#honest this is just giving me more excuses to draw messy hair

[pixlokita]

Reblogging this with fanart and a couple of random sketches 👌✨

Guess who did another art trade with @pixlokita? This one's about their Werebunny AU! Hope y'all enjoy!

Warning: 11k words

Jeremy cursed as he dropped the screwdriver. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me, buddy.”

He put pressure on the gushing stream of blood coming from his thumb muttering to himself about how dumb he was. Mangle’s ear flopped as they tilted their two heads in confusion.

“I’m okay, bud.” Jeremy tried to flash a smile, but the blood leaking down his wrist was too distracting. “Okay, I need to find a sink or something.”

Standing up made Jeremy dizzy, but he managed to get to a wall and lean against it as he made his way to the kitchen. “I could get fired for this, you know,” he remarked to the animatronic clinging to the ceiling above him as he walked. “We’re not supposed to tamper with the animatronics at all, and clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The beeping and static overhead did not give any indication that they felt anything in regard to his response.

Jeremy stumbled. “Whoa, I think I need to sit down for a second…” He slid down the wall as black spots danced across his vision.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before a heavy weight dropped into his lap and cold plastic pressed against the side of his face. “Augh! I’m okay, Mango! I’m fine!” Jeremy batted at the white plastic with both hands, smearing blood across their face.

“I, uh. I need to get up, bud.”

The mangled (and now bloody) fox animatronic tilted their two heads yet again, seeming to be unable to understand what Jeremy wanted.

“Can you…?” Jeremy tried to shift his weight beneath the pile of metal in his lap.

Mangle’s ears lifted, and they crept onto the floor, offering a paw to help Jeremy get up.

“Um, thanks buddy.” Jeremy still wasn’t sure why the animatronic was so fond of him, but he’d found himself returning the favor whenever possible. The company had long given up on repairing Mangle, but Jeremy wanted to help them look nice. Just like Ramona and Becky for me, he thought to himself.

Shaking away the fondness from the memory, Jeremy let his weight shift onto the animatronic. Static buzzed loudly out of Mangle’s voicebox, but they hardly bent under his weight. Jeremy decided that washing out the wound could wait until he was home. For now, he needed to clean up the mess he’d made in the pizzeria.

The wrapped bandage itched. Jeremy had wrapped a ton of gauze around his hand and refused to explain to anybody what had happened. At least, not in any detail.

Ramona had glanced at it with suspicion the last time they talked, but she never liked to pry. She told him that if he changed his bandage at her apartment, he wasn’t allowed to get blood everywhere. “It will stain the countertops,” Ramona said matter-of-factly.

So Jeremy had gotten away with no one saying anything. But the longer he left it, the more it itched and burned. He flicked through the cameras without really thinking about it, hardly remembering to wind the music box on time.

His hand burned, and when Jeremy got home from his shift, he ripped it free and turned the spigot on, running cold water over his scabby and swollen skin. Jeremy knew he probably should’ve gone to an actual doctor about his injury, but he figured that stitches couldn’t be too hard, and it seemed like the skin itself was healing fine.

Maybe he got an infection from the cut though. Jeremy wasn’t very good at remembering the medical advice Becky gave him, much less how to clean a cut properly. But the skin itself looked fine. There was something shimmery beneath it, which Jeremy could almost ignore if it didn’t make his skin burn so badly.

Jeremy’s dog whined at his feet, impatient for his morning meal. “Just a minute, Percy.” Jeremy tore the thread out of his injury, glad that the skin had started to seal itself back together.

He carefully rewrapped the injury, glad that the itching had gone away a little bit, at least. Jeremy kicked his shoes off and loosened his tie as he went over to fill Percy’s food bowl and check on the water level. “Doing good there, bud? I need a nap first, but I’ll walk you in a bit.”

Jeremy yawned, scratching at his head to loosen the pressure after he removed his ponytail. “Just… one… a quick nap…”

He stumbled forward, faceplanting into the floor as consciousness slipped away. Percy whined, nudging at his face and licking it as his spine started to bend and elongate, fur sprouting from his hands and curled claws burst from his fingertips.

Percy growled at the intrusion of the new characteristics, but he stuck by Jeremy’s side as his eyes rolled back and his ears melded back into the sides of his head to make room for longer, fluffier ears more equipped for a rabbit. And that was what Jeremy’s body was shifting into. He was growing larger, his clothes no longer enough to hold the mass of his entire body.

Jeremy’s claws lashed out at Percy, tearing the fur and skin of his dog. Percy whimpered, backing away to get out of his space as his nose wrinkled and twitched rapidly, taking in the surroundings in a new way. His ears folded back as a deeper growl vibrated in his throat.

Percy scurried away, not quickly enough as Jeremy bounded forward and sank his teeth into the poor dog’s back. Percy barked, a frightened noise as he tried to squirm free from Jeremy’s mouth. Jeremy gnawed for a few moments before releasing the dog, blood dripping down his fur.

Percy escaped and rushed into Jeremy’s bedroom, hiding under his owner’s blankets as he trembled.

Jeremy’s nose twitched again, nosing against his front door. Offended by the obstacle in his way, Jeremy’s claws dug deep into the hardwood, scratching a jagged hole in the floor and part of the door.

When Jeremy finally came to, his clothes were tattered and hanging off his body, and his mouth was full of blood. Dazed, he got to his feet and immediately winced as splinters dug into his bare skin. What happened? He blinked at his surroundings, startled to see claw marks in the furniture and the floor. Blood smeared across the floor by the couch, which was presumably where he’d taken his nap…

Had he ever laid down for the nap? Jeremy couldn’t recall, trying to remember and think about what could’ve possibly happened while he was asleep. He spat the blood out of his mouth, wiping at his mouth, only to realize that there was blood under his fingernails and all over his hands.

“Percy?” he called out tentatively, hating how gravelly his voice came out.

Surely nothing had happened to his dog, right? Jeremy cautiously stepped across the floor as he searched for his dog. The clumps of fur were not a promising sight as he looked around his house.

“Percy?” Jeremy tried to call out again, but his voice failed him.

He felt very ill, flicking the light on in his bathroom to stare at his very pale, bloodied face. Nothing ached or hurt, but he was absolutely covered in blood.

Jeremy splashed his face with water, scrubbing at the blood staining his face and hands, desperate to get the sight out of his head. Pieces of his uniform slid down his arms into the water of the sink.

What had even happened?

The shower afterward was completely necessary, and Jeremy felt feverish from everything that had happened. His memory was beginning to return, although he did not feel that he’d been in control for most of it, feeling defensive enough to lash out at Percy, who’d only been trying to help.

The bloodstained lump on his bed was something he pointedly made himself ignore when grabbing underwear and socks. He needed more time before he could try to deal with that.

Tears built up in his throat as he grabbed his spare uniform from the shelf by the door and made sure it was fully intact for his shift that night. At least there was something that hadn’t completely gone wrong.

I need a cup of coffee or something, Jeremy thought to himself, shuddering. But he did not feel comfortable enough to do much in his own home, not with reminders of his outburst everywhere.

He avoided his apartment for the better part of a week after that, knowing that it wasn’t healthy to cope by avoiding what happened, but he just couldn’t go back, knowing what he’d done to Percy.

By Wednesday’s shift, Jeremy was properly jittery as he clocked in for work and walked down to the office. The music box was fully wound, as Scott sat in the chair, patiently waiting for him with a friendly smile. “Hiya Jeremy!”

“You sticking around today?” Jeremy asked? He knew about Scott’s tendency to kind of just come in during shifts and stick around. Phil said it was because his own work was boring, and besides, Scott loved being helpful, despite being 7 years old.

“Yep! I’ll keep that nasty balloon boy away!” Scott chirped cheerfully.

“Well, that’s fantastic, buddy. Thanks for that.” Jeremy squatted down to squint at the camera screens, his typical habit to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

“Is your hand all better now?” Scott asked.

“Huh?” Jeremy glanced up from the cameras, momentarily distracted.

“Well, Dad said you’d done something to your hand, and we could all see the bandages you’d put over it. ‘Course, he said it was none of our business since you didn’t file any paperwork for it, but-“

“You just can’t keep your nose out of it, can you?” Jeremy shook his head, flipping through the cameras again to make sure the toys were in their places.

The familiar sound of Mangle creeping around in the vents was not as reassuring as it used to be. And Mangle didn’t really like the other employees either. Jeremy had no idea if Scott and Mangle got along even.

“Get your mask ready,” Jeremy said quietly, checking the vent light. Sure enough, Mangle peered into the room from the vent as he shoved the Freddy head over Scott’s head.

“I can do it myself!” Scott exclaimed, his voice muffled by the fabric. “Wait, where’s your mask?”

Jeremy crouched by the vent and reached a hand out to touch the cool plastic of Mangle’s mask. The animatronic fox let out a series of happy clicks, nudging harder into his hand before ducking away to presumably wander around the pizzeria some more.

“How did you not die?” Scott asked, tearing the Freddy head off to drop it back on the corner of the desk. He flipped through the cameras while waiting for an answer, stopping to wind the music box.

“Mangle likes me,” Jeremy shrugged, peering at the cameras over Scott’s head. “Looks like a quiet shift today.”

“Yeah, if Mangle counts as a quiet shift,” Scott muttered, dropping the monitor back to the desk. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” Jeremy replied.

“You night guards are so weird. My dad got all affectionate about Foxy, even though he had to pull out the stun gun for him. Masks don’t work on all of them, and my dad had to have all the affection for the one most likely to kill him.” Scott eyed Jeremy wearily. “Kind of like you, actually.”

“Thanks. Maybe Foxy wouldn’t have killed your dad, you know.” Jeremy glanced at the stage camera again. Toy Bonnie was noticeably absent, but there was nothing to worry about yet.

“He would’ve. He tried constantly.” Scott ducked under the desk, and Jeremy heard faint mechanical laughter before a loud clanging noise. Balloon Boy sprinted out of the room with one of the masks in his hand.

“Aw, you gotta be kidding,” Jeremy sighed as Scott stared after the animatronic. “If anything comes in here, you get the mask.”

“But it’s-“

“I’m the night guard, buddy.” Jeremy shook his head, flipping through the cameras. There. Toy Bonnie had slipped into a party room. “I gotta keep you safe, first and foremost.”

“They would never hurt a kid,” Scott muttered, staring into the hallway, hands clenched tightly around his flashlight.

“Don’t even think about going after him, Scott.” Jeremy wound the music box, not sparing a glance at the kid. “There’s too many factors out there, and you know exactly what Phil would say.”

“Yeah yeah.” Scott scowled. “He’s never taken a mask before.”

“First time for everything,” Jeremy sighed, rubbing his eyes. He’d been feeling more exhausted lately, but that was from nightmares. He really needed to get better sleep.

“Bonnie,” Scott whispered, dropping the flashlight to reach for the mask. His hands trembled, and Jeremy was reminded that Scott was still a little kid.

He heard the sound of Toy Bonnie crawling out of the vent, but instead of reaching for Jeremy, Toy Bonnie went for Scott, who hadn’t finished putting the mask on.

“Wait, hang on-“ Jeremy whacked the animatronic’s arm with the camera monitor in his hands. The animatronic didn’t spare him a glance as it pulled Scott across the desk by his shirt. “Leave him alone! Hey!” Jeremy’s yelling turned into a growl as his shirt ripped to allow room for him to grow larger and larger.

The animatronic rabbit twitched backward, seemingly surprised and maybe even a little afraid. However, Jeremy’s transformation did not seem to make Toy Bonnie more inclined to let Scott go. If anything, Toy Bonnie pulled the kid closer as he backed away from the desk.

Jeremy’s own ears flattened against his head as he vaulted over the desk to pry Scott free from the animatronic’s grasp. The sound of ripping fabric didn’t deter the giant golden rabbit. His focus fixed on what he saw as a danger, and his teeth broke through the cheap plastic easily, puncturing fluid containers and severing wires.

Toy Bonnie’s screech echoed, even as it abruptly cut off by Jeremy destroying the voicebox. Black shimmering liquid dripped down Jeremy’s maw as he stalked forward, whiskers twitching as he sensed more animatronics beginning to stir.

Scott got to his feet wearily, tugging his torn shirt back to its place. He silently pressed himself against the wall behind him, knowing better than to make any sudden moves as he placed the Bonnie head on the floor. It would do him no good to appear as a threat.

Scott’s decision to not look like the old purple rabbit seemed to prove right as an animatronic with torn fabric arms and exposed wires stalked his way into the hallway to investigate. His ears seemed to move much easier than Toy Bonnie’s as they swiveled to express fear, even without a proper face to do so.

Jeremy did not seem to recognize the distinction, growling at the new opponent in his space. Bonnie’s head tilted to the side before he turned to race down the hallway with heavy echoing steps. Jeremy bounded after him, much faster as his limbs were more natural, taking on extra power after Jeremy’s transition into a larger, more predatory form.

Bonnie spared no time in his own fearful screech, something that was answered with a deep, ominous growl. Scott, somehow still unafraid, followed the fighting rabbits to investigate.

The giant golden rabbit towered over the animatronic standing in his way, a similarly colored animatronic bear with no pupils. The bear’s ears wiggled as it set in place, a firm grip around Jeremy’s wrist to stop him from striking out with claws.

A pressure built up in the back of Scott’s head as images and unspoken words forced their way into his head. Based on the way the giant bunny was twitching and shaking his head, it appeared he wasn’t the only one. The angry bunny let out an outraged whine as he was tossed against a wall with seemingly no effort. The unspoken command lingered in the air as the rabbit dug into the tiles to launch himself toward the exit door.

The golden bear turned to Scott, who’d finally gained the sense of mind to realize that maybe the animatronic would turn on him. He gasped out a frightened breath before the barely tangible forms of two children roughly his age appeared in front of him. The girl tried to give him a reassuring smile as the boy stared down the hallway where the rabbit had disappeared. He picked up the night guard hat with what appeared to be disinterest, before crushing it into a tight ball.

“Bad rabbit,” he said softly.

The girl nodded. “We’ll keep you safe until 6 a.m., okay?”

Scott brightened at that. Nothing could hurt him now, especially with the animatronics seeming to avoid the back area he’d ended up in. Bonnie peered at him with red LEDs before slowly making his way back into the corridor, presumably to continue nosing around like the rabbit he was.

Ramona hated to be this nosy. She did. Really. But when Jeremy wasn’t around and missed their weekly coffee, she had the right to be suspicious. Especially after that pizzeria started asking for more help again. Night shift position. That was what Jeremy’s job was. Which meant the first step was seeing if he’d quit.

“Jeremy!” Ramona called, knocking harshly at his door.

When she got no answer, she started peering in the windows, looking for some indication that something had happened. The curtains were drawn, though, so she couldn’t see into the house. He’s lucky I keep a spare key, Ramona thought to herself as she let herself into the house.

“Jeremy?” Ramona called into the house, trying not to gasp at the ripped-up floorboards and tattered furniture. “Jer, are you home?”

Stepping over the destroyed floorboards, she peered at the bloodstained carpet, feeling a flicker of concern. “Jeremy?” She knew her voice was getting louder as she became more afraid of what had happened to her brother.

A whimper from Jeremy’s bedroom made her whirl around and rush to the room. “Percy?”

Jeremy’s dog had nestled underneath his blanket, soaking them so thoroughly with blood. It was Percy’s blood, she thought to herself, approaching her brother’s injured dog cautiously. “Hey, Percy. It’s okay. It’s me, remember? Auntie Mona?”

Percy whined again, blinking through the blood on his face.

“Alright,” Ramona took a deep breath. “Perce, how do you feel about coming to stay with me for a while? Looks like you might need it pretty badly.”

This was decidedly not a good sign.

It had to be raining every day this week, didn’t it? Michael glowered at the clouds, hating every moment of the weather that made his skin itch and burn. He couldn’t go outside, not for anything.

It was lucky Michael could even bear a shower anymore.

The bills on his table protested his refusal to go outside, of course. He’d already been fired from two jobs for refusing to work on days when it rained. He’d lost a few more interview opportunities for cancelling last minute because of the rain.

Mike’s eyes drifted back to the newspaper advertisement. Much as he hated to admit it, Freddy’s was probably the only job that would not care if he skipped a shift because of rain.

Still, he didn’t want to work at Freddy’s under any circumstances. Not after the… incident…

Michael ripped his gaze away from the newspaper, the memories already making him feel ill. The letter on the edge of his table sat untouched. He didn’t want to know what his father wanted either. He’d rather stand in a thunderstorm than see what his father needed from him this time.

That might be the only option, he thought duly, eyeing his overflowing trashcan. With a painful sigh, Michael yanked his raincoat from the rack and slung it across his shoulders. The hood pulled tight over his head, making his scalp burn. He retrieved his umbrella from behind the sofa (how had it gotten there?) before compacting the trash to make all of his garbage fit in the bag.

With only another moment of hesitation, Michael twisted the doorknob and stepped outside.

“Well, fancy that! Michael Schmidt out in the rain! I thought you were a witch or something with the way you avoided water!” Michael’s elderly neighbor called out, unphased by the rain like she always was.

“Good afternoon, Miss Wess,” Michael replied politely.

“I don’t know about good,” Miss Wess wrinkled her nose. “Poor Logan just can’t handle this type of weather. Kind of like you, actually.”

Michael forced a smile, glancing at the irritated cat at Mis Wess’ feet. His tail drooped as he glowered at the puddles on the sidewalk. “We can’t all be unbothered by the weather like you are, Miss Wess.”

“We’ve known each other long enough, dear. Call me Beverly.”

Michael didn’t reply after that, opting to walk toward the dumpster on the street corner, knowing she wouldn’t follow him.

“You know, a handsome man like you could find a woman easily! I’m sure she’d be more than happy to handle chores like going outside in the rain!” Miss Wess called cheerfully before heading back into her house for the sake of her poor cat.

Michael did not need a girlfriend. He did not want a girlfriend. He did not deserve to be loved, after all. That ship sailed a long time ago, he thought bitterly, shuddering as he felt his damp hair on his face.

The letter on the table mocked him as he threw his wet coat over a chair, water splashing on the surface of the paper. He ignored it, more concerned about tearing the damp shirt off his body, frantically rushing to grab a towel to dry his hair as well.

The shirt went in the sink as Michael sank to his knees sobbing into the towel. Maybe he should’ve just bit the bullet and opened the letter from his father, but now it was near impossible to even imagine it.

He glanced at the bills again with a pained groan later that night. He really needed to get a job.

It’s my own fault. I suppose Freddy’s would be the only place that would hire me at this point. With a very aggravated groan, Michael dialed the number on the newspaper clipping.

“Uh, hello? Hello, hello?” The voice at the other end seemed distracted and maybe even a little nervous. “You’ve, uh, reached Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. How may I help you today?”

“Hi, this is Michael. Urm. Michael Schmidt. I saw your ad in the newspaper? I was wondering if I could apply for the night guard position.”

“Oh, you were?” The guy chuckled a little. “Well, that, uh. That’d be great! When could you come in to interview?”

“Um…” Michael tried to think. “Do you know when the rain is supposed to stop?”

“Hmm, let’s see…” Michael heard some rustling noises as the guy on the other end of the phone presumably checked the forecast. “Well, it’s uh. It’s supposed to be done raining tomorrow afternoon. Will you be able to come in tomorrow?”

“Yes. Does three o’clock work?” Michael asked.

“Uh, sure! I’ll mark you down for three o’clock. I’ll also ask that you bring a copy of your resume, uh, a driver’s license or passport, and uh. No, that about covers it. You’ll be wanting to look for a guy called Lloyd. I’ll er, I’ll check to see that he’s in tomorrow, hang on.”

There were more rustling noises. “Yep! We’re in luck, he’ll be here. So you’ll want to come in and talk to Lloyd, and he’ll interview you for the job. Sound okay with you?”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” Michael found himself twisting the phone cord tightly around his finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow at three.”

“Nope! I actually don’t work that shift. But uh, I’ll see you some other time. If you get the job, that is.” He chuckled again. “I’ll uh, catch you on the flipside!”

“Goodbye-“ Michael started to say as the other man hung up on him. Weird.

Well, a job interview seemed promising enough. That was how it always sounded though. The trick was keeping the job, really.

Still, Michael had to at least keep this job through a paycheck or two. Maybe the rain would properly let up enough for him to keep the job long enough to pay off his bills.

The next morning, Michael woke up relieved to hear water dripping from the roof. There was no sound of rain pouring from the actual sky, just the leftovers from the day before. Slightly hopeful about how things were turning out, Michael went to brush his teeth and get prepared for the day.

“Someone’s energized today!” Miss Wess called when Michael went for a short walk that morning.

“No reason not to!” he called back. “The rain’s stopped.”

“You and Logan both seem pleased today.” Miss Wess shook her head, smiling slightly. “Michael dear, do you happen to have a bit of time this morning to come have a chat?”

“I suppose…” Michael considered it for a moment. “So long as it’s only during the morning, I think that’d be fine.”

“Great! Come right on in when you’re finished with your walk then.”

Odd… Michael shook his head, continuing his walk while he still felt the light joy in his chest.

When he got to Miss Wess’ house, she offered him a cup of tea. “Freshly brewed!”

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?” Miss Wess asked, sipping at her own cup of tea.

“No…?” Michael sat uncomfortably with his tea in hand. “Why?”

“Well, I’m going on a trip with my daughter next week, and I need someone to watch Logan here! He’d get so lonely without me here.”

Logan seemed disinclined to acknowledge Miss Wess’ words, instead choosing to jump onto Michael’s lap and startle him.

“Fancy that, he already likes you!” Miss Wess exclaimed as Logan put his front paws against Michael’s chest to sniff his face for a moment before licking it.

“Ah! I can see that.” Michael gently pushed Logan off of his lap. “So you want me to cat sit for you?”

“Only if you’re willing to. I can find someone else if you don’t want to, but I figured this would work out better! You live right next door, so all you’d need to do is come in and make sure he’s fed and has water. Oh, and you’ll need to walk him twice a day so he can stretch his legs properly. Logan loves to be outside.”

“Right…” Michael debated with himself for a moment before asking his next question. “How many days will you be gone?”

“Oh, from Sunday morning until Saturday morning. I should be back Saturday afternoon.” Miss Wess could clearly see that Michael was considering it. “And, it’s only fair that I pay you for your time, of course. I’d say $500 would cover the week, wouldn’t you?”

