#only to realise those kids are the same ages as his were when they were murdered

[zeawesomebirdie]

Once again thinking about the Bat who slowly goes from only killing as an absolute last resort to riding alongside notorious killer Victor Fries as a hired gunman, only to be assigned to take out a man and his family and realising just how far he's fallen in his search for Napier

[jinnie-ret]

people pleaser

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

genre: fluff, angst

content warnings: toxic friends

word count: 3.6k

summary: in her one kid's room episode, y/n reflects on how it was hard for her not to be so kind and sweet to everyone, because she just wanted them to like her.

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The music at the start of the video played, cutting between different things the members were saying.

"Ah, she's too kind for her own good," Seungmin shook his head with a slightly sad smile.

"She hypes everyone up, she's like a mood maker of the group," Lee Know added on.

"Y/N is very selfless," Jeongin said turning his head to the others as they nodded.

"One Kid's Room, Y/N!" Y/N smiled into the camera, relaxed into the armchair with her comfy purple fleece on.

••••••

Ever since the group's trainee days, Y/N had been a people pleaser. Not that she realised that fact about herself, until it came to the future where she would reflect on herself.

She remembered when she had seen Han around the practice rooms, and it didn't matter what he did, singing, dancing or rapping... he was talented in all areas. He was even charming to her despite his shyness occasionally. She knew for sure he'd debut soon, he was an ace after all. There were also rumours going around that her good friend Chan was creating a group to join the showcase and have a chance at debuting. She wanted to be like him, so she made a lot of effort to greet him and be kind to him.

"Hi Jisung!" she would wave at him as she passed him in the corridors of JYP Entertainment.

Of course, Han being Han, would wave back without really knowing who she was at first, but he felt too awkward to ignore her. When he spoke to his hyung about a pretty girl always saying 'hello' at him, Chan was quick to tell Han about who his friend Y/N was (and also that she was off limits because he was thinking of adding her to the group but he didn't tell Han that last part).

Soon they became more comfortable around each other and Y/N found herself practising singing songs with Han, wishing she could belt notes like he could too.

"Wow, you're so good at hitting those higher notes! I wish I could do that," Y/N turned her head towards Han, from where they were both lying down on the practice room floor, feet pointed outwards to opposite walls but their heads side by side.

"Hey, you've got a great voice too, you know?" Han quickly moved his head to the side to look at her, but decided against it and stared right back up at the ceiling.

"You really think so?" Y/N's voice wavered. She needed reassurance, she knew that herself. There was still a long way to go, but she'd get to a place she wanted with her voice one day.

"I know so. Maybe one day you could be my backup singer?" Han said casually, before belly laughing when Y/N leaned over and turned to him with a pout.

"Hannnn!" she whined.

"Yah, you know I'm joking, just keep practising, you'll do great, yeah?" Han said genuinely, before standing up and hauling her up himself as they left the practice room.

•••

The next to join the group Chan was preparing for was a boy the same age as her, Jeongin. He was cute, Y/N thought, shy as well and maybe even similar to herself in some ways for wanting the approval of others, especially their future leader.

Dropping her bag in the corner of the room, first to arrive, Y/N quickly exited the practise room realising she needed the bathroom. Only to return to see Jeongin sheepishly standing in the entrance, Han looking away and Chan stood in the middle of the room with his arms folded.

"Jeongin you should have been here ten minutes ago," the Australian guy frowned running a hand through his hair. Ten minutes? Wow, Chan could be scary sometimes, and Y/N didn't regret joining the group lineup so far, but he was pretty strict.

"I-i was just..." Jeongin tried speaking up but clearly didn't have the words to explain why, practice bag in between his legs and hands clasped nervously behind his back.

"Oh that's my fault, Chan," Y/N decided to lie for him and came forward and stood next to Jeongin, resting her hand on his shoulder as they stood at the same height, "I was showing Jeongin this video at the dorms and I insisted he watch it before we leave..." she even looked off to the side awkwardly, and that part was genuine because the moment Chan let out a huff through his nose, she felt intimidated.

"Guys.... ugh, just, get ready for practice, yeah?" Chan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose as the two youngest rushes to one side of the room.

"Why did you do that?" Jeongin whispered, pulling out his bottle of water.

"Because I want to know why you were really late," Y/N joked and nudges his shoulder, making him laugh.

"Guys, stop messing around!" Chan rolled his eyes. Y/N wasn't so sly, he saw her bag that had already been there, and knew she hadn't arrived at the same time as Jeongin, but he allowed the excuse nonetheless.

•••

Walking back into the dorms after a busy shift at work, with school the next day, hearing a loud argument was not ideal at all for Y/N. And of course, it had to be between Han and Hyunjin. The taller boy had recently been recruited by Chan after his exceptional dance skills and potential. Perhaps Han was jealous? Y/N didn't really know, all she wanted was her bed right now but she hated the confrontation she heard.

"You can't just leave your things around everywhere! You're so messy!" Hyunjin yelled at Han.

Y/N peeked her head round the hallway after taking off her coat and shoes to see them yelling at each other in the lounge. Chan and Jeongin were nowhere to be seen - they must be out somewhere.

"I was here first! You think I care about your complaints? Get over yourself!" Han shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh so it's not ok for me to complain, but you get to act like a spoilt brat and like you're better than everyone else?!" Hyunjin yelled once more.

"Guys, what are you doing?" Y/N yawned, staring at the shouting boys who immediately flipped round to their dongsaeng.

"Oh, hey Y/N," Hyunjin's eyes softened, and so did his tone as he saw her standing there tiredly.

"What are you doing up so late?" Han questioned, glancing across at her.

"She works, remember? Gosh, you don't care about anyone but yourself and-" Hyunjin shouted before Y/N quietly cut him off with her calming demeanour.

"Stop. Just stop. You ask me why I'm up late but you two are up awake and arguing... If we're gonna be a team we can't go on like this. And that's not fair to Chan," Y/N shook her head sighing. She couldn't even look at the boys, but from the resounding silence there was she hoped her words had gotten through to them.

"I guess you're right," Hyunjin nodded, shifting awkwardly on one leg.

They all looked at Y/N as if seeing her in a whole new way, she seemed more mature than ever in that moment.

"We all have early starts tomorrow, don't we?" Y/N checked with them, chewing on her lip.

"You're right we do," Han sighed and nodded.

"Right, let's sleep then," Y/N nodded and rushed off to her room, not wanting to be in that situation again. She liked offering her advice, yes, but being the voice of reason? That felt like another level of having responsibility.

"Let's not fight again," Hyunjin whispered, tired himself, physically and emotionally.

All Han could do was roll his eyes and nod as they retreated to their rooms.

It may not have been the last time they fought, but they both put in more effort to control their emotions.

•••

3RACHA was completed. Changbin joined Han and Chan in making music and releasing in onto SoundCloud together, and despite his darker aura, the boy was one of the most caring guys she had ever met.

He would check up on her often, noticing her floating away into her own little world. It happened again one day, when Y/N was sat in the studio with the three guys, until Chan and Han went to collect lunch.

"You good, Y/Nnie?" Changbin asked, breaking the comfortable silence that was in the room.

"Hmm, yeah, why?" Y/N wiped sleep out of her eyes as she saw him staring back at her.

"It's ok, you know, to be upset, or tired," Changbin gently spoke, sensing from the start that she was a sensitive, soft soul.

"I'm not upset... I just need to improve, that's all..." Y/N sighed, curling up into a tighter ball on the sofa, tugging a blanket over her legs.

"I saw your face after the staff spoke to you," Changbin informed her, helping to straighten out the blanket.

"They just said that I shouldn't expect to be a part of the group if I'm dancing and singing the way I do and that even a rat would have done a better job," Y/N shrugged, not able to look at Changbin.

"They what? They can't say rude shit like that to you!" Changbin stood up, arms folded.

"I-it was just constructive criticism," Y/N jumped slightly, not expecting the strong reaction from her fellow group member.

"No, they were rude to you, there's a difference between constructive criticism and being rude. How is what they said helpful in any way?!" Changbin growled, shaking his head with a clenched jaw.

"I just caught them in a bad mood-" Y/N shared the thought that was playing over and over again in her head, eyes shining as she looked up at Changbin.

"No, you didn't, ok? It's alright," Changbin side hugged her to him, joining her back on the sofa, "it's ok to feel sad from what they said, I just want you to talk to me about it, I'm here. Now, come on, Chan and Han will be back with food soon."

•••

Next to join the group was a charming freckled boy, also from Australia. He had quickly grown close with Chan from their shared nationality, but Y/N craved to be close with him too. She wanted him to like her, after all, she got on well with her other members, so she found herself worrying when she hadn't really had a chance to bond with him yet.

He was a cute and loveable guy, and with the language barrier, Felix not really knowing a lot of Korean yet, Y/N felt disheartened when her words would be met with a blank look from him. She just hadn't connected the dots yet, not realising it was because her quick ramblings in Korean were an overwhelming whirlwind of incomprehensible words.

"Hi Felix! I'm so glad you joined the group, you've got such a cool voice I think it will really make us stand out!" Y/N gushed to Felix after they all did a vocal practice together.

"Thank you," Felix awkwardly answered before looking away at the ground, smiling bigger only when Chan stood next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

That was when Y/N decided she needed to find a better way to communicate with Felix, so she started writing notes, using an online translator to write an English translation below her Korean words, to tell him words of encouragement and show him she was there as a friend.

•••

"Thanks Y/N! See you soon, maybe," Y/N's trainee friends giggled as they left the lobby of JYP, Y/N waving goodbye to them as she zipped her purse back up.

"What was that about?" Seungmin spoke up, leant against the wall opposite her.

"Oh, umm, my friends asked if they could borrow some of my money to get some snacks," Y/N grinned, feeling happy she was able to help her friends.

"You didn't have to do that... give them your money so easily," Seungmin shook his head, walking over and standing closer to her now.

Seungmin was recognised for his polite nature and gorgeous voice, hence his joining of the group.

"It's ok, really, they needed it and plus they said they'd pay me back," Y/N defended her friends, lips pursing when she saw Seungmin frown.

"Whenever I see those friends of yours they ask for money," Seungmin was trying really hard for Y/N to see sense.

"It's fine I have a part time job for a reason," Y/N smiled, trying to brush away Seungmin's concerned but it only made it worse.

"Yeah, not to fund their snacks," his eyes only widened in response.

"They need it," Y/N's voice became higher pitched, as she was desperate for Seungmin to believe her and just leave alone the subject. She didn't want to be in any sort of argument with him but he also didn't want him to be thinking badly of her friends.

"So do you, please be careful around them," Seungmin sighed and patted her shoulder, seeing she wanted to leave the subject alone, as they both left the company.

Later that night at the dorms, Y/N and Seungmin were relaxing on the sofa, with the other members too, as they scrolled through their phones. Looking at her social media, Y/N tapped on her friend's story, only to see they were all hanging out without her, and seemed to be eating at a slightly more expensive fast food restaurant. But they didn't even have enough money for a snack earlier?!

It seemed Y/N had spoke this last thought out loud. Seungmin peered over her shoulder and frowned, recognising the people in the photos as his younger member's friends.

Stopping himself from telling her 'I told you so', Seungmin offered his comfort.

"You've got us, yeah? Don't worry about them anymore," Seungmin swiped off of the story and took her phone out of her hands.

"I don't know what i did wrong..." Y/N bit her lip, wondering how she always went wrong with her friends.

"You did nothing wrong, they took advantage of your kindness, Y/N, now let me order some fried chicken for us, yeah?"

•••

The final member Chan added to the lineup was a guy called Minho, who, very impressively, had completed the basic JYP dance moves in 2 weeks. Y/N was in awe of him.

"I can't believe you completed the moves already! I bet Chan will make you dance leader when we all get to debut together!" Y/N smiled at Lee Know, singing his praises.

"Aha, thank you," Lee Know awkwardly bowed at her, not really saying much after. Y/N just wanted to compliment him and show her appreciation, but seeing his short responses made her feel awkward too, and soon they'd be left in silence.

Y/N found herself sat there thinking, she spent so long trying to get everyone to like her, but maybe what she said, what she did, wasn't good enough?

"Is this too much for you?" Chan sat down next to Y/N, who had isolated herself to sit in the corner of the practice room.

"No it's fine," Y/N waved her hand away, running a hand through her hair.

"Tell me the truth," Chan insisted, shifting his body to look at her, feeling concerned.

"I am, I'm fine," Y/N bluntly said, not wanting to talk about how she truly was feeling, and the thoughts she was having.

"Don't lie to me, I need to know you can do this, I don't want you stressing out, we've got the showcase ahead of us, Y/N," Chan urged her to tell the truth, resting a hand on her knee, patting it gently.

"Look, ok, it is a lot to deal with but I can do it, I promise you. I just, I'm trying to figure everything in my head," Y/N leant her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Thank you for telling me the truth, and, Y/N, that's why we're here, we don't want you feeling like you're on your own when you do so much for all of us, ok?" Chan side hugged her, warmth in his eyes, and some relief there when he finally broke through to her.

"I am? I mean, I do a lot for you guys?" Y/N's voice pleaded for the truth, looking at Chan with hope in her eyes.

"You always do," he smiled and ruffled her hair.

••••••

Back to One Kids Room, Y/N smiled as she thought about how she had come as a person.

"As much as I still look up to my members, my self-esteem has grown so much and I've learnt to value myself. I love them so much, but I need to give myself energy and time too," Y/N smiled at the camera, hands squeezing the long arms of her sleeves and balling them up.

"She's so much more confident now, I remember she used to ask me if this was fine or that but now she's more confident," Changbin commented, the other guys nodding in agreement.

"She used to come to me being like, woahhhhh you're such a good dancer!" Lee Know chucked, thinking of the younger version of Y/N, who would always praise her members.

"Ah yes she'd speak exactly like that! Wow... And she'd look at me like, with these wide eyes being like, I wanna rap like you!" Han laughed as he perfectly imitated how Y/N spoke to him.

"She used to have this really sweet habit, when I didn't know Korean very well, umm, she'd leave these little notes for me, and write the Korean and English translation for me just so I knew what she was saying. There'd always be these words of encouragement, it just made my heart feel warm," Felix told the members, who all 'ooh'ed in response, shocked at this fact because they didn't know that Y/N used to do that.

"Ah, yes, I did used to leave notes for Felix... I wanted to be his friend so badly! He just seemed so cool but whenever I spoke to him he just sort of awkwardly smiled and nodded. I thought he didn't like me, turns out he had no idea what I was saying, so I left notes for him instead... yeah," Y/N felt shy when she admitted this, covering her face.

"I remember back in trainee days, I was late for practice because I overslept. And then when I arrived I thought Channie hyung is really going to scold me but Y/N suddenly appeared, I think she came back from the bathroom or something but she said it was her fault that we were both late, and I thought phew, hyung won't be angry at me now, haha," Jeongin told his own story, remembering Y/N covering for him, and that wasn't the only time she had done that.

"I remember that! I knew she was covering up for you!" Chan gasped, pointing an accusing finger at Jeongin who laughed in response.

"She's so sweet and kind, whenever any of us would argue she'd try and stop it from happening," Hyunjin shook his head in wonder at how selfless Y/N was.

"Oh yeah! She'd try and get us to see from each perspective, even though I felt like I was right I thought wow I can't argue because now Y/N would be sad too if we carried on," Han covered his mouth slightly as he laughed, patting Hyunjin on the shoulder knowing that the argument he was referring to was definitely between the two of them.

"Right! Right! She's really good at seeing other people's feelings, but she used to struggle when it came to herself... She'd look so confused if I said to her that she was acting sad, she looked like a lost puppy..." Changbin said in a more serious tone.

"Oh when she had those puppy eyes! Yeah!" Chan nodded along enthusiastically, knowing the look all too well.

"It made my heart ache, she didn't understand, she's much better now though, I'll get a knock at my door and we'll talk for hours," Changbin confessed, feeling happy he was needed in helping his member feel better.

"Ah yes I talk to Binnie a lot about my feelings these days... I still find it confusing to understand how I feel but it makes a bit more sense when I talk with him, yeah..." Y/N began, still a bit shy in admitting when she needed help but better than she would have been before, "I don't think I look like a puppy? Seungmin is more like a puppy, haha."

"Remember Y/N used to have that part time job?" Seungmin asked the rest of the guys.

"Really?" Felix was shocked, not realising everything Y/N had to balance.

"Yeah she used to work at a cafe whilst training and school, I really admired that," Hyunjin grinned, proud of the younger girl.

"But she'd still have to ask us for money," Chan laughed.

"She'd spend it on her old friends! She wanted to make sure they were ok and then suddenly she wouldn't have any money left!" Seungmin said in disbelief, his voice cutely rising up and down in pitch showing how he was feeling.

"Oh, that makes sense I remember one time we got some boba, and she asked me like oppa, can you get me that please? And I asked her where her money went and she said she spent it on a present for Innie... I think it was near his birthday at the time," Lee Know commented, leaning back against the sofa.

"Woahh, my heart," Hyunjin gasped, placing a hand over his chest, "that's so cute!"

"Ah I love giving gifts! I feel like if I can find someone the perfect gift and they are happy then I'm really happy too," Y/N explained after a staff member asked her the question.

"I think I'm definitely different from debut days... If I could say anything about myself now... It would be... You have grown. Y/N has changed, but in a good way!"

"One Kid's Room, Y/N, finished!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari

[kaisaerinlover]

rin nii and sae nii

darkcon , incest , aged up

pls don’t read if you don’t like darkcon

to sae, rin isn’t competition. to rin, everything the two have been doing that’s the same since he was 16 and sae was 18 is a big competition. one that he knows he has to win. he doesn’t want to let the redhead have anything up over him ever again. sae doesn’t care. sae is a calculated and cold man. rin is an erratic mess. but the one thing the two brothers always manage to share a value consensus on is their baby sister. sweet innocent you. it’s a shame you’re so innocent, or not, because if you weren’t you would know how disgsuting your big brothers are.

when your brothers are football prodigies, globally renowned for their talent, and both known for being extra secretive about whatever it is they have going on in their lives off of the field, being their little sister gets harder. your parents don’t like you as much, you’re the child who bore not a single fruit of your mother’s labour (literally and figuratively), you are the child who cannot bring anything to the table, whilst rin and sae both bring a feast and several trophies. you are you and your brothers are so much better. above you in every way. born with natural beauty and talent.

but they don’t share that corrupted view your parents do, not at all. you’re all siblings, you can tell from a single look. yet you wear those big eyes better. those long sought after itoshi lower lashes sit so much more dainty on your eyes. the eyes both of them hate and love to see tearing up beneath them. the eyes they had to pretend to ignore when they both left you to pursue their soccer careers further. it’s a shame really, even as kids you were a bit neglected by your brothers. a bit is an understatement. rin was a mean kid. sae just didn’t care. they never had time for a baby sister in their world, neither did your parents. your parents had rin and sae, rin and sae had soccer. so what did you have?

the answer is nothing. you didn’t have anything. growing up neglected yet miraculously sheltered from the world. your upbringing is the greatest gift of all though; a gift both the older two itoshis have learned to be grateful for. if your airheadedness ever was replaced by anything other than a dumb mentality they would secretly yearn for years. your aloof nature is a blessing. and they learned that as they matured, as they realised you’re their baby sister. the one they can do whatever they want to. the one they love in a way that’s so sick they wouldn’t even have careers if anyone had found out what was going on between the three of you. the rare occasion when the three of you are together with your parents eating around the table, as you sit between your nii chans cutting your food so quietly. as your parents shower your brothers with praise and compliments for their insane soccer talents. your parents are stupid, they paid so little attention to you as a whole, to your brothers as people; only to their achievements. now they can’t even see the growing rivalry between the two. the only thing sae will ever get competitive with rin for is your affections. but even then, every second they spend with you, both of them together with you, it grows their bond even more. but rin hates that; rin wants you to himself. rin is feral. sae could learn to be content with it though. maybe. if rin knew his fucking place.

the tension between them is always thick whenever you’re in the picture. as thick as it is with soccer. that’s saying a lot, considering their whole lives have been built around the damn sport. and you; god you’re sweet. sweet as sugar. more sugary and tangy than any delicacy the millions in their pockets can buy. and they want it, they want all of it. the only other thing that you could ever argue itoshi sae and itoshi rin could ever want more than glory and to prevail in soccer is to devour you whole. both of them know it. you’re so clueless to it all. like i said, how sheltered you are is a gift. no one normal would let this happen. no one would at all. but you do; you lavish in the attention your brothers nonstop give you to try and win over your pink heart wrapped in a ribbon and covered in stupid glitter because you’re a little attention whore.

when they both left you; you missed them dearly. they are your brothers after all. and your parents completely neglected you, rin was mean, sae ignored you; but they always took care of you. even if it was the bare minimum. they were still your big brothers. you’re a year younger than rin and 3 younger than sae. those are your nii chans. mom and dad had tried again for another boy. but they got you instead. and as rin and sae picked up soccer as a hobby, they felt even more disappointed. their disgust was malleable towards you. they didn’t even bother trying again. your existence was a waste. but your brothers couldn’t be more thankful that you’re a girl. couldn’t be more thankful that they have such a doting little sister. so diligent. so cute. always waiting there even after all those years of them being so mean. always clueless. your innocence is intoxicating. it really is.

rin and sae are competitive. sae could have shared before, i said it already, he really could have compromised with rin. but rin’s anger towards sae all those years ago has never quite died down. he needs to one up the eldest in everything; you’re one of those things. sae thinks rin is lukewarm. rin would say the same about sae. you would say it about neither itoshi as one fucks into your cunt and the other bites at your neck like it’s meat on a bone.

sae is fucking the shit out of you completely, he was always more rough than rin. for the most part. rin is gnawing at your neck now though, misdirected anger; you suppose it’s that way anyway. not that you have much time to think. sae itoshi fucks hard most of the time. he doesn’t want to feel this attachment towards you; he wants to fuck it away. he fucks you so hard it hurts. he’s always like that and it’s not fair. it’s not fair on you (because it fucking hurts), but most of all because the attachment won’t ever leave. sae doesn’t want to be weighted down by this stupid rivalry he has with rin over you, doesn’t want to be compelled to return to you more often than he’d like to admit. he feels something when he’s with you; so different to the years of emptiness and undiagnosed depression that swallowed him for the first while he was in spain. he knows it’s not fair too, but he can’t stop anyway when it feels so good. and you’re a whore for your brothers, no especially about it, you’re a writhing little slut for both of them.

and rin is desperately nipping at your sweet neck, trying to mark you as his. he wants to sink his cock into you as well; but this will do for now. you’re drooling all over, and he is too. your saliva mixing with one another’s and rolling down your plump tits as sae fucks into your sopping cunt. rin is biting as if he’s a vampire, you felt him draw blood a few times. thank god you have your eyes closed because both of your brothers have a look of pure focus right now. pure aggression. aggressive love is what they give you. you really adore your brothers, they know it too. and they abuse it far too much. they shouldn’t do this with you; you’re so sweet and docile. it’s so hard to resist the opportunity to take advantage of you. they still love you, but man you’re cute.

especially now, drool running down your plump pink lips, soaking your chest. mixing with rin’s. rin can’t help but to lean in and lick it up. “so good, so so good ‘mouto” he groans. and sae looks up from the sight of his cock slamming into your warm pussy for a moment just to provoke rin. “i’m making her drool, you’re just biting on her neck like some lukewarm dog” the rivalry is still there. rin just eyes sae up and down and spits out an insult back at him. “you’re disgusting, shitty excuse of a brother, at least i’m nice to her” rin’s words are laced with venom. sae wants to reply, but he’s hitting that sweet spot. so he just keeps fucking your worn out little pussy even harder.

“s-sae-nii- please- please- pl-“ rin just kisses your mouth to shut you up. he doesn’t wanna hear that shithead’s name out of your mouth. rin is pathetically in love with you, but then again, so is sae. “lukewarm, can’t even stand to hear our baby sister say her favourite brother’s name” sae’s words are cold, calculated to cut deep. and it works; rin bites at your lip extra hard. you yelp in pain and god that sound goes straight to both of their cocks. sae hardens inside of you, he didn’t even think it was possible. god their love and everlasting desire for you runs so fucking deep. he keeps pounding into you mercilessly, and he leans down a bit to massage your clit. “gonna make you cum, imouto.” and you whine into rin’s kiss. you’re so overstimulated right now. your brother’s weird competition over you makes for the greatest of fucks, it really does.

every slam of his hips, sae hears an erotic squelch. the squelch of your juices. he sees the trail of precum he left on your stomach earlier, and it just makes him plough into your swollen lips even harder as he massages your little clit. his breathing gets ragged as he’s about to cum, and rin growls into your mouth and bites at your tongue. you’re in heaven, you really are. and you finish. sae does too. and you cry out his name in rin’s mouth. which just pisses rin off even more. he wants to fucking kill sae. you squeal out the eldest’s name as he empties himself inside of your little pussy, little cum pocket for him. his warm cum dripping all inside you, filling you up to the brim. he pants and pulls out, and rin pulls away too. rin has your blood and his saliva around his mouth, sae has his bangs slightly down and sticking to his forehead. he pulls out and lifts up your aching legs a little to inspect your cunt. it’s all red and swollen from the brutal assault of his fat cock penetrating so many times, so hard, so rough. he squeezes your hole a little and watches some of his cum drip down into the crevice of your ass. the one he loves so much. how erotic. he’s hard again, but he plays fair. he gives equal chances. he scoops a bit of his cum and shoves it back in with his fingers. it’s his monster of a younger brother’s turn.

