of the car, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the house with him. Matthew’s fingers were laced with yours with every step he took, weaving through the crowd in hopes you’d see them. It took three bedrooms and a laundry room until you finally saw Taryn standing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide, and you pushed past them both to see Jamie with her head in the toilet. She was fine, well she was definitely in deep shit, but it wasn’t the worst thing to stumble upon. You throw her hair up, your attention moving to Matthew yelling at his sister in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you call someone,” Matthew yells, trying so damn hard to not completely snap on his baby sister. Taryn yells that her phone had died and then Jamie got sick and she didn’t know what to do. Of course they didn’t. You were probably more sympathetic, and you knew just how pissed off Matthew could get. You get up, pushing Taryn back into the bathroom and telling her to watch your sister.

“Calm down before you talk to her, please,” You plead, grabbing Matthew’s shoulders, “Besides, I sort of need some help right now.”

There it was. The very moment Matthew realized all along you could’ve been helping him. Your hands were wrapped around his biceps, a finger gently rubbing the skin right under the sleeve of his shirt. Every bit of anger disappeared from his body, a calm feeling replacing it. He knew you were right, and he’d be thankful for it later. Matthew knew he had to do the right thing by you, and he nodded, willing to follow any directions you gave him.

Matthew carried Jamie out of the house, getting both of your sisters in the car and finally heading back to your house. You knew he was still pissed off, a present frown on his face so you just took the chance. Just like he’d done before for you, you grabbed one of his hands from his steering wheel, lacing your fingers together. You caught the smile on his face, your thumb rubbing over his hand while his shoulders seemed to just relax. Once

Matthew finally helped you get Jamie inside, a night of laying on her floor to make sure she was okay ahead of you stood in the doorway with Matthew across from you.

“Thank you, I know we’re working on this friendship thing but you really didn’t have to do that,” You were eternally grateful, wrapping your arms around Matthew’s waist and tucking your head into his chest.

“You’d do the same thing for Taryn,” Matthew hums, knowing full well he definitely owed you for being Taryn’s replacement sibling with him and Brady in Canada for most of the year, “Get some rest okay?”

“Wait,” You stop Matthew, grabbing his hand one more time, “Don’t kill your sister, please she’s just a kid-”

“You’re way too easy on them,” Matthew chuckles, shaking his head at you. He knew Taryn was probably scared, and after he calmed a bit he understood where you were coming from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tell her that if she ever pulls that shit again - he was going to rat her out to their parents.

And when Matthew finally got back in the car, he could see his sister’s grin in the backseat, “Don’t say it.”

She held your hand, are you sure you’re not going to malfunction now?

***

Maybe you were spiraling.

You’d been waiting for this moment your entire life, now you had a few more weeks until camp started and you were afraid. You knew you were good enough, you had to be. But what if you weren’t? You could feel the anxiety settling in, a feeling you hadn’t felt since Matthew told you soccer wasn’t a real sport in fourth grace. It’d been eating at you for weeks, deteriorating any confidence you had left in yourself. So you started pushing yourself even harder. The harder you worked the less like you were to fuck it all up. Your muscles were sore, your body was tired and it was just all becoming too much.

And Matthew noticed.

You were pushing yourself too hard, even the time you were supposed to relax with your families before your seasons started was being spent training. He understood it, the term first round exit lived rent free in his head every single time his skate hit the ice over the summer, but that didn’t make it okay. You looked tired, sluggish while you moved because you were running twice a day and training in between. And he was pissed everyone seemed to be fine with it. You should start working harder then Matthew. If it bothers you so much maybe you could join her. It wasn’t that he was jealous of your work ethic, he was worried. Matthew’s eyes followed you as you ran past his house again. The third time in one day, he’d finally decided he had enough.

Matthew took the walk to your house, charming the pants off your mother for her to tell him you were upstairs because you just got back in. He knocks twice, hearing a come in from the other side.

“What are you doing here?” You question, rolling one of your ankles that just seemed to be getting more swollen every time you started to practice. Matthew noticed it, your hands freezing one you caught his gaze.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Matthew stands his ground, he knew you could have told him to fuck off because no one hates advice they didn’t ask for quite like him, “Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s rich coming from the kid who’s played with more broken bones than anyone I know,” You remind him of a few mistakes Matthew’s made playing through injuries he really shouldn’t, “I’m not fucking frail.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Matthew scoffs, it never once crossed his mind that he thought he was tough enough to play through injuries but you weren’t, “It’s about taking a break so you don’t get hurt.”

“I’m fine,” You huff, getting up and trying your best to hide the pain in your ankle when you stood on it. You fell forward, Matthew catching you in his arms and putting you back down the edge of your bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Matthew asks with soft eyes, he bent down to take your ankle in his hand and inspect it the best he could. It was swelling, probably from the amount of pressure you’d been putting on your body with no breaks.

“What if I never score a goal?” You whisper, teary eyes finally meeting Matthew’s. His brows shot up, alarmed at how one of the best athletes he’s ever seen could feel the same way he felt right before his first NHL game. Matthew sits down next to you, hand on your thigh while you let out a cry, “What if I’m just a bust? Like I get there and nothing works and I suck.”

“You’ll score eventually,” Matthew scoffs, understanding how ridiculous you sounded but just how you felt at the same time, “Everyone does.”

“You scored like four games into your fucking career Matt,” You remind him, Matthew smiling a bit that you knew that to begin with. It would have been impossible not to know, or pretend like you didn’t keep a few tabs on his career. Matthew Tkachuk was a legend in the making, and whether or not you could feel butterflies in your stomach every time he dropped the gloves was a secret you’d take to the grave.

“I got suspended my first season too,” Matthew jokes, a teary eyed laugh escaping your lips, “I’d put down money you score in your first game.”

“Well good thing you have money to lose,” You sigh dramatically, the fear of fucking up still on your mind.

“You’ll find your groove, all legends do,” Matthew promises, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You snuggled into his side, a realization that he was becoming a comforting presence in your life with each passing day, “And if you don’t, you can always hide out in Canada with me.”

“Matty!” The same silly nickname Matthew introduced himself to you on your very first day of kindergarten slipped through your lips without realizing it. Matthew hadn’t been called that in ages, but it was welcome from you. You push his chest, “That’s not making me feel any better.”

“What if I told you the only reason I was so mean to you was because I was intimidated by how talented you were?” Matthew confesses, scratching your head with his fingers, “If I win a cup one day I think I owe you one.”

Matthew didn’t mention that in his wildest fantasies of raising that cup over his head, you were there. He’d owe you one and he hoped it was because you were there for him until he got there. Matthew saw it the same way every time, you’d tell him to go see his parents first but he’d fly right past them to get to you - the person who accidentally pushed him to be his best. He had plenty of daydreams about you winning too, remembering times you used to brag you’d go to the Olympics one day, and he hoped you were right. He wanted to see you succeed, more than anything, and he thought it would work.

“Legally you have to let me drink out of it,” You muse, shutting your eyes and letting yourself just rest against Matthew.

“It has to be Bud Light,” Matthew teases while watching you fake a gag. You grab his outstretched hand, letting him pull you up. His hands rested on the side of your face, eyes flickering to your lips for just a second. He wanted to kiss you, but he knew he had to wait. Wait for you to be ready. Wait for you to settle down. Or even just wait until he thought he had a real shot at forever.

Forever with you.

***

Matthew was kind of pissed off.

The press didn’t bother him, none of that mattered and at the end of the day Matthew was able to sleep at night knowing he was a good teammate and a decent person most of the time. This one got him though, some writer criticizing the A on his jersey, and how someone who plays like he does didn’t deserve a letter.

A letter he earned.

You could tell something was off, the way Matthew had been running alongside you was aggressive to say the least. He insisted he came with you, something about forcing you to take breaks. He was being your friend, even though your sisters seemed to disagree. Taryn’s words were replaying in your head, Matt doesn’t even care if I get hurt. That didn’t mean anything, those two had no idea what love was and Matthew caring about you a little bit didn’t mean he loved you. Besides, the way he was acting right now told a completely different story.

“Are you mad at me?” You finally slow down, sitting on a rock that was next to the hiking trail you were on.

“No?” Matthew stops dead in his tracks, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach that he fucked this up too, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong,” You push, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at Matthew. You could tell he was pressed about something, his neck covered in a red flush the same way it used to.

“Some stupid article about my letter, don’t worry about it,” Matthew grits, repeating his words again. His defense was up, even after you confessed to him that you were scared of not being enough.

“Get the fuck out of here with the tough guy act Matthew,” You challenge him, poking him right in the chest, “If we’re going to be friends you need to cut that shit out.”

“You really want to hear it?” Matthew barks back, fully yelling at you, “I’m tired of people thinking I don’t deserve things because I threw a few bad hits. Do you know how it feels to have everyone think you’re shitty? No you don’t, because you’re so fucking perfect that my own parents like you more than me.”

You stood there, silent while you tried to figure out how to tell him that simply wasn’t true. His entire body was shaking, the anger coursing through his veins like you’d seen many times before that. Matthew looked like he did the first time you hit a homerun in gym class, except this time it was because that same pressure never got released. You couldn’t come close to understanding the way he probably felt. You didn’t have the comparables in your own family, the constant reminders of Brady’s points tally compared to his, let alone the career his father had.

“Matty,” You whisper, grabbing his hand and running your fingers over the scars on his knuckles, “Why is this bothering you so much?”

You were sure this wasn’t the first time someone’s said he was a pest, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Matthew sighed, the better part of his brain screaming at him to stop before he lost you too.

“I’ve felt like this forever,” Matthew whispers, eyes fixated on your hand in his, “From the moment I started getting bigger, there’s just been this pressure to play a certain way and act a certain way. I was a fucking kid, and while all of my friends got to go wherever they wanted all I ever did was practice. Then I finally get to where I wanted and I’m still getting shit on.”

“Except no one thinks you don’t deserve to be where you are,” You whisper, quiet words as if you were going to startle him, “And I know it doesn’t make up for things people say, but the people who love you think you deserve it.”

Matthew nods, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his words mumbled against your forehead, “I needed that.”

“I know,” You nod, smiling wide up at him, “And we need to practice more because you’re too slow, soooo catch me if you can!”

You slipped out of his arms, running away with a giggle and a smile. Matthew stopped for a second, his Neanderthal brain checking out your ass while you jogged away and his more logical one trying to process what just happened.

But what mattered most was that whatever you did worked and that meant something to Matthew.

***

Just admit you think he’s hot.

You wanted to kill your sister for making this weekend harder than it had to be. You were doing a good job at just friends with Matthew until Jamie was curled up in your bed while you packed for a lake trip with your friends. She pushed it for hours, rambling on about Matthew is actually your type and Taryn swears he’d be a good boyfriend if someone just understood him. The problem was, you were starting to see her point. Matthew had a glow up a few years ago, like one summer he’d gotten home and you were infatuated with him. It used to annoy you, because he’d been such an ass to you that you hated how attractive he was. Then things changed, and now looking at him was just frustrating you. You were terrified about the way he made you feel, like everything would be okay with one look of those blue eyes and a smirk. You felt like he had your back, a vast change from how you used to feel and it was just getting hard to hide it anymore.

Especially when Matthew looked like he did right now. He was holding himself up on the dock, shoulders broad and glistening in the moonlight above you. All your friends were inside, moving their party away from the water as the night lingered on. You wanted to run your fingers through his wet curls, the temptation was almost too much.

“I’ll be in Chicago a few times you know,” Matthew hums, enjoying the time alone he was getting with you. Anytime without Brady teasing him about what the Tkachuk’s had been referring to as the hand holding incident. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t want you, because he did, but he just needed to move at his own pace.

“You want to come see me play?” You ask, leaning back on the palms of your hands. You were surprised by the kind of man Matthew had become, it was a completely different person that he used to be. He cared so much about his loved ones, and you were starting to feel like maybe you had a place there.

“Actually thinking you could come see me play,” Matthew teases, sarcasm dripping from his words. You lifted your foot up, kicking some of the water below you to splash him, but he’d caught your ankle before you could. He stopped for a moment, running a thumb over your skin, “This looks better.”

“Don’t make you admit you were right,” You whine, Matthew swiftly pulling you into the water with him. You yelp, the water way too cold for any normal person, “It’s freezing.”

“C’mere then,” Matthew grabs your waist, pulling your body against his. His hands were splayed across your back, heat radiating off of them. One of your hands was on his shoulder, your other on his chest. You could feel his heart beating quickly, his eyes locked on yours, “Middle school Matthew would be so jealous of me right now.”

“Why’s that?” You hum, running your fingers along Matthew to play connect the dots with the beauty marks on his skin.

“Because he had the biggest crush on you,” Matthew confesses, his grip on you a little tighter, as if he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers again, “But he was too thick headed to do anything about it.”

“What about grown up Matthew?” You ask, biting your lip. Matthew was practically holding you both up in the water, pressed so close together you could hear the hitch in his breath at your question, “Is he too thick headed to do something too?”

You wrapped your legs around Matthew’s waist, pressing your lips to his and tugging on the curls at the base of his neck. He pushed you up against the dock, helping you back up and pulling himself up next to you. You grabbed the back of his neck, latching your lips back on his. His hand was on your back, fingers toying with the back of your bathing suit, “Think we can get upstairs without anyone noticing?”

Matthew was cool most of the time. He never faltered under the pressure from his career, most of the time, and he definitely didn’t fold when it came to a pretty girl. You had him in the palm of your hand, every part of his brain malfunctioning in response to your words. You bit your lip, wondering if you’d read this entire situation. Matthew rubs a thumb along your lip, “When are you going to realize I’d do whatever you asked me to?”

The two of you snuck up the stairs, giggles and stolen kisses left in your wake. You open the door, Matthew’s hands still toying your bathing suit top, “Just take it off already Matty.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Matthew breathes, his lips pressed against your neck while the garment falls to the floor, “So fucking beautiful.”

You back hit the mattress, Matthew’s hands running up your body slowly. Slow wasn’t in Matthew’s vocabulary, but he was taking his time just in case he never got this opportunity again. His fingers hooked under your bathing suit bottoms, sliding the wet fabric down your legs. You looked so beautiful, spread out just for Matthew like he’d dreamed about numerous times. His lips moved down to your breasts, teeth grazing against your skin while his tongue swirled against your nipple. You let out a breathy moan, Matthew’s ego boosting from the sound. You plucked at his curls while his mouth moved down to where you were craving him most, a gentle kiss to your clit, “Matty, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for the type to beg,” Matthew hums, pressing feather light kisses around your core. He stopped, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, “You sure about this?”

“Yes, please,” You whine, pussy dripping from Matthew’s hot breath fanning over it. Matthew chuckles darkly, fingers digging into your thighs when he flicked his tongue over your clit. You moan, completely unbothered by the blaring music a floor below you. Matthew didn’t seem to be bothered either, his tongue teasing your entrance while his nose rubbed against your clit, living for the way you were whimpering above him, “Matty-”

“Close baby?” Matthew groans, slipping a finger inside of you and curling it. You back arched, his name falling through your lips was enough to answer his question. Your legs shook, pleasure washing over your body from Matthew and all of it just felt so right. Matthew’s lips were latched to your skin until he finally met your eyes again. He smiles softly, nudging his nose with yours while you caught your breath, “So good for me.”

“Should’ve known you were that good with your mouth with the way you run it,” You tease smiling against his lips.

“Not with you, not anymore,” Matthew promises, soft blue eyes looking into yours, he meant it. He didn’t know how else to make it clearer, he wanted you. You kissed him slowly, hands trailing down his abs and stopping where his shorts hit his waist. Matthew kicks off his swim trunks, cock springing free. You grab the back of his neck, pulling your lips to his and rolling over top of him and straddling his waist. It was criminal how good you looked on top of him, “Gonna ride me babe?”

You nod, lining his dick up your core and lowering yourself on top of him. You let out a whine, Matthew’s smug smile on full display once he realized it was because of how big he was, “We don’t have to if my dick’s too big.”

“Oh shut up,” You roll your hips, watching the way Matthew’s head fell back, smirking because he really thought he had control here. Matthew’s hands gripped your waist, moving your hips faster. His finger flicked over your clit, causing you to lunge forward on top of him. Matthew flipped you over, wrapping a leg around his waist so he could hit your g-spot. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails leaving scratches Matthew was going to wear pride later. You were seeing stars, noises leaving your throat you’d never even heard yourself make, “Fuck, Matty, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Look at me,” Matthew grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours and watching while your eyes roll back with pleasure. Your pussy clenched around him, his own cum spilling into you from the sensation, a loud groan following. Matthew pressed a kiss to your forehead, his cock still buried inside of you, “I wasn’t bullshitting you, I mean every word Y/N.”

“Matthew,” You whisper, running a finger along his back, “The distance…”

You didn’t mention everything, the way that if this was real it meant it would end up ripping you both apart. You were set to live in a different city, Matthew all the way in another country. The way your dreams included a spot on the U.S. National team, and the idea that wanting to be with Matthew would hold you back was terrifying. The way his dreams probably meant staying in Calgary forever, a C on his jersey and a cup over his head. It wasn’t going to be easy, you weren’t ever going to be the doting girlfriend he probably needed. There would be years of travel schedules and games that overlapped, and a part of you thought that maybe Matthew wouldn’t be able to do it. You’d get a year in and he’d find someone who would be there more and finally you’d end it.

“We can make it work, baby I want you, I always have and I probably always will,” Matthew starts, baring his soul to another person for the first time in his goddamn life, “I want to support your dreams and have you be there for mine. I’m all in here, I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Can I have some time?” You plead, holding onto Matthew’s shoulders because you knew he could leave and tell you to never speak to him again. Matthew sighs, understanding the way you were shitting yourself about starting your own professional career, remembering the way rookie Matthew would have died before he considered settling down that first year, “Please don’t leave me-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Matthew promises, rolling over and letting your rest on his chest, “I’ll wait for you.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him. Matthew didn’t sleep a minute that night, running every single scenario that could possibly happen with the two of you. Matthew was sure it would work out, it had to, because if it didn’t he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

So now all he could was wait.

***

You know this is creepy right?

Matthew stares at Sam, punching his teammate in the arm lightly and telling him to shut up. He had a night off in Chicago, and after four straight hours of staring at your contact in his phone, Matthew finally just bought the tickets. He’d been good at keeping his distance, you needed space and he respected you enough to try and give it to you. He wasn’t doing so hot, Matthew consuming more soccer games than hockey games at this point. It started with your first game, because how was he supposed to just pretend like it wasn’t happening? You scored too, and it took everything in his power not to call you to tell you that not only was he right, he was insanely proud of you.

And he’d been hearing it from everyone. Your sister thought it was bullshit, Taryn and Jamie almost had Matthew on a flight to Chicago ready to show up like a terrible Lifetime movie. Brady thought it was hilarious the way Matthew was simping like this for one girl. Now, his teammates were on him, wondering why on Earth their friend who historically ran through women faster than he did mouthguards could be this hung up on someone he had a crush on in middle school.

“What number is she?” Sam asks, sipping the beer he forced Matthew to buy after making him go along with this.

“Nineteen,” Matthew smiles, pointing down at you on the field. You looked so happy, warming up with one of your teammates and a bright smile on your face. It seemed like a good fit, your team and your new city, and it made Matthew’s heart grow four sizes.

“Did she choose your number?” Sam jokes and Matthew mumbles something under his breath, “What?”

“It was her number first,” Matthew admits, not wanting to ever confess to another soul that you crossed his mind when he kept that camp number. Sam howled next to him, leaning over his seat and cracking up at his teammate.

You looked out in the crowd about halfway through the game, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things. That tuft of curls was hard to miss, not to mention you knew just how big Matthew was. He was far too into the game to realize you caught him, up in arms about a call against your team that was valid but he’d argue it wasn’t. You asked for space, and it was getting harder to stick to your guns. Especially when he was making it so clear that he wanted this.

And whether or not you went to his game the next night, was a secret you’d take to the grave.

***

You were so close you could have tasted it.

While the final seconds of your season came to a close, all you could do was hold your head in your hands and hope no one caught the tears. A semi-final loss was devastating, but a semi-final loss where there wasn’t anything you could have done differently was even worse. Every athlete had off nights, a point Keith pushed right before you left to start your season, and he was right. Unfortunately, that was this game. Your biggest fear had come true and there was nothing you could do about it now. The game was over and you weren’t moving on.

And Matthew watched it.

Matthew promised you space, and he swore he’d give you the time you needed to settle down. But, this was something he couldn’t ignore. He could tell you were off, your entire rookie season was almost perfect and watching the way you folded during this game was gut wrenching. Matthew knew better than anyone, losing sucked. So he took the chance, grabbing his phone and shooting you a text he’d been waiting to send.

Doors open in Calgary.

and I’m so fucking proud of you.

It was the very last text you saw before you went to bed that night, tossing and turning for a few hours thinking about that loss. You couldn’t stop, every bone in your body was aching and you didn’t know what to do. So you bought a flight, packed your shit and was walking down the hallway to Matthew’s apartment without a second thought. You’d left him on read, calling Brady in the middle of the night and asking for his address, who gave it to you reluctantly with a reminder that if you needed to see him this badly you should rethink the needing time thing.

Matthew let out a groan when he had a bang at his door at three in the morning. Noah definitely was trying to walk into the wrong apartment again, and Matthew was grouchy when he whipped his door open. Except it wasn’t Noah after he’d had too many. It was you, teary eyed with your shit in a suitcase and a broken heart.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” You admit, whispering something you never thought you’d say to anyone, “I just didn’t do enough-”

Matthew didn’t say a word, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and holding you as tightly as he could. You didn’t need to hear it from him, about how things were out of your control and you did your best. You didn’t want that right now, you wanted him, “Baby…”

“Everything hurts,” You whimper, finally just letting it all out. You were bruised and battered from the season, the physical pain alone was enough to upset you, let alone the loss you just took. Matthew carded his fingers through your hair, letting you soak his bare chest with your tears because he wouldn’t have it any other way. You came back to him. You came back to him when things got too tough because you trusted him to bring you some peace, and he was happy about it.

You passed out sometime after that, your tears finally running dry and the exchaustion taking over your body. Matthew woke up early the next day, grateful for the optional morning skate so he could stay with you for just a little bit longer. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains in his room, a calm snowy morning in Calgary so the city was just a bit quieter. 

Matthew settled on breakfast, working away in his kitchen with the only thing he knew how to make. Tell her you made it, his mom’s words from just a few months prior in his head while he cooked. You padded out his bedroom, one of Matthew’s god awful beer shirts hanging from your frame while you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss into his back, “It’s cold here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Matthew hums, internally pumping his fist when he felt your lips form a smile against his skin. You turned your head, pressing your cheek against his against and letting out a laugh, “What’s so funny?”

“You framed my jersey?” You ask, your eye catching a jersey that was way too familiar. It was hung up beside Matthew’s from his first all star game, both number nineteens staring back at you.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my favorite player,” Matthew hums, a blush covering his cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”

“You keep saying that,” Matthew finally turns around, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“I’ll keep saying it long after we both retire,” Matthew speaks, words clear and sure because he’s had plenty of time to practice this one, “I’ll say it when you win a World Cup gold, I’ll say it when we have kids, I’ll say when you play at the Olympics. I’m going to say it over and over again.”

“But…” You trail off, all of those same demons you’d been fighting when it came to your whatever this was with Matthew, “What I’m not around enough for you?”

Matthew knew what you were thinking about, he’d thought about it plenty too. There were countless sleepless nights where all he did was wonder if you’d find someone in Chicago who could support you better than he could. He’d do his best, he swore he would, but in order for you to be happy, your passion came first. There was always going to be times when he couldn’t be there and it killed him.

“You’re more than enough,” Matthew promises, his lips ghosting over yours, “I want you to seize every opportunity in the world, I just want to be there to tell you that I love you and use the goat emoji on Instagram when you do.”

You let out a laugh, Matthew’s smile wide enough to see his dimples you loved so much, “I think I want to stay a little while.”

“I think you should,” Matthew agrees, capturing your lips in his, “Besides I’m playing tonight and I think I need to show off now.”

“You’re a cocky asshole.”

“But now I’m your cocky asshole.”

***

One year Later

You had a good reason to be late.

You swore Matthew couldn’t possibly be mad at you for this one. You’d missed your flight to Calgary, a few days post a second loss in the semi finals that you’d been taking much better this time around. Mainly because Matthew wasn’t there, but his stupid smile and words of encouragement where there on facetime hours later. That wasn’t the reason you were late, the reason you were late was because you’d received the most insane news of your life and it was an important phone or that flight. You’d caught the next one, legs shaking not to just call him and share the news, but you needed to tell him in person.

You’d finally gotten by the doors to the locker room entrance, out of breath from spriting there from your cab. There was Matthew, tapping his phone and staring at the clock on his phone with furrowed eyebrows. He was still in his suit, tie pulled a little looser, a nervous habit you realized he had some time ago, “Matty-”

“Don’t call me that just because you know you’re late,” Matthew huffs, already ready for the pout that would have followed so he’d forget all about the fact that you promised you’d make it on time. He holds his hand out, waiting for the handshake he made up in the car on the way to the first game you went to after he finally locked it down. You laugh, slapping your hand against his and letting him pull you closer for a kiss.

“They want me on the National Team,” You mumble against his lips, the words spilling out of your mouth when you pull away with an excited smile. Matthew stood there stunned, while you shuffled your feet in the little dance you did when you were really happy. He grabs your cheeks, pressing kisses to your lips again and again.

“We’re celebrating after this, holy shit,” Matthew cheers, still stunned by your news, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, now go score a few goals so we have even more to celebrate,” You kiss him one more time, pushing him before the door before he was late.

“Anything I do seems unimportant now!” Matthew calls out, a light laugh to his voice as he watched you walk away to go sit in the stands.

And that’s how Matthew thought it should be.

[write-nerdy-to-me]

~ destiel fic, hurt/comfort, 1k words, for @castielsdisciple​  

“Be still,” Dean murmurs to Cas when he flinches away again. He’s tried to minimize how much he pokes and digs, knowing what a bitch it is to be on the business end of pliers, but he can’t help that some of the shards are buried deep. He waits patiently as Cas takes a large swallow from the whiskey bottle he’s clutched like a lifeline, then Dean picks out yet another broken glass piece and drops it into the cup next to his hip.  

It couldn’t have just been a cut-and-dry D-list case, because life — this life especially — doesn't work like that. It was inevitable for shit to go sideways on them, and it’s laughable, fucking inane Dean ever dared to think otherwise. (“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas said to him once. Dean’s still not convinced that's true.) 