Michael blinked. That would more than easily cover his bills for the month. He’d have less to worry about with his new job if he already had the bills covered. “I suppose…”

“Or I could say $750?” Miss Wess offered.

“I don’t need that much,” Michael said quickly. “I can watch Logan for you. You said walk him twice a day?”

“Yes, and one of those times, I’d appreciate if you make sure his bowl is full.” Miss Wess seemed happier knowing that she’d sorted that out. “And if you’d like, I could introduce you to my daughter on Saturday when we get back.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Miss Wess.” Michael forced himself to take a sip of his tea in order to stop himself from scoffing at the stupid suggestion. She couldn’t possibly be trying to set him up with her daughter, surely?

“Alright, fine, fine. You’d like to take your own pick of the pack, that’s fine. But you will need to stop by anyway to return the key.” Miss Wess’ eyes twinkled as she finished up her tea.

Michael smiled thinly, feeling a bit hollow at the thought. He couldn’t bear to try to meet new people, to try to explain to them that he didn’t deserve their love, that he was a monster and a killer. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Wess.”

“I already told you to call me Beverly,” she scolded gently. “But you’re welcome here anytime, dear.”

Michael nodded, but he couldn’t bring himself to say much else. “I need to go…”

“Oh, that’s fine dear. Have a good day!” Beverly Wess watched Michael hurry to leave her house. “Oh, that poor man. He needs someone to comfort him.”

“Mrow?” Logan meowed, putting his paws on her knees, preparing to jump up.

“Yes, Logan. He needs some love in his life. I don’t know what happened to leave such a dark shadow over him, but he’s too lonely for his own good.” Beverly sighed, shaking her head. “Too sad for his own good too.”

Michael left early for his interview, knowing that he needed to make a good impression. Sure, they probably were going to hire him just because he was interested in the job, but maybe he wasn’t the only one interested in the job.

Taking a deep breath, he walked into the pizzeria, feeling the familiar scent wash over him and the familiar site greeting him. The animatronics were different, but that was the only thing that seemed to have changed. What appeared to be a Freddy and Chica model were performing onstage, and he could make out a mangled torso of another animatronic in the corner, surrounded by toddlers. Is that even safe? he wondered.

Shaking his head, he asked an employee where he could find Lloyd. They gestured toward a corridor where the light seemed to flicker. That wasn’t ominous at all, Michael thought, but he entered the hallway wearily.

The music felt more muted in the hallway, and Michael could see party rooms lining the corridor. Party room 2, he thought to himself, reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, you here for the night guard job?” A woman interrupted his thoughts, grabbing his arm to stop him from entering the party room.

“Uh, yeah?” Michael blinked, surprised as the woman yanked him away from the door and pulled him a ways down the hallway. “Hey, what are you-“

“Shut up.” She seemed to assess him. “What’s your name?”

“Michael? Michael Schmidt?” Was this some kind of extra test? To make sure the night guard was up for the position? Michael’s eyebrows scrunched, and he pulled his arm free. “Who are you?”

“Ramona Fitzgerald,” she answered, still assessing him. “Hmm… your clothes are shabby, although you did brush your teeth for this…” She stuck her hand in his hair, yanking him to her level. “Greasy hair though… Are you unemployed right now?”

“Yes?” Michael tried to flatten his hair. “Why are you grilling me?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here, Schimdt.” She frowned at him.

“Well, you’re interrupting my interview time, so we can talk later-“

“Shut up. I’m not done with you yet.” Ramona’s eyes narrowed. “Are you British?”

“I- I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Michael replied defensively. “What is your deal?”

“What’s your deal?” she shot back at him. “Mister distinguished, showing up in a shabby button-down with greasy hair to a job interview.”

“It’s Freddy Fazbear’s. You probably care more than they do.”

“What if they put you on day shift?” she kept going, undeterred by the fact that he was giving her good answers.

“Miss Fitzgerald!” A voice from down the hall called. “I thought I told you to quit interrogating my interview subjects.”

“I’ll stop when I’m dead,” Ramona muttered. “Where’s my brother, Lloyd?”

“Your brother is missing?” Michael asked, suddenly completely interested. “What happened?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here.” Ramona glowered at Lloyd. “Go to your stupid interview. I’ll be waiting.”

With that ominous message out of the way, Michael went back to where Lloyd was waiting for him.

“Sorry about her, Mister…?”

“Schimdt. Michael Schmidt.”

“Right. She’s been acting crazy since her brother went missing a few days ago. Seems to think we took him out to replace him.” Lloyd shook his head in disbelief. “Which is utterly ridiculous. Jeremy was an excellent night guard, and he got along with the animatronics better than most. None of that ‘the animatronics are haunted’ nonsense either. No, if we’d had a problem with Jeremy, we would’ve fired him.” Lloyd cleared his throat and started the interview.

Leaving the interview with more questions that he should not have wanted to investigate, Michael was given a pat on the back, a set of keys, and a uniform. Lloyd told him his next shift would be tomorrow night, starting at 12 a.m., which was shockingly early.

“You got the job then?” Ramona asked dryly, following him out.

“Were you standing outside for that entire interview?” Michael asked, somewhat glad that she’d actually stuck around. Maybe she’d have some of the answers he needed.

“Maybe.”

“When you said your brother went missing, I assumed that meant he was an younger brother,” Michael remarked.

“He-“ Ramona stopped herself. “He’s only a year older than me.”

“Yeah, but I thought he’d be like, five. Not twenty-two.”

“Details details,” Ramona replied dismissively. “I didn’t realize this got at you. Concerned about the kids, are you?”

“Someone should be,” Michael muttered.

“Then why aren’t you working a day shift?” Ramona asked.

“The position was for night shift. So I’m working night shift.”

“Yeah, but-“ Ramona paused, realizing that they were just continuing down the sidewalk. “Do you not even have a car?”

“No?” Michael blinked at her.

“Okay, no, we’re not doing this. Come here.”

“What-“

“I’m driving you home, this is ridiculous.”

“I don’t need-“

“GET IN THE CAR, MICHAEL.” Ramona’s tone left no room for negotiation.

“Yes ma’am,” Michael replied weakly.

He pointedly did not address the dog sleeping in the back seat of the car. The dog blinked sleepily as he got in, but Ramona cooed softly at him, telling him everything was fine and he could go back to sleep. The injuries on the dog’s face begged to be asked about, but Michael didn’t think he deserved the right to ask.

“So you wanted the night shift, or you’re just taking the night shift because that’s what they offered you?”

“I’m taking the night shift because I’d rather the night shift than the day shift. I’m not good with kids,” Michael replied stiffly. “Next question.”

“Why Freddy’s? Why now?”

“It’ll pay the bills.”

“Yeah, but why Freddy’s?”

“I’ve been in and out of jobs for a while…” Michael shifted uncomfortably.

“So you wouldn’t be able to get a job anywhere else.” Ramona spared him a glance as she drove. “You’re a mess, no offense.”

“I’m aware.” Michael stared out the window. “Why are you so determined to bug me about this stuff, by the way?”

“Because. You seem almost genuine, but I’m not entirely sure on your motives just yet.”

“Wow, thanks,” Michael said sarcastically, finally facing her. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to the stage of mostly unsuspicious in your books.”

“No need to be rude about it,” Ramona wrinkled her nose. “I just want to make sure my brother is okay.”

The dog in the back seat whined.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Percy. We’ll find him,” Ramona told the golden retriever.

“So, I’m guessing that’s your brother’s dog?” Michael asked wearily.

“He sure is. I went to Jer’s apartment to look for him first, but he wasn’t there. The whole place was trashed, and Percy looked like he’d been gnawed on by a big animal. Couldn’t find it anywhere though, so I have no idea what actually happened. So I went to ask Lloyd if he knew where my brother was and found him conducting interviews.”

“I figured I wasn’t the first interrogation,” Michael observed.

“You weren’t. The others wussed out and just left though.” Ramona shrugged, pulling into Michael’s driveway. “I guess I helped test the proper strength for that job. You know the place is haunted, right?”

“Those are just rumors,” Michael answered, digging for his keys in his pocket.

“Uh huh. No, with the chompers on the Toy Bonnie animatronic? For sure those things get out and attack people. I’d bet either he or one of the other freaks from that place attacked Percy. Which means they probably got my brother too.”

Ramona let Percy out of the car to follow them into the house, something Michael really wished she’d asked him for permission for first. But she seemed the type to just do whatever she wanted to, so he wasn’t too offended. It was honestly just as invasive as she’d been since he met her.

He swiped the bills and his untouched letter from his father off the table and put them away in a cupboard. Ramona raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “So, you think the animatronics attacked your brother?” he asked, hoping to distract from his rapid movement.

“Yeah… I think it’s kinda suspicious that Toy Bonnie was removed from the show. Apparently all three of them are typically onstage at the same time.”

“It did feel weird that Freddy was there without Bonnie today.” Michael shrugged, setting the bundle on the table. “But I don’t know that I believe that the animatronics are haunted.”

“How did they get into Jeremy’s house then?” Ramona countered. Percy seemed to agree with that as he paced around Michael’s kitchen.

“I don’t know! Burglars get into people’s houses all the time.”

“But they don’t chew on people’s pets.”

Michael’s mouth thinned. “Okay. Maybe the dog got hurt while they were on a walk or something and that’s why.”

“Jeremy would never mistreat his dog,” Ramona argued. “How dare you imply that.”

“I’m not implying anything!” Michael held his hands up in surrender.

“Mhm,” Ramona glowered at him. “Well, seeing as you seem invested in this, how about we team up? You help me find my brother, and I leave you alone with your questions answered. I get my brother back and you get to do your job in peace.”

“That doesn’t seem like an even trade-off,” Michael muttered.

“Oh, you want to play that game?” Ramona’s eyes flashed. “You really want to play that game with me, Michael Afton?”

Michael stiffened. “You-“

“I don’t know why you’re trying to lie about your legal name on job applications, but I bet they’d like to know that you’re not who you say you are. Especially since a ton of kids went missing a few years ago at this exact location.”

Michael’s mouth thinned. “You’re-“

“A bitch? Please, I’ve heard that from plenty of men before. You WILL help me, or your secret is out.”

They stared at each other, neither happy with the fact that they had to work together.

“Fine. What do you want from me?” Michael asked, resigned to this mess he’d gotten wrapped up in.

“Tell me about your night shifts. If anything weird happens, I want to know.”

“And if nothing weird happens? If there’s no sign of hauntings?”

Ramona rolled her eyes. “Well, you still have to help me find my brother. If it wasn’t the haunted animatronics, then it had to be something.”

Michael scowled. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stared at each other for another long moment before Ramona clicked her tongue and walked out, Percy following slowly behind her. He looked back at Michael and whined for a moment before hurrying after Ramona.

Michael rubbed his face. This was not going to be a pleasant experience, he could already feel it.

The week crawled by slowly. Michael got to a certain point where he just moved Logan’s food and water to his house and walked the cat after his shift each morning and then let the cat hang out and wander around his house. He’d stupidly bought a litterbox, but Miss Wess had paid him half before she’d left and was promising the second half after she got back, so it was fine.

Logan yawned, stretching across Michael’s torso.

“Oof!” Michael coiled in on himself as Logan launched himself off Michael’s stomach. “I thought I told you to quit that!” he scolded.

Logan just looked up at him before meowing.

“Nuisance,” Michael muttered. “I’ll feed you in a minute.”

Logan meowed at him again before slipping out of the room.

Sighing, Michael stretched before getting up. He’d given himself a few hours before his shift, just like he usually did, but most of his time came in the actual morning, which was when he’d typically call Ramona to give an update.

He glared at the stormy weather as he fed Logan, not happy that his shift was going to start with rain. He’d tried to get out of it, of course, but Phil, the guy who had the shift before him, had a child who’d gone to work with him. And Scott couldn’t stick around the pizzeria for a 12 hour shift, not when he had school in the morning.

So Michael had to go to work in the rain, something he hated much more than anything else he could imagine. He shoved his hat onto his head and double-checked his tie before giving Logan a thumbs up and walking out the door, his umbrella snapping open.

He’d long given up on being in a calm state of being before work, knowing that the animatronics were hunting him down (thanks for the late word of warning, Phil!) and wanted to kill him. There was no way he was going to be fine at the beginning of his shift.

Discarding the umbrella in the corner of the office, Michael took a deep breath, opening the cameras to wind the music box. Having the music playing loudly in his ears meant he did not hear the footsteps quickly approaching his room until his monitor was ripped from his hands by a golden hand.

Startled, Michael jerked back from the animatronic bear with a stuttered gasp. The combination of the water soaking through his clothes and into his skin and the very angry Fredbear standing before him was altogether too much.

Warmth seeped down his leg, making Michael dimly register that he’d wet himself. The animatronic didn’t leave him much chance to think about it though, as he was hefted out of his chair by his throat, leaving his feet scrambling for purchase on the table’s surface.

He choked out a breath as his hat tumbled from his hair and clattered to the desk, right next to the cracked camera screen. Feebly, he thought this is it, certain that he was finally earning his death for what he’d done to his brother four years ago.

Hot breath left Michael suffocating as the animatronic growled softly in his ear. “We’re taking back what we deserve.”

Michael closed his eyes, knowing that he deserved whatever the animatronic decided to do with him.

“Wait,” a soft voice echoed in his mind. “He’s not doing what he’s supposed to do. Why isn’t he begging?”

“He doesn’t have to beg. He just needs to die. We need to make sure it never happens again,” another voice argued. Her voice sounded harsher, more firm. “No more golden bunnies to hunt us. No more monsters to hurt or kill.”

Michael recognized one of the voices as his brother, but he couldn’t place the other. Weakly, he gasped out, “I don’t deserve to live anyway. Why would I beg?”

“Something’s wrong,” Evan whispered softly.

The tight grip around Michael’s throat loosened slightly.

The girl groaned, but she muttered something to herself before the animatronic completely let go of Michael. Pain flared up his whole leg as he collapsed back to the floor.

He groaned weakly, looking up to see two small children standing over him. Evan, he thought in a daze, trying to sit up. Michael wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned back against the desk, waiting for one of them to say something.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded.

“Michael.” He stared at her. “Who are you?”

“Unbelievable,” she scoffed. “Right. You made this mess, you clean it up.”

“Michael?” Evan echoed quietly, not seeming to hear the girl. “But… Michael’s dead…”

“No?” Michael’s eyebrows creased. “No, Evan, you were the one who died.”

“I know I’m dead!” Evan snapped. “Obviously! But I thought-“ He shook his head. “I guess I was wrong…” He reached out a hand tentatively, touching the side of Michael’s face. “You’re alive,” he said with wonder in his voice.

“Evan, you’re going to have to explain.” The girl crossed her arms. “I thought you said this was our killer.”

“I- Well, they look similar…” Evan looked sheepishly at the girl. “Sorry Cassidy.”

“Sorry Cassidy,” she repeated shaking her head. “Next time you get me all stirred up for something, it better be a golden rabbit, Afton.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evan tried to smile, but the girl had already vanished, just like the animatronic.

Faintly Michael realized he’d have to tell Ramona about all this. I guess she was right about the pizzeria being haunted, he thought grimly. “You weren’t entirely wrong, at least,” Michael told his brother. “I did kill you-“

“No.” Evan shook his head firmly. “It was an accident. You said you’d be better if I woke up. And I tried so hard, Mikey. I tried so hard. I almost succeeded.”

Michael’s throat dried up. “But you still died. And it was my fault-“

“Michael.” Evan interrupted him. “You did not kill me. You didn’t do it.”

“But-“

“Can you let me speak for two seconds?” Evan shook his head again, this time with a huff of impatience. “Father killed me. He took me off life support.”

“But… why would he… No, that can’t be-“

“I saw him do it,” Evan said faintly. “I heard him grumbling about how this whole mess was your fault, and it wouldn’t go away unless he handled it himself. He killed me, and I thought that meant he was going to kill you too.”

Michael slowly got to his feet, still a bit unsteady. “That’s crazy.”

“He killed a bunch of other kids. I thought it seemed plausible enough. He hates you, Mikey.”

“Great.” Michael huffed out a frustrated breath. “I… So, you don’t blame me?”

“I mean, you didn’t mean it, right? You didn’t try to kill me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why would I blame you?” Evan inquired, perching on the corner of Michael’s desk as he wound the music box.

“Because it was my fault?”

“It was an accident,” Evan insisted. “And you apologized over and over again, which is more than I can say for Father.”

“I don’t think you should forgive me.”

“That’s because you don’t forgive yourself.” Evan peered at the cameras. “Toy Freddy’s coming.”

“I know.” Michael shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “Are you trying to do my job for me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Evan scoffed, a smile forming on his own face. “You’d get yourself killed if I wasn’t here!”

“I was doing just fine until you tried to kill me!” Michael shot back.

“Liar, you wet yourself!” Evan jeered.

“No comment. Just let me do my job in piece, you crazy ghost.”

“No more crazy than you are for working a night shift here,” Evan muttered.

A thought suddenly occurred to Michael as he sat with his brother. The phrasing made him think of something Ramona said to him when they’d met. “Evan, did you know a guy named Jeremy Fitzgerald? He used to work the nightshift here before I did.”

“Yeah, he was friends with some of the animatronics, why?” Evan’s smile faded slightly.

“What happened to him?”

“I…” Evan hesitated. “I think he’s dead, Mike.”

“Dead? Why do you think he’s dead?”

“We had a break-in that night. And he was wearing a bunny costume. He dismantled Toy Bonnie, tried to kidnap a kid, and…” Evan paused. “Well, he took Jeremy’s hat. So I don’t think he stood a chance against that guy.”

“What got rid of the robber?” Michael asked, shoving the Freddy head over his ears as Toy Freddy strolled into the office.

Evan made a shooing motion, and the animatronic went away. “Cassidy scared him off, I think.”

“Fair enough.”

Their conversation mellowed out and turned into a continuing series of bickering back and forth, Michael narrowly missing death several times. The animatronics seemed unamused by the brotherly banter, but Michael didn’t care. Evan had never seemed this happy in life, and he was glad to have a chance to see him again, even if it was as a ghost.

Michael found himself humming cheerily as he walked home that morning, swinging the compacted umbrella around his wrist. The rain still made a trail down his back, but for once, he didn’t feel the thick blood gushing over his head and onto his shirt.

Logan meowed impatiently at him as he returned home. Michael rolled his eyes, hanging his hat by the door. “You’re so needy.”

Logan meowed again in response, uncaring of what Michael thought of him. Michael rubbed his face, and Logan leaned into the scratches. He smiled faintly at the cat. “Okay, okay, fine. You deserve food.”

Logan meowed reproachfully as Michael took his hand away to get his food ready. Logan jumped onto the counter, and Michael had to shove his face away. “Give me some space, you ridiculous cat.”

“Meow,” Logan replied, licking his hand as he waited very impatiently for his food.

Michael set the food back on the floor and walked away to go take a shower. I’ll walk him after, Michael thought to himself. He needed to change his clothes anyway, not to mention he needed to run his uniform through the wash.

Completely cleaned off with his clothes in the wash, Michael coaxed Logan over for his walk. Logan was not happy to go out into the rain. “Come on, buddy. Just one quick lap and then we can come back inside.”

Logan yowled at him in response, flattening himself against the house.

“Logan,” Michael said, tugging the harness gently. “We gotta do this really quick, and then you can go back inside-“

Logan wiggled free from his collar somehow, shooting across the street and in between some of the houses. Michael cursed, racing after him and stumbled as he went through the tall wet grass. “Logan!”

He lost track of the cat briefly before spotting him near a dumpster. “Logan, I swear-“ Michael cut himself off as a rustling noise came from within the dumpster.

Logan stiffened as well, flattening himself against the ground as he sniffed the air. Michael faintly heard growling and wondered if they’d run into a stray dog or something. The top of the dumpster stirred as golden fur peaked through, and for a brief moment Michael wondered if it was Percy, somehow having escaped Ramona to dig around in the trash.

The next moment changed his mind as giant clawed paws gripped the edge of the dumpster, and the head of the massive golden rabbit was visible. Huge ears flattened against the rabbit’s head as the rain started to soak into its fur.

“Logan, get back here, right now,” Michael whisper shouted to the cat at the base of the dumpster.

The cat replied by slipping underneath the dumpster, somewhere where the rabbit couldn’t get him.

“Um…” Michael trailed off as the rabbit’s eyes zeroed in on him. “Hi?”

The rabbit’s nose twitched slightly, and its head tilted slightly, almost human in its motions.

“You seem… lost?” Michael said, still uncertain about what he was saying. Somehow he hadn’t been eaten yet, and that was lucky in of itself.

The rabbit crept out of the dumpster, definitely towering over Michael. It came close, sniffing him. Michael had no idea how wild rabbits behaved, but suddenly he remembered what his brother had said about a rabbit in the pizzeria. Right. That had happened. Was it this rabbit maybe?

He stared at the chipped paint under the rabbit’s claws, wondering about the light blue coloring. And there was black inky stuff leaking down the rabbit’s mouth and across its chest a little bit.

Tentatively, Michael reached out a hand and stroked the rabbit’s nose. The nose twitched again before it butted aggressively against his hand, almost petting itself using his hand. Oh… it was just a stray bunny. A really big stray rabbit, but a sweet creature nonetheless.

Logan reappeared suddenly, meowing up at the rabbit. The bunny paid him no mind, too busy nuzzling against Michael’s hand to care much about the black cat. Logan meowed again, sounding more irritated.

“Right. Yeah, we gotta get back…” Michael stared forlornly up at the rabbit, a coil of fondness already tangling around him. “Do you… want to go with us?” He retracted his hand slowly, and a small squeak escaped the rabbit’s throat.

“Uh…” Michael picked up Logan, feeling his wet fur soaking through his shirt. “Follow me, I guess?”

The rabbit trailed behind him as he walked back, and Michael felt odd knowing that it had decided to trust him, but he’d already decided he didn’t care. If Logan wasn’t hissing at it, then it was probably fine… right?

Back home, Logan resumed eating, paying no more attention to the bunny who’d barely squeezed through the front door. Michael went to retrieve more towels, quickly returning to start cleaning what he assumed was motor oil from the rabbit’s face and then helping to dry it.

The rabbit nuzzled against his face, seeming happy with the results. Michael knew the fondness in his chest was not going to go away any time soon. He sighed to himself. How was he going to explain this to Ramona?