“you can have your turn, rin” sae brushes past him condescendingly and stands at the other side of your head, brushing his hand over your cheek in a way that is so deeply ironic considering the way he just ravaged your pussy. you would be grateful for rin taking his place, rin usually shows you nothing but love and care whilst he fucks you. but not now, all three itoshi siblings are beautiful, rin is not an exception to the itoshi beauty. he looks a bit deranged though, saliva and blood around his mouth. tongue out trying to lap up the remnants. his bangs covering his eyes partially. eyes looking hungry and mad. sae just inspects the marks rin has left around your tits and neck as rin takes his precious place infront of your pussy. god, he’s even mad just seeing sae’s cum on you. he’s so fucking pissed off. he wants you deeply, in a way that’s so feral it’s insane.

sae observes all of the bruises on your neck, and he feels something shift within him. he wants to cover them with his own. he really only feels this way when it comes to you. only deeply cares about one upping his younger brother when it comes to you, because he knows rin is the same. he leans in and pecks your lips gently as he hears rin fumbling desperately with his own pants trying to pull them down fast enough to be able to sink his cock deep inside of the sweet retreat of your pussy. sae is looking off a bit at the wall on the other side of the hotel bedroom as he’s thinking. are they bad brothers? he knows they are, he doesn’t even need to ask himself such a stupid question. every single one of your firsts was claimed by them. first hand holding. first kiss. first date. first heart break when they both left you. he remembers the look in your eyes, rin does too. they even both took your virginity first. he doesn’t think you’ve ever had another man, none that either brother knows of anyway; but he trusts that you haven’t. you’re devoted to your older brothers, you love them so much. and they love you too, they really fucking do. sae is still stroking your head gently until he feels it push against his hand a bit as rin pushes your legs and positions himself to slam into you.

and when he finally does, god, it hurts even more than when sae was fucking you. you can’t tell if rin is rougher, if it’s because sae already hurt you so much, or if it’s a combination of the both. you can’t care though. “nii-chan- ‘s too rough” you cry out almost instantly. and your cry just leads to sae sticking his fingers in your mouth. “shhh, suck.” and you do. rin can’t even talk at the moment. god, his little sister’s pussy never ever fails to deliver nothing short of ecstasy to him. his tongue is out and he’s gripping the bed next to your hips so tightly. every vein on his large hand is bulging so much. he’s in heaven, he really is, right now it’s not about one upping sae, it’s about fucking you so hard. misplaced anger like i said. he thrusts into you so much and all you can do is whine around the finger sae has pushed into your mouth. every thrust you’re scared he’s about to split you in half. every time he hits your womb. evey single time he smashes into you with force that kills you. all he can do is incoherently ramble “gonna fuck you ‘mouto- gonna destroy- your little pussy- tiny pussy- fuck-“ rin is just babbling on and on. low and guttural groans and his nonsensical promises are the only thing leaving his mouth.

and sae is hard from your sounds too. he leans down to add a few marks of his own onto the growing collection on your neck. you’re like a canvas, a canvas where your brothers can nonstop add to you with their brutality or with their love. and you like that, you like being their little plaything, their princess, their masterpiece, their baby sister. you really do. sae bites at your neck, less feral than rin did; he bites in a way so precise and exact, calculated perfectly to leave the marks he intends to. and rin is just slamming into you with no sense of rhythm or strength at all. you just know it hurts. it hurts so fucking good. eventually sae has had enough of marking you, he just sighs as your body still rocks against his hand as a result of rin’s brutal thrusting. he pulls out his cock again and brings it to your lips. “just lick it a bit, don’t need to suck” and you do. you hold your small hand up to steady his cock enough for you to leave a cute kitten lick on it. and rin is still thrusting into you, making you cry out each time. his hands fully gripping onto your little waist. “gonna give you a mouth full of cum, little sis.” sae warns. or is it really a warning? it’s more of a promise. and you try and reply the best you can. the best a human possibly could with a monster like itoshi rin mangling their insides with his cock. “k-kay- nii- cha-“ sae just erotically rubs his cock on your plump lips a bit, and starts jerking off above your face. it’s sick really, getting off on your sister’s ruined face. but they’re both sick and it was accepted years ago already, no point in dwelling on something that was established by both brothers years ago already.

being the centre of both brother’s affections feels good, good beyond words that can even be used right now. there isn’t enough words in a dictionary to describe it. even if you used every language and every synonym of every single word, every comparison, every metaphor, every single technique, nothing could come close to the feeling of bliss and contentment you feel. rin is still fucking you hard, drool dripping all over your stomach and cunt as he fucks you as if his goal is breaking you. sae is jerking off over your face, sometimes pressing his fat cock on your lips, rubbing between them tauntingly. cooing down at you, cooing the way you would to your sister had she gotten hurt, had she done something cute. not this. but it’s okay, none of you care so don’t think about it. not that you can use your head much right now anyway, all you can think of is your brother’s. and that’s the sad yet also joyous truth. the truth that neither brother can win. the only way the competition will end is if they come to terms with the fact that it can’t ever be settle; that when it comes to your big brothers, there’s never going to be a second best. they’re both the same. the only second best is every other man that could ever possibly try and talk to you. not rin, not sae, they’re the best you could ask for. they should accept that neither will prevail, that they have to share, that they should give in already, that they’re both the winners of your heart, but each stroke of sae’s cock over your face and every thrust of rin’s hips you are reminded that it will be a long while before they ever come to terms with that.

you’re so close again, sae is so close again, rin is so close again. all three of you are about to cum, you’re about to be marked for a second and third time tonight. rin gets more and more erratic, sae just bends down to kiss your head again before pushing his cock somewhat past your lips into your whining mouth. you can’t even talk. you couldn’t if you tried, because it’s just too much. you wouldn’t have any words anyway. your nii chans are showering you with the attention you deserve and have deserved since you were a little kid. all those years of neglect mean nothing now that they’re both giving you the highest level of attention a man can give to a girl of your calibre right now. and you love it. sae finally fills up your mouth with cum. rin finally spills inside of you as well, filling you even more than what you deemed possible, past the brim, to the point of explosion. your stomach is probably bulging right now. and you finish too. your pussy throbs in pleasure.

all three of you pant and try and catch your breath, and you choke a bit on sae’s cum. and both of their heads snap up in concern. rin looks at sae menacingly as he sits you up and helps you swallow it all down. “good girl f’ me, ‘mouto, so good” sae praises as you finally manage it all down. and rin snaps at him “get off of her, fucking idiot” all you do is pant and try to sit up to stand. you need a glass of water, seriously. but the moment you push yourself up to stand, you simply crumple to the floor. they really did a number on you. rin and sae’s cum drips down the inside of your thigh, and both of them look at you again with concern. rin grabs you under the arms and sits you on the bed. “careful, baby sis” he mumbles and tucks your hair behind your ear. both brothers are awfully competitive over you, but you’re also one of the areas where they can actually agree on. they need to take care of you. and that’s exactly what they do.

you’re laid in the middle of the bed, wearing one of rin’s jersey’s, hair tied up with one of sae’s hair ties, sae’s socks on. you’re fast asleep. you look so cute and innocent, no, you are so cute and innocent. bundled up in a blanket they both got for you as a gift when you were all just a little younger. rin is looking down at you and rubbing your head, combing his fingers through your hair, and sae is scrolling on his phone. he brings a glass of expensive champagne to his mouth and takes a drink, before resuming his scrolling. “we did a number on her, didn’t we?” he comments to rin without looking up from his phone. rin doesn’t have the energy to be snarky back. he just nods (even though sae can’t see it) and replies. “a bit, yeah”

rin sighs a bit. he looks at the ceiling. the plain white ceiling of the overpriced hotel room you’re all staying in. there was another bed, but they’d just fight over who gets to sleep next to you anyway. it’s offseason, so they both spent time with you. but it’s swallowing rin up knowing he’s going to have to leave you soon. rin was never good at goodbyes. sae was though. sae was always awfully expert at them. rin doesn’t know how he can be so cold, not only to him but to you. he remembers it from when you guys were kids. maybe spain changed him, football changed rin too. they both changed so much for the worst. the only thing that keeps any semblance of goodness within the two men is their baby sister. rin doesn’t want to leave you, he wants to bring you with him. both brothers play soccer in europe. he wishes he got into re al secretly. not to play with his shitty brother (even though it’s secretly a truth) but so both of them could agree on bringing you with them and they’d never have to part from your pretty face again.

do they really have to leave you? probably, there’s a lot of shitheads in europe that there isn’t really back home. he doesn’t want any of those people interacting with you.

sae is thinking the same thing, but it’s unfortunate. there’s someone back in re al already who knows about the weird relationship both itoshis have with their baby sister. michael kaiser. sae supposes him and rin can take turns, if they ever brought you there. rin is in france, he is in spain. it cant be that bad. they could just take turns. they should.

it’s so difficult, whatever you guys have going on. and sae feels bad for letting anyone else catch on. but kaiser won’t tell. he just wants to meet you too. sae isn’t that possessive. he supposed he’ll allow it. it’s one of the reasons he tries so hard to detach from you. your polaroid in the back of his phone that he stares at too longingly sometimes must have given him away. and every other trinket he has of you to preserve your memory.

rin is the same.

the itoshi brothers just long for you, whenever and wherever. and it’s going to be their downfall. it fucking sucks loving you this much, being in a competition that can’t ever be settled no matter what. it sucks being so immoral and corrupt that they feel this way. they feel disgusted with themselves sometimes, rin a little more than sae. but sae has his own fair share of qualms about himself that he suffers deeper with than rin. it’s just a big mess. but when rin strokes your head one more time and sae puts his phone down to stop scrolling and do the same, and simply admire your face, they both know it’s worth it. they would watch the whole world burn for you, the youngest itoshi.

it’s not normal to love your sister in this way, they know it’s not. but you’re so cute, so innocent. soccer is depressing. it’s not all fun and games. they’re both broken beyond repair in their own ways, but you serve as a nice little bandaid for their scars and woes. for all the troubles brought on by soccer. for their depleting mental health. for sae’s nonchalance, sae’s emptiness. for rin’s constant self loathing and inferiority complex when it comes to sae.

they both want to thank you for being there for them in the most innocent and disgusting ways.

[metalomagnetic]

Hello Metalo- after being tortured by Mal, I am in desperate need of some crack, so! In similar vein to canon Voldemort meeting all of his lovers, canon Sirius meets his:

- Bella from EMD, Bella 2.0 from Ouro

- Voldemort (from It runs and Mal)

- Astrid

- Andromeda and Lucius from Family

- James from Inevitable

- Greyback from The thrill of the chase

- Severus from Turmoil

What happens?

My guess on what he’d do depends on his age- the only certainty is that he’d bully Snape into a pulp. And that Mal V and It runs V would be duelling in the corner.

Sirius cannot accept there is a universe out there where he fucked Snape; he just refuses to believe it. It's impossible.

"I mean, it seems like you fucked Voldemort in another one, so-" James says.

Apparently Sirius fucked James, too, in yet another world. That, he doesn't doubt. He's happy; from all this insanity, since these people came here, since the skin crawling realisation he fucked Snape, the only joy he has is seeing James again. It's not his James, but it's a version of him, and Sirius hadn't left his side all night.

Now his eyes leave James, to look at Voldemort, sitting in a corner with Bella. "I can see it," Sirius says, with a wince, taking Voldemort in, his tall frame, his imposing stance, power crackling around him. "I'm sorry, but I can see that happening before Snape."

James snorts. "And look, you fucked two of your cousins. You dog!"

"It's not me!" Sirius protests. "I'd never-"

"Oh, shut up," James teases. "Even in my universe you had a thing with Bella. You never explained, but I know it happened."

Sirius takes another sip of his drink. "Andromeda at least said it's a marriage of convenience-"

"Yeah, so you could be with Malfoy-"

"Ugh." Sirius hides his face in his hands. "I truly am a dog."

"He does have pretty hair," James allows, with a smile, but he turns grim fast. "I'd rather that universe for you. You were happy, at least. I rather all other universes than the one you got-"

"No, don't say that! There's one where you were never born, where Voldemort won, and-"

"I'd take that for you," James insists. "You don't deserve this world. And they certainly don't deserve you, the fucking wankers, I can't even think of Remus abandoning you in Azkaban! He did that in my world, too, you know? You forgave him, but I never did."

Sirius breathes out, takes another sip of whiskey. "He's- I don't care anymore. I only care about Harry. Nothing else matters to me."

James hugs him, fiercely, and Sirius hugs back, basks in the opportunity to hold James, any version of James, one last time.

"You're like that in my world; you love us fiercely, and Harry adores you. You're his favourite dad, you know? Whenever he has a problem at school, he tells you about it; if he has a nightmare, he calls for you."

Sirius' heart swells, hearing it. Gods, what a lucky bastard that version of him is! He got to raise Harry, and he got James.

A young woman sits beside them at the table. "May I?" she asks, after she already sat down.

Both he and James nod. She's beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. James kept looking at her through the night. Sirius checked her out a few times, too. Apparently, she's his wife, in the same universe he fucked Voldemort.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she says. "It's just that I cannot stand any of these people, besides Lucius. But this Lucius is...different. He left me alone to hide from the dark lord." Her nose twitches with distaste. Fuck, but she's adorable.

"Tell me about Sirius' kids!" James asks her. "I wanna hear all about them!"

Another Orion; apparently Sirius named all his sons, in all the universes, Orion. Something clenches in his chest, painfully. This particular one sounds like a handful, as the girl- Astrid- describes him.

I bet he isn't even close to how difficult the Orions born from Andromeda or Bella are. Those must be nightmares.

"No!" Sirius protests when he hears about Marvolo. "It's impossible I raised a snitch!"

Astrid smiles, a beautiful, mesmerising sight. James can't look away. Sirius elbows him in the ribs. "He's not a snitch! He is simply...fond of rules."

The third one, Helix, bites people. "That sounds like Sirius's son," James jokes.

"And, of course, there's Harry. He's a little angel, he never gives us any trouble, though you- my Sirius spoils him something awful."

James's hand tightens on Sirius' thigh, when he hears Astrid describe Harry as Sirius' son.

"Thank you," he whispers in Sirius' ear.

"Don't thank me," Sirius says. "Apparently I fucked your killer in that universe." He turns to Astrid. "Gods, you should leave me- I mean, the other me. He's clearly missing some marbles."

"You are a perfect husband, though," she frowns, clearly bothered. "I wasn't aware about the dark lord situation."

Sirius looks in Voldemort's direction again, meets those quite frankly mesmerising eyes, and quickly looks away.

I wonder who fucks who. He shakes his head to dispel the curiosity. Best not think about it too much.

"Maybe he has me under the Imperius," he mutters.

"Snivellus certainly gave you a love potion," James says, glaring daggers at Snape, sulking in a corner.

"Yeah!" Sirius is happy to take this explanation. "Definitely. That's what must have happened!"

"When I go back to my world, I'll tell my Sirius about it and we'll go bully Snape into an early grave," James promises, and Sirius is jealous, so jealous of that Sirius.

"Yeah, I'll bully mine, when he comes to Grimmauld," he mutters, but truth is, he is made to feel so useless, locked up, not allowed to help, that it's hard to bully anyone, isn't it?

"I cannot believe you allow all these blood traitors and mudbloods into your ancestral home," Astrid says. "These Order people."

James meets Sirius' eyes, and he knows they're thinking the same thing. Oh, that's what's wrong with her. She was too perfect, otherwise.

"How do I put out with this nonsense from you?" Sirius asks her, bluntly.

She shrugs. "You ignore it."

(-)

Andromeda and Lucius are the calmest of the lot, the most reasonable, really. Sirius can see himself having a marriage of convenience with Andromeda. She's always been practical, and the easier to get along from the sisters.

And Lucius....well, James is right. He has pretty hair. And apparently he renounced Voldemort in that universe.

Apparently, Cissa saved Harry's life. Good for her. Sirius hopes maybe...maybe Cissa from this universe will one day do the same.

He remembers she became a dragon whenever someone mistreated her porcelain dolls. He cannot imagine she's taking kindly to her son being inconvenienced by Voldemort.

Once again, his eyes stray to that corner. Once more, he meets that red gaze.

What the fuck happened there? Sirius is curious. Must be the Imperius, right?

Surely.

Speaking of questionable choices...

"You should have stayed with me," Greyback tells him, later, when Sirius makes his way to him. The wolf is playing with a knife, twisting the blade expertly. "It would have been a kinder fate than what you got."

Sirius opens his mouth to tell him he's not a traitor, that he would never fuck or stay with the man that ruined Remus' life, but...how can he say that, when apparently in another universe he fucked the man that killed James?

Greyback is a shit wizard, he can't be using Legilmancy, so it's just a weird coincidence that he says, " the dark lord, really? In my world, you'd cut your cock off before allowing him near you."

"I must have been coerced," Sirius mumbles. "And you probably caught me in a bad moment-"

Greyback laughs. "Oh, I caught you in many bad moments, little brat. And you enjoyed it every time."

Disgusting. Sirius moves away.

For some reason, even though Snape is the worst, he still finds himself walking towards him, even if he meant to head for Bella. Somehow, his mind apparently wants to avoid her more than Snape.

Snape won't look at him, arms crossed.

"You slipped me a potion, didn't you?" Sirius asks, hopeful.

Snape snorts. He raises his chin, defiant, but still won't look at Sirius.

He looks....better than actual Snape. He looks....washed, and dressed properly. With horror, Sirius realises that what Snape is wearing is what Sirius would enjoy seeing on a wizard-

"Oh, fuck," he mutters. The other me is dressing Snape!

Gods, how does that Sirius live with himself? Unbearable.

How does Snape live with himself? "Do you have a humiliation kink, or what the fuck is wrong with you?" Sirius hisses. I almost fed you to a werewolf, he wants to add, but Snape blushes, fiercely, and Sirius steps back, horrified.

Alright, best not to bully Snape, then. At least not this Snape.

Shit, what if my Snape shares this....misfortune?

No. He can't think about that.

(-)

For a few minutes, he sits with Bella in silence. He just can't think of what to say.

It's too painful. It's impossible that he'd-

And then she draws him into a hug, and- oh.

He hugs back.

"How is mum?" Sirius asks, in her hair. "And Regulus?"

"Good," she says. "Everyone is doing great. Our children are perfect. We have the perfect life, my lord made sure of it."

He doesn't want to fight with her. He fought with her enough. And it's useless, anyway. Sirius is apparently a fucking whore, in all these universes, trading lovers, shifting morals, but Bella- Bella is constant. In all the universes, she remains loyal to Voldemort. Her convictions never waver.

"Children? Plural? I heard you talking about an Orion-"

"We have five," Bella says, drawing back, with a smile.

"Five? What the fuck?!"

"The last two are twins. A surprise, later in life. I only kept them because one of them was the girl we both wanted."

Sirius blinks. "What's her name, then?"

She laughs. "We fought for nine months about it," she says. "I wanted-"

"Delphini," Sirius says, remembering, from his youth, as the girls talked about children, future marriages. Bella always said she'll have a daughter and name her Delphini.

Her eyes soften. She cups his cheek. "Yes," she whispers. "You wanted Walburga."

"Fuck out of here!"

"You were adamant. So her name is Delphini Walburga."

"That poor girl!" Sirius says, incensed on behalf of this child.

He spends a lot of time with Bella, more than he imagined he'd want. But he's mesmerised with her stories of home. Of a different home. A home Sirius apparently never left.

Would I have truly stayed in Grimmauld if there was no James in my life? Would life had been as easy? Or would Sirius feel something missing, even if he would never learned what?

(-)

There's no avoiding him any longer. He's the last one. Besides, he's the one that figured out how to get everyone back to their universes, and he needs Sirius' blood for a ritual to open a portal.

"Come." He leads Sirius to a different room, and Sirius has to follow him, though James looks after them, anxiously.

They enter a room, and there's a dead body on the floor-

"What the-" Sirius' mouth snaps shut when he sees who it is, there on the floor.

It's...Voldemort.

"Don't mind him," Voldemort says, kicking the body. "He had it coming."

Sirius stares between them. "There's two of you?!"

"Were," Voldemort corrects, his eyes staring into Sirius' soul.

"Wait, I fu- I had a thing with you in two worlds?" Now that is horrifying. Once is a mistake, but twice? There are two Sirius running around fucking two Voldemort?

Well, I suppose there's only one, now.

"No." Voldemort's eyes flash with furry when he looks down at the body. "You didn't have anything with this one. You didn't have a choice."

Oh.

Sirius blinks, relieved. Alright, so at least one version of him is sane. But the fact that this Voldemort apparently would kill himself for forcing Sirius-

That means, in Voldemort's world, he is not, in fact, holding Sirius under the Imperius.

The curiosity increases, tenfold. He likes me, it strikes Sirius. He likes me enough to kill for me.

How....awkward. "Congratulations," he blurts out. "On winning, I mean. You're not easy to take down."

Ah....there it is.

Voldemort smiles, and Sirius thinks he understands what the other Sirius sees in him.

The smiles transforms his face, makes it human. Handsome, even.

He has a dimple, for fuck sake.

No wonder Bella ends up fucking him in so many worlds, if he has that dimple.

"I admit, I had an ally," Voldemort says. "Bella, of course."

Of course? What? "No version of Bella would turn against any version of you!" Sirius insists.

No, it's not possible. Because if it's possible, then he'll spend the rest of his life wishing his Bella would do the same, and that only leads to heartbreak.

"This was an aberration," Voldemort says, gesturing at the body. "He shouldn't have been allowed to exist at all."

"You- I mean, you in this world- you're not that great, either."

"I gathered." Voldemort's jaw twitches.

"You looked like this," Sirius says. "In the first war. But now Harry says you look like a nightmare."

"I believe that's the least of his issues, here," Voldemort says, after some seconds.

"Can't argue with that." He bites his cheek. "Though, admittedly, I don't really know you. We haven't properly met."

"A tragedy," Voldemort says, and -

It throws Sirius off, how honest he sounds.

"I must be very impressive in your world," Sirius mutters.

To attract Voldemort's....attention like this, Sirius must be some amazing version of himself.

"You are."

Sirius has no idea what to say to that, what to do with the way Voldemort looks at him.

It's not with Greyback's predatory hunger, it's not with James' joyful eyes, not with Andromeda's care, or Lucius' desire.

No, it's....Sirius can't place it. Never has anyone looked at him quite like that.

Tender, almost, but not quite. Or, not only.

"Impressive like Bella? You're with her, here. At least that's the rumour."

Voldemort smiles again. "That is the rumour in my world, as well. And I can confidently say it is false."

A few seconds of silence pass between them. Voldemort keeps staring.

Sirius stares back.

"Your hand," Voldemort finally says. "I need your blood to complete the ritual."

"You can have the blood, you don't need the hand," Sirius snaps. The other version of him....gods know what is going on there, but Sirius can't make himself touch the man that murdered James, in any universe, no matter how curious he is.

That makes Voldemort smile wider. "Impertinent, as always," he comments, but it's' with fondness.

Sirius cuts his hand, collects the blood in a vial he conjures.

"You should remember this is who you are," Voldemort says, as he takes the vial. "Arrogant, proud, brave. You shouldn't allow the Order to treat you this way. Not after all you sacrificed for them."

It makes Sirius ill, physically ill, that Voldemort, out of all people, says this.

That everyone else in his world treats him like a reckless child, a burden that needs to be locked away, that they don't trust him to help, never recognise what he's been through, and here Voldemort is-

He shakes his head, pushes his anger down. "I don't care what they say. I am singularly focused on my goal, and they happen to be on the same side I am." Sirius only cares about Harry. And the Order does, as well. For that, Sirius is grateful. Harry needs all the people he can get in his corner.

"Why do you love that child so?" Voldemort asks. "I don't understand it. I need to understand it."

"He's all I have left of James," Sirius says. "He's all I have left."

Voldemort opens his mouth, but closes it again. He turns, and pours the vial on the runes he drew on the floor.

"Do you enjoy watching the stars, Sirius?"

It bothers him, the way Voldemort speaks his name, with such familiarity.

It bothers him Voldemort knows this about him.

Does that other Sirius also like to climb on the roof and stare at the stars?

"Yes."

Voldemort nods. "Next you do that, think there are many worlds, out there, where you have more than Harry Potter."

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒜 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is just needy and frustrated.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 3 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Ok, I didn't expect to get so much positive feedback on this story, let alone people reading it. Thanks for the reposts, and the likes, it's really heartwarming. I hope this new chapter lives up to your expectations!

➜ ┊: chapter 2/?.

Yeah, I’m fine,

Just, you know, work and everything.

