#guess I’ll just lay here until the crushing weight of whatever it is that makes me wona disappear eventually subsides

[ismyn]

Gosh, the sads have hit me tonight.

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Fourteen)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption.

Notes: This chapter took forever for me to write but then suddenly I wrote it very quickly hahaha. Please look forward to the last arc of the story. Enjoy the chapter:) Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon @mawwnsterr @siredsong @happyhrsme @storms-and-stars-blog @mingi-banana @soeur-de-ame

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous---Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A long, sweet night.”

“A long, sweet night.”

“A long, sweet night.” You decide to repeat out loud. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Well, you know what it could mean. But there’s no way, right? You hold your phone close to your face, your features lit up with the dim blue light. Your eyes squint as you read over his text again and again.

You start to feel the crushing weight of his text, his words causing an undeniable pain in your chest. Your heart beginning to become chipped away piece by piece, each letter of his words cutting at it.

“Now you fight.”

Your mother’s words echo in your mind, her words making you grip your phone tightly in your hand. She’s right. If you don’t fight then you’re running away aren’t you? This is the point. This is the point she is talking about, this is the point where if you do nothing you are now a coward.

“You did the work honey.”

Yes, you did. Growth is forever but you’ve come a long way. You think you have done enough. You are enough. You have done so much and you deserve this, you deserve a happy ending. An ending you have worked for.

You sit at your dining room table, your phone in hand still. You finally click it off and set it down onto the wooden table, it lands with a thump but you don’t even flinch. There isn’t currently anything you can say to him. You have no response. You know that was the end of the conversation. But you know this isn’t the end. It can’t be. It won’t be.

You stand from the table and drag your feet towards the living room and head towards the couch. It’s cold when you plop down onto it, the cushion doing nothing to make you feel comforted. A long, sweet night, huh? Well, you don’t want this sweet night to end.

~~~~~~

“y/n you’ve apologized like 8 times already,” Marcus chuckles, “You don’t have to say sorry anymore.”

“I know, I know.” You bring the croissant to your mouth and take a generous bite. “I really didn’t mean to run out on you though.”

It’s early the next morning, you are treating Marcus to breakfast as a way to apologize for running out on him the night before. He’s kind and understanding as usual.

“So you ever really going to explain?” Marcus murmurs as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Explain?” You peak over the croissant, your eyes finding his. “Explain what?”

“Come on.” He sets the coffee mug down, “Him. Tell me about the guy who…you know, has your heart or whatever.” Marcus looks down at his hands that are firmly gripping the mug, his cheeks turning a nice, soft pink.

“Oh.” You say, “That.”

Your eyes lower until they are set on the floor, you notice little things like the cracks in the tile. You finally bring the croissant back to the plate on the table, it’s half eaten state taunting you.

“Well,” your eyes find Marcus, “That’s a long story.” You admit softly.

“You gave me a very brief explanation the night I asked you out,” Marcus blinks at you, “But I don’t really understand the…depth…I guess you could say.”

“I kind of told you about the island…” That’s where you decide to start, “But I barely got into my trip to Korea.”

“Right.”

“Well, things didn’t go as smoothly as I had wanted.”

“Are you in love y/n?” Marcus turns redder than a ripe tomato. “You don’t have to an—”

“Yes.” You tell him bluntly. “I am.”

Marcus looks taken aback for a moment, his expression slightly surprised until it’s softening.

“I see. Well, it’s not like I didn’t know. But you two aren’t even talking right?”

“Right.” You admit, your breathing picking up just the slightest. “Barely, anyway.”

“He’s an idiot.” Marcus lets the words spill out between his lips.

“Why is that?”

“I just…I wouldn’t ever let…I would never let you go.” Marcus’s blush deepens as he avoids your eyes now. You can’t help but let a small somewhat pitiful smile paint itself on your lips.

“Well…” you bite down on your bottom lip, “It isn’t that easy.”

“Why not?” Marcus shakes his head. “If he really loved you—”

“Sorry Marcus.” You cut in. “But I think you are overstepping a little bit…”

Marcus scrunches his brows together.

“How so?”

“You don’t know the full story or his perspective.” You tell him, your eyes going back to the floor. “I’m not perfect in this.”

“You are perf—”

“No.” you say sternly, your hard eyes going back to his. “I’m not.”

You push the plate forward on the table, the sound of it gliding against the wood making you shiver.

“You just don’t…you don’t know what I put him through…” you say bitterly, “It wasn’t kind of me, I wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t the best, I wasn’t a lot of things. But I have accepted that and moved forward with that.” You tell him honestly.

“Shouldn’t he try harder…if he loves you?” Marcus raises his voice just the slightest, “If.”

“I don’t know how he feels anymore.” You feel yourself grow tired from this conversation, “But it doesn’t change things.”

“Sorry y/n.” Marcus looks down at his hands again. “I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have brought this up—”

“I talked to him last night.” You blurt out. “I want to see him. I want to try.”

“But why?” Marcus is growing tired as well. It’s clear he isn’t seeing things the way you do.

“Because he’s my soulmate.”

~~~~~~~

You lay on your stomach, the soft feeling of your bed making you feel so warm. Your phone is in your hands as you struggle to press the ‘call’ button. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, it’s just Yuna yet you are having a hard time.

“Come on y/n.” you whisper to yourself. “Come on.”

You nibble on your lips, waiting for your fingers to find the courage to press the god damn button. It shouldn’t be this hard, no. If it’s meant to be it should be easy.

You press the ‘call’ button and wait not so patiently as it rings and rings on speaker. She’s taking too long, you think. Then finally—

“y/n!!!” Yuna exclaims loudly, her voice booming throughout your small room. “What’s up girl!”

“Yuna…” you hesitate to say her name, “Your birthday…two weeks…”

“Yes?” She tilts her head to the side through the camera. “It is?”

“Is that offer still on the table?” you gulp. “For my flight.”

“Huh? You mean to fly you out here for my b-day?”

“Yeah…” You gulp again, “If it’s okay—”

“Wait!” Yuna yells out with an excited smile, “Jiwoo, get over here!!!!”

“Jiwoo is with you too?” You can’t help the small smile. “You should have said something.”

“Jiwoo! y/n wants to come for my birthday!”

“What???” Jiwoo’s voice is heard, “Eh?”

“y/n..” Yuna points the camera at her mouth, her lips curving into a wide smile. “You really want to come here?”

You nod your head eagerly, a timid expression on your face.

“I do. I want to see you and celebrate you, of course…but I also…” your words get quieter and quieter as you speak.

“You want to see him, don’t you?” Yuna asks softly, “I’m rooting for you.”

“Me too!” Jiwoo says with her fist in the air, “You got this!”

“Guys.” You whine cutely, “Thanks.”

You chat with your friends for a little while longer, you tell them all about Taehyung’s song and his words to you through text.

“It’s definitely not the end girl.” Yuna pouts, “You guys still have so much more to give…”

“It sounds like your mom really came through too…” Jiwoo points out, “She makes a good point.”

“Yeah,” you agree easily, “I just have to figure out where Taehyung stands in all of this.” You look down at the duvet that covers your bed. “I’m going to really put myself out there but there is a chance I will be rejected.” You tell them with a softness in your voice. “He is moving forward and that could really mean without me.”

“I hate to admit it but I think you are right.” Jiwoo murmurs, “He’s really put a lot of effort to move past everything.”

“I know.” You bite down on your lip, just hard enough that you feel something. “I know.”

“But don’t lose you momentum girl!” Yuna cheers you on, “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

“You think so?” You laugh lightly. “I think I might be the one who loses my mind.”

You swing your legs in the air back and forth until you lay them down on your bed. You nibble on your lips again as you think about it, seeing him. “Yeah. I’m going to lose it.” You laugh again.

“He hasn’t RSVP’d to my party yet…I’ll ask him about it this week when we all go out.” Yuna tells you with a tiny smile on her lips. “I won’t say anything about you coming.”

“Thanks…I’ll tell him myself.”

You finally bid farewell to your friends, clicking the end button on your screen and setting your phone down on your cozy bed. You’re really doing this. This is really happening. Does he really believe you two were just ships in the night? Was your time together really just the equivalent of a long, sweet night?

You roll off your bed and head towards your desk, you pull out your rolling chair and take a seat. Your desk is covered in papers from work, your journal, small decorations, a pile of glittery gel pens and a half drank Starbucks drink. It’s kind of a mess. You decide to clean up a bit and then take your journal and a purple glitter pen and start writing.

“Time and timing is everything in this universe. Everything pans out the way it’s meant to…I do believe that. I have to believe that. I have to have that kind of faith. But I can’t just stand by and let the universe do all the work, can I? I should put some level of effort too…right? Is time in my hands?”

You stop writing, the pen staying still, bleeding its purple ink into your paper. Is time in your hands? You bring the pen to your lips and chew on the end, your teeth digging into the plastic.

“Is it?” you repeat out loud.

~~~~~

Wow, you haven’t felt this nervous in a while. Your nerves are absolute killers right now. They are shaking you to your death and throwing you over a cliff, they are slapping you in the face repeatedly, they are making you feel so completely helpless.

Your hand trembles furiously as you hold your stupid phone, your whole body is vibrating in terror. You fly out in the morning and you haven’t told Taehyung that you are going to Korea yet. He has no idea that you two will be breathing the same air soon. You try your hardest to take a few deep breaths but you fall short, your breathing quick and sharp instead.

The boys promised not to say anything and you’re counting on it. Jimin is on the verge of tears from his excitement, he’s been waiting for you to visit for the past year. Jungkook is anticipating your arrival as well, his bunny grin imprinted in your mind when you told them you for sure were going. The rest of the guys cheered and sent you a million texts about how happy they are. Everyone knows about your upcoming arrival…everyone but him.

After staring at his message thread for what seems like an eternity you finally decide to chicken out. You click your phone off and throw it on your sofa, it slides against the cushions and somehow falls between the cracks. But you don’t care. You’re happy your phone is out of sight.

You decide to take a walk in the city, the evening air is brisk and the sky is glowing in pinks and purples. You tug your jean jacket closer together as you walk through a cool breeze, it feels nice actually. Like you can breathe again. Your phone is still lost between your couch cushions and you couldn’t feel happier about it.

You decide to stroll around until you find yourself at Cozy Coffee, the shop making you feel welcomed and at home. You head to the counter and order a latte, the warm drink making you melt into some slightly pathetic puddle. Only pathetic because at the end of the day you know you are just avoiding what you must do. But somehow you approve. You just want to enjoy this evening before your trip to Korea. You have no idea what this trip might hold. You have no idea of the experiences you will encounter. You just really have no idea.

You sip on your latte in the corner of the shop, your mind starting to ease as you down your drink. Are you really prepared for this? Are you ready to face him? To be honest, you haven’t even thought about what you might say…you just know the first step is seeing him. Face to face.

You finally head back to your apartment, the sky now lit up by the illuminating moon, guiding you on your path. You feel relaxed again, the moon giving you peaceful energy. You know this feeling is only temporary so you try to embrace it.

Your apartment is chilly inside, the air matching the air from outside. You head towards the thermostat and turn it up a few degrees. You rub your arms in attempt to warm yourself as you head towards you sofa, you look at it with disdain as you remember your phone hiding in its cushions.

You take a deep breath and lift one of the cushions up and search for the damned thing. Your hand finds it and you throw it on the other side of the sofa as you place the cushion back in its place. You finally take a seat and reach for your phone, you take another deep breath as you click it on, seeing you have a missed called from Jimin and also your mother.

You decide to call your mom first, you video chat her right away, waiting for her to answer.

“Hi sweetie.” Your moms voice comes through your phones speaker. “I tried calling a little while ago.”

“Sorry…” you mumble lamely. “What’s up?”

“I know you leave for your trip tomorrow and just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your mouth opens a little…like you are going to speak but really it’s just from the pleasant surprise you are feeling from your mothers words. The past couple of weeks you two have been chatting more and more.

“I feel…” you feel your body tense, you try to take a deep breath but it feels mostly impossible. “Mom.” Your bottom lip begins to tremble, “I’m scared.”

“Things like this are scary honey.” She breathes out, her eyes soft and on you. “But you aren’t living life unless you are taking leaps of faith.”

“There is a strong chance he won’t want me.” You tell her, your breaths shaky. “Can I handle that?”

“Honey…” Your mom closes her eyes for a second before they’re back on you. “You can handle anything. I believe that. I know in the past…it might not have seemed that way but you’ve grown so much. You are so strong y/n. And I know you want to make things work…” she pauses as you try to calm your breathing, you are trying not to cry. “But…” your mother continues, “But you are complete on your own too. And you will find some epic love or whatever no matter with who. You deserve it so therefore you will have it.”

“He’s my love, mom.” You finally feel your eyes wet with tears. “He’s been my biggest supporter this whole journey and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Well y/n.” your mom exhales through her nose as she smiles for you, “It sounds like you have an important mission for this trip. I hope you really convey your feelings and most importantly…I hope you listen as well. Really listen. Listen to his thoughts and feelings too and be considerate.” She softly advises you. “Communication really is key.”

“I know…” you sniffle.

“Did you know…” your mother hesitates to continue, she exhales a long breath before setting her lips in a firm line. “Your father and I were close to divorcing around the time you were born.”

“Wait what?” you blink at the screen, feeling caught off guard.

Your mother slowly nods her head and closes her eyes.

“We just…didn’t feel like we were on the same page anymore. I didn’t know what he was thinking anymore and he had no idea what was going on in my mind either.”

You pull your brows together as you listen intently, your mom’s words making you feel a little anxious.

“We just didn’t click anymore, it felt like. We were struggling financially at the time and you were…an unexpected surprise. It truthfully further strained our marriage…” she tells you honestly. “But we loved you so much. It was the only thing holding us together.”

“How did you work things out?” you ask quietly.

“We talked. Really talked. I remember we went out on the patio after we put you girls to sleep and we just finally looked at one another and knew we had to have…you know, an important discussion.” She takes a moment to breathe evenly. “I finally let it all out…I told him about how lonely I had been feeling, I told him how I missed him…he was working a lot you know…I told him I just wasn’t happy anymore.”

You feel your heart ache a bit at her words, you never knew this about your parents.

“He ended up crying…nodding his head over and over and telling me he knows how I feel. Because he was feeling it too. The disconnect was hurting the both of us.”

“I had no idea…” you admit, still sniffling. “You and dad always seemed so…okay, all the time.”

“We didn’t want you girls to ever worry. Your father and I have shared bumps in the road but we found a way to cope. We expressed ourselves honestly, the vulnerability creating a closeness I cannot even begin to describe.”

“So you are saying…me and Taehyung—”

“You need to share everything…really everything. This is how you truly move forward.”

“Thanks for sharing that stuff about you and dad…”

“I want to help any way I can honey.” She smiles a smile you rarely see on her, it brings you automatic comfort. “Get some rest and let me know when you land. Goodnight.”

You agree and say your goodbyes to your mom as you both hang up. You sit on your couch still sniffling as you think deeply about what your mother shared with you.

After a few minutes you decide to clean your face with your sleeve and call Jimin back. The ringing only goes on for a second or two before he’s picking up.

“He isn’t going.” Jimin huffs on the video chat. “Said he isn’t in the mood to party.”

“Huh?” you blink at Jimin a few times before you’re realizing. “Oh.”

“You need to tell him you’re coming then maybe he will change his mind…”

“Yeah y/n!” You hear Jungkook yell over the phone, “tell him already! It’s killing me keeping this from him.”

“Well, first of all, hi guys.” You wave at the camera. “Second…” you chew on your lips. A horrible habit of yours, you know. “I will tell him when I get there.” You mumble.

“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding?” You hear Jungkook groan. “Just do it now.”

“Chill!” Jimin scolds Jungkook, “But he’s kind of got a point y/n…”

“Trust me…just let me tell him when I get there. Also, Jimin.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re sure it’s fine that I stay with you?” you look into his eyes through the camera and you see his thick lips curve into a wonderful grin.

“Of course my bff.”

“I want to stay over here too…” Jungkook grumbles, he finally shows himself on screen. “We can all have like a …slumber party or whatever.” His eyes slide to the side as he grows red with embarrassment.

“A slumber party?” Jimin begins to tease, “What are you, a 12 year old girl?”

“I happen to like the slumber party idea.” You nod your head approvingly.

“Seriously though y/n.” Jungkook’s eyes find yours. “Tell him you’re coming.”

“I will, I will.” You wave him off, “I’ll send a text before I fall asleep or something. Happy?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He smirks at you. “Right, Jimin?”

“Yeah.” Jimin grins again, “I’m really hoping for the best, girl.”

“Me too guys…me too.”

~

You double check to make sure you’ve packed everything for your week long trip, you then triple check just to be sure. You feel anxious again but somehow you feel okay at the same time. You think the talk you had with your mom kind of helped you.

You had no idea she and your father shared such “bumps in the road” as she had mentioned. Is talking it out really such a magical solution? Will you and Taehyung really be able to share everything…like everything, everything?

You take one huge deep breath as you pull your phone out…you find Taehyung’s name and begin writing your text.

y/n 9:04pm

I’ll be in korea for Yuna’s birthday. Will I see you there?

You quickly click your phone off and toss it to your bed and squeal. Yes, squeal. You finally did it. Now you wait for a response.

~

It’s 6 am and you are sitting on your flight waiting for takeoff, you stare at your screen as you see the fact that Taehyung read your message several hours ago. He left you on read. You could honestly throw up. You’re anxious all over again.

~~~~~~~

“You belong here!” Jimin is squeezing you so hard it’s almost crushing your very bones. “Just move here already.” He whines into your neck as he continues to embrace you. “Please.”

“My turn…” Jungkook huffs, “I said my turn!”

“Patience, brat.” Jimin teases as he leans away from you, his hands still on your arms. “So how was your flight?”

“You’re really going to try to have a whole conversation with her before I get to hug her? Really dude?” Jungkook shoves Jimin to the side before his arms wrap around you. You return his hug with your own arms circling his tiny waist.

“You missed me, Jungkook?” you inhale his scent, he smells of fresh laundry.

“Whatever.” He grumbles with a toothy grin. “So,” he pulls away from you and gestures you to come inside Jimin’s place. “How was the flight?”

“Long as hell. I’m glad to finally be here.” You walk through, setting your luggage in his walkway. “And I am so damn hungry.”

“Well, we can definitely order some food.” Jimin cheeses, “How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” You take your shoes off and walk further into Jimin’s home. “Smells good in here.” You comment nonchalantly.

“I lit some candles before you got here.” Jimin scratches the back of his neck, “Wasn’t sure if you would like the scent so I blew them out.”

“No, no. I like it.” You find your way into his living room, his black leather sofas taking up much of the space. You find a spot near the window and take a seat.

“So, did you even tell Taehyung? We saw him earlier today and he didn’t say anything so I am assuming you didn’t tell him.” Jungkook says with a serious tone.

“Actually I did.” You pick at your nails, but raise your head as to not look bothered.

“Wait…really? He didn’t say anything?” Jimin questions with the tilt of his head.

“He left me on read.” You say as plainly as possible. “Guess he doesn’t want to see me.”

“He…he left you on…” Jungkook looks over at Jimin, their eyes meeting with curiosity. “But he….?”

“Yup.” You go back to picking at your nails, trying your best once again to look unbothered.

“Well!” Jimin claps his hands together, “What should we eat?”

A few hours pass, night time quickly approaching. You, Jimin and Jungkook wait for Yuna and Jiwoo to arrive at Jimin’s place. You three drinking soju, giggling while resting on the sofas when you hear knocking on Jimin’s front door.

Jimin hurries to answer when you hear the voices of your two friends echoing lightly throughout the place. Yuna appears first, she rushes to your spot on the couch, jumping on you and quickly embracing you. You can’t help but laugh out loud, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent as you two hug one another. Jiwoo joins you both by sitting next to you and wrapping her arms around you.

“H-Hi Jiwoo.” Jungkook quickly stands up when Jimin is coming to his side and nudging his shoulder.

“And Yuna.” He reminds him with his teasing voice.

“Right.” Jungkook clears his throat. “And Yuna. Hi.”

“Hey.” Jiwoo replies cooly, “You guys started drinking without us?”

“You guys took too long!” You slur happily. “We only have had a little, little.” You show her how little with your pointer finger and thumb.

“Sure Miss Drunkie.” Jiwoo laughs, “Yuna I think you can let her breathe now.”

“One more minute!” Yuna rubs her face on your shoulder as she continues to hug you. “Missed my y/n!”

“Yuna!” you giggle. “You have 5 more seconds!”

“Fine.” Yuna pouts dramatically, pulling off you. She sits on your other side and smiles up at you. Her hair is still a pale pink and her eyeshadow is a glittery art work. You look over at Jiwoo with her jet black hair, it’s gotten even longer.

“It’s good to see you guys.” You chirp, “And oh my god, two more days until your birthday!” you point at Yuna excitedly.

“I can’t believe your dad is letting you have your birthday party at the Mondrian.” Jimin takes a seat on the other sofa with Jungkook. “That place is so nice.”

“I’m spoiled.” Yuna sings, “So spoiled!”

“At least she admits it.” Jiwoo deadpans.

You start giggling some more, reaching for another shot of soju. You down it back and smack your lips in satisfaction.

“Yummy!” you sway into Yuna and Jiwoo. “You guys want to play a game?”

“Like what?” Jungkook asks. “I think Hobi said he wants to swing by.”

“Oh! Yay.” You chirp happily, “Can the rest of the guys not make it?”

“We’re meeting with everyone tomorrow Miss impatient.” Jimin takes his own shot of soju.

“But I want to see everyone now.” You jut your lip out. “Jungkook!” you stand up and stumble to where he’s seated. “Call em and tell em to come here. Now.” You plop down next to him. “Pretty please.” You lean into his shoulder and smile for him. Jungkook turns nice and rosy before he’s lightly pushing you away.

“You have to wait y/n.” he reminds you, avoiding your intense gaze.

“Jungkookie.” You whine, “I said pretty please.”

“Wow, she is drunk.” Jiwoo chuckles, “I love it.”

“Same.” Jimin’s eyes turn to crescents as he grins. “She is so…free.” He says quieter, “She’s changed so much.”

“Jungkookie!” You lean into his space again, your big eyes blinking up at him over and over until he’s groaning.

“Fine!” he throws his hands up, “Who should we call first?”

You end up calling the rest of the guys and chatting for a while, your drunken state only worsening. But it’s nothing but a good time. Jimin ends up tucking you in his kind size bed, he brushes the hair out of your face and watches you fondly as you snore in your sleep. He’s so proud of you. Jungkook walks into the bedroom as well and he shares a knowing look with Jimin and Jimin’s smile fades into a frown.

“Want to have a beer on the patio?” Jungkook nods towards outside the room.

“Sure.” Jimin takes one last look at you before he’s leaving you to sleep. Jimin and Jungkook walk past the sofa where Yuna and Jiwoo are knocked out, cuddling each other for warmth. They make their way outside and take their seats on the patios chairs.

“So.” Jungkook pinches his brows together, “He didn’t say anything to us.”

“I know.” Jimin’s frown only deepens. “He’s probably taking his time to process her arrival, you know?”

“Is it that simple?” Jungkook brows pull together even further. “He’s doing so well and maybe he…”

“He just needs time Jungkook. I know him.”

“I know him too Jimin and he acted like she didn’t reach out to him? That’s not…I don’t know, concerning to you?”

Jimin stares straight ahead, bringing his beer to his lips. He takes a few gulps before facing Jungkook.

“Yeah.” He admits. “It is.”

~

The next morning is horrific, the hangover you have is probably literally killing you. Your head is absolutely pounding and your body feels weak. But you have to admit the sheets in this bed feel amazing so you are tempted to stay here forever—or at least until this killer hangover disappears.

“y/n. It’s like 2pm.” You hear Jungkook’s voice hammer in your ears. “Get up!”

“Nooooooo.” You groggily whine, pulling the sheets up over your head. “Want to stay here forever.”

“Brought you some water girl.” Jimin’s angelic voice is heard, he’s gently pulling the sheets down and exposing your tired as hell face.

“Drink it slowly.” He sweetly advises, “And here’s some pain killers.” He hands you two pills and you eye him up before taking them gratefully.

“Thanks…” you murmur. “Holy hell, soju is no joke.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook laughs. “But you hung in there!”

“Where are Yuna and Jiwoo?” you pop the pills in your mouth and drink back some water. The refreshing beverage already making you feel a little more alive.

“They left hours ago!” Jungkook continues to laugh, “You slept through it.”

“Damn.” You grumble, “Wait!” you suddenly raise your head up. “Aren’t the guys getting here at 3 today?”

“Yes.” Jimin smiles, “So maybe you want to shower….and get ready.”

“O-Okay.” You agree, you pull the sheets back off your body and rise from the bed, the room starts to slightly spin and you whine. “I am not drinking this much ever again!”

“You say that now. But Yuna’s party is open bar so.” Jungkook winks.

You gag just at the thought of drinking more alcohol. You drag your feet towards Jimin’s bathroom and your hand reaches for the shower knob and you turn it on, letting the water warm up.

“Okay, I’ll get ready! You two shoo.”

The shower is exactly what you needed, the warm water making you feel relaxed and comfortable. You’re grateful that Jimin is letting you stay at his place for a whole week…you really wish you saw them more often. You really wish you lived here sometimes.

You admittedly love it here…you enjoy your life back home too, don’t get it wrong but something about this place that feels so fitting.

“Almost done in there?” You hear Jimin softly knock on the bathroom door. “Jin says they’re on the way.”

“Be right out!” you call back out. “Almost done.”

You take a look in the mirror and you think to yourself about how nicely you clean up. You got some ripped jeans and a black long sleeve shirt, some light make up and two clips in your hair. You look cute as hell actually.

“Okay. Time to see my friends.” You give yourself an awkward thumbs up in the mirror before you’re chuckling. “Should I practice my Korean on them?” you ask out loud. Then you nod your head and give yourself another thumbs up before you step out of the bathroom, walk through Jimin’s room and enter the living room.

“About time lady!” Jungkook snickers, “What the hell were you doing in there?”

“You shouldn’t ask a girl that!” Jimin swats Jungkook’s arm. “Feeling better y/n?”

“Loads!” you walk towards them and find a place on the couch. “Are they almost here?”

Suddenly, there’s excessive knocking on the front door. You three whip your heads in the direction and you jump up in delight. You race Jungkook to the door and swing it open and as soon as you do so many arms are reaching out to hold you.

“y/n!!!!” Hobi is the first to wrap his arms around you so tightly, he sways your bodies back and forth. “I missed you so much.” He finally lets go when Jin is automatically pulling you into his chest.

“Your favorite one is here now.” He jokes as he squeezes your smaller body.

“Uh have you guys ever stayed up all night on the phone sharing writing tips for hours? I don’t think so.” You hear Namjoon say teasingly. “Come here you.” He’s dragging your arm until your body is being engulfed by his. “About time you visited.”

“Hey, we don’t have any say on y/n’s timing to come here. What matters is that she is here now.” Yoongi stands to the side, waiting for his turn. “But I would like a hug too.” He smiles that gummy smile and you giggle. You leave Namjoon to give Yoongi a tight embrace, he rocks your bodies back and forth before he’s letting go altogether.

“Good to see you y/n.” he says.

“You too. All of you.” You look at the boys, “You have no idea how much I missed you guys. Talking through the phone just isn’t enough, is it?”

“You could always move here.” Hobi offers with a teasing smile. “But you know that already.”

“She does know that!” Jungkook yells over the chatter. “But she’s a scaredy cat.”

“Hey.” You pout towards Jungkook. “Am not.”

“Then move here.” Jimin gives you his best sly smile, “You can live with me.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you giggle, walking into the kitchen with the guys following behind you.

“Ah y/n, I think your phone is ringing.” Jin points towards the device on the counter. “Should I answer it?”

You raise your brows and head to the counter to see who is calling. Marcus.

“Oh hold on, let me take this.” You announce to everyone before answering your phone,

“Hello?”

“Hey. Just wanted to check in on you.” You hear Marcus’s raspy voice on the other end. “How is it?”

“Good, good. The flight was good. I’ve just been hanging with everyone. Actually I’m with everyone now…can we talk later?” you mumble into the phone.

“Oh.” Marcus chuckles, “Sure. Call me later?”

“Yeah.” He hears the smile in your voice. “I’ll call you later.” And then you’re quickly hanging up, bringing the phone back to the counter. It’s oddly quiet in the house.

“What?” You ask with big eyes, blinking at everyone. They all give you a curious look before you scoff.

“He’s just a friend.” You say sternly. “So stop whatever ideas your guys are all getting in your silly little heads.”

“Just friends….” Namjoon nods his head slowly. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“She’s ‘serious’ mhm.” Jungkook nods his head mockingly. “Right.”

“I am!” you groan, “Seriously.”

“She said they’re just friends, guys.” Yoongi puts a hand on your shoulder, “Right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” Jin nods his head quickly.

“Right.” Hobi gives you a thumbs up before he’s giving you one of his signature grins.