He’d presumably found the thing that had made her brother go missing, but he’d adopted it into his home, and it seemed harmless so far. In fact, it seemed to love him.

Teeth scraped against his neck, and Michael blinked. “Hey, no biting.”

The bunny tilted its head, jaw twitching slightly. Oh. It needed a chew toy. Glad he’d caught that before it turned deadly, Michael offered one of the dry towels up, bunching it up slightly to make it more firm.

The bunny gnawed at the towel, shredding bits of it off.

“You’re going to make me invest in chew toys, aren’t you?” Michael shook his head with a sigh. He yawned, unable to keep it in as he rubbed the rabbit’s belly.

His body swayed forward, and the fur was so soft, and Michael couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. Faintly, he registered the pause in the rabbit’s chewing as giant paws scooped him up to nestle him closer. Michael sighed as he was surrounded by fluffy warmth and couldn’t stop himself from falling asleep any longer.

The sound of a phone ringing jolted Jeremy from his sleep. It was loud, piercing through his head like a hammer. He buried his face in the other man’s shirt before registering what he was doing. Wait, what?

Jeremy sat up quickly, looking around. He was… on the floor. Okay. There was a man beside him, and they were both surrounded by towels. One of the towels looked awfully ratty, and Jeremy found himself wincing as he spat out a piece of fuzz. Right. Apparently, that had happened.

The next realization was that he was completely naked. Oh. Okay. Uhhhh… Panicked, Jeremy scanned the room looked for a bedroom of some kind. A door creaked, and Jeremy flinched, expecting someone else to be in the apartment. Instead his eyes landed on a small black cat. The cat blinked at him, tail rising as it went to go lick the other man’s face.

“Wait, don’t do that!” Jeremy whispered loudly. Panicked, he grabbed the cat who squirmed and meowed in his face. “Shhhhh!”

The man on the floor shifted slightly, muttering something in his sleep. Jeremy went rigid, the cat dangling in his arms as the man sighed deeply and relaxed again.

Jeremy looked at the cat again. “Do you know where the bedroom is?”

The cat meowed in irritation, squirming some more before swiping its claws across Jeremy’s arm.

“Ah! Fuck!” Jeremy swore loudly, dropping the cat with a heavy thud. “Shit,” he whispered as the guy beside him finally rolled over and opened his eyes. Jeremy grabbed a towel and covered the other man’s face.

“What the hell-“ The man tried to pull the towel away and caught Jeremy’s wrist. “Who the fuck-“

“Uhh, can you give me a second, please? I don’t know how I got here or anything, but I’d really appreciate a moment of privacy.” Jeremy blurted out, his face burning over the brief second he’d heard the other man speak. Shit, why’d he have to sound attractive too?

“Pardon?”

“I, uh. I appear to have no clothes. Like, at all. So, unless you want to see that, I would love if you gave me a second.”

“Where are you expecting to get clothes from then?” the other man replied seemingly fully awake now. “Just cover up with towels or something. I’m sure there’s a bloody pile of them on the floor right now. I’ll get you some clothes.”

“Ah, I guess that’s… yeah, okay…”

Jeremy relaxed his grip on the towel, quickly burying himself in the rest of the towels around him before giving the man the go ahead to uncover his eyes.

Bright blue eyes blinked wearily at him, taking in his long golden hair and trailed down his torso. “Hey…”

“Right, clothes, sorry.” He shook his head and got to his feet. “I had to see if you were my size, but sorry.”

Well, that was an excuse if Jeremy had ever heard one. Still, he’d let it pass because he was still gawking at the man as he walked away, entering the room that the cat had come from.

Jeremy wanted to scream. Of all places to randomly wake up after a few nights of being trapped as a monster, a hot guy’s house was not where he was expecting to wake up. And why had they been asleep together? Did the guy have a fetish or something? Oh god, he really hoped not. It’d be a shame if this attractive guy was some kind of creep or something. Jeremy both hated and loved the implications, but the cat didn’t seem to be staring at him too judgmentally, so surely nothing had really been happening.

“Here. I think these should fit, but I’ll give you a second.” The man was interrupted by the phone ringing again. “Uh, bathroom’s that way.” He gestured vaguely before going to answer the phone. “Shit, what do you want Ramona?”

After the initial daze of being handed a bunch of clothes, Jeremy froze at the name. “Ramona Fitzgerald?”

The other man shot him a look before returning to his phone call. “Yeah yeah, you nosy bitch. I do have things to report. Can you give me like, ten minutes? I’ll call you back.” The man pinched his nose and hung up the phone. “Okay, pretty boy. Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house? And why do you know Ramona Fitzgerald?”

“Um. That’s… Well…”

Blue eyes leveled an impatient look at him, and the man slowly approached him. “Well?”

“I’m uh. Ramona’s my sister…” Jeremy scratched his neck. “I.. I’m.. Well, my name is… I’m Jeremy Fitzgerald.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” The man stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Well-“

“No, no, just stop talking. Stop for a second.” A hand covered Jeremy’s mouth. “You’re really going to sit here and say that you’re Jeremy Fitzgerald after everything I’ve had to tolerate because of your sister? Do you have any idea how worried she is about you?”

Jeremy blinked. He couldn’t bring himself to move away from the hand covering his mouth.

“God, you would be a bloody idiot, wouldn’t you.” The man sighed. “Go get dressed. We can finish this conversation later.”

The cat meowed at that moment, too impatient to wait much longer.

“Yeah, I’ll get you some food, Logan, you fucking glutton.”

The cat shot him a look, meowing again.

“I’m getting to it!” The man stood up, clearly exasperated. “If you sit in my kitchen all morning instead of getting dressed, I will kick you out, with or without answers.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” Jeremy scrambled to his feet, still nervous about the man turning around again. He hesitated for a moment before bolting to the bathroom to try on the clothes.

His first impulse was to sink his fingers into the shirt, surprised by the soft, worn material. He had so many questions that were not appropriate to ask, so he pulled the shirt over his head before staring awkwardly at the boxers and pants. Shaking the thoughts free from his head, he hurriedly pulled on the rest of the clothes and exited the bathroom to see the other man nursing a cup of… coffee? Tea? Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure.

“Uh, hi again,” Jeremy said awkwardly.

The man raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to just stand there?”

“I was planning on it, yeah.”

“Sit.”

“Okay…” Jeremy perched tensely on the edge of a chair.

The man stared at him for a moment before muttering something to himself. “Jesus, can you calm down enough to be normal?”

“I… I mean, I really shouldn’t be here. I appreciate all the help and everything, but I don’t think me sticking around is a good idea-“

“Shut up for a minute, would you? Ramona is going to be here in 20 minutes. We’ll see if she thinks you are who you say you are.”

“Oh.” Jeremy stared down at the table, afraid of more questions.

“So. I’m Michael.” The man took a sip from his mug of whatever he’d been drinking.

“Okay.” That was a lovely name, Jeremy thought. It suited him too, and Jeremy couldn’t help but sweep his gaze across the man’s tired face and tangled brown hair. “You seem a bit exhausted there, Mike.”

“Michael,” he corrected, frowning slightly.

“Right. Sorry. You seem tired, Michael.”

“What did you do with the rabbit?” Michael said suddenly. “There was a rabbit here before.”

“Uh…” Jeremy pointedly looked away. “I think that should be a bit more obvious.”

“Evan said you were probably dead. The rabbit supposedly killed you.”

“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Jeremy answered bitterly. Flashes of the last few nights flickered across his mind. The cat seemed more afraid than Michael did. The soft gaze from his memories nearly made Jeremy melt. He wanted to find a way to earn that gaze again. Of all the times to have appeared as a rabbit.

Michael stared at him, seemingly waiting for him to say more. A knock at the door made him curse, and he got up to answer the door. “Fucking Ramona.”

Jeremy wanted to smile at the way Michael’s accent made his curse words sound. But he had a feeling that wouldn’t be appropriate.

“Let me see him,” the familiar demanding tone of his sister’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Mona?” Jeremy blurted out.

“Jerry?” Ramona shoved past Michael to walk into the room. “Oh, you’re okay!” She yanked him out of his chair and squeezed him in a tight hug.

“That’s my end of the deal upheld,” Michael said stiffly, closing the door.

Logan hissed, shooting between Michael’s legs to hide behind the man.

“You can get out of my house now,” he added, crossing his arms. “Ramona.”

“Oh, go to hell, Michael. I just found out that my brother is alive and unharmed, give me a minute to process before you be an ass.”

“Fucking hell,” Michael muttered, walking past them to enter the bathroom.

Jeremy tried to sputter out an apology, but Ramona was squeezing him so tightly he could barely squeak out a breath. “Mona, please let me breath.”

“Sorry.” Ramona released him from the hug, still holding both shoulders. “You’re okay? Nothing broken? Nothing bruised?”

“I’m just a bit hungry.”

Ramona’s eyes flashed at that. “You didn’t feed him?” she shouted at Michael.

“I haven’t bloody well eaten yet! Leave me alone woman!”

“It’s not Michael’s fault. Ramona, please calm down for a second.”

“His father’s a killer, Jeremy. The apple doesn’t tend to fall too far from the tree,” Ramona said quietly.

“Well, he was plenty nice to me. I think you just put him in a bad mood,” Jeremy said sheepishly.

“These aren’t your clothes,” Ramona noticed suddenly. “Oh, Jer, tell me you didn’t…”

“What?” Jeremy blinked, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Ramona, are you feeling okay?”

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Michael.”

Jeremy’s mouth fell open. He had no idea how to answer that question. “Ramona.”

“Did you or did you not?”

“I did not have sex with Michael!” Jeremy said a bit too loudly.

Michael scowled at the pair of them, holding his hand up in a rude gesture. “Get the hell out of my house.”

“Fuck you too,” Ramona shot back. “Come on, Jeremy. Let’s go.”

“What- Wait, Ramona, can’t you at least-“

“We’re leaving.”

Jeremy tried to shoot an apologetic look to Michael, but the man had already turned away to resume brushing his teeth. Great. So much for first impressions.

“You’re mean, you know that?” Jeremy said irritably as he dropped into the passenger seat.

[azzibuckets]

Paper Rings [Part 9/10 | Paige Bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige start to heal

word count: 1.5k

masterlist w/ all parts

It was 2 AM when you finally returned to the hotel room. You’d hung out with some of the girls until they announced that Paige was coming, and then you’d mumbled something about needing to finish up some work and went to a coffee shop. Once the baristas started giving you strange looks, you went to a nearby bar, nursing a Sprite and your feelings in the corner of the room.

You were wasting away time, hoping Paige would be sound asleep by the time you returned to the hotel room. You couldn’t force yourself to face her. It would be easier just to ignore everything and creep into the room in the wee hours of morning.

Except when you tiptoed into the room, Paige was sitting on the bed. There was a low murmur from the NBA game playing on the TV, and she was faced towards it, but the distant look in her eyes told you that she wasn’t paying any attention to it at all.

You swallowed, letting the door close. Paige lurched up and when her eyes fell on you, it was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “Where were you?” She scrambled off the bed, but didn’t make a move towards me. “I thought something happened.”

“I was just out,” you mumbled, tossing your purse on the counter and slumping on the armchair.

“You can’t just do that.” Paige’s chest heaved. She was close now, and you coud see the dark circles rimming her eyes. Her hair was in a messy ponytail but she looked as beautiful as ever. “You can’t just disappear and not tell anyone. I was calling the rest of the girls but no one was responding because they’re all asleep, and I was getting freaked out.”

A wave of guilt washed over you. To be honest, you hadn’t thought that Paige had cared enough to wonder about your whereabouts. But she’d stayed up, when she was usually in bed by 10, and she’d been worrying her mind over you.

“Are you okay?” Paige asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

You didn’t answer, resting your head on one of the pillows on the couch. “Listen, I know we agreed earlier to sleep on the bed, but if you’re still upset then I can take the ground. It’s really not a big deal,” she stammered out in a rush, looking down at her feet.

At this point, you were exhausted. The overwhelming noise of the bar had given you a pounding headache, and all you wanted to do was sleep. You stood up, slightly swaying, and Paige reached to steady you, but she stopped herself, drawing her hands back to her chest.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you finally responded. “It doesn’t matter, Paige. I’m really tired. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

She nodded, following you with careful eyes as you made your way to the bed. She turned off the lights and gingerly sat on the edge. “You sure?” she asked one more time.

You closed your eyes, slowly breathing out. “Paige.”

“Okay, okay.” She pulled the covers over her body and you both laid there, staring at the ceiling.

For what seemed like hours, you stayed like that, not even bothering to close your eyes. Despite your exhaustion, you couldn’t seem to fall asleep, and neither could Paige.

“Y/N?” She whispered. You clamped your mouth shut, wondering what she would say if she thought you were asleep. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be this close to you and can’t not explain myself. If you’re asleep then whatever, I guess this is practice, but if you’re awake, you don’t have to say anything if I can keep going but…” she trailed off, seeming to be gathering her thoughts.

“I know there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. The things I said. Every day I wake up and regret everything that happened.” She audibly swallowed. “But I need you to know that I didn’t say those things because I didn’t want you. Because fuck, I did. I do. I was just so scared. And I was a pussy, so instead of being mature and dealing it with it head on, I ran away.”

You didn’t know what to say yet, but you shifted your head against the pillow so Paige would know that you were listening.

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you. You were my best friend. You told me everything you wanted, how you wanted to settle down with someone nice and have kids and everything. And knowing who I was, how many other girls I’ve accidentally hurted, I didn’t trust myself to not hurt you too.” Her breaths were shaky now, and you could tell that she was doing that thing where she was trying not to cry. Your heart ached, and it took everything in you not to reach over and touch her.

“I woke up the next morning, and I felt like such a horrible person. That I’d taken advantage of you.” She was crying now, sobs racking her body. She sounded so wrecked, so hurt that when you closed your eyes, tears slipped down your cheeks too.

“I don’t even know how those words came out of me. None of it was true. I hope you know that. And I know I hurt you really bad. But I swear on my life that’s something I’ll try to never do again, if you’ll take me back.” You felt the bed shift as Paige wiped her eyes with her arm. “And I totally get it if you want nothing to do with me ever again. But I’m fucking selfish, and I want to be around you.”

You gasped, tears flowing freely now. The hole in your heart was widening, threatening to eat you alive. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you, telling you to roll around and assure her that everything would be okay.

“This past year has been hell. I miss getting ice cream with you and I miss seeing you at my basketball games and I miss seeing you hang out with Drew and being so good to him. I miss the way you laugh and the way you look in my clothes. I miss you.”

You sat upright. Paige sat up too, surprise in her eyes. The moonlight filtering in through the window was bright enough for you to just make out her features - the wrinkle in her forehead from the downturn of her eyebrows, the redness of her eyes and her lashes coated with wetness, the fullness of her lips, the slant of her jaw. How did she still manage to look so beautiful like this?

“Y/N?” she said softly.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips against hers. She gasped, before she laced her fingers through your hair, pulling you closer. You were on top of her now, straddling her lap, your legs wrapped around her waist.

After a few moments, she pushed you away. Her eyes were half lidden. “Wait,” she panted. “I don’t want to-,”

“You don’t want to what? Kiss me?” You said, peppering kisses down her jawline.

“Y/N, no. God,” she said. Her grip on your waist was tight, the veins in her neck flexing. “I want to, you know I do. But I don’t want this to end up with just sex and have it complicate things even further.”

You stopped kissing her, instead leaning your head into her neck, breathing in her familiar scent that you had missed all too much. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?” Paige leaned down, bringing you with her. You were lying half on top of her, and you were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but you didn’t want to suffocate her. “If I’m getting heavy, let me know and-”

“No, fuck. This is perfect,” she interrupted, reassuring you.

You tilted your head up to look at her, and her eyes softened. You realized that you’d started crying again when she brought her thumb up to wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

You buried your head back in the crook of her neck, allowing yourself to release all your worries and soak in her presence. She ran her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp in the same way she’s done so many times before. “You’re okay,” she murmured, soothing you to sleep.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Art deco

Artist!Natasha x Fem!reader

TW: smut, legal age gap, fluff, praise kink, degradation (slight), Top!Nat, Bottom!reader, Nat speaking russian, petnames

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors!

Word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

I was now living with Natasha Romanoff for nearly a year, and she was still a mystery to me. She was what you would call a real artist. She lived for her art, sometimes I felt like there was nothing more important to her than her art. Luckilyfor me she called me her art. I was her girl, the women she gifted her heart to, her masterpiece, her muse.

The first time we met was because she was searching for a female act model. Her payment was beyond decent, and I was a poor college student who had just hit her twenties. So, I signed up. To be honest I did not expect the artist for who I would be modelling to be so beautiful. Even beautiful wasn't a match for Natasha’s beauty. The first thing I noticed after she had first opened me the door to her big apartment was, how her green eyes were the perfect contrast to her fiery red hair.

She would draw me, touching my skin whenever she was rearranging my pose, I tried to hide my blush whenever she was touching me. But she noticed it, of course she did, she kissed me, and I didn't push her away like I thought would. No, I pulled her closer. I let her devourer me, touch me and fuck me. I should've felt bad, I shouldn't have told her to do the things to me, that she did.

The morning after I still didn't regret it. How could I regret her, when I loved the things, she would whisper to me in that night. When Natasha asked me to take me out a dinner, I said yes. 4 months later she asked me to be her girlfriend and 6 months later I moved in with her and for 5 months she was working on her so-called masterpiece. Something so great that it would overshadow even her most famous works and I wasn't allowed to see it.

I knock at her door "Natasha, you've been in there for twenty hours now. You need to eat something" I pause and sign "I miss you". After a few minutes she opens the door looking at me confused " TWENTY HOURS... lord I totally forgot the time" She strokes her short red hair. She hugs me pulling me closer to her kissing my forehead. "I'm nearly finished, моя любовь. I just need to add my finishing touch." Natasha grabs my cheeks gently stroking it, while making eye contact with me. "I need my muse in it."

I giggle at her words "First of all you need to eat something" I kiss her cheek softly "I made you Pelmeni and Morozhenoe for dessert" I can see her smiling at me while I grab her hand and take her to the kitchen "You're the best girlfriend I could ever imagine, but I would like something else for dessert you know" She smirks at me. "I love you too."

The dinner was more or less quiet from Natasha’s side she let me go on and on listening to me rant about my professors, exams I had do, or how exhausting it was to work at the local dinner. She would listen to me giving me advise sometimes she would even joke.

"Y/N" Natasha let out a sign "You don't need to work that much, I'm rich I can pay off your student loans. I would love to" She was right, somehow Natasha was always right. Maybe it was her age that made her so wise, or she just was an old soul. "I know, Natty, but I just want to have a small bit of independence."

"I just" she takes my hand in hers gently kissing it "I don't like to see you so sad моя любовь, but enough of that" She stands up taking my hand "I want to show you what I'm currently working on" smile at her walking after her following her into her gallery.

She opened the door me making me step into the large room. It had big windows with a high ceiling making the room appear warmer. Finished and half-finished paintings fill not only the Walls but also the ground. Natasha didn't seem like a messy person, but the room contradicted that statement.

"So, where is this, masterpiece" I ask she comes up right behind me kissing my neck "Right to your feet зайчик" I look down seeing the large canvases laying on the ground without the frame "Natasha, why is frame missing?" She laughs pulling the hem of my blouse out my pants before unbuttoning it "I bet you can figure that out with your pretty head дорогой."  She groans against my neck before turning me around for her lips to meet mine. 

She kisses me passionately and I kiss back with the same passion if not more. Our lips mat like puzzle pieces into each other, like they are meant to be together. Natasha keeps kissing me, pulling me impossibly closer to her. Licking over my lips, asking for permission to enter my mouth, which I didn’t let her have. She groans against my lips.

Her hand travels down my body unzipping my pants before tugging on it pulling off. Before she harshly grabs my ass, squeezing the soft flesh making me moan against her lips. Natasha using this opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. We don’t fight for long dominance, I let her have it because I know it would be a losing game.

She trails her kisses down my neck, sucking and biting on it forcing strangled moans from my mouth. “Natasha, please~ touch me” I can practically feel how she smirks against my skin “I am touching you зайчик“. If she keeps calling me nicknames in Russian and I’m going to melt on the spot. I whimper desperately making her smirk only grow wider. Her hands reach to my unhooking my bra pulling it off.

“Lay down for me, моя любовь“ She whispers in my ear biting down on my earlobe making me moan “On~ on the canvas?” I’m breathing heavily at the feeling of her hands kneeling my soft skin “Where else? Like I said, зайчик, I need the finishing touch of my muse”. After her words she keeps kissing my lips helping me lay down on the canvas. The paint under me is cold and in some places still wet.

 Her kisses trail my body down, stopping at my breaths. Taking one of my nipples in her mouth, sucking on it. “Fuck Natty” I moan out throwing. My other boob isn’t neglected, Natashas hand kneels it roughly. She kept sucking on my nipple before biting down making me release a pornographic moan. She keeps kissing and sucking on my skin leaving dark marks behind as if she would want to claim me. Show everyone that I was hers.

Slowly she lowers her kisses to my hips, kissing and nibbling on my skin. It feels like I can’t take her teasing anymore I want more and I want it now. “Natty, come on don’t tease me any longer” I whined out hoping I would make have mercy with me. But she just smiles against my skin “You truly are a slut, so desperate for more, while not thanking me for what I give you. I thought you were my good girl.”

 I can feel how my face reddens at her comment. “I am so sorry, Natty. Please, please fuck me. I’m going to be good so good for you!” She smirks against my skin, lifting my hips slightly to pull down my panties kissing and sucking dark marks onto my thighs. I try to keep my whimpers quiet but fail miserably. Natasha kisses my clit, flicking her tongue over the nob.

I let out desperate moans, grabbing her red hair pulling her closer to my heat. She groans at the slight pain she was feeling on her scalp. “Shit, Tasha, you’re so good” I moan out as she gives me the best pleasure I could imagine. As she moans at my words I feel it vibrating through my body. She pumps one finger inside of me curling and penetrating my hole. “More” I whimper not being able to form sentences in my state of pure pleasure.

She adds a second finger curling it against my g- spot, I scream out in pleasure repeating her name like a prayer. “Fuck Natasha I’m so close, so close” She smiles and fucks me harder. “Cum for me, зайчик“ I cum right after her words with a loud moan of her name. She climbs up my body again whispering sweat nothings in my high built down. My breathing gets calmer as Natasha pulls her fingers out.