James' words echoed in your mind far longer than you'd expected, long after you left the school and returned home. It was such a simple explanation, too simple, almost rehearsed. You replayed the conversation over and over, dissecting every syllable. Was that really the whole truth? Or were you just looking too much into it? You usually worried about your students, not their parents, but there was something about Mr. Sunderland that was different. 

The way his voice had that edge to it, tired yet restrained, lingered with you.

You tried to brush it off as you kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat, settling into your familiar routine, but it wasn’t easy. Mr. Sunderland had always caught your eye—not in the usual way parents did when they showed up to school events, eager to check off a duty. There was something about him, a fragility hidden beneath his exterior that you couldn't quite ignore. You couldn't stop yourself from wondering, Is he okay?

He wasn’t just Laura’s dad to you; he was an enigma of sorts, a man who seemed out of place among the chatter of parents and the laughter of children. The first time you really noticed it was years ago, at a school event. You could still remember it clearly, as if it had just happened. The room was filled with the vibrant energy of kids running around, voices overlapping, and parents chatting with one another, but James stood on the outskirts, a shadow of a man amidst the lightness. His posture had been tense, like he was holding himself together by sheer will, his eyes distant and guarded, scanning the room as if he didn’t belong.

You had watched him, then—just a little too long—and something about the way he looked made you wonder if he was more lost than he let on. There was a weight in his eyes, a haunted look that never quite went away, no matter how much he smiled for Laura or spoke politely to the other parents. It had unsettled you, this quiet suffering that no one else seemed to notice, or even care to notice.

As you moved about your apartment, grabbing a glass of water and flipping through papers, your mind kept circling back to that same thought. Normally, you were good at compartmentalising—work was work, home was home. But James blurred those lines for you, even when you didn't want him to. There was something about him, something that tugged at your heart in a way that made it hard to let go once you started worrying.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You had no reason to be this concerned. 

After all, you barely knew him beyond your interactions about Laura. And yet, here you were, standing in your kitchen, your mind consumed with thoughts of a man you’d only spoken to a handful of times. It was absurd, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you had been noticing him for a while. Maybe it was his quietness, or the way he seemed to drift away in crowded rooms, but something about him had planted itself in your mind and refused to leave.

You were a teacher, not a therapist, and you had no business prying into his life. But that didn’t stop you from caring. You knew that if you hadn’t spoken to him at that first event, if you hadn’t seen that lost, almost broken look in his eyes, you might have been able to brush it off. But you had seen it, and now it was impossible to unsee. 

Maybe that was why his tiredness today had stuck with you. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he seemed to force a smile—it all felt too familiar, too much like someone who was holding themselves together by a thread. You sighed, staring into the dim light of your living room, feeling the weight of something you couldn't name.

Maybe it was because you saw a little of yourself in him, in that quiet sadness that never quite left his face.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away. And as much as you tried to tell yourself it was just concern for a parent of your student, deep down, you knew it ran deeper than that.

As you ate dinner, you recalled the school event vividly, the day you first gathered the courage to talk to him. The air was filled with laughter and chatter, and you were moving through it all with practised ease, making sure everyone felt comfortable and included. That’s when you saw him.

He had been standing there, watching Laura play with the other children. There was a sadness about him, something fragile and haunting in the way he observed everything without really engaging. You had felt a strange pull toward him, an instinct to reach out, to offer something, even if it was just a gesture of kindness.

You had hesitated at first, unsure if you should approach him. But something in his isolation spurred you forward. Gathering your courage, you had picked up two plates of the chocolate cake from the refreshments table, a favourite among the kids, and made your way toward him. As you walked up, he didn’t even notice your presence at first, so absorbed in his thoughts that he seemed to be a thousand miles away.

When you finally held up the plate under his nose, he jolted, startled by your sudden appearance. His wide eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, he looked at you as though you were a ghost, someone he hadn’t expected to see or speak to. It had almost made you retreat, thinking you had made a mistake, but you had offered him a warm smile instead, hoping to ease the tension.

“The cake is really good,” you had said softly, holding it out to him. “You should try it.”

He had blinked, then smiled politely, a small, hesitant curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you.” He accepted the plate from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest second before he pulled away, creating an awkward silence between you two.

You both stood there, watching Laura run around with the other children, her laughter floating in the air. You had wondered what to say next, unsure if you should even be speaking to him at all. But then his voice broke the silence, soft and gentle, yet with a strained quality that made it sound as if every word was carefully measured.

“You… you are young for a teacher,” he had said, his voice as uncertain as his expression. There was a pause, a flicker of discomfort in his gaze before he looked away, as if unsure whether the comment had crossed a line.

You chuckled softly, relieved that the silence had finally broken. “Yeah, I guess I found my calling pretty quickly,” you replied, taking a small bite of your own slice of cake. You had gotten used to that comment—it was something parents and even some older teachers had mentioned when you first started at the school. But somehow, coming from James, it felt different. There was something in the way he had said it, almost like he was impressed, or maybe curious, but cautious, too. 

He nodded slightly, staring down at the cake in his hands before taking a hesitant bite. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t sure how to react, but then his face softened, and he looked at you again. “This… this is really good,” he said, almost as if the taste had surprised him.

You smiled, glad that the small gesture had helped him relax a bit. “It’s the kids’ favourite,” you told him, motioning to the crowd of children still running around, their laughter filling the air. “I bake and we serve it at every event. If it’s not on the menu, the parents complain.”

James chuckled, a low sound that barely made it past his lips, but you noticed how it brightened his face, even if only for a second. It was a small victory, seeing that shift in his expression. “I can see why,” he muttered, taking another bite as if savouring the moment.

You watched Laura playing with the other children and decided to continue the conversation, not wanting the moment to fade into awkward silence again. “Laura’s doing really well in class, by the way. She’s a joy to have. Always so curious, always ready with questions.”

James's expression softened at the mention of Laura. His eyes followed her, his gaze warm despite the distance he seemed to keep from the joyful atmosphere around him. “She loves school,” he said, his voice almost reverent, as if Laura was his anchor in a storm he couldn’t quite escape from. “It’s… amazing, really. The way she’s grown since I’ve—well, since she’s been here.”

You nodded, remembering how Laura had come into the class that first year—bright, confident, and eager to learn. “She’s a natural learner, always asking for more books, more activities. Sometimes I think she’d rather stay in class all day if she could,” you said with a laugh.

James smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You noticed the faint lines of weariness etched into his features, and it stirred a quiet concern in you, one you couldn’t quite explain. Every time he spoke of Laura, it was like he was holding onto her with both hands, like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“She talks about you a lot,” James said after a moment, his voice quiet again. “Says you make learning fun.”

That comment had warmed you more than you expected. “She’s sweet,” you replied, smiling at the thought of Laura mentioning you at home. “I just try to make sure the kids feel like they can explore the world in their own way. Laura seems to have a natural curiosity about everything.”

James nodded, but he seemed distant again, as if his thoughts were drifting somewhere far away. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the way his eyes seemed to darken as the conversation went on. You hadn’t meant to pry, but his sadness was palpable. And in that moment, you had found yourself wanting to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance. But before you could, James spoke again.

“I’m glad she’s in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze still fixed on Laura as she ran across the playground. 

You remembered the weight of your words that day, how you hesitated before finally gathering the courage to ask him something that had been bothering you for a while. The conversation had been light up until that point, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something beneath the surface of James’s distant demeanour and Laura’s bubbly personality. 

You didn’t want to pry—especially not during a casual school event—but the question had been lingering in your mind since the start of the year. Laura’s information sheet had been so bare, so lacking in detail, compared to what most parents submitted. No emergency contacts beyond James. No mention of other family. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your place to ask, but as her teacher, you felt like you should at least know a little more.

So, as you stood next to him, the quiet stretching between you after your exchange about Laura’s love for school, you finally spoke up, your voice hesitant. “I, um… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…” You paused, swallowing the nervousness that had crept into your throat. “On Laura’s information sheet, you didn’t fill in much. I didn’t want to pry or anything, but I was just wondering—well, if there’s anything we should know? Just to be prepared, you know, in case of an emergency.”

James’s face shifted at your words, and for a second, you thought you might have overstepped. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ground, his expression hard to read. You immediately regretted asking, feeling heat rush to your cheeks as the silence between you deepened.

“I didn’t mean to—” you began quickly, your words tumbling out as you tried to backtrack. “I just wanted to make sure we had everything we need for Laura. I’m sorry if that was too forward, I just—”

James shook his head, and to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a faint smile. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, though there was still something guarded in his tone. He glanced at Laura again, watching her as she played, before continuing. “It’s just that… I adopted Laura a few months ago. So I don’t have a lot of information about her past.”

The words hit you like a gentle but unexpected wave, washing over your initial embarrassment and replacing it with a deep sense of sympathy. “Oh,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing deeper as you realised the weight of his admission. “I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

James shook his head again, cutting off your apology with a reassuring smile. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, a softness in his eyes that made you relax a little. “I know it’s probably a little strange, but… I didn’t want to put too much on those forms. We’re still figuring things out—so, I would appreciate your secrecy on this matter.”

“Of course,” you nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and understanding settle in your chest. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice softer now. There was a brief pause, an almost peaceful silence between you, and for the first time that day, you didn’t feel awkward standing beside him. You felt something quiet but real.

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something unsaid. For a moment, you thought he might open up further, let you in just a little more. But instead, he nodded, offering you a tight smile that didn’t quite mask the exhaustion behind his eyes.

“Thanks for the cake,” he murmured, the word heavy with meaning, but it felt like a conversation he wasn’t ready to continue. “You can now add me to the list of your fans,” he tried to joke. And that was how it ended that day. A polite smile, a brief exchange, and a shared piece of chocolate cake. 

But it had been the start of something—an awareness, perhaps—that had lodged itself in your mind since.

‧───────────────

It was the end of the school day, and you stood at the doorway of the classroom, waving goodbye to your students as they rushed out, eager to meet their parents. The air was filled with the excited chatter of children, their laughter carrying through the schoolyard as they bounded toward the gates, already discussing what they would do once they got home—playing, watching cartoons, or just relaxing after a long day. 

You smiled, watching them, a familiar warmth settling in your chest. These moments, seeing the kids so happy and carefree, were some of your favourites. But as the crowd of parents thinned and the rush of students began to dwindle, your eyes fell on one child still waiting, standing a little apart from the rest.

Laura.

She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her pink shirt, her eyes darting around as she glanced at the gate, waiting for someone who hadn’t yet arrived. You felt a small pang in your chest, noticing how her usually bright demeanour was tinged with a quiet sort of patience. 

She wasn’t upset, not yet, but you could tell she was starting to wonder where he was.

You walked over to her, your steps soft against the pavement. Kneeling down next to her, you offered her a gentle smile, hoping to ease the unease you sensed in her small frame. “Hey, Laura,” you said quietly, “Don’t worry, your dad will be here soon. I’ll wait with you until he comes, okay? So you don’t have to worry.”

Laura looked up at you, her wide eyes filled with an innocence that tugged at your heartstrings. She nodded, though her fingers still played nervously with her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice small but trusting.

You sat down on the bench next to her, offering her a comforting presence. The schoolyard was almost empty now, save for a few stragglers who were still being picked up. You glanced toward the gate, hoping to see James approaching, but there was no sign of him yet.

The two of you sat in a peaceful silence for a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of protectiveness toward the little girl beside you. You had always cared for your students, of course, but with Laura… it felt different. There was something about her that drew you in, something about her quiet resilience and the way she tried so hard to be brave.

You glanced at her again, noticing how she was now staring at the ground, still fiddling with her sleeve. “You know,” you said gently, trying to distract her, “you were amazing in class today. I think you’re going to be a star at our next reading session.”

Laura looked up at you, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded, your tone full of warmth. “You’ve come so far, Laura. You should be proud of yourself.”

Her smile widened just a little, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. At least for now, she seemed more at ease, even if only for a moment. Still, your gaze flickered back to the gate, and you silently hoped James would arrive soon. You knew how much Laura looked up to him, how much she counted on him, and you didn’t want her to start worrying that he wouldn’t come.

Even so, you would wait with her for as long as it took.

As the minutes passed, Laura’s hands fidgeted more restlessly with her sleeve, her small brow furrowing with an expression far too serious for her age. She glanced up at you and then back at the ground, her lips pressing together as if she was holding something in. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked gently, leaning a bit closer to her.

Laura hesitated, biting her lip before she spoke. “I... I’m not sure,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... James has been really tired lately. He doesn’t smile anymore—well, even less than usual. And sometimes...” Her voice trailed off, her fingers gripping her sleeve tightly.

You could sense the worry radiating from her, and it tugged at your heart. You leaned in a little closer, your voice soft and reassuring. “Sometimes what, Laura?”

She hesitated again, her eyes flicking up to yours before darting away. She seemed on the verge of saying something more, something important, but just as the words were about to spill out, the sound of hurried footsteps caught both of your attention.

James.

He rushed through the gate, his face flushed and his breath coming in heavy pants. His tie was slightly askew, his khaki jacket over his broad shoulders, and you could tell from the sheen of sweat on his brow that he had run all the way from wherever he had been. His gaze immediately locked onto Laura, and the relief in his eyes was palpable.

“Laura... I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice breathless but filled with concern. He bent down to her level, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Work ran later than I expected, but I’m here now.”

Laura’s face brightened instantly at the sight of him. Whatever worries she had moments ago seemed to melt away as she launched herself into his arms. “It’s okay, James. I knew you’d come. Y/n kept me company.”

James held her tightly for a moment, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady himself. Then he stood up, his gaze shifting to you. There was an apology in his expression, a look of regret for being late. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” he said, still catching his breath. “I rushed over as fast as I could.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No need to apologise. We’re just glad you made it.”

For a moment, as James straightened his posture, you could see the fatigue lingering in his eyes—deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of weariness that came from something more, something that ran deeper than a late night or a long day at work.

You smiled politely, already anticipating that James would soon make his usual excuses to leave as soon as possible and head home with Laura. But to your surprise, he lingered for a moment longer, his gaze shifting from Laura to you, a look of contemplation on his face. There was something different about him today—something new.

“Miss...” he began, but before he could finish, you couldn’t help but giggle, waving him off playfully. “Oh gosh— It makes me feel so formal and old, how many times have I insisted you call me by my name?” You teased lightly, hoping to break the ice that often felt a little too thick between you two.

James’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep-set eyes. “I suppose it’s hard to shake old habits,” he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips as if he were sharing an inside joke with himself. You watched as he took a moment to consider his words, his brow furrowing slightly as he grappled with the shift in the dynamic between you. 

“But... Y/n,” he finally said, his voice almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. 

The way he spoke your name was slow and deliberate, as if each syllable was a treasure he was unearthing. The warmth of his voice wrapped around you, and the moment felt electric. The air thickened with an intimacy you hadn’t expected, leaving you momentarily breathless. 

You felt your heart skip a beat as a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly in your throat. Suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink, and the innocent and fleeting conversations you typically shared transformed into something more profound, more intimate. 

“Y/n,” he repeated, this time almost to himself, as if he were savouring the taste of it. 

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sent a flutter through you, igniting a mixture of excitement and shyness that caught you off guard. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something new and uncharted, and the thrill of it both exhilarated and terrified you.

“I—uh, right... well, it’s nice to be called by my name, that’s all,” you stammered, attempting to regain your composure. The heat of embarrassment crept up your neck, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, a drumbeat that seemed to echo in the stillness between you.

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting, breaking the momentary tension. “I’ll make an effort to remember,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep within you. You could sense the vulnerability in his words, a hint that perhaps he was allowing himself to be more open, more human.

The moment lingered, stretching into a comfortable silence as you both absorbed what had just transpired. You could sense a connection crackling in the air, a magnetic pull that made your skin tingle and your heart flutter. Laura, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her, stood between you, still clutching her father’s hand, her wide eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, momentarily aback by the interactions.

“James, can we go home now?” Laura chirped, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I want to play with my dolls!”

James jolted, as if he was coming out of a trance and looked down at her, his expression softening as he nodded. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s go home.” But then he turned back to you, an earnestness in his gaze. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and your heart swelled with a mix of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Sunderland. It’s a joy,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. You were grateful for the opportunity to teach such a bright and spirited child, but it felt like more than just a job. 

It was a chance to make a difference, even in small ways.

As the three of you stood there, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you, you felt a sense of connection deepening—a bond that was slowly beginning to form amidst the complexities of life. But just as quickly as it had come, the moment slipped away as Laura tugged at her father’s hand, eager to be on her way.

“Come on, James!” she urged, her excitement palpable. “Let’s go!”

With a final shared smile, James turned to leave, his hand wrapped securely around Laura’s. But, just as James was about to turn and leave, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Oh, and… it’s only fair that you can call me James,” he added in a rushed voice, as if the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

The casualness of the remark hung in the air, but the weight of it landed heavily on your chest. You stood there, momentarily shocked, your mind racing to comprehend what he had just said. The simple invitation felt monumental. You could see the apprehension in his expression, as if he were dreading your reaction, almost afraid of the implications his words might hold.

He turned back to Laura, who was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement, and as he walked away, you felt a strange mix of exhilaration and longing. The distance between you began to stretch, but in that moment, all you could focus on was the sudden intimacy in that one little request. 

“James,” you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue for the first time, almost shyly. 

But he was already walking away, his back to you, and the sound of his gentle voice echoed in your ears. You could almost see the tension in his shoulders as he hurried to catch up with Laura, leaving you standing there in the golden glow of the setting sun. For a fleeting moment, you wished he could hear you, that your voice could reach him just a little further. But the name lingered in your mind, and you knew this was more than just a name. 

As they disappeared from sight, you found yourself smiling, a warm flutter igniting within you. You could hardly believe that you had spoken his name, and yet it felt right. James. 

Just James.

‧───────────────

A couple of days had passed since that moment, and you found yourself standing outside the school as the last of the children filtered out, giggling and chattering excitedly about their plans for the evening. The air was warm, filled with the sweet scent of the last remnant of the flowers, yet your thoughts were completely consumed by James.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. His blue-gray eyes had a captivating quality that seemed to pull you in, as if they held secrets and stories you longed to uncover. They were gentle and soft, yet haunted, a hint of sadness always lurking just beneath the surface. You had come to notice this subtle dichotomy in him—the warmth of his smile contrasted with the weight he carried in his gaze.

Since your last interaction, James had consistently arrived at school on time, much to your surprise. He had also begun to linger after school, initiating unusual and trivial conversations. And each time he approached, you felt the world around you fade, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of shared moments and unspoken words. 

“Hey, you,” he greeted, a genuine smile lighting up his face as he stepped closer. The way he said it made you feel like you were the only person in the universe, and it took every ounce of your professionalism not to melt under his gaze. “How was your day?”

“Pretty standard,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just the usual chaos with the kids. You know how it is.” You chuckled lightly, but inside, your heart raced, fighting the blooming flush on your cheeks. 

His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of warmth that made your stomach flip. “They can be a handful, can’t they?” He leaned slightly against the brick wall, his body language relaxed yet intent, as if he was genuinely interested in your thoughts.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. “They bring so much joy, even when they’re a bit much to handle.” 

James nodded, his expression contemplative, and for a moment, you felt an intimacy forming between you. It was strange, this connection, as if you were bound by an invisible thread that pulled you closer together, even as you knew the rules that separated you.

“Laura seems to really enjoy her time in class,” you mentioned, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

He chuckled softly, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his tone. “She does. I think she’s found her place here.” 

You glanced down, fidgeting with your hands, trying to quell the flutter of anticipation that filled the air. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s important for her to feel comfortable.” 

James’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve made a difference for her,” he said, sincerity lacing his words. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of warmth through you, igniting a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “I’m just doing my job, really,” you replied, though the way he looked at you made you feel anything but ordinary.

“I don’t think you realise how special you are,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

For a heartbeat, you felt suspended in time, caught in the gravity of his words. But then reality hit you, a reminder of the boundaries that loomed between you. He was a parent, and you were a teacher. 

Yet, as he lingered there, the air thick with unspoken possibilities, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the rules could bend a little in this moment. The thought both exhilarated and terrified you. You took a breath, willing yourself to maintain your composure, yet secretly wishing that this conversation could stretch into the endless horizon of what-ifs that danced in your mind.

As the silence settled between you, James straightened up, a look of determination crossing his features that made your heart sink slightly. His expression turned serious, the warmth that had lingered just moments ago fading into something more guarded. With a deep sigh, he seemed to gather himself before speaking, the weight of his words evident in the way he shifted his stance.

“Um, could I have your number?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that caught you off guard. 

You stilled, your breath hitching in your throat. The unexpected request sent a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks, and for a moment, you felt entirely unmoored, caught in a tide of surprise and delight. Was he really asking for your number? The notion was thrilling yet terrifying, sending your mind racing with possibilities.

James must have noticed the startled look on your face because, almost immediately, his demeanour shifted again. Realising how his words might be interpreted, he quickly added, “I mean, it’s just in case I need your help—like you offered before, with Laura or school stuff.” 

The clarification hung between you, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and a slight tinge of disappointment. Part of you had dared to hope that this moment was more than just professional courtesy, but as the reality settled in, you pushed that thought aside, telling yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Of course! That makes total sense,” you managed to reply, your voice slightly breathless. “I’d be more than happy to help with anything you need.” 

With a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through you, you fumbled for your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you unlocked it. This felt surreal—exchanging numbers with James, standing so close to him, the air thick with unsaid words and lingering glances. You dared to meet his gaze again, and for a brief moment, you lost yourself in the depths of his blue-grey eyes, which seemed to flicker with both anxiety and something deeper.

As you typed in your number, a playful thought crossed your mind, and you decided to break the tension. “Just so you know,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, “I’m not available for cake emergencies or anything.” 

James chuckled softly, the sound bringing warmth back into the cool air that surrounded you. “Noted. I’ll keep my cake emergencies to a minimum, then.” 

The lightness of the moment felt almost intoxicating, and as you handed your phone back to him, your fingers brushed against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you, a spark of electricity that made your heart race anew. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt charged with an intimacy that caught you both off guard.

In that brief moment of contact, you instinctively placed your hand over his arm, a reassuring gesture meant to bridge the gap between you. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, and you felt him flinch ever so slightly under your touch, as if your hand had ignited something deep within him. 

His eyes widened for a split second, the guarded look momentarily replaced by surprise. “Thanks,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted your phone, but there was a subtle shift in his expression, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability that made your heart flutter. 

“I really appreciate it,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if the world around you had vanished, leaving just the two of you standing in the schoolyard, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. With a final glance, James stepped back, his expression a mix of gratitude and apprehension. “I should get going,” he said, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant. “Thanks again for everything.”

‧───────────────

James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the worn pages of his journal. His hand hovered over the paper, as if hesitating to commit his thoughts to words. Outside, the October air had settled into a biting chill, the kind that always stirred uneasy memories. The crisp wind rattled against the windows, and James found himself drawn back to dark times, moments when the world had felt as cold and unforgiving as the night closing in around him now.

He pressed the pen down, scratching out his thoughts with deliberate care, almost as if the act of writing might exorcise the ghosts of his past.

Date: [XX/10/1993]

The air is changing. That sharp bite... it reminds me of those days, the ones I wish I could forget. That hollow feeling creeping in, like the cold. I keep trying to push it away, keep myself in the present. Focus on what matters.

He paused, tapping the pen against the paper, as though searching for the next words. His thoughts inevitably drifted, not to the past he so desperately wanted to escape, but to something—or rather, someone—new.

But lately... lately, there’s been a kind of warmth. Like I’ve found the sun again. It's dangerous, though. I know it is. It has to be about Laura. She's the reason I’m here. She's my only focus. But when I see her... when I see Y/n...

He paused again, his jaw tightening as he tried to push down the surge of feelings rising up in his chest. Y/n, your warmth, your presence—it was getting harder to ignore, harder to suppress the way his heart sped up when their conversations lingered just a little longer than they should.

I try to keep the conversation about Laura. I need to keep it about her. She’s Y/n's student, my daughter, and that’s all there is to it. That’s how it should be. It’s enough, it has to be. But I catch myself wanting more. And that scares the hell out of me. But I can’t help it. I find myself lingering after our conversations, craving the moments we talk about anything else—about the weather, about life, about her smile. God, her smile...

His hand trembled slightly as he wrote, the words spilling out onto the page with a sense of urgency, like he was afraid of admitting them even to himself.

There’s something about her. I see it in her smile, in the way she talks to Laura, the way she looks at me sometimes. She’s young, full of life and warmth, and I... I’m not that. I haven’t been that in a long time. She deserves better. Deserves more than someone who can’t escape his past—a murderer.

James exhaled shakily, running a hand through his ashe blonde hair. The darkness of the room felt oppressive now, mirroring the darkness in his thoughts.

I should stop. I need to stop. I can’t let myself think this way. Not about her. Not when she’s...

He trailed off, his hand going still as he stared at the half-finished sentence, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the air. The journal felt like a confessional, a place where he could let out the thoughts he would never say aloud. 

And yet, it offered no relief. No absolution.