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Cas, but the monster, like, fixated on him. The whole night, no matter how hard Dean fought to get the ugly bastard's attention, it kept going after Cas. Then monster grabbed and fucking bodily tossed him out the window and let out a roar that felt like it shook the whole house; Dean's only felt his heart leap into his throat like that a few times. He didn't get time to even process what happened because the monster, having taken out one opponent, turned and advanced on him. Dean had to finish the job alone, not knowing if Cas was even still alive. He ran to find Cas lying on a patch of wood chips, shattered glass surrounding him like a halo. Those few short moments felt like several lifetimes as he slid to his knees next to Cas, who was winded and aching and breathing. ("You alive?" Dean asked, and Cas huffed out a pained laugh and flipped him the bird. "Yeah — yeah, you're alive, you asshole.") 

Dean could swear that Cas has a deathwish or something because the reckless motherfucker refused to be checked out at the hospital. Dean insisted that he needed to go, as only so much could be done with the sparse supplies they had. They argued, and in the end, Cas’ stubborn glare won out. If he was gonna be like that, then Dean figured the sooner they get a move on and save Cas from his own bullheaded stupidity, the better. The last thing they need is Cas getting an infection. And the way he climbed into the Impala, slow, graceless, hiding his winces and grinding his teeth, only further proved that they should head to the hospital, but Dean held his tongue.

The ride back to the motel was, to say the least, unpleasant. In their room, it’s not much better. 

For the past hour now, Dean’s painstakingly removed a myriad of embedded glass and wood shards from Cas’ back, wiped away the blood, and applied ice to the welts that have already turned angry and dark. Cas hasn’t said a word since their fight— that disagreement back at the old farmhouse, but Dean's talked plenty for the both of them. He’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated this mantra: Be still, be still. How many times it’s followed by tiny plinks of glass and wood into a plastic cup. Dean would think Cas finds it patronizing — insulting, even — if it weren’t for the way the coiled tension in Cas’ shoulders starts to ease whenever he speaks. If it makes this process easier for him… well, then who’s Dean to deny him?

“Be still. I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Another glass piece. Plink.

The A/C unit in the corner kicks over with a wheeze. Cas says, “I don’t deserve this,” in a voice so hushed Dean would’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting right behind him. 

Dean’s hands stop, just for a moment. Plink, plink. “What are you talking about?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t deserve this. Your attention, your care, your lo—” He cuts himself off, arms coming around his middle and shoulders hunching away from Dean’s hands. A soft hiss escapes his lips as the motion tugs sharply at his wounds. He sounds like wishes he could take back the words the second they leave his mouth and hates himself for it. “Your kindness. I don’t deserve it.”

How could Cas think so little of himself? Believe himself so unworthy that he shouldn’t even receive the most basic care? But Dean gets it, maybe more than Cas realizes. “That’s bullshit,” Dean says mildly. Plink. 

“Dean...” Cas starts to shift further away from him, and that won’t do, because he needs to listen, needs to hear what Dean’s telling him, and he won’t if he’s already sinking into himself. 

“Don’t, I’m not finished,” Dean admonishes quietly. “I’m serious. Don’t move.” He touches Cas’ waist and— and he just stills with a shaky breath. If this were any other time, Dean would dwell on how Cas caves at the slightest touch initiated from him, how he always just lets him.

When it seems like Cas isn’t on the verge of bolting, Dean says, “I know there's something about this case that got to you bad — don’t think I didn’t notice, man.” Hunts aren't easy, and unexpected bodies turning up are never something a good hunter takes lightly, but Cas seemed to take each one like a devastating blow. Dean tried to press Cas about it, and he shook off Dean’s worry and pretended that everything was fine. Dean doesn't have to be a good hunter to know Cas was lying. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Cas turns his face away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” A beat. Then, “I think you’d be better off hunting with Sam again.”

The fuck? Taken aback, heat starts to crawl up Dean’s face. Part of him wants to be angry — hell, he kinda is, underneath the hurt — but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, for once grateful Cas is facing the other way. “I like hunting with you. Besides, Sam's got his club going on, and anything with Eileen he likes to be involved.”

“Maybe you should have a different partner. One that doesn’t fuck up.”

“Everyone fucks up,” Dean says defensively. “Cas, if this is about what you did, you’re already forgiven for that—” 

But Cas isn’t listening. The dam's busted open. “I’m supposed to— I used to be an angel. My powers, I could... I could help you, I could help Sam, but now I can’t — I can’t even do that.” Cas covers his face with his hands, rakes them roughly up through his hair. “I’m — I’m useless.”

Dean’s heart clenches sharply. He knew that the fading powers and subsequent loss of them had been hard on Cas, but Dean didn’t know it was affecting him this badly. Then he feels like an asshole, because of course this was, for fuck's sake. “Cas…”

Cas turns around, winces as he moves too quickly. He touches Dean’s face with gentle, hesitant fingers. There are scrapes and cuts Dean hasn’t taken care of yet, too occupied with making sure Cas doesn’t get a damn infection. Cas’ eyes grow sad; his brow furrows. “I miss— With a touch, I could heal you. I wouldn’t need you to care for me this — this way.” 

“Cas, man, you gotta know that it’s never been about your powers. You’re not a-a tool, Cas. All I want— It’s just you. I told you, man. I’d rather have you. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Cas is quiet for a minute. “Your faith... I've always admired it. How you put your trust in people. You're a good man, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean clears his throat. "Gotta make up for all the bad shit I've done, right?"

Cas hums, unconvinced. He grabs the damp rag that held the ice, shaking out the remaining pieces. He doesn’t seem to care where the ice landed. "Let me?" 

Dean almost says no, he's fine, but something in the way Cas looks at him... "Okay."

Cas wipes away the dried blood on Dean's face. Lately, he and Cas would be arguing, if they weren’t busy giving each other the cold-shoulder. It’s not the first time they’ve been at opposite ends or had disagreements — Dean refuses to say they bickered — not by a long shot. It’s just... been a while. Dean thought they were past petty fights. Now, though, they fall into a comfortable silence, for once not thick with tension from the unsaid. 

Cas’ thumb traces over the scar on Dean's chin, and he says, a hopeless look in his eye, "I love you. Did you know that?"

Dean just breathes and touches Cas' wrist. "Cas..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know."

Dean tugs the rag out of Cas' hand. His mind is taking a second to reboot. But he knows — he knows he needs to kiss Cas right now. "C’mere," he mumbles and cups Cas' face between his palms and presses their mouths together. When they separate to breathe, Dean says, “It’s always you, Cas. You know that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I love you.” The smile Cas gives him is soft and crooked and still sad. Dean’s not stupid; he knows things with Cas are rocky at best, but it’s a start. “Now turn back around so I can get the rest of the junk out, asshole.”

[stopbeingrude]

Hi guys. Happy Gruvia/ Greige day. I wish all of you wonderful time.

That's gonna be the first one shot , i have ever published here, feedback is welcome. I hope It's not that bad and you'll somehow like it lmao.

,,I think I would rather have a plushie as a Christmas gift…., but I guess I shouldn't be too picky."

-Dad? - called 6-year-old Greige, on one December afternoon, when both him and his father were decorating a christmas-tree in the living room . December 24th was slowly approaching. It was Greige's favorite time of the year , because he was able to spend Christmas with all of his family, including all of his uncles , aunts and friends. Not forgetting about grandpa Makarov . Even Uncle Gildards would show up, bringing something for the kids. -I was wondering what would happen if Santa's reindeer suddenly wanted to pee while flying?- asked seriously little boy. No one wanted to tell him that. When he asked big bro Romeo , he just started laughing and then he called him silly. "How could he do that?" -thought heartbroken Greige after. -Heh , where did that come from? ... you know ... they'd have to stop somewhere by, right? Daddy doesn't know much about it- said Gray, trying to keep himself from laughing. He couldn't laugh, he knew it would offend his little angel. Their son hated when someone made fun of him . After all, he was already a big boy, and everyone knows that such must be taken seriously. - So maybe Mommy knows? I will go and ask her,- said the little boy, putting down Christmas decorations . Speaking of mom, he had recently noticed his mother's strange behavior. She had been getting tired very easily lately, she often took naps. He also noticed that she spent an enormous amount of time sewing ,mostly clothing. Well.. he was aware of his mom's hobby, but usually it was limited to sewing plushies, sometimes socks or fixing their clothes. - You know, I don't think mommy knows more than me - said Gray after hanging the last Christmas-ball. - Besides, you know that mommy is sleeping now, right? She hasn't been feeling well lately, so she mustn't be disturbed. Something was off, even Daddy acts differently- thought little Fullbuster Now, that got the boy worried. - Is something wrong with Mommy? - asked slowly Greige He loved Mommy and Daddy most in the world and the very thought of them suffering hurt him deeply. "No, I won't start crying…Boys my age don't do that..." He had often been told that he should stop being such a crybaby (mostly by Yajeh or Nasha . Shutora would never. She was always trying her best to cheer him up,while reminding her twin and little Dragneel that if they won't stop with this stupid teasing, she would make sure both of them would regret it later). Unfortunately Greige could not help it. Whenever someone was hurt or something went wrong, he would usually cry. Turns out he inherited his mom's sensitivity... "Mommy…..something was definitely wrong with her.." The thought of something happening to his dear Mom filled him with great terror once again. He started shaking What if she's ill, or even worse..she's gonna….. "No , no , that's not possible..." - he shook his little head full of dark , curly hair. - I'm overreacting, just like Yajeh told me - No, no.. don't worry, Greige, Mommy's fine, it's nothing serious,"-Gray said quickly, trying his best to calm his son down, giving him a hug and then kissing him on forehead He knew exactly what was going on with his beloved, in fact, when an excited Juvia came back home one evening and informed him of the pregnancy, he was overjoyed. Soon he will be holding his son or daughter in his arms. Then it hit him. The baby might turn out to be a girl, and Gray had no idea how to take care of girls...Dear God….Ok ,ok.. he still has plenty of time to learn. He can always ask Gajeel about it..yes Gajeel or Alzack...even Elfman ( he would never ask Natsu, even if he's life depended on it, that would be too humiliating for him). Wait...it wasn't his top priority right now. After all, he needs to inform his son about the news first. Neither of them was quite sure how to do it. They remembered very well the situation from a few months ago when the Redfox twins got into an argument. Horrified, Greige stated that being an only child is not that bad, since having siblings meant constant war. Although being honest , Greige never

directly told them that he hates the idea of having a sibling . Considering how much time he spent with Nasha and Elfman and Ever's daughter Ember, or year-old Reiki Fernandes, it would seem that he's perfect for the big brother role. Besides, they can't hide it forever, sooner or later he would notice Juvia's belly. However, the biggest concern for Fullbuster was the fact that such news could lead to a longer conversation, which again could lead to uncomfortable questions that Gray was not ready to answer. He is not going to tell his son about the birds and the bees. No, no, hell no… None of them are ready for this! "Come on Gray, what's wrong with you, you just have to tell him. You've been in worse situations….after all, you've fought with all sorts of criminals, weirdos and monsters ,compared to what you've been through, it's nothing''- thought the ice mage But how to start such a conversation? How about …. -Hey Greige, have you written a letter to Santa yet? "Yes, just ask him what he wants for Christmas and make a few innocent suggestions." -Oh no i didn't, thank you for reminding me Dad. - And tell Daddy, what would you like to ask Santa for? The boy was silent for a moment, most likely to think about the answer, but after a while he called out in a loud voice. -I'D LIKE TO ASK HIM FOR PEACE IN THE WORLD AND FOR EVERY POOR PERSON TO GET A BETTER LIFE AND FOR EVERYONE TO BE HAPPY!..... It would also be nice to get a new plushie……but it's not as important. Do you think Santa can do that?-he asked hopefully Gray stood there for a moment, stunned. His baby was truly an angel...wishing happiness upon the entire world, it nearly made him tear up…. but no... he needed to explain to his son that he should wish for something more....... attainable. -Ooh... really..that's....very nice of you, but...I think that such a wish...yym...takes a bit of time and Santa w-won't be able to do it…., why don't you ask him for….. for example a toy like a teddy bear, figurines....or new books or something else...I don't know.......sibling?... Greige looked at him, like he had just proposed to him to take a walk on the rooftop. Where did that come from? What is dad talking about? S-sibling...?? -Sibling? You mean like a little brother or sister? A baby?- asked the little boy loudly. -Yes, that's exactly what I meant, but well you'll need to wait for a while, because it takes time for a baby to….be ready.- mumbled out Gray - So that's not really a Christmas present- stated boy still visibly shocked -...Well y-yes , but... -But didn't you say mommy has been feeling unwell lately?...If we had a baby, wouldn't it be tiring for her?....Besides, do you think we need a new baby? - asked seriously Greige Why would they need a baby? They were living happily in this house , just three of them. It's not like he dislikes babies , they're cute and all…..but it's just simply weird.. -Well... I wouldn't say it's necessary , but it would be nice to have one at home.. don't you think?....- asked his dad Maybe? -And don't worry about mommy, I am sure that she will be so happy with the new baby , it will make her feel better.- stated Gray , this time with a smile -Hello my darlings- Juvia's voice said suddenly They both turned their heads toward the bedroom's door, finding Juvia's tired but smiling face there. Greige quickly got up and ran toward his mother. -Mommy, are you feeling better? Do you need anything?- said the little boy, hugging her legs. Juvia kissed her son's cheek. -Hi sweetheart, Mommy is fine- she answered while taking a seat next to her precious Gray, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. -Did I hear you talking about babies?- Juvia asked, pretending to be surprised, while giving Gray a tiny smirk. - Daddy said it would be nice to have a baby and that it would make you feel better... - he began. - I don't think a baby is necessary, because it would be a little strange that there will be more of us in the house, but if you really wish for one ,then that's fine with me. -Really? Mommy's glad to hear that.-

replied a happy Juvia , giving her husband a big smile. Gray gave her the same smile, but just when he thought everything had been taken care of, there came the soft voice of his baby boy. - Mommy....Daddy...but you won't love the baby more than me, will you? - asked Greige, with his head lowered and tears in his dark eyes. Both Gray and Juvia stood there very surprised, neither of them had even thought of such a scenario. -Greige, what makes you think that?- asked older Fullbuster. -Sunshine, no...- Juvia hugged her son quickly- You mustn't think like that, we would never stop loving you. Remember darling, parents love all their children equally. - You know, its true that we'll have to spend a lot of time taking care of your brother or sister, but you have to remember that they won't be able to do anything on their own. You were like that when you were born too.- said Gray - I'm sorry. I won't do that again- said Greige seriously. -Do you think I offended the baby? I don't want the baby to think I don't want him or her,- said the terrified boy .What if the baby will always remember this and he will never be forgiven. - Don't worry, honey, I'm sure she won't mind,- said the water mage, stroking her belly. -She?-Gray thought. Turns out his wife wasn't telling him everything... -Wait a minute! -said suddenly Greige after a moment of silence -The baby will be in the tummy, just like Reiki was in Auntie Erza's , right? - Well baby is already there, but your right - answered Gray -Daddy? - Yes buddy ? - How did it get there? Shit. -Yyyy… Horrified, Gray turned his gaze to his wife, silently pleading for help. -You know what, angel? It's almost 8pm, I think it's time for you to take a bath, okay?- proposed Juvia, saving her husband from very uncomfortable talk. - Ok Mommy. Will you read me a bedtime story after we finish? - Of course They were already moving towards the bathroom when Juvia quickly turned towards her husband, gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered : -You're welcome. Has Gray already mentioned how much he loved his wife?

Bonus!:

( ok I swear it was funnier in my head...Once again Happy Gruvia day !!!)

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 37

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 16.9k(? i think?) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, talks of past self-harm, nothing directly graphic all mentioned through conversation, graphic depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part four

​​​

“I’m going to kill the king, Hyunwoo.”

“Y/N, you can’t… that’s going too far.”

“I don’t think we have a choice any longer.”

“We always have a choice, Y/N. It’s just about what you decide to do with that choice that matters. Think about why you’re doing what you’re doing, and what your intentions truly are. It’s not about revenge or payment for a crime — the crimes of his people cannot be put onto his shoulders.”

A sigh passes through your lips, one that sounds more exasperated than anything else, and Hyunwoo lifts a brow upon hearing the noise.

“This is revenge, Hyunwoo. He allowed my past to be taken, he created the law that allows the military to do that. Not to mention the other crimes he has committed — even if they are a result of him sitting idly by and watching them happen. I’m not saying Jisung is always right or that he is a saint for wanting to do this. But if Jisung won’t commit to doing it, then I’ll do it for him.”

“And we swore to find a way to get those memories back, Y/N. Don’t let this cloud your judgment. Don’t let your devotion to making Jisung happy decide your future. If this is something he wants, then he should do it himself and face the consequences on his own! It’s not a burden that you should bear as well. I know this is something you will come to regret!”

“Then you’ll have to stop me with force because I’ve already made my mind up about this. I don’t see Jisung getting in my way right now. But after all, isn’t this what he wants? He’s just too much of a coward to do the dirty work himself!”

“We both know where he stands on this, which is precisely why he’s not here. Just — please let us try one more time. I’ve spoken with a few of my off-planet contacts about this, and we have one last idea that might reverse the effects of the serum. You know how difficult this is; the military keeps such a tight wrap on everything about the serum. It’s near impossible to just get a spare vial, and even harder to examine how it works with test subjects while still being ethical. We are trying our best, I promise, just please hold out a little while longer. Jisung is getting things set up now… so please… just come with me and try before you do anything drastic.”

The man extends a hand, palm facing towards the ceiling and fingers outstretched for you to take. There’s hope in his eyes, a hope you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and that look is what brings your feet forward. You place your palm over his and curl your fingers tight around the side of his hand. He squeezes back as a small grin overtakes his lips.

“If this doesn’t work, then you know what I have to do, Hyunwoo.”

“I know,” he whispers. The hope in his eyes flickers a little, like a flame hit by a gust of wind. “In that case, I’ll do whatever I have to so that you don’t come to regret that decision.”

“Hey, get up. It’s go time.”

You wake with a start, not fully come out of the memory that paints the insides of your eyelids until you look around at your surroundings. Yeosang seems to be the one who woke you seeing as his hand is still outstretched to your arm. The sight of him brings you back to reality and reminds you of where you are and what exactly is going on. Jongho sits on your other side, dressed in nicer clothes than you’ve ever seen him wear before — a pleated and pristine navy suit complete with a bright yellow tie and hair gelled back on his head. Yeosang too wears a somewhat expensive garb although he appears more natural in the silk tunic covering his torso. His naturally dark roots are starting to peek through the blond near his scalp, accentuating the harsh part down the middle of his head.

Despite the fact that both look relatively harmless in this state, you know they each have weapons hidden somewhere on their person underneath that formal wear, just as you do with the knives strapped over your thighs under the skirt attached to your waist. Such an outfit like yours is something you hardly agreed to — it was moreso an insistence on Seonghwa’s part to at least dress the part (although he had to listen to some of your incessant nagging about how you could never fight in a dress so he had to settle on finding a substitute in the form of a jumpsuit with a skirt wrapped around the back. Yet the more you pick at the seams and touch the fabric, the more you recall the none too pleasant conversation you and Seonghwa shared as you were preparing to leave for the mission.

“Perhaps I do have an eye for beauty after all, or is it that you simply look breathtaking in anything?” Seonghwa stands in the doorway to your bedroom, not a mind for privacy as he watches you struggle to tug the zipper of your suit up.

“Can’t even breathe on my own, huh?” You huff out as you drop the zipper in defeat.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you, have I not? There’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen before,” Seonghwa says through a laugh. He watches your cheeks flush with color before dropping his arms to his side and coming closer to you. He remains wordless as he pulls your zipper up for you, smoothing the fabric under his fingers down once it’s pulled up to your neck. “It suits you. Things like this, I mean. The silk makes you look… softer, yet the color combination of black and white makes you look lethal. Perfect definition of beauty, no? That something so delicate could also kill you? A wonderful dichotomy in my eyes.”

“Someone is in a poetic mood today.” You don’t hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem all too bothered by your show of faux-annoyance. Instead, his hands find your hips and turn you to face him directly, staring so intently into your eyes with his own dark ones that you lose the rest of your retort.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to go on this mission so desperately but that didn’t quite work out.” You’re quick to shake your head, already in the midst of denying his words before he even finishes his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’ll have Yeosang and Jongho there with me.”

“I would go if only Hongjoong would let me bu—” The thought cuts short as you place a hand over his forearm.

“Seonghwa, it’s okay. Hongjoong is right to have you stay here while you’re not 100% better. And you can both keep an eye on Jisung this way. We’ll bring Wooyoung back as quickly as possible, I swear.” Instead of consoling the man, your words seem to have an opposite effect as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“If I were stronger, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You should not have had to waste so much time having to look after my fragile and weak mental state when you could have caught up to the ship sooner and had all three of them back in one go.”

“This is what we’re working with, Hwa. It has nothing to do with your welfare. We still would have been too late regardless of whether that night had happened or not. So please — it will all work out and be okay. It has to.”

Seonghwa’s smile is quaint, a small twitch of his lips, then he’s leaning in to close the distance between your lips. You lift your hand to push hard against his chest, furthering that distance before he gets the chance to meet your lips with his.

“I just put on this black lipstick and you already want to mess it up? How rude,” you scoff. That isn’t a real reason, and you both know it, and you only solidify that further when you speak next before biting your tongue. “You shouldn’t push it right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for not fighting my decision to go with Jisung. Besides wasn’t the decision to… stop whatever this is mutual?”

“It was, of course,” he murmurs back, not quite meeting your eyes. “I am merely a creature of habit, so it will take some time for me to adjust to this change. But… Y/N, might I be so bold as to ask you something?”

“Hm, isn’t that a question right there?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You regard him with a small nod but pull away so that his hands drop to his sides again. “Were any of the feelings you had for me something real and tangible? Not just because of what we are and that comfort of both being Sirens, I mean.”

You should have known he would bring this up eventually, especially with how the two of you are constantly dancing around each other and the topic. Still, you aren’t ready for it.

“I… don’t think I know the answer to that question, but even if I did, I-I might not be able to answer with complete honesty.” The smile that comes to paint Seonghwa’s lips is nothing short of sad and painful, not quite reaching his bright eyes with its usual mirth.

“It’s a conversation I wish for us to have one day, but I too fear that I might not be able to be completely honest either. Perhaps — perhaps we got a little too caught up in the heat of things without truly thinking about why we were doing the things we were doing.”

“Why did you do it then? I was the one who gave the initial push, I started things, I claim responsibility for that, but you pulled right back. So why?”

“I have found time to think about such things quite a bit lately since I was left in the medbay alone for so long; however, now is not the time to talk about that as it would take too long. Has Wooyoung brought you back yet?”

“No, not since the night in the medbay. But San very clearly said three days until they would land on Dorado, and it’s been six since then. They should be there by now, and the deals should have gone through. Wooyoung’s was to be immediate after all.” Seonghwa’s smile drops into a half-hearted scowl.

“Without Wooyoung on the inside, we will have no way of knowing where San and Mingi are.”

“Unless Jisung decides to be kind with his information.” You run a hand through your hair, mussing the already down tresses enough to be somewhat noticeable. “We’ll have to make do.” Seonghwa stretches across the empty space between you

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Tell the others good luck from me, and please… be careful? No unnecessary risks if you can avoid them. I’d like to see you all back in one piece.”

Reality swoops in on you as Jongho places a firm hand over your thigh.

“You alright? I can practically feel you thinking so hard.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just… wondering about the mission.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jongho murmurs, squeezing at your leg a little tighter. “It’s a straightforward mission — easy in and out.”

“Hopefully.” Yeosang is the one to hum the word but he doesn’t look at either of you as he speaks. “Once we’re in, I’ll talk to the main desk and ask for someone with Wooyoung’s general appearance. It’ll be a bit difficult because they will have given a new name — something a prostitute would have. I’m not sure how many people in there will have similar appearances to Wooyoung but we’ll have to do our best. You two remember what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Follow suit, wait fifteen minutes for you to pass through the reception area, then ask the same thing. A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin. All prostitutes have collar so it won’t be Wooyoung’s defining feature any longer.” The recitation rolls off your tongue with ease after having heard Yeosang repeat it so many times by now. He nods in approval nonetheless.

“Remember there are cameras in each of the rooms. Don’t know how they use them but it’s something to be aware of. Hopefully, one of us will be able to come across Wooyoung, and in the case that you do?”

“We are to stay in the room with him for the allotted time, ping back to the ship and let Hongjoong know we have him, then wait for his signal,” Jongho responds. “His contact here on Dorado will be hacking their surveillance systems once we are certain that we have Wooyoung in a safe position.”

“Hongjoong sure seems to have a lot of contacts for someone who doesn’t trust people,” you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else, but Yeosang picks up on it nonetheless.

“His contacts are few and far between. This is one he has known since before he became a captain, so he holds a bit more trust with him. Back to the plan though, after his contact confirms our safety, you’ll crack a window and hop out hopefully unscathed. Remember that the Upper Echelon of Dorado is tight on security. Whoever gets Wooyoung out will have to be mindful of guards and try not to look suspicious. If any guards stop you, do not engage with violence. Simply do as they ask you to and tell them that Wooyoung is your slave. And one last thing: don’t forget we’ll be going in silent so keep a close eye on your wristbands. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” Jongho says while you offer only a hasty nod.

“Good, stay sharp then. We’ll be landing soon, and it’ll be go time immediately after that.” With that, Yeosang sits back and shuts his eyes, leaving you and Jongho to stew over the plan again in silence. At least until you decide you can’t take it anymore and turn to talk to the Berserker again.

“Are you nervous at all about the mission?”

A shrug.

“No more than usual. Recovering Wooyoung won’t be easy by any means, of course. It’s a step in the right direction, right? How are you feeling?” As though sensing your nerves, he pats your thigh a few times, and you simply stare down at the dirty floor beneath your feet.

“I feel a bit guilty in a way because I’m not too worried about the mission,” you admit, albeit quietly because you aren’t sure how please Yeosang would be to hear the words. “The only thing that is on my mind right now is how San is doing and if he’s okay.” Although you told Seonghwa otherwise, the sudden radio silence that Wooyoung has given you has made you anxious to an unspeakable degree. And not having the security of being able to see San through Wooyoung’s eyes is plaguing you more than you’d like to admit.

“I understand that,” Jongho says through a deep exhale. “I feel the same way about Mingi right now honestly. No matter how much faith and trust I have in Mingi, that fear always lingers and resides in me.”

“That’s how I feel about San. I shouldn’t be worried about him but part of me is just fearful that we won’t make it in time. That he’ll accept the serum before we can get him out.”