“Well,” Jimin comes up to you and reaches for your hand and squeezing it, “y/n is here guys. Let’s make the most of this week. Tomorrow is Friday, aka Yuna’s extravagant birthday ball and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

~~~~~~~

You lay in bed after a long day of hanging with your friends, your phone up to your face as you stare at the screen that mocks you. He read your message and just…never replied. You are trying your best to feel okay but now that you lay alone you start to feel the loneliness creep up. Does he not want to see you? Is he afraid to see you?

You exit your message threads and go to your photos…you find the selfies from your date and you stare and stare at the screen. He’s so strikingly handsome. You feel your chest tighten as you continue to gaze at the photos, you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. Suddenly there is knocking on the bedroom door and Jimin is walking in…you’re quick to click your phone off and pretend you just weren’t staring at the man you love.

“Hey.” Jimin greets you softly. “You still awake?”

“Yeah…” you turn over to face him, you scoot over and pat the spot next to you and he takes the invitation to slide in the sheets.

“How are you doing?” Jimin asks suddenly, his tone is warm and comforting and you almost burst into tears at his question but instead you clear your throat and nod your head a few times.

“Good.” you lie.

“y/n…” Jimin breathes out slowly, “Really. How are you?” his eyes are full of fucking pity and it’s driving you to feel like a god damn burden.

“I said I’m good.” But your voice cracks, and he’s already pulling you into his chest.

“y/n…” he holds you tight as you try to even out your breathing. “I talked to him today.”

“He’s…” you hiccup, “He’s going to come. I know it.” You say into Jimin’s chest. “I know it. Even if he doesn’t reply to me, he’s going to go to the party.”

“…He…said he isn’t going.” Jimin tells you regretfully. “He seemed pretty serious.”

“No.” you sniffle now, “He’s going.” You feel your eyes sting as you try to blink back growing tears. “He’s going.” You repeat pathetically.

“Okay, okay.” Jimin begins rubbing your back. “Okay.”

“I just need a chance Jimin.” You hiccup again, “A chance to show him that I…” your breathing picks up even more, your sharp breaths concerning Jimin.

“Just relax…” He continues to rub your back, “I’m here.”

“Jimin…” your voice cracks again but this time because of a quiet sob that finally breaks through. “I miss him so much.” You cry.

“I know girl.” His soft voice making you feel comforted. “I’m holding onto hope too.” He tells you, his tender tone only making you cry harder.

“Fuck…” you sob into his chest. “I miss him so fucking much.”

You eventually fall asleep in Jimin’s arms after you spent some time crying it out. Jimin has a hard time knocking out, his mind too busy with thoughts of you and Taehyung.

~

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” Jimin has stars in his eyes as he looks at you, “Right, Jungkook?” he hits Jungkook’s arm and Jungkook awkwardly clears his throat.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks guys.” You tug on the material over your stomach and frown. “Are you sure though? This dress looks fine on me?”

“Absolutely. Gorgeous.” Jimin repeats. “Stunning.”

“He’s right.” Jungkook shrugs. “You do look nice. Or whatever.”

“Fine, I guess I will have to believe you two. You also look nice.” You gesture towards the two men in suits. “This is about to be super fancy isn’t it?” you pinch your brows together as you chuckle. “Yuna really went all out.” You look up at the building. The Mondrian is a beautiful hotel, very luxurious. You three step through the rotating doors and enter the main building.

“She can go all out when she’s got daddy’s money.” Jungkook big doe eyes look around him, he’s in awe of the hotel, that much is clear.

“Should we find the conference room and find the bar and you know, start drinking?” your eyes scan around, noticing all the people dressed up walking to the elevators. “She said it’s on the 3rd floor right?”

“What happened to no more drinking?” Jungkook nudges your shoulder. “But hell yeah, let’s go.”

“I second that.” Jimin links arms with you and Jungkook, leading the way towards the elevators.

You three find the conference room and your eyes grow twice their size. This room is huge, many tables set up, people dancing to loud music, the bar is poppin with lines of people waiting for a free drink, it’s beyond what you imagined.

“y/n!!!” You hear the high pitched voice of no other than Yuna. She looks so beautiful it actually feels blinding. Her deep green gown, her pale pink hair, her subtle yet gorgeous make up. She looks like a fairy princess. Jiwoo follows closely behind, a bold, blue dress with her hair pinned up. She looks like a model out of a magazine.

“You look amazing.” Yuna points at you, her eyes full of genuine surprise. “Like, what the heck?” she looks you up and down, her hands motioning towards your body.

“This dress is so…” She blinks at you repeatedly, “Do a turn for me!”

You giggle, feeling a bit shy but you do a little twirl. Yuna pretends to faint.

“AND IT’S BACKLESS?! You’re killing me!” she yells out dramatically. “Jiwoo are you seeing this?!” “You do look so pretty.” Jiwoo chuckles. “Yuna, can you ever compliment someone more normally?”

“You like the way I compliment.” Yuna raises her head up. “You know it’s true.”

“You literally pretended to have a heart attack when you saw me tonight.” Jiwoo deadpans, “who does that?”

“Girls who recognize real beauty.” Yuna states matter of fact. “And girl, you are beautiful.”

“Shush.” Jiwoo’s cheeks begin to heat up, you can’t help but giggle at the interaction.

“You both look lovely.” You tell them sincerely. “And happy birthday Yuna.” You lean in for a hug, its tight and quick and you’re pulling away much faster than Yuna’s liking,

“Thanks girl.” She smiles for you. “You really do look so nice y/n…are you hoping to see T—”

“Yuna.” Jiwoo warns, “Let’s get a drink?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” You say, “Where did Jimin and Jungkook go?” you finally notice they’re absence.

“Probably to their table. With the rest of the guys.” Yuna tells you while she starts leading you girls towards the open bar. “Shots?” She smirks towards you two. “It’s my birthday so you can’t say no.”

“Fine. But you’re trying to kill me.” You laugh, “I’m going easy tonight.”

“One shot.” Yuna pouts cutely, “But you!” She points at Jiwoo. “You have to take two with me.”

“Fine by me.” Jiwoo shrugs. We both know between the two of us, it’s me who’s taking care of you and your drunk ass tonight.”

“Counting on it.” Yuna blows Jiwoo a kiss.

“Ugh, let’s do this.”

You girls wait for the shots, taking them quickly once they’re in your hands. The burn is exactly what you needed to loosen up. You’re nervous tonight. You’re anticipating Taehyung’s arrival. Yes, he never replied to you. Yes, he told Jimin he wasn’t coming. But you feel it in your bones…he’s coming tonight. He wants to see you as bad as you want to see him. At least that’s what you are hoping for.

“You’re too good of a dancer Hobi, I can’t keep up with you!” you whine loud enough for him to hear you over the music.

“You’re doing great!” he tells you, his hands on your waist. “Just move to the music girl!”

“Easier said than done.” You laugh loudly, “Hey, what time is it?”

“Hm..” Hobi lifts his left wrist to look at his watch. “Almost 12.” He tells you.

It’s almost 12? And he’s still not here? No, you know he’s coming. He has to. He will. You feel your chest close in on you, and your heart thumping wildly. You know you’re going to see him tonight. You know it. You excuse yourself and head towards the doors of the conference room. You walk past Jimin who suddenly frowns as he realizes you’re heading out the doors, he tries calling out for you but you ignore him. He doesn’t think Taehyung is going to show up.

But you know.

You stand in the hallway in front of the elevators for who knows how long, you shift from one foot to the other as you wait anxiously. The party is still going hard, but you’ve tuned it all out. The only thing you hear is Taehyung’s deep voice. It plays in your mind, him saying something as simple as your name. You wish you were hearing it for real. You hear the ding of the arriving elevator and go rigid.

The sharp intake of breath your weak body just sucked in has you feeling tense. You knew you were going to see him…you knew this was going to happen but here you are, trying so hard to even out your breathing as you await his arrival. No amount of journaling could calm you, relax you, give you a sense of peace. No amount of alcohol could make you feel looser.

“Jimin just told me…” Yuna catches up to you, out of breath. “y/n…” your name leaves her mouth with pity, “I don’t think he’s going to come.”

“He will.” You say, standing your ground outside the elevator. “He will.”

“At least wait inside…” She gestures towards the conference room, where the party is. “It looks lonely waiting out here.”

Your eyes fall to the tiled floor, the shiny cream colored squares showing a vague reflection of yourself. Maybe it is lonely.

“Okay…” You turn around to face Yuna, a tired smile working itself on your lips. “Let’s dance?”

“Yeah.” She offers a drunk smile.

Then you hear the elevator doors opening, you whip your head in the direction of the doors but inside is only unrecognizable faces.

“Let’s go.” You tell her, trying your best not to feel so disappointed.

You both walk into the room again, the music blaring and the sight of sweaty bodies grinding against one another.

“I need a drink.” You take a deep breath before heading towards the bar. You find yourself downing shot after shot.

“Hey, slow down.” Jungkook’s voice cuts in through the booming music. “Don’t want you to like, throw up.”

“Hey Jungkook…?” You hand him your drink, getting it away from you. “You’re always straight up…”

“Don’t do this.” Jungkook warns you softly, “Not now.”

“Is Taehyung—”

“Is Taehyung…what?” A new voice cuts in, a voice you know all too well. It’s deep, deeper than the fucking ocean. It’s smooth, its charming, You feel your breath get caught in your throat as your ears process the voice they heard. You struggle for a moment, but you finally tilt your head to the side and your eyes narrow at the tall figure.

“Am I what?” he repeats.

Finally, a small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes widen in genuine shock. You knew he would come tonight yet somehow you are as surprised as Jungkook next to you. You don’t notice but Jungkook nods his head towards Taehyung and walks away, leaving you two.

“T-Taehyung…?” you blink over and over, not believing your eyes. “What are you—”

“I’m here to see you.” He tells you bluntly. “And my god woman, you are a sight for sore eyes.” He all but whispers, his expression stiff as he eyes you.

“Taehyung.” You release the shakiest breath as you repeat his name.

“Hi y/n.”

You straighten yourself, trying to show off the fact that you aren’t totally drunk. You look all around the slightly spinning room and search for faces you know. Finally, your eyes lock with Jimin’s. He looks worried but he quickly tries to smile for you. You look panicked to say the least. The room is crowded, loud, hot and sweaty. But all of that fades away when the scent of Taehyung fills your nostrils. You take a second to notice he has stepped forward until he is right in front of you.

“y/n.” he says your name as a command. Your frantic eyes find his and you feel the whole room freeze.

Taehyung studies you, his focused eyes scanning every inch of your body. You watch as he lifts a hand and reaches behind you. Then suddenly you are feeling light fingertips tracing your down your spine. His fingers barely skid across your exposed skin and you slowly close your eyes at the contact. Your breathing slowing as well.

Taehyung’s fingers glide back up your back, his touch so light like he almost wasn’t even touching you. His serious expression beginning to soften as he brings his hand back to his own body.

“This dress is like the one you wore on the island.”

“You like it.” You whisper.

“Yes.” He admits, you two gaze into one another’s eyes until he finally looks off to the side.

“Should we talk?” he asks you, “Or are you too drunk?”

“No, no.” you shake your head, “Let’s talk.”

Taehyung looks you over one last time before nodding his head and turning around to head towards the exit. You gulp as you watch his broad back…you hurry to follow him.

Taehyung glances behind him and he exhales a long breath when he sees you rushing after him, he looks forward again until he’s reaching the elevators.

“Come on.” He gestures towards the open elevators.

You walk quickly, reaching him and the elevator before you’re going inside. He follows you in.

“Taehyung—”

“Wait until we are downstairs.” He cuts you off softly.

“Okay…”

The ride is silent. But your mind is as loud as shrieking ghosts, ghosts that want to haunt and traumatize you. You finally hear the ding, signaling your arrival to the first floor.

“Come on.” He tells you, his voice booming throughout the small space. “Follow me.”

You do as he says, you follow him. Truthfully, you would follow him anywhere. Even to the ends of the Earth.

“Yes, hi.” Taehyung begins speaking to the front desk lady. “I want a room, please.”

Wait, a room? You’d follow him anywhere but a room?

“Taehyung—”

“It’s just so we have privacy.” He assures you, not even looking in your direction.

“It’s expensive…” you slur. “We can just talk outside.”

“It’s fine.” He hands the lady his card, “Which floor?”

“6th floor.” She informs him with a bright smile.

Your eyes find your shoes, somehow they’re more fascinating than anything else suddenly. Then you feel the warmth of Taehyung’s hand wrapping itself around yours, his fingers struggling to intertwine with your own. But then you finally receive the hint and allow him to hold your hand.

“You’re drunk, y/n.” he says, voice laced in disappointment, “I’m sorry for making you wait.” He leads you back to the elevators. You two walk inside and he let’s go of your hand, he runs his fingers through his smooth hair and sighs out in defeat.

“You should just get some sleep.”

“I want to talk.” You slur again, “I have…I have so much to say.”

“We’ll see.” His low voice rumbles. “We’ll see.”

The ride up to the 6th floor is long, but you finally make it out of that small space and stumble towards your room.

Taehyung unlocks the door and you make your way inside…the view is amazing. The city is quite the sight.

“Take your shoes off, I’m sure your feet hurt.” Taehyung loosens up his tie.

“They do.” You admit in a whine.

Taehyung takes a seat on the edge of the made bed and watches you with intense eyes as you get comfortable.

“C’mere.” He pats the spot next to him.

Suddenly you become very shy. You haven’t felt this kind of tension in so long. His eyes boring into every inch of your skin, his eyes trailing along your body and making you feel exposed. Making you feel naked.

“Okay.” You nod your head slowly, “I can do that.” You take your time walking to him, sitting next to him on the bed.

“What is it you want to tell me?” Taehyung gets straight to the point.

“Uh….umm…”

“Words y/n.” he closes his eyes for a brief second, then his sight is back on you. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Taehyung.” Saying his name feels so…exhilarating. You’ve avoided it for so long but now you can say it and it feels like freedom and it tastes so, so sweet on your tongue.

“I don’t know where to start.” You admit. “I didn’t rehearse…”

For the first time tonight Taehyung’s face splits into a small smile as he quietly chuckles.

“Rehearse?”

“Yeah…I didn’t practice what to say.” You slur cutely.

“Just let the words flow naturally.” His eyes light up in slight amusement. “What is it you want to tell me?”

“I miss you.” You blurt out, your hand immediately going to cover your mouth as if you said curse words.

“You miss me?” he repeats your words, “Is that so?”

You slowly lower your hand that covers your mouth and nod your head.

“Yes.” You close your eyes and tilt your head back. “This past year…”

“What about it?”

“This past year I…”

“You?” Taehyung raises a curious brow, “You what?”

“I think I’ve become better.” You slur out your words, “I’m better now.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung asks, his voice low. “I’m happy for you.”

“Taehyung.” You lower your head and open your eyes. They stare straight ahead. “Can we make this work?” your words jumble together as you try to speak. Those last shots sneaking up on you.

“I’ve decided that this conversation is going to have to wait.” Taehyung stands from the bed, “I’m going to get you some water.”

You watch as he walks towards a counter and pours you a glass of water, he comes back and places the cup in your hands. “Drink.” He says softly. “Please.”

“O-Okay.” You bring the cup to your lips, your eyes never leaving his as you gulp back some of the liquid.

“Good girl.” He whispers. “Now, I want you to get some sleep.”

“Are you sleeping with me?” you hiccup.

“No.” he tells you with a tender voice, “But I will stay here until you fall asleep, how about that?”

“Okay….”

Taehyung watches you carefully as you lay down on the bed, your head falling onto the fluffy pillow and your eyes closing almost immediately. He softly groans when you begin snoring only minutes later…his eyes never leaving you.

You’re going to be in Korea? For Yuna’s birthday? Taehyung reads your text like he’s on repeat. He is feeling an array of emotions, he feels good things, bad things, things in the middle. But the bad things…aren’t even very bad. It’s just anxiety…and doubt. Maybe it is that bad.

Taehyung decides not to reply not until he’s talked to his therapist, he wants to thoroughly discuss this over and come to a smart decision. But his heart is fucking fluttering at the thought of seeing you. He really misses you. But are either of you ready to face the other?

The next day Taehyung gets to the old man’s office, waiting patiently outside the door until he gets the signal he can go in. Where does he start? Does he just show the text to his therapist? Does he talk about something else first before nonchalantly bringing you up and this text that is haunting him?

“y/n texted me.” He decides to be straight forward, as usual.

“Ah, really?” the old man peeks at Taehyung through his glasses that rest lowly on his nose. “What did she say?”

“She’s coming here. She asked if she will see me.”

“And will you see her?”

“I…I don’t know.” Taehyung admits between a long breath, “I really don’t know.”

The old man nods his head in quiet understanding, he jots down some notes on his notebook with his pen.

“Taehyung.” The man stops writing his notes to get a look at Taehyung, “What do you want from her? If anything at all.”

“I just want her to live a good life.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked what you want from her?”

“I don’t know anymore.” He tells the old man, his voice low.

“It’s okay not to know. You don’t have to see her if you aren’t ready, you know?”

“I don’t?” Taehyung asks, but then his lips curve upward like he realizes how silly his question is. “I know.” He nods his head, “But it’s not like I don’t want to see her. I do.”

“Then—”

“But I don’t know how to prepare for that. I don’t know how to face her. What will we even talk about? Why does she want to see me? Is she just being polite because we share the same friends? That she knows she’s bound to run into me? Or is it because she does want to see me? But why? Why?” Taehyung begins to ramble. “Can we coexist? Is this just about coexisting? Is that about us? Her and I? Is this about what we can maybe be? But how do either of us know we are ready for that?”

“Ah, that.” The old man sighs out, taking his glasses off. “I know it may seem like cliché words…but you will just know.”

“You’re right. Those are cliché words.” Taehyung says with a straight face.

“But they are a classic for a reason, you know?” The old man points out with a chuckle. “You will feel it. You will feel it in every fiber of your being of what the right thing to do is. You will feel it. Your bones will tell you. Your heart will tell you. You will realize how simple and easy it is to just know.”

“But I don’t know?”

“Because maybe it isn’t time for you yet to be aware. But the time will come.”

“I think for now…I need time to think. I didn’t have enough time to prepare for this.” Taehyung says honestly. “This is too sudden.”

“You have every right to feel that way.”

“But how does she feel?” Taehyung becomes worried, his soft expression becoming more and more serious.

“We’re here to focus on you.” The old man reminds him gently. “In the end, I believe you will do what you think is best. You will do what you think is right. And coming to those type of conclusions takes time.”

Taehyung sits down in a chair across from the bed, gazing at you as you sleep. He thought seeing you would give him the answers he needs but he’s still lost. It took a lot for him to show up here…it took a lot for him to gather the courage to face you. He thought for sure once he saw you he would know everything. He would feel what to do. But seeing you here only confuses him further. What does he want? What is he ready for? Does he even know you anymore?

Finally, Taehyung stands up from the chair and walks to your side of the bed. He reaches his hand to gently stroke your cheek before he’s leaving the room. Leaving you. He sends a text to Jimin letting him know your room number and that you’re fast asleep. Then he is heading back home.

~~~~

“A movie night?” you tilt your head to the side, “I don’t know…can we just—”

“It’ll be a good way for everyone to unwind from last night’s partying!” Jimin whines, “Please! I promise you can choose the first movie.” He offers with a sweet smile.

“Jimin I don’t know…if I’m up for this after last night…”

“Oh? Didn’t I tell you?” the corner of Jimin’s mouth curves upwards. “He said he was going to come tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, said he wanted to hang with everyone. Guess that includes you.” Jimin points out knowingly. “You said you guys didn’t really get to talk so maybe…”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“But you said you were going to give it your all right? This is an opportunity.”

“Oh…” you start pulling at the ends of your hair, “That’s true.”

“So movie night?”

“Movie night.”

You and Jimin clean up his place as you wait for everyone’s arrival. Hobi and Yoongi show up first, then Namjoon and finally Jungkook and Jin. Taehyung still hasn’t shown up and you guys are about to play your first movie. You wonder if he is really coming.

“He’s coming, I just talked to him on the way here.” Jungkook assures you. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.” You lie, “You relax.”

“He went last night…that’s a good sign, right?”

“I don’t know.” You admit honestly. “We didn’t get to talk.”

Suddenly, you hear the front door unlocking and opening up. You guess he has a key. You freeze on the sofa, you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s here.

“Hey guys.” You hear his deep voice rumble. “I’m here.” He announces but you keep your eyes on the TV. You feel his footsteps get closer and closer, the pitter patter against the wooden floors making you so anxious.

Then you see his figure in your peripherals, he’s standing on the side of the couch, facing you.

“Hi y/n.”

You gulp, your eyes still on the TV when you remind yourself you’re a brave girl. You slowly turn your head to face him, your wide eyes finding his face. His hair is shorter than you remember, still a bit wavy and still dark. He looks so handsome, so mature. He’s got on some comfortable looking pants and a printed button up, his hands in his pockets as he looks down at you.

“Hi.” You squeak.

“Can I sit next to you?” he asks, his low voice barely heard by the others. “If it’s okay…”

“Yeah!” you rush to scoot over, making room for him. “Sit, sit.”

Taehyung gives you a wide boxy grin and nods his head quickly, he takes a seat next to you, his shoulder bumping yours. Fuck, you feel like you’re in middle school. His shoulder is like, fucking heaven or some shit.

“What movie did you guys decide on?”

“I don’t know, something random.” You tell him nervously. “It just started. You haven’t missed much.”

“I don’t think I’ll be paying much attention to the movie anyway.” Taehyung whispers, his warm breath fanning your cheek from how close he is.

“Oh?” you gulp. “Jimin says it’s good though.”

“I’m not really here for the movies, you know?” He leans into you a little bit and you feel a harsh, harsh blush creep up on your heated cheeks. His fingers find your knee and he taps against your jeans. “Can we talk outside?”

“The—The movie….” You whisper, pointing at the screen. “Let’s just watch the movie for now.”

Shit, you haven’t felt this nervous under his gaze in his long. His eyes study you as you watch the film. You can feel his intense gaze. You can feel how he just stares at you from time to time.

You aren’t sure why you are chickening out…maybe because you’re embarrassed about being drunk last night. How you asked if you guys could work on it, but he said he wanted to save this talk for later. It’s just making you more and more nervous.

“This movie is boring.” Jin yawns. “Let’s pause and order some food? Also let’s go to the store and get some beer?”

“Dude yes!” Hobi agrees, “I’ll go. Who wants to come with me?”

“I’ll go with you.” Namjoon raises his hand.

“You’re right I need your muscles to help me.”

“I’ll order the food!” Jimin offers but Jungkook is quick to volunteer as well, something about not trusting Jimin to get all the good meats.

“Sounds good.” Yoongi brings out his phone and starts playing on it.

Taehyung glances over at you and nods towards the patio.

“Shall we?” he begins standing up, he faces you and extends his hand out for you to take. You hesitate but you take it. The warmth of his hand sending tingles all throughout your body, you wonder if he feels it too.

He leads you out to the patio and you both take a seat across from one another. You nervously shake your knee up and down and Taehyung can’t help but chuckle.

“Will you calm down?” He insists, “You’re the one who wanted to talk, remember?”

“I know.” You find his beautiful, brown eyes. “I do.”

“Then talk.” He gestures for you to go on.

“Taehyung.”

“Yes?”

“How has your year been?” this is where you decide to start.

“Hard. Good. Worth it.” He leans back in the chair, “I struggled some days more than others but mostly…really good.”

“Do you think you could…be honest with me? Be open with me?” you nibble on your lips, your knee continues to shake.

“How so?”

“Can you tell me all about your year, what you went through, how you felt. Your feelings in general. Could you do that? With me?”

Taehyung blinks at you in surprise for a few seconds before he is closing his eyes altogether. He leans even further back in his chair and takes a deep breath.

“You want to know me again?” he whispers out. “You want to know me?”

“Yes. And I want you to know me in return.” Your shaking knee finally comes to a stop as you drag your chair closer to his. “I want to…really talk. About everything. I want to understand you. I want…”

“I understand.” Taehyung nods his head before opening his eyes again, they find yours and you’re intimated by his gaze. He observes you for a while, his serious expression making you nervous again.

“What do you want from me?” He asks bluntly. “What is your ultimate goal here?”

“You.” You reply just as straight forward. “I want you.”

“I don’t know.” He says quickly, you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. He doesn’t know?

“I think…” he sighs out, “I don’t think it’s that simple.” And what the old man said is starting to make sense. This is a moment where Taehyung feels it. He feels what the right thing to do is.

“I don’t think we can jump into something like romance, y/n.”

You brows pinch together as you listen to him speak, but you relax your features and nod in understanding,

“Do you want to be friends with me, Taehyung?”

“I think that’s a place we can start.”

[shorkbrian]

i’m sorry but i luv your writing/thot process so i have to share this: imagine superstar trainer kiri marrying ur mom. he’s only a few years older (and you had a crush on him first) so you avoid him bc you’re shy/uncomfortable with it. your plans are foiled when mom’s away and y’all are stuck at home during a snow storm, power out, no heat/gas, and no matter how many layers u use nothing beats body heat. kiri is so sweet and just wants to get close and keep you warm/see whats under ur sweats

I’m literally melting rn 

Like imagine Kiri shuffling closer to you on the couch, scooting underneath the blankets you have piled around your body.

He keeps getting closer and closer and closer until he’s pressed up against you, and he feels like a heater, warm and cozy and comfortable. You don’t mind burrowing down into his side a bit, only blushing a little when the big man chuckles at your behavior.

There’s a movie playing on the TV, but you’re kind of sleepy, and your stepdad feels so sturdy and safe against your side, and you’re finally warming to a comfortable temperature, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

When you wake up, you’re laying down on a solid surface, heat wrapped around your body and trapped beneath the blankets. The surface rumbles and shifts, and only then do you realize that Kirishima must have moved you.

The room is dark, TV off, lights out. The wind is still howling and moaning outside like a mourner at a grave, beating against the windows and crying to the sky.

Lifting your head means you get a view of Kiri’s face, of his handsome, relaxed self as he gazes down at you, a pleased, soft smile on his features.

You go to apologize for falling asleep on him and for inconveniencing him, but Kirishima doesn’t let you. “It’s warmer this way, plus, I like holding something while I sleep.”

He has his arms wrapped around you, thick biceps pressing heavy against your shoulders, keeping you flush to his muscular chest. You blush a little at the position, shifting your legs and trying not to do anything weird.

But in moving your legs around, you find yourself straddling his thigh, the stocky limb flexing underneath your weight, Kirishima twitching.

“Sorry-” You blush again, intending on moving, but your stepdad drops a hand to your hip, steadying you.

“No, don’t apologize, I get it.” He winks at you, before jiggling his thigh a bit, settling you down further onto it. “I remember doing stuff like this back in high school, I know it feels good.”

A long moment of silence stretched between you two as you processed his words, feeling increasingly awkward.

“Um, okay...” Was all you could come up with.

Kirishima laughed a bit. “You’ve never cuddled with anyone before? It’s nice, isn’t it? ‘Specially with the heat out like this. Power went out while you were sleeping.”

You felt a little silly now, ducking your head and dropping your gaze. That would explain why the lights were off. You had just assumed the movie had finished playing and your stepdad had turned it off, but apparently that wasn’t the case. 

“Temp’s gonna drop fast, we’re probably going to have to use good ‘ole body heat while we sleep. You wanna move to the bed? Or just sleep here?”

A shrug, and Kirishima smiled. “Okie-doke, bed it is. Thank goodness, my back would kill me if I tried to sleep on the couch. Gettin’ old s’no fun.”

The man sat up, and you quickly disentangled yourself from him, ignoring the way his thigh rubbed in between your legs as he moved about. As soon as you felt the chill of the room, you shivered, clacking your teeth together and snatching the blanket tight around yourself.

“Oh, that’s so cold, fuck.”

“Hey, watch your language-” Kirishima chided, rising to his feet as he gathered the rest of the blankets up into his arms. “No potty mouths in this house, yeah? Keep it clean.”

He’d been married to your mom for almost a year now, and Kirishima had easily fallen into the “father figure” role, despite the fact that it wasn’t necessarily needed.

But you indulged him by laughing at his corny dad jokes, complimenting the various meats he grilled for meals, keeping your judgements about his questionable fashion choices to yourself instead of blurting them out to his face.

Kirishima led the way to the master bedroom, the room he shared with your mom, stating that the bed was bigger, it’d be more comfortable. Did you really expect him to fit into your bed?

He was a big man, strong and solid. He was able to throw you over one shoulder, your mom over the other, and run around the house whooping while the two of you laughed and pounded on his back.

“Alright-” Kirishima tossed his armful of blankets onto the bed he shared with your mom, immediately fluffing them up and pulling at the edges until he was satisfied.

The man pulled back the edge, holding it ups as he turned to you. “Head on inside!”

It was cold at first, the sheets and blankets chilly. You snuggled up to Kirishima as soon as the big man laid down, making him laugh a bit as your teeth chattered together.

“S-sorry it’s just so-so c-cold.” You explained.

“Your nose is all red, you look so cute.” His smile is warm, his hands even warmer as they begin to rub up and down your sides.

You don’t know how to respond, let yourself relax into the comforting touch, his fingertips dancing over your sweater.

“So.....” Kiri starts “You’ve never had a boyfriend then? You got so quiet when I asked if you’ve cuddled with someone before.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you shook your head. “No, I have. I broke up with him a little bit before you and mom started dating.”

The redhead’s quiet for a moment, then tucks his chin over your head, drawing you closer into his chest. “I’m sorry. Relationships can be hard, I know.”

“It was for the best, I think.” You continue, letting your stepdad rub your back as you talked. “We just didn’t really jive well together I guess. Wish we’d figured that out sooner though.”

The man pressed against you is so sturdy, solid and radiating heat like a furnace. It’s easy to relax in his easy-going presence.

“Well, if you ever miss cuddling, don’t hesitate to come find me, yeah? It’s one of my favorites.”

Kirishima was a touchy man, and it was obvious that his love language was touch, so it made sense. He always had his thick arms wrapped around your mom, was holding her hand, holding yours, placing kisses on your cheeks, kissing your mom every chance he got.

Sometimes he asked you to brush out his hair for him, when you weren’t busy or anything. He’d relax into jelly as you ran the hairbrush through his red locks, contented little sighs falling from his lips.

“Okay, I’ll do that.” You chuckle, thinking to yourself how the world had a funny sense of humor.

Truthfully, when you’d first been introduced to the man your mom had recently started dating, you’d developed a hopeless crush. He was attractive, kind, funny; if your mom wasn't dating him, you would’ve asked for his number.

A small part of you was irritated that the man was young enough for you to date him, your mother unbothered by the sugar stereotype she’d developed.

But ah well, what’s done is done.

“You know, I didn’t know what I'd be like having a daughter.” Kirishima soft voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “You’re almost more like.... I dunno, a friend? If that makes sense. I feel like we’re buddies.”

“Yeah, I feel like that too.” You confess, breathing into his neck, able to smell the cologne he uses, something heady and strong and manly.

A comfortable silence settles around you both, nothing but soft breaths and Kirishima’s warm hands rubbing gently over your body, against your sides, up and down your back, massaging your shoulders.

They traveled too close to your tummy, and you choked out a laugh, flinching away from Kirishima.

“Don’t, ‘m ticklish.” Came your breathless, giggly warning.

“Yeah? Yeah?” The redhead grinned, a glint in his eye, barely noticeable before he pounced, rolling over until you were smothered beneath his hefty weight, unable to move.

Horrible, terrible fingers descended, dug into your ribs and you shrieked, wide smile breaking across your features as your stepdad tickled you.

This is what happiness was made of.

Warm and fuzzy, the smell of rain, the sound of it pattering against the roof. Strong arms around you, a laugh on your lips.

Kirishima’s thigh slipped in between yours, pressed upwards, and you choked on a breath, hands immediately clutching at the man’s biceps.

“You’re so sensitive, it’s so cute.”

No time to say his name, ask any questions. He was situating you on your side, legs tangled with his, a big, beefy thigh still flush against your clothed sex.

“Mm, you ever do this with your boyfriend?” The redhead was moving, hands gripping your waist now, dragging you along his thigh, and you kept bumping up against his chest, his toned stomach.

“Yes-yeah.” Was your breathless reply, head whirling, eyes wide. This isn’t really what you were expecting, not from your stepdad.

But it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

That’s why you weren’t screaming your head off, recoiling in disgust, scrambling for the phone to call your mom, the police.

No, you were still, pliant against Kirishima as he moved your body, his lazy red eyes fixed on your face. “Hm? Feels nice, doesn’t it? You like it?”

A shaky nod is all you can muster, feeling yourself beginning to drip against your stepdad’s thigh, slick all over your folds, the skin tingling, making your hips jump as your clit pulsed at the stimulation.

God, it felt good.

“You make me so happy, y’know? Such a pretty, smart girl.” He praised, and now you could feel it - feel the cock filling out against your tummy, hot and wet, leaking.

“I really hit the jackpot. A beautiful wife, a gorgeous daughter... I love you so, so much.” Kirishima was breathing heavier, his fingers digging into your hipbones as he dragged you back and forth against him. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Just wanna take care of you, yeah?  Make you cum lots, whatever you want.”

Almost feverish now, his hips twitching forward, pushing against your tummy again and again, rubbing his cock against your soft flesh, groaning in your ear, breath stuttering-

And then a long moan, a burst of warmth soaking through your pajama shirt, right where the tip of Kiri’s cock rested.

“Oh shit-” He gasped, sucking in air, muscles flexing as he drew back his legs, hands shakily pushing you onto your back.

“That - Jesus, you really got me goin’.” Kiri panted, beginning to kiss at your neck, one of his hands diving into your pajama pants, straight down to strum over your clit.

Already keyed up from the dry humping, veins pumping with excitement, arousal, the thrill of being touched and fondled by your-your stepdad.

A finger teased at your hole, then inched inside, and you bucked your hips, crying out a bit.

“Hey, hey-” He was still a little breathless, a little lightheaded from his orgasm, but the man was determined. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I got you. I’m always gonna take care of my girl.”

[lovelypale]

Narcotics // Addict!Senjuro x Dealer!Reader

Warnings: 18+, drug use, addiction, toxic relationship, suicide mention, it’s consensual but I’m gonna say dubcon just in case, mostly plot with a bit of spice, Senjuro is college aged.

Words: 1600

a/n: Had this idea plaguing me and I just needed to get it out. Sensitive topic here (as if I write anything that isn’t) but yeah may or may not give these two a happy or sad ending. Let me know I guess!

You opened the door to the large figure in front of you, dripping from the downpour that was tearing through the city. He was imposing in stature but still very skinny otherwise; a very meek man. He was shivering, but you had a feeling that it wasn't from the rain. 

"Why did you take the last train?" You tested the water with a small opener. It was very curious that he would show up so late, again. He knows what he's here for, but you wanted him to say it himself. 

He opened his mouth to speak but ultimately couldn't, instead opting for a shaky wave. You scoffed and opened your door wider for him before leaving to get a towel. When you returned he was still at the door, still shaking, still appearing utterly helpless. You handed him the towel and he took it from you, still avoiding your eyes. Everything was silent. 

"I'm not selling to you anymore Senjuro." 

He continued to stand there, blond and red locks frayed and dripping water on the floor. He looked beautiful, always does, it was a talent that even helpless and strung out he still looked breathtaking. He nodded and hugged himself tighter. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything, please." 

"You don't want anything from me." You put your hand against his cheek and felt his cool trembling against your warm skin. He was desperate again. He said he was going to quit plenty of times but he would always end up right back at your doorstep. You watched him grow from a slightly misguided kid to a truly fucked over adult. He barely knew his mom, dad's an alcoholic, and his brother seems alright but he was always busy teaching. You're sure he's messed up like everyone else and is just the type to let things fester in secret but Senjuro doesn't know that. He thinks he's the problem, the only one that couldn't cope, that can't contribute in the way that his older brother does. It messed with him so badly that it led him to you. The school's dealer. Not only can you make the pain disappear, you can make it feel good.

He doesn't need to feel good. He needs to never see you again. 

"I can't stop shaking, my family will notice. Please." 

"I hope you know they’d hate what you do for this more than the actual drugs itself." He looked at you with his dull red eyes through his foggy glasses, you remember when they used to sparkle. He wasn't like you, he was always so motivated and happy. At some point you used to envy his shy and upbeat demeanor. 

"I understand." He smiled at you but it looked eerie and unnatural. He wasn’t lying about his shaking though, it really did look bad.

You shook your head at him and sighed, turning around to a side room to check your supply. Lucky him, you had exactly what he needed. You took just one and dropped It in his palm. He looked at you confused. "I told you I'm not selling you shit anymore. You're getting one to tide you over, other than that I don't want to see you here ever again. Get help."

He looks at you with a plea in his eyes as he gently grabs your arm. "I don’t think I have anyone else y/n, please don’t leave me alone.”

"That's not my problem, do you even have money anymore?" You pushed away from him and he quickly latched back on to you. Your heart strained in your chest, you always hated this part. This stupid hug he gave you that brought you back to your youth, the days of being in high school when he hugged you before running off to his friends. This was always just business to you but he walked into your life and you’ve felt increasingly responsible for him since. It felt less and less like making money and more like assisted suicide. 

He placed the pill in his mouth and pulled himself even closer to you, ''Anything." You felt his still wet body pressed against you and you knew this fight was over.

You sighed before pulling away from him and walking to your room. He followed you, knowing exactly how this routine went. He watched you kick off your pants and your underwear. You sat on your bed in nothing but your top and watched him with guilty eyes. He was pretty, even with fading hair and way less weight than he started with he was gorgeous to you. Usually people as deep as him don’t maintain as well but he managed to keep his baby face. He looks tired, the type of tired sleep can't fix, but at least you can't tell that he's sold his life away for a drug. At least not yet, but he's getting there. 

You know you're taking advantage of him, but he's also hoping you do. He’s always been a people pleaser and you can’t say no to letting him please you. It started with him running you drinks to making out in your car and now...Terrible. As sinister as this courtship is, neither of you truly want to stop. You loved him, but not enough to stop him from hurting himself. "Hurry up, you have an 8 AM tomorrow." 

“I dropped that course.” 

You stared at him with pure pain in your eyes. “Of course you did.” 

He peels himself out of his wet clothes with a slight sway to his form, you can tell whatever issues that plague him are starting to float away. As usual, he keeps his glasses on. He smiles at you with weird reverence, like he's thankful that you're going to be the one to ultimately kill him. Your hand immediately takes hold of his pretty cock. Long, curved, and pink at the tip. You swirled your thumb around his tip as he patiently waited for you to tell him what to do. You made languid movements up and down his twitching dick, thinking to yourself that you should probably do something before he's completely spaced out. 

"Lay down." He listens and slowly gets on your bed before giving his attention back to you. You can never seem to get over how dainty he looks, it makes you feel even worse about your little situation. You get on top of him and he instantly starts bucking against you, not really even aiming for anything, just trying to get the burning sensation on his skin to cool down. You didn't prep but you didn't need to, taking him was easy. Power and pity is two things you've learned to sexualize when it comes to him. His vulnerability had to be hot or else it would quickly become sad.  

His legs squirm underneath you from the building sensitivity. He utters small "thank you" and gasps as you move up and down his dick. His slight curve rubbed against your upper wall, causing you to be noisier than you'd like to be.  He's getting warmer and warmer, feeling found inside of you. The world is fading off into something more obscure, something that isn't tangible. Your hips feel plush against his palm, he's digging down and tearing into your skin but he knows you’ll forgive him for it.

You watch him writhe in ecstasy, getting closer and closer to his high. He looked so beautiful with his hair all over your bed and his glasses threatening to fall off completely. You never get a warning with him, your orgasms are always so sudden and violent. Your thighs squished his as you curled into yourself, he was still thrusting, seeking his own relief. You thought you were going to pass out from the feeling of him still plunging deep inside of you. "S-stop." 

You pulled off of him and wrapped your hand around his sticky cock again, not wanting to leave him hanging. He seemed to be capable of the job on his own, thrusting into your warm palm with pure joy. "I'm getting close-." You didn't give him the chance to finish his sentence before you changed your hand motion to a slight twist. He came almost instantly in your grasp, you flinched from the slight splatter against your face as you continued to move your hand. He struggled to look at you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." 

You let go and grabbed the same towel you gave him to dry off. "You always say sorry so much, stop it." You knew he probably didn't hear that, he was past the point of holding an intelligible conversation. There's nothing but the sound of your sheets moving underneath his squirming body and the sound of faint moaning, it wasn't a pretty sight but you're used to it.

You watched him move around until he eventually stayed completely still, fully enraptured by his high. He was going to be stuck like this for a few hours. You shook your head, admonishing yourself for even letting him in. You can't keep giving him drugs, and you especially can't keep letting him pay you like this. You grabbed his glasses and put it on your dresser so he wouldn’t crush it, in that moment his phone lit up and you saw the message, it was his brother. His friends stopped asking where he disappeared to a long time ago, it was truly only Kyojuro that still cared about where he went to at night. He has to know the reason why his brother is slipping away.

Hey! I finished grading tests early and picked up your favorite on my way home. I was hoping I could talk to you tonight but don’t worry about it! Your food is in the fridge. Wherever you are, stay safe. We care about you.

You winced at the message and decided to respond for him. Thank you, I'm staying with a friend to study tonight. I'll be back tomorrow. 

Nothing but routine.

[ringmyheart]

Heyy, hope I'm not being annoying with so many asks, but could I please get ice feet of death characters of your choice? Thank you so much 😘😍😘🤩😘😍😘

Eli Jang

Eli Jang wasn’t going to push people important to him away anymore - or ever again.

In his past, he’d seen what that had done for him, and it ended disastrous. He wouldn’t keep people at an arms length away anymore, especially people precious to him, and especially not you.

Such an earnest and well meant swear to himself was extremely hard to keep up with, however, when you were besides him and your feet happened to brush against his calf. Feet as cold as fucking ice.