She’s kind. She’s patient. She’s pretty. She’s good. Too good for me. I need to remember that. I have to stop before I ruin everything. I shouldn't want her. I shouldn't feel this way. But God, the way she looks at me, the way she smiles... it makes me weak. Makes me want things I have no right to want. 

Makes me feel things I've tried to bury deep inside.

But even as he wrote the words, a part of him resisted, fighting the notion of letting go of that warmth, of her. With a sigh, James closed the journal, his chest tightening with the familiar ache of guilt. He set it aside, staring at the ceiling, haunted by both his memories and the new feelings he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully acknowledge. 

Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight—not with your name still lingering in the corners of his mind.

As James lay there, staring at the ceiling, the image of your face flickered in his mind, your warm smile and kind eyes filling his thoughts. The more he tried to push you away, the more you seemed to consume him, your presence a constant ache in his chest. He shifted restlessly, the sheets tangling around his legs as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His body grew hot, his skin prickling with a need he couldn't ignore.

James closed his eyes, his breath coming faster as he pictured the gentle curves of your body that he longed to explore, straddling him, your hips rolling against his as you rode him. He could almost feel the heat of your core, the way your walls would clench around him as he thrust deep inside you. A moan escaped his lips, low and needy, as his hand drifted down to his growing arousal. He stroked himself through his pyjama bottoms, the friction of the fabric only adding to his growing desperation.

‘I'm sorry, Mary,’ he thought, even as he pushed his pants down, freeing his aching cock. ‘I'm so sorry. But I need this. I need to feel something, anything, besides this endless grief.’

James wrapped his hand around his shaft, the touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He imagined it was Y/n's hand, your slender fingers wrapped around him, guiding him to ecstasy. 

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand moving faster, the sound of his skin slapping against his arousal echoing in the silent room. He knew it was wrong, knew he should stop, but the need consuming him was too strong to resist. In his mind, you were on top of him, your hips grinding against his, your breasts bouncing as you rode him with wild abandon. He would grab your hips, pulling you down harder, burying himself deep inside your warmth.

"Oh god, Y/n!" he cried out, his body tensing as he neared his peak. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" The words tumbled from his lips, a desperate plea for forgiveness as much as a prayer of ecstasy.

As he stroked himself faster, harder, the guilt began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of urgency. His hips bucked into his hand, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. With a final, strangled cry, James came, his seed spurting across his stomach and chest. The pleasure crashed over him in waves, washing away the pain and sorrow, if only for a moment.

In the aftermath, as his chest heaved with laboured breaths, James felt a twinge of shame. As the haze of pleasure faded, the reality of what he had done crashed down upon him. Tears welled in his eyes, and he curled in on himself, his shame overwhelming him once again.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, his voice broken.

James lay there, paralyzed by his own shame and revulsion. The sticky warmth of his seed coating his skin served as a stark reminder of his weakness, of the depth of his depravity. He couldn't escape the images of Y/n that haunted his mind, the memories of their interactions intertwining with the twisted fantasies he had just indulged in.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand, cleaning himself up as quickly as possible—as if he was cleaning a crime scene. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the world that had led him to this point, but he knew it was futile. There was no one to blame but himself, no one to shoulder the burden of his sins.

As he lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the city beyond his window, James felt a sudden urge to purge himself of the poison that consumed him. He needed to cleanse his soul, to rid himself of the taint of his desire.

With a determined grimace, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on full blast, the cold water spraying him in the face like a baptismal rebirth. He scrubbed his skin raw, watching his cum as the water swirl down the drain, carrying away the evidence of his transgressions.

James stood there, a broken shell of a man, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. He wanted to scrub himself clean, to remove every trace of her from his being, but he knew it was futile. For the first time, he had crossed that line, had given in to the darkest recesses of his mind. And it had felt...good. 

"I'm sorry, Mary," he whispered, his voice raw and hollow. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to stop this."

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they were empty. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to deny himself the fleeting moments of ecstasy that Y/n brought him. He was a monster, a depraved creature.

After his shower, James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long, twisted shadows across the room, his journal open once again in his lap. His hand hovered over the page, trembling, knowing exactly what he needed to write but dreading it. 

His hand stilled. How had it come to this? He had never expected to feel this pull, this temptation toward someone, toward you. He had tried so hard to be good, to keep things professional, but you had stirred something deep inside him—something he couldn’t control.

Y/n.

Your namelay there on the page, staring back at him like a secret he could no longer hide. 

I’ve already tried to relieve myself with thoughts of her… it’s not new. I’ve always been weak to her. The way she smiles, the way she speaks, her kindness. It’s all too much. I’m too weak. But this time…

James exhaled, his chest tightening. This time had been different. This time, he had given in completely, no longer just a fleeting thought or stolen glance. For the first time, he had let you take over his mind entirely, and the release had been overwhelming. It had been the first time in years—since Mary—that he’d allowed himself to finish with someone else in his thoughts.

For the first time, it wasn’t Mary I thought of when I—

He stopped, unable to bring himself to put it into words. But the truth lingered, pressing down on him. For the first time, it had been you.

His grip on the pen tightened, the shame gnawing at him. He had crossed a line—one he never thought he would cross again. But the worst part? The part that made his skin crawl?

It felt good.

For the first time, I let myself think of someone else, and it felt...good. 

His breath hitched, a wave of guilt washing over him, followed by something darker. He closed the journal with a sudden snap, his chest heaving, his heart pounding in his ears. Tossing it onto the bedside table, James leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the thoughts of you that flooded his mind.

I should stop. I need to stop.

But he couldn’t. He was trapped, caught between the past he couldn’t escape and the future he shouldn’t want.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, though this time, it was barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if the apology was meant for Mary or for himself.

He closed his eyes, Mary’s name on his lips, but as his mind drifted, it wasn’t her face he saw.

It was yours.

[thekombuchagirl]

CODE ZERO

Summary: It was an ordinary humid sunday of June until it wasn't. Of all things you expected to happen in the summer of '25, preventing the spread of another epidemic wasn't one. Locked in the pantry of a cafe with a masked stranger, all you could hear outside were animalistic groans and the occasional crackle of breaking bones. Just when you thought that the last moments of your life would be sitting across an intimidatingly hot man, a table flips, literally.

Pairing: discharged soldier!yoongi x fem journalist!reader

what to expect? gore, zombies, banter in the face of death, explicit language, yoongi walks around in a tank with a manbun for a whole day, reader develops a liking for smashing skulls halfway through the story, sexual tension that can be cut with a knife and eventual smut

Age rating: 18+ mdni!

a/n: hi

P R O L O G U E

In all the twenty six years of your life, you have had seen thousands of doors. But never in all those years, had you paid such close attention to any of it. As your eyes remained fixed on the door of the pantry, you could faintly feel the heat of the body that was pressing to your back and the rough hand that was covering your mouth. All you could hear was the erratic beating of your heart and the growls from the other side of the door. The sounds playing in your ear kept getting louder and louder as if you were still outside and about to be caught in the clutches of whatever those things were. You could not even hear your heartbeat anymore. It was just animalistic growling and the sound of bones cracking. Just when you thought that the door was about to burst open, a murmur of assurance warmed your ear.

"It's alright. You're safe now."

Your eyes shot open. The dark ceiling felt like a familiar void. You closed your eyes again. You've had nightmares since you were a child but it never felt as real. Your heart was still beating so fast that it felt like it would come out of your throat any moment. Your throat was dry and you could barely swallow. Reaching out for the glass of water that you always keep on your end table, your hands came empty. That's when you realised that your back was against a solid plain, a floor. You sat up in a blink only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of dark brown ones and a door behind him; the door from your nightmare.

Only, it wasn't a nightmare. No matter how many times you would close your eyes, it would always open to meet the same pair and the door. Those eyes watched you with nothing but boredom and the door felt like a layer of paper separating you from the things out there. It was real. The end of the world had begun and it just had to be when you were on your first solo trip. It just had to be when you were about to quit your job over a call. It just had to be when you were finally beginning a life that you wanted.

The stranger sitting in front of you was staring at you like you were a diaper commercial and he hated kids. His mask was hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He looked... unfazed, especially when he lowered his mask, yawned nonchalantly before looking at you again and deadpanned,

"Good sleep?"

"This is a notice to all residents that the outbreak of an unidentified disease that is wrecking havoc in the town has been now recognised as a violent outbreak. We recommend all residents to stay indoors and prevent any interaction with any infected person. If you come in contact with any infected person, immediately quarantine yourself in a closed space. We will be sharing further updates through radio channel 204. All entries and exits to the town are being temporarily restricted. Please wait for further instructions-"

"We can't get in touch with Yoongi, should I go out and-"

"No, Jimin. If he doesn't come back in two days, we will go out to look for him together."

"Whatever you say, RM," Jimin nodded at him, smiling at his freshly sharpened knife.

[akutasoda]

hellooo, boothill aventurine jing yuan and blade with a teen reader who is like asuka langley?

teen!reader who despite being a kid, acts grown up and wants to be seen as an adult

don't waste that youth

synopsis - how are they with a teen who wants to be treated like an adult

includes - blade, jing yuan, aventurine, boothill

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, slight angst, wc - 739

blade ★↷

↪your insistence on being treated like an adult wad something that was kind of admired by him. that self independence was a good quality in his eyes - no matter how many companions you have, you will always need to be independent at some point.

↪and so he respected your wishes to be treated as an adult. you often acted the part and so it made all the more easier for him to do so. it never really crossed his mind to treat you as a child.

↪of course he knew you were a child, but treating you as such, especially since you were a stellaron hunter, didn't matter. blade didn't need to know your motives for being apart of the group, elio clearly had a plan for you.

↪although your stubbornness was something that often reminded him of just how young you actually were, and even occasionally got on his nerves. not majorly and he'd never seriously look down on you as a child, you were an equal member of the team.

jing yuan ★↷

↪if anyone were to see you and jing yuan together, they would feel like you two switched personalities. the age old general who often acted beneath his age and the actual teenager who acted more like an adult.

↪although jing yuan would admit he acted less mature around you specifically. yes it was nice that you acted with such maturity and wanted to be respected as an adult, something jing yuan would do, but he wanted you to hehave your age more often.

↪being treated as an adult was nice, but your youth was fleeting. you had plenty of time in the future to actually be an adult so you deserved to live out your youth as intended, not pushing to be an adult so desperately.

↪jing yuan could tell you had trouble expressing your true feelings and behaving like an adult definitely wasn't going to help with that. he would always try and get you to express your childish side snd he would do so while still giving you the respect of an adult.

aventurine ★↷

↪aventurine respected your insistence on being treated more maturely and he would do so. he understood that not every kid or teen wanted to be treated as such. he even quite admired how mature you were and how that dictated how you carried yourself.

↪however, as someone who had his youth ripped away from him, he did wish that you saw just how important it was to act your age sometimes. trying to always act like an adult was something that could even be seen as desperate - in the sense of trying to wish away your youth as soon as possible.

↪but aventurine never did anything to help you realise that. he didn't exactly try himself and he wouldn't know how to help you. his best idea was maybe trying to help you act your age indirectly but he would assume you would see it as him disrespecting your wish to be seen and treated as an adult.

boothill ★↷

↪when he first met you, he respected your wishes to be treated as an adult. he understood where your maturity came from and he wasn't one to deny your wishes to not be treated as a child despite being a teenager.

↪but when he got to know you more, he found it hard to fulfil those whishes. what most people didn't know about boothill was that he did indeed have a soft spot, that a past version of him had a child. so it was only a matter of time before parts of him saw you in a similar way.

↪his kid didn't have the chance to grow up, but you did. boothill would treat you as an adult but he wished you lived out your youth the same way as everyone else. enjoy that childhood before you grew up.

↪he couldn't force you and he'd try his best to treat you as an adult but he could only hope that you realised just how precious someone's youth could be. you only had one shot, why waste it?

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

05 — THESE THINGS EAT AT YOUR BONES

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

You were seventeen when you enlisted.

Obviously, you had to lie about your age – just a year off, not a drastic difference. The recruiters wouldn’t care enough to double check, anyways. Anyone willing to join their forces was good enough in their books.

You’d been desperate, desperate for a sense of community, for a home, for something to occupy your time with.

Things hadn’t been easy after your mother had passed.

She’d raised you on her own; having taken you from your father before you could realise what a father was. Said he was a bad man, didn’t deserve an angel like yourself. Sometimes, you wished that you’d known him, or at least had a father figure to look up to.

That was rare, however. Your mother had done a great job in raising you – making sure you had morals and looked out for others. Always had a roof over your head, food made with love in your tummy.

It was only three months prior to your enlistment that she passed.

While you were at school, she was shot and killed in your childhood home. The day you walked through that front door, backpack a hefty weight on your shoulders, and saw her wide-eyed corpse on the living room carpet, was the day that a piece of you died.

That night, with the cool fabric of the paramedic’s shock blanket around your frame, you looked up what happens after you die with shaky, blood-stained hands. A question you hadn’t had to consider. Not until then.

The police wrote down your stilted words in their government-issued notepads, attempts of sympathy on their faces.

All you could focus on was the tap tap tap of your foot against the carpet, the chewed up flesh of your inner cheek, and the burning of your eyes.

You had, thankfully, managed a choked up explanation of what you’d seen.

“I came home. From school. She was just. There. On the carpet. Her eyes were open,” you managed to whisper, eyes remaining in your lap.

“How did you feel when you saw her?” The officer asked.

You had half the mind to ask him that very same question. You didn’t, of course.

“I felt that she deserved a better death than this. Sir.”

The time after that passed in quick, blurry memories. A hand on your shoulder here, a trauma nurse there, all the while your mind could only supply you with the image of the one person you had. Gone.

“Here.”

You’d looked up with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. The man looked to be in his late forties, with greying hair and saggy features. In his hands was a steaming cup of tea – extended towards you. With trembling fingers, you took it from the man.

“Thank you,” you’d murmured, before blowing across the liquid with a soft breath. It rippled with the flowing air, tea leaves simmering on the bottom. If you looked hard enough, you could make out a tree.

“Is it alright if I join you?” He asked, gesturing to the chair in front of you. You nodded, and he moved to get comfortable in his seat, eyes remaining on you. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

That was, funnily enough, the first time you’d heard those words said to you. 

“I’m Herschel Shepherd,” the man supplied, with a small, comforting smile. He extended a weathered hand to you, and after a moment, you accepted it with a light shake. “I think I might know who’s responsible for your mother’s death.”

You swallowed. “What? Are you,” you worked your heavy tongue, “Are you in the FBI?”

He loosed a hearty chuckle at that, before shaking his head. “No, kid. I’m a bit higher up than that.”

You didn’t have it in you to push. Not then, not with the smell of blood a consistent rot in your nose. You just nodded, accepting that explanation, squeezing your hands together for comfort.

“There’s been some rumours,” Shepherd leaned his elbows against his knees, lowering himself to meet you at eye level. “Of a secret organisation, searching and killing those affiliated with the army. Especially those who served, and then ran.”

Your brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “What does this have to do. With anything – my mum, she wasn’t –”

“She was, kid,” Shepherd interrupted with a raised hand. “She was a renowned Lieutenant. Served for ten years.”

Tap tap tap, your foot goes.

“She would’ve told me,” you managed out, throat choking up and nostrils flaring. “She wouldn’t have hid that from me. I’d know. You’re lying.”

“She didn’t tell you to keep you safe,” he urged, resting his hand on your bouncing knee in comfort. “But… This is more than just her. This is an attack on our country, on you, kid. I’m investigating this group, their ideals, their plans. You can help.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No. This has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Shepherd immediately retorted, and you felt your chest caving in, your shoulders deflating. “It’s up to you. I hope to see you in my regiment, kid.”

Then, he’d stood, and dropped a card onto your lap. Without another word, he left.

It was later that night, when you found yourself near passing out, that you’d read his business card. It had his name, his title – Lieutenant General – and a regiment. You weren’t sure how any of it worked, if you could do this, if you were made for something like the army. That night, you’d studied and watched and learned everything you could about his regiment.

Three months later, you’d stood before him, gun in hand.

He just smiled, knowingly, and clapped a hand on your shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, “Together, we’ll avenge her.”

And you did, under his wing. You set things right.

*

Your ears ring, the bumps of the vehicle doing nothing to snap you out of your daze. It’s like your insides have turned inside out, every molecule of liquid evaporated with a single name.

“He’s a good man,” you manage to say, breaking the stunned silence of the 141. You don’t dare to look up, to see their expressions, their apprehension. “He saved me. Multiple times. He wouldn’t hurt anyone without a reason, he wouldn’t.”

Even as you say the words, try and plead, you find yourself losing faith. It’s a devastating thing, one that has you wanting to wretch your near-empty stomach.

“We did some digging,” Price murmurs, sounding sorrowful and almost guilty. “We found the truth.”

The entire time that Price retells the intel he and ‘Laswell’ found, you find yourself falling deeper and deeper into your pit of despair. Like you’re clawing with your nails to get out, yet all you’re finding is unrelenting stone, breaking the keratin with every scratch.

By the time that all the information has been told, your body feels as though it’s frozen. 

It isn’t until you feel a thumb wipe against your cheek that you realise you’re crying. Finally, finally, you look up, and meet Soap’s mirthful eyes. His thumb is rough where it wipes away your tears, gathering the salty liquid against the ridges of his fingertips.

Could it get worse than this? Worse than being told that the only other man in your life – the only other person you’d trusted – was a bad man? Working with Graves? How hadn’t you known? Why hadn’t Graves told you –

Why. Why. Why?

“He was the closest thing I had to a father,” you manage, feeling almost manic with it. “He – he and Graves, they’re all I have, I can’t, you can’t–”

You barely manage to open the small window before you’re hurling your empty guts, nothing coming out but air and some bile burning the back of your throat. Your throat, eyes, your entire body aches.

Two large hands rub at your back, and you can hear words being said, but you can’t understand them, can’t hear anything but a low buzz in the back of your mind. Your breath comes out in loud, sharp pants, and you can’t help but sniffle as tears roll down your cheeks and drip from your chin.

Your entire life has just been flipped on its head, and you can’t handle it. You are a Colonel, you’re supposed to be impenetrable, but this, this is everything you ever had. Gone with a few words, a single mission.

“It’s okay, lass, fuck,” you can finally make out Soap saying, recognising one of the hands as his. It’s an, admittedly, comforting weight, one that you find yourself leaning back into. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Kyle, do you have water?” Price calls out to the front, and soon, a hand directs your head to enter the van once more, an opened water bottle being pressed to your lips. Price holds it, his hand stroking the back of your neck in support. “Have a drink, darlin’,” he encourages, tilting your head back as you swallow the ice-cold water. “There we go,”he murmurs, his touch unrelenting.

“You good, love?” Gaz calls from the front, brows furrowed where he’s half-watching in the rearview mirror.

All you can give him is a small, weak nod, but he seems to accept it. 

Your mind is spinning at a mile per minute, shuddering when Price pulls the bottle away and Soap continues to rub your back in calming circles. This is, you think, the one time you’ll allow yourself to be comforted by them. This was already crossing too many of the boundaries you’d put up in your head, a clear violation of the separation you’d planned out.

Ghost, true to his name, remains still where he sits in front of you, calculating as he stares you down.

“What are the chances,” he begins, focus remaining on you even if everyone else’s is suddenly on him, “That General’s personal pet is also Graves’ girl who had a change of heart?”

“Si–” Soap begins, before Ghost cuts him off.

“How do we know she’s not a fuckin’ spy,” he spits out, glaring at you with everything he has, “And we’ve been too fuckin’ stupid to figure it out!”

You’re not in control of your body, at this point. Your emotions are.

With one breath, you pull out the blade hooked to your hollister, grip it in a fist, and grab the scruff of Ghost’s uniform and pull him close. Grabbing his hand, you slide the knife into it, grabbing his wrist, pulling it forward so the knife is pressed against your neck.

“Kill me,” you breathe, chest heaving, eyes burning with rage, “Kill me if you think I’m a spy. Slice the knife through my fucking throat, Lieutenant, do it.”

His irises are blown black, the white of his eyes stark against the grease paint smeared over his visible skin. You can feel his heavy breaths through his mask, brushing against your snarled lips. You pull him even closer, your fist unrelenting against the fabric of his uniform.

There’s an uproar around you, Soap yelling something to you both, Price trying to tug you away by his grip on your upper arm, Gaz trying to both focus on not crashing and whatever the hell is happening behind him.

You’re strong, however. Trained and built for hand-to-hand battle, and you don’t move an inch. Not when you’re so determined, so stubborn.

“Kill. Me.” You hiss, the words quiet enough to only be heard by the man holding a knife to your throat. You lean in closer, and you can feel a small trickle of blood fall down your bared neck, but it’s a thrilling type of pain.

“You’re a crazy bastard,” he spits back, but he notably eases the knife away from your skin. You just lean into it further, more blood being let. “If you keep tryna call bluffs like this, you’ll be sent home in a casket.”

“What home, Lieutenant?” You ask, almost desperate for his answer, a demand. You narrow your gaze, refusing to break eye contact. “If you can find where the fuck I belong, I’ll be happy to die within its walls.”

The two of you standoff, your eyes doing all the speaking, before Ghost allows the blade to fall from his grip, hitting the floor of the van with a clunk. “You win, Sweetheart,” he taunts, the words being breathed against your own mouth, mere millimetres apart. “Congratulations.”

You finally allow yourself to be pulled back, Soap shooting you a shell-shocked look, his jaw clenching as he looks between you both. Price finally eases his grip around your arm, barking, “Don’t pull that shit! One wrong move and –”

“My whole life has been one wrong move,” you grit out, falling back into your seat with shallow breaths. You drag your hand down your face, before resting against the sticky heat of your blood, pooling at the dip of your neck. “What’s one more?”

There’s no response. You don’t hope for one, don’t expect one, but it still leaves you unsteady. Unsure. Even when everyone just sits in an odd sort of limbo for a few minutes, you struggle to come down from that high, that overwhelming need for control.

“Here.” 

When you look up, it’s to see Soap, a medkit in his lap. Price is sitting on the other side next to Ghost, talking quietly to him, stern expressions displayed on them both. They seem lost in conversation – a serious one, considering your current situation.

“What’re you doing?” You find yourself asking, watching as he rips open an alcoholic wipe and takes it out, your leg bouncing. He gives you a friendly smile, this side of hopeful.

“Patchin’ ye up, Sweetheart. Goes both ways,” he explains, and your eyes go glassy once more. “Can aye fix ye up?”

You don’t trust your words, so you simply nod, tilting your head back. You find yourself rocked by the rhythm of Gaz’s driving, finding solace in the comfort of semi-safety. Although not as safe as you would’ve been at Graves’ base, there was a sense of… protectiveness that came with being with the 141.

Wincing, you grit your teeth as Soap cleans up the blood from your throat, his gentle ministrations so at odds with his bumbling, charismatic character. He’s precise, careful to not hurt you too much, delicate movements made by harsh hands.

“You sure do like playin’ with fire, lass,” he murmurs, swiping the last bits of drying blood from the hollow of your throat, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips.  “Can respect that.”

“I’m sorry for… that,” you sigh, watching as he deposits the used wipe into a hazard bag. Good practice, you think, prioritising avoiding any bloodborne diseases. You’re silently impressed. “Didn’t mean to lose my shit. Just. A lot.”

“I know,” he returns, earnest, opening a bottle of sanitary cream and swiping some onto his finger, bringing it to soothe over your small wound.

“I don’t know who to trust.”

Those words aren’t exactly good ones to say, not to a borderline enemy with his hands on your neck. But it feels like an otherworldly force makes you say them, makes you expose yourself even further to this man. Maybe a taunt, maybe a small punishment for saving his life.

He pauses, but quickly covers up his hesitation with returned fervour. “I don’t envy ya, hen. It’s an absolute shitshow. But…” he grabs some medical tape, cutting it to length to put over your wound. Apparently it’s worse than you’d thought. “Ye heard what happened. Shepherd, Graves, they’re not worthy of ya.”

That gives you pause. Worthy. What made someone worthy? What kind of clarifications?

Did he think he was worthy? Ghost? Price? Gaz?

“You think I’m better than the General?” You raise a brow, attempting to goad him, spark that flame of banter that always seemed to haunt the Scot.

“I know ye are. Seen it with my own eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We’re nearly back at the safehouse,” Gaz calls from the front, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to a silent rhythm. Price grunts out a reply, and Ghost remains silent, watching. Always watching.

Finishing up his quick first aid job, Soap tilts your head back down with a grip on your chin, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip. “There we go, Sweetheart. Good as new,” he whispers, the corner of his lips tilting into a kind grin.

“How’s the arm?” You find yourself asking, looking to the bandaged ligament. “Feeling alright?”

“Definitely better than if aye’d let it get infected,” he hums, looking down to his arm. “Once this blows over, nurses on base will sort it out.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but you realise that his thigh is pressed against yours, and your leg has stopped bouncing. No more tap tap tap. Just… the feel of fabric against your own, heated by the flesh underneath. The comforting touch of another human, not sexual, not for any reason but to simply… exist.