Jongho brings his hand up to take hold of one of yours, squeezing around your palm as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I know San better than I know anyone on the crew, besides Mingi perhaps. I’ve spent years at San’s side. He was the only person who trusted me at first and trusted me enough to let me in. That trauma he bears, the scars on his past, the red in his ledger, those lingering pains that resurfaced when the mutiny happened — I have felt them all. I spent months at the foot of his bed, taking what pain I could away for as long as I could, just existing to comfort him and help him get through even one more night. And in that myriad of emotions I felt from San, not once did I ever feel him desire to take it all away. Those scars he bears are part of him, and he treats them as such. Something like… small accessories on a bigger picture that he won’t let go of. So no matter what happens, I have confidence that San won’t let them win. He’s far too stubborn for that, his heart is too big, he has too much love in his body for such a thing. He would rather die before he forgets the crew, and that fact alone makes me confident that San will hold out.”

You are left in the wake of Jongho’s words for too long, letting them crawl under your skin and find a home there. You count the seconds that pass before your voice finds you again.

“I understand that.” Forty-one seconds. “It’s just the fear of him being hurt when I’m not around to stop it that is hard to get past.” Jongho’s smile is nothing if not soft and gentle, the epitome of understanding.

“In our line of work, that fear is always present. It’s always a possibility too, but at some point, you reach a point where you accept that sometimes, you won’t always be able to save someone from all pain. Just because you can’t prevent every ounce of pain doesn’t mean that you are doing something wrong or that you’re not doing enough.” Jongho pauses. Some emotion fills his red eyes and leaves them swimming with something unspoken. “There are some pains that we must allow to happen, no matter how much we wish to do the opposite. Even something as horrid as pain can be necessary and needed to move forward in life. Try not to dwell on it too much and focus on Wooyoung for now, yeah?”

“I’m trying my best,” you sigh and drop your head back against the seat. The second your thoughts begin to drift, you are brought back to another memory, this time one of Hongjoong’s dark office with Seonghwa at your side.

“You punched Jisung in the face?”

“Please, I let him off easy,” you huff back, ignoring the lieutenant’s slight shock in favor of finding interest in the wall.

“That’s not the important part,” Hongjoong cuts in from where he sits behind his desk. You shift to glance over the captain. “Does Jisung know anything about you being a Siren?”

“No, not that I recall,” you mutter after little thought. “I never slept with him or anything like that, and I can’t remember him ever seeing my back so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know. Besides who would just see tattoos and immediately assume ‘Siren’?”

“Then his interest in you has nothing to do with you being a Siren?”

“Exactly, but why is that important? I can tell you why he wants me if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“We’re just eliminating suspicions right now.” Hongjoong shifts his focus to where Seonghwa stands. He wears a bit of a cocky grin as they stare at each other, both feet slung up on the edge of his desk and one brow raised. “See? Jin has nothing to do with this.”

“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility altogether!” Seonghwa retorts. A frown mars his otherwise pretty features, twisting his lips into a scowl so deep that you feel your own muscles ache at the sight of it.

“You live your life in fear of Seokjin. For what? Do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

“That isn’t it and you know it, Joong. I will not sabotage your plans simply because of what I am. That is why we keep my identity to be a closely-guarded secret yet our number one enemy knows of that identity. That is a weakness, and it’s one that you need to take seriously.”

“Why is that? Sheltering you would be more suspicious to the crew than anything else. Unless you would like to inform them of your identity? Allow me to call them all right this instant.”

“No! No, Hongjoong, I — fine. Have it your way. Keep believing that you’ll be able to fix where Jin went wrong by ignoring the issue altogether because th—”

“That’s enough.” You bristle at the tone of the captain’s voice even though he is not speaking directly to you. “I’m still on edge as well, Hwa, and I know you are as well. I know why you are too, but please have at least a little faith in me. Now, Y/N—” Hongjoong turns back to you now “—I’d like to ask about the nightmares you had that night.”

Your initial response is to inhale sharply and glance over at Seonghwa with panic boiling in your gut.

“Why do you want to know?”

All Hongjoong does is roll his eyes and drop his feet off the side of his desk. You purse your lips at the action, watching him with wary eyes as he shifts his position to prop his elbows up on the same wood.

“Seonghwa, you’re dismissed.”

“I — Captain?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. I need to speak with her in private.”

“Why is it something I cannot be present for?”

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Now go.” If possible, the temperature of the room would drop ten degrees. Seonghwa seems to want to retort further but he bites his lip instead. Then, he gives a quick bow at the waist and mutters a goodbye before slipping out of the office without any further issue. “What did your nightmares consist of?” Hongjoong repeats, arching a brow as he speaks this time as though it will get you to talk faster.

“You didn’t have to get me alone to ask me that, did you? What is this really about?” The questions flow without hesitation, and your second refusal to talk about the dreams draws a sigh from Hongjoong’s lips.

“Do you know anything of Seonghwa’s relationship with his mother, Y/N?” A beat of silence. You shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing away from the captain to find interest in something on the floor.

“I… did witness a few of his memories when the two of us were still with each other in the dreams, but — if you mean to ask me about his nightmares, I have nothing to offer. I didn’t see those at all.”

“No, he already told me all about those nightmares. I don’t need to know more of them,” Hongjoong exhales with a shake of his head. He draws his arms up over his chest as he talks, falling back to slump in his chair and letting his exhaustion shine through. “Initially, I was going to have Seonghwa go with Yeosang and Jongho on this mission. But now, that plan has changed and I will be sending you instead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t send Seonghwa down to Lynder unless I myself can be at his side the entire time. There is far too much of a risk if I am unable to do that.”

“Risk? Of what? He would be with Yeosang and Jongho, would he not?”

“Yet if even the barest whim overcomes him, they would have to listen to whatever he says because of his position as lieutenant. I am the only one with more power than him, and as such, he has to listen to me. If he goes to Lynder, the risk is of him abandoning the mission to seek out his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do at all,” you counter. Both you and Hongjoong drop your chins at the same time, although yours is more of an accusatory and pointed action compared to the slumping defeat that comes over Hongjoong’s body when he lowers his head.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

“A-Ah…” The sound of your dry swallow echoes in your ears. It’s hard to imagine Seonghwa — cool, rigid, stoic, gentle and calm Seonghwa — ever being so depraved and rabid as to harm himself as well as Hongjoong. Seonghwa, whose greatest fear is losing his captain. Yet the grave expression coating Hongjoong’s delicate features remains serious and deadpan, and you know every word is one that holds a memory that is painful to recall. He’s telling the truth.

“Have you ever had that voice in your head telling you to be cruel, Y/N?”

“Of course I have,” you admit through a whisper, like the words are going to break the threads of tension hanging in the air.

“Seonghwa has lost his will and his mind to that voice time and time again, and it gave him his reputation as the Lieutenant of Death. Mingi may be a slave to a childhood which bred him to be a monster, but Seonghwa? He’s a slave to his own consciousness, the part of him that spent years trying to be perceived as an Elitist so that he could hide what he really is, someone cold and calculated without an ounce of remorse or emotion. He put his own monsters under the bed, but now he can’t get them out.”

Hongjoong sits up a bit straighter all of a sudden. His gaze is still unfocused and hazy though, refusing to look you straight in the eye. Either subconsciously or through the fog of that revisited memory, Hongjoong lifts a hand to his neck and rubs idly at the skin there.

“My Seon—Lieutenant is strong, but strength isn’t worth a damn thing when the person you’re fighting is yourself. He admitted to me once that the thought of letting that voice win is more terrifying than the act of killing his own mother. So for that reason, I can never allow such a thing to happen. Seonghwa’s demons are nothing if not rabid dogs begging for a pound of flesh, and if he can’t fight them on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho yet again brings you back to reality, most likely a bit disturbed by the way you are squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt, but he takes it without complaint. “You keep drifting out of focus.”

“Yes,” you say, filling your chest with air when you remember to breathe properly again. “Everything is fine.” Rather than responding with words, Jongho just places his other hand over your joined ones and brings them to rest on his thigh. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear him humming a soft melody under his breath but the rumble of the transport car covers most of the sound up. Still, it’s a relaxing sound that brings you some much-needed peace of mind for the remainder of the ride.

And as it turns out, Yeosang wasn’t bluffing when he said the three of you would be there soon because you had barely started listening to Jongho’s soft song when the car comes to a screeching halt that leaves you lurching forward.

“Alright then.” Yeosang stands first, hands smoothing down the fabric of his tunic even though it’s still perfectly in place. It’s not against his nature to get nervous or anxious, but it is still odd to witness like this. He is usually stoic in an unsettling way yet the grim expression he now wears is only accentuated by the crude shadows cast over his face. “It’s go time. Let’s get Wooyoung back in one piece, yeah?”

With that, the three of you climb out of the vehicle to be greeted by a dark and pristine city with thick clouds of smoke billowing through the air below you. Looking over the lip of the road is like looking down a cliff with the dramatic fall to the lower portion of the city. You weren’t exactly prepared to see such a drastic difference between the upper and lower echelons, yet looking over that cliff is like looking into a different city altogether with wooden buildings and decrepit warehouses that can barely hold themselves together. Where you stand with Yeosang and Jongho feels like a different world altogether with roads lined with lights and technology, tall buildings made from wood with exquisite carvings detailing the sides. From what you saw of the city in Seonghwa’s memories, Lynder has not changed one bit since he was here last.

You can’t clearly see many of the buildings below your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering which one could possibly be that bar where Seonghwa met Hongjoong, if it even still exists. Jongho pulls you away from the road by the arm, tugging you along behind him as you approach a new building. The swaying wooden panel outside the door is a dead giveaway, but it’s the absurd amount of lilies trailing over the railings that tells you what this place is.

“They weren’t bluffing with the House of Lilies name,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose a bit at the overwhelming stench. Yeosang has grown alarmingly still; he lingers outside the tall double doors with a hand hovering over the brass handles without budging even an inch for far too long. You could pretend to not know why he’s hesitating, you could act like he is merely holding you back and push past him in annoyance, yet instead, you find yourself laying a hand atop his shoulder and squeezing the fabric there lightly. “No matter what happens in there or what we find in there, we will bring Wooyoung out alive.”

Yeosang releases a shaky exhale that makes his shoulder quake under your fingers.

“I know we will.” He looks past your face to make eye contact with Jongho then gives a curt nod. “Here goes the first fifteen minutes of hell.” The Elitist pushes hard against the brass handles, and the door gives way to his effort.

If you thought the smell outside the House was horrid, you don’t even know how to describe the reeking stench of flowers that hits you with the force of a tsunami. It’s thick enough for you to feel as though you are wading through a sea of flowers when in reality it’s just a strange yellow haze hanging about the interior. Yeosang doesn’t let the smell affect him in the slightest; he walks inside without missing a beat, shoulders pushed back so far it nearly hurts to see. Despite that, he walks like a prince, like someone who knows how to act in high society with ease, and for the first time, you don’t see Kang Yeosang before you. Instead, it’s Kang Minhee, the forgotten prince of Aera, who walks before you and heads for the front desk where a middle-aged woman with dramatic hair and hefty makeup stands.

“We should mingle a bit and look natural,” Jongho whispers when the two of you stop just inside the doors. “May I?” He motions to your arm with a small smile, not saying anything else and leaving you confused.

“May you…?”

“Quit being dense and give me your arm,” he huffs back and extends his elbow for you to loop your arm through, and this time, you get the hint, hooking your hand around the inside of his arm. Yeosang shifts to look back at both of you as you pass, and you offer each other discreet nods before he returns to speaking to the receptionist.

You let Jongho lead the way for the most part since you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be doing outside of “looking normal”, although even doing that is somewhat difficult. Jongho doesn’t stray far from the entrance area until Yeosang dips into a hallway and out of sight without looking back at the two of you. Moments later your wristbands buzz, signaling that it’s time for the first fifteen-minute countdown to begin. Jongho shifts to fiddle with his wristband while you keep your hand folded over his elbow still. It gives you a chance to glance around the whorehouse without the distraction of having to act normal, but frankly, there isn’t much to see beyond the bodies filling the foyer and mingling about the lounge before you. There are flowers everywhere — probably an overabundance of them, and they aren’t just lilies as they were outside. You can’t pinpoint whether those flowers are the source of the clawingly sweet scent stuck to the insides of your nostrils or not, but that yellow fog seems partially responsible to some degree.

“You seem to know how to look like you belong in high society,” you mutter once Jongho pulls his attention back to your surroundings. A huff of laughter leaves his lips.

“It’s not because I grew up that way. I was merely an observant child who wanted to grow up and have more than what I had.” A smile cracks his stony expression. “Isn’t that what all children want?”

“I—”

Well, you wouldn’t really know, would you?

Jongho’s expression softens as he realizes what he’s said and who he has said it to, and his gaze turns apologetic seconds later. He turns to flag down one of the workers milling about with drinks, taking two glasses of what looks like wine in one hand. Jongho angles one of the half-full flutes in your direction. You take the hint with relative ease despite the clawing scent of flowers still muddling your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” Jongho says through what seems to be a sympathetic smile. “What do you think your childhood was like? If you don’t mind talking about such things. We have time to kill after all.”

You draw your lips into a tight purse, curling them around the edge of the wine glass and pressing an imprint of your dark lipstick there. Subconsciously, your hand tightens around the inside of Jongho’s arm as well, although the Berserker doesn’t comment on the added pressure as he simply continues to regard you with the same steely and careful gaze.

“I think it must have been rather sad,” you admit after some thought. It must not be the answer Jongho was expecting at all because his brows draw together in confusion. “What kind of childhood must one have for them to willingly sell away their memories by fourteen? The more I think… about that time — when they gave me the serum — I recall fighting the doctors but I don’t think it was because I didn’t know what they were doing. I’m certain that I knew my memories would be taken from me. It was the act of them strapping me to a chair like a prisoner that frightened me.”

This time when Jongho smiles, all you can see is pain in his deep red eyes.

“I would have given anything in the universe to have my memories taken away at that age too, if it’s of any comfort to you.” He pauses to swirl the liquid in his glass, watching the red liquor dance before his eyes under the yellow haze around your bodies. “Don’t think you’re weak for wanting to forget that past. No child should ever deal with pains that strong, even if you can’t remember what they are.”

“People like you… San, Mingi… the whole crew honestly — how can I not view myself as weak in comparison? People who were given the choice but denied it and rejected it unlike me, who apparently didn’t want to be left with some shred of dignity. What did I become with that fresh slate they gave me? All I could do then was be weak, but it seems like that hasn’t changed one bit.”

Jongho won’t let up with that devastating smile, and you are about to turn away so that you don’t have to see it any longer when he finally lets it fall.

“For what it’s worth, you are rather strong in my eyes. During your fight with Jisung, I’ll admit that I tried to ease some of your pain then. It’s not something you know about — the others know of it by now so I should have told you sooner and I’m sorry for that but I have a special mutation in my genes that gives me the ability to take away and absorb emotional auras. I inherited it from one of my grandparents so it’s something I grew up learning how to use and I carried that over when I joined the crew. I attempted to do that with you because you were in so much distress and I was worried but — b-but your pain was too much for even me to bear. So before you go around calling yourself weak, you ought to give yourself more credit. Just because the pains you bear are different doesn’t mean that they are any less than the pains the rest of us bear.”

Jongho doesn’t say anything more than that; he slings his wine back in one shot like it’s nothing then places the now empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he’s passing by. You don’t touch your own, mulling over the glass as you fall deep in thought. If Jongho could feel that much from you, then it begs the question of what else he might be able to feel from you.

Can he sense that I’m a Siren too? Would he be able to tell that Seonghwa and Wooyoung are Sirens as well?

Your mind shifts to latch onto something else he said. Your pain was too much for even me to bear.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

You had been too preoccupied at the time to think about that moment until now.

“That time — did I hurt you? When you tried to take it away, did I hurt you even a little bit?”

“Nothing you did hurt me, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you didn’t do anything. It’s something I have done time and time again for others on the crew and something I would do again as well. It’s what I’m good at, and something I was born with for a reason. If it helps even a little bit, then why would I not take the temporary pain?”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to fight those words, to tell him that it’s not worth it, your pain should not be a burden he has to bear as well, yet no words fall from your lips. Your mouth stutters uselessly without saying anything, and Jongho just keeps smiling like nothing is wrong. The clenching in your chest is not fine, however, and you force yourself to turn away from him in the hopes it will alleviate that pain. Instead, your eyes travel to a head of bright red hair that is so starkly different than anything else in the room that you have to stare right at it. It would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary to you since the crew you are now part of has such a wide array of hair colors. It would be something you look right past without much thought.

And yet you find yourself staring right at it. Right at the girl who turns to look around the lounge with red hair sweeping through the air.

You jolt.

Something hits your shoulder hard enough to tip your drink over and spill some of the red wine onto the floor. Your hand retracts from Jongho’s arm to touch the knife hidden behind the fabric of your skirt. You’re forced to pull your gaze away from the girl, finding the man who bumped into you to just be a stumbling drunk man with little sense for spatial awareness and direction. Jongho wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer to his body. The man continues on without any regard for you or the wine he just spilled. Jongho takes your glass with his free hand, discarding it at the nearest flat surface before redirecting his focus back to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, everything is okay.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur back, but your gaze goes straight back to where that redhead just stood.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Instinct tells you to stay put and continue on with the mission, putting that familiar face to the back of your mind. But again your heart is clenching painfully in your chest, racing so fast that you feel the pounds echoing in your ears, and you know you can’t let go of her that easily. Not when she’s this close to you.

“I think I did.” You pull away from Jongho to go chasing through the crowd after that red hair, but the Berserker moves with you in a rush.

“Y/N, we can’t get off track. There’s only six minutes until it’s your turn to go to the counter.”

You wave him off with a dismissive hand rather than responding with words. Moments later, you find your target again, just as she is turning to head for the hallway that Yeosang went down not too long ago.

“Soojin?” You throw the name out as a last resort, mostly a desperate attempt to see if you are right and your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you in this heady yellow haze.

She freezes in place. It gives you just enough time to shove past the crowd and get closer to where she stands. You close your fingers around her shoulder, tugging with as little force as possible so that she turns to face you. There’s not a doubt in your mind when you see her face. She seems to recognize you as well based on the way her eyes are blown wide as saucers. The girl — well, you suppose she would be a woman by now — glances past your shoulder to look at Jongho. Her throat rolls as she swallows around nothing.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Soojin whispers, bringing her gaze back down to you. She dips her head a bit then pulls away from you to head down the hall. You think back to Jisung — the threats and odd comments he made combined with the newly resurfaced memories of Hyunwoo lingering at the forefront of your mind, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you can’t let her go this easily.

“P-Please, Soojin — I need to talk with you. It’s important, please, I have so many questions and no one else to ask.”

“I’m sure you do, little scapegoat,” she huffs back. “I actually have work to do though and a client waiting for me, so I’m not all too inclined to speak with you. I’m not sure why you came here, but I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for either.” You don’t have a chance to keep her from leaving after that because she turns and leaves so quickly that it leaves you reeling. Jongho tugs you back by the arm, pulling you from the hallway and out into the lounge again before you can chase after her.

“What the hell was that?” He hisses under his breath.

“She — I-I knew her. She w-was my teammate, one of the p-people assigned to my unit in the military. I… I had no idea she ended up here of all places. Jongho, I have to talk to her, please, I have to. This c-could be what I need! If Jisung won’t tell me the truth, then maybe she knows something. She has to know something o-or else I—”

Your voice dies in your throat, but your unspoken desperation seems to reach Jongho nonetheless. The key to whatever memories you lost could lie in Soojin. Things happened so quickly at the end, perhaps she learned of something before leaving Eros with the others.

“She called you a scapegoat,” Jongho says. He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing with the motion. “What was that about?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. You didn’t even think to question that part but it is odd and not something you recall her calling you in the past.

“I’m not sure why she would say that. All the more reason to speak to her and ask. Jongho, please!” You attempt to pull away from his grip as you speak. The Berserker doesn’t budge, too strong for you to fight like this, and he doesn’t let up even when you try to slap his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He yanks you back to him and brings his free hand up to rest on your forehead. This time, you can physically feel the panic in your bones ebbing away and being pulled to your forehead where Jongho touches you. It’s a frightening sensation but the influence he has over you takes that fear away as well, leaving you in a daze of confusion because you know you should feel bothered right now but you cannot bring yourself to feel that way even as Jongho pulls away from you. His jaw twitches just a hair, not moving much beyond that, then he grits his teeth to hiss out his next words. “Wooyoung is our mission. You have to focus. You have two minutes to get up to that counter and do your job. We can try to track down your teammate later, but not on a mission like this.”

You have it in you to at least be angry enough to tug your arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch my emotions like that again. I understand you trying to take my pain, and as much as I hate that and despite the thought of you taking my pains for me, this is different. Emotionally sedating me for the sake of completing a mission better is different.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you’re heading off for the counter where Yeosang stood not too long ago. The woman who previously occupied the space behind it has disappeared, now replaced by a young man who must be younger than you from the looks of it.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks as you sidle up to the desk.

“I’d like a room, an hour’s worth.” You fumble a bit with your pockets as you try to fish a credit chip out without exposing the knife strapped to your thigh, but the boy doesn’t look up until you slide the chip across the counter.

“Of course, of course,” he hums. “Do you have any preferences for pleasure tonight?”

“A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin,” you recite back, forcing a smile onto your lips when the boy glances up at you. He tilts his head to the side. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth as the stare grows unsettling then he shakes his head and speaks again.

“Would you like someone more submissive or dominant?”

“Hm? Oh, um…” That wasn’t part of the plan. Surely Yeosang would have mentioned it if he had known they would ask. But what would he have said if they asked him the same? “Um, submissive is fine, I suppose?” The boy hums again then motions towards the hallway where Yeosang and Soojin both headed down.

“Your room will be on the second floor, Room 213. Please take the stairs at the end of the hall.” He passes a keycard your way along with your credit chip, leaving you with a grin and a soft-spoken, “Your courtesan will join you shortly. Enjoy.” You bristle at his words but manage to smile a little bit as you take both the card and your chip back. You leave the counter to head for the hallway, not pausing to look back at where Jongho might be, but you ping your wristband as you go. Nothing has come in from Yeosang’s side again so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have Wooyoung with him by now. It leaves you and Jongho with more pressure and either more or less of a chance to recover him, so you can only hope for the best as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

Room 213 is empty as expected when you slip inside, and it’s free from that odd yellow fog outside as well, so you bask in the freedom and breathe fresh air deeply while you can. It’s a basic and standard room — much more like a small hotel room than anything else from the cabinet near the door and the double bed pushed up against the wall. There’s a metal sink as well close to the window but nothing else adorns the room leaving it rather dismal and simple. Not that you expected these people to treat the courtesans with even an ounce of respect; it’s still disheartening to think of Wooyoung being stuck in such a small and cramped space without a choice.

Whatever peace you thought you could have is cruelly interrupted less than five minutes later as a series of shy knocks reach your door. You blink up from where you sit perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. Is this how Yeosang felt waiting for his door to open? You inhale sharply, heart pounding mercilessly in your throat and choking you with the strength of an actual hand. And shamefully, you can’t even bring yourself to look at the door when it slides open, too afraid of not seeing Wooyoung standing behind it.

“Y-Y/N?”

You snap your head towards the door so quickly that your neck pops with the effort, eyes blinking open faster than ever, and even when your gaze settles on him, you still can’t quite believe he’s really before you. In that moment, the two of you merely regard each other with stunned stares like neither of you can believe this is possible, and in that time, the door slides shut again to leave you together in the all too small room.

“Wooyoung.” You bring yourself to your feet, standing on shaky legs as you face him. “W-Woo—”

He cuts you short by barreling into you with such force that it knocks the air out of your lungs. The metal around his neck scrapes against your skin hard enough to cut but you pay it no mind as he squeezes his arms around your waist and releases a heart-wrenching sob into your shoulder. Reason returns to you then, bringing you to ping your wristband again; although this time you tap it three times to alert the others that you have Wooyoung with you now. There is nothing more to do after that other than to hug him back as his tears soak your neck and shoulder.

“I-I didn’t — I di-didn’t want to lose hope b-but… fuck it was s-so hard not to and I was st-starting to think I wouldn’t ever s-see you again,” Wooyoung sobs. You almost want to cry with him if not for the small blinking light in the upper corner of the room that catches your eye and sends a surge of panic through you.

“The cameras, Wooyoung. They’re still on, we need to—”

“Y-Yeah, they’re — they only c-check if you hit the button by the bed.” Wooyoung pulls back from your shoulder, at last, rubbing at his tear-stricken cheeks so hard it makes his skin blossom with red. He pauses to catch his breath, or at least steady himself enough to speak without choking on his words. “That si-signals that you’re unsatisfied so they’ll c-check and see what’s — what’s wrong before sending a new courtesan.” Wooyoung puts his hand in yours and laces your fingers without hesitation. The touch seems to offer him some more comfort that helps calm his small hiccups and cries. “Is Y-Yeosang okay?”

“He’s alright, yeah,” you whisper back through a smile. “Misses you something awful, but he’s here too. He tried to get to you first, but they must have sent someone else to him. Jongho came as well. To get you. We came to get you, Wooyoung.”

Those words make Wooyoung’s eyes well up with sickening haste. He sinks to the bed before another sob forces its way out, and you sit down beside him like the mattress might collapse if you move too quickly.

“I’m so glad. So fucking g-glad. Being in a pl-place like this without Yeosang — it’s fucking hell.” Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his lower lip just to keep it from trembling.

“Have you…” Surely it’s not a question you have any right to ask, and part of you feels like Wooyoung did need your help but merely did not want to bring you to this place, even if just to watch through his eyes. Still, you swallow the nerves and force the question out. “Have they made you work yet?”

“It’s not important whether they did or not,” Wooyoung says through a weak smile, but that tells you all you need to know. It sounds too rehearsed and monotonous, like he’s been told to say this even if only by himself. “B-But what’s the plan? How are we getting out? Is someone coming to get us?”

“Um, we’re to wait the allotted time here until we get news from one of Hongjoong’s contacts here. He’s a hacker, and he’ll take care of the surveillance system so that we can open the window and get out that way. We’ll meet Yeosang and Jongho in an alleyway not too far from here after that. Then head back to the ship on a transport car.”

“Thought of everything, huh?”

“I sure hope so.”

“It should work just fine. We’re on the second floor though, so it’ll be quite the fall. Just remember to not go face-first.” Wooyoung’s smile is infectious, and you laugh along with his jest, hand squeezing around his. “How is Seonghwa doing?”