His hand was planted in the middle of your chest, keeping you ironically enough an arms length away from him. When you’d crawled into bed that night, before you could even go under the covers, his hand had shot out and kept you suspended exactly where you were - and you swore you saw a flash of fear in his eyes.

“...”

“...”

You both looked at each other, you perplexed and him worried - of what, you couldn’t say. Cocking a brow, you asked, “is something wrong? Eli?”

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, before removing his hand and returning it to his side. Internally, he hoped you wouldn’t come too much closer. Or at the least, that you’d sleep with your legs bent so he wouldn’t be subjected to the cold with you. He wondered if you were even aware of this…

“No, nothing’s wrong!” He forced a laughed, though no joy reached his eyes; rather, a pained emotion swirled in them.

‘I can’t take another night like this!’

And when you shrugged off his odd behavior and continued settling under the covers, he acted quick. Maybe he could somehow cure this.

“H-hey, it’s winter, and it’s cold.” He lifted himself up with his elbows from the bed and grabbed you by the shoulders spontaneously, steering you to the bathroom. “Why don’t you take a bath?! Since it’s so cold!”

You let him lead you the way there and push you along, confused. “Uh-?”

Sending a skeptical look over your shoulder to Eli, he felt somewhat guilty for suddenly forcing you away. But when he recalled the icy horror he’d be introduced to if he didn’t try and fix it instead, he pushed on - for his well-being as well as yours.

He sent you a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold!”

“...” Silence engulfed the two of you before you smiled back. “Aww, that’s sweet. Okay. Don’t worry, I won’t use all the hot water.”

“Please do.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiled stupidly, waving you bye while you walked into the bathroom. “Also, make sure your feet are in there.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

When he heard the bath water begin to run, a wave of relief washed over him. Even if the water didn’t permanently cure your case of cold-feet, it’d at least take care of it for a while, right? And then he could sleep comfortably with you tonight, right?

When you were eventually done with the bath and had put clothes back on, you began to crawl back onto bed, getting comfortable as soon as you pulled the sheets over you. He wondered if it’d worked. He could feel heat radiate off of you from his side, and when you shuffled, the side of your heel brushed against his ankle briefly before it was gone in a second.

In that second, it felt like he’d tasted death - and it was freezing.

‘That didn’t work?!’ The top row of his teeth crushed against the bottom row in a quick act of brain storming. He shot up where he sat, catching your attention from how abruptly he’d pulled himself up, and he looked at you. His eyes darted back and forth in thought, before an imaginary lightbulb seemed to light over his head.

“Man, it’s cold tonight, huh?” He said causally, with a fake shiver. You shifted your gaze upwards, thinking for a moment.

“... I’m not that cold, to be hone-“

“You know when people get a really bad cold they actually feel warm?!”

You stared up at him with wide, doe eyes, and he continued passionately. “I don’t want you to be cold! Here, I’ll get you another blanket!”

He sprinted out of the room temporarily, and you stared at him with an indecipherable expression, a few dark lines falling down the top of your face. You just wanted to sleep…

He came back with a wide smile spread across his lips, a blanket in his hands. Holding one corner in each of his hands, he gestured it to you like a car dealer trying to sell a client a car they didn’t really want. “Here!”

He lifted the overs you already had on you, the one the both of you shared, and began to lay the other blanket over you. You remained still, but your features hardened.

“Uhh… why not just put the blanket over the top of the blanket I already have…?”

“Hm?”

His face blanched. If you squinted hard enough, you could almost see a question make appear on the side of his head, and he still smiled - like he was suddenly frozen in that position, and his ability to express other emotions came to a halt. This masked whatever was going on inside his head, and you looked at him with scrutinizing eyes.

“Because I wanted to tuck you in!” His smile widened, and you sighed when he suddenly began tucking the corners of the blanket underneath you. He spent half of the time he spent doing this around your feet, you noticed.

When he was done, he brushed his hands together, like he was admiring his own handiwork. If your feet were covered by a blanket, you could sleep together and he wouldn’t feel the glaciers at the ends of your legs, right?

The plan felt foolproof this time, and the bed dipped underneath his weight until he laid down and got into a position he could remain in. You examined him before shrugging this weird interaction off - again.

“Okay, well… I’m gonna go to sleep.”

He nodded. “Okay, babe. Good night.”

“...” Waiting to see if he was gonna interrupt your trip to dreamland again with some weird request or offer, you curled into his side after an appropriate amount of time passed. Enough time for you to decide he probably was done with his odd behavior.

You miscalculated.

And so did he.

His teeth gritted together, and it felt like he’d come to a horrible realization, a clap of thunder and lightning striking behind him at his moment of mental clarity and terror. ‘Even when under another blanket, their feet are below zero degrees?!’

The already cold weather certainly wasn’t helping, and he was prepared to research webMD to see if cold feet were ever fatal enough to kill you, when another thought rang in his head.

‘Why not just tell them?’

He quickly shook it out of his head. He wouldn’t push you away. He wouldn’t hurt your feelings.

Even at his own expense.

You were shaken awake violently when Eli suddenly suggested the amazing idea of putting heat packs on your feet to keep you safe for the winter night, and you internally groaned for a world-record amount of time. When he’d put the packs on your feet, it was another failed attempt; rather than heating you up, you’d chilled them down. It was like carrying two packs of ice when he went to put them away.

He’d even turned up the AC to see if maybe that would unthaw your feet, but it was fruitless; and it felt like he saw the light when your feet touched his again, and they were like a visit to the Arctic.

Now, not only did he have freezing feet planted on him, but he was also extremely and uncomfortably hot everywhere else with the AC cranked up.

A head of sweat rolled down the side of his head while he glared at the wall, wondering where he went wrong, when he felt you tap his shoulder.

“Hey, Eli?”

“Yeah?” His brow was crinkled in thought as he searched internally for another solution, but your next few words threw him off guard.

“Are you mad at me?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you?” Shock laced the tone of his voice. You paused, skin between your eyes creasing.

“... today, you kept pushing me away from you. I was just wondering if I did something…”

The look on your face was forlorn, and it felt like a dumbbell was dropped on top of his head. In his act of trying to not push you away… it seemed he’d pushed you away worse than what would’ve happened initially. A black hole of guilt consumed his heart, and his lips formed a shaky, remorseful line.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. You didn’t do anything. I was just… I don’t know.”

You glanced at him tiredly, before closing your eyes, chuckling with a half smile and nuzzling further into your pillow. “Oh, okay… I was worried, but I guess it’s fine then.”

“Yeah, it is.” He watched your peaceful sleeping expression, and a genuine smile graced his lips. With a soft countenance, he blinked at you a couple of times, before summoning some courage and taking a deep breath.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Your feet are really cold.”

Your eyes shot open. “For real?”

“Yeah. Like, really cold.”

You averted your eyes from him. “Is that a problem?”

His eyes carried the brunt of his smile for his lips, and they glimmered happily. He rested a hand on your shoulder. “No, it’s no big deal. None at all.”

The small smile on your face you got from hearing those words made Eli come to another conclusion that day.

He wouldn’t push you away - and he would never lie to you again. The temperature of your feet made him nearly faint, but he’d rather die in a blizzard than see that downcast expression on you again.

Vin Jin

“Get your cold feet the fuck off of me.”

“And if I don’t, what will you do? Be mad?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Before the both of you had gone to sleep, Vin Jin had made it very clear to you; do not touch him with your feet. Your arm was okay - but on thin ice, considering your fingers could get pretty chilly, but not your feet. He’d pronounced every syllable in the sentence, even doing little gestures with his hands to paint you a picture. Do. Not. Touch. Him. With. Your. Feet.

He’d fallen sleep before you, and was out like a light an hour after the conversation you’d had. Feeling cold and evil, you decided to go for it anyways, and threw your leg over his. He awakened instantly, and the very first words to you were him telling you to get your cold feet the fuck off of him.

“Is that a promise or a warning?”

“It’s a threat.”

You chuckled, “You don’t have it in you. Y’know, you’d try to kill me, but you’d probably get cold feet. Do you get it? Haha!”

A vein burst in the side of his head, and he kicked your leg away with his grumpily. “I’m not kidding. I’m fast. I’m really fast.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you won’t even see it coming.”

You grinned. “Well then, evade this, fast guy.” You kicked your leg back to his. He went rigid.

“That’s it-!” Grabbing his pillow and leaping up in one swift motion, any remnants of sleepiness in him were expelled, and he jumped onto you; smothering you with the pillow. “Choke out!

Your muffled laughter came from behind the pillow, and you lifted your leg to the part of his which wasn’t covered, and laid the flat of your foot on it. He screamed like he’d been shot.

Falling back onto his side of the bed, he clutched where your foot met his leg. “You cheap tricked bastard! That’s it, come here!”

Wrapping his fingers around your wrist, he pulled you out of bed, and you stumbled over your own feet as you followed wherever he was taking you with no qualms; smile of a winner, eyes of a sinner.

He let go of you in the living room and made a motion for you to sit, and you did - patiently, at that. The sound of running water hit your ears and it didn’t stop for a good few minutes, and then a dripping noise - like something spilling over something - reached you. Vin Jin came stumbling back into the room with a pale of water, and your chest moved as you chuckled.

“Hah, what’s that for - hey, what the hell are you doing?!” When he lifted your foot into the bucket of water, you weren’t too reluctant; warmed after was warm water, and it usually felt good. But this water wasn’t warm; it was burning.

“Ack, get my foot out of there!” You tried to retract it, but he kept a grip around your ankle.

“This is for your own good. And mine!”

“Stop talking like this is some intervention! That waters scorching hot!”

“Your feet are scorching cold!” He sneered.

“That’s not the comeback you think it is. I don’t think you can use that correctly in a sentence, dumbass!”

Eventually you pulled your foot out of the water, and it was burning red. You hissed lowly in pain, and Vin tossed the bucket of water aside, kicking your foot with his lazily to see if there was a change.

He was down immediately, and if he didn’t have sunglasses on, you would’ve seen tears build in his eyes. “What the fuck - how are they still cold?! Go to a doctor!”

You puffed your chest out defensively. “Leave me alone.”

“Whatever,” he said, scratching the back of his head angrily. “I’m going to bed.”

When you didn’t copy him in doing so, he sent you a quizzical look. “What? Don’t tell me you’re butt-hurt. I just called it as it is. You have cold as fuck feet.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sleeping right here, on the couch tonight, since I’m apparently that much of a pain to sleep with.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“All- al frown-y and shit!”

You sent him a sharp glare before turning on your side and laying down. “Im not. I’m just staying here.”

“Cmon.”

“Come on what?”

“If I leave you here, you’ll just stay and at me and won’t talk to me in the morning.” He ran his hand across the top of his head.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Okay, fine! You can sleep with me. Geez, you’re so high maintenance… just put socks on at least.”

You jumped up from the couch, nothing left of your soured expression. “Yay! Thanks.”

He glanced at you, before turning his head away swiftly with an annoyed blow of air out of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah.” If he’d been facing you, you might’ve caught the tint of pink he was turning. “I’m just a really good boyfriend, that’s all.”

“Yeah you are.” You flattered artificially, and he just clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in faux irritation.

That night, when your feet would drift to his, despite the violent chill running down his spine, he didn’t say a word.

—

The following morning, you and him awoke to a driveway full of snow. You’d went back to sleep, telling him to take care of it. And to his chagrin, he did end up having to do it, and when he came back inside he came to a realization.

His feet were as cold as yours now.

A snake-like smile curved the edges of his lips into a V-shape, malice hiding behind his eyes. Delighted with the realization, he crept back to your room. He couldn’t wait to get into the bed, and subject you to the same horror you’d don’t to him - to turn the tables. And to see you have to suck it up despite hating the frigid feeling crawling up your calf, because he’d done the same for you, and who were you to refuse?

“Hehehehehe.” A childlike laugh fell off his lips, and when he crawled back into bed, he immediately shuffled his legs to touch yours. You slowly, gradually began to tense, and he saw your shoulders uncomfortably rise. He would’ve cackled had you not been besides him.

He finally gave you a taste of your own medicine, a-

“What the hell?” You mumbled, half-asleep. You jerked your foot away from his, and his mouth opened and closed in a state of a shock. “Your feet are freezing… stay over there.”

“Wha-but I—“ His mouth opened and closed.

“Hmmm. But you what?”

Like a fish, he gaped at you, wide eyed and body language expressing his utter shock, and betrayal, both of which mutating into absolute anger. After everything he did for you?! “Wha- Wha- Wha- you fucking-!”

Goo Kim

“You know I love you, right?” Those were the words you were shaken awake to that cold night, and you’d blinked a few times, clearing the blurriness infiltrating your vision.

Groggily, you replied. “...Yeah?” Even the tiredness befuddling your train of thought, you’d known him well on enough that useless flattery always comes before a request. One usually to your inconvenience.

“And you know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“Hm. Yes.”

“And would you do anything for me?”

“... Yeah.”

“Then can you do me this one thing?”

“What?”

His eyes, which previously had glinted with an artificial, saccharine light, lidded. “Keep your feet one million miles away from me.”

There was a soft thud made audible from the lack of any noise in the room when he hit his ankle against yours, the momentum sliding your leg back to your side. As soon as he’d said that he turned back onto the side he was previously facing, sending you the cold shoulder. You groaned at his back.

“But then I’ll be cold.”

Your feet naturally gravitated to the warm side of the bed - his, and he curled into himself, leaving you stranded.

“I only ask of you one thing.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” you scoffed, walking the line between sleep and unconsciousness. “You’ve literally killed people before.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Oh?” If he’d seen you, he’d see your brow curve curiously. “Elaborate.”

“It’s already cold out. You’ll sleep by me, and you’ll drop the temperature around me because you’re so cold, and then I’ll die, and then you’ll go to jail for homicide and then you’ll be sorry.”

“How would being a little cold kill you?”

“Hypothermia.” He answered without missing a beat.

“Huh…” you hummed at how quickly that was thought out, and consequently how poorly. “Maybe my cell mates will hold me.”

“Your heart’s as cold as your feet…”

Your mouth fell open, and you pressed your feet against him again, this time with bad intent. “They are not that cold!”

The moment the bottom side of your foot touched him, he lost out a shrill shriek, and jumped out of the covers like a startled cat.

“I can’t take this anymore!” He yelled, standing to full height and walking over to the foot of the bed. He made a gesture with his hands for you to get up too, and begrudgingly you lifted the covers off of you and got up, rolling your eyes.

“What?”

With his hands, he made a slicing motion over the bed, as if he’d cut it in half. He placed the tips of his fingers on the bed itself and slid them back and forth, like a pizza slicer.

“This,” he was referring to the left side of the imaginary cut he’d made in the bed, “is my side of the bed.” He then slammed his hands on the right side. “And thiiiiis, is yours. Do not cross my side. Capiche?” He titled his head in your face obnoxiously, hands still swinging back and forth as though he was parting the sea.

“One more time. This-“

“I got it the first time! Geez.”

He folded his arms over his chest in an ‘X’. “Do not cross my side! Got it?!”

You narrowed an eye. “So we’re just gonna sleep like this forever?”

“Maybe not in the summer.”

“But then it’ll already be hot and I’ll want my side to myself!” You threw your hands on your hips. “‘Kay, you know what? Fine. Fine! I’ll sleep on my side.” You out your hands up in mock defeat. “You’ll never know the touch of a significant other again.”

“At least I’ll be warm.” He’d nearly hissed it out bitterly, and without sharing another word, you’d huffed and stepped into your side of the bed - sticking close sky to the edge.

All night, you’d slept somewhat soundly - aside from the few times you’d feel a burning, gaping hole in the back of your head. Why he kept looking at you all night, you couldn’t tell. After a while of feeling the pair of eyes from behind on you, you came to the conclusion he was monitoring to make sure you stayed on your side, and your lips fell into a brooding flat line. The bastard…

Eventually you knocked out and didn’t wake back up again - at least, not so easily, and when your eyes finally opened again, it was daylight. Waking up with a yawn, you stretched, the lack of presence by your side not going unnoticed.

At first, you’d tilted your nose skyward frustratedly. Just leaving without saying goodbye - were you seriously that cold? You’d probably continue to anguish over the fact, when you noticed a piece of paper with a letter on the wall that usually wasn’t present, hung atop the dresser.

‘WEAR THESE SO WE CAN SLEEP TOGETHER AGAIN ->’ written in writing so bad you had to squint and analyze it for minutes to decipher it, you unknowingly nodded before following the line of the arrow, seeing it pointed to a pair of socks hung on the dresser. They looked like they were so heavy and thick, they’d drag the entirety of your leg down and indent the floor you walked on with every step, not to mention the ugly, multiple colors - but disregarding that, you smiled at the sentiment. Thanks to the note afterwards, you were able to discern the series of glances to you that night weren’t of skepticism, but regret - or maybe guilt.

Despite the seemingly angry ‘that fucking bastard’ ringing in in your inner thoughts, there was a humorous smile resting on your face.

Taehoon Seong

“Like hell yer sharing a room with that fuckin’ bastard Hobin.”

When he slammed his hand on the register’s desk, both you and her jumped. In spite of his firm tone indicating he’d already made his mind up about this, it was purposeful on his part that his bangs swept across his eyes, and he noticeably flushed red.

You gasped, facial features contorting, aghast. “That’s cold… you can be mad at him, but you don’t have to bring him not having a father into this. We’re only sharing one to save money!”

He threw his hand down back to his sides irately, and the angry expression he held would’ve intimidated you had he not seemed so flustered. You recoiled a little regardless.

“That’s not what I meant, you air-head!” He yelled through gritted teeth. Throughout his thought process, he’d figured if he’d covered up his indignance at you and Hobin sharing a room with an annoyed front and changed it quickly, he’d be able to avoid having to face your confrontation on why he was so concerned. And he’d figured by doing this, he’d be able to avoid confronting his feelings for you himself as well.

However, as reckless and spontaneous as he acted, hiding his true intentions, his embarrassment was thinly veiled.

He sent the lady behind the check-in register a glare. “Change it.”

She began to type something, and you could visibly see a layer of sweat beam on her forehead nervously. “Uh, s-so I’m switching you two to be in the same room, right?” She stammered out, hurriedly complying, and you scoffed.

“Wha-?! Do I just not get a say in this?!”

Your objection was shut down swiftly by a glower being sent your way, triggering your flight or fight response. “What?” He seethed, head tilting back threateningly, “are you saying you want to share a room with that loser?” The dark aura surrounding him seeped into the atmosphere, and you shuddered.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you gave in. “Ah - uh, well, I don’t mind either, I guess… heh…”

Hitting one last letter on her keyboard, the lady behind the register spoke up, grabbing your synchronized attention. “Alright, so,” she squinted at her screen, “Hobin is now in a room alone, and you two are sharing one. Is that right?”

Wanting the entire ordeal over with, he nodded furiously, before grabbing your wrist and leading you along behind him. You’d protest and inquiry further, but truthfully, it felt nice to be wanted, even if the reason why wasn’t made clear to you.

-

“Oh, man.” You chided casually, hand sliding off the strap of your backpack to rest at your side. “Only one bed… how cliche.”

You made sure to implicate a sense of normalcy to your words, trying to make this feel like no big deal at all. By your side, he just stood still, like a frozen statue. His eyes were wide, and you couldn’t tell if it was shock or agitation.

Engulfed in silence, you waited to see if he’d say anything, but were met with no response. “Well… looks like one of us is gonna have to sleep on the floor.” Secretly, you hoped he would be ‘one of us’. However, he provided an alternative.

Dropping his bag on the floor with an extra amount of force so it’d slam onto the ground, he stormed to the bed, leaving you standing idly at the door. Curling into the farthest possible left corner of the mattress, he shrunk into himself somewhat, blowing out of his nostrils.

“Whatever,” he shrugged, “it’s no big deal. I don’t give a damn.” His gaze made sure to avoid yours like the plague before this, but now he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, patiently; awaiting your reaction somewhat… worriedly. Concerned to what you’d say, and wether it would be an indirect rejection against him, or a more pleasant answer.

Secretly, you’d wished this unforeseen circumstance would’ve elicited more of a reaction. If he liked you, he probably would’ve refused instantly, right?

It felt like you were being friend zoned, the way he want about it so mundanely, and your face was blank as your thoughts grew more and more forlorn and disappointed. You’d gotten lost in them after a while, like a-

“Are you gonna fuckin’ say anything?”

Snapping you out od your thoughts, you redirected your focus to the moment at hand, and quickly made a decision.

“Hmf…” you stared at him with wide eyes briefly, before humming. “Alright.” You slung your backpack off of your shoulder. “If you don’t care, neither do I.”

He went slack at your words, releasing a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. When your weight dipped under the bed as you climbed on, his eyes were faced forwards; but he was acutely aware of every shift and creak of the bed.

“...” Glaring at the wall, his face felt hot again. So close…

“Well,” you smiled. “Good night, then.”

Strands of hair fell over his face when he sent you a look over his shoulder scrutinizingly, before he fixed his vision forwards again, resting his head on his hands. “Yeah, yeah… ‘night or whatever. Just stay on your side.”

You’d fallen asleep much quicker than he had, his heart skittering too loudly in his skull for him to catch any rest, until your even and serene breaths lulled him asleep as well.

Normally, he was a fairly heavy sleeper. However that night, he was instantly pulled from his dreams, and his eyes abruptly snapped open when he felt a glacial cold on the lower extremity of his leg.

He awoke to a piercing cold.

You were woken when you went flying off the bed, sent by a kick to the middle of your stomach. Any sleepiness remaining in you was expelled the moment you collided with the floor, rolling a bit from the momentum.

With a pained groan, you lifted yourself on your elbow. “Hey, what the hell?!” You griped, looking up to see he’d rolled onto your side of the bed - or at least, what was your side of the bed, eyes narrowed at you from above.

Rubbing the part of your head which had hit the floor, you scowled. “What’s your problem? Don’t tell me you’re a sleep kicker…”

Remnants of exhaustion were still evident under the crevices of his eyes, however that didn’t impede the lour he directed to you. “Yer sleep in’ on the floor tonight.”

You looked oddly sad at that, shoulders boxing into a square. “Wha- what did I do?!”

The blades of his shoulders stiffened up to his jaw, and he squawked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know! Your feet are fuckin’ freezing!”

You seemed to ponder for a moment, internally wondering if they really were that cold - it’s not like you’d ever slept with anyone before in the same bed. Eyeing your unnecessarily intense expression, he stubbornly scoffed, before retreating back to his side of the bed. Not that he it was needed, as he’d claimed the entire thing for his own.

And you’d been banished from your own bed. The one in the room he argued you’d stay in!

Furiously, you picked yourself up to your feet, and stormed back to the bed. You didn’t even have to listen to him, he didn’t own the room, right?

Your rampage was cut short when he noticed you approaching, and swung his legs off the corner of the bed you were headed towards defensively. With your means of getting up now hindered, you wondered if you could just walk around to the other side and hop on, but realized he’d probably make it there before you. And then you’d be faced with the same situation, so it’d be easier to just handle it here and now.

Leaning down and summoning the most menacing stare you could to match his own, you started speaking. “Let me on.”

“No way.”

Frowning deeply, you tried to attempt overreaching past him and somehow mauevering yourself onto the bed from then. You weren’t gonna sleep on the floor; not in a room you were told to be in by the very guy kicking you off the mattress. Your hand flashed past the arch of his neck to reach the bed behind him, but mid-way a blur of pasty skin was quicker than your motion; and you found your hand blocked by the side of his palm. You scowled lowly, and tried again on the other side of his head, but met the same outcome.

Intimidatingly, he stood, but you stared him down, trying to be as unpredictable as possible. With a small groan of exertion, you tried to fly your hand past him, but this time it was kicked away by the head of his foot; and you let out an “ouch”.

“Yikes, that stings, asshole!” You growled, before going at it again, and being kicked again - this time stumbling aback from the force. This kept going for a prolonged amount of time, you reaching and him deflecting your attacks.

“Damnit!” You reached - he kicked. “Let me-“ this time you tried to glide besides him and jump into the bed with your entire body wholly. He kicked your shoulder back, and you heard it pop. “-get on-“ you went for the other side. He blocked. “-the fucking bed!” With a sudden surge of confidence spurred from your fatigue, you just jumped with no prior plan or idea and mind. His foot crashed into your stomach, and you lost your breath when you were propelled back, and hit the floor.

Now on the floor again, you somewhat subsided to your fate, and a few minutes passed as he’d gotten back into the bed to your upmost chagrin, and you were stuck on the cold hard floor. Drawing senseless doodles into the floor with your finger, you grumbled to yourself angrily.

“-fucking inviting ME to HIS room ‘nd then kicking ME off the bed… little asshole… one of these days…”

You considered how things would’ve turned out had he not interfered with the rooming plan for whatever reason he did. “Yoo Hobin would never treat me like this…”

You could hear the sheets beneath him shuffle as his upper body went taut, and it creaked when he sat up and glared at you again. “What did you just say?” Despite his harsh and cold tone, he looked somewhat guilt-ridden.

Feeling especially spiteful, you averted your gaze to the floor again and continued your nonsensical tracing of the floorboards. “Oh, nothing, I just said that YOO HOBIN WOULD NEVER TREAT ME LIKE THIS.” Your tone was casual, but near the end you amplified your voice as loud as possible to draw out the guilt in him. It was deserved, that’s what he gets for kicking you off.

You picked yourself up, headed towards the door. “Maybe I’ll just go sleep with him…” you knew deep down you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to wake him up if he was asleep, but you hoped he would somehow stop you before you reached the door. If not, to save your pride, you’d continue to storm out the door and then just wander the halls ‘till daylight.

“... Fine. You can sleep here… just stay the hell away from me.”

You beamed, mood doing a complete 180. “Really?!” You clasped your hands together gratefully. “Thanks so much! Don’t worry, I’ll stay on my side.”

You jumped onto the bed, now appreciating it much more than before, and when you’d finally settled comfortably your eyes fluttered to a close. It would’ve been extremely peaceful, had you not felt a sudden pressure against your chest.

Eyes blinking open, you arched a brow when you saw him posed to kick you, keeping his leg besides your upper body.

“... And what’s this for?” You asked, unnerved. He lidded his eyes at you.

“To make sure you keep your cold feet on your fucking side… if you cross over, I’ll freaking kill you.”

“Aren’t you technically on my side now and infringing upon the rules you set yourself?”

The look of hatred he sent you made you chuckle nervously, a drop of sweat sliding down your forehead. “Heh… okay…” with a sigh, you just gave in. “Well, it certainly beats sleeping on the floor.”

He glared at you broodingly, in spite of the red color painting his face. You closed your eyes and smiled, content.

“Goodnight.”

“If I feel yer feet come on my side, you won’t live to see daylight.”

That was good enough for you. Signing tiredly through an exhale, you fell asleep, him watching your peaceful expression until he drifted off too.

(Unedited)

Ur not annoying me w ur requests at all!!!! I love writing them, u could never annoy me by requesting lol DONT worry!! I hope this was what u wanted w ur ask, it ended up rlly long and unexpectedly sweet? and I’m not certain if u have read how to fight, but if u haven’t, based on ur last few requests I think u would like taehoon, wangguk and thus one other guy who’s name I don’t remember but his hair is in a bun LOL. It’s by the same author if lookism so if u haven’t read it I definitely recommend it!!!!! Ty for requesting ❤️❤️❤️

[biconicfinn]

Sam/T'Challa Headcanons

just some general headcanons for my faves <3

i dont remember much of the mcu timelines anymore but whatever have this post okay thank you

i'm thinking maybe they get together post-ca:cw, t'challa helps shelter steve, bucky, sam, clint, scott, and wanda in wakanda for a while so they can recover

obvs bucky goes into cryo and then i'm thinking maybe clint takes wanda under his wing and goes on the run, maybe scott joins them too idk i didn't spend too much time thinking about it

so it's just steve, sam, and cryo bucky

steve spends most of his time talking to bucky and moping and being generally Emo but eventually starts going stir-crazy so he turns his usual captain america suit into the nomad one, and heads off to go be a vigilante fugitive

meanwhile sam decides to stay in wakanda; he hasn't had a chance to just be in a long, long time, not since captain america first knocked on his door asking for a safe place. he stays in a small little apartment in the capital city, kinda near the palace so people can still keep an eye on him

over several weeks sam establishes a routine: wake up, go for a run around the neighbourhood (cutting through the public gardens at the palace), come back home and work out, shower, eat breakfast, go out on a patrol with the border tribe around the area, explore the city and practice xhosa along the way, check in with sarah, lunch, check in with steve and bucky, read, sleep, repeat.

he finds a purpose in the help he gives his neighbours, helping the older lady next door with errands at the market, telling the kids stories about what it feels like to fly with your own wings, joining the border tribe on their patrols around the city

occasionally he runs into the generous (and gorgeous) king who gracefully allows him to stay in wakanda in peace while running through the palace gardens

t'challa rises with the sun and often runs in the morning to get at least some form of training in; crucial on days where he's stuck in meetings

sometimes the two run into each other—once literally, and okoye never lets t'challa hear the end of how he was so very flustered by sam wilson taking off his shirt to cool off and the sight of him all hot and sweaty and half-naked made him freeze and run right into said man—and sam has to come to terms with the fact that getting lapped by superhuman attractive men (though he personally prefers t'challa over steve) is just his life now

typically sam opens their conversation with a cat pun that makes t'challa fight back a smile and respond with something so dry and deadpan, couched in the characteristic diplomatic quality he uses it takes sam a minute to reply and react

but when sam does understand, t'challa is met with a charming half-smirk half-smile that makes his heart trip and he relies on all his diplomatic training to remain neutral or at the most amused at sam's comments

the conversations grow slowly, from casual one-liners and sarcastic quips to sam's stories of riley and sarah and his community back in delacroix, and t'challa's anecdotes about growing up in wakanda

soon enough, what starts off as a brief conversation during a part of their respective runs becomes a standing daily routine run together, the two becoming fast friends, admiring one another's loyalty, dedication, honesty, and determination

of course, because sam and t'challa are sam and t'challa, the platonic friendship with a side of appreciative attraction slowly becomes a crush

and it's not just the funny stories and misadventures they share with one another, but the sleepless nights and trauma and grief and healing too

sam couldn't sleep one night and went for a walk in the gardens he ran into an equally sleepless t'challa and so began yet another routine for them; to sit in the gardens at a clearing where the stars were bright and plentiful and visible, so vast that sam felt an ache in his bones to be up there, to be in the skies along the stars, and he realised that if there was anyone he wanted to be up there with him, it was the man sitting next to him in quiet contemplation, shoulders slumped slightly, expression handsomely brooding; the man behind the mantles of king and black panther

t'challa found himself wandering towards the gardens on those nights he couldn't sleep, when the weight of the crown and his legacy and the nation weighed so heavily on him that he felt he would crumble under it, he sought out the clearing in the garden, and more importantly, the man with his soul in the skies, his heart wherever he could help people

some nights were quiet for the most part, a brief check-in with one another before just simply taking comfort in one another's company. others were filled with conversation, those deep talks you only feel safe having in the dead of night, when the only thing awake and alive is nature, when every word is just that much more honest and real

losing parents and partners, the responsibilities of leadership, recovery and healing; just some of the things the two talk about when they can be just them, no titles or nationalities or protocol there to censor them

over morning runs and late-night conversations, sharing music and food and language and culture, and impromptu excursions to the city or beyond they grow close and find that their feelings are getting more and more difficult to ignore, both wanting more than just a friendship

it's not during a morning run or nighttime confession that they admit their feelings, but over a shared lunch together

they're eating a simple picnic lunch near the warrior falls where t'challa will soon undergo the first part of his coronation ritual and offer the people of wakanda to send a representative to fight him in ritual combat for the throne

the view of the falls is spectacular, and sam's wide-eyed face of awe and wonder, bright smile shining with all the warmth of the sun makes t'challa feel like he could take on the entire country in ritual combat and come out the other side victorious if sam continues to smile at him like that and if they had more time then they would probably go for a swim, but they don't so here they are, alone at the falls, the rush of water and the sounds of the river fauna their only company

they're laying on a blanket on the grass, watching the clouds, and sam feels just as at peace on the ground with t'challa next to him then he's ever felt with his wings in the skies

during a discussion about the coronation where t'challa answers the questions sam asks him. the subject turns to his duties as king, and sam asks about whether t'challa is expected to marry a woman in order to produce heirs for the throne. he knows wakanda doesn't discriminate against people for sexuality or gender identity, but the duties of a king are to ensure the legacy of the royal bloodline is preserved isn't it?

t'challa laughs, and says that while the royal bloodline is important, there is no restriction on who the king (or queen) marries, as long as they would be able to connect with the people, serve and help the people of wakanda the way any good ruler should

"so what i'm hearing is all's fair in love and war"

"i guess you could say that"

"so if gender and sexuality don't matter; does nationality?"

"perhaps in the past yes, but i feel wakanda is changing, and that it will not be such a concern moving forward"

"even if the king were to be with, say, a fugitive american ex-pararescue-slash-ex-avenger?"

t'challa turns to face sam, heart caught in his throat as he processes just what sam said, takes in the hopeful and tentative look in his eyes masked by a slightly wavering tone of jest and hunour, as he shifts to mirror him.

the moment stretches out for what feels like an eternity before t'challa can respond

"for you, my falcon, i think we can make an exception"

their lips meet, the two smiling too much for the kiss to be anything other than as sweet and warm as honey and sunshine, and sam wraps his arms around t'challa, bringing the king on top of him, and two exchange soft kisses and softer words until t'challa gets called away, promising to meet later not just for their near-nightly rendezvous, but for dinner in t'challa's private quarters

okay so that's all for now! i kinda hate how this turned out but whatever it's done!! taglist under the cut! if anyone didn't want to be added i'm sorry just let me know and i'll delete!

@sambuckies @thewondrouspickle @tchalcons @like-butterflies-and-glitter @shadowyenthusiaststudentus @vodka-infused-unicorn @cassleia @finger-lickin-fuckboy @twisterss

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Built on a Lie

Prompt: I like the possible idea of Janus being a absolutely crushed to find Roman bleeding out due to a bruised ego in his room after pof was uploaded. After all most Sander Sides Fans hated Roman after he mocked Janus's Name.

Thanks for the prompt, babe! I hope it’s what you wanted!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: arguably roceit i guess??? it’s just focused on them, can be platonic or romantic if you want. same with LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Warnings: sympathitic janus even if it might not seem like it, sympathetic feral protective remus, roman is a hurt boi

Word Count: 5010

The wedding is tough.

After the wedding is an ordeal.

After after the wedding…hurts.

The Mindscape is all but deserted. No one wants to come out to the common areas for risk of running into someone who they had…disagreements with or getting swept up in a painfully awkward conversation. Patton lingers in the kitchen, Virgil almost never opens his door, Logan works, and Remus, well…Remus is the only one still behaving as normal.

Janus is grateful for his consistency.

In all honesty, and oh, the irony, he doesn’t enjoy this. He doesn’t enjoy the others walking on eggshells constantly, nor does he thrill at how they seem to jump at everyone, not just him. His point was made. That is his job.

But he’s not so sure he fully anticipated the cost.

At the very least, Logan seems to get over their troubles first. He approaches Janus a few days after the wedding and offers one of his philosophy books. Janus accepts it gratefully and by the time he’s finished it, Logan starts talking again. It’s not the greatest thing for the Mindscape that Logan is willing to talk to the others again.