“You are so good, so good for me Y/N” She taps her fingers against my legs signalling me to close my legs around her waist. She stands back up holding me in her arms. Natasha looks back down at the painting, that was now smudged in the bottom half from my body. She smiles at me and kisses my head.

“It’s perfect, зайчик“ She smiles at me “Now lets get you cleaned up”

"I love you"

"I love you too"

[misssakuramochi]

hi, i hope youre day is well? please remember to drink water and get some rest <33 feel free to answer this when you can ^^ sorry ahead if my english is not good, not my first language lol

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: pansexual (male preference)

zodiac sign: taurus sun, gemini moon, taurus rising

mbti: INFP

appearance: i am hispanic (mexicana) 5'4/165 with tan skin and dark brown or black eyes. i have short-meduim (to my lower neck) dark brown hair with bangs and it is straight but messy.

personality: depending on the sitatuion, i am more quiet or talkative. around talkative people, i don't really talk, letting them lead the conversation and just listening. around less talkative, i will ask them questions about themselves or talk about things now and then. i have a bad habit of being blunt with people, speaking straightforward and honest. despite that, i try very hard to be polite and genuine, offering help when i can and having patience, i do not get mad easily more so irritated or annoyed which leaves me quickly but i am very stubborn. i am observant and people watch alot, i like to notice little things like habits. i cry very easily but not because of my feelings being hurt? it is an automatic physical reflex, example if i bump into something or trip, my eyes will water and my nose will turn red. with close friends, i am sarcastic and i like to think witty :> but i worry about and think of them often.

likes: helping (it is nice to see others feel more at ease), cracking my fingers, back, neck, etc, cats and dragonflies (any animals but they are my favorite) taking care of others (i carry band-aid, extra water bottle and cough drops with me) knives (i have a little switchblade collection :D) rain/thunderstorms (it is very calming to me), reading/writing and drawing (i like romance/action/horror fiction best)

dislikes: idiocy/ignorance (not dumb people but people who don't try to understand or put in effort to understand), the cold (i get cold very easily and like to sit with a blanket on me) too much loudness (i flinch alot when things get 'too loud', feeling overwhelmed)

hobbies: reading, drawing, people watching, doing yoga/stretching or giving other people massages/cracking their backs/fingers, cooking (i like cooking because then i get to eat :D and no matter how bad it is, if i made it, i will eat/finish it 😔), organizing/cleaning things like my room or workspace love language: quality time and acts of service fun fact: i can read palms and i like to do tarot readings :D

i hope this was enough, thank you

I match you with....

SANJI

○ You and Sanji both have a good balance on socializing. Neither overly loud nor particularly quiet, you can just speak freely with Sanji. Feel like telling him something? He's an excellent listener. You never feel overshadowed. Conversely, if you feel like being quiet he's more than happy to babble on about how amazing you are to fill an awkward silence.

○ Your curious nature with people and tendency to ask questions really helps with Sanji. He can be closed off at the best of times, but how can he say no when a lady is asking to get to know him?? You're one of the few people who's taken the time, so you're one of the few people who Sanji genuinely opens up to.

○ That being said, Sanji was brought up to believe he's a bother. It takes your stubborn nature to get through to him that you want him to open up. It takes a lot of patience and again, a lot of stubbornness to get through to Sanji but you're the perfect person for the job

○ Acts of service you say? Sanji is here to provide. With the amount of things he just does for you, from chores you've been dreading to carrying your bag, you always feel loved. The fact that you actually reciprocate sends Sanji over the moon.

HEADCANONS

○ Sanji let's you practice your palmistry on him all the time. He not so secretly started this as an excuse to hold your hand (lmao), but now he just loves seeing you practice a craft you love

○ Cooking lesson dates! Sanji loves cooking for you, of course, and while he can be hesitant to share his kitchen you're his exception. Never will you have to suffer through a bad meal again even if he can't be around to make you your meals - he'll make sure of it. He's a strict teacher but he's also adorable and will kiss smudged chocolate off your face and give you constant rewards.

○ Sanji starts carrying around tissues in your favourite colour for if your eyes get watery. He hates seeing you genuinely cry, but secretly loves feeling useful when he can comfort you through the physical reflex if something minor happens. If anyone dares make unkind comment they WILL catch these legs.

○ Sanji forgets to take care of himself all the time. You very often have to remind him to drink water or take a break, and while he doesn't always listen unless you force him, he loves that you care enough to remind him.

--

Thank you friend! I hope this was worth the wait! Make sure to take care of yourself today too.

Ps. Your English is excellent! Don't even worry!

-mochi

[joaquinwhorres]

gazes (joaquín torres x reader)

SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716

WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied

A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.

The kid had no tact.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.

Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.

"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."

Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.

"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.

"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.

"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."

"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."

Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."

"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.

Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"

"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."

"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."

"He's staring at your ass again."

"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.

"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."

"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."

"He's definitely focused in...on--"

"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.

You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.

The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.

Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.

"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."

"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."

Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.

"You're an asshole."

"I'm right."

"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"

"So you know I'm right."

You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."

You were running early.

Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.

One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.

And that's where the luck stopped.

Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.

It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.

And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--

"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"

It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.

But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.

"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."

You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.

He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."

"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.

"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.

My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.

But never on Joaquin.

You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"

"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.

"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.

"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.

Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."

Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.

"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."

"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."

"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.

You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.

"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.

He was nothing if not predictable.

The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.

"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.

"So, what'd I interrupt?"

Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"

"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"

Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.

"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.

"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"

"Nah, it didn't feel right."

"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.

The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.

Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.

"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.

"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.

"I'll buy," he said.

Mothefucker.

This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.

"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.

"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.

"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."

He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."

"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"

"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.

Which was a first.

More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.

"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.

"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.

"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."

"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.

Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."

"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.

"If you can."

They did.

You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.

Until the music kicked up.

Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.

Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.

And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.

You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.

"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.

"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."

"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.

He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.

"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.

"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.

"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.

It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.

The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.

"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.

"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.

You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.

Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.

"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.

As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.

"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"

"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.

"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."

Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.

[devilyn]

i want to tell you i love you | tsukishima kei

— alexa, play: i won’t let you feel alone again by demxntia

Every single time that I lay my eyes on your face I'm falling for your body and your mind too Forget the past we can leave it all behind you I won't let you feel alone again I won't let you feel alone again, no

— synopsis: sometimes, tsukki wished he could be more honest with himself. because if he had honestly told you how he felt about you, he wouldn’t be standing outside your front door wondering how he should beg you for forgiveness right now. — genre: angst, happy ending, implications of nsfw, tsukki’s pride again. — word count: 1.8k

He wondered if he should even be here, standing outside your door without calling you beforehand. He knew you had to leave in 10 minutes if you wanted to make it to lecture in time, and he knew if you saw him your day would most likely be ruined.

Yet he didn't move from his spot by your front door.

Did you even want to see him? Chances were low. If anything, him being here was more likely to hurt you. But without thinking, his feet had brought him to your doorstep. Softly, he cursed and ran his hand through his hair.

He never knew what to do when it came to you and your undefined relationship.

"What are we?" you finally asked the other night with a softness in your eyes he never wanted to let go. 

"Nothing," is what he instinctively said to keep the walls around his heart up, but he felt it throb in his chest when he saw the way your expression fell. 

He hated labels. He hated defining things. It's why the two of you lasted so long. But it was only natural that you'd want some sort of definition of what was happening between the two of you.

If his high school teammates saw him now, most of them would probably be disappointed in the type of man he became. In fact, they'd yell at him to treat you better. So what was stopping him?

Pride. It was always his pride, and he hated it.

He nearly jumped in surprise when he heard your front door click and then swing open. You let out a similar noise of shock before finally looking up and meeting his golden eyes. Your haggard expression managed to become even more tired than before just at the sight of his face, and suddenly, he regretted coming.

"Why…?" you trailed off, knowing he knew what you meant.

"...needed to see you," he answered honestly, though he almost regretted that too when your brows furrowed and your expression darkened.

"I have class," you responded coldly, stepping outside the warm comforts of your apartment to brave the winter air. Tsukishima could see your breath, and the way you shuddered at the cool wind that blew by.

"M'not here for sex," he murmured and you scoffed, checking the time on your phone.

"Yeah, I figured that. You never come anytime before 9pm for sex," you tilted your head. "In fact, you never come before 9pm at all."

He felt like he was going to collapse, but his feet stayed rooted to the ground as he gazed down at you with an unreadable expression. Despite that, your hard expression softened into one he couldn't understand. He watched you glance at your phone again and curse under your breath. You would be late if you didn't leave now.

"Look, Kei," you stated quickly. "I need to go or I'll be late to class."

"You can miss one lecture."

You rolled your eyes and took a step forward in an attempt to slip past him. He wasn't sure how, but he managed to pull his feet from their spot by your front door to plant himself in front of you instead, blocking you from taking any more than three steps away from your doormat. Your expression morphed into one of displeasure once again.

"Kei," you spoke in a warning tone. "I'm going to be late."

"I want to talk--"

"You had your chance to talk last week," you interrupted, voice calm. "So move out of my way, or I'll block your number and you definitely won't be able to talk to me then."

"Either way, we know you're going to end up blocking my number after today anyway," he retorted with narrowed eyes, as you desperately looked for a way around his unnecessarily tall frame. "so let's talk now."

You scoffed and threw your hands into the air in defeat. Quickly, you whirled back around and forcefully unlocked your front door before yanking it open. Before stepping inside, you turn your head to glare at him.

"This is your last chance, Tsukishima Kei." 

He flashed you a bitter smile before following you inside your familiar apartment.

"Excuse the mess," you mumble, dropping your bag by the couch as you head into the kitchen to grab him a beverage.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click of the lock sealing his fate. How would he go about this? It's not like he came here with a plan. He had acted on emotion alone, and somehow ended up here. Yet, as you said, this was his last chance to be honest with himself, and with you.

"I hope water's fine. I don't have anything else," your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He watched you toss used tissues and napkins from the coffee table into the trash, briefly wiping it down with a wet towel before setting his beverage on top.

He took in your apartment for the first time during the daylight. It was uncharacteristically messy, with an emptied bag of chips tossed aside and a blanket and pillow laying haphazardly on your only couch. Your shoes were kicked to the side, and some clothes that he deemed as your pajamas were on the ground by the couch. As if you knew he was observing the sight, you hurriedly cleaned up the area.

"You don't need to clean," he said softly, though you made a soft noise that sounded like a snort. Clearly, you weren't going to listen to him.

"Sit," you told him as you made your way back to your bedroom to toss everything onto your bed to clean later. "And think thoroughly about what your excuse will be."

He did as you told him, taking a seat comfortably on your couch. He's spent an excessive amount of time here with you, usually with you perched in his lap with your lips against his. You always had this soft giggle he adored, and would try to draw out of you by kissing areas on your neck he knew were ticklish. He would rest his head on your lap after a long day of classes, volleyball practice, and generally dealing with others. You would run your hand through his hair absentmindedly while watching a show on your laptop, and he would gaze up at your focused expression with stars in his eyes. Then, his hand would reach up and pull you down for a kiss, which would eventually lead to more. 

There were many nights where he'd let you force him into washing the sheets because of the mess the two of you made, and you insisted it had to be a team effort because it was mostly his fault for initiating in the first place. Still, the sight of you writhing beneath him with red cheeks pleading for more always made the laundry day worth it. Plus, the bright smile you wore watching him reluctantly pull the sheets off your bed made him feel things he couldn't put into words.

"I love you," Tsukishima whispered softly to himself, as he heard the quiet pattering of your feet become louder with each step as you approached the common area. That was the lame excuse he had come up with.

You took the spot on the other side of the couch, turning so you could face him.

"So?" you tilted your head, fingers messing around with your phone as a distraction. "What's the excuse you came up with that was good enough to force me to skip class?"

He was silent, eyes taking in every inch of your face and the small changes that occurred over the span of the two days he hadn't seen you.

The bags under your eyes were new, along with your chapped lips and the sadness in your irises. His hand reached forward and he inched closer to you, leaning in to cup your cheek gently. Though you allowed the action, you stiffened and never tore your gaze from his. His golden-brown eyes flickered to your lips, thumb brushing over them slowly.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, eyes closing as he leaned in again to rest his forehead against yours.

"For what?" you inquired quietly. You were testing him, and he knew it. He deserved it, really.

"For saying you meant nothing to me when that obviously isn't true," Tsukishima still had his palm cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your supple skin as he sighed quietly. The two of you were silent for a bit before you spoke up again, your voice shaky.

"...what am I supposed to believe, Kei? That you really want to be around me for more than just sex, or are you cruel enough to lie to my face to keep me around as someone you can run to whenever you wanna fuck?"

"You're worth more than that," his voice was weak, and he suppressed his pride that scolded him for speaking his true feelings. "And I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't. I'm sorry that I disproved my actions with my words because I was scared of giving my heart to someone."

He finally opened his eyes, and his heart trembled at the sight of your teary expression.

"I can't forgive you so easily, you know," your fingers reached up to trace the outline of his jaw, and a pleased hum left his lips.

"I'll make it up to you, until you believe me," he placed his hand over yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing light kisses to your fingertips. Your gaze was soft, admiring the adoration in his eyes.

"I like you a lot," you whimpered weakly, and he couldn't help but smile. He leaned down to finally kiss you like he had been wanting to since he first saw you, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"I know," he mumbled against your lips, and you weakly smacked his shoulder to which he snickered.

"Do you like me…?" you asked quietly, voice even smaller than before, as if you were afraid of his answer.

"...yeah. A lot," he answered honestly, and his heart swelled up with joy at the sight of your teary smile. With a soft giggle that sounded like home to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of you to press your lips to his again.

One day, he'd be able to vocalize just how much he loved that laugh of yours. One day, he'd be able to tell you honestly just how much he loves you.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

~

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives. 

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

~

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

~

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

[escape-from-arcadia]

Ladies, gents, and everybody in- and un-between, let's make some noise for your favorite little punk rocker: Maggie Hartt!

This is Maggie Hartt.

She's 21 years old, demigirl (she/they). Oddly enough, Maggie is actually a nickname from a nickname for her chosen name (Madeline -> Maddie -> Maggie), but she's cool with any of the above names. She'll usually just introduce herself as Hartt.

Maggie is a little chaos gremlin. Upbeat and sociable, they're big on jokes and making people laugh. No one takes them seriously, which they're not as big on, but they figure that if they can at least get people happy and excited, that counts for something, right? That means they have a purpose- a meaning- a role to play? Right? They're more intelligent than people give them credit for.

They're in their own band (Heart x Beat!) where they're the drummer and composer. Their mom was also in her own band and their dad was a music teacher, so they grew up learning all sort of instruments, but they're a big fan of the drums and guitar. Drums give them a place to steady their beat and focus their energy. They also like it when they know people trust them to take them seriously and rely on them for keeping rhythm. To be honest, they just like the guitar because it give them an excuse to look cool.

Maggie 100% human, but both Douxie + Zoe+ Archie and the Wizard Council have had an eye on her for the sheer amount of feral wild witch energy she radiates. Then ADP learns that the magic energy she's got is from spending too much time with her girlfriend who's the actual witch :) My OC Selene (she/her) is her girlfriend. Maggie did once also date Zoe, but they decided they'd be better off friends; it was actually by dating Zoe that Maggie met Selene.

My personal hc to explain the next bit: Magic is not necessarily in blood; all people have an inherent ability to perform magic. Prolonged exposure increases the person's potential to perform magic. There are other factors that go into being able to perform magic and how well you use it (emotion, book studies/training, experience, experimentation, but that's my hc. And so, Mags has tried to perform magic before while dating Zoe, but things didn't end up really well. But Selene has seen a future where Maggie was involved in something magical so she and Zoe have been slowly trying to get them to focus their energy into magic. This meme actually is footage of Selene taking Maggie to see Zoe for their weekly lessons.

Appearance-wise, I wanted to give her a lot of angles and patterns in contrast to Selene, who is flowy and minimalistic for the most part. The bright colored hair was picked to contrast Zoe and Douxie's (and they'll jokingly insist it's 100% natural). They're the only one of my TOA OCs who has grown been in Arcadia their entire life. Out of some relatively normal character designs, I wanted them to embrace the fantastical and chaos that Arcadia is home to.

I don't think I can write anything for them at the moment because I'm going to be drowning in work until May, but I can draw some fun art with them interacting with TOA characters. I could write some flash fic or drabbles from time to time, but wooo!! Maggie!!

Organized short information template under the cut.

Basic Info

Full Name: Madeline Hartt

Nickname: Maggie, Maddie, Mags, Magpie, Carrotsticks

Age: 21

Gender/Pronouns: Demigirl (She/They)

Nationality: American

Profession: Drummer and composer for rock band, Heart x Beat!

Appearance (I experimented with this section and wrote it from the perspective of Zoe.)

A familiar face with bright green hair, streaked with orange and tied up in messy pigtails, walked though the shop door. Correction: they tumbled through the shop door, more whirlwind than person. Her amber eyes glinted with mischief as she bobbed towards the counter, bouncing her head to the music blaring over the speakers. Each step they took seemed to take them off the ground, as if they were a little weightless, unable to be controlled by the laws of physics.

She was only a little taller than me, dressed in a long-sleeved striped shirt, a cropped and sleeveless jean jacket layered on top, despite the heat outside. Their ripped black jeans jangled with the variety of key chains and charms tied around the belt loops. Their grin was so wide, it would more be actually described as 'a showing of teeth.' "'Sup Zo!"

-

Personality

Maggie is a little chaos gremlin. They're honest and have a tendency to just say things as they come to mind. She's incredibly upbeat, energetic, and sociable. They live to make people smile and be happy by telling jokes (and pulling pranks). Very few people take her seriously, thinking that it's impossible for Maggie to be calm and serious, but she's more intelligent than people give her credit for. They work hard to reach their goals, especially when they know people are counting on them or that their actions can help others. They have a funky need to feel needed and like they're making a contribution, a side-effect of people not taking them seriously (and often cruelly telling them that).

Likes: Video games, bright lights and colors, music, visiting the aquarium

Dislikes: The countryside, walking home alone at night, not being taken seriously

Strengths: Tiny but strong, strong affinity for magic, honest, sociable

Weaknesses: Reckless, maybe a little bit too feral, need to feel depended on, self-esteem issues.

-

Family: Addison (mother), Markus (father), Sam (sister)

Friends: Selene Acies, Zoe Ashildr, Hisirdoux Casperan, Claire Nuñez, Toby Domzalski, Krel Tarron, Cayden Tran, Raizri, Zelos

-

Misc

Other info:

Maggie is a lesbian.

She tends to tap her fingers or feet

When they're anxious, they bite their nails

She's the only one of my OCs to have been born and raised in Arcadia Oaks

Their nails are painted in alternating green, orange, and black

She's big on knocking on surfaces around her (walls, countertops, railings)

They graduated with a BA in Sound Design and BFA in Music Performance from Arcadia University (I made that place up. I made that up just now).

She'd 100% be a gnome bard in a DND campaign.

The more I think about it, the more I realize they're probably neurodivergent.

Their Story: Living life to its fullest, embracing chaos, giving yourself credit where credit is due, and learning to love yourself.

-

How They Fit in the TOA-Verse

Usually I'd include the character's backstory, but since she's so new, I don't have one fully constructed for Maggie yet. But I do have some ideas as to how they fit into my gang of TOA OCs

There's an entire plot going on with my TOA OCs where they go through their own journey that is concurrent with the events of TOA, so to show Maggie's role, I'll give this quick run-through of all of my OCs:

Cayden Tran (they/them): A cryptid investigator who has a small rivalry with Eli (at least that's what Eli thinks). They're the one who meets all of the other characters and unite them together, acting a bit like Arcadia Oaks' secret keeper.

Alaraizrilados/Raizri (she/her): A troll who has lived a very sheltered life but yearns to explore (very 'Little Mermaid-). She explores Arcadia a lot a night to gather ingredients for her business of making magical herbal medicines for trolls. But things go awry one night when she finds a mysterious plant, and whoops now this troll looks like a human and needs to find a way to turn back into a troll before people mistake her for a changeling, even though she's been nothing but nice her entire life. :) She's the healer/therapist of the group.

Zelos (He/They/It): A Blank-bot turned assassin, who was originally took orders from a bounty hunter group out to capture the Tarrons. His ship crash landed and his wires got a little fried. Now they're trying to find purpose without taking orders and become their own person, discovering their identity while debating on whether or not they should capture the Tarrons. It's the most trained fighter of the group and the most left-brain leaning on, despite not having a brain...

Selene Acies (she/her): A divination and cosmic witch born in the late Victorian-era. She's met Zoe when she was a kid and met her and Douxie again in the 1920s. She's obsessed with the stars and gets random prophecies. Some are helpful, other are not, but all are true. She does get one about the end of the world and how to stop it! That's neat! :D Selene is the most trained in magic (though not really for combat) and is the future-seer of the group.

Maggie Hartt (she/they): A normal human who shouldn't have any business being involved in magical matters, but gets roped in after dating Zoe and then Selene. They bring wildcard energy to the group and tries to make everyone feel less sad (because honestly Maggie is the least fucked up after Raizri out of all of my OCs, which is saying something).

If you read this far, props to you. Have a cookie. Thanks for listening to me ramble about an OC I made at 2am. Also, yes, I did not proof read this post before posting.

[sevlgi]

you were beautiful

requested: no

group: stray kids

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: amnesia!au, dancer!minho, receptionist!reader who can’t remember him

warnings: mentions of an accident

synopsis: There isn’t much you remember from your old life, but you know someone is missing. When he comes to find you, you have to decide how many memories of the past are worth bringing back.

a/n: lmao please give my fic a chance, i promise it’s worth a read

word count: 7.5k

Deja vu. 

For the longest time, Minho hadn’t understood what the word really meant despite all of Seungmin’s attempts to explain the concept to him. He just didn’t know how something could be so familiar and yet foreign at the same time, could feel like the past despite being the present, and he definitely didn’t believe that he’d ever be able to feel it for himself.

But on a sunny Monday afternoon, being dragged to the hospital by Felix, Minho understands. He feels, and he stumbles onto his friends in front of him.