Ten minutes pass of comfortable silence between you both, before the vehicle comes to a stop, Gaz turning off the engine with a turn of his keys, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping out of the car.

“Out we get,” Price says to you all, gentler than he’d been before. The doors burst open, Gaz flinging the keys back to his Captain, urging the four of you to hop out and head in.

You’re the last to get out, Gaz extending a calloused hand for you to take, ever the gentleman. Accepting it, you jump down, looking to the awaiting men. The Los Vaqueros are rushing inside, talking amongst themselves, relief thick in their words, hands being slapped against each other’s backs.

Price is looking at you as he says, “I think we have a call to make.”

As it turns out, the call is to the last person on Earth you want to talk to right now. In the middle of the same table you’d stood beside Rudy at, mere hours ago, is a computer.

One with General Shepherd’s face on it.

Price had given you the mercy in deciding whether you’d show yourself or not. You still hadn’t made the choice, instead standing off to the side, Gaz and Soap at either side of you. Alejandro stands at the right of the table, and Ghost has his arms folded over his chest at the left.

“You hid this,” Price grips the table, livid, “Why.”

Not a question, not really, more of a command than anything. An order from a Captain.

Shepherd’s response has your blood running cold, reality finally cementing inside of yourself. You claw at your palms when he responds, drily, “We all keep secrets, Captain.”

And, oh, what a slap in the face that is.

“Why the hell wasn’t I informed?” Price snaps, his shoulders rising and falling with each barely restrained breath. He seems to fill out his uniform more than he had before, in the dim light of the room.

The boarded up window allows for a small sliver of sunset to cast against all of you, a small joy in the darkness of the safehouse. And the situation at hand.

“Consider yourself well informed now, John,” Shepherd’s tone lowers, more grating, forceful.

“Oh, that's really fuckin' helpful, General. Thank you. But you're a day late and a missile short. There's three of them – we only found two.”

“Then point yourself in that direction, and fix it,” Shepherd booms, and you can’t help the instinctual flinch of your body. You’d grown up being frightened of his raised voice, the threat that came along with it. Even in the safety of this house, you can’t help your response.

Price scoffs a laugh with no humour, his mouth falling into a grim, dangerous line. “And who fixes you, eh?”

You can hear, more than see, Shepherd’s returning snarl. “I don’t need fixing. I’m a patriot protecting my country.”

Gaz and Soap share a look above your head, but you don’t care, not now. Not when Price stands up, slamming his hand against the table, not when Alejandro curses under his breath.

Not when all you can think about is the empty promises Shepherd made.

“You’re protecting your own ass,” Price cusses, turning back to glare at the man on the screen.

“I do what needs to be done, and no one holds me down with a roll of red tape. I know what's best for the cause.”

Price chuckles, eyes a fire of fury, leaning down once more to the laptop. “You’ve lost your mind, General.”

“And you've forgotten what you're fighting for, John. To do good, you gotta do some bad. When we shit, we bury it, that's how it works,” Shepherd replies, hard and strong in his belief.

You’re at the verge of losing it.

“Yeah,” Price begins, before pointing his finger to the camera, “But we don’t bury each other with it, do we?”

“You need to turn off that side o' your head and face down the real enemy,” Shepherd warns, and it’s the final straw.

“Isn’t that what you told me, Herschel? That the organisation was the real enemy?” You quip, and for a minute, you wonder if he’s ended the call.

That is, until, a choked off voice filters in, “Kid?”

Rushing forward, you turn the laptop to face you, and your entire system seems to revolt as you see the man you once cared for like a father. 

“Tell me that you didn’t betray them,” you hiss, leaning in closer, your entire face filling the screen. “Tell me that you didn’t ruin lives – tell me you didn’t make a deal with my Commander behind my back. Tell me, Herschel.”

“You wouldn’t understand –” he begins, but that’s all you needed to know.

Stepping away, you give him a final, cold smile. “Was it worth it?”

“What –” he starts once more, before you grab the handle of your gun, pulling it up to rest as a comforting weight in your hand.

“Was it worth ruining my life? Was it worth ruining this mission?”

“You’re just a kid.”

“I am a Colonel!” You shout, emotions bubbling over as you slam the gun onto the table, eyes blazing. “And when I find you, you’re going to wish you never fucked me over. What was your favourite method? Flaying? Dismemberment?”

“You’ve always been too soft and easy to manipulate,” Shepherd snaps back, voice booming through the speakers.

Your voice is as dangerous as you’ve ever heard it.

“Immolation? That was your favourite, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widen on the screen, seeming to understand, to seemingly take you seriously. Too late. Too fucking late.

“Let’s see if it’s still your favourite when it’s your turn to be the victim,” you slowly say, annunciating every word with clear speech. “Thank you for your teachings, General.”

With that, you slam the laptop screen shut, and prepare to face the fire.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee

author's note. im so hyped for all of the future plot points. and romance. ohmygod. yes, ghost does eventually come around. yes, he's the longest slow burn. yes, he's the most intense enemies to lovers. wbk. i also got covid so i have a lot of time to rot in bed and suffer while writing!! ALSOOO there is so much fire symbolism... ;)

your comments mean soso much to me, every time iread one i squeal and feel all excited!! thank u for ur support commenters, i DO read all of them. more than once. &lt;3

[cathrrrine]

just eat your food and say goodnight.

erik lehnsherr (magneto) x reader, platonic! peter maximoff (quicksilver) x reader • x-men (movies) • fluff, female reader

Summary: Peter Maximoff is a mischievous little shit. Y/N Lehnsherr and her husband Erik love him anyway. AO3

“Well, I’m calling it a night then.”

A content sigh escaped your lips as you stood up from your seat at the dining table and gingerly picked up your own dishes as well as the other empty ones left on the table. Those who noticed thanked you quickly before resuming their respective conversations — like Raven and Charles who were too busy bickering like children — while others made the effort to collect the ones on the other end of the table, namely Hank, Jean and Scott; the latter only doing so after being dragged by his girlfriend.

“Hey, you got an early class too, old man. Can’t risk waking up late with that back of yours.” You gestured to your husband, pointedly looking at him with a smirk on your face. He mirrored your expression, playfully cringing his nose to tease you but it only made you chuckle, a sound that was music to his ears.

“Good night then, everyone.” Erik stood up, following suit behind you, a melody of good night’s responding to him in different tones and variations of the phrase.

“The old man joke doesn’t age well with you, Y/N!”

Although muffled as he said it with a mouth full of food, it was clear enough for you to hear and snap your head towards him. Peter, the beloved speedster, snickered to himself at his own joke. He was too busy shoving chocolate pudding down his throat to notice that a couple of those around him had gone quiet, staring at him with disapproving eyes.

Raven reached over to flick the side of his head and Charles leaned back to give her the leeway, “Dumbass.”

“Ow!”

In your one thousand and thirty-five years of living, it was no surprise that all jokes about your age had grown stale. You hated them, having heard every single phrase on Earth…it was just plain boring to hear them make unoriginal jabs at your age at this point. If they got creative, you wouldn’t mind so much, but after hearing the same variations of the same jokes your whole life? Anyone would be understandably annoyed. Erik knew this, almost everyone at the table did as well. But, you figured it slipped Peter’s mind. It always did.

As he rubbed the side of his head, he stared angrily at the shapeshifter but was met by a pair of equally disappointed eyes that belonged to a certain Professor. A sheepish look fell on Peter’s face when he realised his mistake.

“You should know not to be too casual with your professors.” Charles raised an eyebrow.

Of course, you didn’t take it too seriously, he was a kid that meant no real harm so you didn’t really feel any real anger towards the young speedster, maybe even none at all. But he’s been bothering you too many times lately that it was starting to get on your nerves. So, you put on your Strict Professor Face and stared him down, determined to make him break a sweat at the very least. It probably wouldn’t put a cork in Peter’s attitude, but maybe you’d earn yourself a few weeks off from his incessant clowning.

Erik suppressed the grin that was starting to tug at his cheeks, he knew what you were doing, so he wordlessly took the stack of plates from your grip and continued your task for you. He caught Charles’ eye and they shared a knowing look for a brief moment.

Peter was in trroubleeeee.

“You do know how I feel about those jokes, Maximoff.”

“Funny, right?” He tried to play innocent, nervously smiling at you.

“I’ve told you so many times before that, no, I do not find them funny. We do not share the same sense of humour. Charles is right, you shouldn’t be so casual with me. We may be friends in your mind, but I’m still your professor, and I deserve at least a minimal amount of respect.”

Whew, that made even me sweat. Charles’ voice cackled in your mind.

Peter Maximoff was rarely left speechless, so it was an eighth wonder of the world to have him staring at you with his eyes widened and mouth shut. He gulped, shocked at being scolded by his favourite — although he’d never admit it to anyone — lecturer.

It hurt you too much to leave him that way, though. You were his favourite for a reason…that reason being how gracious you were to his faults that seemed to be never-ending. Relenting, you cracked a smile and used your powers to jolt him out of his daze and confusion. The sound of your chortling hit him with the reality behind the situation.

“Just messing with you, kid. I think you broke your own record for the longest time of being speechless.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned in effort to mask his relief, not wanting to admit she actually did get him back for once. “Unbelievable.”

“Serves you right for always making fun of me. I’m not kidding when I say it’s annoying!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you feel better, grandma.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, “At least I’m not the one with greying hair.”

Peter frowned and opened his mouth, about to fire back a retort but you stopped him by laughing and ruffling his grey strands, “C’mon kid, just eat your food and say goodnight. Careful though, don’t choke.”

Your feet carried you over to your original destination, the intent of loading the dishwasher now appearing at the forefront of tour mind, but it was halted immediately.

As if someone had pushed him forward, Peter sped over to the sink area before you could even turn around, mumbling something about doing the dishes. You glanced curiously at the smiling telepath who simply gave you a shrug in return.

You bid your farewells to everyone again, Peter’s quip of ‘g’night’ not escaping you either when you went to pat him on the back affectionately.

A patiently waiting Erik tugged at your hand, clasping it in his own as he led you out of the kitchen and up the stairs, swinging your hands in tandem with his.

“You think he’s gonna be okay?” You worriedly asked aloud, suddenly very concerned that Peter wasn’t aware you had been joking. The role you played in his life was somewhat maternal, and you didn’t want him to think you were actually being curt with him.

“Who? Peter?” Erik gave you a sideways glance, “That boy’s smarter than he seems, he knows what you were doing. Don’t worry so much, darling. With how fast he moves, I’m sure his mind has moved on to other things by now.”

You hummed in reply, pleased with his answer. “Sometimes I think you might be the resident telepath with how good you are at reading my mind.”

“That’s just called being married to each other, my dear.”

———

“Y/N!” The sound of his sing-song voice was not what alerted you to Peter’s presence, nor was it the sound of his shoes squeaking before he rushed over with his powers, instead, it was the lack of formality. He never called you Professor or anything of the sort.

You never chided him for it, in fact, you’d be lying if you said you preferred the title as a prefix to your name. While many of your students were comfortable addressing you as such, anyone who felt more at ease with calling you by just your name was welcome to do so.

You had a first-year call you Mrs. Lehnsherr back then, when you and your husband were just newlyweds, but Erik was quick to remind them that if they wished to call you by your last name, it was to be Professor Lehnsherr instead, because, in his words, your accomplishments were not to be diminished and should be rightfully addressed.

It led to a whole debacle of mix-ups with two Prof. Lehnsherr’s roaming the hallways, which was a minor problem compared to the confusion of the paperwork.

The days of “Professor Lehnsherr?” “Yes?” “Sorry, not you Professor Lehnsherr, I meant you…Professor Lehnsherr,” had to come to an end, so you settled for whatever it is your students decided to call you…as long as it wasn’t demeaning.

However, no one called you Y/N, just Y/N, but the one and only Peter Maximoff himself.

The young man sped towards you, his hair swaying behind him from the strong gush of wind even as he came to a still in front of you.

“Pete!” You mocked the way he called you, using the same tone.

He gave you a playfully disgruntled look before quickly reaching into his backpack — which looked more like a knapsack, actually — to retrieve a cylindrical object and hand it to you nonchalantly. As soon you wrapped your fingers around it, he sped away again, a quick and impish ‘byeeee’ being the last thing within your earshot before the gush of wind took over your senses again.

It wasn’t until your day ended that you finally had the time to completely relax, stretching your legs and unbuckling your high-waisted, straight-legged pants. You wiggled your toes, sore from being in heels all day, as you relaxed into putty on yours and Erik’s shared bed.

Speaking of the devil — Erik came in not long after, tossing his shoes off and setting his things down on the bench next to your door before throwing himself on the bed next to you, also instantly letting himself relax.

He leaned closer to your side, laying his head on your chest and draping an arm over your stomach. Muscle memory kicked in as your fingers immediately found their way to run through his hair, a familiar habit between the two of you. He closed his eyes as the sweet, heavenly endorphins that came with the satisfaction of your touch washed over his body.

“How was your day?” He mumbled, too lazy to form his words properly.

“Pretty interesting. Finally convinced Logan to come to one of my classes next week. Students have been begging like crazy to meet him.” It was a history project, of which you and the Wolverine were both well-acquainted with, given your ages. “I’m getting the feeling that they think he’s a cooler teacher than I am.”

That made your husband laugh, the sound reverberating as you continued to cradle his head on your chest. “All of the students think Logan is cooler than any of us.”

“It’s not fair, isn’t it?”

“He’s like a mystery, that’s why. Never around long enough to be the one who yells at them for almost burning the school down.” He was talking, but his lips were barely moving and his eyelids were fluttering shut. You smiled softly, trying your best to keep your movements minimal as you continued your ritual to help him sleep.

“Like a cool uncle, then.”

“Yes.” A beat passed, then he spoke again when he remembered what he meant to tell you earlier. “Peter was in my class today.”

“Yeah?” You were slowly falling asleep as well, eyes half lidded and muscles starting to feel limp.

“He spent the whole of it with his head down, though.”

The very image of that made your eyes shoot open, all hints of sleep gone. “Why? What happened?”

It was unlike Peter to be uneventful — he was always doing something , be it throwing spitballs or participating in a one-sided blinking contest with whoever’s teaching in front.

“Nothing.” Erik mumbled groggily. “He was just…working on…something.”

Your skin itched and your eyebrows strained, discomfort firing up every synapse as you went through all the possible reasons. Then, your last interaction dawned on you.

“Honey, I know you’re almost asleep, so can you please hand me my bag on the bench?”

Without saying a word, he raised the arm resting on your body and used his powers to float it towards you, the metal handles clanking together when he dropped it carefully in your grip.

You didn’t have to move your sleeping husband to grab the cylinder you were thinking about, but you did almost startle him when his snores made you lose your grip on the bag.

He didn’t notice, too busy dozing off to even pay attention to what you were currently doing. You quietly unwrapped the roll of paper, barely caring about the sound of it crinkling — you knew your husband could sleep through anything when he was in your arms — since Erik’s snores were louder anyway.

The contents were confusing at first, you had to read it twice to understand that it was a voucher of some sort. With your arm still around Erik’s head, you used what restricted movement you had with your one free arm and just your hand to flip the paper over.

“What is this, Peter?” You mumbled to yourself, reaching for your glasses on the nightstand. Your vision weakened even in your abnormal age, and being far sighted was something you dealt with long before the triple digits hit you.

As if on cue, the answer to your rhetorical question was answered by the scrawling on the back which you recognised as Peter’s boyish handwriting.

‘Sorry for calling you old all the time. You know I’m just kidding. Thank you for always being so cool with me. Hope you like the vouchers for free ice cream. One’s for Erik too. - P.M’

Next to his initials was a doodle of a face with sunglasses on, a two-toothed grin to go with it. It was hard to wipe the pleasant smile off your face, so you kept it on, succumbing to the bubbly feeling. Peter was like a little brother that you couldn’t hate no matter how much you wanted to — you’d even go so far to say he was the son you never had.

You flipped it again, only noticing the name of the store being dairy goods related as you read through it for the third time. It still left you confused, since there was no sign of anything being free printed on it.

That’s when your eyes landed on the italicised font at the very bottom, bold red asterisks between the phrase.

* SENIOR CITIZENS GET 1 FREE CONE . *

Quickly, you turned it around to look at what you thought was an innocent letter written by one seemingly apologetic speedster. You didn’t miss the joke this time, written in very, very emboldened ink, so roughly scratched on the surface you wondered how you missed it in the first place. The smile you had on dimpled into a disbelieving simper.

P.S. HOPE YOU ARE WEARING YOUR GRANDMA GLASSES :D

[dovveri]

dancing with your ghost

synopsis: you and momo are brought up in an era of war. you’re taught to fight, and the time has come for you to put those skills to use.

warnings: needles, medieval fighting, death, torture, orphans, weapons, swearing, period mentions, suicide, blood

w/c: 6.6k

a/n: hi hey giggle feeling a little more emo than usual… this was originally birthed from black clover mars and fana 🫶 enjoy i love a good tragic lovers tale but i hate that i wrote it medievally bcs i think medieval is rly hard to do well but wtv i like writijg swords more than i like writing guns

𐃈

"what's your name?"

you look up curiously under your eyelashes, it's a girl that looks around the same age as you, she's wearing a shirt too big for her, going past her knees, scars dot the skin that's exposed, but she wears a smile, she's not threatening, just curious.

"y/n."

"nice to meet you y/n. i'm momo."

"momo." you test it out, rolling it on your tongue.

she nods happily, plopping down next to you, not minding the hay that pricks into her skin, used to it.

"where did they get you from?"

the reminder makes you tear up, and you’re back to scrunching yourself up in a little ball, covering your head and crying into your knees.

"woah hey! i'm sorry."

you sniffle, still unable to stop the tears, but then momo's tiny arms are wrapped around you, brushing through your hair, trying to calm you.

"it's okay. you're safe now." she repeats, over and over, until your sobs start to subside.

you blink up again, looking at her furrowed brows and concerned expression, "i'm sorry."

"why?" she looks surprised, cupping your face with her hands now that you're looking at her. her hands are rough, you can feel the cuts along them, the scrapes and damaged skin, but it grounds you.

"no-one left..."

she nods sympathetically, dropping her hands, "me too."

"you too?"

"dead."

"i'm sorry."

she shakes her head, "long time now."

"how long?"

momo thinks for a little, taking her stubby little fingers out to count slowly. "3 years ago. i'm 10 now."

"i'm 10 too."

"really?!" momo looks back up at you excitedly, grasping your hands in hers.

you nod, smiling for the first time since you were captured.

"yay! all the others are old. they don't like to play with me." she frowns, hands tightening around yours for a second, "will you play with me?"

you nod again, and she beams, "we're not alone anymore!"

you take the opportunity to have a look around. it's a relatively big room, you can make out mounds of hay, likely used to sleep on, there are other kids milling about as well, in a similar state of dress to momo.

"where are we?"

momo perks up, "the castle! we are special kids. chosen ones. that's what they tell us. they're going to train us to become secret weapons of the kingdom. it's good! they give us a home. and we repay them by training our best."

you frown, "but i don't want to be a weapon. i want to go home."

momo loses her smile, looking uneasy, fiddling with her fingers. "there's... there's no home to go back to."

"what do you mean?"

"they took you away right? that means... we are all orphans." she points to the other kids around the room. "all of our homes were destroyed. this is the only place that would take us in."

"w-what?"

"i'm sorry."

"that can't be true."

"i'm sorry."

"stop apologising! you're lying!"

momo looks shocked at your outbreak, shrinking back into herself, looking even smaller in the shirt 5 times too big for her. but you practically can't see her, only seeing images of your hometown flashing through your head, your parents, your school, your friends, your toys at home.

you don't realise you're hurting yourself and screaming until two guards come in, hoisting you up and ripping your arms away from yourself. momo's watching on with tears, unable to do anything while you thrash around in their arms, carried out of the room shrieking and crying, in disbelief of the situation you found yourself in.

𐃈

when you wake up again, you're lying on top of a heap of hay, wearing a similar oversized shirt that you had saw momo in. there's also a faint pain in the back of your neck, but there's no mirrors for you to see if there was anything wrong.

"y/n?"

you look up from your own pitiful state, seeing momo with wide eyes, holding a tray of food. she's a lot more cautious than the first time you met, not wanting to aggravate or send you into one of your tantrums again. she steps closer slowly, making sure you can see her every movement.

your mouth waters at the food in her hands, stomach grumbling.

she hears it and tries to conceal a smile. she holds it out, carefully sliding it forward.

you dig in immediately, gulping down a glass of water and reaching for the bread.

"are you... okay?"

you grunt, mouth still full of food.

"did they hurt you?"

you pause, returning your attention to her, "don't re-mber." you mumble out through your food.

momo looks behind her, then side to side, as if checking if anyone was listening. then she comes forward in a rush, whispering, "you can't do that again y/n. they don't like it."

you frown, swallowing, "what do you mean?"

"we have to do what they say. or else they'll hurt us."

"have they hurt you before?"

she turns around, parting her hair.

you gasp, staring at the little blinking blue dot embedded in the back of her neck, your hand automatically goes to your own neck, feeling the lump that wasn't there before.

"it's a tracker. so they know where we are at all times. because they're training us to be secret weapons, if get kidnapped or the kingdom's enemies try and use us for ransom, they can remotely activate this and fry our brains. we'll essentially be vegetables after that."

"how... how do you know all this?"

she turns back around, putting her hair back in place, "my friend. it happened to her. she came back from her first mission... different. she wouldn't tell me what happened. but right before they... fried her... she told me everything she could, like she knew they were going to get rid of her the next day."

"but you said... you said it was good they took us in."

momo hisses, "i lied. they were watching you. waiting for you to mess up so they could put the tracker in you."

"why- why are you telling me all this?"

she stands back solemnly, staring at her feet, you remember she was the same age as you, only 10 years old.

"it's only going to get worse from here. and... you're the same as me."

you stare at her, studying her, you'd taken her for a naïve little girl, still innocent despite the horrors she's been through. you'd hoped she was because that meant you could keep your humanity too. when she meets your eyes again, hers are fierce, there's a fire within them, an anger no one else could understand.

"...thank you for telling me."

all of a sudden she melts, and she's back to the girl you first met, clumsy and caring, but you can't unsee the wrath the world placed in a little 10 year old body.

𐃈

it's not surprising that you stick to momo over the next few years. all the older kids don't pay you any mind, and it seems you were the last one brought in, so there's no one younger than you. there's about 20 of you in total. there were 30 in the beginning but some were sent on missions and never seen again, and others died during training. eventually, when you all get too big to fit in the same little barnyard, they move you into the unused dungeons under the castle. you were all kept a secret from the majority of the castle population. at least when you lived in the barnyard you could see the sky, it's been 4 years since you'd last seen sunlight.

you're changing your bandages when one of the older kids runs in, frantic.

"it's momo."

you're up in seconds, running towards the makeshift training arena where you knew momo was sparring with one of the instructors.

you push past all the people straining to get a look, jumping up onto the platformed sparring arena and rushing to momo who's on the floor, gritting her teeth and clutching her stomach.

"what happened?" you get straight to business, gently moving her arms and lifting her shirt to survey the damage.

"she's fucking weak is what happened." the instructor above you spits.

you ignore him, grabbing the first aid kit in the corner of the sparring arena and cleaning the wound. it's a lot deeper than you thought it'd be.

the crowd has gotten bigger. it was normal for them to pit you against knights or prisoners of war, they were more experienced, bigger, dangerous. and now they were circling the sparring arena cheering on the instructor who is spewing nonsense about strength and integrity.

momo had picked a fight with one of the knights who had bullied you last week, he had stolen your rations and dumped them down the feces chutes. momo forced him to go retrieve it, pushing him down the chute and making him dig through the entire castle's feces to find your food, and then she made him eat it.

his captain found out, the one who was in charge of weapons training. the one who just now stabbed momo in the stomach under the pretense of sparring despite explicit orders that you and the other kingdom's 'weapons' weren't to be maimed.

when you finish cleaning and bandaging her wound, you stand up, kicking off the weapons in the arena, then face him head-on. he's taller than you, much more built too, he's got a nasty scar on the bridge of his nose.

he laughs when he sees you, puny and pathetic.

"you wanna fight little one?"

"n-no." momo tries to stop you, her voice is still laced with pain, trying her best not to cry in front of the crowd.

you step forward, chest to chest with him, "you lecture us about integrity but you fought someone half your size with a blade as long as her torso."

he scoffs, "the battlefield won't care about how big you are. that's the problem with you women, you think because you've been born weaker that everyone needs to cater to you. guess what? the real world doesn't care. i guess you wouldn't know that though because you've been cooped up in here all your life huh?"

"and how many women have you spoken to in order to make that assumption?"

he snarls, "more than you."

"that's not a great comparison considering i've only known the same 19 people my whole life. 5 of us who are women."

"fine. enough that i couldn't count them right now and give you a number."

you don't hesitate when your hand darts out and grabs his dick, yanking downwards so he levels with your eyesight, your grip squeezing the flesh tight enough he goes rigid with pain. "you won't mind if you lose this then right? the real world doesn't care after all. you should still be as strong as you were no?"