Patton comes around next, simply because he’s the kindest. Janus pities him a little for it. But sure enough, the common areas start to ring again, drawing Remus out from the depths to cause his chaos.

Virgil appears next, summoned by the repeated calling of Remus’s antics and Janus’s exasperation. And sometimes, well, sometimes it seems like they’re back in their hallway, with Patton and Logan looking on with the air of some bemused anthropologists.

All the Sides reemerge and start trying to figure out what’s going on except for Roman.

Roman is nowhere to be found.

“He…he just needs some more time, I’m sure.”

“Roman is prone to fits of dramatics. It is unsurprising that he chooses to have a repeat performance.”

“Princey’s a bit of an asshole, it’s gonna take him a while to own up to what he did.”

“Catch!”

Janus grunts and staggers under Remus’s weight, eventually getting them both with their feet back under them on the floor. He adjusts his hat and looks disapprovingly at the amount of slime Remus has managed to get all over himself.

“What were you even doing?”

“Exploring the precise relationship of viscera to ventricles inside the heart of a blue whale!” Remus shakes his sleeve. “They lied about how bit the veins and arteries are.”

“How did you—nevermind,” Janus sighs, “I don’t want to know. Now, will you answer my question or not?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno. Not paying attention.”

“…Roman’s not or you’re not?”

“I’m not!” He flicks some slime at Janus’s hat. “But you should be!”

“Yes, well, when slime starts to emerge from every corner again, I’ll chase you down.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.”

Janus doesn’t hurl some of the slime at Remus as he sinks out.

Roman still hasn’t appeared and the others are starting to notice. Thomas isn’t exactly in a position to do a whole lot of things, but at the very least he’s not doing what he perhaps should have been capable of. Logan notices and at first, chalks it up to the fact that they are in a pandemic; lapses in peak physical and mental performance are not unexpected, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s a little more than that.

The Mindscape grows dimmer, more sluggish. Thomas doesn’t seem to want to do much of anything, let alone work.

“I don’t understand,” Patton mumbles one afternoon when they meet—sans Roman—to try and figure out what’s going on, “I know I’m having a few—um, it’s not Thomas’s feelings that are causing us problems.”

Janus doesn’t make a note of how Virgil quickly presses his arm against Patton’s shoulder.

“There are certain things that are to be expected under times of great stress,” Logan muses, “and certainly any pre-existing problems will be exacerbated, but…this was not anticipated.”

Remus cranks the chainsaw and sets about carving up a new slice of…whatever he’s working on. “We’re in a pandemic, Spectacles!”

“I am wildly aware.”

Virgil stares at the chainsaw—which is fair—then up to Remus. “You ever been in a pandemic before, Remus?”

“Nope!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Okay, so that makes sense. But L’s right, this feels…weird. Like we’re missing something pretty big.”

In unison, they all look towards Roman’s seat.

The room falls as quiet as it can with Remus’s chainsaw still in the background.

The big, red, overstuffed armchair looks…different, without Roman lounging in it. The blinds aren’t drawn but it looks like the coloring has faded significantly, as though it’s been out in the sun for far too long. The seams look as though they’re struggling and there’s a dark imprint on one of the arms.

It’s not a shock to Janus to discover he’s never really looked at the chair before.

“Has anyone heard from Roman,” Logan asks quietly, “since the wedding?”

Virgil shakes his head, glancing around. Patton looks down at his chest.

“You think this is Roman.” It’s not a question.

“HIs tantrums do not normally last for this long,” Logan continues, adjusting his tie, “and whilst I admit that perhaps our circumstances have contributed more than I anticipated, I do not believe that is how Roman feels.”

“Princey has been away for a really long time.”

“Thomas is starting to get hurt by it,” Patton mumbles, laying a hand on his chest, “I can—I’m starting to feel it a little.”

“So we need to get Princey’s head out of his ass again.”

Logan sighs. “Most likely.”

“I didn’t want to rush it,” Patton says, glancing at Janus, “but you guys are right. I think he’s being selfish now.”

At the word ‘selfish,’ Remus freezes.

The chainsaw splutters and dies to the floor with a heavy clunk.

“Remus,” Patton scolds, “be careful with the…”

He trails off when he notices what the rest of them have.

Remus is standing completely still—an impossibility for Remus—his head tilted back, eyes fixed on a point in the ceiling. His nose quivers, almost like a bloodhound.

His nose twitches.

His lip curls up into a snarl.

His morning star appears in his hand with a growl as he tears off toward the stairs.

“Remus? Remus!”

“Wait!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Remus!”

Janus closes his eyes, reaching out to see if he can tell where Remus is going. His eyes shoot open.

“Roman’s room. Now.”

Virgil grabs Logan and Patton and sinks out.

Janus tries to appear in Roman’s room only to hit something burning cold. He hisses and flinches away from it, only to realize that he hasn’t materialized properly and is stuck. The burning cold reaches further, further, into his scales, digging under them, until Janus yanks himself away and appears, panting, in the hallway outside Roman’s door.

Virgil appears too, still holding the others. “What the fuck was that?”

“Did he block us out?”

“None of us have the ability to do that, other than Thomas.”

“Did he get Thomas to block us out?”

“I don’t know!”

A loud crash jerks their attention to Remus. He raises his morning star again and drives the spikes deep into the bright red of Roman’s door.

…that isn’t nearly as bright as it should be.

Remus snarls again and wails against the door. The wood starts to creak and buckle under the onslaught. He hefts the weapon again and shatters the door with a thunderous crack.

The morning star is hastily flung aside as Remus claws at the splintered wood, yanking it away from the hole he’s made.

The door groans and yields.

Remus rushes through, Virgil on his heels. Patton and Logan attempt to follow only to run smack into both of them.

“Why’d you stop, kiddos, we can’t—“

“Let us through, why did you—“

When those two fight their way through and into silence, Janus sighs and gingerly steps through, nudging Logan and Virgil aside to look at what’s got them so shocked. Roman in the middle of a sobbing mess of tissues, probably, or an empty room signifying he’s gone off on some quest in the Imagination, or even a pouting Roman glaring at them for ruining his door.

He gets around Virgil’s shoulder and his blood runs cold. Burning cold.

If they weren’t in Roman’s room, he’s not sure he’d be able to recognize this as Roman.

His pristine white costume is stained an ugly brown. The gold trimmings fall limply off, hating on by barely a thread. His hair sticks to the floor in horrid, matted clumps. His hands are speckled and stained with more blood, some congealed and crusted from the puddle on the floor. His legs bend at awkward and uncomfortable angles. One of his arms is stretched away from, reaching for something.

Or anything.

They dare not move. They dare hardly breathe.

Remus takes a step forward. Then another. Then another. He circles the body on the floor, not caring about stepping in the blood, crouching down on the far side. His face is drawn, paler than Janus has ever seen it go, he looks sick.

If…if Remus looks this bad—

Remus looks up at the others. His face darkens.

“Explain,” he whispers, his voice low and soft and dangerous, “now.”

No one can find words to even try.

When no one says anything, Remus crouches down and, with a tenderness that shocks Janus, lays his hand on Roman’s side.

“Roman,” he whispers, almost inaudibly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Ro-Bro, it’s—it’s me.”

“Wha’re you…here?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Remus growls, looking up at them again, “maybe no one was.”

“’S fine.”

“Roman, it is about the furthest from fine that it could be.”

“…’ve had worse.”

“…okay I was wrong. That is the furthest from fine it could be.”

Judging by the way Roman’s body slumps, his eyes must fall closed again. “You c’n go. D’n’t have to stay.”

“Not on your life.”

“’S fine, Re,” Roman slurs, “the others will…wonder where you are.”

Remus stiffens. His hand tenses on Roman’s side.

“No,” he says softly, “they won’t.”

Roman twitches, his head rolling up. “‘M sorry, Re.”

“What the absolute fuck are you apologizing to me for?”

“Thought they’d…care.” Roman’s head waivers and drop back down. “‘Bout you.”

Patton can’t stifle his whimper.

Roman twitches again. “Wha…”

“They’re not gonna wonder where I am,” Remus growls, “because they’re here.”

Roman’s going to panic. He’s going to freak out and they’ll have to reassure him. Or Roman’s going to be angry and they’ll have to stop him from hurting himself. Or he won’t believe Remus and that…that might be the worst.

…Janus should really stop thinking that.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’re they here, Re,” Roman mumbles, his body sagging to the floor again, “‘m I late for s’mething?”

Remus snarls and Roman flinches.

“Don’ be mad, Re, please, ‘m sorry—“

“I’m not mad at you, Roman.”

“But you’re mad.”

“No.” Remus stares at them, his voice still even and soft. “I’m enraged.”

Before they can say anything, Roman hisses and jerks. Remus’s hands instantly flit to Roman, searching for whatever’s hurt him.

“What’s happening, Ro,” he growls, “whose ass do I need to kick?”

“You can’t,” Roman wheezes, “can’ stop it.”

“The hell I can.”

“No, you—you actually can’t,” Roman says, reaching for Remus’s hand, “help—help me sit up?”

“Ro, you’re—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“’S fine.”

“I don’t think it is!”

“Please?”

Remus sighs, gingerly wrapping his arms around Roman’s bruised and bloody body. “Come on then.”

Roman’s costume clings to the floor and his back as they sit up, the stain darkening and drying on the belly of his tunic. His head lolls against Remus’s chest, breathing heavily for a moment before he finally looks up.

Oh, his face…

It’s an absolute mess. Blood and salt and other things Janus couldn’t hope to figure out cling to every scrap of skin they can as he squints at them.

“You broke my door.”

“You were in trouble,” Remus replies easily, hoisting Roman to sit properly.

Roman sighs, his breath rattling. “Did I miss a meeting?”

“We…” Logan swallows. “We just came from one.”

“Oh.” Roman closes his eyes. “I’ll…gimme a minute, I’ll—“

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I gotta do the meeting, Re.”

“The hell you do.”

“You—you don’t have to worry about the meeting, Roman,” Logan says firmly, taking a step closer, “we—what happened to you?”

“What d’you mean?”

“What does he mean?” Virgil explodes. “Roman, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Roman hisses again. “Don’ have to shout, Virgil.”

“Of fucking course I have to shout! Look at you!”

“I believe that might be more of a reason not to shout,” Logan says quietly. Virgil huffs, balling his hands up into fists.

“What the fuck happened, Roman,” Virgil repeats, “and don’t pretend like you don’t know what we’re talking about.”

Roman sighs again, something whistling, what happened to him?—and sits up away from Remus. “I can’ shout, come closer.”

Logan and Virgil immediately walk forward, crouching down a respectful distance away. Patton takes a moment longer, creeping forward and reaching out a trembling hand toward Roman.

“K-kiddo,” he mumbles, “I’m so—so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“’S okay,” Roman slurs, leaning back against Remus, “’s okay, Pat.”

“Patton?” Logan turns. “What do you know?”

“Yeah, Patton,” Remus growls, “why don’t you tell us.”

Patton shrinks back. “I—I—“

“Shh,” Roman mumbles, clumsily patting Remus’s hand, “don’ do that, ’s okay.”

“No, Roman, it’s not.”

“...kiddo?”

Roman nods.

Patton takes a deep breath. “You guys know that—how Roman gets hurt sometimes when Thomas does something that, uh, doesn’t turn out great?”

“We all get hurt, Pat,” Virgil says, “that doesn’t explain this.”

As if on cue, Roman hisses again.

“No, no, Virgil,” Patton mumbles, “it’s—Roman’s the only one who gets physically hurt when this stuff happens.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he looks at Roman’s injuries. “Of course…”

Despite everything, Roman smiles tiredly up at him. “Figure it out?”

“You’re the Ego,” Logan mumbles, “and thus it follows that you would get…bruised.”

“Wait, that’s a literal thing?”

“Apparently so.”

“Jeez, Princey,” Virgil mumbles, “you coulda told me.”

“You were busy, didn’t wanna give you anything else to worry ‘bout.”

“That’s not—Roman—“

“But Thomas has been inside,” Logan interjects quickly, “alone, he hasn’t—we haven’t done anything since the pandemic began.”

“It’s a pandemic, Lo,” Roman says, “no one’s doing much of anything…besides staying inside, reading things, watching things…”

“So how is this happening to you, Roman,” Patton says, wringing his hands, “what—what’s doing this to Thomas?”

“Fuck,” Virgil says, burying his hands in his hair, “Princey has this been happening to you since the wedding?”

“Mm,” Roman hums, leaning heavily against Remus.

“People are watching the video,” Logan whispers, “and they’re—well, they’re talking about it.”

“Are they—are they still saying Thomas should’ve…” Paton gulps. “Done something different?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m sure they are but Thomas…Thomas hasn’t been looking at the comments from the video, not really. Virgil and I have specifically told him not to.”

“So then why is Thomas still being hurt by it? Why are people still attacking Thomas?”

“Not—“ their heads all jerk around to look at Roman— “not Thomas.”

He waves a hand at himself.

“Wouldn’t be like this if it were them attacking Thomas.”

“Then what—“

“They’re attacking you?” Virgil’s eyes go wide as they scan over Roman’s injuries. “Directly?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, kiddo—“

“Princey, what the hell—“

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve—“

“What for?”

In response, Roman’s eyes raise slowly, and look at Janus.

Everyone else follows, looking back toward the door, realizing that Janus hadn’t moved closer with the rest of them.

Roman’s gaze isn’t cold, but it makes him feel cold.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“My name,” Janus breathes, “it’s…they’re mad at you because of me.”

“Told you,” Roman slurs as his eyes close again, “gotta come closer. Can’ shout like this.”

Janus swallows heavily, his throat dry, clutching his cloak tightly around him as he edges closer. Roman mumbles to himself until Janus is close enough to hear him.

“There we go…” He cracks a bloodied eye open. “You’re right. They’re angry at me. Rightfully so, but…yeah.”

“Because you made fun of my name?”

They all rush forward as Roman keens, his hand flying to his gut and hissing.

“Fuck, Princey, is it—is it still happening?”

“Mhm.”

“How do we—how do we stop it?”

“Can’t,” Roman mumbles, “wasn’t lying. Nothing you can do. Not until it’s over.”

“It’s been ages since the wedding, Roman, how much longer is this going to go on?”

Roman makes a vague noise of ‘I don’t know.’

“But—but—“ Logan looks frantically back and forth between them— “surely they can’t all be angry at you, that would be—“

“They’re not,” Roman mumbles, “not all of them, but it’s—it’s most of them.”

“How is that possible?”

“Some of them really don’t like me—“ Roman hisses again— “some of them really like J-Janus or Remus or…or Logan, or Patton—“

“What?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“And some of them just think that it’s—what I did was—“ Roman stifles a whimper, biting his lip— “really bad.”

“But then why…why aren’t the rest of us being affected like this?”

“You’re not the Ego.”

Remus snarls again as Roman jerks, a new bruise blooming on the underside of his neck.

“…ow.”

“We have to get you cleaned up,” Logan mutters shakily, trying to stand.

“Not much point right now,” Roman sighs, absentmindedly nuzzling into Remus, who tightens his grip protectively around Roman, “‘m just gonna get all messy again.”

“Not if we stay with you,” Logan promises, “not if we help.”

“…don’ have to.”

“What the hell are you—“ Virgil shakes his head. “Of course, we’re gonna help you, Roman.”

Roman just looks at them and closes his eyes.

“Ro—kiddo,” Patton says, reaching out for him, “why don’t you believe us?”

“You haven’t exactly…done that before.”

“We didn’t know!”

“You did.”

Patton’s retort dies in his throat. He looks desperately around for something, anything—

Janus is in shock.

Roman…oh, Roman…Janus knew Roman was the Ego, but he didn’t—he hadn’t—

Fuck, were the bruises from what he said still there? Not—not just that awful, awful thing about comparing Roman to Remus, but…from before?

How many times had Janus hurt Roman…and hadn’t cared?

“…I’m sorry, Roman,” Logan murmurs, breaking the silence, “will you let me help now?”

Roman looks up at him. “I’ve been awful to you,” he mumbles, “you don’—don’ have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” Logan says, “because you’ve been wonderful to me too…and I am not blameless in this either.”

“But they don’t know that.”

“I do,” Logan says firmly, “and they will.”

The smallest smile tugs at the corners of Roman’s mouth as Logan stands up to go fetch the first aid kit.

“Princey, I—Roman,” Virgil stammers, “fuck, you—oh my god—“

“I’ve been awful to you too, Virgil.”

“And I’ve been fucking worse right back!” Virgil squeezes his hands tight. “And I—you’re the only one who gets yelled at for it. Fuck, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, I’m gonna—can I help too?”

“…if you want.”

“I’m gonna go help Logan get the shit,” Virgil mutters, getting to his feet and tearing out after Logan.

“…oh, kiddo…”

Patton’s eyes begin to tear up.

“I thought—I thought you needed more time—“

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Pat,” Roman manages, “it’s not fun, trust me.”

Patton’s laugh comes out more like a sob.

“I won’t hold it against you, and you can—“ Roman hisses again— “help if you want.”

“Do you think you can drink something?”

“…I’ll try.”

Patton’s gone in a flash.

Janus looks at Remus. Remus glares at him and pulls Roman closer.

“…we should…try and get some of that off,” Janus tries, “so we can see what, um…”

Remus’s stony silence as Roman starts to drift again cuts off Janus’s words.

“…Remus…”

“You are very, very lucky,” Remus whispers, cutting him off, “that I’m not about to leave my brother’s side for a long time.”

Janus nods.

“Start on the buttons,” Remus says, “at his wrists. I’m not sure how much of this we can save.”

He immediately sets to work, trying to communicate how sorry, sorry, sorry he is with every gentle brush of his fingers against Roman’s skin. Remus summons something for them to lean Roman against as they start to gingerly remove the tunic. It’s worse than Janus thought.

Roman is one big pulsing wound, little nicks here and there and varying shades of purple, red, green, yellow, all coming from one massive sore in the center of him. As they watch, more injuries appear, little bruises that make his breath hitch, and occasionally a small swipe along his ribs. As Janus works the cuff over his wrist, one of his fingers blackens and swells as it breaks.

“Oh, Roman…”

“Sit up, Ro,” Remus whispers tenderly, peeling and unsticking the tunic from his back, “okay, there we go. Are most of them…up here?”

“They all look to be coming from…that,” Janus says, indicating the giant wound, “so…”

And indeed, as they watch, Roman keens again and the wound deepens, more blood beginning to trickle out.

“Are all of these—“ Janus indicates the injuries littering Roman’s body— “comments?”

“Mm.”

“Then what—why is this one…?”

Roman’s eyes drift closed and his head lolls back.

“’Oh, Roman, thank god you don't have a mustache.”

No.

No.

“’Otherwise, between you and Remus—‘” Roman winces as the wound digs deeper— “‘I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.’”

…no…

Janus reaches out a trembling hand and lays it next to the wound. It’s…it’s warm under his touch but…wrong.

A snarl jerks his hand back and he looks up to see Remus glaring at him.

“Remus—“

“Save it.” Remus glances toward the door. “The others will be back in a moment anyway.”

Sure enough, Logan and Virgil bust through the broken door, their hands full. Logan immediately sweeps his gaze over Roman and kneels down, reaching out.

“May I touch you, Roman?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Logan slots a hand gently behind Roman’s hand. “We’re going to try and get the blood off of you first, alright?”

“Mm.”

“This might sting,” Logan cautions, starting to rub an antiseptic towel down Roman’s arm, “my apologies.”

Virgil takes another one and carefully cleans Roman’s other arm, mindful of his broken finger. As they work, Patton reappears, holding a bottle of water and a glass of juice.

“Come on, kiddo,” he says softly, taking Logan’s place behind Roman’s head, “drink this for me?”

Roman manages a few sips of each.

“Good job, kiddo, there you go…” Patton glances down. “Does it seem to be stopping at all?”

As if it can hear him, the wound starts to bleed again.

“Oh, Roman…”

Logan glances between the wound and Janus, his brow furrowed.

Please, Logan, for once…don’t be so smart.

The way Logan’s eyes widen and narrow say that it’s too late.

“This one seems to be the origin,” Logan says instead, turning away, “all the others seem to stem from it.”

“Okay,” Virgil mutters, “so what’s that one?”

Janus’s mouth runs dry as Logan turns to him expectantly.

“Well,” Remus growls, “go on.”

“I don’t—what if it just makes it worse?”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

“I didn’t—“

“Oh, shut up,” Remus cuts him off, “you knew. You knew.”

“Remus—“

“You wanna know how I know that?” Remus draws away from Roman just enough to clench his fists. “Because I found you after the wedding. You were all curled up on the floor and you were so upset.”

Roman stirs. “…Re…”

“And I asked you why, and you said it was because Roman made fun of your name,” Remus continues, “and I thought: ‘huh, that feels a little weird. Where have I heard that before?’”

Patton shrinks out of Remus’s line of sight.

“Then I remembered! The courtroom,” Remus continues, a manic smile on his face, “and your little plan to make sure Roman felt like he had no idea what was going on.”

“…J, what is he talking about?”

“Oh, he’s not going to tell you,” Remus says, “but I will.”

“Remus—“

“You said that you knew Roman,” Remus says, talking right over him, “and you knew that if you pushed him in the right direction, you’d be able to get him to listen to you easily.”

Even Logan pauses.

“Do you remember what you said, Janny?” Remus’s eyes bore into Janus’s mind. “Do you?”

“…Remus, please.”

Remus’s grin drops.

“You said,” he whispers, “that if you just fucked with his name, he’d be in the palm of your hand.”

And he was.

"Conveniently, everyone seems to have forgotten that. Forgotten what you did. Or they don't care."

Remus tightens his grip on Roman. 

"But not me."

Guilt presses hot and thick against Janus’s throat. Unbidden, huge, fat tears start to form in his eyes as he stares at the wound on Roman’s gasping chest. Distantly, he thinks he can hear the others muttering but all he can think about is how much of this is a lie.

Roman isn’t the evil twin.

Roman isn’t Remus.

Roman isn’t stupid.

Roman isn’t worthless.

Roman isn’t a toy or a puppet or a tool.

Roman isn’t selfish or greedy or arrogant.

Roman is hurt and scared and Janus is so, so sorry.

He lets out a growl of his own and presses his hand hard to the wound.

Lie. Lie.

This is a lie.

Truth is hard and unyielding and painful but nothing is more painful than knowing that all of this is built on a lie.

Janus grits his teeth and concentrates, his hands trembling as he presses it against the wound, searching, searching for—

There.

He closes his fist around the lie and yanks, pulling the words and the hurt and the ache out of Roman’s chest in a bright flash.

When it’s gone, Roman’s chest is heaving, bruises still littering his torso, but the big wound is nowhere to be seen.

Panting, Janus clenches his fist until the lie shatters into pieces, the shard disappearing into harmless puffs of air.

He looks back.

Logan and Patton are staring at him open-mouthed. Virgil has his hands bunched up in his hoodie. Remus just stares at him, his face unreadable.

And Roman…

Roman looks up at him, panting too, but it doesn’t feel quite so wrong anymore.

“I can’t promise that this one won’t hurt you ever anymore,” he vows, “but I can promise that it will never have that much power again.”

Roman reaches out a hand. Janus lets him pull him closer.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

Janus huffs. “I can also promise that you’re not nearly as sorry as I am.”

They let their eyes fall closed as Janus’s hands steady Roman, landing lightly on his sides and just resting there. Roman tips forward and his forehead lands against Janus’s.

For a second, the room just breathes.

“Can we clean you up,” Janus whispers, “the rest of the way?”

“L-Logan?”

“I’m right here, Roman,” Logan says instantly, “what do you need?”

“Can I—wanna sleep.”

“I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, so that should be alright…” Logan glances at Patton. “Let’s have you drink a little more and then you can rest, hmm?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton coaxes, “here we go…”

As Virgil and Logan set about cleaning again, Janus runs his hands slowly over every injury he can, plucking out what little lies there are and sending them away. He can tell by the weight of Remus’s stare on him that he’s not in the clear yet, but the way Roman starts to sag slowly makes it easier.

“Alright,” Logan murmurs after a while, “I think that’s all we can do.”

“…sleep?”

“Yes, Roman, you can sleep now. Would you like us to help you to your bed?”

Roman blinks, his hand reaching out for— “Re?”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“Re…” Roman mumbles sleepily as he all but collapses into Remus.

“…yeah I’m okay with that.”

Logan jerks his head towards Roman’s mattress. Together, they drag it down to the floor and help Remus get Roman onto it. Logan murmurs that he’s going to go put the first aid kit away, but that he’ll be right back. Patton gathers up the glasses and leaves with the same promise.

Virgil glances back and forth between Remus and Janus.

“…you guys remember that this is about what Roman needs, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay good.”

Virgil reaches out to brush a little of Roman’s hair out of his face.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

Logan and Patton reappear at the door and slot themselves in around the mattress. Remus looks at Janus.

Janus deliberately sits between Roman and the door, something he’s seen Remus do too many times.

Remus nods.

This conversation is far from over, but right now…

Right now, Roman mumbles sleepily and grabs onto Remus’s sleeve.

There is truly so much that they never see, isn’t there? Logan wasn’t wrong, the amount of Roman that’s never been on camera is truly staggering.

Janus has let that lie of omission cause too much damage for too long.

Right now, he’s got work to do.

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[aenaxes]

chasing fountains

[fives x afab!reader] it's so easy to forget that the man you love is war incarnate. and maybe that's exactly why he can't be yours.

warnings: nsfw, angst, breakup sex, cunnilingus, unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 2.6k

a/n: wrote this while listening to the reverb edit of good days by sza and definitely didn't cry idk what you're talking about

"Are we gonna be adults about this, or are you gonna give me the silent treatment until I guess what I did wrong?"

Fives's tone is no longer a novel sound in the dark walls of your apartment, a jagged sneer sawing through the silence as he sets his helmet down hard on the countertop. It's the kind of sound that doesn't cut deep but cuts wide, leaving a broad swath of gnarled scar tissue that will never heal quite right. (The worst kind.)

The holodrama in front of you drones mindlessly over the midnight channel.

You tell yourself that you've grown used to it, the cold and bitter thing that found home between you after the rosy light he flooded into the room faded away leave after leave, tour after tour. It helps you cope. But your body remembers what your mind tries to forget—memories of first leaves in months and boyish glee as Fives swept you into his arms and kissed you breathless in the narrow berth of your kitchen—and you flinch anyways.

"Isn't it obvious?" you sigh. It's a labored thing that crowds the bottom of your lungs up to your collarbones and chokes your throat with what's left of your straining heart.

You don't think it's anger.

It's something muted, something like the ache of a rusted plasma turbine sputtering out what last dregs of fuel it has left, numb and rote but the only thing it's ever known before it careens off the side of a landing bay and into dark waters. It happens, disrepair, discord. But the fact that it happens somehow makes you feel even worse, makes it feel like it was bound to happen.

"No, cyare, it's really not," Fives frowns.

You can hear the scowl in his voice.

"You forgot to call," you mumble, shifting your arms tighter over your chest, and you aren't sure whether the pressure in your chest is anger or the desperate claws of sorrow trying to remind you that you used to care. That he used to care.

"Cyare, I'm sorry I forgot to call, but I was in an active warzone. I can't just call you whenever to tell you goodnight because I'm usually writing condolences to the training squads of the men I bury."

You can hear the anger tearing at the fine threads of his restraint, his voice rising and rising until it's another sound away from a full-bodied yell. Before now, that sort of volume, that sort of presence, had been exclusive to late-night speeder bike joyrides and chasing fountains of youth over sandy dunes—the types of adrenaline rushes that felt good. You wonder if it's now become resentment or regret or a combination of both.

"You forgot to call for our anniversary," you say at last. Maker, you can't believe how pathetic you sound.

"I'm sorry, but I almost lost my entire squadron out there. I have to prioritize... differently, on the field," Fives says after a moment's pause (so he really did forget), his voice soft again but no less cold, no less tired of raising hellfire and being greeted with an impassive glaze over your eyes.

Silence settles through the room again, thick enough that the holodrama playing before you is reduced to a low buzz, and you tell yourself that your fingers feel numb because you always let the air conditioning run colder when Fives was on tour.

"Look, I'll try to make it up to you next time, cyar'ika," Fives murmurs, picking across the threshold and dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You aren't sure if there ever will be a next time when Fives only exists because of this endless war that cracks open the earth and swallows battalions whole. But when you drop your head onto his shoulder; when he tugs you close and cradles your head with a rough, warm palm; when you both pause and breathe the same breath together, you can pretend for just a moment that things are good again.

"'m tired," you mumble.

"What can I do?" It's the most earnest his voice has been all night, seeking gaps in the armor, places where he can reach in past the stony impasse and to that pearlescent light you've long since hidden from him. It's the closest to an apology you'll get.

"Take me to bed," you say.

Fives gently untangles you from around him, clicking off the holo before he secures his arms beneath you and carefully lifts you into his arms. Bittersweet memory, fragrant and dusted from months of disuse, floods your tongue as you loop your arms around Fives's neck and feel him press a kiss to your temple.

It's muscle memory, really. Nothing more. But it completes the little show of normalcy. It shifts you away from the hazy fugue of the present and back into better days when touch carried with it tender intent, more than ritual motion.

Fives presses a second kiss to your neck when you reach the bedroom door, mouthing his dry lips softly over your pulse. You cling to him and sigh. A third on your jaw, the next on your cheek, and another, another, another over your lips as he shifts you upright and lets you wrap your legs around his waist so you can tilt your head and push your tongue into his mouth.

It's muscle memory when, after he's thrown his armour off into the darkness of your room, you shift your hips down against his, gasping softly over his tongue as you catch the bulge in his blacks and heat floods your core. He groans into your mouth, fisting one hand in your hair and kissing you so hard it's almost crushing. It's muscle memory.

"Fives," you breathe, and it's becoming harder to tell performance from truth as something else hums in your chest.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm right here, cyare. I'm always gonna be here." And the way he says it almost makes it believable.

You kiss him before he can say anything else, your teeth clacking against his as you swallow his words with a low moan, too afraid that if he says any more, you might actually convince yourself that this is more than an elaborately rewound memory.

Fives is no fool.

He knows, too, laying you carefully on the bed where he would usually toss you onto the mattress with a gleeful laugh and tumble in after you. In the darkness, you catch him hastily twisting out of his top, the low light catching over rippling muscle and warm skin before he rushes between your thighs and drops to his knees. He kisses the soft inner skin of your thighs like he always does, but this time, he does not linger instead kissing you for the sake of motion than playful desire.

This is choreography.

But performance as it might be, you do not need to pretend your pleasure when his heady exhale over your clit serves as a brief warning before Fives licks a broad, wet stripe over your cunt.

In the early days, you had been eager to chalk it up to the end of the gilded shimmer of the honeymoon phase, an entry into a stabler shared life that would be just as sweet. You're not certain what you've become, he and you, but it isn't that.

Whatever you are now, it has no concern in this moment because Fives still knows how to coax pleasure from your deepest parts, finding your softest, most vulnerable places and calling you to something better than a frigid spat to welcome him home.

You clap your hand over your mouth as Fives wraps his lips around your clit, pulling a raw euphoria from your heaving lungs that has you moaning louder than you have in too long. He groans your name into your own skin, gasps, and delves deep again.

"Fives, Fives," you plead, reaching down to grope for his head in your blind pleasure.

"Cyar'ika?" Fives pauses only to respond then plunges his tongue back into the saccharine wetness of your cunt, feeling you jump and spasm around him.

"Fuck me," you cry over a groan, knotting your fingers in his hair.

"You didn't come yet," he murmurs into your skin, almost irritated, his voice thrumming straight to your core as you cry out again.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," you chant. The intimacy will only prolong the ordeal of greed, will only make you want more when you're already drowning under the weight of what little remains now. "Need you inside me, please."

Fives hums his assent, curls his tongue into your cunt one last time, and leaves you with a ghost of a kiss pressed over your clit. He staggers up off his knees, hardly bothering to lick your slick smeared over his lips—to savor it with the mischievous delight he no longer shares before you—and cups the back of your neck to pull you into a crushing kiss that might almost be painful if you weren't so desperate to soak up every last touch he has to give.

"Tell me if it hurts," he says like he has every time he's pulled you into his arms and parted your thighs. Except this time, there is no lingering gaze, no silent professions of something more than physicality in a moment of heat. Fives only kisses you one last time before he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

This is a performance, you tell yourself as you press close.

And then he's pushing into you, stretching you open around him and filling you in every way you forgot that you needed, in the way only he could as he cages you between his arms.

He sets a pace that is altogether the same and yet nothing like how you remember him. You're playing out something you had done before arguments lasted weeks and couches became occasional beds. Yet it feels just like the real thing, his thighs sticking to the skin of your ass as he plunges up into that spot that whites out your vision and curls your toes tight.

It feels so real that if you squeeze your eyes shut and release the tension coiled at the base of your neck, you can pretend that when you meet his eyes, Fives will flash you the smile that crinkles around the corners of his eyes and bubbles laughter from his chest.

Instead, he shifts your ankles from the base of his spine, his brows knit tight and his chest heaving as he hefts your legs over his shoulders. You sob as he fucks into you harder now, hard enough to nearly fold you in two and fill the bedroom with the sharp clarity of his skin pressing into yours. You wonder if it's to crowd you close, to mold himself as close as he may ever be and take one more fleeting taste of you.

"Fives," you cry out one last time, the flared ridge of his cockhead catching your clit as he pulls out.

Desire crests so high in your core you almost feel sick with want for more. You cling to the feeling, committing to memory what you will later try to scrub away: how you flutter around the ridges of Fives's cock, how he fucks you in the way only months of true, genuine desire would allow him to know, how when your legs jerk and he lathes his tongue your shoulder that you might have called this love.

It's ironic how that's the one thing that crosses your mind when you squeeze your arms around his neck and come with a strangled sob. His hips connect hard with yours, fucking into you in one swift motion that has your back arching off the sheets. You blindly kiss over the coarse stubble of Fives's jaw, and it crushes the air from your lungs as he takes your chin in his hands, all gentle and trembling restraint, and kisses you so sweetly it burns.

A few more sloppy thrusts, and Fives bows his head low and pushes deeper than he has all night. Groping over his shoulder for his hand, he frantically laces his fingers with yours, squeezing tight. And when you squeeze back, you hear him make something of a moan and a sob pushed into one as he finishes inside you.

He overwhelms you with one last gesture of him as you pulse around his softening cock, and you can't help how you look to him with stars in your eyes, just like before, just like how it was supposed to be. He notices—opening his eyes to reveal something forgiving and warm—but before whatever it is drags you both into its inescapable orbit, he takes you into his arms and collapses onto his side.

Fives pulls out of you with an obscene noise, something you might have laughed at before the thorns of distance had grown long and sharp between you. You only sigh at the slow drip of his come sliding over your skin and pooling over the sheets as he pulls out.

For a while, you lie there, the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed and your cheek pressed to the sweat-slicked skin of his chest. You don't remember what you would do to fill the buzzing silence of afterglow, but you remember it felt better than what you're feeling, the slow descent of gilded curtains in a dark room, falling, falling.

Fives takes the guesswork out of it for you, though. There's a semblance of real tenderness when he kisses your brow and shifts away just enough that he can't meet your eyes but instead can keep you close enough to touch.

"When's your next tour?" you whisper into the quiet as he lifts his hand to your face.

"I have a week of leave," Fives responds. He traces his fingertips over the highest points of your cheeks and nose, memorializing in touch what the darkness tucks away.

"Where to?"