“A-Ah, I nearly forgot you knew about that. Um, he’s alright but Hongjoong didn’t think he was well enough to come on the mission with us.”

“Captain is up then? Yeosang mentioned he’d been out for quite some time because of his injuries. That’s great news that he’s up! I — he’ll be happy to hear that I have some info about where Mingi and San are being held too. I can tell him when we’re back on the ship. B-But Seonghwa is okay otherwise?”

“Yunho said there’s no lingering signs of health issues so he’ll be okay physically. I… I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” Wooyoung’s smile stretches a bit wider.

“I assumed you would. That’s okay though; we have a full hour to use anyways, so you can ask me anything while we have the time to be alone together. I would say we could do it later when we’re back on the ship but Yeosang probably won’t let me out of his sight for even two seconds from now on. It’d be best for us to get it all out now so we don’t have to hear him scribbling in that damn notebook of his.” Wooyoung can’t hide his elation despite the teasing words, and you know that getting to see Yeosang again soon means more to him than you could ever understand. Yeosang must be feeling the same way himself, waiting out this hour with painstaking patience.

“What happened in the days you didn’t let me in? You went quiet for so long I was getting worried.”

“Ah, we shouldn’t start there,” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing down at the floor. He pauses. The breath of hesitation leaves your stomach in knots. “Nothing you want to hear, I promise. That’s why I didn’t try to bring you in. It wasn’t anything pretty, but I assure you there was nothing they could do to hurt me physically. I’m too far gone for that sort of torture. It’s… over and done with now. More scars to add to my collection, and more for Yeosang to cry over probably. We’ll both be fine. You’re probably wondering about the whole connection thing and us both being Sirens and such, right?”

“I — admittedly yes, but looking back now it seems almost obvious? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner, I guess. But yeah, specifically that connection or whatever it is. Yeosang said he didn’t know much at all about it.”

“Right, yeah, I don’t know much myself either, to be honest.” Wooyoung presses his lips into a pout. “It’s hard to say what exactly it is. Seonghwa’s books don’t really have anything about this sort of occurrence, but what I’ve gathered from it so far is probably all that Yeosang told you. ‘There’s no place in the universe that you can hide from each other’. Daichi told me that once.”

“He told me the same actually.”

“Mhm, I think he knows a bit more about it than he claims to. For me, I can almost hear you in my head when you’re in distress, even when you’re far away. Except it doesn’t sound like you’re scared or anything like that. It almost sounds as though you’re softly singing to me? Like… I’m on a boat with gentle waves and you’re singing to me through the water. When I’m asleep and dreaming and you reach out to me for help, I can close my eyes and find myself on a boat like that. A white boat on a black lake. And I hear you singing to me in the water, look down, and see a tiny flickering light through the darkness. For years I’ve had that dream.”

“Yeosang… he talked about you having such a dream. Swimming in a black lake and trying to reach someone but not being able to?”

“Yeah! Um, I’ve woken him up so much because of that very dream. I would have that dream time and time again before you joined the crew, desperately swimming to reach you but it was like something was blocking me from getting to you. Like I could never reach you no matter how fast I was. I would never be able to get in. Then suddenly — one night I did, and I woke up in a box of fabrics in the cargo bay.” Wooyoung shifts to look you in the eye, a weak laugh slipping through his lips. “That feels so long ago now.”

“I’ve been wondering how to thank you for that,” you murmur. “If not for that moment, I would have died.” The skin around your nails suddenly seems a lot more interesting, and you busy yourself with picking at it mindlessly rather than looking back in Wooyoung’s direction. He doesn’t let your hand drift far from his though before he’s tugging it right back into his grasp. His other hand finds its way atop yours as well, holding your joined ones together tightly.

“I didn’t do it to get a thank you. It was just… the right thing to do. It’s sad that we live in such a bad and awful society where you feel the need to thank me for doing something as simple as that.”

“Did you not thank Yeosang for saving his life once upon a time?” You dare to ask. Wooyoung is a bit startled at first, caught off-guard by both your sudden question and the content behind it, but he laughs loud and clear without restraint.

“For someone who claims to hate talking about his life, he sure does talk a lot, doesn’t he?” Wooyoung brushes his bang out of his eyes, pushing the strands that have quickly grown unruly and long to the side. “Yeosang never lets me thank him. Any time I’ve tried, he shut me down before I could finish. Honestly, he saved my life twice. Once when he chose me from that lineup of slaves and spared me a crueler fate, and once when he broke those chains and set me free.”

Chose… me…? Then it wasn’t Yeosang’s mother who picked Wooyoung out for him?

You don’t get to dwell on that thought for long because Wooyoung simply continues to ramble, more and more peace coming to his shoulders as he calms down further.

“Yeosang only ever thanks me. As odd as that is.”

“Did you — have you ever saved his life then?” You already know the answer to that question, but it’s already hanging in the air between you by the time you catch yourself.

“Yes.” Wooyoung is beaming by now, lips stretched wide as he grins. “I got him out of prison when they charged him with treason.”

“And that’s what he thanks you for?”

Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head in denial.

“He never claims to have saved me, not even once. Instead, Yeosang says that I saved him.”

“B-But why? Objectively he did save you, so why does he not acknowledge that?”

“Because, Y/N, there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Yeosang and I loved each other for many years before. But just loving each other wasn’t enough for Crown Prince Kang Minhee to break my chains and commit treason. When ”I love you“ turns into ”I am in love with you“ and ”I am in love with the mere idea of you“, then Yeosang set me free. Even though I would never have asked him to do it, he chose to on his own accord. So he thanks me and says that I saved him because of that. Because I trusted him enough to put my life in his hands time and time again and let him fall in love with me. He claims it to be a difficult thing — allowing an Elitist to fall in love with you. But with Yeosang… he has only ever made it easy. There are times where it is difficult and frustrating, where I wish that he could be anything other than an Elitist, for fuck’s sake, times when I would rather break his neck in an absolutely non-sexy kind of way, but that’s part of love and loving someone. That’s why he’s grateful to me. It sounds selfish and egotistical to say, but after having him repeat himself for so many years, I’ve grown to accept that even if I don’t believe I deserve it.” Wooyoung speaks with a raw conviction that you’ve heard before. It’s the same tone Hongjoong used when speaking to Seonghwa in the medbay, the same tone Yeosang used when talking about Wooyoung and their past together.

Even if you wanted to formulate a response, you don’t think you would be able to because of how overwhelming the emotion in Wooyoung’s voice is. He’s had every opportunity to blame Yeosang for the misfortune in his life, claim that if only Yeosang hadn’t picked him from the start he would be better off, claim that Yeosang got him out of being a slave only to put him in a more dangerous position. Wooyoung could even blame Yeosang for not protecting him well enough to keep him from being kidnapped and tortured.

Yet not once has Wooyoung blamed him.

Perhaps you were being unfair in pushing the blame onto Seonghwa’s shoulders when he didn’t fight your decision to go with Jisung. Is it so wrong to want someone to fight for you? Yet Yeosang has fought every day for Wooyoung and continues to do so. Wooyoung, who has been through hell and tortures he does not wish to speak about, asked about Yeosang’s well-being before anything else. Yet if they were in your position — if Wooyoung were the one agreeing to go with Jisung to save the others, would Yeosang not drop everything to fight for him?

Your mind screams back at you, telling you that it’s different, the situations aren’t the same, the relationships aren’t the same, and you cannot compare yourself to people like Wooyoung and Yeosang who have had years to figure this out. And so, you don’t compare yourself to them.

Rather you compare Seonghwa and Hongjoong to them. How Seonghwa’s worst nightmare is not being able to save Hongjoong from himself. The sheer will and determination in Hongjoong’s eyes when he said he would never let Seonghwa’s demons overtake him. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is similar to what Wooyoung and Yeosang have. Neither are anything remotely close to what you have — had, your mind suggests ever so helpfully — with Seonghwa yourself.

“It may be selfish, but I don’t want you to push me away. I would rather be hurt and still have you in my life rather than to be perfectly fine without you.”

That memory slips through unannounced and unasked for, and the mere prospect of why it’s coming back to you while you’re having such thoughts scares you so much that you slam the door in that memory’s face and throw away the key before it breaks loose.

“But anyway that’s — I rambled a bit too much, that’s not the point, um, have you ever had similar dreams like those? The ones I had, I mean? Before waking up in my body or before you came to the crew, any time you can remember. I know you haven’t had much opportunity yet, but you’ve had a few experiences by now.”

“I can’t recall ever having those sorts of dreams. That dream you mentioned about the lake — I had a dream that I was drowning in a black lake the night you came to save Seonghwa, but when I wake up in your body, it’s simply that. All I know is falling asleep and waking up like a passenger in your consciousness. I don’t have any control like you’ve had over my body.” Wooyoung’s eyes are oh so expectant and pleading, and it twists something painful in your gut. You want so badly to have information for him, to be able to give him answers or even a hint as to what could be going on, but frankly, you have nothing to offer. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I-I feel utterly useless in this whole situation. I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me or my head, I just can’t remember at all and I don’t… You and Seonghwa seem to have this whole Siren thing figured out, how it works, what sort of abilities you have, how to use them. I, on the other hand, have so many gaps and missing pieces in my memories. I’ve had one or two moments where I consciously used some sort of ability, then Seonghwa tried to help me learn, but other than that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay!” Wooyoung rushes to reassure you, squeezing his hand tight around yours as he smiles again. “Y/N, please don’t worry about that. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now, it’s really okay. We’re gonna figure this out together now that you finally know what I am and we’ll be back on the ship soon. And I can help you understand more about being a Siren in general too! If we can get to the Dreamscape together, maybe Daichi will be willing to talk.”

“Last time I was there, he tried to kill me and told me that if I kept asking questions he would end my life,” you snort. Wooyoung’s smile drops into a grave expression that doesn’t fit his features.

“In the beginning — when I first started seeing Daichi, that is — he wasn’t like that. He wanted me to find other Sirens. That’s what ultimately made Yeosang choose Captain’s crew because Daichi had told me there was a Siren there. Then as more time went on, Daichi seemed to get more and more frightened by the idea of Sirens finding each other. He started telling me that someone dangerous would find me, someone I should guard myself from.”

“He warned me of the same when I first came aboard. But Seonghwa mentioned how Daichi’s job is to guide Sirens to each other?”

“That’s true, yes, but Daichi seems to have changed his mind along the way. I can’t understand why, but I’m sure it will make it a lot more difficult to find two more for Captain.” Your conversation dies a bit there, leaving both you and Wooyoung to stew over the predicament. According to Daichi, you spent years denying your identity and refusing to listen to him, so you never made an effort to find any Sirens like both Wooyoung and Seonghwa have been apparently. Still, it leaves you more curious than before, especially given what all happened in your latest escapade in the Dreamscape.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Did he ever tell you that we will always be able to come back to each other?”

“Come… back to each other? No, I’ve never heard him say such a thing before.”

“I remember seeing you in a dream before, not the Dreamscape but an actual dream. But that dream felt more like a memory, and I asked you about it once in the medbay. I know you told me no then, but does it have anything to do with what Daichi said possibly?”

“Hm, I suppose it could?” Wooyoung leans back and looks up at the ceiling. You can’t figure out what’s on his mind just through his expression, and what he says next doesn’t help much either. “But I don’t have any sort of memory like that.”

“You — you were wiped with a serum too, weren’t you?”

“Did Yeosang tell you that as well?” Wooyoung asks through a frown. “Did he mention how guilty he feels about that too? Probably, that would be very much like him to do so. Guilty for things that aren’t even his fault… but yes. Yes, my memories were wiped too.”

“I have another question. I’m sorry for asking so much all at once. Yeosang never gave me a clear answer though, so I’m still curious, but why haven’t you told Hongjoong about this?” Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and refuses to look your way for a bit. The silence drags but it’s nothing uncomfortable or unsettling. It isn’t like you’re on a time crunch right now either, so you’re more than willing to wait until he is ready to speak.

“It’s something stupid and selfish honestly,” he whispers after a bit. His other hand finds purchase on the bed, picking at a loose thread hanging off the sheets. “I didn’t expect Yeosang to take it so seriously, but now he’s adamant even when I try to tell him otherwise. Really it’s just that when I was still a slave, I didn’t always have to wear the collar. It dampened and muted my abilities so I couldn’t use them freely. Shocked me a lot too whenever I foolishly tried to use them without permission, leaving some really ugly and awful scars. Yeosang always treated the wounds when that would happen.”

His hand travels up to touch the band of metal hanging about his neck. You follow the movement with your eyes. You can’t miss the spreading scars underneath the metal as he shifts it, like little lightning bolts of pale skin hiding beneath it, and you wonder if that’s what you felt the first time you woke up in his body.

“I have a lot of scars from lots of different things. It shouldn’t be any different, and it shouldn’t even matter because it’s stupid and childish and I need to get over it. Even though the collar is dead and doesn’t work, like it doesn’t mute my abilities anymore or anything like that, just the idea of having it on keeps me sane. Being a Siren is both a blessing and a curse. Some abilities you’re born with are crueler than imaginable and can be used to do horrific things. The things I was forced to do with mine are not something I ever want to revisit again. So… I keep the collar on because the trauma I suffered while wearing it for so many years keeps me sane. Merely the idea of wearing it prevents me from using my abilities because I was conditioned into a state where if I tried doing anything while the collar was on, I would be hurt. When it comes to visiting you, it’s different because I’m asleep when that happens. And whenever people other than Yeosang or myself try to touch it, I get thrown back into the memories of his father taking it off me to use me as a weapon and I-I can’t — it’s too much to bear.

“I trust Hongjoong. I really trust him and admire him and respect him so much. As much as I do Yeosang even if it’s in a different way. But I have an innate fear of authority that tells me no matter who it is, the people who have power over me will abuse it. That if anyone above me knows I’m a Siren, I’ll be used again, and I’m afraid of that. So it’s not that I don’t want to tell Hongjoong. Just that as long as I have this collar on and as long as these demons linger at the edge of my mind, I don’t think I can ever tell him what I am.”

You want to express an apology for bringing those memories back or at least offer an ounce of consolation because you can almost feel the pain radiating off his body in waves. But the moment you reach out to pull him into a hug, the door to your room slides open out of nowhere. You jerk, and Wooyoung lifts an arm to protect the both of you, but you take the initiative in pushing him down to the bed. In one swift movement, you climb in front of him, one knee down on the mattress and the other stretched out in front of Wooyoung’s body. The blade against your thigh is cool on your fingertips, but you don’t pull it out quite yet. The flash of red hair before you stops you at the last second.

Soojin?

The girl is already halfway in the room, door sliding shut behind her, and the second it’s fully closed, she turns to twist the lock into place.

“W-Wait, we’re n-not supposed to lock the doors!” Wooyoung protests, leaning up over your shoulder to see better. Soojin levels him with a sharp glare. You reach behind you to push Wooyoung back enough so that he’s hidden behind your shoulder, matching Soojin’s stare with equal intensity. The girl steps closer to you, draws a single finger up, and stabs you hard in the chest with her dull nail.

“You and me need to have a chat after all it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You clench your fingers around the handle of your knife, still not completely at ease with the woman standing in front of you.

“What do I mean? I mean that my fucking client downstairs just tried to fucking murder me and gave me a message from Han Jisung of all people! Seeing you and hearing from that bastard on the same day after being free from that past for several years? That’s no fucking coincidence, Y/N.”

“Murder!? How did you — how did you get away?”

A laugh of disbelief escapes Soojin’s lips as she pulls back a few feet.

“I killed him, of course! What else was I supposed to do? I dumped the fucker’s body out the window for staff to clean up later. This sort of thing happens frequently enough for them not to question it, and besides, I told them it was a jealous worker so they won’t really care all too much about him. But what the fuck is going on? Why are you here and why did Han Jisung just tell me my time is up and try to have me killed?”

“I… I-I don’t — I’m not with Jisung, I know nothing about that at all. He—” You cut yourself short with a sharp inhale, eyes darting across the floor like it has all the answers in it. “Wait, he knew I would be coming here though. Did he know that you worked here?”

“Unfortunately, not by choice though. We ran across each other around a year ago in the city, and I mentioned working at the House in passing.”

You shift to motion back at Wooyoung and pull your hand off the knife on your leg at last.

“He was brought here against his will by Jisung. Well, whoever Jisung is working with at least. I only came to get him out. We’re — he’s part of the crew I’m working with now. Jisung knew where he would be and that I would come to get him.”

“And he’s still a psychopath when it comes to you then?” Soojin scoffs, brows knitting together to accentuate her disbelief. “He tried to have me killed just so that I would stay out of your business?”

“I don’t know, Soojin,” you exhale. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would do that. I already made a deal with him and he’ll get to take me regardless of what happens here.”

“T-Take you?” Wooyoung interjects. “Take you where?” His hand latches around your elbow and squeezes hard. You ignore the man in favor of maintaining your focus on Soojin, however, much to his dismay.

“Unless you know something Jisung wouldn’t want me to know and he couldn’t even risk the thought of us running into each other and speaking.” At that, Soojin tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“What happened before you left the crew?” Her confusion intensifies to a dramatic degree.

“Have you gone mad? Do you not remember or something? You were always a bit bad with memory, yeah, but has it gotten this bad?”

“Please, Soojin, I’m begging you please just tell me what happened before the crew fell apart. I know you called me a scapegoat for a reason, please.” You reach out across the empty space between your bodies, having to stand to reach her, but when you do, you close a hand around her wrist. Soojin blinks between where you hold her and your face without speaking for so long that you think she’s going to refuse you again.

“I called you a scapegoat because I thought you were in on Jisung’s plan at the time,” she says finally, pulling her other hand up to run through her hair. “You would’ve done anything for him so I thought that was just another part of it.”

“What did I do?”

“I should be asking what you remember happening instead.”

“What I remember is stealing documents and plotting to dismantle the military from the inside out with you guys but I fucked up. I know I fucked up and got caught and Hyunwoo took the blame for me and it got him fucking executed.” Soojin leans back, hand tugging out of your light grip.

“I know nothing of what happened after Ash, Juyeon, and I left Eros. But before we left…” It’s her turn to hold you by the wrist. She turns your arm over and exposes the inside of your left arm, right where that damned brand sits against your raised skin. “You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your burden to bear. You were the scapegoat, and that’s why the team fell apart, that’s why we all broke up and ran away. You didn’t plan to steal anything, nor did you plot a thing. Neither did Hyunwoo. It was all Jisung; Jisung wanted to dismantle the military and kill the king. When Juyeon, Ash, and I found out what he was planning to do, we brought it to Hyunwoo. All Hyunwoo said was that stopping Jisung wasn’t something he could do. So he told us to leave while we still had the chance and that he would take care of things. He would take the blame so that no one else would have to get hurt. But you didn’t want him to do that, so you ran off and carried out Jisung’s plan for him.”

“Which part? Did I k-kill the king… before Hyunwoo died?”

Soojin heaves a deep sigh.

“The last night we were all together as a team, you snuck out of the barracks and infiltrated the palace. You stole the documents Jisung wanted — whatever the fuck they were because I don’t even know why he wanted them in the first place if he was going to kill the king anyways — and you killed the king that night too. Everything went to shit. It all happened too fast for the rest of us to know what was really going on. You just came back to the barracks and turned the lights on and…”

You don’t realize how hard your head is pounding until the woman trails off, voice dying in her throat, and then it hits you will so much force that you feel your body beginning to lurch. You would fall over, most likely smack your head on the sink as well, if not for Wooyoung jumping up and catching you by the waist before you can fully go down. And thanks to him, all you do is hunch over and hold your head in your hands as a stab of pain sears through your skull.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe for me,” he urges as you slump your weight back against him. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re hyperventilating. One breath every five seconds, slow it down, you’re okay.”

“Th-There was blood. There was blood, wasn’t there?” Looking at Soojin fills your vision with pure crimson, but it’s not because of her hair this time.

“Yes,” she whispers back, not daring to speak any louder than that. “You were… drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. And we were so scared you had been hurt somehow. I carried you to the bath and cleaned you but you didn’t have a single scratch on you.”

“O-Oh god,” you choke out. The red in your vision turns coppery as a different image takes over and a new memory swarms your head.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

“Let her go!”

“You ruined everything! How could you do this? Why are you so fucking useless? I told you to sit still and not do anything!”

The water spread to your nostrils and forced its way in as you struggled to find air.

“Jisung, release her right this instant!”

The hands around your throat just grew tighter.

Wooyoung eases you down to the floor when the rest of your strength leaves you. He keeps a hand at your waist, using the other to hold your head to his chest in a desperate attempt to control the wild tremors shooting through your body. You keep a hand pressed to your throbbing temple but it does nothing to alleviate the pain you’re in, one that feels as though something is trying to rip your head in half with their bare hands.

“C-Can’t remember more. I can’t, I do-don’t want to remember anymore, I — it hurts. It hurts too much, it hurts so much.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember anymore, okay? You’re good, you’re done, no more. No more.” Even through the pain, you can’t miss the desperation in Wooyoung’s tone. His hand moves for your arm where your wristband sits, buzzing uselessly against your skin. “Y/N, what does this mean? Is something happening?”

You want to answer, You even open your mouth to do so. Yet the moment you do, the taste of that metallic soapy water fills your mouth and you choke on air.

“Y/N, please, what does it mean? Are we in trouble?” You think you shake your head but the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes isn’t reassuring and you aren’t sure you have any hold over the muscles in your body right now. “Please, do you know where our friend is?” He asks, directing his focus to where Soojin kneels in front of you.

“The brunette?”

“Brunette? No, no, I’m talking a blond?”

“J-Jongho,” you force out, gritting your teeth until your jaw hurts from the force. “Jongho… here too.”

“I saw that name on the register,” Soojin cuts in. “I checked it to find what room you were in and saw his name further down on the list.”

“Please get him and bring him. Please, I know you — we just need your help right now, please,” Wooyoung begs. His grip on your waist tightens a little as Soojin hesitates, and it doesn’t let up until the girl nods and leaves the room in haste. Wooyoung brings you back to his chest once she’s gone, matching your shaky breaths as he gently rocks you back and forth. “I can’t… know your memories or the pain you’re feeling right now, but I know what it’s like to suddenly be hit with memories you forgot you had. Ones that were suppressed behind an iron wall. I know what it’s like to have it slip out and hit you.”

“It fucking hurts.” You clench your jaw again, feeling a burn of pain up the side of your face with the movement. “Like someone is stabbing my b-brain with a da-damn icepick.”

“Are the memories painful?”

“I d-don’t know. I can hardly think straight. My head hurts. That’s all I can think about.”

“The serum… I’m assuming it’s the same one I was given back then. It can’t take away memories. Yeah, they tell you that it’s a wipe, but that’s only because they don’t want you trying to find those old memories. It can’t remove parts of the brain like that. They just use it to lock away memories but there’s no guarantee of it being permanent, so when you do remember something they tried to lock away, it hurts.”

“D-Does it hurt you like this too?”

“Yes, but I’m — pain isn’t something that bothers me all too much, and I’m lucky enough to have Yeosang nearby when it happens. I’ve got a prescription for the pain from Yunho too. We can… we can get you something long-term back on the ship.”

Another stab of pain hits as the door slides open, metal grating hard on your ears, but this time Jongho stands with Soojin. He rushes over to join you and Wooyoung on the floor in a panic, obviously torn between being excited to see Wooyoung again and your current crumpled state.

“Yeosang’s hour is up and he’s waiting at the meeting point. Captain hasn’t buzzed in on the contact yet.” Jongho reaches down to lay a hand against your forehead. You’re quick enough to turn your face further into Wooyoung’s shirt, inhaling the sickening floral scent that clings to his skin.

“Don’t even think about trying to take it away,” you hiss.

“I can’t take physical pain, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Here, something for the pain.” Soojin interrupts the moment to lean over you with a cup of unknown contents. “Fast-acting pain reliever. Every room has some in it just in case patrons get too out of hand. We keep it in the cabinets, I promise it’s nothing bad. It’ll numb you and make you a bit sluggish for a while, but it’ll also take the pain away.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs as he takes the cup from her hands. He helps bring the cup to your lips, pushing some of the murky grey liquid inside into your mouth, and you struggle not to gag around the taste of it. He doesn’t stop until the entirety of its contents are drained into your mouth then tilts your head back to keep it down when some threatens to drip out the corners of your lips. An unknown hand comes down on your knee.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Soojin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with this information.” You swallow hard only to choke a second later on the putrid aftertaste clinging to your tongue. Wooyoung lets you cough into his shoulder without complaint, passing the now empty cup back to Soojin.

“You couldn’t have known,” you murmur after escaping the coughing fit. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know what they would do to you after we left the planet,” she sighs through the quiet of the room. “I should have expected it honestly, knowing Jisung, but maybe I hoped he would be better than that. He always manipulated you so it only makes sense that he would try to manipulate your memories too. Do you at least know what happened a little bit better now?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah.” You try to pull away from Wooyoung and get up but his grip on you doesn’t let up. “My memories were taken away for a second time and replaced with something else. So instead of only losing fourteen years of my life, I lost eighteen and spent the last three years believing those manipulated memories to be real. I’m peachy.”

Another buzz from your wristband pulls your attention away, and Jongho glances down at his own too.

“Cameras are down.”

“Let’s go then,” you mutter.

“Are you okay to move? Don’t push it if you’re not strong enough.”

“We need to go now while we still can,” you protect, letting Wooyoung help you to your feet even if it’s on shaky legs. Jongho gives a curt nod then heads for the window, no doubt to pry it open. Soojin catches you by the arm before you can fully turn away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember all of it, there are still things I regret saying and doing to you. I should have known back then how much Jisung was manipulating you and not pushed so much blame onto your shoulders.”

“You can get out now with us, Soojin. While you have the chance.”

“And do what with that freedom?” She huffs out a dry and lifeless laugh. “Wander aimlessly? Ash and Juyeon are both missing in action. I have no clues or leads on where they might be or if they’re even alive. I don’t have anything left out there beyond the House.”

“I… if I hear anything out there about them, I promise I’ll send you a message. I’ll find a way to get news to you, maybe through my captain’s contact or something. I swear if I can help you get out of this hellhole I will.”

Soojin reaches up to ruffle her hand through your hair, mussing the loose locks more.

“You always were a good kid, Y/N. Too good for the life you were forced to live.” It hurts to watch her smile. It hurts even more to let Wooyoung guide you to where Jongho waits by the now open window. “Go while you can, you three. The medicine will wear off in a few hours, but hopefully, you’ll have access to something better by then. I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

Jongho dips through the open space first, hopping down to the pristine streets below with little issue.

“Send Y/N down next!”