“Minho hyung, are you okay?” Changbin asks, seeing the look on the dancer’s face. He absolutely would be pushing him back, if it wasn’t for the stricken expression that currently resides on Minho’s face “Hyung?”

“It’s her,” Minho breathes out, his eyes scanning the front of the hospital for the all-too-familiar smile that he’s sure he saw. Felix exchanges a glance with Chan behind his back as Minho bounds up the stairs, panting from the exertion it took to sprint across the courtyard. “It’s Y/N, I know it is--”

Felix frowns, “Y/N? Which one? I know there’s a receptionist working here who’s named Y/N, but...”

“No, you don’t understand,” Minho interrupts, whirling back to face the 3 others. If Jisung or Seungmin were there, Minho would’ve already been ripped to shreds, but Chan, Felix, and Changbin only stare at him worriedly. “My Y/N.”

It clicks in his friends’ minds, and Changbin surges forward to yank the hospital doors open. “It can’t be,” Chan insists, though he follows the other 3 inside. “Minho, Y/N broke up with you and said she was moving to England 2 years ago.”

Shaking his head, Felix sighs, “Okay, wait. Hyung, we have to go see Jisung, the others are waiting there for us. I promise we can go and look later, okay?”

Minho opens his mouth to protest, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. Hyunjin, probably, calling to make sure that they’re on their way to comfort Jisung about his broken leg. And Minho has never hated the squirrel-cheeked boy more as he sighs and nods, following the others to the reception desk that Felix claims is two halls down.

Of course, it isn’t. “I’m sorry,” the blonde boy sighs and takes his phone out. “I’ll call-- my friend. Hang on.”

He talks lowly over the phone, and Minho has to bite down, hard, on his own lip just to keep himself from running down the hall again. But soon enough, he hears Felix laughing, exchanging hello’s with someone, and he has to turn.

As soon as he does, the thing that he assumes to be deja vu hits him again, and Minho clutches his hand to his stomach. It’s you, in the flesh-- after all, no one would be able to replicate your smile so perfectly, and no one could possibly be able to mimic a face as perfect as yours. Your hair’s different than he remembers, but it’s been years, and--

“Hi. I’m Y/N,” you introduce yourself, shaking hands with Chan and Changbin before holding your hand out to him. “I’m Felix’s friend, the receptionist.”

“Uh,” Minho manages. Something about the look on his friends’ faces tells him no, that it isn’t the right time, but he can’t exactly stop himself. “Y/N, it’s me. Minho.”

Your smile is confused now, and your hand falters in the air. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Have we met?”

He frowns, stepping slightly forward, though not enough to alarm you. Felix looks panicked behind you, but he’s frozen in place as Minho says, “Don’t- don’t lie to me. Y/N--”

“I’m sorry,” Chan cuts in, stepping between you and Minho. “He... he had an ex, uh, with the same name. I guess you guys look alike too.”

You still look concerned, but you pass it off with a smile and a laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. Same name, same face? If she wasn’t your ex, I’d like to meet her.”

Changbin laughs for him, tugging Minho forward. “Yeah, it’s really funny. Uh, what room is Jisung in?”

With the prompt, you turn back to Felix and affectionately punch him in the arm before leading the way. Minho’s stomach twists with jealousy; after all, there’s no way two people who look and sound the exact same exist, especially with the same name, and he can’t shake the thought that you are the one he’s been trying to forget. But you make your way to Jisung’s room soon enough, and open the door for the 4 boys. “Here you are. Come get me if you need anything,” you smile, your eyes lingering on Minho for just a second before you leave. Maybe he imagines it.

“Yo, hyungs and Felix!”

Jisung shouts loud enough to distract Minho, and he turns to find the hospital room filled with his friends. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin are crowded onto one tiny sofa, while Changbin has started to annoy them. Felix and Chan crouch by Jisung’s side while he waves and grins at Minho. “You see what Hyunjin has done to me?”

“I did not,” the long-haired boy protests, a tangle of long limbs under Jeongin, who’s basically treating him as part of the couch. “You tried that stupid trick after Seungmin dared you, it’s not my fault.”

“Shut up, both of you, and hand me a pen,” Minho grumbles, sinking to a side beside Jisung’s elevated leg. To be honest, he wants some excuse to see you at the desk again, to listen to your voice and compare it to the one always echoing in his head, but he distracts himself. “I’m drawing a dick and you can’t stop me.”

“Chan hyung,” Jisung whines while he tries to kick Minho away with his good leg. The cast is bright pink, to Minho’s amusement, and it picks up the black of his marker well. “Minho hyung, I’ll never forgive you if you make me walk around with a dick on my leg.”

Minho snickers, “You can’t exactly walk.”

Chan sighs and shoves Minho, though it’s light. “Come on, stop bullying him.”

“I have to go to physical therapy, too,” Jisung pouts. “You’ll embarrass me.”

“Oh yeah?” Despite all his bravado, Minho just signs his name near Jisung’s ankle, as messy and large as he can make it. “For how long?”

“We don’t know yet,” Jeongin speaks up. “Y/N’s going to come in and tell us, but I really want to go out and ask her.”

Excitement courses through Minho, and he stands up, the pen clattering to the linoleum floor besides his feet. “I can do it. I remember where the reception desk is.”

Felix looks concerned and he asks, “Are you sure you can... handle it? Hyung, I’m friends with Y/N, maybe I should go.”

Minho waves their concerns off, Seungmin leaning in to ask Changbin what happened outside. “I won’t embarrass you, Lix, at least not terribly. I’ll get Hannie’s results, and then I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he’s out of room 914, the warmth and light inside escapes, and the smell of alcohol burns Minho’s nose. In all his excitement, he had forgotten how much he hates hospitals, hates the way everyone inside only looks one step closer to death. But he peeks around a corner to where he remembers your desk to be and arranges a polite smile on his face as he approaches you. “Y/N?”

“That’s me, how may I--” You pause when you swivel around to him, but the smile reappears soon enough. “Minho, right? You’re done visiting Jisung this quickly?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckles. “Uh, I just heard from the others that they’re still waiting for his results? About how long he has to do physical therapy and stay here?”

You nod at that and pull your keyboard towards you. Gods, you’re so familiar-- the way your tongue pokes into your cheek as you type, the way you narrow your eyes despite being able to see the screen. Minho hates how much he remembers about you. It has to be you, he convinces himself, whether you’re lying about knowing him or not. “Ah. Well, hang on, the system’s a bit slow,” you chuckle.

“That’s okay,” Minho shrugs. It’s actually exactly what he wants-- time, for him to ask a few simple, nonimposing questions. “So, uh, when did you start working here? I’ve been here a couple times, never saw you.”

“I actually only transferred here last month,” you answer with a smile. “I used to work at the hospital downtown, Lixie met me there.”

“Lixie, huh?” Minho attempts at a smile, but you don’t know him well enough to see that it’s fake. “That’s cute. You guys are close? Did you help him there or something?”

You shake your head, typing something into the computer despite the loading screen. “No, actually, I was a patient at the time. I had amnesia,” you sigh, tapping your fingers on your chin. 

Minho raises his eyebrows. His heartbeat is quickening-- depending on when you had amnesia, it’s a possible explanation for whatever’s happening. “Amnesia. That’s tough. Uh, how’d you get it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” you smile, turning back to him. “It was about two years ago, I think. I got in a car crash, but I got lucky. My cousin was with me, so the doctors knew my name and all my essential information. It would’ve been a lot worse if I didn’t know who I was, you know?”

He opens his mouth to ask another question, but he feels an arm slide around his neck. It’s Hyunjin, apparently escaped from the confines of Jisung’s tiny room. “Hi, Y/N,” he greets. “Are we any closer to those results?”

“Just about,” you exhale, standing up. “They’re printing, I’ll go get those for you guys.”

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Hyunjin murmurs, “Chan hyung told me what’s up. So, you think it’s her?”

“I don’t think,” Minho hisses. “I know. She said she got in a car crash and had amnesia two years ago, and it matches up with why she doesn’t recognize me. She still knows her name because of her cousin, and- it’s her, Hyunjin. It has to be.”

Hyunjin hesitates, apparently not as convinced as the older boy. “But if she was with her cousin, wouldn’t she know about you? I mean, if it was me, I’d tell my cousin about the guy she just broke up with.”

Minho almost answers, but you’re back, sliding a file across the table. “Get that to Jisung, okay?” you grin, sitting back down. “And come find me if you need something else. Nice talking to you, Minho.”

Snatching the file away, the younger boy guides Minho back to the room. “Hey. If you really think it’s her,” Hyunjin says softly before opening the door again, “go for it. You still have the texts saved, don’t you? Show her. Even if you can’t help her remember, you’ll get your closure.”

Quietly, Minho shakes his head. “I- I can’t. Even if she never broke up with me-- which isn’t possible-- I can’t know that she’s still here, still alive, and that she’ll never remember me.”

Hyunjin reaches over to shake Minho and argues, “But she hasn’t changed. If she loved you once, she can love you again, okay? Just... just try. For yourself.”

Before he can debate Hyunjin again, Seungmin opens the door with a fake scowl. “Hey, what took you so long?”

“Asshole,” Minho frowns back, glad for something to argue about. Seungmin’s always the perfect one to bicker with, his eye rolls as he backs away to let the two boys in the perfect way to rile Minho up. “Hey, don’t you roll your eyes at me!”

For all of his friend’s glances at him, glances that he lets slip by as he ruffles Jisung’s hair rougher than necessary, Minho can admit to himself that he won’t approach you again, at least not for the purpose of finding out what truly happened. It’s difficult, but he can even admit to himself why he wont.

He’s scared. Terrified, even, that he’ll only find out what he knew all along.

You’re good with faces.

It’s kind of a requirement to be a receptionist; after all, nothing makes people happier than being remembered, even if it’s something as simple as being recognized without an introduction while arriving to physical therapy. Besides, after struggling to get back to your normal life for two years, your biggest fear is to lose your memories again.

So when Jisung gets driven to physical therapy a week after you meet his friends, you instantly recognize his driver.

“Minho,” you smile, waving at him. He flushes for some reason, and you stifle a chuckle at the tint of pink in his pale cheeks. He’s cute; your first meeting just put you off a bit. “How’re you doing?”

“Don’t I get a greeting?” Jisung pouts, pushing through with his crutches. He’s joking, of course, so you only laugh fondly. “Well, you know why I’m here.”

You check him in with a nod, and call out after Minho, “You don’t have to stay with him for PT, you know. It’s going to be boring, you can come back out after helping him inside.”

Minho laughs, “Thanks for the tip. I’m definitely not staying with him, I’ll be right out.” Jisung’s protests follow them down the hall, and you return to your keyboard with a soft chuckle.

It’s true that after your first encounter with Minho, you wondered whether there was something about your life before the accident that Dahyun didn’t tell you. But your phone broke in the car wreck, and there must’ve been things that you didn’t tell your cousin. 

However, in the back of your mind, you can still hear the way Minho said your name. ‘Y/N’, he had breathed, so desperately. You had to have been important to him, too important for you to have never told anyone about him, but when he comes out of Jisung’s room, you assume the role of the friendly receptionist once again.

“Hey,” you wave. “Just so you know, Jisung’s scheduled for a full hour. I’m clocking out for the day in a couple minutes, but you can have him text you when he’s done so you can pick him up. I have to get going, I need to eat before I get on the tram, and it’s a long walk from here.”

Minho raises his eyebrows, shuffling his feet. “You’re clocking out?” At your nod, he clears his throat and offers, “If you haven’t eaten yet, I can drive you to the tteokbokki place near the tram station? I can drop you off, I won’t stay with you if you aren’t comfortable.”

You laugh at his awkwardness, though he’s charismatic enough to make it simply cute. “That would be great, actually. Just give me a second.” While you’re gathering your things, Minho shuffles aside, staring outside to the parking lot as if it’s genuinely interesting, and you crack a smile when you approach him. “Hey. I’m good to go.”

“Let’s go, then,” he smiles, and opens the door for you. The more you see of him, the more familiar he feels-- it really is as if you’ve met him before. Even his car feels like you recognize it, the steady thrum of the engine and the feel of worn leather beneath your fingertips something that you can’t quite put your finger on. Minho doesn’t speak much, though he puts on some music that feels vaguely familiar to you, some boy rapping over a simple beat.

Before you know it, you’ve arrived at the station, and it barely takes a couple minutes to walk down to the tteokbokki place. For some reason, you feel comfortable around Minho, safe, like you’ve felt with Felix and all his friends that you’ve met so far. Maybe the Australian boy attracts all the good people, you smile to yourself, or maybe you do.

“I’ll pay, what do you want?” Minho offers and takes his wallet out. Though you move to protest, he smiles and holds up a hand, “I insist. You’ve had to deal with me this much already, it’s the least I can do. Besides, you’ll be seeing me a lot, with Jisung’s PT.”

You can only agree and watch him rattle off your order to the cashier. Minho’s smile is almost the same for everyone, his eyes curving and his teeth bright, but it’s the eyes that make the difference. It’s interesting. “Are you the only one of Jisung’s friends who can drive?”

“Ah, not really. The 00 liners and Jeongin don’t have their licenses, of course,” he hums and hands his credit card over. “But Channie is busy with work all the time, and Changbin feels like Jisung bullies him. So that leaves me.”

“I see,” you exhale, following him to an empty table. “You must make quite a bit to afford a car and a parking space. What do you do?”

“Me?” Minho clarifies, even though he’s the only one you could be talking to. “I’m a dancer. Mostly a backup dancer, but sometimes I teach classes or choreograph for idols. I don’t make that much, but I drive all over Seoul, so I thought a car would be a good investment.”

“Not a bad decision,” you smile. “Especially since you saved me the walk over here. You know that every time you drive Jisung over, I’ll be forcing you to give me a ride, right?”

You’re joking, of course; you barely know Minho. But something about your tone changes the glance in his eyes, and his grin fades the slightest bit. Suddenly, he moves towards his bag. “C- can I show you something?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “As long as it’s not... you know.”

“You’ve got jokes,” Minho mumbles, digging through the pockets for his phone. “I like that.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, slightly heightened by his frantic scrolling. You greet and thank the ahjussi who brings you your food, still waiting for him to show you. Before he does, though, Minho looks up with a hesitant expression. “Y/N. Whatever I say, you can’t be alarmed, okay?”

“I can’t make that promise,” you shake your head, “but I’ll do my best.”

He inhales-- then exhales. “Your name is Y/N Y/L/N. You were born on _ _/ _ _/ _ _ _ _, and you were born here. You attended college at Seoul University, though you’ve probably forgotten your major. Your parents’ names are __ Y/L/N and __ Y/L/N, and your cousin is Kim Dahyun.”

Instantly, you bolt out of your seat, ready to run. “H-how do you know that?” Your voice shakes, and your eyes dart from Minho to the booth. He doesn’t look like a threat-- in fact, he looks pained, biting down on his lip before sliding his phone across the table. “What is that?”

“Just take a look.”

When you gingerly slide your eyes to the screen, you gasp; it displays what you assume to be an old photo of you-- and Minho. You remember Dahyun showing you pictures of yourself with that hairstyle-- high school, she said-- but you definitely don’t remember seeing any pictures with Minho. He’s unmistakable even in the uniform, and you’re laughing at him in a way that suggests what you’ve suspected since meeting him-- you were close, to say the least. “We were... friends?” you whisper, barely daring to meet his eyes. When he shakes his head, you lower your fist, previously held up to punch, and say softly, “We loved each other. Like that.”

“Yeah,” Minho sighs, taking his phone back. “By the way, does the date 5/19 ring a bell to you?”

“It was the day I woke up,” you answer. Suddenly, your throat is too tight to swallow, and you take your place next to him cautiously. “They... they told me I’d never get my memories back that day. What does it mean to you?”

Minho bites his lip and hands you his phone again. “It was the day you broke up with me.”

"Lee Minho,” you read aloud, “we need to break up. Ouch, that does not sound like me.”

He winces but tries to play it off with a chuckle, “Yeah, I know. I had to read that.”

“We have dated for years, but we...”

You frown and shake your head, scrolling through the text again even though you’re sure that you didn’t miss anything. “The wording, the phrasing... it doesn’t sound like me.” But that’s you on the profile picture, the exact photo of you that Dahyun showed you to gain your trust that first day in the hospital. You raise your head to look at Minho, who’s still staring at you. “This is fucked up.”

“You’re telling me,” he sighs, plucking his phone away. “I tried to text you back after this, tried to call you, but you never picked up. I did all I could, but I watched you leave. So... I think you understand why I was so desperate when I saw you.”

“I think I do,” you say, with your voice soft. It makes sense, now, why Minho looked like he was seeing a ghost when he caught that first glimpse of your face. Because you were a ghost, at least to him, somehow back from the dead in the lobby of the tiny hospital you worked in. “They told me my phone was dead. That’s why I didn’t have any of my old contacts, or my information.”

Minho fills your silence. “And that’s why you never saw my texts, or heard my calls. I- I’m so sorry, that I blamed you at all.”

You catch his wrist and try to smile, “Hey, I don’t blame you for blaming me. It isn’t possible for me to have texted you this with a broken phone and no memories, so... whoever did text you was an asshole. You can blame them all you like.”

His eyes flick over your face, almost like he’s committing you to memory in case you become a ghost again. “Yeah.” But the alarm rings, ten minutes before the last tram home leaves, and Minho’s phone buzzes at the same time. “Um. Can... can we talk about this again? Next time I see you?”

“Of course,” you answer. Maybe you’ll regret that promise, but you know that you’ll regret it more if you never search for what actually happened. And the glow to Minho’s smile when you say ‘yes’ follows you all the way onto the tram, or more specifically, the look in his eyes.

You’d already noticed that Minho looked differently at different people. His gaze was fond at Jisung, sometimes annoyed, and his eyes crinkled in a polite smile in front of the booth workers or your fellow receptionists. You had just never been able to tell how he looked at you, because it was strange, an expression you didn’t recognize.

But staring at his newly-inputted contact on your phone, you realize what it is. Minho looks at you like he knows you inside out, like he loves you more than anything else in the world. 

And you aren’t sure which is worse.

Felix isn’t a good liar; from the first time you met, and he told you that you didn’t look horrible in that grimy hospital gown of yours, you knew that he’d never be able to keep a secret. So when you don’t know how to move forward from the whole other side of yourself that you just uncovered, he has to be the first one you talk to.

“Y/N!” He shouts your name with his hands cupped around his mouth despite only being a couple feet away from you, and he plops down onto the stool next to you. “What’s up?”

“Felix, what has Minho told you about me? Or, about Y/N?” He tenses up at the question, and you can’t blame him; you usually aren’t so direct, and it must be difficult to tell you about his friend’s secrets.

But Felix bites his lip and sighs, looks up at the ceiling as if it’ll tell him what to do. “Um, well... he said you guys were classmates. High school and college, but you only started dating when you were 17. He never showed me pictures of you, so I assumed that you hurt him really bad.” You wince at that, but motion for the Australian boy to continue. “Minho hyung... he never dated while I’ve been friends with him. We all thought it was because he was never over you, and I guess he still isn’t.”

“Well, shit,” you sigh, sinking into your hands. “I feel horrible now.”

“Why?” Felix places a gentle hand on your shoulder and shakes you lightly. “He said that you didn’t think it was you who sent the text, and Dahyun just didn’t tell you about him? It’s not your fault.”

You only shake your head hopelessly and attempt to explain, “I didn’t want to get back into this. I trusted Dahyun to tell me everything, and after 2 years, I find out that I had a boyfriend? Who I ‘broke up with’, and who I hurt really bad. I have to know now, for Minho’s sake if not for mine.”

Felix sighs, “Look, Y/N, I’m sure Minho hyung will understand if you don’t want to get into it all again. He- he loved you, but I think he knows you aren’t who used to be. I think.”

“No, Felix- he never told me that he wanted me to find the answer,” you say quietly. “I just... I can see that he’ll never be able to disassociate me with the Y/N he knew. My face, my mannerisms- Dahyun says I act the same as I used to, and that’s too painful for him if we’ll never know the truth.”

He pauses, then passes you the coffee that a barista slides across the counter. Maybe Felix doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to tell you. But he murmurs in his familiar deep voice, “You’re kind, Y/N, but you have to think about yourself, okay? It’ll hurt Minho to not know, but it’ll hurt you to find out. And I don’t want to see either of you with a broken heart.”

The next time you see Minho, you find yourself analyzing every one of his movements, as if the tiniest hint of familiarity will bring your memories of him back to you.

You’re only drinking coffee together and trying to act like nothing else is between you, but you’re staring at his hands when he cracks his knuckles every so often. You wish that the way his lips curl into a smile was familiar, and you wish you recognized the way his eyelashes frame the brown of his eyes. But as much as you think you’ve seen something before, the fact remains that you barely know a single thing about Minho, while there’s nothing about you that you can hide from him.

It’s been years since you hated how little you remembered. Back when you first learned that the first twenty years of your life had been wasted, you screamed out for whatever all-seeing being to restore your life, and you had no idea if you could go back to the life you had been living with absolutely no memory of it.

Dahyun said she showed you everything. She brought you back to your family home, told you what she could about your parents, who hugged you with tears in their eyes. You stayed there at first, but you couldn’t handle the glances that your family made at you, couldn’t handle the way they still mourned the loss of their daughter.

You didn’t know enough about what used to be to miss it. But when you speak to Minho, you realize that there is something you would miss, something that you would want to chase. And so, you can’t know what it is.

“Y/N, you okay?” He asks, the smile still on his face from telling you about the cats you helped him pick out when he got his own place.

Shaking your head, you nod. “Yeah, sorry for zoning out. I’m just... thinking.”

“About what to do, right?” Minho takes your silence for agreement, and he turns to the window with a sigh. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking too. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you, I was selfish not to think how it would make you curious about your old self.”

“No,” you sigh. “I get it. You had to tell me, I imagine it’s still painful to see my face.”

Minho shakes his head, tilting his head as if that’ll let him see more of you. “No, it isn’t painful at all. I see you analyzing me, though, trying to recognize me.”

Heat rises to your ears, and you try to hide it by flicking your eyes away from his face. “Was I that obvious? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Minho.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. He cracks his knuckles again; you imagine that you used to put your hands over his to get him to stop, but you brush the thought away as fast as you can. “What do you want to do, though? It’s too difficult to stay away from each other in a town like this, especially when we have a mutual friend. But I’ll try my best to do what you want me to.”