"Ringo Vinda." His fingers curl over your chin, cradling you to his skin before he slowly sweeps them up the edge of your jaw.

"That's far," you say.

"Not too far," he chuckles, hollow and weak as he runs his thumb over your ear. "I can still call you at night."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, y/n."

"Don't," you whisper, and you hear his inhale catch in his throat.

It's where this entire evening has been going from the moment he stepped foot into your apartment until now: one final, cresting movement pressed into the absence of space between you, impossibly wide and impossibly close all at once as Fives's hand stills over the skin just beneath your eye.

"Don't call?" He knows his answer, but he says it anyways, desperate rhetoric clinging to something that has already been gone for months.

"Don't," you manage to say over the heat in your eyes and the asphyxiating swell at the back of your throat. "Please."

There's still a part of you that wants him to fight. Wants him to rear back, raise his voice, and look you in the eyes to say horrible things to fight for the sum of you and him like he always has. Because it isn't right for it to end like this, a lonely blip over the comm channels that cries once then blinks out forever. It isn't right.

But you're tired.

"I'm sorry." Your calm breaks with a trembling sob.

And when pries his fingertips from your face to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you close, you know it is the last time you will fly this close to the sun; the last time you will bear witness to the glorious, warm light that had only soured in the time you shared.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup.

"It's okay," Fives's voice rumbles under your ear, backgrounded by tight, shallow breaths that only close the vice tighter around your throat. "I'm sorry, too."

And you let him go.

(He doesn't call.)

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Canine (Revenant x Reader)

Part 2 of 2 of the chapter “Styptic & Canine”. [AO3 Link to full chapter]

Theme: Revenant introduces the reader to his makeshift family as he turns up the spice level, but an unfortunate run in with a creep ruins most of the day.

Warnings: Graphic content, physical male dominance, threats of violence, blood, descriptions of violence, sexual references, sexual harassment, sharp objects, pain, bipolar, depression, mentions of mania, general romantic fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: This post was too big. 18K words. This is part 2 of a larger chapter that is “Styptic & Canine”. I’m posting it in halves so Tumblr doesn’t die. Also, yes, this chapter is where I start raising the heat. My intent was to boil the frog, but Tumblr made me split right where I first turn on the gas stove.

Navigation: First Chapter | Previous Part (Styptic & Canine) | Next Chapter

You regain consciousness to a mild shake, his hands around each of your cheeks and his frame vaulted over your body in a sitting position.

"Oh dear, little skinsuit, what was that about?" His voice drips with some kind of sadistic humor.

"What was what about?" The morning light was shining through the skylight. He obviously let you sleep in a bit, for which you were grateful. You couldn't remember any dreams though, it was all blank.

"Don't play stupid, you must know." He's way too into this. "I want to know if it was me."

"I really don't remember. Why, what did I do?"

He lurches back in some kind of cruel delight, pulling his hands away to cup around his own face, accentuating his joy.

"Then maybe you'll know the answer to this: who is 'daddy'?"

Your face gets hot instantly, now you know why he's so interested. He has prime material to hold over your head for days. You have one potential way out and he isn't likely to buy it.

"I never met my father, so I'm not sure..." You try.

"Oh, I guessed as much. But this wasn't that kind of daddy." He places each of his hands on the sides of your waist, making you blush harder. "Your hips were absolutely reeling. I could hear how much you were loving it. You still smell like lust. So, I must know... who is the lucky one to have the title of 'daddy'?" Your face is burning. Your attempt to get out of this has definitely and utterly failed.

"I don't know! I've never even--" You cut yourself off, realizing that saying more is only playing into his game.

"Oh please, you must tell me." He leans over to whisper in your ear, curling over you in a seductive manner. "I'll keep it a secret, I promise. I just want to know who makes you writhe like that. Clearly I could learn something." This asshole. Your face actually hurts it's so hot. You can't get out of this, and you don't even have an answer for him. You've never even called anyone that before.

"Please, can I get up?" You beg, hoping it can just be over.

"Oh no, dear," You feel yourself screaming internally as he nuzzles his mask against the side of your face, "I can't let you do that. No, no... Not until you humor me." He presses his body into you, and you audibly whimper. "Call me daddy."

You're dead. You have to be dead. This can't be real. You can't humor him, but you have to humor him. Why is he like this? If you say it really fast, maybe it'll be okay. Maybe he'll accept it.

"Can I get up...?" You choke. "...daddy..." You didn't say it fast, but you said it with zero confidence, which hopefully dampens his power trip.

He throws himself off of you, laughing something fierce. His guffaw is loud, cruel, and pure delight. He's completely overtaken by it, laying back beside you, almost twitching in hilarity. He can't control himself as he lifts his hand as if to wipe away a tear.

He shuts down again, turning limp.

You jump out of bed, giving yourself distance from his metal sarcophagus, knowing whatever comes next might not be pleasant. You make your way to the computer desk, sitting on the office chair, waiting to see what he does this time.

His chassis begins to whirr and cracks into movement, his arms grabbing at air beside him as he tests every limb in violent bends and swings. The static begins in his voice, before suddenly slipping into something audible.

"You-you moved away." His empty optics seem to stare at you from a distance as he sits up. "I wanted to hold-hold you again..." His tone was soft, but his vocals were still skipping. "Shame, daddy will get you next-next time."

His eyes come back to life, and he's aware again.

"Well, just say how you really feel then, huh?" You jab back, waiting to see how he reacts. He chuckles a little, a mere echo of the laugh that forced him to restart.

"Well, I'll make it up to you. How do you feel about making a trip to meet my little family?"

"Family? I thought--"

"Oh, not like that, of course. Just the closest thing I have." He smiles smugly at you, seeing an opportunity. "You don't need to worry, no one competes with you."

Damn blush, you're going to turn red permanently if he doesn't stop.

He vaults out of bed, making his way over to you.

"I let you sleep in, thankfully what you're wearing is ideal for the job already." He offers his hand. When you take it, he hoists you to your feet. "It should help with any sad feelings too, how are those going by the way?"

"With how things have been going, I haven't had the chance to be depressed..." You're almost embarrassed that his plan to keep throwing you off your depression is working so well.

"Good, keep showering me with all your attention then." He squeezes your hand a bit before letting go. At this rate he could make you manic again if he keeps pushing it. You're just not sure if you should let him. "I've arranged a ride for us, since I don't think you can run this far."

"Oh, alright, sure. Do I need to do anything? I feel kinda like I should take a shower..." It's very strange that you're going someplace wearing dirty clothes with no shower.

"Trust me, you'd be better off doing that after."

• • • •

Revenant can't drive, apparently. To the point in which he's actually enough of a liability that he's not allowed to drive anywhere outside of the Apex Games. He wasn't very happy with the idea of having a chauffeur, but the legal team was able to convince him to accept being driven in exchange for a vehicle that separated him from the driver. That vehicle was a limo. A giant, stretch limo. A very luxurious limo. Versus you, who is a mess: dressed in a stained shirt you slept in and you haven't washed your hair. This is embarrassing.

"This dumb thing is almost ten yards long, and you have to be right up against me, don't you?" Revenant is sitting far in the back corner, and you've wedged yourself right between him and the corner, trying your best to hide yourself from any phantom that might see you.

"I'm in a limo and I look like I belong in a garbage truck." You duck away from the windows, shoving your face up against the black leather of his waist, careful to avoid the support pistons.

"Literally no one can see you except me." He scoffs, crossing his arms. "The windows are blacked out, the driver's privacy window is closed, and nobody is here but us." His eyes glare down at you, but he seems to be moderately entertained by your distress.

"I look homeless." You pause. "Again."

Revenant laughs at that, uncurling his arms to mess up your hair in some kind of adoring but condescending gesture.

"You're fine, trust me. Nobody is going to see you." He pauses from messing with your hair. "I have a stop coming up, just stay in here and I'll be back with some supplies."

"Be fast, I need to hide behind someone and you're the only one here." You're being intentionally dramatic, but if it makes him laugh it's worth it. He sighs equally as dramatically, clearly playing along.

The vehicle hovers to a stop, and Revenant wisps out the door, closing it behind him before you even get a sense for where you are. The windows really are blacked out, you can't see anything through them.

Now alone, you shrink into the back corner of the seats going around the vehicle. There's a television and what appears to be a loaded bar, multicolored LED lights lining the whole thing, and starlights in the ceiling. The seats are all made with beautiful leather and have a triangular pattern stitched in the surface. The floor has carpeted mats that feel a bit more plush than the average car. You consider rummaging through the bar, but you're not sure if anyone is going to charge you an arm and a leg for alcohol you can get cheaper anywhere else. You sigh and lean back, shrinking further in the seat.

The door on the opposite corner as you clicks open, and Revenant crawls in, dragging a massive green bag behind him, barely managing to get it in the car.

"Is that a body bag?!" You curl up in the fetal position on your seat, recoiling away from the door.

"Yes." He gruffly huffs as he drags the apparent bagged corpse into the limo, weighing the whole vehicle down. He gets it in the middle of the floor, then drops it with a thud and throws himself down beside you. With his weight, you feel like you nearly missed being crushed. His arm rests on your opposite shoulder and you shudder, giving him a concerned stare. "Oh shush, I paid for it."

"You what?" You whimper, completely at a loss of what you're experiencing.

"It'll be fine, I can't rightly show up without any offering." He shrugs his shoulders, pulling you closer. He seems to be very pleased with himself, smugly teasing you.

"Offering?! Is this a cult?!" You whisper aloud, not necessarily expecting an answer. He laughs again, enjoying your mental wheels spinning. The limo gets moving again, handling the extra weight very easily.

"Oh, no, that's for next time." He's obviously teasing now. "I'll make sure you're in a lovely white dress to soak in the blood of our sacrifices for that occasion." He shoves you up against his chassis, growling to rattle his torso against you. "Then, when we're all done, I'll make official my new nickname."

"Oh, fuck you." You let slip under your breath, causing him to guffaw openly again. He catches his synthetic breath, rubbing his mask in the same motion a human would.

"You've gotten so comfortable with me so quickly, what happened?" His question must be rhetorical, because he doesn't leave much of a pause for an answer. He jumps right back into teasing. "I'll have to tame you by any means necessary if you're going to keep being so temptingly coy." His hands cup around your waist and you crack a sigh, turning away from him, trying to focus on anything other than how red in the face you must be.

"Do you regularly flirt in front of fresh corpses?"

"Awww..." He grabs your chin and pulls your face back to meet his, bringing his visage down close enough to feel his breath. "Are you kink-shaming me? Or are you just being a prude little tease?" He pauses before snickering to himself, losing his flirtatious composure. "You're so red, you practically match me." His loss of composure is cute enough to get to you. You giggle a little.

The car comes to a gentle stop, and Revenant immediately gets to pulling the corpse out. The body bag is way larger than makes sense, it almost looks as if it could fit someone Revenant's size. Yet the body inside still seems way too big. You're not sure what it is, but you're a bit too afraid to ask at the same time. Revenant eventually gets the bag to the edge of the vehicle before throwing it over one of his shoulders, forcing his shoulder spikes to flip downward out of the way. He nearly topples over at the shifting weight, meaning whatever is in the bag is excessively heavy.

As you crawl out of the car after him, you smell the fresh air of being nowhere near civilization. You see lots of flat lands broken up by woods with a giant abandoned warehouse in front of you. The warehouse has holes rusted throughout its sides and the door is ajar, the hinges rusted so it no longer swings. The air is fresh, and you look around, unable to find signs of other humans close by. Revenant waves away the limo. It turns around, kicking up dust off the unpaved path before zooming off into the horizon. He waits until the limo is far enough before pulling you close.

"You have to listen to everything I say, understand?" He's dead serious. You nod, suddenly concerned over his change in tone. "Don't try to protect me, I'll be okay. Scream if and only if you feel pain." You search for any joking tone in his voice, but there is none. "But above all else, listen to me. Don't play stupid, just obey." He looks to you, demanding acknowledgement. You nod, determined and concerned at this new development.

He walks over to the door, making his way inside carefully as you follow. He throws the body bag on the concrete floor of the entryway, causing a morbid slapping sound as it hits the ground. Revenant kneels down and begins ripping the bag open. You take a moment to look around.

This whole warehouse is dark beyond belief. There seems to be different rooms, but the rusted-through holes in the wall allow you to get negligible peeks into nearby rooms. The roof has not decayed at all yet, but it means no light is entering the building, making the deeper rooms be cast in an oppressive darkness. From the outside this warehouse looked massive, this room must be only one of dozens. The silence is scary, there isn't a single sound of life apart from you and Revenant, but you know better. Silence means something doesn't want to be found, and is inevitably a sign of life. Silence only happens when a hunter has scared everything else into silence. You might have learned that from Bloodhound, but you can't be sure. Either way, it's anxiety-inducing.

Revenant stands tall, pulling the scraps of the bag away from a giant bisection of a carcass. It appears to be beef, in the same state butchers will sell to grocers or restaurants. It doesn't smell bad, but it definitely smells like raw meat. Revenant grabs you around the shoulder, pulling you into a very controlling embrace. He whistles, or something like it.

"C'mere puppies!" As soon as he says it, you hear the sound of many nails skittering around the concrete flooring, making their way to the room you're in. Revenant squeezes you close as the pack comes into sight.

"Revenant! Those are not dogs!" You can't help but whisper in shock as the pack stops in your line of sight, trying to get a read on whether you're a threat or not.

Prowlers are utterly terrifying predators. They can be described as something between a wild dog and a tiger with the hide of a dinosaur. Their quadrupedal forms stand tall enough to meet you eye-to-eye at the largest, but the females and younger prowlers come up to your waist or knees instead. This subspecies has a beautiful, peacock-like furl behind their ears that stand on end when they see you, making them look as kaleidoscopic as they are scary. Their fangs could make a saber tooth tiger swoon, and their colors remind you of the legendary Birds of Paradise. Their long tails flick back and forth in concern, trying to understand who you are or if they should fight you. The largest male growls so deeply that Revenant sounds like a kitten in comparison, and it approaches both of you ahead of the rest of the pack.

"Rev..." You start to step behind him. This creature could very easily kill you in a single bite to the neck, and he was already tall enough to reach it.

"Shush, listen to me." He whispers to you, using his grip around your back to shuffle you back in place and to his side, pulling you against him in an uncomfortable grip. "Hey Six, this is mine." He addresses the massive male prowler approaching you, almost presenting you to him.

You hold your breath as Six sniffs your face, neck, and chest, trying to figure out what you are and why you're here. The other prowlers begin to enter the room, not even paying attention to the food in preference of figuring out the newcomer. Six's tail begins to rise up, flicking the tip back and forth as he finds you acceptable as a guest. You receive a lick right on the face as a final assurance, and the other prowlers swarm you to meet you.

You grab onto Revenant like your life depends on it. All of these prowlers could kill you, probably even the young ones too. It doesn't matter if they're all flicking their tails happily, or panting with smiles and tongues out, or excitedly greeting you. They can kill you and you're painfully aware of it.

"Calm down, seriously. You were fine meeting me for the first time, but a bunch of little puppies scare you?" Revenant releases his hold on you, but you don't return the favor.

"These are not puppies!" You try to whisper at him, but he might not be able to hear you over the crowd you've attracted. He pushes down on your shoulders, causing you to lose your grip on him and fall into a sitting position. Now all the prowlers can meet you eye-to-eye or tower over you. You're inundated with licks, and no amount of guarding your face with your arms will save you.

"You'll be fine. They're my pack, and they'll respect what's mine." You can barely hear him over the assault of affection.

As the excitement begins to settle, some of the larger prowlers peter off to check out the meat, leaving the younger ones to look after you. A tiny pair of kits you didn't see before bound up to your lap and hop in, cuddling against your stomach. For such scary adults, the babies are unbearably cute. You're not sure if you can touch them or not, so you simply let them roll around in your lap, slapping at each other like the siblings they are. Six comes back to you, his maw covered in blood from the beef.

"I figured he'd notice." You hear Revenant mutter as Six inspects your arm and calf, licking at the puncture wounds a little. "I guess my hypocrisy was going to catch up eventually." Six carefully sniffs the skin before shooting a glare and deep growl at Revenant. "Don't move a muscle, no matter what." He instructs you.

Six lunges at Revenant's leg, catching the metal below the knee joint in his bite. Revenant buckles and hits the ground. You jump a little and whine to yourself, but you stay as reserved as you can otherwise. The kits notice and begin pawing at you, trying to understand your reaction. Six drags Revenant a few feet from you as Revenant makes stifled sounds reminiscent of excruciating pain. You want to step in, but you obey orders. You hear the moaning of the metal in his leg beginning to bend for a few moments, before Six releases him. Revenant sits up, grappling his leg before Six chomps the opposite arm near the shoulder, causing Revenant to try to reel away in shock and pain. Again, Six growls as the metal bends beneath his bite, Revenant taking the pain as best as he can. Six releases, gives a growling bark to Revenant, and returns to you to lick your wounds more.

"Oh, now aren't you just poetic." Revenant finally makes out between what sounds like heavy breaths. "You got me in the same places." He's cradling his calf and arm, in the exact same places and sides as you were hurt. "I knew I was going to pay for that, but you didn't have to be that literary about it."

Six turns to him and makes whining sounds that mimic human speech. You've heard of Siberian Huskies making these noises, but never prowlers. Either way, it sounds sassy, and Revenant seems to relax knowing he's back in good graces.

"Yes, I know I taught you the same lesson a long time ago, but still..." He talks to them like anyone would talk to their dog. "You didn't have to be that extra about it." Six flicks his head at him before returning to your wounds, the kits now back to play-fighting each other.

"So, yeah, these are my puppies." He finally addresses you again. Most of the other prowlers are now taking turns at the carcass, seemingly following a hierarchy. You want to correct him, but you don't. He's clearly going to keep insisting that they're puppies. "This is Six, he's the sixth alpha of a pack I've helped raise over the past few decades. Zero was the first prowler that accepted me, and One was his puppy--the first alpha."

Six retires from your wounds, taking the two kits from you to go eat with their mother.

"There's no way you can be depressed around these guys. If there's any creature more aware of the emotional state of other beings, I dare them to come forward. My pack is perfect." He genuinely sounds overjoyed that you're getting to meet them all, he seems very proud. "I even raised them to respect females... Even if that did bite me back today." He huffs a bit.

"So, wait, you've been raising prowlers out here for decades?" You finally make a sound, Six and a few others look over at you for a moment, surprised by your more relaxed voice.

"Yeah, although they're fairly independent. I'm more like an elder to them, rather than directly in their hierarchy. I bring them food, not that they need me to, and they come along with me when I need company or extra help." He scoots himself close to you, letting his damaged leg drag. You get a closer look and see that the metal is both punctured and buckled on both his arm and leg. "They've been a passion project of mine ever since I first met Zero. They make me feel a bit of humanity." That last sentence is spoken with a level of reverence. You let the silence fall for a moment.

"You know, this is probably a scientific breakthrough in some field that nobody has ever managed before. You have a wild pack of prowlers that accept you and the people you bring in." He seems surprised by your lavish praise. "This could change our understanding of prowlers forever."

"Well, it helps that I'm nigh unkillable," he knocks on his metal chest, making a banging sound, "and honestly you're allowed in because as far as they're concerned, you're my mate." He wraps his arm around you possessively as the kits crawl back into your lap, now well-fed and cuddly. "That's why they don't mind you around the little ones." He sees you eyeing them as they roll around, trying to get comfortable. He picks one up, holding it in his hands like it's a precious jewel. It yips at him for attention, so he scratches behind it's tiny furls with his spare hand. "I think this one will be Seven, unless the next litter has an even bigger boy."

His adoration for these predators is absolutely identical to how so many people feel about their pets. The choice to love prowlers is a bit unconventional, but he is very much a man stuck in a metal body--humanity intact--in these moments. You are growing increasingly fond of him, seeing something beautiful beyond the cruel simulacrum assassin you once knew. He catches you staring.

"Go ahead, pick her up." He gestures to the other kit in your lap, actually looking a little jealous of her brother. At first, you tremor at the thought of picking her up wrong, but a sudden wave of confidence comes from nowhere. You scoop her up in your arms, bringing her up to your chest and cradling her. She immediately begins to squirm with delight and lick at your hand as you rub her head and chin.

"Was that all instinct?" He pauses, and you tilt your head at him, confused by the question. "You were shaking, then suddenly you weren't. Is that what maternal instinct looks like?" You're a bit shocked he saw that much.

"I'm not sure. I'm not usually around babies of any kind." You confess, but now you suspect the same thing he does. The baby female prowler reaches for your face, barely managing to touch your chin before you lower your face to meet her. She reacts with tiny licks on your nose while you tickle her belly. Revenant is the one staring now.

Revenant places the baby male in your arms next to the female, allowing them to both vie for your coveted attention. Some of the females come over and snuggle up next to you, laying on and around you, while the males and Six lie next to Revenant. Revenant leans back, eventually resting his head on the flank of one of the larger males, while another rests its head on his shoulder.

"You should lie down, let the puppies run around." He instructs you, briefly pointing to the kits in your arms. "Your body isn't heavy enough to bother anyone, just lay on whoever seems the most comfortable."

You look around, seeing a lot of intimidating warm bodies around you, so you cheat and carefully lay under Revenant's arm. You hear him audibly sigh, bothered that you're still worried but unable to chide you. The kits use you to crawl up on Revenant and slide down his metal torso to the other side, Six audibly purring when they land in his vicinity. Maybe a prowler would make a better pillow than a newly busted up metal arm and the concrete floor. You shiver a bit at the sheer power of these creatures, running your fingers over the metal holes in Revenant's arm, causing him to wince away from your touch.

"Does it hurt?" You whisper, hoping not to draw any prowler's attention.

"Yeah, it hurts a lot. My body can feel pain just like you skinsuits." He inhales in distress as you pull your fingers away from the damage. "It honestly feels like the flesh and muscle is torn off, like the bone is crushed and splintered, and like I'm bleeding out on the ground. But I know it's not real. It's never real."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know this would happen." You pull yourself into more of a ball, shuddering at the thought of that level of pain.

"It's not your fault, I instilled this level of protectiveness into them." Revenant pulls his arm away as one of the female prowlers crawls over you and lays on top of you, purring as if to comfort you. "Anyone who hurts one of the girls gets it back sevenfold." You roll onto your back, the prowler readjusting to lay on your belly, purring and licking your neck. "So you can stop being sad about it. They can sense it in you. If you don't want the attention, you can't let yourself be distressed." He sits up, looking down at you smugly while a second prowler writhes across the ground to get close enough to lick your cheek. Are these creatures really this intuitive?

Six notices Revenant sitting up to watch you and meanders over to see the small commotion. Six shoves himself between you and Revenant, apparently sensing some kind of disagreement. Six positions his paws on your neck, allowing you to feel the enormous size of his claws. One flex and you're dead. These things must be three inches of blade, all with a hypodermic tip. Six turns his head to Revenant and makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a growl before shoving his snout against your ear to purr. He bares his fangs while doing so, allowing you to feel how long and menacing they are. You wince away from him, pushing your face into the other prowler's licks, but Six just shoves his snout further to reconnect with you.

"He seems to think I should be more comforting, you're way too nervous for his liking. Good luck being depressed now." He sounds like he's enjoying this, shrugging to himself before he places his hand on your free arm. "Just calm down, they're not going to hurt you."

"I could die from a single flick of the wrist." You carefully say, feeling your vocal chords vibrate against Six's massive nails.

"That doesn't stop you from getting close to me." His hand glides up and down your arm. You don't have a response for him, so you stay quiet. "Like I said, just scream at any discomfort and someone is getting a swift dose of justice." He lies back on the same prowler as before, changing his position to avoid disrupting Six.

"I can't scream if my throat is slit."

"Give it time, you'll understand."

• • • •

Three prowlers is apparently the amount it takes to bring back a stick. It can be more if the stick is longer, but this giant branch is the maximum size you can throw. They hop together, all their jaws in a line across the branch, their fangs clutched around the wood. They carefully drop it at your feet, waiting expectantly for you to try throwing it again. You do your best to throw it, but between your injured arm and the weight of it, you struggle to get it as far as you'd like. The area behind the warehouse is a small yard with enough room for fetch, surrounded by thick forests over a few small hills.

"You throw like a child." You hear Revenant mock you, and you turn around to shoot him a glare. Six is resting in his lap and he has the mother prowler at his side, accepting the belly rubs he offers while the kits sleep. "I can throw farther than you from here, without even standing." You roll your eyes, knowing he's probably right.

Two new prowlers got in on the stick this throw, bounding back to you for another throw. You have eight prowlers all fighting to be one of the three on the stick, but they all seem to be having fun. Four of the young adults are off in the woods playing tug of war by themselves, making a total of sixteen prowlers you've now met. This pack is unusually huge from what little you know. You wonder if Revenant's meddling has something to do with it.

You pick up the branch and drag it over to Revenant, curious to see if he'll back up his claim.

"Alright, go for it." You hand him the end of the branch, and he chucks it far enough to lob over the entire yard and land somewhere in the woods. He snickers as the pack disappears in the darkness after it. You watch, hearing the branch collide with the trees, making rustling and snapping sounds as it catches in them. "So, what if you just got it stuck in a tree?"

"Oh, I thought you wanted me to show off for you." Revenant coos sarcastically. "Give them a few minutes, they can climb." You sigh and shrug, waiting for any sign of them coming back. "Do you want to go home?"

"No, not yet."

"Oh, oh!? You aren't scared of my puppies anymore?" He says between chuckles.

"Shut it." You growl at him, finally getting to use his catch-phrase against him.

"Are you sure? It's getting late." It was beginning to be late in the afternoon, coming up on when you'd normally be wanting dinner. In truth you hadn't eaten in over a day, but depression made it so you never wanted to eat anyway. You'd been playing with his prowlers for hours now, fully accepted by them. You now felt pretty confident in your safety around them, but their stature was still a bit menacing.

"At least let me see if they can bring back that stick." You hear some rustling in the woods, before the eight prowlers burst out of the brush with the original branch and a second, equally massive one. Now only two are left out of being able to hold a part of a stick. They drop both at your feet.

You try to throw the first but it only makes it a short ways, all the prowlers fighting for it. You hand the second to Revenant, and he throws it back into the woods completely out of sight. They all abandon the first stick in preference for the farthest one.

"Maybe you should be doing this." You hunch over, a bit defeated and tired.

"You're doing fine. Anyways, we should wrap up soon. You probably need that shower and I have something I need to do before tomorrow." Revenant starts to get up, prompting Six to get off of him while huffing and shaking himself awake. "Also, you need food."

You sigh, wanting to argue but knowing you can't.

"I'm calling back your ride. We need to get all these guys hidden in the warehouse as to not cause any alarm." He pulls some kind of cellular device out of his pocket on his belt and presses a few buttons. He then proceeds to shuffle you back towards the warehouse, prompting Six, the mother, and the two kits to follow. As you get to the side entrance, Revenant turns around and emits another whistling sound, inundated with his usual modulated twinge. He steps inside with you and the other twelve prowlers come flooding in behind him.

He pets each of them as they make their way in, saving Six and the kits for last. He really does love these creatures. You sheepishly and carefully pet Six as you go to leave, but only because he demands it by butting his head into your hand to make it clear.

Finally, you step outside with Revenant, going towards the dirt road that got you here.

"You look like absolute hell." Revenant jabs. You pull your hair back and try to control it a bit better, but it refuses to cooperate. It's probably stuck from all the prowler saliva all over you, hair absolutely included. Not to even mention your shirt and pants look like you got tackled and ground into the dirt by an entire rugby team. Your shirt was already stained, now it's dusty, dirty, stained, and has green grass streaks. Your shoes are probably just as bad, but they're cheap sneakers so you don't really care much.

"I know, I really need a shower. Maybe two." You give up on your hair. It's just going to be a mess.

"Take as long as you need. I'll be back soon after you. I hope you don't mind riding back alone." You've made it to the dirt road, and you can see the excessively luxurious limo in the distance, kicking up dirt.

"You're not coming?"

"No, I have one last thing to do before the match tomorrow. It'll be worth it, and I think you'll like it too." Revenant seems like he won't budge on the matter.

The limo pulls up and he opens the door for you, and you crawl in alone, making sure you stay as far in the corner as possible. You don't really like the thought of being in here alone, but you have no choice in the matter. He shuts the door and you lose sight of him through the blacked-out windows. The limo starts to move, making a sharp turn and hitting high speeds over the terrain, probably kicking up tons of dust in the meantime. You have nothing to stare at, so you just curl up to yourself and wait to make it back.

"You seem a bit meek for this kind of work, kid." You hear a masculine voice with a skeezy city accent coming from the front of the limo. The privacy window is cracked, just enough so you can hear him, but thankfully not enough so you can see each other. Why was that rolled down at all? It wasn't on the way here. You turn away, refusing to answer, hoping he will leave you be.

"Heh, exactly." You hear him chuckle. You wish you had the guts to just waltz over and roll up the window on him, but you're neither that confident nor strong enough if it ends in a spat. You just let him continue. "Heck, I didn't think robots were even into that stuff, but he seems to be the 'specially fucked-up type." Your stomach sinks like an anchor as you hear what sounds like the draw of a cigarette. "Fucker practically gets off every time he guts someone on live TV. Makes perfect sense he'd get off 'tuh victimizin' some tiny doll like you."

You get the picture, and you feel sick to your stomach for it. You can't respond, every word you want to say gets caught in your throat and you're forced to swallow it. This guy might be unhinged; a lot of people are these days. If you try to argue, he might try something. If you try to play it off... who are you kidding? You could never play this one off. It sounds so bad. Is he going to try to hurt you? Or is this all some mind game?

"Does it hurt? You sure as hell look like you've been through a meat grinder." You feel your face turn red. You turn further away from the cracked window. "Oh, I bet it does. No way 'woulda giant metal psycho like that hold back on a little thing like you."

He won't stop. He's clearly only getting started, but you hope that this is the worst of it.

"Question is: are you a hostage or does he really pay you that well? You know, sweetheart, if you're in need of money, just record whatever the hell he does to 'ya and sell it on the internet." He starts laughing as you internally beg for him to shut up. "All sorts of fucked up dudes would pay for the privilege. You could make absolute bank! Even better if you let him cut you open a bit for the cameras while you scream." He's really laughing now, clearly getting off to how much he has you cornered.

"Everyone loves a good screamin' bitch. Anyone who says they don't is a liar. But you know that, don't 'ya toots?" His use of centuries-old misogynistic slang somehow makes everything worse. You feel yourself shake a bit as you hold yourself tighter. Your stomach hurts badly from the distress now, and you feel yourself spiral internally. Where is this going? Can you outrun this guy if you need to? What if he catches you? Can you squirm out of this guy's grasp? "God, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall while that's going on. I bet your tears only make him harder."

You want to scream, but your prey instincts refuse to let you move or make a sound in hopes that he simply forgets you're there. You can't help yourself but hold your breath in intervals, hoping to be even more silent, but in turn making you more light-headed and fearful.

"I bet there's lots of filthy bastards that would pay extra to have his sloppy seconds." You're absolutely nauseated at the thought of that, but you haven't eaten, so maybe it's just a stomach ulcer forming from the extreme stress. "I bet he's modded to absolutely ruin you, isn't he? Tear your insides up and fill you until you're overflowin', right? You look like he never gives you a day off." You pray, begging God to kill you--this is worse than death.

"So, if he's draggin' 'ya all the way out into the woods to fuck 'ya, it must be pretty messed up stuff, huh?" You lay your face in your hands. "Aww, don't cry babe, I'm not going to tell anyone. I wouldn't want a hole in my chest, anyhow." You want to disappear. You hope he crashes the car and you die in a fire. You hate everything about this. "If you're ever in need of an extra kick of cash though, I wouldn't mind a taste of 'ya. Or buyin' one of those tapes."

You break internally. It feels like the essence of every muscle snaps in your body, and the tears flow without even intending to. You suddenly have the courage to move, but only to move a few inches to cower deeper in the corner of the seats.

It's not worth it. None of this is worth it. You no longer hear anything he says, even though you can still hear his voice. It sounds like you're underwater, so you can't make out the words anymore. Maybe that's a good thing. Unfortunately, you can still make out your own thoughts, and they're all cruel. It's all cruel. Everything about this situation is cruel.

You focus on the tears hitting your hands. They're cold, and they quickly flow out of your palms and down your arms before dripping off your elbows. They leave a trail of salts down your arm so thin you can barely notice it. You don't even feel compelled to make a sound as you cry; it's not that type of sorrow. It's pure humiliation, and your lungs work calmly as your eyes drown instead.

You wish you could just be swallowed by the swell of your own pain. Death is something you think about often as a potential solution to every problem, but right now it feels like a drug you're in active withdrawal from. Like you need it, right here, right now. You want to imagine the limo crashing into an embankment wall, submerging into an ocean, or being hit by a train. You don't care if the creep dies or not, all you know is you want out. The world feels cold enough to sap every degree of heat from you, and you feel as if you're freezing both literally and figuratively.

You fester in the feelings. The only saving grace in this situation is that you're too unimportant to matter to anyone as anything other than an easy squeeze. Nobody will miss you if you die. No one will look for you if you disappear. No family will mourn you. You secretly hope this pervert doesn't know that too, otherwise you might not make it out of this unscathed. You hope he believes Revenant will run him through if he tries to abduct you. You'd rather not die like that, something faster and more violent would be preferred.

Would Revenant kill you? In any circumstance at all? He could make it quick and violent, but he might not want to at this point. He seems to like you more by the day, but now that scares you. Is he human enough to feel strongly about you? Or does he tend to fall back on his programming? Maybe he would like gutting you--then at least someone could enjoy your death. You think about it, but you cannot imagine it without there being some kind of regret thrown in on your or his end. You can only imagine goading him into it by aggressively attacking his emotional stability, which is something you'd regret. Otherwise, you cannot imagine him killing you for no reason and being regret-free afterwards. You don't want him to feel regret. You just want to be free without hurting anyone, but maybe that's unrealistic.

The vehicle comes to a gentle stop. Your brain kicks into survival mode and you immediately rush for the door, not giving the driver any chance to get out of his seat, let alone open the door for you. He is still talking but you don't care; he's only laughing at you anyway. You get the door open and thankfully you're not at some back alley motel, but the main Apex Games facility. It's the back entrance, but you'll take it. It might be a blessing anyway, since it's so close to Revenant's new room that you'll likely avoid all human contact. You get up to the door and fumble in your pocket for your ID card, finally getting it out. You hear the driver say some more heinous things, but you refuse to turn around to see his face. The card is accepted and you rush in.

• • • •

The water is as hot as you can tolerate. It burns your skin and is downright uncomfortable to wash yourself in. Even as you curl up on the shower floor, crying and tolerating the hottest water you can handle, nothing can truly wash off the overwhelming feeling of being violated. Nothing can wash off the depression, the feelings of insignificance, the intrusive suicidal ideations, or the fear of meaning nothing in the grand scheme of things while simultaneously meaning just enough to force you into living.

The floor of the shower is warm, but it's still uncomfortable to lay on. The water spray hitting your skin is the only comfort you feel, but it isn't enough to quell you. The soap slowly rinses off your body, and the lathered up shampoo slowly flows out of your hair and down the drain. You'll eventually rinse completely like this, but it will be a while longer. How long has it already been? You took a long time sitting on the shower floor to even find the energy to get the soap lathered on you, and even that process was slow. Now you've been back on the floor and letting the soap slowly come off as you sob. Revenant might be back by now, but you're not sure what his errand was exactly. Maybe it will take all night. Does it matter? Do you matter? The thoughts won't stop.