You can’t tear your gaze off Soojin. You don’t know when you might see her again or if you even will, and it hurts to leave her behind like this but she just keeps smiling at you with bright eyes and blinding hair.

“T-Thank you, Soojin. Please stay safe, if you can.”

“Always.”

With that, Wooyoung hoists you over the ledge of the window and dangles you far enough down so that your fall is softened a bit. Jongho catches you by the legs, taking the brunt of your weight before you hit the ground. Wooyoung drops down beside you without warning a second later. As Jongho eases you down, you dare to glance up at the window you just left from, and it shuts slowly without a sign from Soojin inside.

Wooyoung rushes back to your side and loops an arm back around your waist when you start to slump forward again.

“That’s — that’ll look too suspicious,” you mutter, pulling his arm back to his own side.

“We just dropped out a fucking window. I’m sure that would look more suspicious.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Yet two steps later, you’re stumbling over your heels and Jongho comes to your rescue this time. He tugs your arm through his own as he walks forward without saying a word. You can only lean your weight on him and slump your chin against his shoulder.

“Thank you…”

Silence drapes over the three of you as you make your way to the meeting point with Yeosang. You aren’t in as much pain as you were earlier (Soojin wasn’t bluffing when she said fast-acting) but the medicine is already making you a bit groggy. It feels a bit like you’re wading through sludge just trying to walk a few steps, and frankly, Jongho is the only thing keeping you going at this point. Wooyoung lingers at your other side. Every once in a while, you feel his worried gaze find its way to your form. He might even be speaking to you at some point because you hear something that sounds vaguely like his voice through the radio static in your ears, but there is far too much on your mind and too much to think about right now for you to pay any attention to that.

If… if I killed the king before Hyunwoo’s execution, then who did I kill that night? Did I kill anyone at all? Was that memory fabricated? What have I been working towards all these years if that’s a lie?

Funny how your search for answers only left you with more questions instead. There are too many questions to keep track of and not remotely enough answers to them. You know you won’t be able to have those answers yet either, not while San and Mingi are still missing and Jisung is bothering you. Where would you even look for answers now? Jisung would never tell you a thing, Hyunwoo is dead and gone, and now you’re leaving Soojin behind.

The one thing that reaches your brain through the static in your ears is a dry and choked sob. You pull yourself out of your thoughts as Wooyoung disappears from your side. It doesn’t take much to guess why. You’ve reached the meeting point, the all too small alleyway where Yeosang waits for you three, and Wooyoung is running straight to him with reckless abandon.

“Y-Yeosang, angel, Yeosang, my god I’m—” Wooyoung’s voice dies in a cracked sob when he reaches the Elitist. His hands barely brush the man’s shoulders because Yeosang drops to his knees in front of Wooyoung, face hidden but no doubt bearing tears, and he balls his fists around the flimsy material of Wooyoung’s pants. He presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s hip, hands traveling further up to press against the small of his back. Wooyoung can only card a hand through Yeosang’s hair in response, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough for both of them like this, with Yeosang’s knuckles white from the pressure of clinging to Wooyoung, and you and Jongho maintain your distance as best you can to give them this moment.

“Are they happy?” You whisper to Jongho even though the answer is blindingly obvious before you. The Berserker’s lips twist into a small grin.

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe how they’re feeling right now.”

Yeosang pulls his head off Wooyoung’s hip and stares up at the man with tears on his cheeks and stars in his eyes. Wooyoung dips down to the Elitist’s height, pulling his face up to his own and slotting their lips together like nothing else in the universe exists around them. Again, it’s raw, as all emotions between these two seem to be, but it belongs to them and it’s something you can’t take away from them. When they part lips to gulp in desperate breaths of fresh air, Wooyoung places his forehead over Yeosang’s and takes the breath from his lungs like that. They don’t exchange words but there doesn’t seem to be a need for words either, not until Yeosang seems to catch hold of himself and come back to his senses.

“The car is waiting for us at the other end of the alley. Driver’s already pulled up.” Jongho nods when the Elitist drags his gaze over to where the two of you stand. Yeosang lets Wooyoung pull him back into space after that, unable to contain a smile as the Siren continues to press more kisses to his cheeks. You and Jongho trail behind them to the other end of the alleyway. Seeing them together like this makes it worth it. You knew it would and you were striving to bring them this moment, but seeing it unfold before you like this increases that feeling tenfold.

Once in the car, Yeosang sits Wooyoung down in one of the cushioned seats then drops to the floor between his legs even when Wooyoung protests and tells him to get up.

“Stop, that’s weird! It looks weird, Yeo, please! It looks like you’re trying to su—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles back as he drops his head to rest against Wooyoung’s thigh. “You’re the one who makes everything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Wooyoung obviously doesn’t mind all too much because he returns to toying with the Elitist’s blond locks moments later as you and Jongho settle into the seats beside the pair. And from where you’re sitting, they really do look like young boys again, more than just a former slave and ex-prince but also less than that. Just… boys who fell in love despite the odds set against them.

“I’m sorry, Woo, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, angel, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You tune out of the conversation there. It’s far too intimate and personal for you to encroach on, and the medicine has you falling asleep in your seat anyways. Jongho seems to pick up on that, reaching over to pat your leg.

“Rest while you can.”

A hum comes as your reply as you slump to the side, head hitting the side of the car with a loud thud. Jongho exhales a quiet laugh and pulls you over to rest against his shoulder instead.

“’m sorry for snapping at you,” you murmur. You’re forcing your eyes to stay open long enough to get the apology out but it’s growing more difficult by the second. “I didn’t mean to, I was afraid… of her slipping out of my grasp but… that’s no excuse.”

Your fluttering eyes snap wide open when something presses down hard on your nose. You blink uselessly at Jongho and the finger he hovers over your face.

“Stop talking nonsense, yeah? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Hm, no, I’m not.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I’m staying right here.”

“And we’ll get San back?” You mumble just before the drowsiness wins.

“We’ll get your San back too, I promise.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall imma be honest this chapter feels like a whole fever dream and a half but i love it nonetheless she’s my Baby i hope you guys love her just as much and enjoy her <3 lots happened but also not a lot happened? i feel like the wc is so dramatic for Not A Lot but yaknow that’s life ! next chapter we’re getting juicy and bringing a part 16 move back bc teehee that’s what i do best u know me anywho let me know what u think as always i love u all im so happy to bring u guys this chapter and so excited for the coming ones!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ ​@sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss​​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​ @icekdy​ @eggteez​​ @bangtanxberm​​ @uglychildd​ @lucymultistan​​​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[yellowsuitcase]

Prophecy Problems // Draco Malfoy

Request from @lovecatsnotpeople

A/N: For this imagine, please pretend Hermione becomes the Minister of Magic much sooner than 2019, lol.

Summary: Draco is Y/N’s boss and she comes to him after she makes a mistake. He gets angry.

Warning(s): SMUT, Unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, slight voyeurism (but not really)

Word Count: 4k

Y/N walked through the hallways of the Ministry with guilt sitting heavy in her gut. She knew her boss would be angry at her, there was no doubt about it. To say she had fucked up was an understatement. Since she was the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, she had done her daily rounds that morning. However, when she was leaving, she noticed a new prophecy waiting to be placed on an open stand. Disaster struck when she picked it up and read the name on the tag. She was so unprepared to see that name on the paper and thus dropped the orb. When the sound of it shattering reached her ears, Y/N knew she was done for. The silvery smoke circled around her feet and then was reduced to white ashes. Once she processed what she had done, she sprinted out of the hall quicker than she ever thought possible of herself.

And now Y/N stood outside her boss’s door. It looked more daunting than ever. She adjusted her brown suede skirt, clenched her hands, and inhaled deeply. Slowly, she raised her fist and knocked on the wooden door. “Come in,” said a firm voice. 

Y/N turned the door handle and stepped one foot into the room, but before she was entirely through the archway, her eye caught sight of the plaque on the wall. Draco Malfoy, Head of the Department of Mysteries. Her heart began to pound. She’d only been in this office a handful of times, despite wishing she could visit more often. It was a spacious room filled with white and black decor. The walls were a stark white, making the black picture frames and tapestries stand out. To her left were a coat hanger and stand-alone closet. In the back corner sat a tall plant in a silver pot; it had orange flowers sprouting from it. The floor was covered with the same stone from the hallway, but there was a large emerald rug with intricate details in this office. And in the center of the room was Draco, sitting at his desk. It was littered with parchment as well as empty chocolate frog boxes. The man himself was tossing a green apple up into the air and letting it fall back into his hand. He looked to be in a good mood. He caught the apple in his firm grasp, the veins in his hand becoming visible, and set it down on the cedar desk. He looked up at her with interest in his eyes. But that soon faded when he noticed the remorseful look upon her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he said curiously. “What brings you to my office?” he asked as Y/N closed the door behind her; she still hadn’t made eye contact with him. She was already terrified of what his reaction to her news would be, and it didn’t help that he was quite possibly the most attractive man in the building. “Well, you’re my boss, so I have to report to you if something ever goes wrong,” she replied, cutting to the chase. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Has something gone awry?” he questioned while gesturing to the leather-clad chair in front of him. Y/N gulped, stepped forward. She scanned Draco up and down while still avoiding eye contact. He looked particularly striking today. His hair was perfectly styled. The wispy bangs on his forehead appeared soft. He was wearing a long black jacket as well as a button-up paired with a green tie. The chandelier in his office provided perfect lighting; his skin was almost glowing. His legs were spread to provide support for his elbows. Y/N couldn’t help but steal a glance at his bulge, wondering if the rumors were true about Draco’s size. Of course, she couldn’t tell just by looking. She felt ashamed of herself and averted her eyes as she took a reluctant seat.

“I’m afraid so,” she answered once she was settled. She then began to pick at some loose thread on the seams of the chair, her nerves getting the best of her.

“Quit picking. You’ll pull out the entire stitching,” Draco ordered sternly. Y/N’s hand immediately released the thread and found a new place on top of her lap. She was growing more anxious by the second, and Draco’s irritation was increasing. Y/N gulped before finally making eye contact with the man. He was looking at her intently, expectantly almost. His hands were clasped underneath his chin as he stared at her. Y/N decided to spit it out.

“I was doing my rounds this morning, and there was a new prophecy, and I accidentally dropped it, and it broke,” she said quickly, her words mushing together. Draco smiled at her and separated his hands. “That’s not the end of the world, Y/N, you know that,” he assured. “Whose was it? We’ll send them an owl to inform them of the accident,” he said as he sat up in his chair. It was clear Draco didn’t understand the gravity of the situation as he picked up the apple again and took a bite out of it. Y/N took a deep breath before responding. “It was Hermione Granger’s.”

Draco stopped moving, a stoic expression fell over his face. Y/N watched as his eyes grew dark. He stood up from his chair, walked over to the bin, spat out his food, and tossed the apple in with it. Y/N looked down, feeling sick to her stomach. She heard him coming towards her. His feet came into view; they were right in front of hers. “Stand up,” he commanded. Y/N gripped the arms of the chair and hoisted herself to a standing position. She stared intently at the smudge on her glossy black flats as fear began to stir in her chest. “Look at me,” Draco said quietly. Y/N didn’t move an inch; she was too afraid. 

“You’re telling me you dropped the Minister’s prophecy? Is that correct?” Draco asked. Y/N could feel his breath on her face; she nodded solemnly. “You do realize I’ll have to take the blame for your fuck up, don’t you?” he asked, his tone sharp. “She’ll be angry, hell, she’s hardly forgiven me for our time at Hogwarts, she’s not going to be happy to hear her prophecy was smashed to smithereens, is she Y/N?” Draco asked condescendingly; he was raising his voice now. Y/N shook her head. 

“That’s what I thought,” he snapped. He stormed over to his desk and ran his hands through his hair. Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her, and she spared a glance up at him. He was positively fuming; she wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam bursting from his ears. 

Draco breathed heavily as he shuffled through papers on his desk. “Fuck!” he yelled, making Y/N jump. The man reached for his neck, roughly loosened his tie, and yanked it over his head. Y/N felt her skin turn hot; she averted her eyes back to the floor. “Bloody hell, Y/N. If I lose my job for this, you’re coming down with me,” he shouted. Y/N flinched at his words. Suddenly, his hand was on her face, her heart stopped. 

“Look at me,” Draco growled as he forced her chin upwards. His face was tight, and his teeth were bared. Even though fear coursed through Y/N’s veins, she couldn’t resist a peek at his tempting lips. Draco tightened his grip on her jaw. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I’ve seen you looking at me.” Y/N held her breath. She stared into Draco’s eyes, where once they held anger, they now held lust. “Every day in the hallways, I see you. I see you looking me up and down. I notice how your eyes linger, Y/N,” Draco said as he began trailing his hand down her face and onto her neck. He applied light pressure, just enough to send a pleasant buzz through her body. 

“Frankly, I find it flattering, almost endearing. But, darling, let me ask you this…” Draco trailed off. His left hand remained around Y/N’s neck while his right traveled to the small of her back. She breathed heavily as he began to trace small circles on the fabric of her skirt. Suddenly, he pressed his palm flat against her. Y/N felt herself growing lightheaded with desire. Draco chuckled lightly and pushed her hips forward, firmly pinning her against him. Y/N started to gasp, but Draco tightened his grip on her neck, cutting off her airflow. He smiled down at her as she squirmed.

“Are you sure that this is something you want?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. Draco cocked his head, prompting her to answer. She was unable to speak, so she gingerly nodded her head. Draco smirked. “Is that so?” his face turned dark, “then prove it,” he whispered. He released his hold on her neck, and Y/N jumped into action, smashing her lips against his. Draco smiled into the kiss and slipped his tongue inside Y/N’s mouth, where he gently began to swirl it around hers. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as Draco then began to suck on her tongue. Y/N pressed her thighs together and felt her wetness growing.

Draco pulled away to look at the woman in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her white shirt had been drawn up, revealing her stomach. Draco put his hands on her cheeks and pulled her close to kiss her swollen lips. He nibbled on her upper lip before pushing away and spinning Y/N around so that her butt was pressed against the front of his desk. He smirked at her before crouching down to his knees. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Draco pushed her shirt farther up her torso. He sensed Y/N’s eyes on him but paid her no mind. Swiftly, he took out his wand and cast a quick, locking spell on the door. He turned back to Y/N and gently kissed her stomach while simultaneously gripping her thighs underneath her skirt, preventing her from rubbing her thighs together like she had been doing previously. 

“Draco,” she mewled. The man pulled away from her immediately and glared up at her. Even though she was looking down on him, his next words still made her falter. “Call me, sir,” he whispered. Y/N shuddered as she felt his breath fan over her stomach. Draco kissed her again, this time taking some of her skin into his mouth, biting and sucking softly. When he released her, there was a red mark beginning to form next to her bellybutton. Draco kept a firm grip on her thighs as he pressed a kiss to her lower abdomen through her skirt. It had a little corset in the front instead of a zipper or button. He considered untying it but figured it would be more fun to have her keep it on. He removed his hands from her thighs and grabbed the hem of her skirt, lifting it over his head. He was now facing her crotch. Y/N was breathing fast above him; he could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind.

Draco hovered his mouth over her inner thighs, teasing her. She attempted to close her legs, trying to create friction, but his hands flew to her knees and gripped them tightly. He then pressed his mouth to her clothed pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. He slowly began to lick her through her underwear, making it even damper than it already was. He could tell she was getting impatient because of the way she was pushing her hips upwards, so he took the fabric in between his teeth and yanked it down, revealing her pussy to him. Draco pursed his lips and blew air directly onto her clit. Y/N whined and tried to buck her hips, but Draco’s firm grip kept her pinned to the desk. “Stay still,” he ordered before sticking out his tongue and dragging it down her slit.

Y/N slapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping her. She never thought in a million years she’d be in this position. But there she was, pressed against her boss’s desk and being eaten out by him. His tongue was thrusting in and out of her entrance slowly, steadily. It was making Y/N dizzy. She desperately wanted him to get on with it and slip himself inside her. Alas, Y/N knew Draco. She knew that anything that happened between them would only occur according to his terms. Y/N had no control in Draco’s grasp; that was obvious. And while that aroused her, it also frustrated her to no end. 

Draco continued flicking his tongue within her, but then he added his thumb into the equation. With it, he began to rub her clit, drawing out a long moan from Y/N, whose fingers were squeezing the edge of the desk. She felt her legs begin to tremble, the weight of her body was getting to be too much, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up much longer. Despite the burning in her calves, Y/N held herself still as she felt her climax approaching. “Please, sir,” she pleaded. Draco’s tongue began to speed up while his thumb maintained a consistent pace. The contrast between slow rubbing and fast thrusting brought Y/N to the edge. She clenched her walls and prepared for orgasm, but it never came. At the last second, Draco lifted his thumb off her clit and retracted his tongue, leaving her empty.

Laughing, Draco pulled himself out from under her skirt. He pushed off his knees and stood up, looking into Y/N’s eyes. “Did you really think I’d let you cum?” he asked, an amused look on his face. Y/N stared at him silently; she couldn’t think about anything besides the intense throbbing between her legs. “Lemme let you in on a little secret, darling,” he said while putting his large hand on her neck and pulling her close, “The only time you’re allowed to cum is when you’re wrapped around my cock and begging for it. Understood?” he growled in her ear. His words had a physical effect on Y/N’s body; she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, feeling his hand against her throat. 

“Louder,” he demanded. Y/N swallowed thickly before repeating herself. “Yes, sir, I understand.” Draco tightened his hold on her neck and then abruptly let go. He pushed her to the side and laid his hands on his desk, swiftly brushing off all the papers onto the floor, not caring about the mess. Y/N didn’t waste a moment; she kicked her underwear off her feet and rushed to the end of the desk. Putting her hands on top of it, she jumped up and laid down. Draco cocked an eyebrow; he looked pleasantly surprised by her actions.

“Somebody’s eager,” Draco mused. Y/N let out a whine and arched her back. She wanted him badly. Draco tutted and walked around the desk, where he positioned himself between her legs. He locked eyes with Y/N and maintained contact with her as he took the bottom of her skirt and lifted it up, exposing her bare pussy to the air. Y/N couldn’t help but moan. She was the most aroused she’d ever been in her life. Draco extended his index finger and gently slid it inside her. With his opposite hand, he held her hips down, already anticipating that he’d have to if he didn’t want her to squirm. 

Y/N, with her legs spread and waist held down, was rendered helpless to Draco’s touch. All she could do was moan as he inserted another finger and slowly thrust into her. In between thrusts, he spread his fingers and began to stretch her out. “Sir…” Y/N called quietly. Draco hummed. “What is it, princess?” he asked. 

“I need you,” she replied, feeling Draco insert yet another finger. Y/N clenched down on his digits inside her. When he gave her a particularly hard thrust, she whimpered. Then he grabbed her chin roughly. He held her face in his hand and put his thumb over her lips. She instinctively took it into her mouth and began to suck. Draco smiled and said, “I’m gentle now, but don’t worry darling, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. How does that sound?”

Y/N groaned and felt a blush rise to her cheeks, painting them red. Draco let go of her face and continued to slide his fingers in and out of her, making sure to go slow. Y/N waited a few more minutes before saying, “Sir, please, I’m ready.” 

“Are you now?” Draco asked, still stretching his fingers within her. Y/N whined and wriggled on the desk, feeling her frustration grow. He wasn’t listening to her. “Yes,” she retorted, letting her annoyance be known through her tone. She gasped when she felt a sharp slap land on her inner thigh. “You’re ready when I say you’re ready,” Draco growled. Y/N gulped and remained silent, letting Draco put a fourth finger inside her. He thrust hard and spread his fingers; the drag of his digits against her walls sent sparks through her body. She could feel her wetness begin to drip, and she felt as though she was going insane with need.

Finally, Draco removed his fingers. He smirked at Y/N as he began to unbutton his pants. She watched as he pushed down his underwear, and his dick sprung free. He rubbed it a few times and aligned the tip with her entrance. Y/N held her breath and bit her lip as he slammed his hips forward, filling her to the hilt. She was hardly able to breathe in as he immediately began to pull out and force himself back in. He set a harsh pace; the desk was shaking underneath them. “Fuck! Don’t stop,” she begged. 

Draco grunted and gripped her hips, pulling them towards him so that they met his with each thrust. Y/N reached for something, anything to hold onto; she needed to ground herself. Draco seemed to take notice of her panic. He let go over her hips, grabbed her thighs, and brought them to his waist. Y/N got the hint and wrapped her legs around his middle, bringing the pair even closer, allowing Draco to pound her even harder. Y/N nearly screamed when he found a deeper spot within her. She noticed Draco had repositioned his hands. They were now pressed to the desk on either side of her head. Y/N reached up and gripped his forearms. This was a mistake. She watched as a vexed expression formed on Draco’s face. In a swift and aggressive motion, he turned his arms out, forcing Y/N to let go of him, and when her hands were in the air, he seized her wrists, pinning them to the desk. Y/N felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Unknowingly, she clenched down on his cock, making him laugh. He peered at her with a prideful look on his face. “Did you like that, Y/N? Does pinning you to the desk make you wet, hmm?” he cooed tauntingly. Draco stared at her expectantly. When she didn’t reply, he slowed his speed.

Y/N whimpered and jutted her hips, trying to urge him to resume his brutal pace. Draco shook his head. “Answer me, darling, maybe then I’ll make you cum.” Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. God, he was too much. “Come on, princess, who makes you this soaked? Tell me,” he commanded. Y/N desperately needed to reach her high, so she told him what he wanted to hear. “You, sir.” 

“Who?” Draco asked again while slamming his hips into her.

Y/N gasped and cried out, “You sir, you make me wet!” Draco smirked. “That’s what I thought,” he grunted. To Y/N’s delight, he began to increase his pace. His face was close to hers; she could feel his breath on her face. Then he hit it, her g-spot. Once the head of his cock touched it, she screamed, letting Draco know he’d found it. He released her wrist and instead wrapped his fingers around her neck, forcing her to look at him. Y/N couldn't move her head as he slammed into her, hitting that spot repeatedly. She felt her climax approaching but was unable to warn Draco. All she could do was take it.

But Draco was perceptive; he knew Y/N was nearing her high. “You gonna cum on my cock, darling? Go on then, cum,” he said. And with that, she was pushed over the edge, crying out as she fell. The world seemed to stop spinning; all Y/N could feel was the electricity running through her body. Every one of her muscles was tense as she endured the waves of pleasure. Draco was nearing his end as well. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, and within thirty seconds, he was releasing inside her. His body jerked with pleasure as his cum filled Y/N’s hot pussy. Draco groaned and let his body fall on top of the woman underneath him. 

The pair panted heavily as they came down from their orgasms. When Y/N felt strong enough, she raised a shaky hand to Draco’s face and stroked it softly. He kissed her hand while opening his eyes. “That was incredible,” Y/N breathed, still reeling from what just happened. Draco chuckled lightly. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said. 

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Y/N felt her blood run cold; she looked at Draco, terror on her face. Her boss, however, looked more relaxed than a sleeping baby. “Just a moment,” he called out. Swiftly, he pushed himself off Y/N, reached under her arms, and picked her up. He walked them over to his chair and sat down, the impact forcing his cock deep inside her. Draco then took out his wand and wordlessly summoned the papers back to the top of his desk. “Come in,” he said calmly as he unlocked the door.

Y/N felt her heart drop. She was sitting on Draco Malfoy’s lap, his dick still inside of her, and he just told whoever is outside his door to come in. As quickly as she could, Y/N ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make it appear as though they had not just had rough intercourse. Just as she was pulling down her shirt, the door opened, and Y/N slapped a soft smile onto her face. When she saw who stood in the doorway, she felt bile rise in her throat. There stood Hermione Granger, the current Minister of Magic. 

“Hey Malfoy, I was just stopping by to tell you that - oh! Y/N, I-I didn’t know you were here,” Hermione stuttered. Despite her apparent confusion, she didn’t ask why Y/N was on Draco’s lap. “Well, anyway, it’s good you’re both here. I was informed that a prophecy came in today with my name on it. Did you see it, Y/N?” she asked. Y/N gulped and nodded. “I did.” Hermione smiled. “Oh good, well, then you must know where it is, right?” she inquired. Draco gripped her waist, but Y/N ignored her boss and answered Hermione. “I do. Why do you ask?” she questioned with a fake smile on her lips. 

“Well, it turns out that it’s not actually my prophecy. See, the Seer was actually talking about someone named Helga Graingle. Apparently, she’s a rather old witch. Or I suppose, was, is the better term. She passed away early this morning,” Hermione told the pair. Draco cleared his throat. “How unfortunate,” he replied. Y/N nodded, “That’s horrible. She didn’t even get to hear her prophecy.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s a shame. But anyway, I just wanted to let you know about the mix-up. I’ll be on my way now…” she trailed off as her eyes flickered to Y/N’s hips. Obviously, something was up, but the Minister said nothing; she simply nodded her head and slinked out the door, shutting it behind her.

Once she was gone, Y/N let out a sigh of relief. “Merlin,” she muttered. Draco pressed his lips to her neck. “Got lucky, didn’t you, princess?” he taunted. Y/N rolled her eyes and pushed him away lightly. “Shut up, Malfoy.” Draco chuckled and squeezed his arms around her waist. Y/N felt her heart stutter, the things this man did to her.

[anntoldst0ries]

None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

Tag 🔖 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @maurine07 @lovingramsey @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @archxxronrookie @jamespotterthefirst @the-pale-goddess @queencarb @fireycookie @qrkowna @coffeeheartaddict @utterlyinevitable @gryffindordaughterofathena @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @mrs-ramsey @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @mercury84choices @lisha1valecha @lucy-268 @stateofgracious @danijimenezv @alina-yol-ramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[bonniebird]

Geralt x Reader

Requested by Anon

Jaskier sighed, hands on hips as he stopped. “I give up. Honestly! Leaves me with the horse, says to follow it if there’s trouble and then just leave. How does someone that big get lost!” He complained to himself.

Roach stomped her hoof and seemed to be frowning at him. If horses could frown. Roch leant in closer and Jaskier gave her a suspicious look. She nudged him hard with her muzzle until he stumbled down a slight hill and landed in a heap. He looked up at her and shook his head. The horse had dragged him out this way. He scrambled to his feet when he realised there was something moving a round just through the thick bush. Against his better judgement he hurried to see what it could be.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted as soon as he saw the witcher. He was covered into something thick and foul smelling. That didn’t take away from the fact that his foot prints seemed to go on as far as the eye could see and vanish into the woods.

“Jaskier. Why are you here?” Geralt asked and frowned at him.