"you fucking bitch-"

you yank on it again, hard enough that he's toppling forward onto you, but then you bring your knee back up, using his downward force to launch your knee into his nuts, ducking out of the way before he keels over.

"that was fair wasn't it? not my fault you were born with a weak spot right between your legs."

he roars, stumbling around and clumsily throwing a fist your way while holding his testicles. you dodge easily, sending a kick into his side.

"i thought you said women were born weaker? does the fact that i'm beating you right now mean that you're weaker than a woman?"

he tries again, lumbering towards you with both hands this time, reaching for your neck. you easily maneuver around him, letting his own momentum send him crashing into the ground.

"enough!"

everyone in the room quietens down. they part like the red river as a tall, lanky man dressed in the royal colours strides towards you, stepping up onto the platform.

the captain immediately bows his head, shuffling backwards and trying to minimise his presence. you huff, standing in front of momo, prepared to take on anyone that wanted to mess with either of you.

the man tuts, slinking forward until he's cupping your face.

you rip it out of his hands aggressively, choosing to stare at the captain still cradling his balls.

"y/n."

you don't answer.

then he pulls something out of his pocket. your eyes widen, a cold sweat building up.

he notices immediately, smirking, "good girl."

you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to look up at him. he stares down at you, eerie eyes and perfect white teeth. thumbing the little remote control he has in his hand that controlled all of the trackers in your necks. then he turns, addressing the crowd.

"it seems like all our weapons are here. please step forward my children."

the other kids hesitantly clamber up onto the platform, all eyeing the remote he has in his hand. they had upgraded it a few years ago, could now use it to torture you if you acted against them. they realised the threat of rendering you brain dead wasn’t enough as you grew older, they needed you to experience real pain, for you to know they had total control over your minds, your bodies, that you were their property.

"good. i have an exciting announcement to make. there's talks of a treaty being formed between all the kingdoms, it means no more wars, no more innocent lives lost, freedom."

there's murmuring in the crowd of knights, shuffling around, unsure.

"there's a price though. as there is a price for all things. this new world needs a leader. and each kingdom wants to be its leader. the kings have agreed on one way to decide this leader. each will submit one team of 2 fighters to represent them, the winning team will gain this leadership title for their kingdom."

"what does this have to do with us?" someone from the crowd yells.

the man shushes them quickly, waving a hand and having the person who interrupted him escorted out loudly.

"before i was so rudely interrupted... this team will be selected from our secret stash of weapons we have here. other kingdoms already have data from spies inside our kingdom about our regular knights, but they won't know about you."

he turns and smirks at you, "so we're going to be making a big spectacle of this, and the 20 of you, will be fighting it out to get a chance to be that duo in a qualifying round 2 weeks from now."

there's silence.

he makes up for it by clapping, "hooray! isn't that wonderful? you'll finally get to do something with your lives!"

if he wasn't the advisor to the king he'd be dead on the floor now, your hands dripping with his blood. but he was, so he practically prances away, his hoard of guards following him. when he's out of the room, everyone starts talking at once, knights complaining about how they wish they could represent the kingdom, some congratulating us, some spitting at us. you don't pay them any mind, turning back down to lift momo up.

"i can walk."

you frown, supporting her on one side, only for her to almost fall over.

"just let me carry you idiot."

she purses her lips, thinks for a little, "help me walk until the rooms. i don't want everyone to see i'm weak."

you sigh, grabbing onto her waist and slowly inching forwards.

"hey!"

you ignore the captain behind you.

"i'm talking to you bitch!"

he tries to yank your shoulder back but you shrug him off, hoisting momo down where one of the older kids is waiting to help her.

"you not had enough big guy?"

he flinches when you turn, it's pathetic. but then he regains his confidence, standing tall again, "i don't need to fight you. you'll die in those qualifiers anyway. i'll be betting against you."

"then be prepared to lose your money."

you don't let him speak again, hopping down to wrap momo's arm around your shoulder, hobbling away as fast as her injury allows.

when you finally get back, you take her shirt off fully, removing the rushed bandage job you did and beginning to clean it properly with the rubbing alcohol you have hidden under the stone tiles of your shared room.

she hisses at the first touch, but you slap her hand away, focused on cleaning the wound perfectly. 2 weeks wouldn't be enough for it to heal before she has to fight again.

"you shouldn't have done that." she squeezes out.

"why not?"

"he's not going to go easy on you in weapons training tomorrow."

you scoff, "what's the point of even going to those classes anymore? we're all going to die in 2 weeks. and they need to make a big spectacle out of it so it's not like they’re going to prematurely kill us. these trackers are empty threats. at least for now."

"you're not going to die y/n."

you finally look up at her, she's wearing the same look she had when she first warned you about them, about the evils in the world you lived in.

you go back to dabbing at her wound "neither will you then."

momo groans heavily, "don't do that."

"do what?"

"try and protect me."

"that's what you've done my whole life."

"but that's because-" she pauses, wincing as you finish cleaning her up, grabbing the needle and stitching thread.

"because what?"

"you know..." she mumbles, hissing again when the needle enters her skin.

"i don't."

she's silent, watching you piece her back together like you have so many times in the past. once you're done stitching her up, you grab fresh bandages, tying her up again. and then you hesitate, but you're leaning down before you know it, kissing the bandaged patch of skin softly.

"y/n..." momo breathes out.

you stand back up, going to the bathroom to wash your hands. you hear her struggling to get out of bed and follow you, ultimately only succeeding in pushing herself up into a seated position. you sigh, grabbing a clean washcloth and putting it under some water, heading back into the room to start wiping her face, then body. you're not shy with each other, you've been together for almost 10 years now, half your lives. you've seen each other in every state of undress, been through every life stage together, had your first periods, first kisses, first times with each other.

she normally is more stubborn in letting you clean up after her, claiming she can do everything herself but always ending up needing your help, but this time, with the news fresh on both your minds, she's too tired to argue.

by the time you're done and you've curled up in bed next to her, squeezed together on the little single you've shared since you were 16 and moved out of the barnyard, her eyes are drooping and her breathing is laboured with fatigue and maybe also from blood loss.

you're careful not to aggravate her new wounds, wrapping an arm around her hips, a little lower than normal, nuzzling into her shoulder.

you think she’s fallen asleep, but after some time, she speaks up, “i would’ve won.”

you snort, “against the captain?”

“yeah.”

“you were on the floor bleeding out.”

“he cheated.”

“oh really?” your voice is sarcastic, you look up at her from your spot in her neck, suppressing your laughter at the determined look on her face, a little crease between her eyebrows visible.

“yeah. it was only meant to be sword to sword. he had a second dagger up his sleeve. that’s what really got me.”

you trace her hip lightly, humming.

“you believe me right?” she looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed.

you giggle, caressing her chin, “yes i do momo.”

“good.” she huffs, looking away to stare at the ceiling again.

you stare at her profile, her full lips, a little chapped, the tiny scar right under her right ear from when you were forced to spar one another and she made you cut her so that the fight could end quicker, the slant of her nose. if you knew what love was, you’d probably love momo.

“i was serious you know. you’re not dying.”

“i was too. if i don’t die than you don’t either. we’ll both get through.”

she sighs, hand coming to rest on the back of your head, “you know that’s not likely. we’re the youngest. all the others have more experience, most have actually been on missions, if we work together than at least one of us can get through. and it’s going to be you.”

you’re quiet, still studying her face. you knew she was too stubborn to change her mind after it’s made, there was no use arguing with her.

“do you remember that time we snuck upstairs and saw all those people and heard… music?”

she smiles, “it was so interesting. seeing people have fun like that. what did they call it? dancing?”

“dancing.”

“they seemed so carefree. like they didn’t know war was going on outside the walls.”

“there was no point to what they were doing. just moving around, there was no productive purpose. it was so different to everything we’ve been taught.”

momo hums, “i’d like to try it one day. maybe when the war is over. when we can afford to be that relaxed and let our bodies go, listen to music and laugh and dance.”

“what if you suck?”

momo looks down at you in abhorrence “i would not!”

“what if you don’t know how to listen to music and you trip and fall in front of everyone?”

“i’d be amazing. people would be lining up to dance with me.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes at her.

“i’d save the first one for you though.”

you almost didn’t catch it.

you inhale in her neck, taking in her scent, “no thanks. i don’t want to trip over your clumsy feet.”

momo whines, slapping you lightly while you laugh again, curling into her even more.

she was the only one who could make you laugh, who brought joy back into your life after your family was killed. as far as you were concerned, she was the only important thing left in your life worth fighting for.

𐃈

you were right. you decided to stay in with momo over the next fortnight, and no one came and bothered you about it. none of your instructors, none of the other kids, though you could understand that, you were expected to kill each other all very soon anyway, it was best to eliminate as much connection as possible before the battle.

you tended to momo's injuries, only leaving your room to grab your rations and steal some more medical supplies. on the third day, she's able to walk around again against your better judgement, and by the fifth, she's asking you to spar with her to practice before the fighting.

you're only convinced after she promises to tell you if anything hurts too much, and to eat half of your rations so that she could get stronger in less time.

she's basically back in shape at the end of the fortnight, although she's made it known she plans on protecting you once the fighting starts, you've secretly told yourself you'll be the one watching out for her.

"they're loud aren't they?"

"it'll be the first time we'll have seen normal people since... i don't even remember how long ago."

"yeah. the first time we'll see the sun too. or not if it rains. god remember how it felt when it rained? how it sounded?"

you try and block out the other kids milling about the waiting room, it was you or them, you couldn't humanise them, couldn't listen to them talk about their struggles, it'd just make it that much harder to kill them.

there's a tap on your shoulder.

you look up, seeing momo smiling, donned up in the light armour they've provided that only covers your chest and back. she sits next to you, your hands just barely touching.

"you ready?"

you grunt, not bothering to give a proper response.

"that good huh?"

you shoot her a look, rolling your eyes.

"chill. i got your back."

"that's exactly why i'm not excited for this." you grumble.

momo frowns, you had kept most of your complaints to yourself, but now that you were minutes away from actually having to start fighting for your life, you were a little less filtered.

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"i wish you'd let me protect you too."

"y/n..."

"it's fine. i get it. it's whatever, just focus on not getting yourself killed momo." you start to stand, not being able to sit so close to her knowing that you might not be able to see her again, but she pulls on your hand.

you sigh, only weak for her.

"just promise me you'll try. if you- if you die because of me i don't know how i can keep living knowing that." you say softly, still refusing to look her in the eye.

you feel her standing, and then she's wrapping her arms around your midriff, sneaking inside your armour to hold you. you tense up immediately, aware of how this must look. you'd kept whatever you were a secret from everyone else, afraid they'd use your relationship against you, but you were minutes away from possibly never seeing her again, so you throw caution to the wind, letting her hug you.

"i promise. but if you win and i don't-"

"don't say that."

she ignores you, "if you win and i don't, i want you to keep surviving. can you promise me that?"

you sigh, leaning back against her slightly, reveling in the closeness for possibly the last time. "... i promise."

and before you know it, you're being herded out, hot sun beating down on your patchy, grimy faces, bloodlust and screaming oozing from the crowd in the colosseum. you wondered if they knew what you'd been through. who you were. or if they just thought you were another run of the mill knight squad that was chosen to represent the kingdom. you don't have that much time to think over such useless thoughts though, because a loud horn is being sounded and the fighting begins.

𐃈

you whip into action immediately, lurching for the closest weapon you see. unfortunately, one of the other kids has the same idea, and now you're both tugging on the ends of a spear.

the pointed end is facing the other kid though, so you pull for a little, and then when you're sure he's pulling with as much strength as he can, you charge forward, impaling him, then yanking it back out, whipping the spear around in a circle around you to quickly get a grasp of your surroundings while creating a perimeter where no one could attack.

the blood is bright red on the end of your spear, and you cringe a little, suddenly recalling all the memories you had with the boy, sammy, 3 years older than you and momo, the one who helped momo down from the platformed sparring arena 2 weeks ago, dead.

you spot momo a few meters away, also engaged in a fight with one of the older boys, alex, 6 years older than you, split his rations with you when you were punished that time for showing up late to training. momo cuts him down with her sword. dead.

she looks around hurriedly, assessing the situation. you catch her eye very briefly before someone's charging at you with a battering shield. you use the long end of your spear to hoist yourself up and over them like a javelin, letting their heavy shield carry them forward, unable to change direction. you land on both your feet, quickly turning around and stabbing them in the back, yanking back out. han, 4 years older than you, your first ever sparring partner. dead.

you catch sight of an arrow whizzing past your head, straight in momo's direction.

you know momo can dodge it, so you follow the direction from where it was shot from, quickly running forward while he's distracted nocking another arrow in, swinging your spear so it whacks him in the side. he drops the bow and arrow in pain, and before he can put his hand out to defend himself, you're thrusting the spear straight through his neck, blood spurting out and colouring your silver breastplate. robin, 4 years older than you, taught you how to read, dead.

the adrenaline is running, you don't have time to mourn, only to find the next victim before they find you.

eventually, you find yourself back to back with momo, covering each other's blind spots while you fight in perfect harmony. the others knew you were close, they probably didn't know you had practiced dueling for more hours than you'd slept. you knew each other like you knew the sun rose every day.

you've been able to completely block out the cheering and the spectators, only focused on surviving. they'd underestimated the two of you. the youngest, the least experienced, but the ones that spent the most time together, the ones that corrected each other's every weakness in the training field while the older kids were out on missions or stakeouts where they couldn't hone their skills. every second counted. and they realised that now as they lost their lives one by one.

it's down to five of you. no, four, momo just stabbed through kim, the oldest girl, the one who taught you both what to do when you first started bleeding between your legs, dead.

the last two boys are the ones you'd thought would win. the eldest, leo, and his brother, kenny. they were orphaned together, and have spent just as much, if not more time together training as you and momo have. your breathing is coming in a lot harder now, huffing with effort, you're honestly grateful you and momo have survived for this long.

then they're running at you, swords pointed, ready to strike. you both parry them, the clanging of metal against metal ringing in your ears while you take kenny and momo starts fighting leo.

you push kenny backwards so that you're not in momo's way in case she pulls bigger moves, and so she doesn't have to watch your back in case leo tries to kill you when you're not looking. you no longer have to worry about keeping your eyes everywhere now, because everyone else was dead and momo was keeping leo occupied. so you focused your all into killing kenny.

you'd swapped your spear for a sword earlier on, preferring the larger blade than the distance necessitated accuracy a spear requires. you stab and slice and manage to get him to the edge of the colosseum, almost in the shadows when he finally runs out of space to back up. but he remains persistent, parrying every strike, blocking every advance. it would be a battle of endurance. so you grit your teeth and keep attacking, watching his every movement. it's worth it, because you catch the slightest falter in his back foot, and you take advantage of it immediately, darting forward and ducking under his swipe, forcing him to move his weight onto his back foot which was already placed wrong, so he loses his footing for a second, long enough for you to yank the hilt of his sword towards you, letting it flip up in the air before catching it with your left hand, then sending both through his head with a vicious thrust.

you're heaving, stepping on his breastplate to pull the swords back out, turning on your heel and squinting through the blood and sweat to see momo, still holding her own against leo. they both don't seem to notice you've won, so you bound forwards, grateful for your smaller stature and lighter frame, your footsteps not louder than the crowd or the clashing of metal for them to hear you coming.

you catch momo's eye very briefly, a signal flashing between you both before she starts advancing more aggressively, pushing leo backwards where you're waiting. you bring both your swords up and in front of his neck, slicing downwards and slitting his throat open. he drops his sword, clutching at his neck and falling to the ground, bleeding out.

you breathe, and breathe, and breathe, huffing, sweating, exhausted, your mind still playing catch up to the physical atrocities you just forced your body into. momo is in a similar state, hair sticking up in funny places where sweat has collected, fresh blood on her cheek and her arms and legs from cuts and wounds of fighting and killing the other 18 people you'd grown up with.

you can't hear the announcer's voice, sounding out around the stadium, announcing your names, the two that would be moving forward. your ears are only slowly starting to take in the cheering that you'd blocked out.

"-know you guys aren't satisfied yet! so we prepared a special surprise too!"

you blink up through your eyelashes, squinting at the announcer in his little podium box above the colosseum.

"there is actually only meant to be one representative from each kingdom! we've watched these two fight side by side, a killing machine but the joke's on them! now they're going to duke it out to find out who really is the strongest of them all! and have the honour of leading our kingdom to victory in the upcoming kingdoms clash!"

it's like time stops. you can feel every heartbeat, every breath coming in and out of your body, every painful blink as you stare at momo, mouth hanging open, swords clutched tightly by your sides.

"mo-"

she doesn't let you finish saying her name, lashing forwards with a yell, swinging her sword down hard. you're barely able to defend yourself, metal finding skin as she cuts your arm when you bring both swords to push against hers. her eyes are overcome with rage, you're not sure if it's at you, or the kingdom, or if she's just been blindsided by all the people she's killed.

you yell out, trying to get her attention, trying to shake some sense into her, parrying off each of her attacks that only get rougher and rougher. your hearing has come back fully now, you can see the laughter, the glee, the bloodlust in each of the citizen's faces. you didn't care if they knew you were slaves or knights from the beginning, the fact that they were finding enjoyment in this was proof of their cruelty enough.

you're distracted, head fuzzy, still playing catch up, still not really understanding that there would only be one person leaving the battlefield today. you keep begging, crying out to her, to the girl who protected you from day 1, who held you as you cried in bed each night missing your parents, who fought people twice your age and size to defend you, who loved you when you thought you'd never feel love again.

she has you on your stomach now, arms pressed behind your back, your swords long forgotten. it would be over soon. she would win. you were okay with that. you protected her. she would live. if you had to die for momo to live, so be it.

you close your eyes, memories of you and momo flashing through your head when there's a searing pain in your neck, she's cut open. you can see momo and you kiss for the first time, curious what it felt like after seeing two of the older kids doing it, you see momo sneaking into the kitchen with you in hand, shoving grubby handfuls of food into the makeshift basket you had weaved together using your old clothes, you see momo cry for the first time, hiding from you under the covers, trying to make herself as small as possible, as quiet as possible, not wanting you to think she was anything but your protector, you see it all.

and then there's a blinding light.

you can hear her too, her voice.

"this isn’t your fault. remember your promise. i love you."

you blink, eyes adjusting, and with horror, you wipe at your eyes, blood smearing across your skin, not your blood. momo coughs up more red bile in your face, smiling still, impaled on top of her own sword that was now somehow in your hands. her eyes are no longer empty, not like they were when she was advancing on you, they were full of life, of love, they were the same eyes that looked at you when you woke up in the morning, the same eyes that watched you when you fell asleep, soft and tender, devoid of the pains you'd experienced.

you scramble upwards, only impaling the sword in her chest deeper, she coughs again.

"momo- no no no you can't- what have you done- oh god-" you cradle her face in your hands, tears leaking out of your eyes, staring down in disbelief at the chunk of metal that went in through her chest and out through her back.

she coughs again, resting her forehead against yours, closing her eyes, still smiling.

"y/n… dance for me." her last words, whispered hoarsely against your lips, before her breathing stops, the only air moving between you is your own heavy breaths, shuddering, crying, sobbing, hugging her lifeless body against yours, wondering how everything could've gone so wrong.

they'll pull her away from you later, when the crowd gets bored watching a little girl grow hysterical over losing the one thing that ever mattered to her.

you'll scream and kick at them, clinging onto momo's dead body, pleading to spend more time with her, to mourn her. but they'll push you down, carrying you away like the first time they carried you away from momo, except this time she wasn't wide-eyed and teary with concern, she was gone.

they'll throw you back in the room you shared with momo, locking you inside while you pounded away at the door, hands bloody, face still spattered with momo's blood.

when you finally accept that no one was coming, you'll slump down, afraid to look around the room that reminded you of her, cradling your head in your hands, knees to your chest. your fingers will brush through your hair like she used to when she thought you were asleep, they'll meet fleshy, wet, skin at the back of your neck when your nails dig harshly into your hair and neck.

you'll blink, confused, inspecting your fingers at the fresh blood that coated them. you'll bring your hand to the back of your neck again, feeling around. the lump was gone.

with wide eyes, you'll realise the stinging pain you felt when you thought you were dying, was momo digging the tracker out of your neck. she had fought you so aggressively on purpose, gotten you on your stomach on purpose, all so she could free you before killing herself, making it look like you had turned the tables, like you had pulled her weapon away from her and stabbed it through her chest.

she freed you.

you were no longer a slave to the kingdom.

you'll purse your lips, resigning yourself to a new goal. you were going to get revenge for everything they'd ever done to you, to momo, to all 30 of the original kids that they orphaned. and you would dance, imagining momo dancing with you. you should've told her you thought she'd be the most brilliant dancer to have ever breathed.

[verdantwyrm]

my silly little hcs

more under the cut

Curly

comes from a very very very big family, the kind of australian family that always has either a slow roast or a grill on at all times. their house smells amazing. but no food lasts longer than 10 minutes.

went to college with jimmy, absolutely had a weird fling with him that he doesn't really think about anymore. if you ask him about it he just shrugs "ah yeah you know, we were young. still figuring stuff out" and jimmy is in the corner still recovering in the worst way possible

had a dog when he was younger named harry, he was a boston terrier

actually wanted to join the air force and be a real pilot, but he had to settle for next best and applied to be a freighter pilot a couple years later after becoming burnt out in his early 20's when pony expressed picked him up, he offered the job to jimmy when he was 25

Smokes with Jimmy, totally shouldn't. Anya gives him a serious glare every time he does it, but she doesn't turn down a cigarette either, depending on the day

is sort of ? dating anya ? its a bit complicated, its become a situation of waiting for the first person to act first (they never do)

voice claim - bluey's dad, bandit

Anya

comes from a very small village, she moved away from home when she turned 19 to go pursue medicine in america, unfortunetly it got pricey very quickly, and she was unable to finish her courses, but kept applying regardless until pony express approached her. shes been with them ever since

had a white cat when she was younger named roan

her younger sister got married as soon as she turned 18, which made anya feel a little left, she felt very "behind" and ended up making some questionable relationship choices because of this. realized that was stupid a little too late.

has a very obvious and very terrible crush on curly, doesn't do a very good job at hiding it but thankfully the man is very dumb and hans't realised it yet (neither has she) (daisuke brings it up once and she almost dropped her favorite mug)

doesn't have her license, and probabaly never will. she rides a bike everywhere, is definitely some end of the hippie spectrum but never has enough free time to truly commit to that.

she has a habit of chewing her fingernails whenever she is nervous, so she paints them regularly to try and break the habit. Her favorite color is actually orange.

voice claim - diane nguyen

Swansea

despite what many people think, Swansea actually got divorced on relatively good terms with his ex-wife. As he was sober entering the relationship, and ended it. He still talks to his kids, and laments over how they sound just like Daisuke sometimes. They'd be around the same age too.

he actually hates coffee, and can't stand the taste of it. Tastes like dirt to him, and would rather drink something sweet or even tea if it's an option. He sometimes drinks coffee if it's the only thing though

Curly was actually his intern for a little while when he first started out, he was helping out carrying boxes and moving stuff around to help him get acquainted with the layout of the ship or to put those young legs to work. They go back a little, so it means something to Swansea to see him achieve what he has. He would never admit it publically, but he is proud of him.

He wanted to play instruments when he was younger but never got much say in it considering how quickly his life fell apart. So he settled for the first thing before him to get him out of that pit, and it just stuck.

He plays card games in his spare time, usually practising. Now that he has a victim, he beats Daisuke at everything.

Swansea actually did not trust Jimmy at all when he first came on board, said Jimmy reminded him too much of a weasel. And he kept that right up until the end.

He notices a little bit of his own kids in all the crew, and it's definitely something he internalizes like crazy. Being so far away from his own kids, he tends to let them lean on him a little more than he should and would make a poor Captain for this exact trait. He just can't bring himself to be too strict, and even after reprimanding Daisuke, he feels extremely guilty, even if it was an important lesson. His sentimentality gets to him easily, but he tries to not show it.

Voice Claim - Ron Swanson

Jimmy

Wanted to be a cop at some point.

He doesn't speak to his sisters, they've long left him or gone off to go do their own thing. He's better off without them anyways.

He met Curly when he was younger, and wanted to desperately be his friend but didn't know how to express that. So he hit Curly over the head with his lunchbox, and they've been friends ever since. Curly took it as just roughhousing, something he was very used to in his large family.

He is allergic to cats, and constantly sneezed around Daisuke in the first few months.

Jimmy actually hates playing board games, he thinks they're extremely boring, but it was very hard to say no when Curly would drag him into them every time. It got the point where he had to start purposefully avoiding him until he got over this phase.

After Curly graduated early and went off to go to flight school, Jimmy dropped out. He was studying finance and law. Went on a four-year bender, and got himself stuck in multiple dark pits that he thought couldn't get any deeper until he ended up somehow on Curly's doorstep. Curly has been working hard to essentially rehabilitate him to a healthier life. Jimmy hates this.