You bite your lip and tap your hands on your knee. To be truthful, you’ve known what you wanted to do for a long time; you know exactly what you want to say, and you know who you want to say it to. “I want us to talk to Dahyun,” you answer. “I think... I can’t ask her about it. But I want to see how she reacts to seeing you.”

When he doesn’t respond, you almost move to touch his arm. “Minho? You can tell me if you don’t walk to talk to her, I won’t force you to do it.”

But he turns, tries to disguise the rueful smile on his face. He fails, of course, and you draw your hand back. “No, I... I’m sorry, that just reminded me of something. I’ll come with you.”

“Okay. I’m going to lunch with her tomorrow,” you explain, scrolling through the calendar on your phone, “and I think that’s the time. I’ll just say you’re my friend or something, and we’ll see how she reacts.”

Minho frowns, “Is it suspicious to randomly bring a friend to lunch with your cousin? Or do you do that often?”

You sigh at that and pause your scrolling to think. “No, you’re right. I think I’ll have to say you’re my boyfriend or something, then she’ll be excited to expect you.”

“Boyfriend? How do you know I’m not dating someone already?” Minho jokes. You laugh lightly and push his arm without thinking, but his smile only grows as he protests, “I’m serious! Do you not think I’d be dating someone by this time?”

“I see the way you look at me,” you chuckle, “If you were dating someone, I’d feel bad for them.”

Silence settles again, and you wince, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, should be me that’s sorry,” he mumbles, ruffling his hair. “I shouldn’t be making you uncomfortable, I know that you’re a different person at this point. Uh, could you send me the location of the restaurant? And the time?”

You recognize his attempt to change the subject, and you accept it gratefully. “Yeah. It’s noon tomorrow, but I think we should arrive together.”

“I’ll pick you up from the hospital,” he smiles, moving to crack his knuckles yet again.

Maybe it’s out of nervousness, maybe it’s just a habit, but you move to stop it this time, your hand resting gently over his. “Stop that,” you mumble to hide the heat in your cheeks. “I read somewhere that it hurts your knuckles. You’ll get arthritis.”

“You work in a hospital, you should know that that isn’t how it works,” Minho snickers, but he doesn’t move your hands off him. Strangely, this feels familiar, like you’ve done it before, like it’s always been comfortable. So you don’t move, only sip your coffee with your spare hand and try not to think about what could’ve been.

Minho opens the door for you yet again, bowing slightly when you pass through the doorway. “She’s here already, yeah?” His voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his hands in his pockets when he catches up to you again in the restaurant. He’s the picture of calmness, except for the way his eyes flick around the restaurant like he can recognize your cousin before you do. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“She went to the same school as us, didn’t she?” you mumble, looking through your texts again for the table number Dahyun texted you. “She’s a year younger, she told me.”

“Yeah, but Dahyun hung out with us a lot,” Minho explains, “she was pretty cool. Funny, too, I don’t know if she’s showed you her eagle dance yet?”

You laugh at that, turning onto the stairs. “She has, actually. Made me laugh instead of cry. I appreciate that about her.”

Dahyun’s easy enough to recognize; her hair’s bright blue among a sea of dark-haired people seated at the tables, and she’s a good head shorter than the people who sit around her. You rush up from behind her and wrap your arms around her neck, almost putting the girl in a headlock. “Y/N,” she complains, but there’s a smile on her face as she struggles against your grip. “Get off, I’m here to see your boy--”

Her smile instantly disappears when she sees Minho, but she rearranges it quick enough to bow to him. “Hi. I’m Kim Dahyun, Y/N’s cousin.”

So she wants to play like that. You give Dahyun another squeeze before sitting next to Minho on the other side of the table. “So, this is my boyfriend, Minho. What do you think?” you joke, keeping your tone as light as you can.

“He’s cute,” Dahyun answers. Usually, she’s good at keeping a hold of herself, but her voice sounds stifled this time, like she wants to lean over and punch him in the face or something. “I... Y/N, where’d you guys meet?”

Minho steps in to answer, “At where she works in the hospital. I keep dropping my friend off for PT, and I just keep seeing her.” That part’s true, at least, though you’re surprised at how charismatic and natural Minho seems while he lies. “She told me how she started working at the hospital downtown after being treated there, so I guess that’s how I never saw her before.”

Dahyun sighs, “Do you know what she was treated for?”

“Amnesia,” he frowns, “what else? Y/N told me that when we first met.”

A beat of silence passes, and you’re almost sure that Dahyun can see right through your lies, but your thoughts are cut off when she blurts out, “You’re lying, right? Minho, I don’t know if you’re lying to Y/N or if the both of you are lying to me, but you can’t be... you can’t be telling everything about this. She broke up with you years ago.”

“We all know that’s not true,” you say softly. Maybe there’s a hint of deadliness to your tone, though, because when you lean forward, Dahyun scoots back in her chair. “You told me my phone was dead on the day I woke up, the day that the texts were sent. How could I have sent those texts, from a shattered phone, without the contact that you wouldn’t tell me?”

The blue-haired girl presses her lips together, but she says, “Y/N, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of here.”

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Minho shakes his head. “But we have to know. What happened here?”

Dahyun’s voice is almost too quiet to hear when she finally answers, “Minho, you would’ve been wrecked. And- letting her know that she would never be able to remember you... would’ve wrecked her more.”

You can’t keep your voice from getting louder when you ask, “So?” Minho squeezes your hand and you soften before saying again, “So? What did you do, Dahyun?”

“I texted him in place of you,” she blurts, clasping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes must reflect the hurt you feel, because you lash back when she reaches for you. “I... I never told you about Minho or any of your friends. I’m sorry, Y/N, I did what I thought was best, and all these years, I didn’t know... I didn’t know how I could fix that.”

Minho says nothing close to what you think he will, and he’s nowhere near as angry as you are. “I know why you did it, Dahyun,” he says. There are tears brimming in your cousin’s eyes, and you’re sure that Minho’s doing his best not to let them spill. “But- you knew me, knew Y/N. I don’t think you should’ve made that decision for us.”

“You definitely shouldn’t have,” you almost snap. You stand, tugging Minho up with you by his hand. “I... We have to go. I just need time to think, Dahyun.”

And if you were thinking rationally, you’d never leave like that. You’d never leave a conversation half-finished, with an angry end, but you can’t concentrate about anything other than the warmth of Minho’s hand in yours as you storm out of the restaurant.

Once you are hidden in an alleyway, he holds you by your elbows, as if he’s trying to stop you from running away. “Y/N,” he says softly, “look at me.”

When you do, you’re surprised at how blurry his face is, the shadows and highlights of his face swirled together in your tears. “We know now,” Minho continues. “I know you’re hurt right now, but I just want to say that you don’t have to know what to do now. You... we have time to think about what we can say about that information.”

“Stop,” you cry out, tearing your hands out of his grip to press them to your eyes. “Stop being so good to me. I know you only remember how much you loved the old me, and we have the same face, but we aren’t the same, Minho, you don’t love me. So- you don’t have to be so good to me just because you used to--”

He pulls you into a hug. It’s a bit aggressive, and you collide with him a little harder than you would in a normal hug, but against his chest, you can hear the sobs that he stifles in case anyone’s listening. “I’m not doing this because I used to love you, Y/N. I’m doing this because I think I can love you again.”

“That’s worse!” You push him away slightly, just enough to untangle yourself and your own heart. “Minho, that’s so much worse. You- you’ll never love me, you know. You’ll never stop seeing that Y/N in me. I just. I need to think.”

For the second time in that day, you end another conversation like you never would, but you keep your head down to hide the tear tracks on your face. There’s nothing you can say without hurting someone you seriously care about, no matter how much you wish you didn’t care about either of them.

You do. God, you do, and it hurts so much.

Jisung hobbles his own way into the lobby. He’s fast on his crutches, actually, and he almost doesn’t need you rushing to open the door for him. “Hey,” you smile, though you’re sure that your eyes are still puffy under your makeup. “Alone today?”

“Hyungs are all busy,” he pouts, though he obviously doesn’t really mind. “Y/N, have you checked your email recently?”

“Uh. No?” you answer, raising your eyebrows as you guide him down the hall. “Why? Did you send me something weird?”

He moves the crutch to smack the back of your leg, grinning even when you poke him as hard as you can without literally hurting him. “No. But there’s something in there I think you’ll want to see. I’ll see you in an hour, Y/N, hopefully.”

All of Jisung’s cryptic messages leave you scowling at the closed PT door, then frowning all the way back to your desk. You click fast through your inbox and ignore all the other messages for the one at the top, the one from j.one@naver.com, entitled ‘ywb’.

It’s a video message, and when you click on it, Jisung appears. “Hi, Y/N. I’ll keep this short,” he smiles through the screen. “But this message isn’t really from me. No matter what, I want you to watch the whole thing, can you promise me that?” You nod even though he’s in a whole different room, and he flashes a thumbs up like he can see it. “Cool. Enjoy, and try not to cry.”

The screen goes black, then flashes to a girl running through the snow. But she turns, and you gasp, because it’s you-- it’s a beanie and a scarf that you still own, sitting in your closet, but it’s a smile that you have only seen in pictures. And when you see the look in your eyes, you know who has to be behind the camera, and as much as you wish you wouldn’t, you’ve promised, and you keep watching.

Because every time that the outfit and the scene changes, your smile stays the same. You only see flashes of a hand, the peal of laughter under the soft music layered over, but you know. It has to be Minho, and you almost yearn to be the person in the videos again, grinning at him like there’s nothing else you can think of.

Slowly, he starts appearing in the video too, just flashes of the two of you singing at the top of your lungs in a karaoke booth, a short clip of you squirting him right in the face with a water gun. And the smile from the video makes its way onto your face, completely unconscious as you stare at the video.

Hours could’ve passed in minutes, and you wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t break from your trance until the screen goes dark again. But this time, Minho’s face appears, his features lit by a bright desk light in the darkness of his room. “Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, running his hands through his hair. “Thank you for watching this far. Uh... I just wanted to show you those videos. Because I just deleted them.”

He hums for a second before continuing, “I realized you were right. As long as I hold on to who you used to be, I’ll never be able to truly love you right now, even though I really want to. You aren’t the same person as you were, and even though you might not think so, I want to know you right now.”

Minho’s eyes curve sweetly when he reaches for the camera and fiddles with it. He smiles, “So if you can believe me, I want to take those videos again, with you this time. I’m more than willing-- no, I want nothing more than to get to know you again. So just... call me. Whenever you see this. I don’t really trust Jisung to get this to you in time.”

You manage to laugh through the blurriness in your eyes, but you’re already moving to pick up your phone when the video ends, Minho’s hand the last thing you see on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey.” You can hear something in the background, probably the other people in his studio, but they get quieter as Minho talks. “I guess you watched it?”

“I watched it.” You save the video to the drive always plugged into the laptop, but there’s a small smile on your face as you imagine Minho staring into the mirror of the dance room as he talks to you. “How fast can you get here?”

“Uh. It takes 5 minutes to drive to you, so you can expect me in 10,” he answers. The smile on his face is audible, and your own grin grows when he covers the mic to shout at someone. “I won’t look gross, promise. But, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

He ends the call before you can say anything in return, but you smile at the phone screen all the way until you poke your head around the corner to shout at Seulgi. “Hey! I’m clocking out in 10!” Maybe the grin in the video is familiar after all as you reach for your bag.

While you’ll never get your past back, there’s always the future. You will never get the perfectly fresh start you want, but it’s a start nonetheless. It’s the step towards something new that you’ve been needing, and it’s with the person that you never thought you’d find again.

[pandoras-princess]

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Woop wooop! Helloooo my lovely peoples!! 🌸 yes I am wayyy overly excited because this part just came out so effortlessly so I am hyper af 💃💃 I am very happy to welcome you to part three, and while it may seem a little lacklustre, it’s the lead up to the final part which will be show stopping material and I hope you’ll agree 🤗 you have all been so nice and absolutely amazing about this fic and I appreciate it so much I can’t wait to bring you part four 🥰🥰🥰 but let me shut up and get to it. Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌

P.S: Y/N/N = your nickname

Summary: Fantasies are shattered and dreams come true as Y/N navigates her way through this messy love triangle...

Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, alcohol

PART ONE PART TWO PART FOUR

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“What can I get ya?” You shout to the burly man on the other side of the bar.

“Two whiskeys and a pint of beer love!”

The buzz of the crowd continues to drown out your voice, which not only made your job unnecessarily hard, but also provided a little tune for the tiny men occupying your skull to hammer away to, so it turns out.

Little hairs lining your throat were long since singed and a dull ache seeps through the bones in your feet as you set about preparing the next round of drinks.

Quickly scanning the area to your left, a smile spreads across your face when you land on the pair of ice blue eyes you were after, his cheeky wink inspiring a new burst of energy in your overworked muscles.

That smile drops as quickly as it spreads; the once friendly and loving gaze of your best friend now replaced with a cold glare.

In the weeks that had followed your last encounter John hadn’t been near or by the house, and every time you had a shift at the Garrison he was conveniently held up elsewhere. It was the longest you’d ever gone without speaking to him and it was safe to say you couldn’t take much more.

One of these days you’d have your old Johnny back, you thought.

One of these days...

“Where’ve all the glasses gone?”

“Out there.”

Harry’s thumb jerks in the direction of the ever growing crowd, earning an all too familiar groan in response.

‘Get a job you said... it’ll be fun you said... it’s just pulling pints!’

You disappear into the sea of people grumbling to yourself, only managing to grab four empty pints before you begin to carve a route back. Your struggle - along with your mood - was only to be made worse as you near two men in the midst of an argument, the stench of beer and stale cigarettes rudely invading your senses.

“Excuse me!”

“What yerr shaying about me wife” the large man slurs, entirely oblivious to your presence behind him.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

“Excuse m-”

You watch, frozen in horror, as his fist connects with the second man’s jaw, sending the large brute hurtling into you.

Crashing to the ground, a pained scream tears from your throat.

Tommy - who was engrossed in a conversation with his two brothers - hadn’t witnessed you get hurt, but he definitely heard it.

He shoves his way through the crowd until he is met with your body hunched over, quietly whimpering as you attempt to dislodge shards of glass from your right palm. His eyes follow the steady stream of blood trickling down your arm and any facade he held about your relationship quickly fades away.

“You’ve hurt my girl.”

He rounds on the man responsible, nostrils flaring and lips snarling as he reaches for the deadly cap atop his head.

Despite being a good foot taller, the stranger shrinks away, vigorously shaking his head as he rushes to apologise.

“I’m so-sorry Tom real sorry. It- it was an accident I didn’t know she was y-yours ho-honest!”

“I suggest you leave.” Tommy spits out. “That goes for everyone. Leave, now!”

The once jolly punters trip over themselves to squeeze through the narrow doors. Within a matter of minutes the pub is empty and Tommy is crouched at your side inspecting the cuts.

John remains in his seat, jaw set and knuckles white, as Tommy scoops you up and disappears into the office.

He carefully lowers you onto the desk; a warm kiss lingering on your forehead as he’s tending to your injuries.

“You’re okay Princess” he mumbles wrapping a bandage around your hand. Whether he was reassuring you or himself you weren’t quite sure. But thoughts of any kind are banished from your mind as he draws you into a kiss.

His lips are chapped and salty as they move against yours. It was slow and it was sweet. It was the kind of kiss that called every hair to attention; the kind of kiss that replays in your mind as you drift to sleep.

Without warning Tommy is ripped away from you, an involuntary yelp slipping out at the sudden loss of contact. Brain scrambling to make sense of it all you soon zone in on John’s forearm tight against Tommy’s throat pinning him to the wall.

“You bastard! I warned you- I warned you to stay away from her! She’s not one of your little whores you can pick up and fuck off when you get bored. I fucking told you to stay away!”

“What do you mean, you warned him?”

The quietness that followed easily could’ve been passed off as nobody hearing your question. And it probably would’ve been, if you hadn’t seen the slight drop of John’s head.

It was physically impossible for him to ignore you; it always had been.

Tommy took this opportunity to push his younger brother away and the two men stood glaring daggers at each other, embroiled in an argument only they were privy to.

“Tommy, what’s he talking about?!” You ask your boyfriend, who was now unable to meet your eye.

Once again your question is met with silence.

“Will somebody bloody answer me!”

Your small hands ball into fists at your sides as you look between them.

John’s face softens when he finally looks at you, the confusion that passes over your delicate features serving to break his heart further.

The guilt that flashes in his eyes as he threads a hand through his hair adds to your impatience. “Well get on with it then!”

“He knew, Y/N/N, that you liked him. He knew because he read your diary. He already knew and he had it all planned out in his little fucking mind the minute you asked him for the job. Why’d ye think he said yes? I told him-” an accusatory finger points at Tom standing a few feet away “-you weren’t to be played with, and now look!”

You fail to register John lunging at Tom. You fail to register the scuffle that ensues as a result. You fail to register Polly screaming at the top of her lungs to separate the brawling idiots.

Piece by piece, memory by memory, your new found utopia crumbles between your fingers and you stand, completely oblivious to your surroundings, as everything clicks into place.

“You knew?” You whisper, inching towards Tommy.

He watches you shift from confusion to anger to disgust as the revelation sinks in, shredding through the trust he’d so effortlessly built. And he was utterly powerless to stop it.

“The whole time... you knew? When you came to me and- and asked me to... you knew?!”

His mouth opens, but the words escape him.

With a final shake of your head, your trembling figure retreats from the office; the following slam of the double doors eliciting a flinch from everyone.

The parilysis subsides, and he jams his finger into John’s chest. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Y/N wait.”

Your feet cry out and your muscles scream in protest as you storm down the cobbled road, Tommy hot on your heels. But with the searing pain in your hand creeping up your wrist, you push on, desperate to escape any person with Shelby as their last name.

“Y/N please I can explain!”

“You can explain? You can explain?!” Shrieking you finally give in to the blind rage that threatens to consume you.

“You can explain what exactly Thomas? You can explain how you violated every ounce of trust we’ve ever had? You can explain how you thought it’d be a good old laugh to have me convince the man I was hopelessly in love with to marry someone else?! You can explain how the past 7 months - everything between us - was one big lie! You don’t need to explain anything Tom, honest. It all seems pretty fucking clear to me.”

Tommy watches your hands wave and point and clap and throw themselves in the air as the anger pours out of your every word. See, it was a tough one for him really. On the one hand, he’d really fucked up and the least he could do was pay attention to the scolding he was rightfully due. On the other, you were so god-damned irresistible when you were angry it was driving him mad.

“God Tommy! I thought you were different! I actually thought you were fucking different. I thought you loved me, not as a lie, not out of fear, but honest true love. And that’s the worst part, really Tom, it’s not that you pulled the wool over my eyes, no no, it’s that I fooled myself into thinking this was actually real! I should’ve known I was just another pawn in your stupid game.”

Whirling around, you resume your getaway.

“If this was all a game, why would I have this?”

When your body slowly turns back to face him, Tommy knows the argument is done.

“What are you...” your voice trails off as you find Tom on one knee in the middle of the deserted street.

He held a little black box, and in that little black box sat a gold ring set with a diamond so flawless it remained sparkling under the gloomy skies of Small Heath, and a sapphire so blue you’d get lost at sea if you dared to stare too long.

“I do love you Y/N, have done for a while. Not as a game, not until I get bored, just honest true love.”

Tommy moves to stand in front of you, stopping inches from the tip of your nose. He takes your left hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger with ease, pausing to admire the look of the gold metal against your smooth skin.

“I had to ask you to convince John or you’d still be in love with him today, wasting away oblivious to how much you’re really worth. Yes I had a plan when this started, but I could never have planned falling in love with you-”

Chapped lips graze over your knuckles, kissing each one softly.

“-I could never have planned the amount of time I spend thinking about you in your absence-”

His lips brush over your wrist, leaving pecks along the length your arm.

“-and I could never plan the desperate need to hold you in my arms, to see your smile and hear your laugh and cherish you, because you’re the only thing in this god foresaken world that can keep the storms at bay.”

His feather-light kisses trail over your shoulder and along the curve of your neck, stopping just above your lips in an undeclared challenge. You close the distance, hungrily drawing his bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers tug at your roots, deepening the kiss.

The intoxicating taste of sweet smoke and Irish whiskey sweeps over your tastebuds and you tangle your fingers in his soft brown tresses.

Reluctantly separating a few seconds later, you’re both left panting as you make up for the lack of air. His hands make themselves at home on your waist, whilst yours settle comfortably on his chest.

“You know... I never did say yes” you smirk, twisting the gold band around your finger.

“Mm it was implied.”

So caught up in the joys of young love were you and your fiancé, that you failed to notice the wooden doorway supporting John’s weight as he watched in the distance...

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 6: Level-Headed

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

You meet Nightwolf. Turns out that he's a really good dude. Liu Kang is still having a tough time but he is seeming at least a bit more like himself. He's got a level-head but now you're the one who can't keep it together. And who could blame you?

A/N: I am just so happy that other people like reading the nonsense I write. I know it's not the best but I'm having fun writing it and it's even more fun getting to enjoy it with people <3 Sorry I'm so sentimental lately. Just feeling really loved and I want to spread that love~

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The next day was awkward but you weren’t biting each other’s heads off at least. You were both too tired, it seemed. Liu Kang had a big red comical handprint on his face that morning but it faded by the afternoon. You were both unhappy but you supposed this might have been progress since you weren’t snapping at each other. Either that or you’d taken ten steps backwards and said things you didn’t mean and had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

By the evening you were drawing close to the spot on the map, or at least you thought you were. “Look.” You gestured to a cabin in the distance. You could barely make it out between the trees. Then there was the howling of wolves and you heard their footfalls running toward you, the shadows of the hulking beasts flittering between the trees. It was only seconds before you were surrounded by wolves enveloped in green mist.

You drew closer to Liu Kang and summoned a sword with your ink. Liu stood at the ready but didn’t summon his fire yet. Neither one of you liked to hurt animals, even when they were aggressive. Besides, the floaty green mist made it seem like you were out of your league with these wolves.

They didn’t attack. Instead the voice of a man broke through their howling and the dogs silenced as he walked amongst them. Tall, with messy dark hair, dark eyes and tan skin, the man’s presence was commanding. This had to be Nightwolf or at least someone in close relation to him.

“What brings you to this place?”