“You’ve been here for over three weeks. You abandoned (Y/N) at the tavern and she had to move on, so she didn’t burn through your coin. Which I might add she took all of it, bar enough to pay for Roach! She had to go and find me and ask me to find you.”

“Three days… I’ve… we were here for three days!” Geralt insisted.

“This is about (Y/N) isn’t it? Because this happened the last time the three of us were together. You walked into a giant tree because you were looking at her while she spoke! You nearly got us all killed!” Jaskier accused. Geralt simply grunted and followed Jaskier haphazard tracks back up to Roach. She seemed to greet Geralt with some disapproval, Jaskier thought the horse seemed spurned at having been left. Though he was quickly forgiven.

At the tavern Geralt retrieved his belongings and a letter from you, saying where he could find you and what of his you had managed to take on your horse. He was given, somewhat reluctantly, the spare gold you had used to pay for Roach’s stay at the small stable at the back of the tavern.

***************

“I think you should talk to (Y/N).” Jaskier said to Geralt as the witcher shifte in his bath. “You just… she had clearly broken your mind in some magic way.”

“(Y/N) had no magic. I talk to her almost as much as I talk to Roach.” Geralt answered gruffly.

“Right...the fact that you talk to a horse more than the woman you are obviously painfully in love with, is quite literally insane Geralt. I was referring to your feelings.”

“You want me to talk to (Y/N) about my feelings?” 

“Well… yes. Geralt you can’t keep getting lost and wandering off. You have people that need you and that want to know you’re safe and you go off and wonder about with your empty head, thinking about (Y/N). You need to do something about it. Talk to (Y/N) and it will help.”

“If I am thinking of (Y/N) then would my head not be empty. When I am wondering off?” Geralt said and Jaskier sighed.

“That would be the thing you focus on!” Jaskier muttered.

“Perhaps someone put a spell on me. Perhaps... Yennefer.” 

“While I wouldn’t rule that out ever. I very much think this is a romance thing between the two of you.” Jaskier insisted.

No matter how many times Jaskier pressed the fact that Greralt clearly had romantic feelings for you Geralt would simply grunt. The grunt that Jaskier had learned meant no, Jaskier, you’re right I just don’t want to admit it. At least that’s what Jaskier had  decided it meant the first time he’d heard it.

Jaskier decided that for the time being, he should stick with Geralt in case he went missing again. When they finally caught up with you, Jaskier had gone straight to the tavern to find you, while Geralt was rushed away by towns folk to look at the tracks of their local monster.

Jaskier was with you, both horses packed and waiting for Geralt the next morning. He slowly trudged through the streets and stopped when he saw you both. You’d given Jaskier your horse and let yourself up onto Roach who seemed more than fine with it.

He gave you something that Jaskier would call a smile, for Geralt, it was a smile. If it were anyone else it would be some sort of strangle grimis. “(Y/N).” He said quickly as he stepped closer, gently petting Roach who lent into his touch as he rubbed down her neck.

“You’re injured? We were hoping to move on quickly, there’s something cutting through a town… two days away, rather quickly. They don’t have much to offer but it seems serious. We can wait if you need to heal or…”

“I’ll be fine. We should keep moving. Are you coming?” He added the last part as a tossed out comment to Jaskier who raised his eyebrows.

“Me? The bard who has made you famous? The one who saved you from wondering until you dropped dead in the woods, covered in monster guts? Well I thought that perhaps I would.” Jaskier said sarcastically and frowned at Geralt who grunted.

“He is on your horse.” He said gruffly.

“Oh, I can get of Roach if you’d like. I don’t mind walking for a while.” You offered. The horse brayed softly and wiggled her head, Geralt stared at her for a moment before putting his hand out onto your waist to stop you from climbing out of the saddle.

“No. She’ll like carrying the lighter load for a change.” He said and stared up at you, hand in place for longer than he needed to. After a moment Jaskier cleared his throat, clearly enjoying the entertainment of Geralt’s conflict. “We should get going. If we press on and do not stop too many times we could get there sooner.”

Geralt reluctantly pulled his hand away, stroking down your side as he cleared his throat and stepped away. “Oh! Geralt, your payment for the monster slaying. Two of those are Jaskier’s, he sang… a lot.” You said as grabbed at his hand, setting a small bag that clinked as it settled in his palm.

“Hmm.” He said quickly as yousqeezed his fingers, smiled and let go of him.

“Anything anyone wants to talk about?” Jaskier asked as the group started heading towards the next town.

“I saw a very strange small flying thing. I don’t know what it was.”

“Did it bite you?” Geralt asked as he took Roach’s reins from you and gently led the way.

“No.”

“Then it was just a strange bug.” Geralt assured you.

“Ok, now that’s resolved. Any conflicting feelings we want to talk about?” Jaskier pressed as he moved your horse to keep up with Roach.

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | TWO

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,495

warnings: depression, anxiety, mental illness! angst, fluff if you squint really hard

18+!!! minors stay away

Peter Parker was relentless, insufferable, and extremely annoying. It all started the morning after what you'd decided to call The Encounter, and it had been unending ever since. Nearly a week had passed since that fateful night, and you'd yet to see a day at school where Peter didn't try his hardest to get under your skin.

On Monday he sat next to you in Calculus, and no matter how blatantly you ignored him for the entire class, he continued to whisper facts about himself and stupid little jokes to you. You wished you could say you hadn't listened, but ever since that morning you'd been unable to forget that his favorite color was red, his Aunt packed him a lunch every day that he threw away because she couldn't cook, and his middle name was Benjamin. Why he thought you needed or even wanted to know such things you weren't sure, but even more befuddling was the fact that you couldn't un-learn them.

When Tuesday rolled around he stepped it up a notch, much to your dismay. He sat with you during Calculus and insisted on jogging with you during gym class, feigning that he was out of breath despite your slow pace and the fact that you were certain he could run for miles without getting winded. He told you more jokes then, too. One of which you begrudgingly found yourself exhaling a little harder over whenever it popped into your head; what did one stranger say to the other? Nothing. They didn't know each other.

Wednesday was the worst, because Peter made a scene. You came into calculus late and the teacher scolded you in front of the class, at which point you got flustered and tripped over your untied shoe laces. Your books spilled to the floor and you tumbled to your knees in front of everyone, and the whole class laughed. But Peter? Peter just had to be the hero, and your blood boiled at his actions.

He'd dramatically swept all his books off of his desk, feigning surprise at the loud clatter as if he hadn't done it intentionally. When the teacher scolded him, too, he just apologized and made a show of picking up each of his things one by one. "Why did you do that?" you'd hissed as you sat down, scowling at the brown-eyed boy who just blinked at you innocently.

"Do what?"

He'd ran with you in gym class again, and he'd even followed you to your locker afterwards. In all the years you'd known of Peter, you had never known him to be much of a talker. In fact, he seemed like a rather shy boy who didn't like to branch out much. With you, though, that was far from the case. Silence was a pipe dream with him around.

On Thursday he sat next to you in Calculus, ran with you in gym, walked you to your locker, and went so far as to sit with you at lunch. You'd put your earbuds in and blasted music as loud as you could without hurting yourself too much, but every time you looked up you could see he was still talking. Part of you wondered why he was being so relentless, but you didn't want to ask. If you asked he would think you cared, and you didn't. You didn't care at all, and the sooner he figured that out, the sooner he would leave you alone.

Or, at least you hoped so. As you walked into school on Friday morning, you groaned at the sight of Peter waiting patiently beside your locker. "What do you want, Parker?" you gritted out, glaring at him as you twisted the dial to enter your combination.

He grinned in spite of your glare, "I'm walking you to Calculus today, obviously. How was your night, (Y/N)? Do anything fun?"

"What part of I don't need friends did you not understand?" you demanded, giving him a stale look as you swung the metal door open with a clang. Peter blinked at you, clearly not used to you actually speaking back to him, and further uncomfortable with your hostility. What did he expect? Did he expect for you to suddenly be happy? To not be completely fucked up anymore just because he started talking to you?

He replaced his lazy smile and shrugged, retorting, "You know my secret and I know yours. That makes us friends."

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shout, yell, stomp your feet, and throw a tantrum fit for a child. Friends were not something you wanted or needed, and you certainly didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. You didn't want to be friends with someone just because they were worried you'd spill their dirty little secret, or because they pitied the girl who wanted to die.

The black hole in your chest was worse than ever that day, and it sucked away all the fight you had in you. So, with a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your earbuds in your ears and tuned him out once more. Just like he had at lunch, Peter continued to ramble even though he knew you weren't listening, and you pretended you didn't see his lips moving at the speed of light.

For once, at the very least, he at least shut up in class. You were thankful for the break from his incessant chatter, the endless monologue you couldn't escape from when you were stuck in a desk while Mr. Tinley droned on and on. Calculus was far from interesting, but you found yourself beyond relieved to finally be able to pay any sort of attention to the lesson.

Friday was steadily continuing along the same path every other day had since The Encounter. Peter thankfully parted ways with you after Calculus, but quickly rejoined you two classes later in Gym. From Gym he was glued to your side through lunch until you escaped to your Spanish class, which you thankfully didn't share with him, but the solitude was short lived. Your last class of the day was one you also shared with Peter, and prior to that day he had remained seated with his friends.

That day, though, he plopped down in the seat beside you with a cheerful smile. "Ready for our new project?" he asked, skipping the greeting he knew you wouldn't return.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him in bewilderment. New project? Our? What was he talking about?

Peter beamed back at you, clearly pleased that you hadn't snapped at him for once. "Our new project! Didn't you see the list on the door? We're partners." he explained, and you stiffened.

It was too big of a coincidence to truly be happenstance. All week Peter had been pestering you, perpetually following you around and talking your ear off, and now he just happened to be assigned as your partner for the final Speech project? He did something. That was the only logical conclusion.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him with as much intensity as you could muster. "Peter, what did you do?" you growled.

Peter's eyes widened at your tone, and he shifted in his seat nervously with a sheepish smile. "What do you mean?" he questioned coyly, and you scowled at him fiercely. "I didn't do anything, (Y/N)."

"Bullshit." you snapped, "I find it hard to believe that we just happened to be assigned partners after how obsessively you've been harassing me all week."

He gaped at you, "Harassed? What?" he stammered, "(Y/N), let's calm down--I haven't... I haven't been harassing you. I just want you to know I really do want to be your friend."

You scoffed at his excuse, "Shut up, Peter. Just leave me alone! I don't want to be your friend, okay? My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone your secret, just leave me alone!"

With one finally glare, you lurched out of your seat and stomped to one far away from the still aghast boy. As you settled into your new seat, ignoring the strange looks from your classmates who witnessed your outburst, you wrinkled your nose and picked at your nails angrily. As much as you were angry with Peter, you were also angry with yourself.

You were angry that he'd stopped you, and you'd let him. You were angry at the world for letting your sister die. You were angry at your sister for saving you when she should have saved herself. Most of all, though, you were angry with yourself for how you were acting. Even though she wasn't there, you could almost hear your sister scolding you for how you'd treated Peter.

She always was the levelheaded, rational sister. The good sister. The better sister. She would have been ashamed of how you'd been ignoring Peter, ranting to you, "He's just trying to be there for you, idiot. Stop being such a jerk and let him help you. You need to stop being so stubborn..."

You listened eagerly to Ms. Lovell's lesson and instruction for the new project. It wasn't because you were genuinely interested, because you weren't, but it was something to distract you. It was something to drown out the voice of your sister that was echoing through your skull, rattling you to your core as you tried to keep your emotions at bay.

This was the hardest part of losing your sister. She'd been so close to you, so important to you, it was impossible to not think of her in every moment of every day. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have done, instead of what you had done. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have thought of your actions, what she'd have said to you, of what she'd have wanted you to do.

She had been your voice of reason, your confidant, your role model. She'd always been so much better than you, someone you aspired to be like, and now that she was gone the comparisons were so much heavier on your head. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her? She would never have had such a hard time like you were.

For instance, she wouldn't have been so bitter. She wouldn't have been so filled with rage, hatred, or despair. She wouldn't have blamed anyone, not even herself, and she wouldn't have hated the people who had killed you. She always did love a good superhero, and even if you'd have died at the hands of the Avengers like she had, she would have found a reason to still have faith in them. She would have forgiven them.

This project was going to be a tough one, and not just because you were going to have to work with Peter Parker. "This is going to be a persuasive speech, guys, so you're able to pick your stance freely so long as it pertains to the Avengers. For example, you could persuade us that they're bad, if that's how you feel." Ms. Lovell explained, "Just be prepared to face debate from the class. Each group has to face five full minutes of argument from the class and be able to firmly debate their stance."

A project in which you'd have to argue your stance pertaining to the superheroes that had killed your sister, and you were working with Peter-Spiderman-Parker. Great, you thought to yourself, this was going to be a nightmare. There was no way the two of you would agree on what stance to persuade; you hated superheroes, and he was one, for God's sake.

You glanced over at Peter, only to catch him already staring at you. The pair of you quickly looked away from each other, but you noticed the way his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. How long had he been watching you? Was he dreading the project now as much as you were?

He probably didn't know how you felt about the Avengers. Not many people really cared enough to read about what had happened to your sister, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to be out protesting the many shortcomings of the superheroes. You wondered, though, how he would react when he found out.

Lying was an option, but there was no way you'd be able to debate in favor of the Avengers without breaking. Could you debate against them without losing it either, though? You weren't entirely sure. It was a sore subject and you were certainly not looking forward to having to dedicate your time to speaking about them.

Peter lingered by his seat after class was dismissed, staring at you awkwardly as he told his friends he would catch up with them later. You could see the strange, weary looks they shot you, but you chose to ignore them. Everyone looked at you a little funny ever since the incident, and you'd long ago grown accustomed to it. This time, though, you couldn't help but think they were looking at you strangely for a reason other than your sister.

You had two options. You could suck it up and talk to Peter right then, or you could continue to ignore him until you were forced to do the project. Catching his warm brown eyes as he timidly watched you, you sighed. It was now or never; maybe if you were nicer he'd back off a little with the obsessive tendencies.

"So," you drawled, approaching him shyly, "how are we gonna do this?"

This was what she would have wanted you to do; that's what you chanted in your head as you forced yourself to at least seem somewhat approachable. "Uh, we could--we could meet up tomorrow? You could come to my apartment." he stuttered, scratching his neck awkwardly and fiddling with his backpack.

He radiated nervous energy, and the black hole inside of you consumed it greedily. You twiddled your thumbs just as nervously as you replied, "Do you, um, do you mind coming to my house instead? My parents are--they're a little weird about me going out because of... yeah."

God, his stutter was rubbing off on you, and you cringed at the way you stumbled over your words like a fool. It had been such a long time since you'd invited anyone to your house, let alone talked to anyone besides your parents and your therapist, and it was stressing you out. The exhaustion of the day was wearing you down rapidly, and having to socialize was making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!" he spluttered, "Uh, could I get your number? So I can, like, text you when I'm coming?"

You hoped he didn't notice how much your fingers were shaking as you took his phone, struggling to type in your number as you mistyped multiple times. Once you'd saved your contact into his phone, you sent yourself a text so that you'd have his number too. You didn't exactly answer unknown numbers anymore, though if you were honest, you often didn't answer people you knew either. That was what drove your friends away.

Peter shot you a shy smile as you handed his phone back, and he asked, "Do you want to get started tonight, maybe? I could call you."

Biting your cheek, you paled. Tonight? You were exhausted, and the thought of having to talk for any longer made you nauseous. "No offense, Peter, but I... I really just need a break. This week has been a lot." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you stared at your feet.

"Oh, yeah, totally." he acquiesced, "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't reply, only giving him a tight lipped smile that probably looked more like a grimace as you quickly walked away. Once you were out of his sight, your entire body drooped and the numbness steadily washed over you. It had been the longest day, and you were once again grateful for the escape from the overwhelming emotions.

Ever since she died, it was as if all your emotions were on overdrive. There were the many constant ones, like the guilt, shame, and anguish over her death. Along with those were more fleeting ones, like anger, disgust, and fear. Peter, though, he brought about a whole slew of new and equally as intense feelings that drained you.

He made you feel things like anxiety, apprehension, and hope. There was anxiety both due to his wild behavior in regards to you, but also because you feared he might tell people what he'd seen. The apprehension was due to your suspicion he was only so interested because you knew his secret, and was just as fearful that you would tell. But the hope, the stupid anticipation, was the worst.

It was the worst because a stupid part of you hoped he was genuine. You wanted him to really want to be your friend with no ulterior motives because, no matter how much you denied it, you really did need a friend. You wanted a friend. You wanted to let someone in.

You weren't buying it, though, because you were certain you couldn't handle the heartbreak of being wrong about his intentions and discovering he really did only care about his secret. You weren't going to let him hurt you, and if you had to shut yourself off from the world and hurt yourself to prevent it, then so be it. It was easier that way.

Peter Parker: hey i know you said you didn't want to start tonight but that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other

Peter Parker: so if you want, lets play 20 questions! i'll start. what's your favorite movie?

The typing cursor blinked at you tauntingly as you laid on your bed, huddled under the blankets with your thumbs hovering over the keys. That stupid part of you that wanted to make your sister proud begged you to go along with it, to let him be a friend, but you were terrified. You were terrified of the way you actually opened the text and went to reply without hesitation, something you hadn't done since before the incident. You were terrified of the way you wanted to reply, but the only thing that gave you pause was the fact that you didn't have an answer.

Movies weren't something you'd given much thought to in awhile. You knew all of your sister's favorite movies by heart, but your favorite movie? It was as if your brain opened an empty drawer. You didn't know what your favorite movie was.

You: i don't know

Peter Parker: what do you mean you don't know

Peter Parker: do you not like movies?!

You: i just don't know okay

You: i can't remember the last time i watched a movie.

That was a lie. You very well could remember the last time you'd watched a movie, and that was because it was with her. The weekend before she'd died, your sister had dragged you to the theater to watch some cheesy romance film she'd been gushing about for weeks. It was awful, but it was so utterly her that you'd weirdly enjoyed it. You enjoyed it because it made her happy.

Peter Parker: that's crazy wow

Peter Parker: no offense sorry

Peter Parker: it's your turn to ask

You: what's your favorite movie

Peter Parker: star wars but you can't ask the same question!! try again

You: fine

You: what's your favorite food?

Was talking to boys always this hard? You couldn't remember the last time you'd had to get to know someone, but you didn't think it had ever been so nerve wracking. Was something wrong with you? Was everything destined to be this hard now that she was gone?

Peter Parker: anything from Delmar's

Peter Parker: best sandwiches in Queens

Peter Parker: since you got a double and you technically didn't answer my first question, i'm asking you the same but also what's your happiest memory

Everything was always going to be hard. Reading his response, your lungs deflated in your chest and the numbness gave way to the all too familiar sensation of despair. She'd always loved Delmar's, insisting on getting the same sandwich from there every single Friday after school, and it had been your thing.

Would there ever be anything that didn't remind you of her? Remind you of the hole punched in your life where she used to be? It was hard enough dealing with the empty space in your room where her bed used to be, the empty chair at the dinner table where she'd used to sit, all the empty spaces she'd used to fill up. But the little things--the little memories of things she'd used to love--those hurt so much more.

You: i have to go

You: i forgot i'm busy tomorrow so we can't start the project

You: i'm sorry

SERIES TAG-LIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton

[ramiaell]

Lunathas Contracts

Breaking and entering, not something new for him but it was the first time he had done so with a client he was bodyguarding. The Howling Owl’s employee apartments were not hard to break into, especially when this one left the balcony door unlocked. With the shadows wrapped tightly around him he snuck in and did a full sweep to make sure the apartment was secure before letting Beaureve sneak inside too. Of course due to the sweep and the small size of the apartment it was easy to tell that noone was home.

It had been a few years since he and Konietzko had last spoken, this was not how he’d have guessed they’d reunite, if at all. It was also not in a place like this that he’d expect to find him. Keeping to the shadows he witnessed as his new client chose not to poke and prod around the apartment much at all but took right to the sofa and curled up. He had not been guarding him for long yet, but he did wonder if this sort of nuance was typical of him. They both waited in silence for the Kaldorei to arrive home and since he was hidden in the shadows himself, there was no conversation between him and his client. He watched as the time passed and Beaureve fell fast asleep on that sofa as if stress and current events in his life had caught up with him.    It was well into the night when the door opened and Kon arrived home, stepping down the hallway and passing by the entryway right into the kitchen without even looking into the living room as why would he? He turned on a light in the kitchen and started a kettle making some tea as he began washing his hands. The shadow in the room witnessed his first look at the Kaldorei after this time without his knowing. He looked tired and a bit fatigued but not due to poor health. If anything his health seemed to have increased greatly since they last met. He must have just returned from some sort of physical activity as he was still a bit dark in the cheeks, chest and ears from a good workout and was tending to blisters on his hand. Interesting.

Beaureve was starting to wake from the sounds in the kitchen as Konietzko put the tea on the stove and started to walk into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks with a double take to the sofa when he saw the moving body of the Shal’dorei waking up from his nap. Stone steadied himself, tucked in the shadows just behind him ready to stop him at a moment’s indication he might try to harm his client. Beyond an understandable startle he didn’t, he just jerked and stared. “Took you long enough.” Beaureve said stifling a small yawn as he rubbed at his eyes. “I mean… welcome home.” 

“Well, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience!” Kon replied with a mix of humor and shock both  as he looked Beaureve over closely before opting to go to the chair next to the sofa. “Had I known I was playing host I would not have stayed so late practicing my routine. Now tell me…  to what do I owe the honor of this…” He motioned to the balcony. “... break-in?”

With a smirk breaking over his lips, Beaureve just smiled. “You are forgiven. This time.” He said perfectly aware he was in the wrong but calmly combed out his hair as he sat there pleasantly. “Well it’s my lucky day I suppose, you’ve taught me a valuable lesson.” Kon said walking then over to the balcony door and pulling aside the curtains slowly looking outside. He’d close the door then slowly, pursing his lips as if he was looking for something. “I need to invest in better locks, or lock the door at all it would seem.” He said somewhat bemused yet he turned around and looked about the room with a slow gaze of his amber eyes. “Practice? Routine? Mm, so you’re turning your aspirations into reality. That’s rather wonderful to hear.” Beaureve said as he watched. “And in my defense, I did try to knock on the door first. However, after coming all this way with noone to answer? It was in my best interest to see if there was a way to wait inside.” The priest said only telling part of the story but it was enough. “And with how many letters I had to write up in order to actually receive word and meeting arrangements… I preferred a more direct approach.” He smirked. “You don’t mind. We can speak a bit now.” the priest said not leaving this open ended. 

Kon stepped back over to the couch then and would find the chair to sit in as he tried to piece this all together. “Perhaps you came here seeking Talthorn? He is here often lately I’ll admit but not when I’m gone.” He said eyeing the priest a little suspiciously but he was far calmer about it than Talthorn had been. “Did you seek my contact I gave you?” He asked resisting the urge to look around the room once more. “No. I am here to see you.” The priest says bluntly. “Yes. I did.” He replied to the latter question before moving right along. “Now we can officially make arrangements. As promised. When are you available?” 

Kon stared at Beaureve and his audacity with a small smirk. “I suppose I can’t be upset considering how Talthorn did choose to ignore your letters till I found them. As much as I love him dearly he has his reasons for acting as he did. But I am not him.” He pointed out as he thought a moment before responding. “You did?” He redirected the conversation back to the point on the contact. “And did he accept?” Beaureve seemed pleasantly welcome to this information and eager to ask more. “Are these reasons that you are willing to share at all?” he asked before Kon redirected the conversation. “He did. Very interesting man. This contact of yours. We’ve made a good business arrangement. Thank you again for your recommendation. I aspire to have a meeting with my issue whenever he gets my word. In the next few days most likely.” Kon knew who he was talking about with this recent issue. Well he more knew -of- them from what Beaureve and Talthorn both had told him of that incident that left Beaureve wounded and carried to the healer’s ward after Talthorn had saved him. Even the shadow in the room knew the details enough to understand this comment and where it was going. “Talthorn’s secrets are his own to share. I will only say for whatever it’s worth that his… mistrust is a valid one.” Kon looked right to Beaureve then. “Even if you were not the cause for them, just a trigger. But that is all the more I will say. If you want trust or his truths? That’s going to take time Beaureve. Time, and a significant lack of your magic. But in that too I will say no more. I’ve only said this much in the interest of trying to make this easier. For both of you.” Kon explained rubbing at his palms and the ache within them as he sighed and looked to the side. “So, the contract was made. That is good, though forgive me if I wish to make certain.” Kon said oddly as he raised his head then and would stare Beaureve right in the eyes as he spoke out louder. “Show yourself, old friend.”

Beaureve listened closely and drew in a slow breath. He was taking much from these statements but why? Why was there mistrust?! The priest was eager to figure that out. When he realized what Kon had said just then, however, he added in his own command in case his bodyguard was truly as strict as not to do so unless ordered. “Hm? Oh. Of course. Yes, please reveal yourself, Stone.”

No sooner than Beau had given the command, the shadows against the far wall on the other side of the dining room table would start to shift and lift as soon a voice was heard before the body was seen. Where Kon’s voice was deep and full of bass, his was low but more crisp and sharp. “While some things never change, some things… do. It has been a time, Kon.” The bodyguard stood leaning against the wall in full gear head to toe. Blades on his side and no doubt many more hidden throughout his attire. His face was masked, as always and those eyes as cold as winter skies peered right back at Kon’s as they made eye contact across the room.

For one who’s home was being invaded, Kon certainly didn’t seem too worked up over it. As his amber eyes met Stone’s, they softened just a bit. A hint of a sad  yet genuine smile almost shadowed along his face. How bittersweet this was. “Some things do indeed, though you are not one of those things I would ever ask to change. Please, come. Sit with us. You know he is in no danger here.” Kon said motioning to the couch next to Beaureve. Beaureve motioned to the couch as well. “Yes, join us.” He confirmed and watched the exchange between them, both seeming interested in this reunion between them. At first, Stone did not move. But eventually he pushed off form the wall to step over and stand at Beaureve’s side.

“Quite the place here, I see you’ve returned to the club scene afterall?” Stone quipped as he looked firmly down at Kon having already done his research on this place before they arrived.

"I have, though not intentionally at first. But after my seclusion from the world and the dream therapy it seems... I was ready to come back. Though certainly not with such old habits as I indulged in before. Of that... I endeavor to stray from as much as possible." His eyes then flicked to Beaureve well aware he was listening and oddly enough, he didn't seem to mind. ``I think you'll come to agree in no time at all that Sivah would have liked this one. Perhaps even -you- will." He playfully smirked towards Stone.