Totally doesn't have a huge crush on Curly still, it rots him to his core at how disgusting it is. Half the time he doesn't even know if these feelings come from desperation, genuine love or anxiety of being in that pit again, and he rolls his eyes at the idea of even discussing it.

Despite being very lanky, he is not the most acrobatic man ever. And is quite clumsy, he tries to hide this but Curly always notices and it drives him nuts.

Voice claim - Bojack Horseman

Daisuke

He has three cats back at home. Junebug, Jazzy and Ducky.

Daisuke actually really likes pokemon, but unfortunately, he didn't bring any games with him. He complains about it almost daily.

Even though he beats Anya in board games, he will probably never beat Swansea. He's so jealous of the card deck he holds.

Has an even bigger sweet tooth than Swansea somehow, and absolutely split one of the last few candy bars from the vending machines.

His mother is a writer, and his father is an architect. He wanted to pursue art but felt like it was very lacking in comparison to his parent's achievements. He didn't resist when they gave him the opportunity to intern, but It wasn't fantastic news either.

Daisuke is actually extremely smart in very technical stuff. He will repeat the dumbest string of words, but accomplish something only a master electrician could in seconds. Swansea and Curly don't understand how his brain works, but it gets the job done. (Its the Autism)

Daisuke is actually terrified of doing something without his parent's permission. He was never an extremely rebellious kid, and it always felt weird to do something without them knowing or their permission first. He was a nervous kid and wasn't always sure if what he was doing was the right thing to do or if he was doing it correctly. This was a habit that got on Jimmy's nerves very quickly.

Daisuke sings in the shower, very loudly. He brought his own walkman, but unfortunately, that got misplaced somehow and he's been bummed out ever since. In return, Swansea and Anya let him have choice of the music sometimes to make him feel included.

He doodles with Anya, showing off their art skills to each other. Anya has a portrait he drew of her in her office desk. She loves it.

Voice Claim - Finn the human

[nickyraah]

“SWEET OBSESSION” (part. 1)

•It’s the first part of my first ever fanfic posted online😭 I wish y’all gonna like it🖤

•English is not my first language so ignore the mistakes or something🤗😝

It was a cold, autumn evening. Halloween evening. Everyone around was wearing costumes, drinking, partying. But not Nicole. She never liked parties nor dressing up in some stupid, childish costumes. Nicole Blossom, twenty years old girl. Green eyes, medium brown hair and her always messy bangs made her look kind of sweet and kind.

Her best friend Sienna, who was also her housemate, organised a big party for people from their university. Of course, Nicole wasn’t happy about that, she was studying criminology, which isn’t a piece of cake and had a lot of exams, the party definitely won’t help her with studying, that’s why she decided to spend the evening at the park and read her notes in peace.

She left the house, completely ignoring Sienna’s complaining about how “boring” she is and walked slowly to the nearest park. Miles County was a peaceful town. There were never any problems with people living here, everyone was friendly and polite. Streets were crowded, full of different costumes. Some of them were basic but there were few of them which impressed her a lot. She smiled to herself when she saw a group of little kids dressed up as ghosts, they looked incredibly sweet and reminded her of how she loved Halloween when she was the same age as them. What changed her attitude towards parties? She didn’t know, she just hates the idea of being drunk, dancing with some random people.

When she finally arrived at the park, she sat on one of the benches, put in her earphones, turned on the music and started reading her notes. The evening was windy so she was wearing her usual, black coat, which kept her warm. The surroundings were quiet which caused her to smile a little, she was grateful that places like parks still exist. Immersed in her notes, she didn’t realise that someone was watching her. A man in black and white clown costume, with a painted face was walking around the park, glancing at her with a wide smile. He carried a big, black trash bag, only God knows what was inside.

Meanwhile, Nicole felt that… she was observed? She slightly raised her head from the notes and looked around. At first, she hadn't seen anyone. “Calm down stupid, you’re being paranoid.”- she scored herself. But suddenly she noticed the clown guy. His smile grew even bigger when he saw her, he waved at her happily.

Nicole was stunned by his costume, it was quite an original one. She hesitantly waved back and looked back at her notes which slightly annoyed the clown guy. He wanted to keep her attention on him, so he decided to relax next to her on the bench. He adjusted his trash bag, which caused a loud noise, kind of metalish. It was loud enough for her to hear it through the music. She quickly glanced at him, seeing he was approaching her. She sighed slightly, she wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone.

When he approached her bench, he waved right in front of her face which made her flinch a bit. She quickly pulled out one earphone.

“Can I help you somehow?”- she asked as politely as she could. He nodded quickly, pointed at himself and then on the bench a few times as if to ask if he could sit next to her.

“Um, yeah sure, you can sit there.”- she said, a bit confused. Clown clapped his hands a few times, threw his trash bag next to the bench and sat down, leaning back to the bench. Now, she was even more curious about his trash bag.

Clown guy seemed pretty relaxed, he was observing the sky, from time to time his gaze landed on a young woman beside him. Suddenly, he patted her shoulder. Nicole slightly rolled her eyes.

“Yes?”- she asked with a small hint of annoyance. She was done with studying but she had to pass those exams. The clown pointed at her notebook as if he wanted to look at what she was reading. She sighed slightly and passed him her notes. He took it and looked closely on every page, sometimes he chuckled soundlessly. After a while, he returned her the notebook.

“Boring, isn’t it?”- she smiled slightly. He shook his head vigorously, it seemed that he found it interesting.

“If you think so you can learn that for me, I have no motivation to do it.”- he laughed at her words, not making any sound like before.

“You don’t speak a lot, do you?”- Clown, nodded and pointed at his throat as if to say he was mute. Then, he leaned to his trash bag making a big noise again, looking for something. He pulled out a small notebook and a pen. He quickly wrote something and showed her the note.

“ART”- said the note. Then he pointed at himself. It must’ve been his name. She smiled softly.

“I’ve never heard that name before, it’s cool.”- Clown mimicked the blush, bowed a few times and tipped his small hat a few times to show her gratefulness. What a gentleman.

Then he pointed at her and then at the note. He wanted to know her name.

“I’m Nicole, not as original as yours.”- she chuckled. Art quickly grabbed a pen and wrote something in his notebook. He wrote her name in the middle of the heart and smiled sweetly, showing up his black teeths. The whole situation seemed crazy but she found that cute.

“I’m glad you like my name.”- she smiled softly. Her phone rang, Art’s smile faded away. It was Sienna, she quickly picked up.

“Girl, where are you?”- she yelled to the phone.

“Sienna, you’re drunk again.”- she sighed annoyingly. Nicole knew that drunk Sienna ment sleepless night for both of them.

“Just a… only a few drinks I swear bae.”- Sienna said innocently.

“I’m coming home. You better not drink anything or you’re gonna sleep in the garden tonight”- she rejected the call. Art laughed at her words.

“I have to go.”- she packed her notes into her bag. Art quickly lifted his index finger, he wanted her to wait a minute. He quickly leaned into his bag again and pulled out a white rose. He gave it to her with a big smile.

She smirked and accepted that small gift, which she put in her bag. She stood up and looked at him with a smile.

“It was nice to meet you Art.”- he also smiled, bowed a few times and waved at her. She turned around and left the park.

Art was left by himself, still smiling widely. He leaned back, grabbed his notebook and looked at her name again. Nicole Blossom was supposed to be his next victim. A victim of a murderous, cruel clown. When he saw her for the first time, he already had a plan on how to kill her but… something was different. She was different. Even Art didn’t know why he let her live this time, she seemed so pure, so calm, so… innocent. He couldn’t stop thinking about her face and her name. He must see her again.

[jinnie-ret]

hellevator

stray kids x ninth member male!reader

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: implied anxiety, implied disassociating

word count: 2.1k

summary: he's going through voice changes in their debut era and fans are already sending in hate

Requested: anon!

This is my first male!reader fic so please be kind, I hope you enjoy! <3

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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He was so excited to finally be a part of something, not that he had been training for long. But when Bang Chan told him he saw potential in him, despite their 6 year age gap, and recognised how well he got on with the other members, he was quickly added onto the line up for Stray Kids.

During the survival show, Y/N was babied, of course he was, the maknae in the upcoming JYP boy group. Fans of the show fauned over his fluffy black hair and the oversized hoodies he'd wear, making him look smaller. It was similar to how Jeongin was babied too, the two of them being the youngest and seen to have that sweet, innocent air around them. Plus, for Y/N's case, his voice hadn't broken yet at the age of 14, so that fed more into how he was perceived by fans.

However, it was not long after the group had finally debuted that a more mature, deeper voice had overcome him. Of course, not without the struggles of getting used to it. Originally singing the chorus of District 9 wasn't difficult, in fact it was easy. His gorgeous, husky tone was unique yet when he hit those high notes his voice was instantly recognisable. Now, he had to deal with voice cracks, and the rapidly depleting self-esteem that came along with it. This is what he trained to do after all.

"You're getting stressed out. We need to practice getting your voice in a position where it can hit those high notes again. It's not going to help if you're standing there thinking you can't do it," the vocal teacher sighed, putting down her sheets of the lyrics Y/N had been singing.

She was firm, yes, but she was being kind about the situation too. She has coached many that had gone through the same thing as Y/N, and all she wanted to do was to see him succeed, but he couldn't see things through her eyes, that was far too big of a mountain to climb for him. A treacherous journey to realising not everything is one dimensional.

Y/N could only focus on those last four words. 'You can't do it'. And he hated the way that everything suddenly felt hot, and how his throat itched. How his neck itched. He started subconsciously scratching lightly at his neck, feeling the stress flood through his body. He scratched away at the thing he wanted to change most, knowing he couldn't turn back time and have things stay the way they were.

All the comments he had read, all the whispers he had heard, circulating in his brain, like an endless loop of vicious words to bring him down. He would be the reason Stray Kids would fail, they had said. He wasn't good enough, they had said. It all came from jealous trainees that were bitter they didn't get to debut instead of him. The only failure apparent in this situation was Y/N realising that.

"I need some air," Y/N barely managed to speak as he rushed out of the small practice room, tugging at the strings of his hoodie and making his way outside.

Fresh air.

Just breathe, Y/N.

And he managed to do so, not without his mind taking him to another place as he stared up at the JYP sign on the building. Was he meant to be here? Did he deserve to be here when his talents were no longer there? Y/N just couldn't see it the same way anymore, he couldn't see himself the same way anymore when the thing he had been praised for so deeply had changed. Even the people who had supported him before had changed their opinions, because his growth had shattered the image they had of him.

Y/N was unaware of the familiar presence beside him, one that had playfully called out his name before realising something was wrong. He was gently guided back into the building, and swiftly surrounded by the warmth of the 3RACHA studio.

"Hyungs! I found Y/N but he's not talking to me," Jisung's voice quivered as he himself was now feeling worried about his dongsaeng.

Changbin took Jisung aside, hushing him and reassuring him that he did the right thing, whilst Chan took it upon himself to understand what was happening to his youngest brother.

"Hey, hey, you're ok, come on, look at me," Chan spoke quietly, yet he managed to break through Y/N's mind as the younger looked around the studio.

"I shouldn't even be here," Y/N shook his head, voice monotonous. Just being there upset him further, yet he still fought against everything within him to show that side.

"What do you mean? This is our studio of course you're allowed in here, I mean, I know Channie likes his own space sometimes but this is different," Changbin moved to stand in front of Y/N too, having successfully calming Han, "hey, no no no don't float away again, I need you to listen," Changbin forced Y/N to sit down in the sofa. Han automatically wrapped his arms around the younger, wanting to do his best to show he was there for his fellow member.

"What's going on Y/N? Your vocal teacher said you just ran out of the building. She was waiting another 45 minutes until Seungmin turned up for his lesson because she couldn't find you," Chan sighed as he sat down in his chair, opposite the distressed boy.

"I bet Seungmin was much better than me," Y/N mumbled, but even with that, throat thick in emotion, his voice cracked yet again. Flustered that it had happened yet again, Y/N's fist came down against his own leg, huffing in frustration.

"Yah yah, don't do that!" Han frowned, pulling Y/N's arms away from him.

"I'm just so frustrated!" Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, looking up at the ceiling to keep his tears at bay.

"About what?" Changbin prompted Y/N further but he just stayed quiet.

"You need to tell us ok, we're your hyungs, we want to know what's going on, we need to know," Chan moved closer, resting his hand on Y/N's knee.

"My stupid voice," Y/N whispered, embarrassed to admit it.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"What about it?"

"Ever since it's broken, you know, gotten deeper, I just sound stupid when I try singing, it's embarrassing, I mean, it makes sense when they say I shouldn't even be in the group anymore, I-" Y/N opened the gates to his mind as his mini ramble began and was quickly cut off.

"Who said that..." Changbin frowned deeply.

"Stays, other trainees," Y/N threw his hands up in the air, just done with the whole situation.

"Trainees are saying it too?!" Han gasped, looking at Chan and Changbin worriedly, a hint of malice in his eyes as he thought about all of those around them that still acted like their friends.

"Y/N they're just jealous, you can't listen to what they say," Chan began, sighing once more as he ran his fingers through his hair, somewhat at a loss of how to reassure Y/N anymore.

"Easier said than done. Why did you even have me join this group when, when... when I was just going to make us fail!" Y/N exploded, pushing himself up from the sofa and out of Han's arms, away from Changbin's concerned glances and especially away from Chan's words which went in one ear and out the other straight away.

It wasn't long until he found what he thought was an empty practice room, not noticing the bags of his other hyungs that were for once tucked away neatly in the corner of the room. He found solace in the emptiness and allowed himself to collapse to his knees, breaking down into tears of frustration, sadness and all the other emotions he kept pent up.

The rest of Stray Kids returned from a small snack break at the vending machine, all going together of course, you wouldn't find one Stray Kid without another, even this early on in their time of being together.

"Hey hey hey, aegi, what's going on? Omo..." Lee Know gasped as he saw the baby of the group shaking and sobbing. He ran up to Y/N and wrapped his arms around him, the other members astonished until 3RACHA ran in and finally found Y/N after hearing the commotion.

They began to explain what happened to Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin whilst Felix sat down in front of Y/N to help calm him down, brushing his hair out of his face and rubbing his leg soothingly. He tried his best to listen to Y/N at first but due to his growing knowledge of Korean not being up to par with Y/N's incoherent sobs, it was easier to stick to physical affection. You could say Y/N was in a Lee sandwich, the best place he could be right now.

"Can't... Shouldn't..." Y/N sobs soon calmed down and the rest of his members gathered around him in a semicircle, Minho still hugging him from behind. Yes, he could come across as cold and brash sometimes, but no one could tell you just how soft Minho really was apart from his members. They knew him the best.

"Y/Nnie... please you have to listen to us, you're in this group for a reason," Hyunjin patted his knee from beside him.

"T-they didn't say anything about Jeongin's voice when his broke!" Y/N exclaimed, pain clearly still there, tired of all the judgement he had been receiving. He wasn't able to listen to his hyungs right now.

And the boys go quiet not knowing what to say back to Y/N, they were sure he didn't mean to offend Jeongin but it didn't stop Seungmin from patting his shoulder in support.

"Not, not, oh gosh not that I wanted Jeonginnie hyung to get hate I'd never want that for my hyungs I just..." Y/N put his face into his hands, feeling bad as if he has indirectly insulted his hyung, just because he was feeling hurt. From behind him, Minho hugged him tighter, whispering in his ear to try and gain his attention.

"It's ok, I know you didn't mean it like that," Jeongin smiles from across him, and Y/N could tell it was a genuine one.

"Look, our vocal teacher said something to me earlier about what was going on, she was worried about you, she thought she said something wrong," Seungmin trailed off, trying to get to the bottom of the matter.

"No she was actually really nice about it, it was just too much of a reality check and then my mind just took control and... Ugh I don't even know," Y/N came to a realisation that his vocal teacher wasn't being rude to him and it was all these overwhelming feelings that had built up and caught him out.

"Just take a moment, yeah, and think, would I have added you to this group if I didn't think you had the talent, had the potential," Chan rose an eyebrow, firmly talking to Y/N to make sure he understood what he was saying.

"Or his personality, personality is important too," Felix piped up, not wanting Y/N to feel like his worth was only reduced down to one thing.

"Of course it is, but that isn't what this is about right now, answer me, Y/N," Chan nodded to Felix before looking back at his upset member.

"N-no..." Y/N stuttered, realising the depth of what his leader was saying.

"Good. We can see how good you are. The only reason fans are getting annoyed is because it's a change they haven't adjusted to yet. Just like you're adjusting to this change too. Now, they shouldn't be sending in hate, so please, I will do everything it takes for you to not listen to it anymore, ok?" Chan promised Y/N, sitting in front of him and making sure he got that one answer he needed.

"O-ok, I-i understand now, thanks hyung, I-i love you all," Y/N felt the stress leave him, finally able to understand things from a different perspective.

"Aww he said he loves us!" Minho suddenly picks up Y/N and spins him around, causing the younger boy to squeal.

"I wish I had a camera!" Seungmin laughed along.

"I need to remember this forever," Jeongin and Han fooled around, widening their eyes and pretending to screenshot this happy cute moment into their brains.

It was definitely a moment that Y/N would be teased about in the future, being exposed for his true feelings for his hyungs when normally he'd be quiet about what he thought about in the normal way. It was just a good thing they got in his head this time, because now they had a happy memory to think about instead.

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

[lonelystarrs]

Tugs & Texts

Barou Shouei x FemReader

With how you’d both met at twelve and how you promised to make his life hell in school no one would have guessed you’d be dating at sixteen. At eighteen Barou left for Blue Lock and you both started learning it wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought. But there you were, always support him in every sense with your quirky ass ways. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, it also makes tension rise in the best fucking way. You’d be the death of him he was sure of it.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI • Blue Lock timeline • both virgins • phone sex • smut • fluff • Barou is smitten • size kink •

If people knew how you met Barou then they’d never have guessed he’d eventually be the one to start dating you. Kicking a ball into his face at the age of twelve because he was apparently bullying another kid. Barou called it ‘saying it how it was to save them making a fool of themselves in the future’, you called it mean, egotistical and bullying. It wasn’t the most romantic story to tell on how you both met, sure, but you still laughed telling it. 

But that was how it happened.

He said some mean shit to your friend about his uselessness at soccer and you went absolutely fucking not. 

He was impressed by the power and accuracy of the strike, none the less from a girl and the fact you’d caught him off guard. 

Barou Shouei was a ripe asshole of a person long before his age made double digits and you simply didn’t stand for it.

You promised you’d make his life hell since that day and you left little twelve year old him stood dumb founded with a nose bleed and his heart kicking in his ribs. 

It developed over the years, the constant bickering —god the teachers hated you both in the same class, apart from that one art teacher that seemed to know something no one else did, but that part will come in a sec. 

It pissed him off at the start with how you never backed down to him and never got upset with his ways —as he got older it got weirdly fucking endearing. 

So endearing in fact that his teenage mind and hormones started to act up changing his view on you. He tried to remain stubborn, truly he did, acting like you were a pain in his ass and nothing more. 

But he wasn’t the only teenage boy with boiling hormones and a mind quickly adapting to it… So when other guys also started taking notice of how much prettier you were getting, how your body started to change that’s when it became an issue for Barou. 

He absolutely wasn’t developing feelings for you —it was purely hormones and he was human much to others denial of it. 

But that’s where the art teacher stepped in, the only one brave enough to pair you and Barou together for a project. It caused silence in the class when she announced it, even the students stunned she’d make such a foolish choice. That evil glint in her eyes, her quiet evil cackle as she drummed her fingers together in her corner watching you together. 

That was also the day he started to really changed his mind on you, he still remembers it clearly. 

He fucking hated arts, it was messy and shit got everywhere. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body either and he wasn’t about to try. 

You stepped in for him surprising him with how good you actually were at drawing, you picked up the charcoal and went for it. He just sat and watched you, red eyes softening as he really took a look at you. Your tongue poking out as you concentrated, your hair tucked behind your ear to keep from your eyes even though loose strands were falling from your messy bun. 

Your skirt riding higher than it should be, those thigh high socks causing a little dip in your thighs at the rim. He felt heat crawl up his neck and he cleared his throat looking back up to what the hell you were drawing. 

When you signed it off with a title and slid it over to him he realised what it was, his hairstyle was hardly unrecognisable so he knew it was him. 

You’d draw him in charcoal, striking a goal. 

‘The Kings Strike.’ 

That’s what you called it, you waved him off saying it was nothing and it was from his game last weekend. He found out you had photographic memory and he also found out you’d been attending his games. 

Just cause your girl friends wanted to go and cheer on the boys, but you only went to be social —apparently. Not interested in the sweaty men running around with egos over balls and nets. 

Your blabbering fell on deaf ears because it was difficult for him to ignore how black your fingers had gotten whilst smudging the charcoal. So he reached for his back pack and pulled out his trusty cleaning wipes, ignoring you laughing about his supply of them. The bell ringing was deaf on you as you watched Barou Shouei cleaning your hands of charcoal, his hands were so soft and warm, despite his rough personality he was gentle, thumbs massaging over your fingers to rub out the black stains. His eyes fixed on the task, then telling you to be at his game this coming weekend and to sit on the front row. 

He took the drawing, he still has it at home but it’s framed —you had no idea he’d done that.

Interactions started changing from then; he sat near you in most classes willing to pair up, his reaction to your taunting was less aggressive and you eventually turned into flirting with him covering it with humour. He always cleaned your hands after arts, he always corrected your uniform if it went out of line.

Then he started handing you water after PE telling your dumbass to keep hydrated and he glared at guys who tried coming up to you, never saying a word but Barou never had to. It was subtle to start with until it got so noticeable that rumours flying around that you were Barou’s girl and it didn’t take him long to let everyone know it was true. 

At sixteen Barou made his decision and told you to date him because he could tolerate you, hardly romantic but Barou wasn’t.

You left him alone for his soccer and respected his passion towards it, after all you never knew Barou any differently. It came first for him and you never asked for anything otherwise.

Everything was fine, surprisingly good actually and he was a great boyfriend. You swiftly both turning eighteen and that’s when lives started to take different paths. 

Him leaving for blue lock was a hard adjustment, you didn’t think it would be until he was gone with no contact, practically disappearing from your life without much notice which you really didn’t appreciate and let him know about it. 

It wasn’t nice, but not an adjustment you hated because he was doing him and you kept yourself busy for your studies. You’d never tell him how shitty the nights could be sometimes, how it did actually affect you more than you’d like to admit because he was chasing his dreams. Not like how you felt would ever stop him but you just didn’t think it would help anything. 

So you coped, you adjusted, you suffered in a way that he’d never know about because you didn’t think he needed to. Besides that was your problem to deal with, not his, you couldn’t rely on him all the time. It was unhealthy. 

Your phone was drier than his dry ass texts, because he wasn’t allowed access to it in Blue Lock. 

Until the day your phone did ring, Barou’s ID as clear as day on the lit up screen, gracing your eyes with him working out shirtless days before he left for Blue Lock. Your heart leaped into your throat and you answered it a little too keenly, almost dropping it as you slid the bar to answer.

Barou however wasn’t himself, he sat in the empty canteen alone, Isagi had left him after eating. Throughout his entire time here he had succeeded and even though him being stolen for Isagi and Nagi’s team wasn’t a bad move he still felt the affects of that match replaying in his mind days later. That shitty feeling of defeat was resurfacing, clawing at the back of his skull and churning something foreign in his stomach.

Truthfully, it shook him seeing Isagi and Nagi push him aside, a lesson learnt and a new drive for the king, sure. How you grow is from crap happening and he was fine with it. 

He learned from pain, he wasn’t wallowing but for some reason it niggled something in him that made him want to reach for you, for the first time in two years of dating you and five of knowing you. It made him think about you more, finding his mind drifted whilst training, like you not being around as much suddenly hit him at once.

So he cashed in his points and got his phone so he could close that gap that had formed. 

He barely spoke, letting you just talk because all he wanted was your voice, your weirdly cheerful personality and your annoying ass ability to make him feel better to work its magic. 

“So you cashed in points to get your phone back?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” 

“But I am flattered and I’m gonna remind you forever that you do actually miss me~! How could you not? It is me.” 

“An ego doesn’t suit you, lose it.” He grumbled, letting the smirk twitch at his lips and luckily for him you couldn’t see it. 

“You’re smirking right now.” 

Well that took it off his face. 

“Pahaha! Aw Barou~! I miss you too, seriously it’s shit but I know you gotta do this, so I’m here for you when you have a shit day.” 

“Tch, who said I’m having a shit day? Just callin’ cause I have to, this boyfriend crap is exhausting it’s been peaceful without you.”

“Well, m’phones been drier than a camels ass in a sandstorm so-“ 

“You’re disgusting, go get some fucking friends then loser.” 

“Pftttt says you, Mr I go to the bowling alley by myself.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Hmm, I wish, still waiting for that y’know, kinda glad we didn’t do it before you left though, that woulda been real cruel.”

Barou fell silent down the line and it was your turn to smirk, twirling your hair around your finger you shifted on your bed. 

Got him. 

“Guessing you didn’t check your messages from me?” 

“No.” 