You just cry. You cry until it feels like your soul starts to leave your body. Maybe it does. Between the heat, the steam, and the exhaustion, you pass out.

• • • •

"Skinsuit!" You feel yourself being gently jostled, still on the shower floor. The water is off, but the steam is so thick you question how long it's been. Your skin is beginning to get wrinkled from all the water absorption, so it's been a while. You're facing away from him, and you don't have the energy to turn to him. You don't even have the energy to speak. You just play the corpse, hoping that faking it will cause you to make it.

Revenant withdraws, and you hear rapid shuffling behind you. It sounds like he grabs the towel you had hung for yourself, running in and out of the bathroom to grab other things. You care about how he feels--he sounds distressed--but not for yourself. Why does he care at all, though? How does he feel about all this, anyway?

"Come here, little skinsuit. Everything is fine." You feel his arms scoop under you, and your natural instinct is to resist the hard synthetics against your bare skin. You wince a little, but mostly keep your corpse-like state: eyes closed and body limp. He carries you out of the bathroom where the air is freezing, but also not inundated with enough water vapor to nearly asphyxiate you. Weirdly enough, his chest isn't cold, but actually has something like fur? You don't open your eyes, you're probably just imagining it.

He places you down on a towel on the bed, immediately throwing another equally large towel over you. You're still cold, but it's way more tolerable with something over you. You hear Revenant mumbling in some kind of panic to himself, but you still can't find the energy to console him. You hear some typing on his computer, then the chair gets shoved out from under him as he stands in a huff. You hear your duffle bag unzip and likely some of your clothes be tossed on the bed near your head.

"You better not be mad at me for this..." He sounds unsure of that himself before you feel his hands start to dry you off through the towel. It would be nice if it didn't feel so wrong. Even if it is through a towel, you're naked otherwise. The thought of what the driver said hits you, and you immediately begin to feel anxiety and shake against your will. He reacts by scooping you up and hugging you, still wrapped in a towel, trying to stop the shaking.

"Dammit, what's going on?" You hear him whisper, he doesn't seem to realize you're awake and aware.

More fur. Why is there fur? Also, why does it feel like there's something resting on your head? It's way too large to be his chin. His chest feels smaller too, and it feels like some type of plastic rather than metal. The more you feel the more questions you have, and the more you panic at the realization that you do not know this simulacrum. You reach your limit and perk up in his arms, opening your eyes, and silently gasping as you reel back from whoever the heck this is.

"Wait! Skinsuit! It's me!" He manages to hold your arms before you can fully pull away, and you meet eyesight with a chassis you do not recognize. He has a huge, artificial bovine skull with curling ram horns situated on top. Instead of his scarf, his new face is framed in a mane of deep bark-colored fur, matted into locks like a proper wild animal. The optics tucked inside his skull seem so much larger than his normal ones, and they're a brilliant blueish-white, unlike his normal yellow ones. His snout is long enough to have been what was sitting on your head. His body looks to be made much thinner, especially in the chest, and is clearly made with more plastics than metals. It looks significantly lighter. His arms are red with odd, jagged juts on them, but seem to have similar hand mechanics otherwise. His loincloth is replaced with another long patch of fur, as well as fur on his thigh plates. His legs look a lot more decorative, and his feet are scarier: detailed down to each individual talon. His feet actually look much more like the hands on his other chassis.

"Skinsuit?" You snap out of your trance at his voice. You must have been staring him up and down for a while. "Uh, here." He pulls the towels back over you, which had fallen off when you pulled away. He reaches out to touch you, but stops short in case you aren't all there yet. "It's me, I'm just in a special body for tomorrow. I didn't mean to scare you." He's speaking slowly and methodically; his fingers make contact with your hand, but don't go further. "You must have fainted in the shower. You haven't been eating enough, but don't worry, everything's okay now."

Your head starts to throb and you instinctively go to hold it, the stress of the situation is too much. Even though he's trying to be reassuring, he looks like some kind of robotic, big-horned, undead goat demon and honestly you just wanted to see a familiar face to go with the familiar voice. You're not scared now that you know it's him, but something still doesn't feel right about it. Since you don't know this new chassis, you find it hard to trust his comfort. It's weird. Any other time you'd be overjoyed to see him in something that looks so cool, but now you're looking for some semblance of normalcy.

"How do you feel?" His right hand moves again to rest on your knee, intentionally avoiding pushing any boundaries. You can't answer, you still can't speak. It gets caught in your throat despite your best intentions, and instead your words turn into a new burst of tears and sobs. Without thinking, you take his hand off your knee and pull it to your face, sobbing into it. He seems relieved at your acceptance, and tries his best to catch and wipe away the tears as they flow. He shuffles as if to hug you, but he stops, likely unsure of how you feel when you're essentially in nothing but two loosely wrapped towels.

"I'm sorry, I thought seeing my pack would help, but I should have realized you haven't been eating enough. It's not something I've had to pay attention to in centuries." Your heart hurts as he seems to take the blame himself. "I also didn't mean to scare you again... I promise I'm not planning on hurting you." You want to speak so badly, but you just cry harder instead. None of this is his fault. Literally none of it. The only reason you're so jumpy is because everything that pervert said has sent you into a spiral. You imagined Revenant hurting you for his own entertainment and pleasure, and this imaginary smoking gun has left you very gun-shy.

"I ordered food for you to be delivered to the room. I expect you to eat something, even if it's not much. I don't want you dying on me." You push his hand into your face, trying to dry the tears. "I ordered a lot. I'm not sure what you like." You nod to affirm you hear him and plan to try, even though you're too nauseous to be hungry at the moment.

He uses his free hand to grab the clothing he pulled from your bag and puts it in front of you. He probably wasn't thinking too hard when he picked things out, but an oversized tee and men's basketball shorts are as comfy as it gets, so he did fine in your book. He left out undergarments, but honestly you couldn't care less at this point. Whatever covers you is fine. You pull his hand away from your face and place it on the bed gently. You grab the shirt, and he immediately turns away to let you put it on. You're able to throw it on along with the shorts in a few seconds, and quickly retrieve his hand when done. He turns back, maintaining the boundaries he interpreted.

"Any better?" He wipes away a few trailing tears now that you've slowed down a lot. You nod, still not sure how your voice is doing.

There's a knock on the door and Revenant pulls away gently to go get it. You hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"I've got enough Chinese for like, five people. Who is even in this room? Are y'all having a sleepover in the abandoned room? To be fair I'd do the sa--"

Revenant opens the door and Sherry has a long pause to look up at the recipient. She doesn't even notice you, but you see her put the bags on the floor slowly and take a step back, hands up defensively.

"Okay, so it's a demon summoning, my bad..." Her sass is ever present. "And here I made the mistake of thinking I was running into some normal kind of fun."

"Sherry!" Your voice cracks back into action and the perfect moment. She shoots a look past Revenant to see you.

"You're summoning demons now?! Did you dump the tinman and summon an incubus as a bounce back or something?!" She looks up at Revenant, still not sure who it is. "Also, do demons really like Chinese food this much?"

"Sherry, shut up! I need a hug!" The tears are coming back, and Sherry valiantly slips under Revenant's arm to run to you. Revenant seems to be in complete shock at her brazenness, but also unwilling to stop her since you invited her in. He picks up the bag of food instead and brings it in, setting it on the television stand. Sherry leaps into a hug and you accept it graciously. Sherry is the closest thing you have to a sister and you could use someone like her right now. Revenant sits in the computer chair, watching you embrace closely, but not speaking or interfering.

"Where's the Revenant guy? What happened? Did he dump you? Did you run away? Who is this guy?" She immediately starts getting to brass tacks mid-hug. Although with her the hug won't end until you stop crying anyway.

"That is Rev, Sherry. It's just a different body." You manage to get out. She shoots Revenant a discerning look before slowly recognizing the similarities.

"Oh, hey, you're right. My bad, mister murder robot... haha..." She trails off nervously, Revenant only responding with a grunt and a huff. Suddenly, she snaps back into a fiery disposition. "Wait! Did you do something to her, you doofy-lookin' Beelzebub knockoff?! You may be able to gut me, but I'll defend her honor to my grave!" Now you're hugging Sherry to hold her back from trying to start something.

"It was a complete accident. I wasn't keeping track of how much she's been eating and I didn't catch her starving herself; plus I didn't expect this body to scare her as much as it did." Revenant doesn't lose an aggressive posture, but his words are fairly soft and empathetic.

"It's not that! I promise, it's not any of that!" You hug Sherry hard enough that she winces, but sensing your desperation she holds you tighter and pulls your head into her chest with no regard for what that may look like. You're glad you don't have those kinds of feelings for Sherry, otherwise this might be a bit strange. You see Revenant cock his head to the side and his eyes sharpen at the sight.

"It was the ride back, alone. That stupid driver was--" you choke, you hate saying these words out loud, "--a perverted bastard. An absolute dog." It comes out and devolves into a half-sob, thankfully still understandable. You start to cry again, reliving the things he said, not sure how you'd ever be able to say them yourself, even just to explain what happened.

"What happened? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?!" Sherry barely contains her concerns, if at all, squeezing you as you cry.

Revenant stands very slowly and methodically out of the chair, and begins to make some kind of animalistic growl you've never heard him make in your life. He paces back and forth, slowly stifling his growl as he goes. Sherry seems a bit concerned by him, but she continues to try to comfort you, awaiting an answer.

It takes almost a full minute to catch your breath again and be able to speak again, but you do.

"He didn't touch me. He just said things that--" Back to sobbing. You thought too far ahead and started to repeat his words again to yourself.

Despite your crying, Sherry sighs in relief, significantly less tense than before. She starts to rock you in her hug and you go along with it. Revenant's intensity only seems to worsen. He paces faster for a few moments as you cry, before he calms himself down enough to approach the situation.

He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and Sherry, currently latched on to each other. He doesn't attempt to pull you apart, he simply waits patiently. He's completely calm and collected now, with no signs of previous rage apparent, but you're sure it's still there.

"What kind of things did he say?" Sherry asks kindly, no sense of urgency in her voice. She plays with your hair a bit, which might as well be one of the greatest feelings in the world. It might be just distracting enough for you to get it out.

"He said he wanted to buy tapes..." You inhale heavily trying to hold back the inevitable runny nose. "...of Revenant cutting into me and... using me." Sherry gasps through her nose in disgust, but squeezes you tighter in response.

"I'm sorry, that's terri--"

"He said I should sell myself afterwards, that people would like me better if I still had... stuff... inside me." You cut her off but you're not done. Sherry is starting to get tense, but more notably, so is a particular simulacrum only a few feet away. "He said he wanted to watch it all! And try me for himself, too." That's all you needed to say, you're back to sobbing and Sherry starts to cry with you, unable to help her empathy. You're latched on to each other trying to comfort one another, but instead both of you are just a sobbing mess.

Revenant sits, lifeless for a moment, before standing up and limping towards the door.

"Revenant!" You call out to him through tears, and he stops and turns towards you, revealing his eyes are voids. He's in reboot. "Don't kill anyone." You try to sound confident, but you're not sure how it comes out. He turns away again, and limps out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't acknowledge what you said, but you hope he heard you.

Sherry perks up, wiping away her own tears and pulling away for a moment.

"Do you think he'll listen?" Sherry seems stressed.

"I hope so."

• • • •

"So, he's actually an average person, stuck in a body that drives him to be a bloodthirsty assassin via software?" Sherry asks, taking another bite of the sweet and sour chicken.

"As far as I can tell, yeah... Wait, did you not know what a simulacrum was before now?"

"I meant to look it up but I never did. I figured it was like a brand-name or something." She giggles at herself, but you sense there's a chance she may be joking. "So, you actually do really like this spindly metal guy, after all? And he's so much older! You have mature tastes." She goes straight to teasing, now that you're feeling a bit better.

"I didn't say anything about that, ma'am." You stare at the General Tso's chicken in front of you, not sure if you can eat a third piece. You still feel wrong somehow.

"You don't have to. I think he likes you too. I mean, he isn't wearing your innards as a scarf. For him, that's something." She prods.

"He's not as bad as you think, you know." You don't know how to convince her without potentially telling her something Revenant wouldn't want you to.

"Sure, he just kills people on live TV for the paycheck." She shrugs. "Oh! And maybe killing some pervert who sexually harassed you right now."

"I didn't tell him to do that!" You snap, you legitimately don't want to have even a drop of that blood on your hands. Sure, this guy was an absolute creep, but he didn't lay hands on you. That's your limit, and he didn't cross it. He isn't as bad as Forge. That guy did cross the line. He crossed a lot of lines.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset." Sherry sounds genuine. You sigh.

"It's okay, I really hope he's just running off some steam. I hope he knows most of my distress was just depression winning." You poke the chicken.

"That's not true, I would have been so scared too. I mean, you were in real danger. It's a miracle you held it together at all, I'm not sure I could have. I still can't believe--"

The door swings open and Revenant walks in, stopping all conversation in its tracks. He's hunched forward, looking somewhat disappointed.

"I hope you're happy. He'll live." He looks you dead in the eyes, waiting for your reaction.

You smile openly, glad he heeded your request.

"Everyone in his contacts now has a copy of the encrypted files on his computer, all decrypted for their viewing pleasure." He breaks eye contact with you. "At least one of them is sure to call the feds when they see their inbox tomorrow."

"Oh geeze, he was that kind of creep?" Sherry exclaims out loud, still eating chicken.

"Oh yeah, he's been collecting a lot of really rare porn. Honestly, I wish you'd have just let me kill him so I didn't have to expose myself to that." You feel a little guilty that he had to dig through it, it explains why he looks so dejected.

"I'm sorry..." You can't help yourself, you feel bad when he seems upset about anything.

"How much have you eaten?" He seems to have noticed how full your box of chicken still is.

"Two pieces of chicken, and maybe one piece of broccoli." Sherry rats you out with a cruel grin on her face.

"Snitch!" You shoot back at her. She closes her box with a mischievous smirk, hops up, and starts to leave.

"Nice to meet 'ya, you synthetic Wendigo! Have fun and be safe, you two!" She slips past Revenant quickly and is out of the door, skipping down the hallway as the door slowly shuts behind her. Revenant watches her leave with some mix of confusion and concern. You turn to reassure him.

"She's fine. She won't say anything. She--"

"Clearly is some kind of competition for me. I mean, she held you like you two were bonded for life." He's immediately free to tease you with her gone. Thank goodness Revenant seems too shy to gang up on you with her; that would be untenable. He throws himself down next to you where Sherry once was. "I want that same kind of bond." He barely touches your chin with his claws, being sure to growl the last bit out loud.

You emit a whining noise, paralyzed by the thought. You're a bit more sensitive to it all at the moment, considering the events of the day. Revenant notices your struggle and pulls back, reverting to his demanding style.

"Eat your food. I didn't intend for your girlfriend to run off with a free meal and you not eat anything." It still feels weird coming from his new body, but you're getting used to it.

"She's just a good friend, that's all. And I was just too busy talking to eat, I still don't feel great though." You poke at the food, it's lukewarm by now but that isn't your main objection to it. You just don't feel like eating.

"Oh, so we aren't close enough yet for that kind of affection? I'll fix that soon enough." His voice hums. You sigh.

"Oh please," You pet his snout and he seems to enjoy it, getting him off your case for a bit, "Not right now, harass me later. If you want me to eat anything, you can't be doing this." He really seems to enjoy the snout rubs.

"Alright, fine, you eat, I'll talk." You pull your hand away and focus more on the food. "I have quite a number of these special chassis to myself, all kinds of designs and colors and other nonsense. These are my special occasion outfits, per sé." You nod, it makes sense. "This one, as well as many others, are modded to the brim with all sorts of fun additions." He touches his snout, noting where you pet it. "I can feel every single aspect of this suit, even those that don't conform to the human shape. Even better, it's neural processors are exponentially faster, meaning everything feels much more vivid and vibrant." He pulls his fingers to the nasal cavity. "I have an entire set of cores that do nothing but olfactory processing, so I get to be the better Bloodhound while I wear it." His fingers fall to his jaw. "This luxurious suit even gets a jaw with clamping power, canine teeth to snag whatever I want, and a synthetic tongue to taste the blood I spill." He starts to snarl his words as he pulls open his jaw to show you his mouth. He points to his horns next. "These things? Silicone carbide sections with rubber impulse reducers between." You stare at him with a look of minor confusion, so he clarifies. "I can headbutt a skull into fragments without even leaving a dent in my own." You wince at the thought. "Not to even mention the use of polyethylenes instead of metals in the body with support weights in the limbs makes it so I can move faster than ever but still hit just as hard. Not to even mention all the modifications below the neck. You'll see how much I destroy in tomorrow's match. I will win, I promise you that."

"Wanna bet?" You're happy with how confident he is, but you can't help but want to start something.

"And what do I have that you could possibly want?" Revenant asks the opposite of what you expect him to. Isn't the question usually posed the opposite way? You close up your leftovers and start going over to the kitchenette to put it in the fridge.

"Well, I wouldn't mind money or just hanging out with the prowlers again. I could put money on it too, just not enough to make it worth your while. Did you have something in mind?" The fridge is nearly empty, spare for that water bottle and liquor. You throw the box down on a shelf, close the door, and plop down on the couch in a lying position.

"So, if I don't win, I have to take you to see my puppies again, or give you money. Neither of those are objectionable to me, but when I win I get to take something instead?"

"Yeah, that's how I'm framing it. The extra motivation can't hurt. I just don't know what you'd want. I have some savings, but--"

"Forget the money, I don't exactly have much need for it and I have tons anyway. What I want..." He pauses for a moment as his voice turns sinister. "...is to hear you call me 'daddy' again while I take a piece of you." He seethes with a sadistically erotic tone.

You stare into space, your face must be red again.

"C'mon skinsuit, it's not every day I'm in one of my few suits with the proper equipment for it." He's loving the look on your face, undoubtedly. He's acting like this is a cruel joke, but... How far would he take this joke, though? Better yet, how far will you force him to take it? You still feel ill at ease about the idea, but you're suddenly angry enough to buck off the shame.

"Alright, fuck you but sure." Probably the ballsiest thing you've ever said in your life.

Revenant is caught off guard for a moment, his eyes dimming until they're nearly off, freezing in a somewhat shocked motion. After a few moments, you hear him slowly return as he laughs out loud. He has trouble containing himself, and goes to rub his mask again.

"You're insane, but I love that." He finally contains his laughter. "Your friend, what's her name?"

"Sherry." Weird change in subject but okay.

"Who's her favorite?"

"Wattson."

"Oh, perfect. I'll send a special request for her to keep you company during the match. I want you both to watch. I got my assigned team not long ago." He stands up from the edge of the bed and meanders over to the couch you're on, looming over you.

"Oh, are you with Wattson?"

"And Wraith. It's perfect for what I have planned." He never did explain what his plan was that day he dragged you all over the arena. "Loba's little triumph will pale in comparison to my massacre."

"Try not to make it too--"

"It will be bloody, gory, and brutal. Sorry little skinsuit, but you used up your pardon." He chides you from above before reaching down to help you up. "Now come, I need to warm something."

You stand up, a bit confused by his request, until he pulls you into a hug and you feel how strangely warm his body is. You're a bit taken aback at first, but you slowly ease into him and the warmth he offers.

"Luxurious, isn't it?" You feel his chest rattle into a purring sound as he cradles your head against his warm chest. "I like it too." He gently pulls you away from the couch before leading you to the bed.

You don't protest, you just crawl into bed and shuffle to the middle, making plenty of room for him to follow. You see the lights flick off, then feel his warmth press up against your back, cradling you completely. His snout rests on your shoulder, breathing into your ear. It's comforting, something you really needed after today.

"Thanks, Rev." You barely manage to whisper. He huffs in your ear as affirmation before you fall asleep.

[shadowgeist-stars]

Ren x Gakushu: Nightmares

Ren was standing in the Chairman's office, watching the man pace around him, Araki, Seo, and Koyama with practiced, measured steps. His words were almost entirely unintelligible, but his voice was just like always. The same eerie, low tenor that made his skin try to crawl off his body, like he suddenly had some kind of flesh-eating disease.

Suddenly the monster struck. A huge fleshy mass with eyes so big that they overlapped one another on its face. A mouth so wide and sharply fanged that it could swallow anyone whole and shred them apart in its jaws anyway. Before he knew it, there was an agonizing sting at the back of his head and the better part of his back. Ren was somehow thrown against the wall, pain tearing against his sternum and surrounding ligaments making it nearly impossible to breathe. The others were no different, as if they were flung just as woefully unprepared into the same MMA fight that he was in.

Then he realized all of their bodies hadn't even moved.

For all intents and purposes, their minds had been violently punted from each of their bodies, leaving them as empty shells that did nothing but chant an insatiable desire to kill E-Class. If Ren didn't have trouble breathing before, he was all but suffocating now. It only got worse when Gakushu reentered the room, only to call out to Ren and the others in horror. The mix of anger, disgust, and outright fear with which he stared at his father and his pet beast nearly wrenched his racing heart clear out of his chest.

“Gakushu, please… I'm right here…”

He forced his ghostly form to stand up. Dizziness spun his vision every which way. His shaking feet didn't feel anything close to steady as he tried to stumble toward his friend. The monster over the principal's shoulder only pounced again, painfully crushing his throat in its clawed grip as he could only face that menacing, unnatural grin. Darkness was beginning to dot his vision as it blurred with tears. He reached helplessly for his best friend with whatever vanishing strength he had left, as it all went cold and dark and --

Ren's eyes shot open with a gasp, heart pounding and breathing as if he'd just endured one of Gakushu's soccer games. He lay frozen and tense in his bed, clutching his bed covers and staring at nothing but his own bedroom floor as he slowly willed himself to calm down.

After he finally deemed himself calmed from the nightmare, (and telling himself that No, panic-brain, my blazer that I keep hung on my door is not a monster that's here to kill me) he sat up in his bed and checked the time on his alarm clock.

Only a few minutes after 3 o’clock, in the morning.

Ren grimaced to himself, running a hand through his stupid bedhead. Either Seo or Koyama would probably laugh about some kind of joke related to the time that he’s almost certain he’d rather not hear. However, he just thought it was too darn early to be up, even with something like a very graphic memory/nightmare to blame.

The principal monster from his nightmare flashed behind his eyes, in its own twisted "speak of the devil." What better way of being told by one's own brain that going back to sleep at that moment was not an option?

…Maybe a cup of tea or something warm (and uncaffeinated) would settle him down enough to help.

With a sigh, he got out of bed, pulled on a shirt, and headed to the kitchen.

He knew the house well enough that he didn't have to turn on the lights. He knew every place where the floors creaked, exactly where to stick to the walls and where to simply keep a light foot. The tiny nightlights in the halls kept it just visible enough that one didn't have to stumble around in complete darkness.

Many years ago, traversing his house at night was a game to Ren. One where his eyes sported beams of light to help him see. A game in which the dark wasn’t a monster to fear, but his playmate.

When he reached the kitchen, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. He grabbed a mug from the dish cabinet, but before he could do anything else, he noticed a light.

Light that was coming from the living room TV, partly shadowed by a figure on the couch.

Ren had a feeling he knew who that was. Guess I’m not the only one having a rough night.

With that in mind, he grabbed a second mug before pulling the jar of dried chamomile from the back of a different cabinet, fixing some tea with it.

The person on the couch didn’t respond to any noise he made, which meant one of two things: he was either quite aware of his presence and simply waiting for Ren to reveal himself, or he was out of it to the point of somehow not noticing the brunette was even there.

With someone like Gakushu Asano, there was no in-between with those two possibilities.

The moment the tea was ready, Ren poured it into the two mugs, a small voice in the back of his mind reminding him to put some sugar in Gakushu’s mug. He likes his tea sweetened a little. It’ll help him calm down more easily if he’s tense or had a nightmare, and right now he's possibly both.

He glanced at whatever he was watching on TV, which was turned down so low he couldn’t quite hear it. A documentary: his go-to for calming down from a bad dream. Crime or historic ones usually mean something relatively tame. But this one’s a nature documentary; he only goes to those things when it’s really bad.

The taller boy took a deep breath before heading over, humming a familiar tune and making sure to seek out the one floorboard he knew would creak. A word of advice from a friend, so as to not scare him once in his line of sight.

The redhead made an almost unnoticeable jolt before bright purple eyes met his. (So he really was out of it to a point he didn't know I was there, or at least hyperfixating on the TV.) He was wrapped in a throw blanket and had his legs laid across the length of the couch; he was probably planning on sleeping there if he was able to calm down enough.

“Ren… How long have you been up?” he asked, shifting around to sit properly on the sofa.

He chuckled, setting down the mugs on the coffee table until he was sitting down beside his boyfriend. “Obviously not as long as you.” His smile became a frown when he got no snarky response. “Nightmares keeping you up, too, huh?”

The shorter boy only nodded once, taking his mug when it was offered. “I hoped to be able to sleep again, after getting my mind off of it… And I didn’t expect to be discovered."

Ren hummed, sipping his own beverage. "…It was the brainwashing incident on my end… Araki saying it felt like an out-of-body experience was pretty accurate."

The ginger didn't seem too surprised. "…It was partially that exact incident for myself… and also the immediate aftermath of the pole-toppling match. I still find it hard to forget how badly Kevin and the other exchange students were injured, because of him… it was so severe that they all had to return to their home countries, once they'd recovered enough to do so."

The others didn’t hear much of that when it happened beyond when the paramedics showed up at the school. At the time, they all knew better than to ask while the wound was still fresh. Then again, it wasn’t like he would’ve been coherent enough to elaborate on the situation anyway, given how he fell asleep on the ride home.

"Least they don't have to worry about him hurting them again now…" he replied finally, "or anyone, to be honest. Especially not you." He pulled the strawberry blond boy into his side. "I think you remember well enough… how worried I was when he hit you in front of everybody."

The shorter boy’s exhale reverberated with exhaustion as his head drooped on his lover’s shoulder, followed by the sound of him emptying his mug. “Not as much as I wish I did… but at the same time more than I care to admit. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.”

The brunette smiled sadly at the sheer amount of fatigue in his tone, giving his shoulder a squeeze before finishing his own drink. "All the same, we can say that we're safe from him, and that in itself means a lot… By the way, I would've been alright with you coming over to my room after you woke up from your nightmare."

That only earned him a sleepy, yet sour look. "Why would I do that? I'm not a toddler, Ren."

The brunette snickered, using a thumb and index finger to get the other to face him. "Maybe not, but it's not childish to be afraid or need someone else, even for just a little company. Haven't you felt any better since I came out here?"

Gakushu tried to avert his face. "I suppose you could say that…"

Begrudging victory; I'll take it.

He smiled as he leaned in to kiss the shorter boy. He slipped his tongue in easily, tasting the chamomile's aftermath and practically feeling the remnants of Gakushu's tension and traces of his own nightmare disappear into the documentary's white noise. The ginger all but melted into his arms, the long and lazy kiss bearing down on his eyelids with sleep in a wave of honeyed warmth. Pulling away showed a pair of hazy purple eyes struggling to open again, on an adorable, blushing face.

“I love you, Gakushu; sweet dreams.”

The shorter boy gave a slow, cat-like blink, snuggling further against the taller boy. “Hmm… love you too… Ren…”

Ren chuckled at his slurred speech as he took Gakushu's empty mug from his hands, placing it and his own mug on the coffee table. Afterwards he turned off the TV, pulling Gakushu along as he shifted them around, until they were now both laying sideways on the couch, with a red-haired head on his chest. He managed to resituate the throw blanket over them both, draping long arms over his beloved; one settling across his waist, the other scratching his scalp in rhythmic circles.

He leaned into the crevice between the couch cushion and backrest with a contented sigh. With the weight and warmth of his boyfriend in his arms and the steady whispering breeze of breath in his ears and over his chest, the image of the former principal and the big-eyed monster was nothing more than a fading memory. They were both safe here, in this homey little bubble. Pressing a final kiss to his boyfriend's crown, he laid his own head down and closed his eyes, letting sleep carry him away on a far more welcoming cloud.

It wasn’t the first time they had such nightmares, and it may well be far from the last, but for now, they could sleep without fear, and that was enough.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Lionheart

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Fem Reader

Request: “i can’t breathe” with cordelia?? “

A/N: so this prompt screamed ‘panic attack’ but GUESS WHAT?? I cannot write about panic attacks without having one myself so bear with me. This story was inspired by the scene in Apocalypse when Cordelia tells Michael she’s ready to help him if he’ll let her. Thank you anon for the request, and have a good time reading. x

Word count: ~ 5 500

Warnings: panic, anxiety, more or less accidental attempt at murder (idk what to call it)

You opened the door to the little antique shop and walked in with a happy spring in your step. The place was dimly lit and smelt of nag shampa. All kinds of objects were displayed on shelves nailed to the walls. In the middle of the room, more objects – colourful candles, statues carved in rosewood or kingwood or stone, dusty porcelain plates with a rim of gold – were randomly piled on top of each other or on small tables.

The shop had opened a few days ago and its window had drawn your eye. You were on your way back to Robichaux’s, where you had lived for the past five years. Life at the Academy was blissful. You had found yourself, finally embracing your being a witch; and then a few months later you had found love, and with it a new kind of happiness. Contentment you had read about in books but never thought could happen to you. Love had ripped fear and hatred off the world and painted it in softer colours: pink, yellow, brown, colours that reminded you of Cordelia. The constant weight in your heart had changed: it did not drag you down anymore, but supported you. It was not fear and loneliness you carried, but warmth and curiosity.

In the shop the woman behind the counter was scrutinizing you with attention. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue that reminded you of ocean depths. She wore a beautiful, intricate brooch in the form of a tree with the words ‘Anna Morgana’ – her name, probably – engraved on the trunk. A single red rose drooped in a vase on the counter in front of her.

You did not notice the strange look – half fear, half anger – that flashed on her face as you walked up to her.

“I know you”, the woman said as a greeting. “You’re one of the girls from Robichaux’s Academy.”

You beamed at her.

“I’m here to buy a gift for my Supreme,” you informed her happily.

Here it was again, that strange look, and this time you did notice it, but you didn’t think anything of it. The mention of witches – especially powerful ones – still made most people uncomfortable.

“Birthday?” the woman asked.

For a second you considered lying. Cordelia was adamant that you tell no one about your relationship, for she didn’t want the girls at the Academy to think she favoured you over them. But it wasn’t exactly a secret. Cordelia’s face had always been open, and you weren’t particularly good at hiding the joy that spread over your own every time your eyes met hers, every time someone mentioned her, every time the thought of her crossed your mind. Anyone who had spent more than five minutes with you and Cordelia knew you were in love. Most people were too polite to tell either of you how bad you were at hiding your feelings – except Madison, who seemed to think there was no greater joy in the world than to criticize “Foxxy” in front of you so that she could laugh at whatever new insult your “poor unimaginative brain” would come up with. But you didn’t mind Madison. She was a friend – an extremely annoying, unreliable friend, but a friend still. Movie nights with her were the best.

“Random act of kindness,” you told the woman, trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible. “She works so hard for us,” you couldn’t help but add.

The woman curled up her lips and ran one hand through her dark, thick, curly hair. The bracelets that hang off her wrist jingled.

“Well, I could let you look around, but it would take hours. And I think I’ve got just the thing you need. Simple, but beautiful. Not too showy, elegant.”

She went through one of her drawers and drew out a small rectangular box. It contained a necklace – a thin silver chain, a curved bail, a round-shaped moonstone with a blue sheen in the middle. Your heart jumped at the sight. It was perfect for Cordelia.

“And look here!” the woman went on, her voice rising almost to a squeal. You were so lost in thoughts of Cordelia and how beautiful that necklace would look on her, that you did not notice the sudden shaking of the woman’s hands as she drew out another box. “I’ve got another one, exactly the same! So you can match.”

“I’ll take them both,” you beamed.

The woman looked incredibly nervous. She gave you a tight smile as you fumbled in your bag for your wallet.

“I like it,” you said, nodding to the rose in an attempt to help her relax. “Very Beauty and the Beast.”

You paid for the necklaces, then clasped one of them around your neck and stared at your reflection in a small mirror perched on top of a pile. Your fingers gingerly touched the stone. You flashed a grin at your reflection, then sang out “Goodbye!” to the woman. She didn’t say it back.

It was a beautiful spring day, the sun splayed out low in the sky, the air crisp, the branches of the trees overloaded with blooming flowers, but you didn’t linger. Your heart and mind were filled with Cordelia. She had been more tired than usual those past few days, what with the arrival of half a dozen new girls who were very young and very scared of their powers. And she had been bugged by a “weird, tingling feeling”, as she had confided to you two days ago, late in the evening, her head resting on your lap and your hand running through her hair: “I think a new witch might be in town. And I think she doesn’t know who she is. I can feel her confusion, her fear.” You had dropped a kiss on her forehead, offered to run her a bath, but she had let out a tired groan and sat up, rubbing her eyes as if she had a headache, and said she still had paperwork to go through.

It worried you, sometimes, how hard she worked. Too many nights you had had to drag her out of her office and tuck her in and kiss her until her faint protests had turned into sleepy giggles. You and Zoe and Queenie had offered, multiple times, to take over some of her classes, and she had relented after several refusals. As it had turned out, you were quite possibly one of the worst teachers on the planet. Cordelia had attended your first class, wanting to make sure she was not entrusting her girls to an incompetent fool – for the rest of that day you had been unable to meet her eyes, your face red with shame. When in the evening she had finally managed to corner you in an empty room she had burst into uncontrollable laughter, peppering your face with kisses, pausing to try and whisper an apology when she noticed the outraged look on your face. The word “sorry” did not make it out past the first syllable before she was doubled up with laughter, tears running down her flushed cheeks. So it had been decided that you should help Cordelia with daily matters and paperwork, and let Queenie and Zoe do the teaching.

The Academy was very quiet when you reached it, as most of the classes weren’t over yet. You did some cleaning in the kitchen, made yourself some tea, then decided to take a nap. There was approximately thirty minutes left before classes would end and Cordelia would take her usual evening break before dinner.

You ran up the stairs to your room, changed into more comfortable clothes, tip-toed to Cordelia’s room to steal one of her pillows, tip-toed back to your own room, and collapsed on your bed. Your fingers played with the chain of your new necklace, a goofy smile spreading over your face as you thought about the moment you would offer Cordelia her gift. Surely matching necklaces would not be too obvious. Friends did things like that all the time. You were sure to be teased by Madison, though. You lay on your right side, clutching Cordelia’s pillow against your chest and burying your face in it, and closed your eyes. You were not feeling particularly tired, but sleep soon overtook you.

You woke up a few minutes later with a jolt. Your heart was pounding in your ears and your chest was incredibly tight. You remembered when you were in junior high and a brute who kept bullying you because you were “too weird” had unceremoniously thrown you to the ground and decided it would be fun to sit on your chest. The boy was twice your size. He had laid both his hands on your shoulders, pressing your back into the cement, breathed in your face and flashed a cruel smile at you as he shifted his weigh to crush you. “I can’t breathe,” you had managed to get out, your hands coming up to smack weakly at his arms, “get off, I can’t –“

Now the feeling was exactly the same. There was a heavy weight pressing down on your chest as if a demon were sitting on it.

You abruptly sat up, panic shooting through your veins. Instinctively you reached out for Cordelia, for warmth and protection – your hand landed on the cold sheet.