Liu made to speak but you grabbed his arm to silence him. He’d caused more than enough trouble with his mouth the past week and you no longer trusted him. “We’ve come to talk.” You dug in your bag and one of the wolves growled. Intimidated, you felt Liu Kang step before you defensively. You reached into the bag and dug for the wolf charm you’d been given. Then you presented it to the man and the wolves disappeared. The man turned away from you.

“Come.”

You exchanged a nervous glance with Liu who remained tense after you’d interrupted him. He nodded to let you know he was okay and you followed the man into the cabin. “You’re Nightwolf.” Liu Kang wanted to make sure.

“Yes, that is what they call me now. You must be trusted to have been given this location and that trinket.” He addressed you and you offered a polite bow.

“I’m Y/N and this is Liu Kang. We’ve come a long way to talk to you.” For a while, the conversation went smoothly. Liu Kang explained the dragon marking and its significance, showing off his own and having you express that you had one too. He explained the nature of the realms, of Lord Raiden, of the war that was likely coming and that you needed him to speak with Lord Raiden and come train in his temple. You were grateful that Liu Kang had somehow managed to have a civil conversation with someone. One point in the win column against a thousand in the lose column. That was something.

But Nightwolf didn’t seem eager to join you and instead mulled over your information. You couldn’t blame him. This was a lot and some of it was beyond belief without proof. If you hadn’t been thrown into the whole mix against your will, then you would have struggled with it too. You’d had nowhere else to run at the time and had been in over your head with unruly arcana and visions from the past.

“I have a duty here in America. I’ll have to think about it.” At least he was honest.

And reasonable. Leaving everything that he’d ever known was a huge decision. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t return someday but there was also a chance that he would die. What you did was dangerous. Your lives tended to be short. You held your bag a little closer.

“I’m to bring you to Raiden’s Temple. I won’t leave without you.” Liu was sounding harsh again so you sighed. Maybe that was why Raiden had sent you together. Liu Kang was too grief stricken and angry to do his job on his own and you were too swept up in guilt to stay focused. You balanced each other in a horrible way.

“That decision is not yours to make, friend.” Nightwolf was incredibly respectful considering Liu Kang’s tone but the air became tense.

“I understand your hesitation, but would you give me a chance to try and convince you? You have a little time to think about it but we’re not sure how much. The longer you get to train the better off we’ll be. We have no idea how long before Outworld strikes again.” You tried to play mediator. Liu Kang’s hand grasped your arm and you nearly snarled in anger but somehow managed to get yourself together.

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N.” Liu scolded you.

“We do. You’re being impatient. Take a breath.” You narrowed your eyes at him dangerously.

“Excuse me, then.” He gritted his teeth and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. His temper was out of control. You winced at the sound of the door slamming. You missed him. You wanted him to be okay.

“I’m sorry. It’s been difficult. This war has taken a toll on us all.” You offered an excuse and a smile.

“He seems troubled.”

“He’s a good man, I promise. Just having a hard time right now.”

“You seem troubled.” Nightwolf added with a knowing glance. He was a good judge of character. He was calming and you were grateful for that because you had enough frustration from Liu’s attitude. If you snapped, it would have made Liu Kang’s poor attitude look like child’s play.

“And I’ll be okay too.”

“So, tell me, Miss Y/N. Why do you think that I should help you?”

“Well, it’s not me that you’re helping, that’s why. It’s not us. Earthrealm is our home, warts and all. If we have any strength then we have a responsibility to protect it in any way that we can, no matter what that means.”

“A wise answer.” He smiled and you were relieved. “Is that why you do this?”

“Ultimately, yes.” You had found, over the years, that honesty was the best policy. There were plenty of times where it didn’t work, but Nightwolf seemed to be looking for honesty. You had a feeling he would be able to tell if you lied. “I was sort of thrust into this at first. I had nowhere to go after my mark and so I was brought to Raiden’s Temple, which I fought, and then I was too sick to leave. I fought at first because I didn’t know what else to do. I was lost. But with time and understanding, I found that no matter what other reasons I had, I would fight to protect the place and people that I loved. This is my home, and I am willing to die to keep it safe.”

“But you weren’t at first?”

It felt like a test, and you hoped beyond hope that you were passing. You’d failed enough the last few months, you couldn’t risk another check in that column.

“I was overwhelmed with the scope of the danger and truth of all this. In the beginning, I treated it kind of like a joke because I didn’t understand. I knew, deep down, that it was the right thing to do but I had no other reason than that. That changed, of course. I think it’s normal to want to think it over. Liu Kang thinks it is too, he’s just not himself right now. I hope that you don’t judge him too harshly for his temper. It’s not like him.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Y/N.” He stood and walked to the counter, picking up a clear bottle filled with tan liquid. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“You have no idea.” You laughed and he joined you in having one. As long as you weren’t with Liu, there was no risk of you making another stupid mistake. And as long as one didn’t become ten, the risk of that was even lower.

Nightwolf turned out to be a kind and interesting man. He had struggled with his mark because the mark meant that he was special. You understood how that felt. Embracing the fate of something beyond your control had scared you too, but it had been worth it in the end. You listened to him as he shared his story and you shared a drink. You were a good listener. You always had been, and he seemed to appreciate the ear.

When your glasses were drained, he took them and set them aside which you were grateful for. “There are couches and some blankets that are open to you and your friend. I’ll make my decision as soon as I can, but I make no promises as to what that decision might be. You have been patient with me, and I appreciate that patience. I will do what I can.”

“This is a big decision but time is of the essence. Still, I want you to take that time.” You wouldn’t push him into giving up his life as he knew it to travel halfway across the world. You wouldn’t push anyone who didn’t deserve pushing. You also had the feeling that he was going to help. He seemed like a kind and powerful man whose motives were morally aligned with yours. You were grateful for that. So many with the dragon marking had wound up being scumbags.

“Thank you. Get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. You too.” You watched him leave and then were left alone in the kitchen. You set your bag down on the smaller couch and walked outside. There was a firepit near the house and several overturned logs that served as benches. You sat on one of the logs and faced away from the firepit. The sky was overcast that night so you couldn’t see the stars but watching the clouds was soothing too.

Then Liu Kang sat next to you.

This was all too familiar now. You watched the clouds and were at peace for a short time.

“I’m apologizing again.”

“Oh. What for now?” You couldn’t help it. The sarcasm came out. He mulled it over as if to be thinking through the list of nonsense that he’d done in the last few days that he had to apologize for. Then he gestured back to the cabin.

“Being a jerk about this whole thing, for one.”

“That is just not specific enough, I’m afraid.” You turned to him.

“Being short with Nightwolf. He deserved time to mull it over.”

“I know he did. You know he did. You’ve got to figure out this temper that you’ve developed, Liu.”

“I don’t know where it came from. I always had such control.” He slumped his shoulders.

“You’re grieving.”

“Yeah, but so are you and you aren’t jumping down everyone’s throats for no reason.”

“Not when you’re looking, at least.” You were still angry with him even if he seemed willing to talk. He’d upset you. An apology wasn’t enough.

“I’ve got to get it together.” He held his head in his hands and pushed his hair back, disgusted with himself. The sound he made would have been funny if you hadn’t been a terrible mixture of mad at him and worried for him.

“Do you know what I keep thinking? What I keep wishing for?”

“Kung Lao to be back?” He said in a tired drone.

“No. I keep hoping that you find peace. I’m crushed by his death, Liu, but you’re broken.” You watched the clouds again. You wanted him to be okay, but you couldn’t be an emotional punching bag for him to figure it out with. He watched you and you could feel his eyes taking you in longer than they should have. He scooted closer. He probably didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Your being here helps.”

Bullshit.

You laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang radiated with fire and you knew that feeling all too well and scooted a little away.

“Really? Because I feel like I’m actively making it worse.”

“Well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good word for it.”

“You remind me of him. You make it real. But also, you’re my friend. You were more than that.” He shrugged, clasping his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “We never really talked about it and it made things so hard.”

“We’re talking right now. We’ve talked and yelled a lot the last few days.” You were tired of talking about your grief in vague niceties. You were tired of being comforting. Of fighting.

“Not Kung Lao. Not grief.” He gestured between you and then returned his hands to his knees as if he had more control of them there. “About this.” You sighed heavily. Hadn’t you slapped him real hard about it the night before? “About what it was before you decided on Kung Lao.”

“I didn’t decide anything, remember? We did talk about it, Liu Kang. And you said that it wasn’t like it meant anything. That I didn’t owe you anything. A keep the change sort of comment. Remember?” You didn’t want to talk about it. You were so tired of fighting with him. It felt endless. How could Raiden do this to you? Why? Had you offended him in some way? Had your grief over Kung Lao not been loud and sad enough? “It doesn’t matter what you meant then, Liu, because that was what I was left with and so that was what I believed for years.”

“Except that I did that for Kung Lao. Do I not get to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past and move on.”

“Except that it isn’t the past anymore, Y/N.” He grabbed your arm and urged you to look at him. You stiffened up. “I guess that you were hoping we’d just never talk about the other night. You keep running off. I tried to say something in the motel but you shut me down hard.”

“You can’t do this.” You struggled to speak without your voice trembling. His eyes were so dark and sad and full of fire, his lips twitching in a way where you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. “You can’t just bring it up whenever it’s convenient for you. You can’t just… wreck my emotions on repeat because you’re grieving. I’m grieving too.”

“Yeah, well you can’t just crawl into my bed and leave a bunch of scars down my back and then fuck off because it’s convenient for you.”

You were exasperated and threw your hands up in frustration. “We were drunk! Obliterated!”

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well I was. It was a mistake, Liu Kang. A grievous, drunken error that has only made things exponentially more difficult. I was sad and vulnerable and wasted. I made a mistake, okay? So maybe, just maybe, you can eat some of those lies you told me years ago. It’s not like it meant anything.” You spat with some venom and were surprised with yourself, covering your mouth after you’d said it. Oh, that hurt.

“I’m done lying, Y/N. I was never good at it. You’re not either.” He hadn’t yelled at you, which surprised you. In fact, he seemed to have a level head on more than you did. “It wasn’t a mistake for me. I knew what I was doing. I get that you’re trying to hurt me because you’re mad and grieving.” He said that in such an annoying way that you could have smacked him again. “But I’m saying now what I should have said all those years ago. It meant something. It meant something then and I knew what would happen if I went through with it the other night and I chose to anyway.” Liu was going to kill you at this rate. You were just going to drop dead. “Maybe I needed to feel something other than angry and sad. Maybe I thought I should try and undo something I regretted.”

Why was he so level-headed? Why, in this moment, had he managed to keep back his temper? If you could just yell at each other and hate each other it would be so much easier. But you didn’t hate him, you were torn between wanting to shake some sense into him and kiss him and it was so frustrating. Kissing him would only leave you more hurt but it seemed like the easier option too. You didn’t. You fought it, even if he seemed to be drawing closer. The tension of Liu Kang was so thick you could barely breathe.

“It was a mistake, Liu.” Your words were shaky but you tried to stand your ground. You’d beaten yourself up over this for too long and there he was, making it so much more complicated.

“Was it, Y/N? It didn’t feel like it was. It didn’t sound like it was.” His voice was low and serious and you felt your stomach twist into knots. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. That it didn’t crush you when I said that all those years ago? That it had ever stopped being passionate between us even when we weren’t together. Tell me that. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s your truth and I will drop it.” He grasped your cheek and urged you to look him in the eyes.

You tried.

You couldn’t.

You were going to burst into tears at this rate and then he’d hold you and kiss you and you’d end up making this even more complicated and you couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not when he’d taken everything you’d known as truth and thrown it out the window. “I’m grieving Kung Lao and...” You couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t because it had never been a mistake to you back then. He was the one who had drawn the line in the sand. You’d just believed what he’d wanted you to believe for Kung Lao’s sake. And the other night was not something you remembered. There were only flashes of hot and sweaty lovemaking and all that version of you had felt was pleasure. Liu pulled his hand back and sighed.

“Figures that you would honor his memory more than think about yourself. He’d remind you that you were a terrible liar.”

You wiped your eyes as they betrayed you with tears and struggled to find words that didn’t involve crying or sobbing. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, damnit. You didn’t want to cry because of him. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, Liu Kang. You can’t just… I can’t take much more.”

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, Y/N. I’m not trying to hurt you. You feel guilty but you don’t have any reason to. You think I don’t feel guilty? It’s eating me up. But we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? To figure it out?”

“Why are you being like this? Why now? Why?” You wiped furiously at your eyes. Stupid tears. You were so tired of your eyes being puffy and painful all the time. Stupid Liu Kang and his stupid emotions and his stupid whirlwind of honesty and misplaced anger. Stupid Kung Lao, dying and leaving you to deal with this. Stupid Raiden not sending you alone.

“I think that you turned down Kung Lao’s proposal because you were worried that maybe you still had feelings for me and had to figure that out first.”

That was the last straw. You broke.

You hated that it was partially true. You’d never stopped being attracted to him and that had become painfully obvious. What a selfish reason it had been to turn down the love of a man who had been dedicated to you and you alone. You swore that your heart was shutting down, it was beating so hard. He had you confused. Was that part of the reason? You didn’t know because you hadn’t been given the chance to figure it out. The truth was that you probably would have married Kung Lao. You would have talked about your plans for the future, what he saw of it, what you saw of it, and then accepted his proposal. You hadn’t turned it down because you didn’t love him. You had turned it down because you’d needed to talk. You were less spontaneous than Kung Lao had been. The only reason he’d needed was love and you’d needed to know more details. That was it. Liu Kang was making you overthink in ways you hadn’t in years.

“I can’t do this.” You stood and Liu grabbed your arm before you could leave. His fingers brushed down your wrist and to your hand and he gave you a look as if begging you to stay. It was killing you.

“We can’t avoid this forever.”

“I let you have your time to process this bullshit, Liu Kang and you are going to let me have mine.” He didn’t let you go. His grip tightened on your hand as if afraid to let you walk away, as if you would never come back. “Liu Kang?”

“Don’t go, Y/N.”

“You will let go of me right this instant.” You avoided his eyes. “You have ignored my feelings in favor of yours for long enough tonight. Let me go.”

Liu’s grip tightened but then he very suddenly let go and turned away with a bow of his head. “Of course, Y/N.”

The panic as you marched back inside the cabin and sat down on the couch was killing you. You held your head in your hands. What were you supposed to do with this? You had to calm down, first and foremost. Thankfully, Liu didn’t follow you inside and you had some peace and quiet but your thoughts weren’t much better than his argument had been.

You’d fucked up.

It would have been so much easier if neither one of you felt anything. It would have been easier if he had been as drunk as you had been. It would have been easier if you could continue believing that it really had meant nothing. It had never meant nothing to you. It had crushed you and taken you months to recover from that sadness with no one to talk to about it. You may not have remembered the other night but you remembered him from all those years ago.

The hot nights, the times you’d spent devoted to each other’s bodies, tangled up in his sheets or in yours. He’d made you feel sexy and forbidden, something beyond desire that no one else had ever made you feel. You hated those memories for so long that it was hard to feel any way other than that.

You loved Kung Lao.

But would you have even gotten the chance to if Liu Kang hadn’t said what he’d said? You had this connection, this fire that you couldn’t put out even after years of letting it simmer down. Even now when you’d fought, you had known that if you didn’t get out of there then you would have given into that passion, that instinct. What a mess of a human being you were. You curled up on the couch and this time you didn’t pull your bag close to you. You couldn’t think about Kung Lao when you were like this.

Next Chapter >>

[littleoldrachel]

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Two

Chapter One

Warning: oral (m receiving), unprotected sex

It’s not serious.

Two adults can sleep together and be fine. You’ve done it before. It’s kind of nice, actually – you get the milk and don’t have to put up with the emotionally unavailable cow. And even though you’ve only known him for a few weeks, you know that’s what Javier is: emotionally available. Physically available? Different story. He lets you know as much when, after a few more rounds, you start to get dressed.

“So, should I leave the money on the dresser?” you ask as you come back into the room, your skirt crumpled in your hand. He smiles around his third cigarette as you shimmy the skirt back up. You don’t really know why you’re bothering, to be honest- your apartment is five feet away and it’s 3 AM on a Wednesday. Anyone who would see you rush to the door in your underwear probably has a lot more going on than to be distracted by a half nude school teacher doing the world’s shortest slut strut.

“It’s about 100,” he jokes back. You twist your face as you bend down to snatch your shirt from the floor and pull it over your shoulders.

“Pricey, but fair.” Somewhat dressed, you stalk over to his side of the bed and pluck the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag yourself. His hand comes to rest on your thigh as you exhale.

“This isn’t going to be weird, is it?” you ask, flicking your eyes back down to him. “It was good, but I hope I didn’t lose my smoking buddy.”

‘Buddy’? God. You hang out with kids too much.

He smiles and reaches up to take back the cigarette you hold out. “Don’t worry, hermosa. I don’t scare easy.”

“Friends then?”

His eyes flick up and down your body before falling back on your face. He takes a drag.

“Yeah, friends.”

The way he enunciates tells you exactly what being friends with Javier is going to entail. You smile and bend down, catching his mouth in a quick peck.

“See you later, friend.” You stand up and give him a quick smile before picking up your purse from where you left it by the door and saunter out to the hall.

You don’t see him until the late afternoon Sunday when you take a break from grading to go stand on y’all’s usual spot to light up. He’s already there, smoking a cigarette that’s more ash than tobacco. He doesn’t even look up when you saunter up next to him, your hair up in a nest, and light your own.

“Lot on your mind?” you ask.

“What?” his voice is more on edge than you expected. You frown and gesture to his smoke.

“Think you forgot to ash,” you say.

He huffs and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, pressing it into the concrete on the steps with more vigor than is required.

“Something up?”

“Mind your own fucking business, will you?” he snaps. You physically recoil from him as he starts down the stairs, his hands in his pockets. You’re too stunned to say anything, watching his back until he’s out of earshot. Annoyed, and suddenly not in the mood, you stub out your mostly intact cigarette and head inside.

To be honest, you’re still steaming about it when there’s a knock on your door that night. Already in your sleepwear, you push yourself up from where you’ve been lounging on the couch, reading some trashy paperback you picked up from the airport months ago. You leave against the door, avoiding looking through the peephole – some trick your dad taught you.

“Yeah?” you call out.

“It’s me.”

You frown. You do want to open the door, but there’s a question of self-respect. Do you let the man you’re casually having sex with, who then treated you like shit, into your house, where you know you could happily drop your pants for him once again if he looks at you with even the slightest bit of regret and/or horniness? You’re a strong woman but you’ve been walking funny all weekend, and if you’re honest it’s been pretty nice.

Your indecision speaks for you because from the other side you hear:

“I thought- I’d explain. About earlier.”

Yeah, there goes that resolve. You flick the deadbolt and swing the door open so you’re sat in the doorway, your hand still resting on the doorknob as you consider him with a look you hope is at least a little intimidating, although it’s hard to maintain upon seeing him. He looks rough.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you echo back.

“…What’s up?” he asks.

“Mostly just minding my own fucking business.”

He purses his lips and looks beyond you. “I deserve that.”

A beat passes. You try and keep up your icy, indifferent demeanor, daring him to explain himself, despite the teacher in you wanting to pull him into a hug or potentially ask him to express his emotion through a crayon drawing. Instead, you fight the urge and just raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Can I come in?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment before making a show of stepping aside and waving your hand into your apartment dramatically. He nods before walking in and stopping at the edge of your couch, letting you close the door behind him. He turns around at the sound, his hands on his hips pushing his jacket back just so. You both wait a minute, daring the other to speak, before giving in at the same time.

“Do you want something to drink – “ “I’m sorry about earlier-“

You both stop, waiting for the other to finish. He speaks first.

“Yeah, what you got?”

“Water, beer, or tequila.” You say, gliding past him to the small kitchen that overlooks the living room. You turn back, awaiting an answer. He’s still a thousand miles away.

“Beer.” He says finally. You nod and go to the fridge, retrieving two cans from the bottom shelf. Closing the door with your foot, you walk forward and hold the can out for him. He takes it but doesn’t open it. Annoyed, you make for your spot on the couch and plop down, pulling the tab back as you tuck your legs under you.

“You can sit down,” you say.

As if snapped out of a trance, he comes forward and sits on the opposite end of the couch. In a fluid motion, he opens the beer and throws it back for a long gulp. You study him from your perch, nursing the cold can in your hand. When he finishes his gulp, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The air around the two of you is tense, and the stomach makes your stomach flip.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says. You sit up, prompting him to look up at you. You bring the beer to your lips and take a sip, letting him know he’s got to offer a little more than that. He shakes his head.

“It’s- it’s a shit excuse. It’s just work.” He says.

“Yeah? Did the embassy cut the janitorial budget? No more Comet?”

He shakes his head. “You’re smarter than that,”

You fall silent and look at the space between you. You both know you never bought the excuse he gave you that night out, you just let him have it because it was easier to let him have his secrets, even if he noticed your eyes lingering on the gun strapped to his side when he first went up to the bar.

It was just supposed to be a drink.

Nothing serious.

“I am,” you say, setting your beer on the coffee table. You sit up and wait for him to respond. Instead, he takes another sip of his beer and makes to stand.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he says, adjusting his jacket. “I’ll let you get back to your evening-“

“Javier,” you say. As you see him making for the door, you pounce up and grab his arm. He stills, and you drop it as if you just breached a barrier.

“You’re not bothering me,” you say. “You can tell me…or you don’t have to. It’s fine.”

He turns back and regards you with those eyes. Those fucking eyes. In this light, with the beers you’ve had, you feel suddenly so undressed in front of him. You bring an arm up to hold the opposite arm. It makes you feel less exposed

“Friends, remember?” you say, trying to recapture the jokey feeling from the previous night. Trying to make him feel comfortable. Like he can be light in here. With you.

He’s still for a second, but just as quickly as he popped up from the couch he’s got his hands on your face, pulling you into a desperate kiss. It’s messy and hard, but you let him take the lead, opening your mouth when he presses his tongue between your lips.  His hands drop to your waist and clutch at you, pushing your ugly, old University shirt up to touch your skin. Everything feels so urgent like if he let his hold on you relax even a little you’d float away from him. You feel the hardness in his jeans as he holds you against him, and you try to kiss him back with equal ferocity before realizing maybe he needs this kind of harsh control. So you relax, letting him take the lead and paw and gnaw at you. He leaves a trail of harsh, open mouth kisses along your neck that you know are going to leave marks, and you make a mental note to wear a turtle neck tomorrow to avoid the inevitable, unintentionally shaming little innocent voices asking “Señora, qué es esto?”.