Beaureve enjoyed collecting the information he could, seeing how they both reacted with one another. He wears his smile and finds the details intriguing but blinks at the mention here. "Sivah? Who is that? And why would they like me? " he tips his head and looks back to Stone. Stone met his gaze. “Sivandris Lumenstone, owner of the Starcaller Lure and heir to the Lumenstone Estate.” He told him as if just reciting information. “He had a way about collecting rare gems, like yourself. And each of them came with their own troubles that I always had the privilege of helping sort.” And that was all the more Stone seemed willing to share. As Stone had decided that was all the more that needed said, Kon and Beaureve spent the rest of the night discussing how their arrangement would work. As Talthorn was to give Beaureve a date of his choosing once a month, Kon would under the same rules to help make up for Talthorn’s lack of his part of the deal in the beginning of their original arrangement. By doing so Talthorn would have the ease that Beaureve would no longer be trying to sell his rare drug to anyone of the Tarts nor of the Owl so long as it was a function put on by either group or when in Talthorn’s presence. It was an exchange no one would ever know even had taken place, all for the comfort that Talthorn could protect his friends and fellow entertainers from this mind-altering drug that he had no power to stop him from creating. However, Kon saw it fit by the end of this meeting here in his home to call Beaureve out. To him, this seemed like an overly complicated agreement in contract that they would be meeting as friends to do things that friends would willingly do without a contract because they were… friends? But to Beaureve that was not the case at all. He could not understand the concept of friends so to him this was a contract and he expected it to be upheld. Despite having his point made, Kon agreed and pushed the subject no longer. The entire exchange was witnessed by Stone, but he said nothing during it. Just observed in complete silence as he did for most his guard detail he’d signed on for with Beaureve. It was not his job to state his thoughts nor opinions on any matters Beaureve had to deal with. It was only his job to ensure his safety. Thankfully, one could do that with very little said as he was not one for idle conversation. Ever. But he did not think he’d be meeting Kon again, let alone under such circumstances. It was interesting how life had a way of bringing things left unresolved back around. Even among former friends. Stone came to realize much had changed for the Kaldorei, not all but there was something very significant that he noticed right away in Kon that had not been there before. He’d come a long way on the road to recovery, and in doing so had begun truly turning his life around for the better. While Stone did not intend to be his ‘friend’ at that time and just to let everything go and move on, he was curious enough to see just where this would all lead for his current client’s future. Beaureve had alot to experience now in his ‘free’  life. Stone wasn’t so certain that experiencing it through Kon and the others he was associated with was the best way, but he wasn't paid to give his thoughts nor opinions on those matters either. They were invalid. At that time, he had only one job to do. And when the threat returned, he would do it. After that, the priest was on his own.

“Next week. At the same point we met before in Suramar. Wear something similar to that. You seem very comfortable. I’ll take care of the rest.” Beuareve said to the expectant Kaldorei as he rose to leave. Kon took a slow breath in and let it back out as he nodded his head once. “A word to the wise Beaureve, what Talthorn and I want is not always what others think. But I can easily see the same could be said for you.” The Kaldorei’s eyes shifted back to Stonel then. “You are going to have your hands full with this one.” Stone drew his gaze to Kon, “You’ve never been one to make my job easy. But we both know, that is where I thrive.” “Oh I do.” Kon said with a laugh and a smirk to follow as he watched them both turn to leave. “It will be quite the… learning experience.” He teased at Beaureve before flashing Stone a knowing look. As usual, he got no response from Stone, just that stone-faced stare before he turned away and escorted Beaureve out. “Next week then.” Kon said as he watched them go and looked to the couch in thought. Maybe he would omit that part to Talthorn; he doubted his love would ever be able to let go the thought of Beaureve breaking into his apartment. What a little shit.

((A former rp from last year recapped in a shorter format though it still includes both our writing. A fun look at the beginnings of Talthorn, Kon, Beaureve and Rami’s friendship that few know about. While the rp has gone places none of us could imagine at that time, it has been a real trip to reflect back to this rp and the reunion of Kon and Stone as witnessed by Beau. Mentions too @beaureve-lunathas​ , @talthorn-sylvoran​ , @konietzko-lumenstone​ ))

@daily-writing-challenge

[lostinthe-jojos]

Part 1

By the time we're 13, I stop receiving letters from them for almost two months. Letters from me pile up in their mailboxes until I get a letter from Keisuke where he explains that Kazutora is in juvie.

I keep writing to the both of them, sending my letters for Kazutora to Keisuke, for him to give to our friend, knowing that Kazutora needs our support more than ever.

I go back to Japan by the time we're 15, some time after Kazutora's release. This time, I no longer live in the same building as Baji but still live close to him. He goes to pick me up a few days after and tells me him and Kazutora are in another gang, a new one, called Valhalla.

I find it strange, both had founded ToMan along with their closest friends, the idea had even Baji's. But they don't talk further about it.

Baji's a bit distant and Kazutora acts different. Neither talk about the past two years, and change the topic whenever it comes up.

A few days later, I see a girl asking for help. There's a blond boy laying on the floor, his face nearly completely covered in blood, swollen and bruised. We manage to get him to the hospital. We talk a bit and she tells me he got beaten up by a gang member, someone who used to be his friend.

Keisuke is still distant and Kazutora, despite spending time with me, seems to zone out more often than ever.

Days later, two blond boys and a girl approach me. I recognize one of the boys and the girl immediately, but still don't know their names. They introduce themselves as Dani, Chifuyu and Takemichi. They want to know whatever they can about Kazutora and Keisuke, and I tell them all I know, which still, isn't enough given how strange the two have been acting.

Dani knew Keisuke as well, but he suddenly stopped talking to her a few days after he left ToMan. They figure he still talks to me since I've never been involved with anyone from any gang apart from him and Kazutora.

Then Halloween comes. And I get a call from Dani: Keisuke is at the hospital and Kazutora is being arrested.

I rush to the hospital and the waiting room is almost full of who I assume are the rest of the ToMan founding members.

Chifuyu and Dani tell me that Keisuke is in the surgery room, he had two stab wounds. He stays in a coma for three days and we check on him everyday, talking to him and waiting for him.

When he finally wakes up, he makes fun of us for being so worried but weeps a bit when all of his friends hug him.

He then explains to us the reason he did all that and asks us to not put any blame on Kazutora, he was being manipulated. Mikey tells him that he's forgiven him and Keisuke sighs in relief.

We scold him for keeping all that to himself and for stabbing himself.

Still, he smirks at me when I tell him that I'm going to visit him that same evening, in just an hour, to clear things up. Baji simply asks me to tell him he'll go visit him soon.

"You didn't have to come," he says with glossy eyes.

"I needed to, Tora. I should have noticed you weren't doing fine sooner"

He looks down and scoffs.

"I almost got our best friend killed," he says, "you must hate me"

"I don't, Tora. You're my friend too and it wasn't your fault"

He looks at me, weeping.

"But you do need to get help," I remind him, "we'll be waiting for you, so get better, Tora"

"Thank you," he says, smiling through the tears.

@dancingintherainwithchifuyu

[andolinii]

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

❛   The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist   ❜ ❛   One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail. But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one has failed.   ❜ ❛   At least that's something we can agree on.   ❜ ❛   It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded.   ❜ ❛   Heaven, friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgment Day.   ❜ ❛   I’m afraid of you.   ❜ ❛   We had a deal! Open this door, right now!   ❜ ❛   So you expect me to shoulder the burden?   ❜ ❛   Just 'cause the city flies don't mean it ain't got its share of fools.   ❜ ❛   Heads? Or tails?   ❜ ❛   I told you...I'm not gonna do it! Now go away.   ❜ ❛   I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined.   ❜ ❛   I guess you're expecting me... Is anyone here? Hello?   ❜ ❛   Why are you following me?   ❜ ❛   Violence is not the answer! Blood must not be shed.   ❜ ❛   Violence is not a foregone conclusion.   ❜ ❛   I see every sin that blackens your soul.   ❜ ❛   Not all debts can be repaid.   ❜ ❛   Chin up. There's always next time.   ❜ ❛   Prophecy is my business, as blood as yours   ❜ ❛   thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted.   ❜ ❛   It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. Just sit down, and everything will be fine.   ❜ ❛   Is this some kind of sales pitch? Because I am not interested.   ❜ ❛   I'm a friend. I've come to get you out of here.   ❜ ❛   I don't dance. C'mon, let's go.   ❜ ❛   This will end in blood. But then again, it always does with you, doesn't it? It always ends in blood.   ❜ ❛   Oh, can you smell that? I've never smelled anything like that before, have you?   ❜ ❛   Give a man a little power, he falls in all kinds of love with himself.   ❜ ❛   Coming here was your idea.   ❜ ❛   that fall into the water did you no favors. I'll keep an eye out for something that might ease your pain.   ❜ ❛   Knock it off! Will you stop it? Will you stop it! I'm not here to hurt you.   ❜ ❛   If you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again.   ❜ ❛   You're a roguish type, what does it look like?   ❜ ❛   Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt.   ❜ ❛   Where did you learn to pick locks?   ❜ ❛   Whatever that was, it's got nothing to do with the job at hand. This job's getting worse all the time.   ❜ ❛   What interest does a prophet have in a bunch of carnies and carousels?   ❜ ❛   I never even heard of this place before I got here.   ❜ ❛   They frown on gardens in my part of town.   ❜ ❛   I don't really understand what I just saw back there, but it sure as hell looks like a shortcut to getting us killed.   ❜ ❛   You've always been different, haven't you? You crave no glory.   ❜ ❛   You see? You're a killer, like it or not.   ❜ ❛   Now that you're out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages.   ❜ ❛   I can handle whatever comes along. Trust me.   ❜ ❛   A choice is better than none. No matter what the outcome.   ❜ ❛   What happened back there, that...that's not the last of it, is it?   ❜ ❛   Maybe you're the man I remember, maybe not.   ❜ ❛   There's survival...and then there's finding pleasure in the act.   ❜ ❛   Look, you seem like a decent enough sort. That said, the less you know about me, the better.   ❜ ❛   I'm leaving and there's naught you can do to stop me.   ❜ ❛   Me busting you out, what do you think that was? Charity?   ❜ ❛   I got no quarrel with you.   ❜ ❛   Are you afraid of God?   ❜ ❛   I never claimed to be no hero.   ❜ ❛   There's already a fight. Only question is, which side are you on?❜ ❛   Just hold up for a minute! I'm not angry with you.   ❜ ❛   You killed those people. I can't believe you did that...they're all dead... You killed those people.   ❜ ❛   I have no need for one such as you.   ❜ ❛   Don't get too comfortable with my company. You are a means to an end, no more.   ❜ ❛   You’re either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling.   ❜ ❛   I am a believer, but I am not a fool.   ❜ ❛   What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth?   ❜ ❛   Does this strike you as good news? It doesn't strike me as good news.   ❜ ❛   I don't much care for you… but I must admit, you know your way around a brawl.   ❜ ❛   Now, now, All I ask is that you finish what you started.   ❜ ❛   Son, I do say I like the cut of your chin.   ❜ ❛   You know, when your name was first passed to me, I wasn't quite sure you were the man for the job.   ❜ ❛   What could people have done to deserve to be locked up in a place like this?   ❜ ❛   You're a lion. But you can't blame me for looking after my own interests, can you?   ❜ ❛   Lions walk with lions, not hyenas.   ❜ ❛   I killed them. They were dead.   ❜ ❛   You must think me some sort of...freak. I must seem ridiculous. ❜ ❛   Like all bastards, we serve it best by smothering it in its crib.   ❜ ❛   Let me tell you about sin.   ❜ ❛   Are you going to just sit there?   ❜ ❛   the biggest sin of all, the mother of all sins, is that we sit back and take it.   ❜ ❛   In this world, you were a martyr.   ❜ ❛   These folk need a better class of hero.   ❜ ❛   This isn't our responsibility - none of it.   ❜ ❛   Why, that sort of ambition will serve you well.   ❜ ❛   I had a role in this catastrophe, if you want to pretend we're innocents in this, then that's your prerogative.   ❜ ❛   I saw you die. Saw it with my own eyes.   ❜ ❛   I know how this feels. Listen, I think you should talk to me.   ❜ ❛   How do you wash away the things that you've done?   ❜ ❛   Once people get their blood up, it ain't easy to settle it down again.   ❜ ❛   This prophecy business... You don't think anyone can really see the future, do you?   ❜ ❛   These are dire times and I could ever so use your aid.   ❜ ❛   That is an oath you cannot keep.   ❜ ❛   If you were to take me back...that's death. Or something so like it, I cannot tell the difference. ❜ ❛   A mother who abandons their child doesn't draw a lot of sympathy in my book.   ❜ ❛   You just got dealt a bad hand. ❜ ❛   The only difference between past and present is semantics.   ❜ ❛   If we could perceive time as it truly was… what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed?   ❜ ❛   You couldn't have known this would happen.   ❜ ❛   One doesn't expect a picture of one's corpse to come across so lifelessly.   ❜ ❛   Listen to me. what you've been through… ain't nobody in the world deserves that.   ❜ ❛   We are gettin' outta here, you got it? And you're never gonna have to look back.   ❜ ❛   Child! Child! You are the lie that spewed from my womb. You are the lie, the lie, the lie.   ❜ ❛   Some men dream of money, some men dream of love. My father dreamt of a flood of fire.   ❜ ❛   I can see all that would be, might be and must not be.   ❜ ❛   Child, would you like to pray with me?   ❜ ❛   All I ever wanted is to see you live up to your potential.   ❜ ❛   Humanity wrote a bad check, and the flood was the only way to settle the accounts.   ❜ ❛   You'll need to eat sooner or later. If you hold out, you'll just starve to death.   ❜ ❛   God put his faith in men once, too. It seems that we have something in common: disappointment.   ❜ ❛   Why do you ask ‘what’ when the delicious question is ‘when?’   ❜ ❛   All I can do is watch as what I set in motion slides into its terminal stage.   ❜ ❛   Time rots everything, even hope.   ❜ ❛   We're going to cure you.   ❜ ❛   When the body cries out, the spirit listens.   ❜ ❛   Do you hear that screaming? That is the sound of your interference.   ❜ ❛   Is this where you start moralizing? You forget, I know you.   ❜ ❛   What are you going to do to stop me?❜ ❛   You struggle against prophecy, like a stone loosed from a sling.   ❜ ❛   I don't understand. I heard you screaming, I was… I was coming to get you.   ❜ ❛   Do you think...it's possible to redeem the kind of things that we've done?   ❜ ❛   We're doing this together, or I'm doing it alone. Either way, I need to know the thing's been done.   ❜ ❛   Rejoice! Rejoice! Death has no sting.   ❜ ❛   I may be the one who strikes you down, but you've always had a knack for self-destruction. Who's to say you won't beat me to the punch?   ❜ ❛   Some sins can't be forgiven.❜ ❛   I'm not going to let you kill him.   ❜ ❛   I won't abandon you.   ❜ ❛   You come to wipe your slate clean, but time will walk backwards before you find redemption.  ❜ ❛   Everything I've done...I've done to keep you safe.   ❜ ❛   You killed him. What did he mean? Huh? You tell me, what did he mean?   ❜ ❛   Just drop me off if you want to. This isn't your problem.   ❜ ❛   I'm a fool. I've sent mighty armies to stop you; I've rained fire on you from above.   ❜ ❛   Will you do this for me, just...just this one last thing? Please…   ❜ ❛   You thought the streets were paved with gold, but they were paved with blood, sweat and tears.   ❜ ❛   Look at that. Thousands of doors...opening all at once. My god, they're beautiful.   ❜ ❛   Baptism is the rebirth of the spirit...but sometimes the mind gets in the way.   ❜ ❛   There are a million million worlds. All different and all similar. Constants and variables.   ❜ ❛   We swim in different oceans but land on the same shore.   ❜ ❛   Are you ready to have your past erased? Are you ready to have your sins cleansed? Are you ready to be born again?   ❜ ❛   I can see all the doors, and what's behind all the doors.   ❜ ❛   Hey, the deal is off, you hear me? The deal is off!   ❜ ❛   You think a dunk in the river's gonna change the things that I've done?   ❜ ❛   If I don't get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other.   ❜ ❛   Do you hate your wickedness?   ❜ ❛   Are we worth saving if we will not save ourselves?   ❜

[silma-words]

39 for Adrian x mc. Thank you

N/A: Apologies for taking so long to answer this ask, Anon! I had started it ages ago but wanted to dwell on A&MC's relationship 'pre-break-up' in more detail before getting back to the angsty stuff. I really did love that prompt, so thank you again for the ask, Anon, and I hope you will enjoy this! :)

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: General / Warning: None

Genre: Angst

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc II: About time’ (Masterlist) - Sequel to "The right thing to do" (Arc II)

Summary: Ellie is gone, and she might be gone for good very soon. And that thought is harder on Adrian than he had ever anticipated.

Inspired by prompt #39 from Prompt List #1 : “Please come home, I miss you”

Words: 2300

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventy-two

It had been 72 days since he last saw her. 72 nights since he had had the chance to hear her voice or smell her perfume hanging around his office. 72 too many days and nights. Not enough to have made peace with it. Not enough to have forgiven himself. Not enough to have shred the lingering doubt that he had made a mistake. And the reaction – as chocked, cold, and angry as Ellie’s – of Lily, Kamilah and Jax when they had found out did not help with that at all.

But at least during those 72 nights and days, he had found reassurance in knowing that she was around somewhere in New York, secretly clinging to the hope that he might run into her at some point, or catch a glimpse of her auburn hair at a corner of a street. She had avoided him thoroughly though, and him likewise, to be honest, knowing that it would likely make everything worse.

She had never returned to the office, simply going through HR to submit her resignation officially. She had not requested any recommendation letter from Raines corp., nor contacted the business partner he had referred her to. She had kept under his radar as best as she could, although he always managed to get fragments of information about how she was doing from Lily, albeit involuntarily. And that was through her that he had found out: Ellie was planning to leave. Not only New York, but leaving the country altogether. She had applied for several junior executive assistant positions and internships in Europe, asking Kamilah for references to avoid having to ask anything of him.

Until that point he had managed to put a brave face on and bury himself into work to avoid rehashing the past. But somehow, knowing that Ellie was about to go, and that she did not want him to know about it, widened that painful hole in his chest that did not seemed to want to stitch itself up, despite his efforts over the past 72 nights and days.

Knowing that she could board a plane and leave NY behind at any minute was slowly threatening to drive him mad.

He could not sleep. Nor concentrate at work. Attempting to feed somehow made everything worse, as if any blood that was not hers would only act as a poison to his system. He was not sure anymore whether it was hurt, longing or guilt that was making every breath burn in his lungs, although the hatred he could see so clearly in his own eyes when he stared at himself in the mirror was a constant reminder that he had brought this onto himself. And onto her. As well as onto their friends.

His rash decision and obsession for ‘doing the right thing’ had forced Ellie’s hand and had deprived her of the freedom of choosing her path for herself. Her freedom to keep on building over the foundations of the life that she had started when she had left her hometown to conquer New York. Her freedom to continue nurturing the friendships she had gained when she had stormed into his life and had effortlessly earned her place within his world. He had failed to realise that his decision would force her to slowly walk away from all of this. He could see it clearly now, and he knew he should have realised this sooner.

He knew her well enough to know that she would not want to stand by while he had pushed her out the door. He had known when making his decision that she would be hurt and would likely stay away. And he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he had hoped she would, to make it easier for him to stay away from her. He realised now how wrong he had been. And how badly he needed her to know this.

He needed to apologise. He needed her to see the guilt in his eyes and the longing in his bones. He needed to make it right. And he could not let these 72 nights and days without seeing her extend to 73.

Fidgeting around his penthouse while waiting for the sun to set, Adrian could not bring himself to do more than ruminate over everything he had ever said to her, and everything he should have said but never did, trying to carefully choose the words he would finally voice out loud when he would get to her. But his mind was restless, and the guilt and doubts were gnawing at his guts.

This torment had to stop. It was too much. And it was pointless. He would always be drawn back to her as long as there would still be hope to make it right. It was inevitable.

He would just lay it all out – his regrets, his doubts, his fears, and his heart -, and would let her crush it all under her heel if she wanted to. He owed her that much.

The minute the skyline was clear of any sunray, he barged out and headed straight towards Lily’s and Ellie’s. By the time he has reached their building, he knew even before knocking on the door that no one was home, the deafening silence of the apartment, devoid of any heartbeat, hitting him as soon as he had stepped onto their floor.

He pondered for a moment going to the Shadow Den where he knew Lily was now staying more often than not, thinking that Ellie might have gone along with her. But he could not bring himself to leave the building. Her scent was all around, seeping through the door like smoke from a fire creeping through his nostrils to invade his lungs. His hand laid flat against the wood, he leaned in so that his forehead could rest beside it, closing his eyes to focus on the comforting smell, hoping that he could somehow be able to also taste it in the air. The familiarity of this place and of her lingering fragrance were both soothing and maddening, the absence of her comforting heartbeat pushing onto his shoulders as if the ceiling of the empty corridor was slowly descending onto him to push him to his knees.

Letting his legs give in under the imaginary pressure, he let his body slide slowly against the door until his body had reached the ground, resting his back against the wood and bending his knees so that he could brace his arms around them, ready to wait for her as long as necessary. He had wasted 72 days and 72 nights when he could have made things right and perhaps avoid most all of this suffering. He could wait 72 more on this floor if he had to.

After a couple of hours that seemed to have lasted an eternity, Adrian was not sure anymore whether the familiar heartbeat that was chiming in his head was real or was the product of his anxious brain. He had been convinced he had heard it a dozen times earlier, but had quickly realised that his anticipation had been playing tricks on his mind. This time, he was not ready to gaze around and realise he had been wrong once more. He even ignored the sound of footsteps echoing around the corridor, convinced it was another one of her neighbours that would freak out at the sight of him crouched on the floor like the desperate fool that he was.

But when the footsteps suddenly stopped on the floor, he instantly recognised the muffled sound of her voice as she gasped in surprise, making him jump as his senses immediately tuned in to capture her presence.

The sight of her made his stomach clench, relief rushing through him in a wave, followed almost instantly by doubt and worry as he could read the shock in her eyes and in the way her body had stopped dead in her tracks, stiff and unwilling to move any further. Her heartbeat was racketing in his ears, and he could see her throat tighten as she seemed to gulp with difficulty.

“Adrian? What...”, she finally managed to mutter, her voice rasped as if she had not had a drop of water in days.

“Ellie, I...” he quickly started, doing his best to collect himself and raise himself back onto his feet, but unsure anymore what he should say now that she was finally standing in front of him.

They stared at each other across the corridor for a minute that seemed to stretch beyond days, the air nearly electric between them, threatening to catch ablaze if one of them dared to breach the stillness that seemed to have trapped both of them in an invisible net.

He heard her breath catch in her throat before her sweet voice finally broke the silence, somehow both cold and gentle: “What are you doing here, Adrian? Did anything happen?”.

He shook his head, struck by the genuine concern in her voice.

“No, I just...” the words were caught in his throat, in his chest and in his head, all bumping against each other before he could brace himself and find the strength to concentrate and voice the words that had been fogging his brain for days: “I heard that you were leaving New York... leaving the country... and I… I couldn’t let you go like this”.

Adrian felt his stomach sink with a thud at her reaction. Not that he had expected any reaction in particular, but he surely was not ready to see her shake her head with a chuckle, with something that could nearly pass as contempt flashing briefly in her eyes.

Her voice was strangely flat and composed when she simply retorted: “I though that was what you wanted?”.

Adrian shook his head, taking a few stumbling steps towards her. “Yes but… Ellie I… I never meant…”

“Adrian, don’t!”, she briskly interrupted, sighing loudly and suddenly starting to rummage rapidly through her bag to search for her keys. She was avoiding his eyes, and was making it clear that she did not want to hear anything else from him.

“I don’t have time for this right now”, she added, walking quickly passed him to reach for her door, her keys slightly shaking in her hands.

Adrian had barely had the time to step aside to let her through, torn between the will to let her be - as she was making clear she wanted him to -, and the aching need in the pit of his stomach to tell her everything he had come there to say. Once she unlocked the door, she quickly rushed inside without glancing back to him, obviously eager to get away from a conversation that she did not want to have with him. And how could he blame her?

It took all of his might not to stop her from closing the door on him, and not to reach out to touch her, cup her face in his hands, and press his words of apologies onto the soft silk of her skin. He would have dropped to his knees and buried his face against her womb in the hope that, somehow, his words might reach her more deeply that way. But that was not what she wanted. And for once, he had to respect that. Even if that meant staring blindly at the door, his nose pressed so hard against the wood that it hurt, listening to her erratic heartbeat pressed inches away on the other side as she was leaning against the door, as if to prevent him from trying to force it open.

Adrian did not know what else to do. He could simply tell her everything right now through the door, knowing that she was still there and would certainly hear it all. Even if he could not see her face, he would be able to grasp her reactions using his other senses, for her body had always been an open book for him to read as soon as she had trusted him with her heart. But he felt that all of his words would just sound hollow to both of them, and would nearly bounce back against the door frame before they could reach her.

His palms pressed flat against the door, his eyes closed, and his lips inches away from the wood, he took in a long shaky breath, steadying himself for the only plea he knew could ring true in this moment despite the thick, wobbly whisper that he managed to push through his lungs:

“Ellie… please… Please come home… I miss you”.

She was still there, on the other side, and she had heard him. He knew it from the way she had stopped breathing for a second, and from the distinct salty fragrance of the tears that were probably now smearing her features, reaching his sensitive nose and making his chest tighten with the realisation that he was powerless to stop them on their course as he had done in the past.

He had thought that nothing could ever be worse than those past 72 days and 72 nights staying away from her, guilt and doubts nagging at his heart. But he had been so wrong. The uncertainty, in this moment, of whether that dreadful count would end now, or would continue over months – even years -, was unbearable. He had laid his cards at her feet, and was ready to bare his heart before her if she wanted him to.

But for now, all he could do was to feel her warmth through the door, and wait. Wait.

Wait 72 seconds.

72 minutes.

72 nights, days, months, or years.

He would wait 72 centuries if that was what it took for her to come home to him.

~~~~~

For the follow-up of this story, head here.

~~~~~

N/A: Sorry for the angst and drama, and sorry for letting it hang like that in the air! What happens next should come shortly, now that I will be alternating between the fluff/smut from Arc I (i.e. ‘pre-break-up’) and the more angsty pieces from Arc II (i.e. post-break-up’). I will try to make it clear every time which Arc I am using and where we stand in the AU chronology, but I hope it won’t be too confusing!