You managed to hiss in a breath, desperately patting the mattress, your other hand coming up to press against your chest. Your arms were shaking. And the sitting position didn’t help. Your chest still felt like it was being crushed.

You threw back the cover, made to stand up, fell back on the bed as the room around you started to spin. Your ears were ringing and you could hear terrifying noises like that of a monster’s rough, raspy breathing in horror movies – your breathing, you realized in terror.

You had to get up. You had to get up and call for help before – on shaky legs you stumbled out of your room and into the empty corridor, leaning against the wall for support, and croaked out: “Delia,” but it was too weak, too low, the words flopped at your feet. The corridor was spinning so fast you could no longer tell where the ceiling was. Cold sweat coated your skin as you took a few steps forward, calling again, “Delia,” a pitiful sound, barely above a whisper.

Your gaze fell on the railing of the stairs. So close, just a few more steps – so far away, too far away.

You wheezed out a breath, tried to inhale. There was no air left in the corridor. Your hand closed around the collar of your shirt. You tried to call out, tripped on nothing, and passed out.  

**

The first think you noticed when you came to was a hum of worried voices. Your head hurt too much for you to even consider opening your eyes. So you focused on the voices, tried to separate one from the others.  

“Step back, Millie, step back! Girls, give her some space!”

This voice was too panicky for your liking. It made your heart speed up. But there was something familiar about this voice, something comforting, so when it faded back among the others you groaned, straining to focus on it again.

“Ooh shit, she’s alive,” said another voice, young and jaded.

“Y/N?” The panicked voice again, louder, clearer. Something hot on your face. You let out another groan. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.”

Now, that you would not do. You were pretty sure if you let the light in your skull would crack.

“Y/N, please.” The voice broke, and something in your heart broke with it. “Please, please sweetheart, come back to me.”

The thing in your heart that had broken kicked and ordered you to obey. There was no way, your heart screamed, no way you would lie here and do nothing to comfort her when she sounded that terrified.

Your eyes fluttered open. A blurry shape was leaning over you, golden on the edges, with two dark spots in the middle.

“Hey,” the voice called shakily, “that’s it, that’s it, you’re doing so good, look at me. Look at me.”

“Delia.” Her name escaped your lips before you had time to think it.

She was very pale, and her face was wet with tears, but she let out a relieved laugh when your eyes met hers.

“Delia,” you repeated, frowning in confusion as you took her state in.

You were lying on your back in the middle of a corridor, surrounded by a group of students. You spotted Madison, leaning against the wall next to Cordelia, staring down at you with interest and just a hint of amusement. “What…”

Your face crumpled as memories flooded you. Your right hand flew up to your chest and you gasped in a breath, fear rushing up to clench at your heart.

Cordelia cupped your face, stroking her thumbs over your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright,” she whispered as more tears rolled down her own cheeks.

You bit your lip on a sob, raised your hand to wipe away her tears. Cordelia chuckled and kissed your palm.

“What happened?” you hiccupped between two sobs.

Madison held out something in front of her. Your heart skipped a beat.

“The necklace,” you stammered. “Oh my God, the – Delia I was about to –“

Cordelia shushed you again, leaning forward as if to kiss you before she checked herself. Madison rolled her eyes.

“Please, we’re not stupid, or blind,” Madison said, but you spoke over her, your breath coming out too fast as panic threatened to overwhelm you again: “Delia I was about to offer you the same necklace I was about – “

“Hey hey hey, Y/N, it’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Cordelia slipped one arm around your waist and pulled you up to her. You buried your face in her neck, breathing her in, letting her familiar scent and warmth wrap around you like a blanket. She gently ran her fingers through your hair, supporting you with her other arm.  

“How did you find me?” you whispered into her chest.

“I heard you,” she answered, her voice barely louder than yours. “I heard you calling in my head.”

You closed your eyes, confused, angry, and most of all afraid. Afraid of what would have happened if Cordelia had not rushed to you. Afraid of what would have happened if you had offered her the necklace and she had – you wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight, planting a kiss on her chest as you gulped back tears. You were trembling in her arms, your heart beating too fast, feeling like you couldn’t breathe again as images of an unresponsive Cordelia flashed in your mind, asleep but with her chest not moving, her heart not beating, a small moonstone shining pale blue on her skin that was as white as a corpse’s.

Before you knew it you were sobbing again, hanging on to Cordelia for dear life as she whispered words of comfort in your ear and stroke your back in a circling motion. You didn’t hear Madison ordering the girls to scatter, didn’t hear their confused footsteps, barely registered Cordelia pulling you up to your feet and guiding you back to your room. Gently she tucked you in bed, brushed your hair off your face, ran a hand up and down your arm as she wiped your tears with the other. You mumbled something, incoherent and sad, and she lay down by your side and wrapped you up in her arms safely. You pressed your ear to her chest, let the sound of her heartbeat lull you as you counted in your head, one, two, three, on the fourth beat a fond “I love you” murmured by Cordelia with a kiss on your head.

**

You had rarely seen Cordelia as mad as she was the day after when you explained to her where you had bought the necklaces. Anger burst from her like a snake opening its mouth to sink its fangs into flesh. Cordelia always looked powerful. Now she looked terrifying.

You stammered out short, anxious answers to her questions, instinctively leaning away from her. She noticed, and that seemed to make her angrier still.

She stormed out of the house and you stood nervously waiting for her on the porch. New Orleans would hold a funeral in a day or two. A corpse would be found but no clues as to its murderer would ever be discovered. Anna Morgana would be buried under the eyes of a curious crowd, camera flashes reflecting off her coffin.

You nervously shifted your weight on your feet, your eyes scanning the street in front of you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed, and then Cordelia walked through the gate to the Academy. But she wasn’t alone.

Your heart did something weird. It jumped up your throat in fear, then swelled with warmth and pride and love. Anna Morgana was walking by Cordelia’s side, clutching a small backpack to her chest, her eyes avoiding you. She looked younger, somehow, and even though she was only a few inches shorter than Cordelia her body was like that of a child next to your Supreme.

Cordelia stopped in front of you, squinting in the sun. You tried to scowl at her, but the nervous grin you had been holding back crept up your face and your eyes lit up with love and adoration for this woman.

“Of fucking course,” you said.

Cordelia shrugged.

“What?” She cocked her head to the side, watching you. There was a hint of nervousness in her eyes as she studied your reaction. You reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “She needed help. That doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences for your action,” she added, shooting Anna Morgana a cold, hard glance.

As it turned out, Cordelia’s intuition had been right: there was a new witch in town, and she was confused and lost. Anna Morgana must have known, deep down, that she was a witch, but the thought was so terrifying, so utterly unacceptable that when she saw you in her shop, when she heard you mention the Supreme, she freaked out. Her magic seemed to be powerful: all she did was wish that the necklaces would harm their owners, and she had quite succeeded.

Anna Morgana kept working at her shop, but she also started attending classes at the Academy. She profusely apologized to you and to Cordelia, bought you countless gifts, did all kinds of nice things for you, adamant that she right her wrong. She had a lovely personality, and quickly became part of the coven.

You knew she had been confused and terrified of who she was; you knew what fear was capable of doing to even the best of people. But you couldn’t help it: every time your eyes fell on Anna Morgana, every time you heard her voice, something in you awoke that you could not control and that had the terrible, pungent smell of panic. It grew in you like a seed, taking root in your stomach, spreading its branches into your chest to wrap around your heart and squeeze, tight.

You could tell it was hard for Cordelia, too. You had never heard her snap at any of her girls but Madison, and now Anna Morgana was added to the list, especially in the first few days of her settling in at the Academy. There often was an edge to Cordelia’s voice when she spoke to her, a flash of anger in her eyes, her arm extending protectively in front of you whenever Anna Morgana entered the room you were in. But Cordelia’s heart was endlessly kind, and she was brave, and believed people could change when given the opportunity to. Soon her attitude towards Anna Morgana softened. And Anna Morgana, like all the other girls in Cordelia’s care, opened up like a flower and blossomed and started healing.

And you felt trapped in a corner. Guilt about not being able to move on and forgive gnawed at you like a dog gnaws on a bone and doesn’t let go. Guilt about not being able to be the brave person Cordelia deserved. And the fear that would clench your heart every time someone would so much as mention Anna Morgana, grew so strong and invasive you were sure it had settled permanently in you like a new organ your body had grown. This organ was ill and worked poorly. It kept you up all night, made you fidgety. The faintest of noises – someone coughing in the room next door, footsteps in your back – boomed in your ears like the detonation of a gun and made you jump.

It became hard to focus on daily tasks. You isolated yourself from the other girls, saying you had too much to do for spare time. You snapped at one of the younger girls, once, for no good reason at all. And then you isolated yourself from Cordelia. You pretended to be too tired to wait up for her on the nights she worked till late. You avoided her at lunchtime, hiding in your room with whatever food your stomach could hold.

That week was particularly busy for Cordelia. She had to fly halfway across the country to bring back a new girl who was too panicked to leave her room. When she came back she had barely slept for three days and did not allow herself to rest until she had gone through the paperwork you had neglected to deal with. She nearly collapsed into your arms that night, and you gently tucked her in and dropped a quick, distracted kiss on her forehead before you all but ran to your own room. You thought you heard Anna Morgana’s voice in the corridor, which nearly drove you crazy with fear and had you mutter a protection spell behind your locked door. You whispered one for Cordelia, too, just in case.

You thought, you really did, that you could carry on living in a constant state of fear.

You woke up one night and everything around you was dark. Terror shot through you as something suddenly pressed all of its weight upon your chest and dear Lord, you could not breathe. You sat bolt upright, gasping for air, your shaking hands coming up to your chest to try and get rid of the necklace, but all you could feel was skin, hot, clammy skin, so you clawed at it desperately but the pressure would not go. It would not let you breathe. So you tried to spring out of the bed, wheezing now, your legs tangling up in the cover, but something closed around your arm to hold you back.

“Let go!” you screamed – and it was angry, it was an order, but above all it was terrified.

“Y/N what – “

You tried to hit whatever was holding you back, but it seemed you had lost your bearings for your hand only slammed air. And then there was light, and you realized it was Cordelia, only Cordelia, sitting up with her eyes wide with fear and worry, and there was nothing, no necklace around your neck.

You had one leg still on the bed, the other dangling out, and your nails had clawed so hard at your chest that the skin was red and scratched.

“Y/N are you alright? What happened?”

You ran a shaky hand through your hair, avoiding Cordelia’s eyes. Her hand that was holding your arm slid up to your shoulder to pull you towards her, but you resisted, trying to blink back the tears that were burning your eyes, humiliation and fear battling to take possession of your brain.

“Hey,” Cordelia called, her voice gentler now. You felt the mattress dip as she moved closer to you. Her warmth pressed against you. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“It was nothing.” Your voice was too small. You closed your eyes and squeezed them tight. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Cordelia let out a sigh. Gingerly, she pulled you back into bed. This time, you let her. But you were still too terrified to lie down, so you sat with your back against the headboard, one hand still pressed against your chest, your breathing still too fast, too shallow. Cordelia hummed, rested one hand on your thigh.  

“Bad dream?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head. Your throat was too tight.

“I woke up and I couldn’t – “ you croaked, tears spilling down your cheeks, your chin trembling as you let out a sob.

“You couldn’t breathe,” Cordelia finished for you. You met her gaze, her eyes so big and brown and shining with tears but so brave, and so kind, and so forgiving.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, hiding your face in your hands. Suddenly it was all too much, the fear, the guilt, the anger that had plagued you for the past few days washing over you like water released from a dam and threatening to carry you away in its force. Your body shook and caved in; but Cordelia’s arms met you, and held you tight.

It took a while for you to calm down. When you eventually did, you lay limp and spent with your body sagging into Cordelia’s. She stroked your back in a circling motion, as she always did when you needed to be comforted.  

“I’m sorry,” you repeated in a breath.

“Don’t apologise. I’m the only one to blame. I should – “ Her voice faltered, and you felt her swallow hard. Automatically your hand came up to stroke her cheek in comfort. “I’ve been too busy to even notice you were struggling.”

“I can’t –“ You closed your eyes, clutching at Cordelia’s nightdress. “My brain can’t seem to stop associating Anna with danger.” You paused, swallowed hard. “She could have killed me. She could have killed you.”

“I know.“ Cordelia inhaled deeply and dropped a kiss on your head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t kick her out. She hasn’t done anything wrong since she’s been with us, and she has no home, nowhere else to go. She’s just coming to terms with her powers. I don’t…” She shook her head, bit her lip and pulled away to look into your eyes. Hers were big and watery and desperate. “I don’t know what to do,” she finished in a breath.

Something in her eyes, something in that confession – the helplessness, perhaps, that was so unlike her – made your heart roar in protest. You thought you could take a lot of things in this world, but this seemed to draw the line: there was no way on Earth, Heaven or Hell you’d be the one to paint that look on Cordelia’s face – your brave, kind, sunlit Cordelia.

You cupped her face, and when you next spoke your voice surprised you both. It was firm and confident and coated in a newfound determination that chased the demons out of the room. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re right, we can’t kick her out.” You tried for a smile. “So I’ll get a grip on myself and get over this.”

You tried to stop avoiding Anna Morgana. You sat next to her at breakfast, initiated a conversation at lunch, laughed at a joke she said at dinner. It sounded and looked too fake, but at least it was a first. You felt too nauseous to sleep that night, so you stayed up in the living room to watch movies. A little after midnight Cordelia joined you, carrying a blanket and two pillows. She snuggled up to you without a word, rested her head on your shoulder and made some sleepy comments about the movie. You fell asleep within the next half hour, lulled by Cordelia’s soft breathing.

The following days were scary, and some too hard when you felt like giving up and fleeing the city. Anxiety couldn’t be reasoned with. But Cordelia seemed to be everywhere with you, lingering in a corner of the room where you and Anna Morgana had a conversation, handing you a cup of coffee in the kitchen when you and Anna Morgana said good-morning, resting a hand soothingly on the small of your back when one time you considered wrapping your own hands around Anna Morgana’s neck and choke her for revenge.

On a Friday afternoon two weeks later, you and Anna Morgana went to get tattoos together. She held your hand during the entire session. Later that day as you met Cordelia in a corridor (dressed in one of her beautiful long floral dresses, stealing all the lights and colours from the sunset), you waved your arm in front of her face with a giddy smile and she gently grabbed your hand, flashing you a grin. The look on her face grew from amused to surprised to moved. When her eyes met yours, they were shining with love and tears.

“A lion’s heart,” you said softly, smiling down at the tattoo on your wrist, then back up at her. “It’s the meaning of your name, it’s what you have, it’s what you gave me.”

Cordelia bit her lip, gave a teary laugh and kissed you passionately in full view of everyone (she freaked out about it later, of course, and held an emergency meeting with the older girls during which Madison lost her cool and cried out, “surprise, bitch, everyone fucking knew”).

**

On the first day of summer you were awakened by a soft knock on your door.

You groaned, pressed your face closer to Cordelia’s chest as she stirred. Her skin was warm and soft and smelled like safety. You planted a lazy kiss between her breasts.

Another knock, louder. You opened your eyes groggily, and were met with the sight of pale skin, freckles sprayed over the swell of Cordelia’s breasts, a strand of blond hair curling just below her collarbone. Your mouth watered and something excited fizzed in your stomach.

“Your room,” Cordelia grumbled sleepily as another knock sounded.

You considered ignoring the goddamn intruder to worship your Supreme instead, but Cordelia – ever the responsible one – poked your knee with hers. You lifted your head, meaning to scowl, but her eyes were closed, a lazy smirk spreading all over her beautiful, messy morning face.

With a groan you got up, your legs heavy with sleep. You snorted as Cordelia mumbled, “Being the Supreme means I get to have nice boobs,” – because of course she knew exactly what was in your mind.

You opened the door with a rough “What?”

Anna Morgana flashed you a shy smile. She was dressed in a black lace blouse, black pleated skirt, and her hair was braided with pink flowers and sunkissed by the early rays slipping through the window.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said with another shy smile. “I thought you’d be up by now.”

Her gaze slid sideways and stared at something behind you. You pulled the door closer to you.

“I thought you’d be alone,” Anna Morgana went on. Her eyes met yours, amused. You tried to glare, but a smile betrayed you.

“I come bearing a gift,” Anna Morgana announced. She extended both her hands. In the middle of them sat a small rectangular box that looked way too familiar. Something unpleasant rose in your chest. You glanced up at Anna Morgana worriedly, but she nodded encouragement.

“Come on, open it.”

You’d rather not. You’d really, really rather not. Why was it suddenly too hard to breathe? For a second you were about to slam the door in Anna Morgana’s face. But then from behind you came the sound of ruffling sheet, of a warm body stretching in a lazy summer morning light, the sun bright and shining and still going strong, still welcoming every new day.

With a shaky hand you opened the box and lifted up the thin, delicate moonstone necklace. Your heart was pounding, and the room was too hot.

“It matches the colour of your eyes,” you heard Anna Morgana say. “And this one won’t try to strangle you.”

“It’s beautiful,” came Cordelia’s voice. One of her arms slipped around your waist and drew you close to her. Your body relaxed. You glanced up at her for courage, like plants stretch towards the sun for life.

You managed to offer Anna Morgana a smile. “Thank you,” you said, your fingers closing around the necklace.

Cordelia’s fingers playfully tickled your hip and your thigh bumped hers in retaliation, just as something in your chest you had not really known was there loosened and took flight and disappeared out of the window to melt in the summer heat.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

+

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.

[lottiebagley]

Anyone else- Draco Malfoy

The girl felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she trudges up the stairs to the boys dorm. It's only her fifth year at Hogwarts. She's only 15 and yet here she is. The news her pure blood parents had sent so excitedly in a letter ripping her from her innocent youth. Her childlike crush on her best friend.

She flings the door open revealing the boy she so desperately needed in that moment. He's sat on his bed talking happily to Zabini.

His eyes widen in concern when he sees the girl he believes is the love of his life stood in the doorway. She looks like she wants nothing more than to break down in sobs, but that she would kill someone whilst in her low. She looked beautiful.

"Sorry, y/s/n, don't think Umbridge would want you up here. I doubt you'll be staying distanced," Zabini teases. He's friends with her of course but he can't read the broken look in her eyes like Draco can. Can't tell she is on the edge and in no mood for his playful manner.

"Doesn't stop you and Parkinson," she snaps, he lets out a low bitter chuckle, opening his mouth to retort

"Give us some space," Draco's voice commands. Zabini looks at the blonde boy who seems to not care in the slightest, his attention solely on the girl in front of him. He scoffs before pushing past her on his way out.

The minute the room is empty aside from them she shuts the door, locking it with a spell. She's pacing. Has been for five minutes. He lets her. Knows she will talk when she's ready. That she just needs to wrap her head around whatever she wants to say.

He lounges on his bed, trying his hardest to look relaxed, not let her know how stressed he is, how ready he is to kill whoever is making her feel like this. He does an awful job of hiding it. Well. A good job to anyone else but not her. She can read the way his eyes are following her closely, fingers fidgeting as he reminds himself not to reach out for hers.

She comes to a stop in front of him. Turning to face the boy she is crushing on so desperately

"My parents are the fucking worst," she declares. He sighs, knowing the feeling, he grabs her hand pulling her to lay next to him. Tucked in his arm with her head on his chest.

One hand strokes her back gently and the other plays with her fingers where their hands are interlocked on his abdomen. He thanks the lord in that moment that he has someone he can be so soft, so gentle with. She thanks the lord he is prepared to be so open with her.

The public displays of his care for her are few and far between. In the common room he allows her to lean on his shoulder if she's tired. If she's upset throughout the day he will give her quick hugs or squeezes her hand. Sometimes in classes or the library when they sit alone together tucked away in a corner he will link their pinkies or hold her hand stroking the back of it with his thumb. He's protective always but the soft side of him is only truly revealed when it's just them. She's doesn't mind.

"What've they done?" He questions lightly

"You have to promise you won't laugh," she mutters. He smirks at that, what embarrassing secret is he about to discover?

"I swear to you darling," he assures her.

"They- well- I- Merlin I can't say it. Just- well just read this," she stutters out, he's even more concerned now. She's never not been able to tell him something.

He takes the letter she pulls from her pocket scanning it until he sees the section that shocks him

My darling daughter, I have news. It's news your father and I hope you will receive with joy. We have picked your husband. The engagement obviously won't occur until after you graduate. The wedding after of course but we have chosen.

Draco feels like his world had crumbled around him. He has never made a move on his best friend, too scared to be rejected by the person he wants the most. The only person he could ever want. He has always kind of assumed their parents would wed them. His mother loved her and her parents seemed to like him. They were both pure bloods. Slytherins. They were already close. Their parents respected each other and got on. It seemed like a perfect match. He always thought he never had to act on his feelings and that it would all just fall into place.

"Have you got to that part about my dream future yet?" She requests. He shakes his head eyes back on the letter.

He's a pure boy. Older, already 18, he attends Drumstrang but grew up near Wiltshire. Narcissa put me in touch with his family after I met him at the party at the Malfoy manor last week, it's a pity you and Draco didn't make the trip as I'm sure you would have got on well with the suitor. He's handsome of course and from a respected family. His family are well off, more so than most others in our community. You won't have to work a day in your life sweetie, just you and him and children living in a bubble of bliss.

He puts the letter down. "That is- fuck- why did you think I would laugh?" He questions, she sits up straight on his bed turning to face him as he does the same.

"I don't know. The thought of me a bride I guess," she shrugs. He hates that he can hear her insecurity.

"Hey, hey. You'll be a beautiful bride. He's lucky," he assures her

"I just can't believe they'd do this Dray. I mean, I knew one day, but I'm 15," she half cries half shouts

"It's ridiculous. These decisions shouldn't be happening yet," he comforts

"I just- I mean- she said it all like i would be so happy. I want to fall in love for real," she complains. It's true although she doesn't need to do anymore falling. Looking at the boy in front of her she knows she is in love already.

"Maybe you will love him,"

"No. No I won't," she whispers "I can't," she adds. He sighs pulling her into a hug. He wants to scream. Wants to cry. Wants to punch the wall. Wants to kiss her and hide her from them and keep her to himself forever. He can't. He has to accept his own mother sent the girl he loved into another mans arms.

"They want me to do nothing my whole life," she whispers.

"Hey that doesn't have to happen," he reassures.

"If I tell you something promise you won't get all freaked out and push me away or find it weird," she demands, he can hear the fear in her voice

"I promise,"

"I always kinda thought it would be us. I mean our parents love each other and my mum is so obsessed with you. She told me what pretty kids we would have when you visited over Christmas. I just, well, i thought it would be us," she won't look at him. Can't. He hates that she's shy in front of him. Reaching out a hands to move her face, forcing her to look at him

"I did too," he smiles gently. A tear falls from her eye and he brushes it away. He can't help but wonder if she's crying over the love they could have shared.

"I would have been a terrible husband," he attempts to joke.

"I would rather live in the woods with you than a mansion with some boy I don't even know," she whispers

"You know I would pick you right?" He asks gently

"And I would pick you. I mean- we are both pure bloods- us being together is a good match. You would think we would get some say. Get to pick from our suitors," she groans

"You would. But it's not how arranged marriages work," he sighs. It hurts even more knowing she would choose him back.

"But if it was you- it- I-"

"You can tell me anything darling," he reassures, sensing her hesitation. Grabbing her hands and squeezing them.

"If it was you it wouldn't be a loveless marriage," she sighs

"Well of course not. You're my best friend. Obviously we love each other," he grins but his heart breaks. He wishes she meant it in the way he does, that she knew how he felt. How could he tell her now? Now that her husband had been chosen and it wasn't him? Now that she was so stressed how could he add unrequited feelings to her mess?

"No. I mean. I'm in love with you Draco," his world stops at her voice. Was his mind just playing a cruel trick or was this real? Did she want him just as much?

He blinks rapidly. Before grabbing her face and pulling her towards him. His lips on hers in a passionate and intense kiss. A kiss that's been brewing for years.

"You don't have to worry about a thing. If you want to pick me then you and I will be married one day. I'll see too it," he assures her in a whisper. She can't help the grin.

"Good because i would never pick anyone else," she smiles, he can feel the smile when her lips press back to his.

**

Masterlist

[annab-nana]

Sweater Weather - Sarah Cameron

Your biggest secret was begging to be told but would your best friend, Rafe Cameron, and other people close in your life still want to be associated with you after it gets out?

A/N: There will be a part 2 to this :)

Warnings: some curse words

Word Count: 2.5k+

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The beach, for someone who hated it so much, was your safe space. Crazy, right? You live in the OBX where people from all over come just for the beaches and the fun to be had in them and you hated them. It was like living in Alaska or Canada and hating the snow. It didn’t make sense.

You were not like all the other people who inhabited the island of Outer Banks though. You didn’t surf. You barely swam. You didn’t lay out and tan every chance you got. You didn’t play in the sand, building sandcastles or playing beach volleyball. You did not even go to the beach during the daytime. Your favorite time to come to the beach was at night when there were cool breezes and not a soul in sight, just you and the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

So here you sat on a small sand dune as the tears slipped down your face. That’s what you enjoyed about being out here. No one was there to see you cry and no one was there to comfort you. You didn’t want to be comforted. You wanted it to be you, the sand, the wind, and the waves. No one else, but you and your thoughts. Your damn thoughts and feelings that were eating you alive.

You had a confession to make. You wanted to stop hiding your true self. There was more to you than you let on and you wanted to be you completely. Every time you were around the people you were supposed to feel comfortable around, you didn’t because you constantly felt like you were hiding something, and you were.

Kelce was a lost puppy dog, following the actions of you, Topper, and Rafe. He had a mind of his own, but it only showed itself on rare occasions. All other times, it was basically like you were talking to another Rafe or a second Topper. If you told him alone, then maybe he would accept you, but he also could not. If you told him with Topper or Rafe around, then he would most likely mirror their actions and you wanted Kelce to love you for you, not because Rafe or Topper did.

Topper was the most sympathetic of the three, but he also was not too fond of change. He cares a lot about you, just like the other two. He was the most likely of them all to be supportive and stand beside you, but he loved the you you are now. If you changed in his eyes, would he still love and support you?

Rafe, the one you were most worried about and the one you were closest with. He was awfully close-minded, and the topic of discussion is one you needed him to be open-minded about. He has been your best friend since y’all were kids. He was by your side through everything and you did the same for him. You didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon and you hoped he feels the same once you tell him your secret.

All you wanted from your friends and family was to be accepted as you are. That is all and you don’t think that is too much to ask. In fact, you know it’s not. The heavy feeling that resided in your gut told you that things were not going to be as easy as you were hoping for, but you had hope and you were holding onto that tiny sliver as if your life depended on it.

Your mind raced of all your thoughts that had swirled inside your brain since you came to the realization, but they only ran faster since you decided that you would announce your news sometime soon. You told yourself that you would tell at least one person before the year ended and time was running out.

As the tears kept streaming down your cheeks, you pulled your legs closer to your body to let yourself hug them close to you, comforting yourself since you were alone. That was all you needed was a hug at the moment, but there was no one to give you one. You rested your head on your knees as your silent sobs fell into your lap. You knew that if you did not hurry home soon, someone would come looking for you and someone did.

“Y/n is that you?” you heard Rafe’s voice call out from a good distance behind you. A sharp breath was sucked in your nose and your hands came up quickly to wipe away any evidence of tears on your face. Once he had gotten a little closer, you decided to respond.

“Hey, Rafe! How was your Christmas?” you spoke in a chipper voice as if you weren’t just sobbing about probably one of the biggest things you’ve dealt with in your life.

“It was good,” he started as he walked up to you and stood next to your sitting figure. “Do you want to talk about whatever you’re upset about or do you want me to leave you alone?”

Damn it, you should’ve known that he knew you only came out here when you were upset or thinking. It also didn’t help that you were terrible at faking anything and at lying as well.

“Umm…” you trailed off to think about your options. You could tell him now, but you were scared. You should tell him now. The only other people you would tell before you told Rafe would be your family, but quite honestly, Rafe was basically your family anyway and you wanted him to be the first to know. Now just didn’t feel like the right time.

“It’s okay, y/n. I will leave you alone. I’ll probably see you tomorrow so see ya,” he muttered before turning on his heel to walk away.

Or maybe it was the perfect time.

“Rafe, wait!” you shouted as you stood, dusting any sand off your ass and taking a step or two closer to him. He turned around to face you, waiting patiently to see what you had to say.

“I have to tell you something,” you whispered so quietly that you feared he didn’t hear you. You made yourself smaller and folded your arms as the nerves and anxiety bubbled inside you. You were going to do it. You were going to tell your best friend, the boy you spent most of your life with and were so close with that some people thought you two were a couple, your big news and you were slowly preparing yourself for rejection and loneliness if things did not go your way.

Rafe noticed your actions and hesitance and took some steps closer your way, his hands resting on your shoulders then sliding down your arms to meet your hands before he gave them a gentle squeeze as if to say, ‘it’s okay’. He sent you a small smile as you let out a shaky breath.

“Okay, so I am one hundred percent prepared for you to dissociate with me after I tell you this because I know you won’t understand and won’t like it, but Rafe, this is something I’ve been battling in my mind for years and I finally know the answer. So here goes nothing,” you chuckled before you dropped your hands from his to wipe away the streams of tears, only for your eyes to replace them with more. “Rafe, I- I- I’m bi, like bisexual. I like boys and girls.”

After you said it out loud, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. While the feeling was euphoric, you didn’t let it get you too hyped as you gauged Rafe’s reaction. He seemed the same as before, just his blue eyes were a little wider. He was breathing the same, standing the same, looking the same, but you could not help but wonder what was going on in his brain. Was he hating you? Did he still love you? Was he trying to figure out which way to run? Obviously to the left was his best option, but it is Rafe we’re talking about, so he’d probably go right.

“Rafe?” you mumbled, your tears flowing harder than ever. At this point, you did not care if he stayed or left. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

“That’s hot,” he told you as you watched the corner of his lips turn up in a smirk. You let out a dry chuckle before new tears formed and fell from your eyes.

“No, Rafe, that not what I need right now,” you sighed, slapping his chest playfully and crying harder.

“Oh sorry,” he muttered before pulling you into him and wrapping his large arms tightly around your frame. Being in his arms and feeling like your true self, not hiding a thing, felt amazing. You cried into his chest for what felt like ages before you pulled away to ask a question that was eating at you.

“Wait, so you still love me? You don’t hate me or want nothing to do with me? You still want to be my friend? My best friend?” Rafe stepped back before grabbing your face in his hands to ensure that your eyes would be locked with his and he had your full attention.

“Yes, I still love you. Nothing could change that. You know you’ll always be our y/n, right?”

His last sentence caused a new wave of tears to take over before you nodded at him quickly and threw your arms around his neck. He stood all the way up causing your feet to leave the ground while his arms slipped around your waist. He pressed comforting kisses to the side of your face as he continually whispered how much he loved you and how he would never leave you in your ear.

“Now we can all pick up girls at parties,” he joked when he brought you back down and let you go. You laughed along with him before he continued the conversation. “So, do you have any girl crushes on the island?”

The childlike giggle that escaped your lips and the heat that rushed to your cheeks answered his question before you could.

“Oh okay, y/l/n. Who is it? Wait no, let me guess while I take you home because it’s cold out here,” he spoke as a shiver ran down his spine. You nodded in agreement before the both of you started walking in the direction of the large black truck.

“Come on, Rafe. Give me your best shot,” you challenged, knowing the competitive Cameron boy wouldn’t stop until he guessed right. You were not going to outright tell him that you had the biggest crush on his sister, but you were interested to see if he would suggest it.

“Okay, umm… Carly?” he started what would be the beginning of a long game.

“Nope,” you responded, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“Jessica Bakersfield?”

“No.”

“That one girl that you sat beside in history?” he pondered as you both got into the truck.

“Darcy?” you inquired.

“Yeah, her. I had a crush on her.”

“She was pretty, but she wasn’t the brightest, so no,” you informed him when you buckled in your seatbelt.

“What about Kiara?”

“I did for a little bit, but she’s not really my type,” you explained while Rafe started the vehicle.

“Sarah?” he finally asked. As much as you wanted to scream yes, you did not.

“Your sister?” you questioned, eyebrows furrowed together in mock confusion.

“Yeah,” he teased.

“No, that’d be weird. I’ve known her since we were kids,” you ridiculed while rolling your eyes.

“Okay, sorry I asked,” he laughed as he held one hand up in defense, his other gripping the wheel.

“What about her best friend? Scarlet?”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” you lied straight through your teeth to get him to quit with this game before you got home because you know if you didn’t, he would not give it a rest. He’d probably come into your house and continue to pester you with all the girls that lived on the island.

“Really? It’s Scarlet?” he asked as he pulled into your place and put the truck in park.

“Yep,” you nodded while you unbuckled yourself and took a deep breath, staring at the home you grew up in.

“Have you told them?” Rafe questioned when he noticed the way you did not really seem to want to leave the confines of his truck. You turned your head towards him before shaking it.

“They’re probably in bed by now so I might tell them in the morning,” you said. You wanted to tell all the people close to you around the same time and since you were already out to one person, the person you were most afraid to tell, telling everyone else seemed a lot easier.

“I can stay the night. You can tell them at breakfast and if things go south, I’ll be in your room ready to be your shoulder to cry on and once you’ve fallen asleep again like you always do when you cry a lot, I’ll slip out and give them a piece of my mind,” Rafe told you as he showed you his balled-up fist, acting as if he would literally fist fight your family.

“Please stay the night with me. You can stay in my room and I can cry to you if things go bad, but you don’t have to do the rest. Don’t fight my family,” you chuckled before Rafe nodded his head. You both hopped out of the vehicle and stayed silent when entering the house, so you did not wake your parents. You slowly tiptoed up the stairs and slipped into your room. Rafe found him some pajamas from his drawer in your room while you did the same in your closet. He changed while you grabbed a quick shower and changed. Rafe had already gotten comfortable in your bed and was scrolling through Instagram on his phone when you were done.

“So, what’s the plan tomorrow?” he asked as he plugged his phone up and turned to face you in the bed.

“Tell my parents. If things go well, then I’ll go tell Topper and Kelce right after. If not, we see how I feel and maybe tell Top and Kelce later tomorrow night? It all depends on how I feel,” you shrugged, grabbing your pillow and snuggling into the soft fabric.

“Sounds good to me,” he chimed before a yawn escaped him.

“I feel like I can tell anyone since I told you. I was terrified to tell you,” you mumbled while your eyes grew slightly heavier.

“I know!” Rafe yelled a little too loudly as your hand flew to cover his mouth. You removed it right after to let him finish what he was saying. “You are my best friend and I’m not letting you go. We’ve been through too much for anything to break us apart.”

“I love you, Rafe. Thank you for always supporting me,” you whispered as you lazily reached over to press a friendly kiss to his cheek. Sleep was coming sooner and sooner by the second.

“I love you too, y/n,” he mumbled before doing the same but kissing your forehead instead. After that, you two drifted to sleep, your dreams filled with happiness and spending the rest of your life with his sister.

Part 2 ->

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[outerbankswriting]

Could it be? Chapter 11 (JJ x Reader)

JJ x Reader

CH.1 - CH.2 - CH.3 - CH.4 - CH.5 - CH.6 - CH.7 - CH.8 - CH.9 - CH.10

Description: She has a crush on JJ, but he has always seen her as another one of the “dudes”, or  at least that’s what she thinks so she just doesn’t even try anymore, until things start to shift between the two of them. (A/N: I’M NOT GOOD AT DESCRIPTIONS BUT THESE IS JUST WHAT I WOULD LOVE TO HAPPEN IN OUTER BANKS WITH JJ)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER GOT DELETED BC TUMBLR WANTED TO MAKE ME CRY FOR A BIT SO I HAD TO REPOST..