Why do little kids notice everything?

Eagerly, as if he’s realized it’s the one thing that’s been keeping him from peace all day, he pulls your shirt over your head and throws it somewhere behind you. You’ve already taken your bra off, and his head dips down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the point before giving it a quick, testing bite. You let out a little gasp as he switches to the other, and for a moment you forget his face at your door – sad, like a puppy dog that got kicked – and the dullness of his voice, so different from just a few days earlier. This feels different too- not so much fun, but release.

You’ll let him have it.

Your knees hit the edge of the couch and, a creative idea coming to your head, you drop from the kiss and sit yourself on the arm, focus now on undoing his belt. Above you he strips his jacket off, dropping it to the floor. You pull the belt out of the loops with all the show of a circus lion tamer cracking a whip and immediately being to pull at the buttons and zipper. Aggressively, -maybe too aggressively, calm down, the dick isn’t going anywhere, Eloise- you pull the jeans down past his ass and lurch forward, catching the head of his cock between your lips and sucking. Above you, he hisses, and you bring your hand to him, wrapping your fingers around the top as if it were an extension of your mouth. Gathering spit from the back of your throat, you take him deeper, trying to coat his length. His hands come up to grab at your hair, and you’re encouraged to go faster. Suddenly taking care of him is the only thing that matters anymore. Your other hand reaches forward and presses up against his sac, and the groan from above you is enough of an indication that he approves. You pull him out of your mouth and flick your eyes up forward, holding eye contact as you lick along the side of him. The way his mouth falls open is enough encouragement to return to your work in earnest, and for the next five minutes, you’re working your jaw like a fucking snake – pulling him into the back of your throat, tickling the underside of him all the while before returning to give attention to the head.

Without warning, you feel hands on your shoulders, and before you can protest – no, I want to do this, I want to do this for you – your back is against the leather of the couch cushions. You stare up at him as he finishes undressing, his eyes are so dark and focused as he drops the clothes to his feet. In a fluid motion, he pulls your night shorts and underwear down, depositing them with the rest of his clothes as he crawls over you. You scoot back until your head is pressed against the pillow just fifteen minutes earlier you had nearly fallen asleep drooling on. He hooks your leg up, opening you up for him as he slithers up to kiss you again.

“Are you-?”

“Yeah,” you say.

It’s enough. Seconds later he’s sheathing himself inside of you, and despite yourself, despite that stupid cool disposition you opened the door with, you let out a moan. Harsh fingers grab your chin and pull you back into a kiss, cutting you off as he continues to pound into you at an unforgiving pace. God, it feels good. It’s been years since you’ve had sex without a condom, and you’ve forgotten how nice and right it can feel to have someone inside you without a barrier. You hum into his mouth as he pulls away, dropping his lips to your neck as he continues, hard and unforgiving and perfectly painful in a way that you’ll carry in your walk for a week. Embarrassingly, you’re so wet, and the excess slick only makes the sounds coming from between the two of you more obscene. You clench yourself around him, earning yourself a moan as he sucks a bruise onto your collarbone – it's okay, remember, turtleneck -and bucks into you, faster than before.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he continues. “Fuck!”

“Yeah?” he asks, his hand coming up to grab your breast. He pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and you let out another moan. Instead of answering, you dig your nails into the meat of his ass, urging him forward and deeper into you. It must have an effect because it’s his turn to moan into your ear, for you to hear the string of curse words that tumble from his stupid, perfect mouth. Encouraged, you press against his back, bringing him closer as you ride him from below. He sucks as his teeth and leans into it when you try again. You bend down and suck at the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, doing your best to leave a mark. Fair’s fair.

A few more minutes into this and you don’t think you can hold it off any longer. Opening your legs as much as possible, begging him to go as deep as he can, you finally let your body go. It’s deep and internal, a different sensation than when you’re circling yourself alone in your bed. It seems to pull him deeper and crush him in between the impossibly strong spasms. You let out a little cry, which is all it takes for him to finish. Seconds later you feel him pulse inside you, warmth spreading deep inside of you. He falls atop of you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high. You both stay like that for a moment, two sweaty bodies flopped atop of the other, basking in the afterglow. After another minute he pulls back and kisses your chin before pulling himself from you – you’re proud, you only let out a small pathetic sound of disapproval – before he’s up, making for your kitchen. He returns a moment later, a wet rag in his hand. You try not to remember that you used that same cloth to clean up split orange juice that morning as you take it, pressing it between your legs as you sit up. You reach forward for your beer and take a sip as he settles beside you, two cigarettes once again caught between his lips. He lights yours first and passes it to you, which you take gratefully. For a moment, the two of you relax in the afterglow, naked and sweating on your shitty couch, sucking on cigarettes and waiting for your heart rate to go back down.

“I saw a kid get shot,” he says out of nowhere. It's enough to jolt you upward. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring forward, lost in his own thoughts. He brings the cigarette to his lips again.

“…Fuck.” You say. Because what else can you say? Try and make him feel better, tell him you’ve lost students to the same bullshit he seems to be fighting? Yes, that’s always the solution- more dead kids.

“Couldn’t have been older than nineteen,” he says. “Other…kids were there. Saw it.”

You bite your lip and study his profile. You’re not sure what to say. Is there anything? If you were in his position, you’d probably hate someone trying to fill the silence. To make you feel better. Like people can’t just sit with something uncomfortable and true. It reminds you home, of the family you grew up in. You want to show him that isn’t you.

So, you swing your legs onto the ground and move to sit closer to him. He notices but says nothing. The two of you sit in silence, the smoke from your cigarettes intermingling in the smell of sex and sweat that permeates the air around you. He finishes his cigarette first, and you stub yours out – in what, solidarity? – before reaching to catch his hand in your own. He stills, but lets you interlace your fingers.

“You don’t have to-”

“Friends, Javier.” You say again. He turns to look at you and you hold his gaze, daring him to say something against you. A beat passes, and he drops his head. Reaching out, you pull his head to your lips and press a kiss against his temple. Leaning back, you pull him down with you, letting his head lay on your chest as you pull the ratty blanket over the two of you. You listen to his breaths go in and out, as you trace mindless patterns through his hair. After a few moments, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s asleep. Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes and soon follow suit.

The next morning, when you wake up alone on your couch, you try not to let the ache in your chest settle. When you leave that morning, alone for the first time in weeks, you try not to overthink it. And later, then night, when you’re lying in bed and hear another woman’s groans permeate the wall between your bedrooms, you try not to finger the bruises on your neck and ignore the ache between your legs.

It’s not serious.

[darkisrising]

First Kiss, by DarkIsRising

Mostly an excuse to write sex, so consider yourself warned.  Prompt from @treescape: Luke and Din remember their first kiss… and they have very different takes on it. (read it here on AO3 if you’d prefer) First Kiss “It’s not that I think you’re wrong,” Luke says. “It’s just that I know I’m right.”

And maybe he could have picked a better time to say it—one where maybe his legs weren’t draped over Din’s shoulders—but it needed to be said.

“Hm,” Din replies, as neutral a sound as they come, and Luke gasps as he feels the hum of it through Din’s tongue where it is lodged inside of him, opening Luke up and taking him apart.

“You know what I’m talking about, right?” he asks and Din—sweet, beautiful Din who is never anything less than achingly honest—pulls back enough to look him in the eyes to say with a blink: “Rarely.”

Din returns to what he’s doing. This time his hands find Luke’s ass and they hold him open as he’s speared by a clever tongue and teased by the sharp edge of teeth that keep Luke hovering over the edge of too much.

When Din changes the tilt of his chin Luke can feel the prickle of Din’s barely-there beard where it rubs—chafing delicate skin—and he erupts in goosebumps. Throwing his head back into the pillow he blindly grasps for Din, any part of Din. He just needs to hold on and Luke isn’t particular about where, not right at this moment. He finds the thick curls of Din’s haphazardly grown hair and it grounds him to thread his fingers through and hold on tight, while his heels press encouragingly into the muscled plane of Din’s back.

Din eats him out and it might have started as foreplay, but then Din reaches up to unwind Luke’s fingers from his hair and wordlessly tasks Luke with holding himself open. Now he’s free to take Luke’s aching, leaking cock in hand, stroking and squeezing and pumping until Luke comes. It’s messy and Din doesn’t even try to catch any of it on his palm, just lets the hot spill of it land across Luke’s belly, and the air sharpens with the smell of sex.

Luke closes his eyes, basking in the quiver of his muscles, the scent of his release, the heat of his flushing skin.

“Come here,” Din says and Luke is a languid puddle that would go anywhere and do anything Din tells him to as long as it doesn’t include moving anywhere or doing anything.

Which works, because Din has the lube. His fingers and cock do all the work while Luke just has to fold up tight while Din fucks into him, whispering how good it is, and how much he loves this, and how much he’s missed this, and won’t Din come inside him and make him wet?

That last one’s the one that does it. Din’s dark eyes shut tight as he buries as deep into Luke’s body as he can go and finally gives Luke everything he’s been asking for.

“Getting married was a good idea,” Luke says later, nearly asleep. His fingers are in Din’s hair again, but this time he’s gentler about it.

“Yeah,” Din agrees, more awake than the slow pull of his breathing would have Luke believe. “But that wasn’t our first kiss.”

He jolts awake at that and Din huffs a laugh as Luke pushes away to sit up and stare down at him.

“It absolutely was,” Luke says, and it’s all coming back to him now, how this argument had started.

There was a diplomatic reception he never wanted to be at. Leia’s political smile that didn’t let on how close she was to murdering someone over a canape. Han’s apolitical smile that let on exactly how close he was to murdering someone though he’d settle for a canape. An attache drawing them into a more-than-slightly inebriated conversation about love.

Well, not love, exactly.

Something far more indelicate but Leia was adept at steering the conversation away from the double entendres that had Han scowling and Luke blushing all the way up his ears, wishing he had a beskar helmet to hide away in, too.

“So, then,” the attache said, eyeing Din’s armored body with a forwardness that was breathtaking considering this had all started when Din had bluntly told him he was a married Mando. “If you won’t divulge that first—”

The attache’s hand had pressed flat against the silver shine of Din’s pauldron then, which had made Han snort into his drink and mutter something about the balls on this guy, that had then led to Leia dragging him away... and maybe that had been his strategy all along.

“—what was your first kiss?”

“Oh, my husband is very traditional,” Luke had said, emphasizing the word husband again for the fourth time that night. “I didn’t even see his face until we were married,” which is a lie, but he’s not going to get into it about Gideon’s cruiser and Grogu and a farewell that had only lasted long enough for Luke to come to his senses and send the Mandalorian his coordinates. “So we never kissed until after we were officially a clan.”

That part at least was true. They’d had sex, of course, because there was nothing in Din’s creed that prohibited that, thank the Force, but Luke had to wait until for a riduurok before they could do anything without a helmet between them.

The attache had seemed bored by the answer, and it might have been one pointed reminder enough about Din’s marital status to actually get the man to leave them alone, but then Din had chimed in and said, voice low: “That wasn’t out first kiss,” which had instantly made Din fascinating to the attache once again, abruptly undoing all of Luke’s hard work.

“It wasn’t, though,” Din says, a slight curl to his lip and amusement in his gaze. He still isn’t used to using his face to express his emotions, so to Luke’s trained eye he might as well be laughing at Luke outright.

“I think I’d remember something like you taking off your helmet and kissing me—”

“You weren’t awake,” Din says and Luke’s mouth closes with a click. “It was the second time we’d fallen asleep together.”

So, three weeks after they’d started hooking up, Luke calculates in his head, because back then he’d kept meticulous track of every touch, every blow job, every fuck in case he ever needed to remember them after he and Din drifted apart. That never had happened, and so now Luke has the luxury of letting each of their encounters blend together, turn to a wonderful haze of days and moments and, someday, years. He has a feeling, though, that this time—with Din’s gleaming eyes and his soft revelation—will be one that Luke remembers for a long time yet.

“I woke up. You were right there, and I had to find out what you tasted like.”

“Oh,” Luke says, heart beating fast.

“So I took off my helmet and kissed you. I thought you were going to wake up because then you were kissing me back…” His voice trails off and he offers Luke a shy, one-shouldered shrug. “But you didn’t.”

“Oh,” Luke says again, because, really, what else can he say to that? Except maybe: “So am I a good kisser in my sleep?”

“Well,” Din answers with a laugh, pulling Luke back down to him. “I married you, didn’t I?”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A King’s Wrath.

Word Count: 1.8k 

Pairing: Yandere!Overblot!Leona/Reader

Synopsis: Last time Leona lost control, you had help. Back-up isn’t a privilege he seemed intent to give you, this time around.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood and Delusional Mindsets.

Overblot was a terrible thing.

You should know, you’d been around it enough to see the signs, to recognize just how depraved it could make the people you thought you knew. It was messy, it was desperate, it was an affliction you couldn’t fight off until it’d already ravaged your peers and hurt your friends. It was a curse, in every sense of the word. You were almost glad you hadn’t been born with magic, somedays, when you got a chance to see what it could do if it got out of hand.

Leona, in particular, was not a man to be underestimated. Even before you really knew him, when you were still confused and lost in a world you barely understood, you hadn’t been able to recognize the monster he turned into at the slightest hints of imbalance. You could barely stand to watch, the sight bringing tears to your eyes as surely as the sandstorm he’d summoned, but you’d figured that would be a one-time offense. It was over, and his childhood strife was behind him. He’d grown from it, and you’d helped him. You were proud of him, even if you’d never dare to say that outloud. He didn’t need the ego boost, and you didn’t need to deal with another cocky, self-satisfied lecture on the vastness of his superiority. 

Well... you thought he’d gotten better, at least.

You were starting to think you’d gotten your hopes up too soon.

You could feel it. The electricity in the air, the searing warmth mingling with a distinct, sudden chill, neither feeling managing to completely block out the other. You were sweating, but you were shivering. You were scrambling backward, searching for ground that wouldn’t fall out from under your feet, but you were frozen in place, rooted to the soil that wanted so badly to push you away. It’d been instantaneous. One moment, he was guiding you into the forest surrounding the academy, your hand in his and a whine playing on your tongue about his bone-crushing grip or his unmatchable pace, and the next, you were like this, his expression fallen and his confident confession crushed and discarded by your awkward, rushed rejection. It’d been too blunt. It’d been too harsh.

It’d been honest, and you could never be honest with Leona.

You weren’t dumb enough to try to talk him down or take him on. You were alone, painfully, stupidly alone, out of the reach of the Headmaster or Malleus or someone who could help you, not that you had the right to be picky, at the moment. You wished you’d insisted on taking Grimm with you, or Ace or Deuce or anyone you could’ve convinced Leona to bring along, but you didn’t. Your only chance was to flee, to push yourself to your feet and run for it, even if you doubted you’d be able to make it. Still, it wasn’t much of a choice. Cramping lungs and sore legs were far preferable to the creature you’d left behind you.

Leona wasn’t one to be neglected, though. Already, you could hear him catching up to you, recovering from his blind rage and falling into a targetted, pointed wrath, putting your suffering above the destruction of trees and flowers that’d only witnessed his humiliation. Dust hung in the open air, fragrant and overwhelming, your eyes stinging and your throat going dry, although you couldn’t be sure whether that was Leona’s magic or your own suffocating fear. Each crushed leaf made it worse, every noise sending a jolt through your chest, giving you a new reason to run faster, to scream louder. Somewhere in the distance, Leona laughed, the noise throaty, threatening. Easily drowning out your voice.

But, he could laugh all he wanted. You could see a soft glow, the lights of a dormitory, although you couldn’t guess which it was. It didn’t matter, though. Soon, you’d have help. You’d be safe--

Without warning, the ground underneath you fell away, turning to something malleable and pliant. You slipped before you put a name to it, falling into the shallow pit of sand that’d formed between you and a kneeling Leona, a single palm carelessly pressed to the ground. You tried to get up, but even like this, Leona was faster than you, moving like a predator seeking out its prey, his fist closing around your wrist and wrenching you to your feet before you could stand on your own. The pain was immediate, burning. As if your body was trying to tear itself apart, and you just had to stand back, watching as defined trails carved themselves into your skin. There was blood, but it disappeared as it washed over his hand, mixing with the blank ink that already stained his fingertips. You wondered if it would leave a mark, when he turned back.

If he turned back.

A low, wordless groan forced its way from your grit teeth, and Leona pushed his shoulders back, taking on the air of a victorious warlord as if you’d already admitted defeat. You supposed you had. “Does it hurt?” He asked, a cruel lilt heavy in his voice. You didn’t think before nodding, hoping for the smallest hint of mercy, but Leona only cocked his head to the side, the gesture unnaturally angular, drawing attention to the lopsided smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. Rigid and symbolic, not unlike his touch. “Good. I’m not wasting my time, then.”

Claws found their way into your skin, and it dawned on you that he might want a response. You didn’t have much of a choice than to give one to him. “Leona,” You forced out, his name half a gasp and half a mumble. “This isn’t who you are, you’re… You’re in danger. If you don’t snap yourself out of this, your body’s not going to be able to--”

“I think this is exactly who I am,” He growled, cutting you off with little more than a snarl and a narrow-eyed glance. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend and play your little, oblivious game and be patient. Do you know how long I spent sitting back and waiting for you to come around?” It was a question that didn’t warrant an answer, a single talon driving itself into your flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. You screamed, and he rose his voice to speak over you. “I spent so long acting like your friend, you don’t have the right to--” He interrupted himself with a hitched breath, his mouth closing and his jaw locking into place. And yet, he wasn't any more rational when he decided to continue. “It was pointless. You denied me, and you made it pointless.”

“I-I’m sorry.” An apology felt right, albeit manufactured. He’d told how he felt, and you hadn’t shared his sentiment. He’d said he loved you in that lackadaisical, noncommittal way of his, and you hadn’t known to take him seriously. There was nothing to be sorry for, not from your perspective. Leona was just a brat who’d never been turned down, not by someone he considered so far below himself. Still, you were the one who needed a reason, an excuse that would calm him. A selection blended together on your lips, forming something more incoherent than soothing. “I didn’t know you were… I don’t know what I was saying, I want to be with you. We can be together, but first, you have to stop, alright?” You did your best to sound sympathetic, letting your words draw out into something tender. Something compassionate, despite the pain slowly spreading to your shoulder. “You have to let me help you.”

“You’re the only one that needs help, herbivore.” You were used to the pet name, the playful jab at his place on the food chain, but it didn’t sound like a buy for your annoyance, not when he was standing behind you, his brute force only outmatched by the sweltering heat that surrounded him like an aura. It was a warning, now, a reminder that he had fangs and strength and magic and you didn’t. “If anything, I should’ve done this months ago. It’s so fucking easy.” You can practically hear his sneer. It wasn’t like he made an effort to hide it. “It’s not like you would’ve been much of a challenge, even without the extra blot.”

At that, Leona let you go, more out of disgust than concern. Automatically, you reeled back, bringing your injured arm to your chest as you moved to run, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you managed to turn around, his heel made contact with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground with a new ache forming in your calf. In the blink of an eye, his fingers were entangled in your hair, his magic thankfully, thankfully neutralized but his grip so tight, you almost wished he’d just put you out of your misery.

Unfortunately, Leona had never been kind.

You couldn't speak, but he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, he was content to jeer and grin and laugh as you writhed, your hands clamped around overgrown grass in an effort not to lash out and anger him further. But, not fighting back was a double-sided blade, one that gave Leona the authority to assume he’d won. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, abruptly, his faux-empathy layered on so thickly, you didn’t have to wonder if he was trying to be honest. “I should’ve known someone like you would be too dense to understand. You’d never give me what I want, not unless I force it out of you.”

You stiffened. You felt him pull back, letting go of you entirely, but you didn’t dare try to get away. “I don’t… What do you want?”

“I can’t have a throne, can I? I can’t have your heart, and I doubt you’re going to hand it over now.” He sighed, the sound a wistful thing. One that left you more unnerved than his threats ever could. His hand came down again, petting over your hair so gently, you were tempted to melt into it for a brief, fleeting second. “But…”

He was gentle, then he wasn’t, his foot pressing into the small of your back, shoving you to forward without a chance to prepare yourself. Involuntarily, you glanced over your shoulder before yiu could hit the ground , taking in the shadows that danced around him for the first time. The brightness in his eyes, golden and unfamiliar, the shape of something primal and animalistic looming behind him. The cruel, possessive smile on his lips, a smile that only broadened when you failed to look away.

“You can still bow.”

[thecomposerofstories]

Information on Amy.

(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)

~General Information~

Fandom: Toy Story.

Name: Amy the Ragdoll.

Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)

Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.

City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.

Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.

Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol

~Physical Appearance~

Height: 10 inches.

Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eye colour: Black.

Skin tone: Light.

Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.

Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.

~Speech/Language/Communication~

Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.

First language: English.

Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)

Accent: American.

Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.

~Behaviour/Habits~

Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.

Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.

Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.

Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.

Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.

Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.

Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.

Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.

~The Past~

Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.

Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.

She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)

Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.

But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.

They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)

Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?

Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.

Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)

Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.

Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.

Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.

~Family~

The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.

Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.

~Relationships~

Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.

Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.

Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.

What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.

What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.

~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~

Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.

Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.

But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.

Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.

Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.

It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”

Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.

Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.

Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.

Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.

Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.

Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.

Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.

~Likes/Favourites~

Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.

Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.

Favourite Book Quotation(s):

“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”

Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.

Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.

Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.

~Relationships with other characters~

~Rex~

- Hit it off pretty quickly.

- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.

- Both become very stressed without the other around.

- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.

- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).

- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.

~Jessie~

- Became friends pretty quickly.

- Will drag Amy along anywhere.

- Get along fairly well.

- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.

- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).

- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.

- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.

~Hamm~

- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.

- Surprisingly good pals.

- Have full conversations without saying anything.

- Like to sit and look out of the window together.

- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).

- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.

~The Potato Heads~

- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.

- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.

- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.

~Woody~

- Are aquianteces.

- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.

~Buzz~

- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)

- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.

- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.

~Mr. Prickle Pants~

- Are absolute BFF’s.

- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.

~Bo Peep~

- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.

- (She has)

- They later become good friends.

- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.