Thank you for reading! 😊

~~~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10, pt 11, pt 12, pt 13

- Chapter 14 -

“I would like your advice on something,” Meng Yao said to his mother.

Meng Shi was wearing silk again, rich colors that suited her – she had fully recovered from the serious illness she’d had a few years back, something for which he would be forever thankful to Qinghe’s doctors because he knew she wouldn’t have made it if they were on their own –  and a fur-lined jacket that made her look especially comfortable. She finished pouring the tea and smiled at him.

“You do?” she teased. “Still, after all these years?”

“I’m never too old for your advice,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down.

The weiqi board in the corner was midway through a game, he noticed, and was glad: Sisi was terrible at weiqi, and the only other person who routinely played against Meng Shi was Nie Huaisang. Things between them had grown better as he’d grown older – he loved to paint, to play, to keep birds and raise flowers, and those were the things Meng Shi liked the most.

It was good to see them spending time together. Meng Yao hoped that Meng Shi could show Nie Huaisang how to forgive, and to remember how to be as carefree as he had once been.

After all, Nie Huaisang had taken up what had once been Meng Yao’s duties, during the war, all the intelligence work and strategy, the battlefield clean up and the politics, and it had left its marks. Indeed, if Meng Yao had been anyone other than Nie Huaisang’s dearly beloved brother, he would probably be the subject of a decade-long plan of utter obliteration right now, good motivations or not – in fact, he was pretty sure that Nie Huaisang had one already plotted out, and was still considering it an option if Meng Yao didn’t make regular deposits on the infinity of fans he apparently owed him.

(The brat wouldn’t take duplicates, either. Meng Yao had put in an order for someone to send him an entire ship’s worth from Dongying in the hopes that that would earn him a little credit. The relevant someone being Wei Wuxian, who was off exploring the world with Lan Wangji - possibly for no other reason than to get away from the rest of them all teasing them about the long and overly dramatic way in which they’d confessed their affections for each other.) 

Still, Nie Huaisang had forgiven Meng Yao, even if he hadn’t forgotten, and they were most of the way back to being as they had been before – which admittedly was closer than he’d ever been with Meng Shi, who Nie Huaisang seemed to treat as a casual acquaintance instead of a mother. He treated her about the same as Sisi, actually, and usually acted as if he thought Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue were his birth parents instead of his brothers.

And possibly Lan Xichen as some sort of rich uncle he could (and routinely did) extort for gifts.

(He still called him ‘pretty gege’, though he’d recently started up several debates – mostly monologues –  as to whether Lan Xichen ought to now be called ‘er-ge’ and Meng Yao ‘san-ge’ according to their ages, being that he was now part of the family, or if they should just all go ahead and get properly married already so that he could call him ‘sao-zi’ instead. They’d all collectively decided to ignore him.)

“Is it about those sworn brothers of yours?” she asked, lips curving up into a smile that was entirely unlike the practiced ones she had once used most of the time, a real one that was a little bit crooked, and that made it all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at her. “I will of course let myself be guided by Mother.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a good cover,” she said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, now, and she didn’t try to hide it with make-up or anything else. Meng Yao treasured every blemish and imperfection. “You three can spend all your time in each other’s pockets, putting each other above everything else, and no one will question it – or, well, question it too much.”

“Let them talk,” Meng Yao said. There would never come a day when people didn’t whisper about him behind their sleeves, calling him the son of a whore, and nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, would stop it. He could only adjust his own thinking and ignore them, at peace in his heart with the knowledge that they were wrong about him. With the knowledge that he was better than they were or indeed would ever be.

Perhaps there was something to Lao Nie’s old exhortation after all.

“But do they have something to talk about?” his mother asked, arching her eyebrows at him. “You retire to the same room to sleep, but I’ve never seen any of you walking strangely the morning after – what are you waiting for? Actual marriage vows?”

“The sworn brother oath served that purpose,” Meng Yao said dismissively, just as he’d explained time and time again to Nie Huaisang. It was just as permanent, after all; they would be bound together in this life and the next, each name forever placed alongside the others in the annals of history. “And we’re just moving slowly.”

He’d explained, in the end, what Wen Ruohan had wanted, what Nie Mingjue was, what that meant; he didn’t want to keep it hidden and risk anyone later thinking that he was taking advantage.

He didn’t want to keep even one more secret from his lovers in this lifetime.

Nothing. Not even surprise parties.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared one bit about finding out that he was a furnace, because of course he didn’t; he was still an idiot after all these years. Lan Xichen, at least, had been rightfully alarmed – neither he nor Meng Yao wanted to risk harming Nie Mingjue by accident, no matter how much he argued that his cultivation was high enough that he wouldn’t even notice a setback, and anyway that he trusted them not to try to steal away from him.

Nie Mingjue had finally convinced them to try, the night after they’d taken the oath. Emotions had been running high, and they’d all fallen into bed together, their blood running hot.

It had been – an experience, to say the least.

Sex was pleasant, something Meng Yao knew intellectually from his days in the brothel and personally from the few experiences, male and female, he’d forced himself to have in order to ensure he didn’t have any demons in his heart on the subject. He’d been glad to confirm that although he liked it well enough, it wasn’t so good that he would become addicted to the feeling, descending into dissipation and cruelty the way his father had.

What they’d shared together on that night, however…that wasn’t just sex.

That was something he could become addicted to.

Meng Yao had insisted on a strict moratorium on any further activities until they could process what had just occurred, and it had been telling that neither Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had argued.

It had been mindblowing, a combination of overwhelming physical pleasure and emotional satiation, and then there was the spiritual ecstasy of cultivation – Meng Yao’s own cultivation, never especially strong, increased at an almost frightening pace for the next week, and Lan Xichen had confirmed a similar effect had occurred for him. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation seemed just as high as ever, unharmed, but obviously they had to do more research before they did anything else lest they accidentally cause harm to him somehow.

That meant they were back down to the basics, limiting themselves to rubbing up against each other at night and offering each other helping hands, given that Meng Yao and Lan Xichen weren’t willing to do anything together if it meant excluding Nie Mingjue – though recently they’d figured out that Nie Mingjue could narrate pornography without batting an eyelash with that frankly magnificent voice of his, and also that he liked telling people what to do (they knew that already, but still)…

They were going slowly. That’s how Meng Yao thought of it, and it was fine – he had no doubt that they’d figure out how to move to the next step sooner or later.

Sooner rather than later, given how quickly Lan Xichen was pouring through their respective sect libraries; apparently sexual frustration was a very effective motivator for him.

“If you’re sure you’re happy,” his mother said, and he smiled. “You seem to be. I’m glad.”

He nodded.

“So if it’s not about that, what do you want advice on? You haven’t needed to consult me on political matters in years. A-Sang would be better at that.”

“It’s not entirely political,” Meng Yao said, “though it’s not entirely apolitical, either, and don’t worry, I’ll consult Huaisang as well. Nevertheless, I wanted your views on the subject. You see, a rather complicated situation has arisen…I’ve been made an unusual offer.”

“An offer? A-Yao…”

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “Be careful of offers from strange men, especially bad men, and this is exactly that. But I still thought it was something worth considering. After getting the benefit of your insight, of course.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Now I’m curious. What’s the offer?”

He gave her the letter that he had received and drank his tea while she read it, her eyes going wide and then even wider.

“So,” he said, when he judged that she was done. “What do you think? Do I look like a ‘Jin Guangyao’? Or should I tell my father to go commit anatomically improbable acts on himself?”

“A-Yao…”

“I’m serious,” Meng Yao insisted. “This was always your dream, well before it was mine: whatever you decide, I’ll do. If you’d like for me to claim what should have been mine from the start, I’ll do it, though obviously if he thinks a mere name is enough to convince me to leave Qinghe in favor of Lanling he’s got a nasty surprise coming his way. But if you want me to tell him to his face that I’d rather be your son than his, I’ll do that too.”

He leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

“After all, I already have everything I want.”

- END -

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #09

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

[AO3]

**stream of consciousness

~POV shift~

King Sinbad was stuck awake lamenting that he wasn't able to check on to his Prophet. Mori had stayed hidden in the sleeping quarters since they left. From the little anyone did see her, she wasn't well, and refused most help. They didn't know what illness she had -Sinbad hoped it was just stress induced- but they had been able to pass her pain killers without her making a fuss.

When Mori had first let them know she was brought there against her will, he had hoped that it was a welcome change, but of course it wasn't that simple, and she was clearly grappling with guilt after what happened in Balbadd.

Sinbad knew what it was like to loose many important people and your home all at once, and to bare the weight of many lives. He hoped she would feel better in a few months. It had taken him a year to feel like he could return after the Fall of First Sindria. It was a shame though. He had been planning to take her with him to the Kou Empire. If nothing else, King Sinbad had wanted to introduce her to the rest of his Generals before leaving for the Kou Empire.

There was no way to know when she would be ready to appear before anyone again. At least she would be in his care.

Mori had told Aladdin that she couldn't read Fate anymore so her predictions were going to become less accurate as they changed Fate. She was signing on as his Prophet, but this might not be cause for concern. The Fate she had hinted at was a bleak one; if things stop lining up with her predictions it should mean they had avoided that Fate. Even if this made her less useful in the long run, Mori could also feel the waves of Fate, so he had no intentions of ever letting her go even after she ran out of prophecies.

This was just another reason why he needed to gain her loyalty. How else would he be able to keep her from leaving once she could no longer act as his Prophet?

When King Sinbad had started his journey, and even before he had captured a single Dungeon, helping people came first. Their trust and loyalty were rewards, but he didn't go out of his way for people in order to gain those things. He really just wanted to do everything in his power to help. Watching Alibaba and Aladdin - and even Mori to an extent- had reminded him of his past self.

As his powers and responsibilities grew, Sinbad had started doing things the other way around. As a King, he couldn't afford to help everyone unless he could find a way for it to benefit him or his country. His end goal was still the same, but he couldn't deny that the way he treated people was changing. That was probably why Mori had called him a scoundrel. She had said it with a joking tone, but it was clear she didn't trust him fully. She read his Fate. How much would he change before achieving his dream?

Even knowing exactly the type of man he was, she had chosen to put her faith in him and become his vassal. But how much did she actually know? She said she knew how he would die. Was he just a dead man walking to her?

Mori was resting across the hall, but she might as well be on the other side of the world. There was no way she would let Sinbad talk to her like this. And he couldn't just enter that room with the other 2 sleeping in it.

Ruminating wasn't going to help him sleep and the waves of Fate were picking up for some reason. The floor boards in the hallway creaked. Sinbad wasn't so stripped down to be a problem, and he knew there was no need of his Djinn, but he did tie his hair back and slip on his shoes before leaving his room.

More light filled the hallway than there should have been. The bow side door was open. The waves were leading him that way as well.

The night air wasn't chilly by any measure -they were definitely getting close to Sindria. The sky was mostly clear too with a nearly full moon. One would be hard pressed to find better conditions for navigating at night. Past the sails, Sinbad could see clouds in front near the horizon. They would definitely reach their destination the next day.

Fate was always on Sinbad's side; Mori was leaning against the bowsprit. He'd recognize those legs anywhere. If she was up and about, she had to be feeling better. Just in time too.

Something was off about her posture. When she turned to face him he could tell something was wrong. She didn't respond to his call either.

Sinbad had an arm around her before she had a chance to fall. Her eyes were open but unfocused, her face was flushed, she was covered in sweat, and

her breathing was strained. The metal circles she normally wore weren't on her. He put his hand on her forehead -she was burning up. How had she gotten this far with a fever this high? Why didn't those two notice how bad she was?

Sinbad scooped her up and started walking towards the door. Mori seemed to melt into his arms. Her breathing got a little better. That was good at least.

Did she catch this in Balbadd? Again he told himself it was brought on by stress. If she was actually ill then he could loose her before they ever reached his country. No. She would be fine. He could feel it in the waves. She was supposed to live by his side.

Where to take her was a question for barely a second. If she really was sick then she needed to be kept away from others to keep whatever it was from spreading. Sinbad was the only one in his room, so his would be best for quarantine. Sure, they should have done this sooner if they knew she was unwell, but better late than never.

The sight of Mori exhausted in his bed was one he was looking forward to, but not like this.

After making sure she was comfortable Sinbad went to look for whatever medicines they had brought on the trip. He knew they at least had painkillers that would lower her fever.

Who was it that packed the medicine towards the bottom of the bag?

He heard the bed creek and the covers move. Was she awake or moving in her sleep?

*Sob*

Sinbad was by her side in a flash. Checking on her took priority.

The light was dim but he could see she was shaking. She looked very small curled up like that, and she was already small. Mori barely reached his shoulder when standing.

Had she been like this the whole time? This was much worse than what those two kids had said. At least he could comfort her now.

Sinbad sat on the side of the bed. His right hand gently caressed her hair. There was a hitch in her breathing at his touch.

Mori opened her eyes and looked around for the source of contact. Her night vision didn't seem that good. Once she noticed him she reached out one arm. Her hand latched onto his knee, and pulled herself up against his thigh.

Sinbad had lamented for most of the trip that he couldn't console her. Yet, now that he could, he couldn't shake the sudden wave of guilt. Mori was at her most vulnerable and she clearly wanted comfort. If he could be the one to bring her peace in this moment, it could be exactly what he needed to win her loyalty. Fate was giving him every opportunity he needed as it always did. It wasn't like him to feel guilty about this type of thing -not any more.

Would it be alright to do things like he did when he was younger? Mori had read Sinbad's life; she could read into his actions even if he didn't try to use this to make her trust him. But he couldn't just watch her suffer either. What if he helped without her knowing it was him? He could comfort her without gaining something from it. There was nothing to gain anyway because he already had as much as he could get for the time being, and pushing could backfire. He wouldn't have to consider it a lost opportunity, right?

Mori pressed her forehead into him. Her hand trembled. Another sob escaped her along with some garbled words he could barely make out. She was pleading to be forgiven for something. Mori was definitely struggling to cope with guilt.

Speaking would instantly erase any question in who he was so he kept quiet. Sinbad moved his hand to her back and started rubbing circles into it. She didn't get shocked this time.

After a bit, Mori grabbed his hand as it passed her shoulder with her free hand. He let her interlock their fingers. Her hand was warmer than normal -he had noticed when they first met that she had cold hands.

She definitely wanted comfort.

Would holding her help? The way her grip on his leg tighten felt like she was holding onto him for dear life. Sinbad decided to take that as consent. If she gave even the smallest sign of discomfort, he'd leave.

But before that he'd give her some painkiller to help with her fever. She was weak so removing her hands was physically easy, but emotionally taxing. Mori wined in disapproval, but didn't fight it -she couldn't fight it.

Luckily Sinbad was able to find the medicine quickly this time. After mixing it in a cup of water, he brought it over to the bed. Mori barely reacted when he lifted her into a sitting position. She drank the medicine without complaint, but did have a coughing fit afterwards -it was notoriously bitter. At least she had stopped crying.

When he laid her back down so he could put the cup away she grabbed at his clothes. Mori's eyes were open but she definitely couldn't see well since she was looking off to the side of him. It did sting a little that he could be anyone, and she would have the same response.

The waves were making him anxious. It felt like she could disappear.

Her grip didn't have any strength so her hand slid down the cloth. He caught it and held it while he reached with his other hand to put the cup down. He had to make sure she knew he wasn't going to leave her.

Sinbad sat on the side of the bed as he removed his shoes and hair tie. When he let go of Mori's hand, she just let it drop and didn't move. This wasn't good. Hopefully, she was just waiting to see what he was doing.

Mori made a small sound in surprise when he lifted the covers and pulled his legs underneath. As soon as he had settled down next to her, she reached out to him again, but no longer had the strength to pull herself to him. Sinbad pulled her into his arms for her and she melted there just like when he carried her earlier.

"Thank...you." Mori's voice was so weak he thought he had imagined it.

Sinbad held her tighter in response. Even if he could be anyone from her perspective, he wasn't just anyone. He was the only one holding her.

He could feel her strength draining by the second. Checking her with magoi manipulation didn't reveal anything good. If she hadn't wandered onto the deck, and if he hadn't followed the waves to her- He didn't want to think about it. He had finally found another person who could feel the waves of Fate and he might loose her to illness just like he had lost his

mother.

The Rukh would help Mori pull through. It had to. Fate always sided with Sinbad, so as long as he stayed near her she should recover just fine. He had felt in the waves that she was going to live the rest of her life in Sindria with him. There was no way he was going to let some illness take her from him.

Sinbad got up a few times to get her more water and medicine. If nothing else he had to keep her fluids up. Some of the best doctors and magicians were in his country. If she could hold on until they reached Sindria then they could help her.

By the time the sun peaked over the horizon Mori's breathing had stabilized and her fever broke. She had survived the night. She would be fine just like he knew she would. The relief washed over Sinbad with the waves, and he fell asleep with his Mori in his arms.

---

Sinbad woke up to the sounds of someone hissing his name. What did Ja'far want so early in the morning?

"Sin, what is this?! Why is Mori with you?? How could you do this??” The General was whisper yelling.

His words made Sinbad's eyes open. Mori was in his bed? That would explain the comfortable weight on his chest. No wonder he had slept so well. The previous night came back to him; it would have been better if she was with him for more enjoyable reasons. A quick glance assured him that her condition was still stable. "Quiet down. You'll wake her up."

Ja'far had his head in his hands. "Can I actually trust either of you? You both said you would behave yourselves and I find you like this?" He glared daggers at his King, "She only just became your vassal. What sort of-”

"I found her sick on deck in the middle of the night," Sinbad explained the situation to his friend, "So I can assure you that nothing happened."

"Why are sleeping in the same bed?" Ja'far was not backing down. Mori might still hold this against him, and, "What if you get sick too?" His voice cracked at the end.

Sinbad would never get sick because 'idiots can't catch colds.' The King might be a genus but he was also undoubtedly the biggest idiot Ja'far knew.

The Prophet gave a groan and buried her head into the chest acting as her pillow. She gave it a squeeze too for good measure; it was like she was telling Sinbad to go back to sleep. This was definitely a good morning for the King.

He looked up at Ja'far with a smile, "I'll be out in a few minutes. We can talk then."

The General left lamenting his choice of master.

Now that he was awake and alone with Mori, Sinbad had a decision to make. To wake her, find out how she's feeling, and explain that he took care of her, or not?

He looked down at her sleeping face while weighing his decision. Mori looked a little different without those metal circles. Now that the disturbing sound was gone she looked more content. The way she clung to him in her sleep was very endearing. He'd have to find more opportunities for her to do so when she was awake.

She didn't look to be in pain and she felt a little warm but not as feverish as before which were both good signs.

If he were to wake her up then what was the point of keeping quiet the previous night? She needed more rest anyway and he definitely didn't like the idea of being called a scoundrel again.

Sinbad did his best to wiggle out from under her. She gave a sleepy groan of disapproval and he had to agree with that sentiment. Mori's movements shifted her hair. He never noticed that she had pierced ears. It was probably because she wasn't wearing earrings.

Earrings were another good gift idea for welcoming his Beautiful Prophet to her new home. He was already planning to get her a new wardrobe, so a few accessories would be a normal addition.

The King put the rest of his clothes back on, then his metal vessels and other adornments, and left to find out the current state of things. At least he had gotten some sleep before having to take up his responsibilities.

---

~POV shift Mori~

Where the fuck had the comfy warm thing gone? And why had Ja'far and Sinbad bickered so loudly that I could hear it from my bed? -Not that I paid any attention to what they were saying.

Now that I was awake though, I realized that the "comfy warm thing" I was missing was probably the Sinbad I clung to in my dream. I always get cuddly when I'm unwell so giving myself a dream like that was par for the course.

I forced myself up and realized I didn't recognize my surroundings -and not just because everything was blurry without my glasses on. I definitely did not know this room. I could still hear the waves though and the room was swaying lightly, so I was obviously still on the ship.

The room only had the one bed. There was some kind of large wooden furniture nearby. A desk or dresser maybe?

I felt light headed.

Seriously, though... How did I get here? I had basically spent the entire trip in one room and it wasn't this one.

I remembered waking up in the middle of the night, I had felt the worst I had all trip, I went topside... Oh right. I fainted and Sinbad someone caught me. And then they took care of me even though they didn't have to... And they comforted me. That was probably why I had a dream like that.

I thought all of the passenger rooms were divided evenly though. Who was so privileged that they got a room all to their-

...

Next order of business: getting back to my room to get my glasses and other belongings.

I looked to the floor just to make sure I had left my flip-flops in my room. I was greeted with a blurry empty wood floor. Even without glasses I'd be able to make out if my shoes were there.

I made my way to the door with decent coordination.

The hallway was dim like normal. I had expected that, but I had forgotten how much worse my night vision is without my glasses. I really couldn't tell which end of the hallway was the door to the bow and which was the main deck.

This was fine. I could figure this out. The door placements weren't perfectly symmetrical so if I went to the middle of the hallway I should be able to figure it out without having to test the ends and risk looking like a bigger idiot than I already was. Technically, I could use the room I came out of for reference, but those thoughts brought my fever back. It would make my room the one to my left on the wall across from me though. I decided to call it "Fate" that I opened the correct door on the first try.

Since no one else was around I took the opportunity to wipe down and change clothes. There was no way I was going to continue wearing the clothes I had sweat in while I was so sick. Now that I was sure my fever had broke, I was back in my hoodie and shorts.

I just sat on my bed in a daze; I was so drained. I needed food or more sleep or both.

I heard shouting, but nothing I could make out. Then the distinctive sound of a stampede. I didn't move and waited for some clue as to what was going on -I didn't have the energy to move anyway. Had a south seas creature attacked? I hadn't heard splashing.

The door to the passenger rooms was opened. The runners went down the hall and the door to the room I was sitting in was yanked open.

Aladdin and Morgiana stopped in the doorway when they spotted me. I saw Alibaba run past behind them.

"Miss Mori! You're back!"

I nodded. "What's going on?”

"We're packing," Morgiana answered simply.

There's only one reason they'd be packing.

Aladdin excitedly added, "Mr. Ja'far said we'll reach Sindria soon. You can see it clearly!"

I packed my things too.

Those two asked me how I was feeling. They had been really worried about me. Now that I wasn't as sick, my

(Also, I'm still drafting the next arc so there's probably going to be one long break and then back to weekly posts. I mostly know what I want to happen for getting settled in Sindria but the order of events and the how are numerous. I've already written 3 different versions. The version of the ship to Sindira arc I went with is actually version 5 so you guys get an idea of how many dead timelines I write per arc before I get to the right one. I decided on the 5th version because I liked how it set up the upcoming arc.)

thoughts didn't have that cloud hanging over them. I could see how even though I wasn't close to anyone in this world yet, that there were still people who would care about me.

I definitely wasn't fully better, having been sick for so long. As soon as we'd get settled in, in Sindria I'd go back to sleep. I'd have to leave exploring to after I was better.

The kids finished packing before me and ran out with their bags. I grabbed some food before joining them. The one good thing about this not being a super long trip was that not all of the bread was hardtack.

(Hardtack is a bread that is rebaked multiple times until it is hard as a rock. This helps kill anything that could grow mold. Hardtack is normally for very long trips at sea where you can't just go get more food. It is not eaten on its own because it's so hard. It is put in soup or other liquids to soften when eating. Yes, I ate hardtack when reenacting. It tastes like the stalest bread you can imagine and saps flavor from everything it touches, but it is filling. Soup with hardtack is what I drew Mori and Alibaba eating in the previous chapter.)

[shipblogbecausesure]

Oh look Amelia

I headcanon Amelia’s a bit toxic so keep that in mind

Jason was sat at his work table like always while L.J was out for the time being. Licorice was at his shoulder while Glutton was at his feet.

"Master you should take a break. You've been working since Jack left this morning."

Jason only pet the little toy's head. "I'm fine Licorice. You all worry to much." he said with a small laugh. Mr.Glutton sat up from his spot on the ground. He turned his body so he faced the hallway letting out a low hiss. "Is something wrong Glutton?"

He slithered down the hall stopping in what seemed to be a random door and started hissing at it angrily. "Glutton nothing's in there silly." he said opening the door. He froze as he looked into the room. A dark haired girl was stood in the center with old fashioned clothes on. She was turned away from the door so she didn't realize Jason at first. "What are YOU doing here?" he asked his now black hands clenching into fists.

The female turned to face him giving a friendly smile. Jason took a deep breath letting his hands return to normal. "I simply want to help you Jason." she said offering her hand. "I understand we left off on an... unfortunate note but, I still remember the good times we had. I know that this isn't you. Not the you I remember." she explained.

Jason took another breath trying to maintain his calm. "Playing the hero card again Amelia? You're so predictable."

She rolled her eyes at the comment. "Jason we both know this isn't good for you. Do you really think you'd find true friends this way?"

Jason just stared at her as his hands faded to black up to his wrists. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked starting to glare at her.

"Jason look. You are very clearly unstable. You're controlling, manipulative, and have major jealousy issues. It's only a matter of time before that clown friend of yours realizes it." she told him, "And then he'll leave you just like everybody else."

Jason felt himself tense up.

"Jason, who's she?"

Jason turned to the doorway. L.J had returned. Jason took a deep breath letting himself return back to normal.

"I told you about my old friend Amelia right?"

L.J re focused his gaze on the girl. "So this is her? Shouldn't she be dead by now?" he asked moving to stand next to Jason.

"Well I think she is."

Amelia just glared at him. "Are you saying you regret nothing you did?"

The toymaker only chuckled. "The only thing I regret is not killing you when I had the chance."

Amelia stared at the other in shock. Her hands balled into fists. "Do you have any idea how paranoid I was after you attacked me!? It was because of it that I died! And after all of that I still want to help you!" she shouted.

L.J rolled his eyes. "Was she always like this?" he whispered to Jason.

He only nodded in response. "Still playing victim I see. If you had forgiven me when I was sorry maybe this wouldn't have happened." he pointed out, "Though, I'm pretty glad you didn't. You were a sh** friend and I'm happy now. Why would I ever want to change that?"

Amelia just shook her head. "Like I said. You're manipulative, controlling, and have jealousy issues. Only a matter of time before you realize that Jack."

"Jason might have his jealousy issues but that's about it. I have my own flaws so who am I to judge him for them?"

Amelia shook her head again. "Just remember what I said alright? I just want to help you Jason."

"And if you come back here again we are going to have a problem."

Amelia rolled her eyes before disappearing.

"She's a bit of a bit** isn't she?" L.J asked.

Jason chuckled. "'A bit' is an understatement. I'm surprised I didn't realize it sooner."

Jack put his arms around the other. "Don't listen to a word she says Love. Okay?"

Jason gave a small smile and nodded. "I'll try.." he mumbled to himself.