Warnings: mentions of sexual trauma

CHAPTER 11

You shot a glance at Sarah once she finished spilling all your business. You watched as she gave you an innocent smile after realising you didn’t want everyone to know about Rafe yet.

“Look, I can explain alright?” You sighed as you reached for a beer. It was going to be a long day.

“Please do.” Kie muttered, raising her eyebrow at you.

You looked at JJ who was staring straight into your eyes, you couldn’t tell if he was hurt or angry but either of those options made your stomach twist.

“He promised that if I faked it for a night, he would leave all of us alone which means th-”

“And you believed him?” Pope was quick to cut you off.

“Why would you even trust Rafe Cameron in the first place?” John B added.

“If you would all stop interrupting me, then maybe I would be able to clear your doubts.” You spat coldly at your friends.

“Go on then.” Kie nodded.

“It’s just for the night, so he can be on the clear with his father and have no problems whatsoever,” you bit your lip, “after that I’m completely done with him.”

The silence was broken by JJ’s sarcastic laugh, making you immediately stare at his movements.

“Well I think it’s bullshit,” he gulped down his beer before standing up, “and if you’re trusting Rafe Cameron, then you can’t be trusted either.”

His words hit you like a thousand knives on the chest.

He definitely felt betrayed by you but his anger was stronger than the pain he was feeling. He tossed the empty beer on the sand, ignoring Kie’s complaining and gave you a final glare before walking away from the group.

“JJ,” you sighed and rushed to walk towards him, ignoring whatever your friends were complaining about as well, “JJ wait!”

You tried to walk faster towards him but the sand wasn’t letting you catch up to his pace.

“JJ stop!” You yelled a little louder but he kept walking.

You decided to run towards him, ignoring how ridiculous you looked trying to run in the sand for trying to chase a guy.

“JJ let me talk to you.” You grabbed his arm making him turn to face you.

His eyes drifted to the sea, not bothering to look at yours.

He was stubborn and you knew him too well to know how whenever he gets angry, his mind becomes clouded with his own thoughts, not bothering to listen or try to understand anything.

“Do you honestly think I want to talk to you right now?” He spat out.

But he was not the only stubborn one here, you were not going to let him leave without first making him listen to you.

“I want you to listen.”

“I don’t want to listen.” His jaw clenched and he pulled his arm away from you.

You were starting to get annoyed but you couldn’t blame him for feeling this way.

“JJ stop walking away from me!”

“You listen to me!” He raised his voice at you as he walked closer to you, your eyes starting to water at his actions, “I cannot trust you if you keep lying to my face!”

“I never lied to you JJ!”

“You said you were not going back to him!”

“I’m not!”

“Then why the fuck are you going as his girlfriend to the stupid party?!”

His eyes were filled with anger and your face probably looked like the one of a scared puppy since JJ’s features softened at the realisation of how loud he was raising his voice at you and how he was projecting his anger.

“I just can’t believe how you can still trust him after everything he’s done.” He lowered his voice but the anger still hadn’t left him.

“Nothing’s going to happen between us JJ,” you slowly walked closer to him, afraid he was going to walk away at any second, “I’m not going to let it happen.”

JJ licked his lips while shaking his head in frustration, he tried to avoid eye contact with you but failed once you softly caressed his cheek, making him calm down a bit.

“If that asshole lays a finger on you, I promise I’m going to kill him.” He muttered as his breathing got slower.

“Sarah is going to be there,” you said and grabbed his hand, “and so will my parents JJ. It’s just one night and then Rafe will be out of our lives.”

His eyes softened as you kept caressing his cheek and holding his hand. You watched as he slightly nodded, knowing he was still not trusting Rafe.

“Let’s go home okay?” You whispered before giving him a light kiss.

The two of you went to your house, not really bothering on letting your friends know you weren’t going back to the beach. You were probably going to send a text later to Kie explaining her everything. Right now all you cared about was calming JJ down and letting him know things were going to be alright.

Once you were in the comfort of your bedroom you decided to grab some beers from the fridge to loosen up a bit and forget the tension that had built a few minutes ago.

You knew JJ was still upset and angry since he wasn’t really talking.

“Last to finish their beer has to cook dinner.” You playfully winked at him before taking a big gulp of your beer.

You noticed JJ take a sip of his beer, not really following your little game to cheer things up.

“JJ come on,” you sat down on the bed next to him, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you last night.”

“It’s not only that Y/N,” he said softly this time, “it’s the fact you always tell me your relationship with him was bad and I know there’s something about him you’ve been hiding from me.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just stared at your bed covers.

“Do you see?” JJ went on, “How can I trust you completely if you can’t even trust me?”

“I do trust you JJ,” you sighed, “I just,”

You took a deep breath, thinking about the right way to tell him.

“I have never talked about this to anyone because it scares me.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he moved closer to you.

“What do you mean Y/N?” He softly grabbed your hand.

“I just don’t know how to say it.” Your voice trembled and you felt your eyes start to tear up, JJ immediately cupping your face.

“Hey Y/N,” he whispered, “you can trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

You stared at his eyes while letting a few tears fall down your face. The two of you had already seen each other at your most vulnerable times and that’s what had made you feel so close to him.

You knew you had to tell JJ, you knew it was time to let it out, even if it scared you and even if you knew JJ would probably lose his shit.

You took a deep breath.

“I didn’t really want to do it with him,” your voice was low and soft and you noticed JJ’s jaw clench as he realised what you were talking about, “but I didn’t know how to tell him.”

You fought back the tears as you remembered the first time you had sex with Rafe and how you knew you weren’t ready but he somehow convinced you.

“It’s not like I told him I didn’t want to,” your voice trembled again, “I just let him do it because he was my boyfriend at the time even though I didn’t want to, and after the first time I didn’t want to do it again, but when I told him he got mad at me and he started hanging out with other girls so I just,”

You paused to stare at JJ, his eyes were once again filled with anger but there were also tears in them. His hand was still holding yours tightly, giving you the trust and confidence to keep going.

“I just did it again with him until I learnt to kind of enjoy it I guess? But there were more times I didn’t want to do it than times I did want to, and it just haunts me.”

You let the tears fall down as you felt a weight being lifted from your shoulders.

“JJ?” You asked once you noticed he remained silent, his eyes filled with tears and not leaving yours.

“That piece of shit.” He muttered as he trembled with rage.

“JJ,”

“I’m going to kill him.” He spat out coldly.

“JJ I told you this because I trust you, please,” you cupped his face, “stay out of this.”

“Are you kidding me Y/N?” He raised his eyebrows at you, “My fist on his face is the least I could to him to make him pay for what he did.”

“He never forced me to do it.”

“But he manipulated you Y/N.”

“I know that now,” you sighed, “but I didn’t know that back then.”

He nodded and bit his lip but you grabbed his face and made him stare straight into your eyes.

“I’m a different person now JJ, I’ve learnt from it.”

Just when his tears were about to fall down his face, he wrapped his arms around you, making you let out all the tears you were fighting back and feeling safe in his embrace.

“I will never hurt you Y/N,” he sobbed against your neck, “I’ll always take care of you.”

You weren’t even able to let out the words you wanted to tell him, you wanted to tell him how much you loved him but the words just wouldn’t come out because of your loud sobbing.

“I’ll be there.” He whispered once he let go of the embrace and cupped your face.

“What are you talking about?” You asked while wiping away the last tears falling from his eyes.

“I’m going to the party and I’ll be watching over you and I don’t care if your parents hate me for that.”

You smiled with tears in your eyes before nodding and softly placing your lips against his.

———————-

CH.12

A/N: I touched a pretty sensitive topic this chapter and I really want to talk about this. unwanted consensual sex (also known as gray zone sex) is a thing that happens to so many people and it’s not talked about enough. one of my closest friends experienced this and it has affected her sexual relationships deeply. if you’ve ever been through something like this please know that you’re not alone and you can always talk to me. you should never feel pressured to do sexual intercourse or any other sexual activities by anyone, not even your partner.

sorry for all the mess that’s been going on with my tumblr, I honestly don’t know what happened but tumblr support apparently already fixed it...

thank u so much if you’re still reading this story, means a lot!

——————–

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 7: Perfect

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 8

---

Everything went black. Not because Tony had passed out, but because the world had been consumed by thick piles of dust and a dozen layers of crumpled concrete. A ringing silence pursued after the ceiling had collapsed, leaving him unable to hear anything but the aftereffects of the explosions that he'd attempted desperately to shield Peter from. Not that it had gone very well.

Tony tried to move, gritting his teeth at the pain in the lower half of his body, pinned against the floor by what was probably hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds of concrete and metal. He was unsuccessful in even moving an inch, reduced to only wiggling under the smothering weight. At least his head and upper body had managed to avoid being hit. But he didn't know the same for Peter.

"Kid?" he called, his voice raspy. He coughed a few times, sucking in gritty air and blinking rapidly, trying to find the teenager in the low light. "Peter? Where are you, bud?"

There was a grunt, and then the grating of concrete shifting. Tony turned his head in the direction of the noise, squinting. He swallowed down a gasp as he finally caught sight of the kid.

He was not too far from Tony, his entire body crushed between two slabs of rough concrete. Only his head and a shoulder poked out, the material crumbling as the boy shifted. The two were separated by a wall of rebars, snapped and sharpened from the collapse of the ceiling. Whatever Peter had done in the chaos as the roof had fallen, it had saved Tony from the worst of it and left the kid there instead.

"Peter?" he tried again.

There was a whined groan in response, followed by the rumbled grinding of concrete and the clatter of stone falling. It was hard to make out through the darkness, but the kid's head picked up at his call. He could barely distinguish his bloodied and dirtied face, only his swimming eyes broke out from the oppressive darkness.

"Mr...Mr. Stark?" Peter rasped, his voice croaky and strained. His eyes picked the mechanic out in the darkness, settling on him easily.

"Right here, kid," he responded. "Can you move?"

There was a scrabble and the sound of primitive rustling. Tony squinted harder, trying desperately to make out the kid. He could see the movement of limbs scraping against the floor and the flurried panic of a tired struggle. He expected it to die down after a few moments once the teenager realized he was trapped, but, if anything, the scraped movement only picked up in its furor.

And then there was the gasping of wheezed breaths.

"Kid, you gotta calm down." There was no response. "Peter--"

"Mr. Stark!! Please, please, please. I’m stuck, I’m stuck. I can’t move. I can’t..."

"I'm right here, kid. Right here," he tried to assure. "It's okay, kid. It's gonna be okay, you can relax."

Peter shook his head. "No. No, no, I should've--I've got these powers and I couldn't even...I can't even get us out... You were right about the suit, Mr. Stark."

Tony stared at the kid who was keeping his head down, shoulders slumped. He swallowed.

"Maybe I was." Peter flinched, head picking up to stare at him through the maze of rebars, eyes wet. "But you're more than a suit, Peter."

"No I'm not," Peter muttered. "I couldn't even take down the vulture guy with the suit, and I've been here for two days. I should've been able to escape."

"I was in Afghanistan for three months, in an admittedly pretty shitty situation, but with access to materials. Nobody would've expected you to get out from here, kid. I didn't." Peter glanced away from him. Tony dragged in a rugged breath, thinking back to everything horrible that Peter had told him before the ceiling had collapsed. "I said later, but now's as good a time as ever I guess. You're my soulmate. And I'm proud of that."

"But--"

"I don't want to hear any 'buts' on that. Not one. I have waited my entire life just to meet you, and I am not disappointed in the slightest. I never even thought of that as a possibility." A pause as he let that sink in. "You asked after the ferry why I cared. I think that's a ridiculous question, but I'll answer it now anyway: You're my soulmate. The little shadow I've been dreaming of meeting for fifteen years. And let me tell you, kid, dreams don't measure up to you.”

He could see glistening tears running down Peter's face, a confused expression scrunching up the boy's features. Piecing together a puzzle impossible to do alone.

"What's eating at you? Let me fix it." A moment of pure desperation. "Please."

There was a moment, a teary sniff, and then, "You said, "forever," and--I thought you didn't want to see me again."

Tony flinched, jostling the pain spiking his trapped legs. But whatever level the pain was, he deserved it for causing this good and kind kid. He forced out a harsh sigh.

"I...I didn't mean it. Not like that. Never like that, Peter. There is nothing you could've done that would have made me never want to see you again... What I said that day--I was scared. I was scared for all those people and I was scared for you." He took in a deep breath, unused to being this vulnerable. For just tearing down his walls like this. But Peter needed him. Peter needed Tony to be honest and open. "I was scared of losing you, and I freaked out and I didn't handle it great and...and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter."

"Not forever then?"

"No. Not forever." He tried for a smile. "I was going to call you tonight actually, to make sure we were still on for Friday. I didn't realize you'd put your phone in your mask. Or your other stuff. You're getting all of it back when we get out of here, by the way."

"How are we getting out of here?" Peter asked. "I can barely move."

Tony twisted as far as he could, squinting into the darkness. "We need some leverage. If I can get this off of me, I might be able to call for help. Oh, and stop Mr. Vulture from stealing my whole plane."

"What?"

"Later. Anything near you that could give us a good purchase on this shit?"

  ---

Peter searched around at Mr. Stark's request, looking desperately for something that might free the man. His lower half was trapped underneath a concrete slab, so he just needed something that could let him reach it. Maybe dislodge it a little so that they could hope his phone wasn't broken.

After a few seconds, Peter's eyes landed on the wall of broken rebars between him and Mr. Stark. There were a few long ones, easy enough for him to reach and long enough for Mr. Stark to use. He grunted, reaching out and gritting his teeth in pain as the concrete and metal clamped down around his ribs.

Mr. Stark turned to look at him from where he'd been searching in his area, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Peter finally wrapping a hand around a rusted rebar. With a grunt, a snap, and a tear, the skewered metal was free, the end he was holding slowly being covered in blood from where it had cut at his hand. But it was free.

"Here," he said, pushing it through the wall of rebar. Mr. Stark grabbed it immediately, pulling it over to his side.

"Good work, kid," the man complimented. Peter watched with sharp eyes through the dark as he twisted, jabbing the metal underneath the slab and heaving. Pushing the rebar back and forth, the concrete began to shift, wiggling backwards. After a few minutes, Mr. Stark was, well, he was still trapped, but he was allowed much better movement now.

The man dug into his now free pockets, pulling out a phone, grimacing, and then grabbing another phone. Another grimace. "Phones don't work. All broken."

"Nothing else in your bag of tricks?" Peter asked. Mr. Stark shook his head.

"I've got plenty of trackers on me, but there's nothing to do until someone realizes we're missing."

That you're missing, not me, Peter thought, but he didn't voice aloud. Instead, he stared down at the ground, wheezing in rattled and wet breaths. Vulture guy was going after the plane, filled to the brim with Avengers stuff and Mr. Stark's inventions and all sorts of dangerous weapons. The guy had built a business on scraps, the thought of what he could do with all of that other stuff was terrifying. And he couldn't let it happen.

Peter grit his teeth, sucking in a deep breath as he braced his shoulders, tensing them up against the concrete. It began to shift above him, grating and scraping and tearing at his still ringing ears. He couldn't help the pained grunt, but it was working. There was enough free space that he could twist his arms, shifting the weight.

He was aware of Mr. Stark staring at him, but only dimly, as he raised onto his knees and then his feet, flinching at every piece of concrete that crashed down around him. He bit down on every scream that tried to tear its way through his throat, but he couldn't completely keep them in. Short outbursts of pain escaped, but then the weight and the pain was gone. There was a deafening crash as it tumbled behind him, stirring up a cloud of dust and dirt so thick he couldn't see a thing as he dropped onto his knees, coughing violently.

"Kid?" Mr. Stark called.

Peter wheezed in a shaky breath, forcing himself back to his feet. "Here! I'm okay, Mr. Stark."

There was a relieved sigh as Peter jumped shakily over the pile of rubble, gripping onto the top and then dropping onto the ground right next to where Mr. Stark was still trapped. The man stared up at him, a proud smile on his face.

"That was impressive, kid. You did good."

Peter grabbed the concrete slab, lifting it easily. His ears burned at the praise.

"Thanks." He held out a hand, which Mr. Stark accepted, pulling the man up. He stumbled for a moment, a hand resting on Peter's shoulder for support. The teenager thought back to the fingers that had curled into his skin and left dark bruises and darker nightmares. But this hand was soft, strong and everything Mr. Fowler wasn't. Peter was okay. "Okay, let's go find the vulture guy. He can't have gotten too--"

Peter was cut off as Mr. Stark wrapped him in a hug. The teenager stood stiffly, confused as gentle arms bundled around him and Mr. Stark's head pressed against his own. After a hesitant moment, he raised his own arms and, after not knowing how long it had been since he'd had a hug, his arms grasped around Mr. Stark. Tight and tired and desperate. He closed his eyes.

Safe.

With a pat on his back, Mr. Stark let go.

"C'mon, let's get moving. We've got a plane to catch."

Peter followed his soulmate quickly, stumbling after the man and out of the broken rubble, his legs more than a little sore. "How? Aren't your armors on the plane?"

"They are, but they'll be good for something else other than fighting tonight."

Peter blinked, more than a little confused, but he followed Mr. Stark out of the building nevertheless. There was a sleek car waiting, still rumbling with the keys in and the door flung wide open. Mr. Stark slipped into the driver's seat and, after a moment of hesitation, Peter got in the shotgun.

"Hello, sir, glad to see you're still alive," greeted a cool voice. Peter flinched in surprise.

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, Fri, I need the plane's location right now."

"It is currently twenty minutes out from the compound on its projected course."

A screen popped up in the car, showing the path of the plane. Both the man and the teenager's brows furrowed, glancing at each other. That wasn't right.

"Okay, I want you to keep an eye on it and see if anything's tampered with it," Mr. Stark started, grabbing a pair of glasses from the glovebox and slipping them on. "And track Mark Forty-Nine while you're at it. Let's see where these bastards really are." A second dot appeared on the screen, veering off from the projected course of the plane. "Gotcha."

"But how are we going to get there?" Peter asked. Mr. Stark thought for a moment.

"Rhodey's got the only other suit right now, but he's in DC. And Vision's in Europe for a little honeymoon or whatever, so that just leaves us."

"A man with a heart condition and a teenager."

"A teenager who just lifted several thousand pounds while trapped. And my heart's fine, thank you," Mr. Stark countered. Peter gave him a look but it fell as he took in the man's expression, clearly warring with himself. Fear and apprehension and scary determination. After a moment, Mr. Stark sighed, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a familiar red fabric. It was placed on the console in between them. "You're our best bet right now, kid. Lives are going to be lost if we don't get that stuff back before they can start selling it."

Peter grabbed the scarlet mask hesitantly, glancing between the narrowed eyes and Mr. Stark. There was a shake in his hand, accompanied by murky brown eyes and the stench of overpowering beer. Of a hand on his shoulder and the horrible inability to fight back. The teenager shook away the memories flooding him as subtly as he could. He voice shook as he said, "I don't think I'm ready."

Mr. Stark fixed him with a steady stare. These brown eyes weren't murky, they were bright and strong. He didn't smell of rank beer, instead roasted coffee and faint motor oil. The lines on his face weren't fixed in anger and worn away by the harm he'd caused, but rather a comforting mix of laugh lines and memories of regret.

As if against his will, Peter was instantly soothed, his racing heart calming and his nerves quieting. Mr. Stark's words only amplified the safety that had cocooned the teenager ever since gentle arms had wrapped around him.

"We never are, kid. But the world doesn't wait." Peter ducked his head, brow furrowing and mouth frowning. Confusion and fear and doubt all warring and showing clearly on his face. At his silence, Mr. Stark added, "You can do it, Peter, I know you can. You're going to be the best of all of us one day."

Peter's face burned. His heart swelled. His resolve hardened. With a sharp nod, Peter gathered up the suit and hopped into the back of the car. It began to speed off immediately, but Peter stuck himself to the car floor easily, beginning to pull on the suit.

"How are we going to catch up?" he asked. A horn blared and Peter looked back to see someone honking at them as they cut them off.

"If they stay on their course, they'll be going over Jersey in ten."

"We can't make it to Jersey in ten."

"How fast can you swing to Jersey?"

"From here? Not fast enough."

Mr. Stark thought for a moment, eyes focused on the road. "Friday, are the drones still ready to be deployed from the compound?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get one over here, and then attach it to the plane's coordinates."

"Done."

Peter leaned up front, his mask pulled up over his hair. Mr. Stark glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "What's the drone for?"

"Much faster than a car," he answered. "Get on the hood, it'll take you to the plane in time. I'll try to catch up and keep under you, but right now, it's up to you."

The window rolled down for him. Peter glanced between Mr. Stark and the opening. He gave the man a smile, pulling the mask down. "I won't disappoint you, Mr. Stark."

"You never could, Peter-butter."

Peter, already out the window, peaked his head back in. "I'll be back with an embarrassing nickname for you. Just you wait."

"I don't doubt it."

  ---

The drone arrived quickly. Peter's spider sense picked up on it quickly, barreling in from behind him. He narrowed his eyes at it, unfurling from his crouch on the car. With a perfectly timed leap, he jumped off of the car's hood, attaching himself to the drone and holding on as it climbed higher. He swallowed nervously. Heights were kind of his thing, but flying and swinging were very different.

"Incoming call from Tony Stark," Karen said in his ear.

"Connect him," Peter said, nervously readjusting his grip on the drone. A closer look revealed it was the same model as the one that had helped piece the ferry back together. It was pretty cool, actually, able to contort itself to be just a little bigger for Peter to hold onto.

"Hey, kiddo. How's it hanging?"

"Do not joke about this, Mr. Stark."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights."

"I swing, I don't fly, Mr. Stark."

"Same difference," Mr. Stark said. Peter grumbled, immediately planning a time to swing the man around. He'd get his revenge one day. "Okay, the cameras on the plane are playing on a loop, so I can't see what's going on over there. You're going to go in blind."

"Okay, okay. Plan. We need a plan. Right?"

"I've got one. I'm gonna stay on the phone with you. When you get in, I'll walk you through resetting the plane's route and activating the Iron Man armors. They'll take it from there."

"Okay, okay, okay. Solid--solid plan."

"Eyes on the prize, kid. ETA in five minutes."

Peter nodded.

Five minutes came and went too quickly and too slowly. Either way, the teenager wasn't quite prepared when he broke through the clouds, the screen in his mask picking the reflective plane out of the air. He squinted at the strange lump poking out of it, realizing after a moment that it was the vulture's wings.

"I see the plane, Mr. Stark," Peter reported as the drone flew him closer. Once he was underneath, he let go, sticking himself to the plane and attaching a securing web just in front of him. The drone flew off, but he could still hear it buzzing around. "I don't see anyone, but the guy's wings are here. I think it's covering his entrance."

"Do you think you can move it?"

Peter crawled over the metal, getting on the other side and securing himself once more. He gave it a heavy kick. It moved, but not much. "I think so, yeah."

"Okay, get to working on that."

Spider-Man kicked again, pushing with all of his available strength at the metal encasing in front of him. A jolt of pain shot up his leg with every movement, but he didn't stop. He kicked and kicked and kicked until--

It moved.

Alarms rang inside the plane, and Peter couldn't help the way he flinched.

"Okay, so uh, it moved, but not enough and I think he knows," Peter reported.

"Are you sure?"

The wings opened, revealing a flash of bright green eyes that he only saw for a second before they were lost in the clouds.

"Uh, yeah. Yep. Pretty sure, Mr. Stark. Pretty sure." Peter glanced up at where the wings had been, disappointed to see no opening for him. He began to climb up the side to where the door should be. "Uh, his opening is gone."

"Can you still get in?"

The wind swept Peter back when he reached for the door, making him grunt in pain as his bruised back was slapped against the metal. He opened his mouth to answer when his senses spiked. He whipped his head around, letting out a yell of surprise as wings broke through the clouds. He shot out two webs on instinct, hitting the metal wings that he barely had time to dodge before they slashed through the metal just inches above his head. The vulture continued flying, pulling him and his web along. He shot another one at the plane, suspending him in air.

"What the hell was that?" Mr. Stark. Peter grunted.

The web snapped.

Peter was trapped in air for a fleeting second before he was shot through the air, the plane still moving ever forward. The jet whirred, angry metal teeth whirring to swallow him. He let out a raspy yell, his throat scratchy. He shot out his arms and shot what looked like half of his web fluid. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain. When there was nothing, he blinked his eyes open to see himself snugly caught in the stuffed propeller.

The propeller fell, and he barely managed to cling on. He reached out an arm, grabbing on and kicking the broken motor. It creaked out before falling through the clouds with a deafening whoosh. He slipped back into the circle where the motor had been.

"I can't believe that worked," he said with a relieved gasp. He began making his way onto the top of the plane so that he could try and reach the door again.

"What worked? What's happening?"

"I thought you had the Baby Monitor protocol," Peter snipped.

"You disabled it," Mr. Stark responded. "I put the suit in the box and didn't look at it. I'll fix it tomorrow."

"Great. Maybe change the name, though."

"No can do, Peter-butter."

Peter opened his mouth--to quip or groan he didn't really know--but any thought of snide remarks was washed away by the raising of his hairs and the pounding of his skull. The Vulture returned, shooting out of the clouds. Peter rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the sparked slashes left behind by the metal wings where he had been only a second before.

The wind swept him back as he struggled to get a grip, the whirring of another engine screaming danger behind him. He forced out his back leg and splayed out his hands, trying desperately to stick to the sparking plane. He looked underneath himself to glance at the jet, his head snapping back up at the scraping of metal as the Vulture returned once more.

A wing struck out, and, seeing no other escape, Peter let go. He managed to get a grip again by attaching a web, but the wing came for another slash, digging into the plane where he had been barely a moment before. It snapped the web, and the teenager was dragged back.

Peter flew up as the Vulture came for him once more, the wind carrying him. His senses spiked, but he managed to narrowly miss the jet, instead knocking against the side and flying back. He shot out another web, flailing out behind the dashing plane, the jet catching on fire and blowing a trail of harsh smoke into his face.

"Peter, you're dropping real fast. What's going on, bud?"

The teenager couldn't find it in himself to answer, his breath shot as the plane began to careen downwards. Peter pulled himself forward by his web, squinting his eyes and glaring over the rapidly disappearing clouds. A city was in view.

"Oh, my God."

Ignoring the Vulture digging into the plane and Mr. Stark's demanded question, Peter turned, shooting out a web and forcing himself to his feet. He pulled, letting out a harsh yell at the pulling on his arms, though it was washed out by the groaning of the wings as it turned.

"Please turn! Please turn!" he yelled.

The sparking plane began to tilt, carrying them over the city where it disappeared to be replaced by the twisting rides of Coney Island and the sand that stretched beside it.

The web snapped, whipping him into a tumble onto the plane's wing where he barely held on, curling himself into a tense ball on the flashing metal. There was no time for goodbyes or terrified thoughts or anything of regret. There was only approaching land and a tired fear in his choked throat.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

The plane crashed.

Sound left Peter. Reason and understanding left him too. All he was aware of was the pain as he was launched from the plane's snapped wing, rolling a million times over. The sand was hot against him, even through the suit, the high friction tearing and scratching at him through the suit. The heat tore at him, clawing at him worse than anything else.

Peter finally came to a rolled stop in the sand in the middle of dark plumes of smoke and the harsh brightness of red and orange flames. He was sure that the plane was sparking, the wind roaring, and the fire crackling, but there was nothing for him to hear except for the ringing. He was aware dully that Mr. Stark was speaking for him, but nothing made sense as he struggled for a coherent breath.

The teenager took in a gasping breath, forcing himself onto one of his elbows and tugging at his mask with shaky hands. He tore off the fabric covering his face, peeling it off of his sweat and and blood covered face, throwing it into the sand in pain. He stumbled back onto his elbows with the force of his rattling coughs. After a moment, he picked himself up by his arms and knees, finally forcing his stumbling and shaking feet into use, allowing him to stare around the turned up beach.

A tingle ran up his spine. He turned, squinting into the surrounding fire. Green eyes and sharp claws burst out of the sparks and plumes.

He gasped in rattled fear, the reality of the world returning in a loud rush of overwhelming sound and heat as the sharp metal claws clamped around him, pushing him back down into the sand. He let out an unwilling scream as the metal tips tore through his skin.

There was a whine and a whir as Peter was lifted into the air by his wounds. He struck out his hands, tugging at the metal claws until they let go. Peter dropped, grimacing as he turned in air to shoot a web, flinging himself back up and into the man's metal suit. The Vulture was forced to dip low as the teenager unbalanced him, but it left Peter unbalanced too.

The boy snapped against the loose sand, a pained mumble escaping his tired lips, blood tricking from them. The Vulture approached slowly, threateningly. A hooked feather extended, reaching forward and aiming towards his chest. Peter swallowed painfully, staring up at the man through the grit in his eyes and a fiery red lens, sure that this was it.

He could barely move, he could barely even talk. He wished he was at least wearing his mask, just so that he could say goodbye.

The feather jabbed forward. Peter flinched and closed his eyes.

There was a sharp, reverberating clang.

The pain never came.

  ---

Tony stood over Peter, a metal encased arm raised in front of him, a metal feather knocked against the Iron Man gauntlet reaching up to his elbow that he had barely managed to grab from the plane's rubble before rushing over. He glared at the Vulture hovering in front of him, the green eyes piercing. Behind him, he heard Peter mutter lowly, "Mr. Star'?"

"Mr. Stark," the Vulture echoed him mockingly, the metal feather still slashed against Tony's upheld arm. "I didn't know you care so much to put yourself in harm's way. Perhaps you're right. I don't know everything."

"No. You don't," Tony answered shortly, narrowing his eyes up at the man through his glasses. He glanced beyond the man at where boxes of his stuff sat idly in the fire, resisting the desperate urge to turn his head and look at the kid. "Now's your chance to run before anyone else shows up."

"How generous, Stark," the man said. "But I'm not leaving empty-handed."

"Then you're not leaving at all."

"Contrary to your usual position, I'm the one with the power now."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony challenged, taking a step forward. The man hovered back, just a little. But it was enough for Tony to confidently lie out of his ass. "Big talk for a man in a bird-suit. You think I didn't have a contingency for this? I have contingencies for my contingencies. A functional War Machine armor and a vibranium android are on their way right now. Three minutes. Your choice."

The feather withdrew from against his gauntlet, the Vulture hovering backwards. Tony held his bright green stare, a furious glare written harshly across all of his features. The man didn't turn away, instead glancing over Tony's head and raising his wings. He flew at Tony, forcing the mechanic to duck down to avoid the wings that sliced the air overhead.

He expected an attack, but nothing ever came. He turned to glare at the man, his eyes narrowing as he watched metal clamp down onto a leaking metal box, glowing arc reactors slipping out. He wanted to yell; to shout and run and defend the power sources only moments away from being stolen, but his shadow flashed underneath him, dragging the mechanic's eyes down to the kid trying to stumble back onto his knees, one arm clutched around his chest.

Tony let him go, dipping down low to kneel beside the kid. It was selfish, and he knew it. Those arc reactors could cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands, but Peter was infinitely more important to him.

Tony pat the kid's back even as he tried to stumble to his feet, murmuring reassuringly, "It's okay. Take a seat, kiddo, you did good."

Peter glanced at him from where he was staring at the Vulture, beginning to lift off into the air, flames trailing after him. There was a terrified stiffness to the kid. His voice was shaky as he said, "Mr. Stark--Mr. Stark, his wing suit. His wing suit's going to explode!"

Tony followed Peter's gaze to stare at the Vulture's wings. They were fizzing and sparking. His immediate thought was, good. He won't get away, but Peter was different. Peter was better. The kid flicked out a shaking hand, a white line streaking out from the metal on his wrist and attaching to the Vulture's suit.

Peter stood, Tony followed suit, unsure of what to do. He didn't have super strength, he couldn't exactly help, so he stood by the kid, a metal arm raised up in warning as the Vulture turned around, clearly confused by the resistance on his suit. Peter only pulled back tighter.

"Time to go home, Pete," the Vulture said.

"I’m trying to save you!" Peter yelled. Tony just glared, refusing to move a muscle as the Vulture raised a wing. He snapped through the web. Peter was flung backwards with the force, landing harshly in the sand. Tony startled, cursing and kneeling beside him as the kid tried desperately to shoot another web. He sent a terrified glance Tony's way as he realized that he was out of fluid.

Heads twisted to glance at the Vulture, the fizzing and sparking crescendoing. With a split second realization about what was going to happen, he forced Peter to the ground, guarding the kid from the heat that exploded behind them and grabbing his head protectively. Peter curled up underneath him, one hand clutching into his jacket desperately.

When the initial force was over, the two unfurled from one another, turning to stare at the crackling fire.

"No," Peter murmured. The teenager flinched and squirmed, rushing to his feet. Tony grabbed his arm.

"Kid," he breathed.

"Mr. Stark, I gotta--I gotta go get him."

"Peter--"

Their shadows stretched out from them, switched. A spindly thin teen reflecting a spindly thin teen and a ruffled and sharp man reflecting a ruffled and sharp man. The teenager tore his arm away, the shadows returned, and one terrified and regretful look was sent to Tony.

He ran.

"Peter!!" Tony yelled. The kid was already gone into the burning flames, and, without a moment of hesitation, Tony followed.

The fire scorched at him through his dark suit, licking and crackling at his skin. He hissed, forcing down pain and squinting through the smoke to make out Peter's red and blue suit. The kid was crouched down beside a heap of metal, a yell of pain escaping him as he touched it. Tony ran over, catching Peter by surprise as he turned up to look at him.

There was apprehension, and then there was understanding. A sliver of trust thrown his way.

Tony gave Peter a nod, digging his metal encased hand underneath the burning heap. Peter followed suit, forcing his own fingers underneath the sand. With equally heavy grunts, the metal lifted, revealing the soot covered body of the Vulture. No mask, no wings. Just a man.

Peter grabbed him, throwing the man over his shoulder fireman style. Together the two stumbled out of the fire. Peter dropped the coughing Vulture onto the sand, stepping a few feet forward before collapsing to the ground himself. Tony laid down beside the gasping kid, wheezing in rasped breaths himself.

Two heroes and a vulture, all collapsed on the sand, coughing smoke out of their lungs like lunatics. Tony didn't know whether to laugh or not. As if it would provide an answer, he turned to stare at the kid, catching Peter's eye, who turned to stare at him as well. Tony smiled. Peter followed suit tentatively, doe eyes swimming.

"I've got your nickname, Mr. Stark," Peter rasped. Tony huffed a laugh.

"Yeah? Lay it on me."

"MacaTony. Like--like macaroni?"

Tony laughed. Full on and hearty and completely disregarding the smoke choking his lungs. He didn't care as the coughs were mixed with his crazed giggles, resting his head back against the sand and staring up at the sky. After a moment, Peter's own laughs joined his, mixing with the crackles of pluming fire.

Their shadows stretched in the orange light, their own kind of happiness flickering in the dark silhouettes, like they knew that their souls had finally met. Finally understood.

Or maybe the goofy grin stretched across Tony's face was making him delirious with joy, but Peter's own bright and sooty grin was enough to make the world feel right even in the rubble of an invisible plane on a burning beach.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 8

@annabanannabeth here ya go!