“Cute, you called me straight away~ missing your little virgin girlfriend waiting for you at home to be devoured by her king~” 

Barou inhaled sharply through his nose, he was glad he had his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. One hand holding the phone to his ear the other rose to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop his mind wondering. His cock rising to a semi regardless, these joggers weren’t going to hide much either and he was still in the canteen.

“Suggest you look through the messages, it’ll help you whilst away.” 

“I can’t do shit, there’s no fucking privacy so stop being a damn tease.”

“Barou, you still in here?” 

Despite the male addressing him Barou heard your snicker down the phone, his jaw clenched, eye twitching and vein popping all signs his lack of patience was biting. Can’t these guys just fuck off? Seriously everywhere he looks they aren’t far away. 

“Well, I’ll let you go king~ keep devouring, keep pushing yourself and keep learning Barou. You’re gonna eat them alive and when you’re back, you can eat me alive again~! Turns out that unholy mouth of yours really does show me heaven~!”

“Woman-” 

Barou realised his mistake when he growled it out down the phone, red eyes instantly turning to Isagi and Chigiri who both rose an eyebrow at him, a smirk spreading over Isagi’s face. 

Sadly your loud laughter down the phone was heard by the eavesdroppers only confirming you were a female. 

“You called a girl?” 

“I find it hard to believe someone would actually be attracted to him.” 

The line went dead leaving Barou to look at the boring ass screen of his blank wallpaper. 

Frowning at it he suddenly realised despite knowing you since he was 12 and dating you for two years he had no photos of you. 

Isagi leaned over his shoulder and addressed the exact same thing going through the kings head. 

“No photos of her? C’mon show her off! She pretty?”

Chigiri also leaned over mildly curious as well. 

“I’m intrigued also, hard to believe someone like you has a girlfriend.”

“Fuck off you peasants!”

Barou stood abruptly and pushed the boys out the way, isagi sniggered and elbowed Chigiri. 

“I think he’s a little flustered.” 

Barou half turned, his form a shadow and red eyes glowing giving him some eerie ass look that wiped the smile from Isagi.

“What was that, donkey?”

“Nothing! I said I bet she’s real pretty.” 

“Damn fucking right she is, mention her again or to anyone else and I’ll kill you got it?” 

Isagi nodded trying to hide the smirk twitching on his mouth, Chigiri with his usual cool expression. 

“Reckon he’s a house husband? He definitely wears the maid outfit.” 

“Yeah, I can kinda see that.” Chigiri agreed, both their heads running through the images of him running the home like a maid “-I’d rather not though.”

Hands in pockets, slouched back he grumpily made his way down the hallway towards the bathing rooms, shutting himself in there and locking the door behind him. 

Unlocking his phone he went straight to your messages, ignoring anything else popping up on his notifications from having it off so long. He’d check your socials later, maybe, he’d prefer not seeing you carry on in life without him but he was also curious as to what you’d been up to. He’d been distracted and focused for weeks in here, it helped not thinking about you on the outside.

“Tch, fucking girl is gonna be the death of me.” 

He grumbled, scrolling through the texts you’d been sending him over the last few weeks, thankfully not everyday texts -every Friday you’d message him about your week, he’d skipped them for now as the picture messages were what caught his eyes. 

His cock was already semi hard from the phone conversation, mind running with the shit you’d put in there and how easily you got into his head about it. Cock hardening completely it bulged in his joggers as he seen what you’d sent. 

His heart raced in his chest, thumping so loudly he heard it in his ears, hot flushes running through his body as he watched the videos.

Your index and forefinger running over your clit before separating your lips to give him a full view, watching your drooling hole clenching around nothing. 

God your pussy was so fucking pretty, his mouth watered at the sight. Thumb frozen as it hovered over the screen watching you collect slick to run over your clit in circles, he dared turned the volume up slightly only to hear you moaning for him, hearing the squelch of your fingers pressing into your hole and he watched it stretch to accommodate them. 

You hadn’t slept together yet, but he knew how good you felt on his tongue and fingers like you did him. 

“Shit, this damn girl-“ 

Barou reached for the bottom of his sweater, lifting it to bite the end of it holding the material out of the way, exposing his six pack. Reaching down for the waist band of his joggers lifting hips to bring them down enough to release his cock, it slapped his stomach and he groaned, he was rock solid -weeks of refraining from any release due to the lack of privacy offered here. 

His hand wrapped around his thick head, thumb rubbing over the tip smearing his precum, he released a breathy moan as his thighs tensed. 

Barou wasn’t wasting any time in fucking into his fist —hard, horny and feeling feral about the idea of being the one to take you for himself. His pace matching your fingers as you fucked yourself for him on video. He didn’t last two damn minutes and he wasn’t trying to hold back, he tapped his cock against his stomach, getting more turned on by how hard his dick was.

“Cummin’ Barou!” 

He watched your hips lift from the bed, how you got the camera skills you had he didn’t want to know -but you didn’t miss anything, your hips rolled in the air as he watched your pussy clench around your fingers. 

His cock throbbed as he felt that build up reach its tipping point, he panted through his teeth and the material in his mouth, drooling into it. 

What really helped him finish was you pulling your fingers out, watching that clear cum cover your fingers and link to your dripping hole. The camera followed them as they travelled to your mouth, only your tits and mouth in shot as you smirked, cleaning off your own fingers tongue sliding between them making sure you didn’t miss anything. 

“Shit, fuckkk-“ Barou grunted, his legs straightened and his head rolled back to hit the wall behind him, heels digging into the floor to brace himself as he came, releasing into his hand and stomach as his body shook. 

His chest heaving as the release waved through his body leaving him lax, his cock resting on his stomach and he looked down at the damn mess. 

Tch. Looked good though. 

Accessing his camera he flipped it to selfie mode, he angled it down so you could just see his jawline, teeth biting into his shirt holding it out the way, cum covered his cock and hard stomach. His hand holding his dick which dripped cum still leaking from the slit, he could see his dick flexing as cum drooled from it.  His load was thick and almost too much -balls finally emptying from ignoring his needs. Cock softening but still looking thick and heavy even in his large hands. 

He’d been around enough guys in the baths here to know he was fucking big, even soft he was packing a dick. It only aided his smug ego when he thought about how you were going to struggle taking him, perhaps a little concerned he was going to actually hurt you. 

Barou > 1 image attachment

sent. 

Queen > ;) Good boy Barou. Knew it, you missed me~! 

Received 

Barou > See how cocky you are when you struggle with it. 

Sent

Queen > Yeah, it’ll be kinda hot though. 👀 

Received 

Barou > oi, send me that photo.

Sent 

Queen > I’ve just sent you loads! 

Recieved

Barou > One in the dress. 

Sent 

Queen > seriously? You’ve got all those lingerie photos and you want that summer one? It’s not even wank bank material. 

Received

Barou > that’s the fucking point dumbass, just send it!! 

Sent 

Barou locked his phone and cleaned up the mess he’d made, deciding he much preferred it when you were around to deal with it, instead he took another quick shower before heading back to the room. 

Checking his phone one last time to see your messages. Opening the attachment to find he got what he wanted. 

One of your friends had shot a photo of you during the summer, wearing a yellow sundress that hugged your waist, the skirt dancing around your thighs from the breeze, your hand holding it down and the other holding your straw hat to your head. 

The laugh on your face, your hair dancing around you. One spaghetti strap had slipped off your shoulder, tits pushed up from your arms pressing into them holding onto your dress to save your dignity from the breeze. Tanned summer skin standing out beautifully against the yellow dress, the gold necklace with a small dainty B sitting high on your neck. 

Long toned legs, thigh showing from the height of the skirt blowing up. Pretty short acrylic nails painted white like your toes for summer, hands just missing that ring he knew he’d put on you one day. 

It was the kind of photo that made him realise he was fucking smitten with you. 

He locked his phone again and shoved it under his pillow, arms crossing behind his head as he glared at the ceiling. The room was dark and others asleep to which he was grateful for because he knew his damn face was burning. 

God this was fucking pathetic. 

Your words of encouragement over the phone earlier repeated in his mind now he could think more clearly, the relief in hearing your voice again, seeing photos of you. His heart swelled in his chest, it took away that feeling he was unable to shake. 

His ego lowered for a split second and it allowed that voice to tell him what he’d been ignoring for weeks…

Yup, he missed your annoying ass. 

© pharix 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

[buff-muffin]

List of Doflamgingo and Corazon headcanons cause doomed siblings

1. Both brothers have extremely expressive eyes, they got them from their father. You can always tell what their thinking by looking at their eyes. Dofi was aware of this from a young age realising he could never tell what his brother was thinking because his hair covered his eyes. So he started wearing sunglasses. This kept him from being readable and stuck with him all the way to adulthood. This however also impacted Rosi as the entire time he works under Dofi he wears glasses to not let his intentions be read and thoughts understood, but the second hes with Law alone after finding out hes a D he took them off and let himself be readable for Law if it made the boy feel safe.

2. Doflamingo was always rather strong for a child and that came from helping his younger brother out. There were countless times where Rosi wanted to hold his hand yet when he tripped he would drag Dofi down with him. So he got strong enough to be able to pull his brother back up and not be taken down with him

3. Rosi was super clingy when he was small. Before and after they suffered on the streets, physical touch was such a love language for him, Dofi while never fully comfortable with it, was always sure to hold him… Now Corazon hardly even leans on him. It makes an old wound of Dofi’s ache

4. When Corazon first reunited with Dofi and he had time to process the fact his brother had gone MUTE after what happened years ago. Dofi wasnt sure what to think. While he felt no guilt for what he did and put his brother through a part of him feels almost pity, thinking his crybaby of a brother managed to scavenge around on the streets and survive without uttering a word. He felt pity, maybe remorse yet pride. That his bumbling younger brother had grown strong

5. One thing Dofi found odd about Cora was why he didnt use sign language despite being mute. When asked Cora explained that he never found a reason to bother learning. After all its not like people are going to go out of their way to learn sign for a random hungry kid on the streets. Dofi made sure all the family knew basic and needed signs so his brother could communicate needs quicker. Things like ‘help’ ‘thank you’ and names.

6. The sign Dofi used to symbolise corazon wa s a fist over the heart that he would clench twice to mimic a heart beat. It always gave a twicted idea of squeezing a heart. Law on the other hand would knock on his chest slightly to the left as if to knock on his own heart, this was because on minion island it was getting hard for him to clench his fists and found that sign far easier. Cora loved it.

7. As much as Cora’s muteness made things more complicated. There was a power aspect of it that Doflamingo enjoyed. There was something about the fact he knew that that no matter how bad shit would get Cora wouldnt speak and he would not tell anyone of their life before hand made him feel powerful, in control. Cora could be kept on a close tight leash and that, in the end was the biggest reason he doubted Corazon to be the traitor. He truly though if his brother could not speak there was no way he could help the marines. Though the longer he was there and the realisation of his capability and strength slowly made him doubt that logic. Until he left and the marines stopped.

8. When they were children, Dofi was still a rather stuck up and serious kid, always waiting for the day he was an adult and could take charge. Rosi however was the only one who could make him laugh. It was this dark spell his brother always had in his back pocket. The faces he pulled, the little shows he put on all of it made Dofi laugh. Rosi pulled out all those same tricks to make Law laugh

9. It took Rosi a really long time to stop flinching at the sound of gun shots. While Sengoku was a reasonable parent and did not put Rosi though any kind of intense training until he was ready for it. Gunshots was one of the hardest things to help the boy overcome.

10. Rosi was always a quite kid. He was never particularly chatty or asked a lot of questions. Usually just making squeaks when he fell. But after what happened he was mute for a while with Sengoku. Afraid to speak up as his brother had found him weak for making noises crying. It took him a while and Sengoku was willing to work with him when he didnt speak, but Rosi found his voice and started speaking though still never often, When he ate the calm-calm fruit not much had changed in the talking regard

11. Rosi has used the calm bubble to scream and cry once in the privacy in his own room. Yes he knew what he signed up for as Doflamingo’s corazon. But that didnt mean his heart didn’t ache whenever he had to take lives or threatening innocence

12. Every time he had call check ins with Sengoku, Rosi’s voice would crack just a little, the lack of use taking its effect on his voice. Even Law heard it once or twice in the start of them travelling together.

13. Corazon originally had an identical feathered coat as Dofi, but between the fact it no longer made doflamingo look like the one on top, and Cora kept accidently burning the feathers. They switched him to black. Now no one can see the burn marks unless you really look

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: GUM

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, implied CSA, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, death (including of a young people), pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy happens)

Read after the cut

---

You pass those early November days in a state half haze and half suggestion, the doctor's medicine the antidote for the inevitable tilt of your sane mind under the density of his evil.

It is relieving to be but his daughter, slurring and monosyllabic against your bed as he teases sheathes of meat past your lips or leaves you to work, or to exercise, or to meet unnamed friends at elegant bars that leave his clothes smelling of expensive alcohol.

This might have made you envious, had you not been so far under an influence of his making.

How beautiful the drug that cauterises the fetid wound of thought, taking from you ruminations of the boundless killing, the rapes, the guilt of eating and surely gaining from it; you could kiss the hand of whatever elf of morphine so surrounds you in its magic.

Never in adult life have you been so quiet of cognition, nor so truly at rest. When Will is announced to return and you're allowed to taper back into sobriety you think of asking for it to end, to have again that Xanadu where the dread of your days is but the black of a turning cloud.

But then you think of how many breakfasts, lunches, and dinners in their inimical triads you've taken there as though at some Roman feast, and you are revolted with yourself and that numb lapse into defeat.

You insist on dressing and making yourself up that morning in a burgundy dress patterned with foliage Hannibal had lovingly allowed you to select, with his iPad before you, from a Lolita Lempicka 1997 runway, sold for an unspeakable price from a stylist's collection.

Being that the dress is sheer you wear a shift beneath, unable to stand the sight of your body through it, wanting only the gown's flocked effect of coiling leaves like one last fragment of autumn upon you. That, and the power of having bid your keeper to purchase something so expensive; his tastes have somewhat rubbed off on you, you realise, elevating them to a standard he approves of.

He looks at you admiringly even after Will arrives, self-congratulating in having made such a mannequin of you.

Will, for his part, barely notices the dress at all. The Lover’s case is his mistress, and like such a wicked woman it has taken him from you.

“We’ve been given the details of three Mask Murder victims in Kentucky,” says Will. “They died thirty years before the Lover killings began. His youngest target in the present day was eighteen years old, whereas the Kentucky victims were all the same age as Anäis Foreau.”

He lays out images of the women as they’d been in life upon the coffee table: a family snapshot, a birthday celebration, a yearbook photo, all taken on cameras likely defunct relics of old technology by now.

“Lillian Greyflower, Bryce Mulligan, and Anita Bradbury were each dressed as dolls and laid to rest by bodies of water under the cover of night. All of them were of an unusually small build, with blonde hair and light-coloured eyes; that gives us a vague description of the Lover’s first muse, being that he obviously tried to replicate her in his murders.”

You stare at the three women, automatically comparing your frame with their thinness, and are ashamed when you realise their ages.

“They’re all little girls,” you say, aloud. “Which means she must have been, too. All of them... just kids.”

“Indeed,” says Hannibal, and he lays a serious hand upon your shoulder as though he, too, had not killed similarly young women in copying other crimes.

“I just hope I don’t have any children,” you mutter. “The world is a bad place.”

Hannibal looks at your leg, which has entered, of its own accord, its habit of tireless motion, the unshod foot tipping one of the striped sofa cushions onto the floor.

“You’ve thought about pregnancy, then,” he comments levelly.

You shrug.

“I mean... yeah.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

Feeling both men’s eyes burn your face with their focus you say, “I get scared it’ll happen to me. Sometimes it keeps me awake at night. I can’t have a baby. That’s what I am. I can’t take care of anybody and I don’t want to.”

Your voice strains into a strangled peak, and as Hannibal bends to retrieve the cushion he touches your knee gently.

“You needn’t worry,” he says. “I’ve been administering birth control since it was safe to do so.”

You examine him with dull apprehension. It would not be unlike Hannibal to experiment with such an immobilising condition as an unwanted pregnancy, the symptoms of which would force you to gain the weight you dread like the devil.

But then you cannot imagine Hannibal having much interest in the rearing of a real child, with its messes and disruptive noise and inappropriate demands. Yours he merely tolerates because he apparently perceives something in you worth enduring those assaults upon his taste.

Still you do not—cannot—trust his word. A carousel of alternate realities exists to him, all of them equally true.

“You’re sure it can’t happen even by accident?” you ask. “Because you don’t— neither of you have ever, well—”

You cannot utter the word that comes forth for protection, finding it clumsy and humiliating.

Tortured, you whisper, “Never mind.”

Will smirks, enjoying your embarrassment.

“Haven’t we left it a little late to talk about contraception?”

The thought of him pausing before an assault to roll down rubber over his arousal rises, sickening and provocative. Hannibal would do so clinically, as though putting on a latex glove, but Will would apply it quickly, crudely, if at all. He doesn’t seem like a man that would bother with condoms; certainly he never has with you.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “It really freaks me out. If I got... bigger. If my body looked different because of that I’d hate it. I don’t know what I’d do, and it’d be all because of you guys. I don’t have a choice, remember?”

Merely speaking of the potential of this sends a grave pulse of adrenaline through your frame, and you begin to shiver even in the warm of the room.

Will takes off his jacket and puts it around your shoulders.

“Relax,” he says. “There’s not going to be a baby, alright?”

Hannibal stands to tend to the fire, though it scarcely needs the feast of logs he offers up to it.

“I can’t help but wonder, Will. How would you feel if there was?”

Will's face twists.

“There’s no place for an infant in this dynamic. It wouldn’t fit. She plays that role, some of the time. I’m fulfilled, if that’s what you want to know. Aren't you?”

"Of course," says Hannibal, to your relief. "I’m simply curious how you’d respond if a pregnancy occurred in other, hypothetical circumstances.”

You draw Will's jacket closer around you as his gaze steals across your body. With resentment you realise how he envisions you: his pretty young lover, full with his child, pottering heavily about his faraway residence amidst a froth of dogs.

He cannot bring himself to think how it would truly be, a sobbing, bloated servant, chained at the ankle to prevent her from dashing her head of its brains on the nearest dresser.

“I wouldn’t plan it to happen," Will says, still thinking of his domestic ideal, "but I don’t entirely hate the concept.”

Then his visage hardens, and he shakes his head.

“To have a child at a time like this would be ill-advised. It'd be an invitation to any circling predator to play their hand.”

“You think the Lover will continue to provoke us as he did with Amy,” says Hannibal. “That his interest is caught between his muse and the three of us."

Surely he knows, you think, if he has contact with the killer. What is this new game that Hannibal's playing?

“We’re taking a role in the narrative the Lover is creating,” says Will. “The love story. The investigation to him is like relatives standing in the way of forbidden romance.”

“That,” says Hannibal, “or being aware of our relationship through the rumours circulated by Tattle Crime he believes that our family emulates that which he aches to possess. He envies us our love. Amy’s abduction was an attempt to derail our charge’s treatment and destroy our bond with her; Little One would not have forgiven the death of a friend. Though foiled, his efforts are unlikely to end there.”

You recall the thunderous panic that had descended over you upon learning Amy had been taken and rub your damp palms dry on your dress, forgetting, temporarily, its value.

“So you think he’ll kill someone else I know,” you say. “Someone who isn’t even his usual type just to get at me.”

“We can’t deny the possibility,” says Will. “The only time we’re likely to see him break his pattern is to agitate you.”

“But hasn’t he broken it already? If the Lover’s victims are the same age as his target then she must be an adult. And the first muse had to have been a little girl— knowing what we know about guys like him, why didn’t he choose another child?”

A glance passes between Will and Hannibal that you cannot entirely dissect.

“He did,” says Will, at last. “The Lover chose his new target long before he started placing women into rubber dolls. There was a lack of access preventing him from abducting her when she was younger. His first muse would have likely been a relative, someone he could isolate and travel with freely without being questioned; he hasn’t had that opportunity with his new bride, or he would have taken her already.”

Will’s voice is low, careful, as though breaking the news of an incurable illness to some fragile patient.

“The Lover held off killing again for as long as he could to avoid creating a recognisable pattern. That’s why there were decades between the Mask Murders and the Lover killings; once he started again it was less likely the police would link the two cases together. The ages of the victims are just another change to throw off the scent.”

Another child grown up in the world observed and objectified by an adult engorged with power over them.

“Does the Lover know what happened to me?”

This directed at Hannibal, who has conversed enough with the killer to know.

“He’s aware that you’re unwell,” he replies, cautiously. “That being public knowledge, it’s not so farfetched to imagine that he has guessed the cause.”

In some subtle mode Hannibal is informing you that it was not he that told of this crime against your youth. But that your captor knowingly collaborated with a similar predator to your own folds your gut down into the smallest square.

You should never have expected more from him, yet you had thought him possessed of greater self-respect. His claim that the Lover’s continued life and freedom is to allow Will to capture him alone is tenuous to the extreme.

This line of brooding thought is disturbed by Will tugging his cell phone from his pocket to look at the screen.

“Is it Jack?” you ask at once.

Another killing, you think, of a person so close to you that you will feel the Lover’s darkness like wolf breath upon you.

“It’s Beverly Katz, actually,” says Will. “She’s been going over some of the evidence from the crime scenes. Maybe she’s found something useful.”

He rises, already grunting into the receiver with his usual absence of professional manners.

“There’s wine in the kitchen,” says Hannibal, as Will passes him by. “You may open it, if you like.”

“Generous as ever, Dr Lecter.”

A silence imbues the room in Will’s wake, the conversation having stained the air with its dun pallor.

Then in an abrupt motion Hannibal bends slightly to reach under his chair, his hand emerging around the handle of a ribboned gift bag.

“Now we have a moment of privacy,” he says, “there is something I’d like you to have.”

You accept the bag with apathy, too worn down by the discussion of the Lover case to muster even the remotest glee.

“What is it?” you ask. “Another present?”

You reach into a blossom of tissue and retrieve something of worn velveteen from within. Almost at once you attempt to return it to the bag, prevented only by Hannibal’s quick grip upon your wrist.

“How did you get that?” you demand. “Did you let yourself back into my house and steal it?”

A battered toy frog dangles from your throttling grip, its body worn almost through to the stuffing from past adoration. Once you’d cherished the early, half-formed memory of Leland Frost dancing the animal before you, giving it a voice that was merely an exaggerated version of its own.

Now you only cringe at the echo of his chatter. The frog’s glass eyes remind you of the porcelain mask on the dead face of Anaïs Foreau.

Hannibal says, “I asked your mother to find it and send it to me. She was glad to oblige.”

You glare at him in hurt and disgust.

“Why would you do that?”

“I believe Philippe represents the comfort that was ultimately tainted by the actions of another. In hiding him away you’ve allowed that arrow wound to fester and infect your blood with the taint of that historical abuse. I’d rather we heal the injury and cut out the flint entirely. It would hurt you far less to do so quickly now and discard at least some of your grief.”

That a man that hangs corpses in his cellar can speak also as a poet, calm and empathetic in his syllables takes you aback; you are as moved by his suggestion as you’d been by him tending you on your sickbed.

“You mean I should get rid of him for good,” you say. “Flip, I mean.”

“Yes. It would allow you a partial sense of closure in regards to the love you once had for Leland Frost. You may choose to give Philippe away, or to destroy him in whatever way you wish. I’d like it to be your choice.”

You hold Flip with both hands, knowing you cannot bear another child to cradle this thing with as you once did, and consider tearing it apart down the middle. Then you glance up at the fire, and see in its savagery a suitable end.

“I want to burn him,” you say. “Burn it.”

Hannibal nods, satisfied by your willingness to engage in the exercise.

“Very well. Go on, then.”

Without speaking another word you get up and throw the animal into the flames with such vehemence that you near unbolt your shoulder from its joint. The frog’s skin blackens into haggard twists, its eyes turning like the orb of some fell sorcerer into grim opacity.

As sparks spit like star falls from the pyre your misery and disgust sear away into a tired hollow, yet you feel somewhat cleaner for it, as though some poison has been turned out of the bottle of your heart.

Hannibal’s pale hand extends, palm up, towards you, and you take it, having no other to hold for comfort but that of a murderer.

“The burning of things has always held spiritual and emotional significance since its discovery by ancient man,” he says. “The charring of offerings as a gift to deities. The burning of the dead to transport them to planes beyond.”

“Witches burn things to cleanse energies,” you say. “Or to manifest something.”

“And of the two which is your purpose?”

He asks this quite seriously, without irony or teasing.

“I don’t know,” you say. “Both, I guess.”

Looking up into Hannibal’s expression you see for the first time something of what he feels for Will. It frightens you, and yet you wish to drink of it as though from an oasis.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I’m glad we did this.”

Hannibal leans down to kiss the parting of your hair rather chastely, and you sit in an almost comfortable quiet together, your head nestled into his impeccably ironed shirt.

Abruptly you say, “Do you want to know why I thought about killing my Mom that time rather than Uncle Lee?”

You feel your captor straighten slightly against you.

“If you’re ready to tell me, then of course.”

Closing your eyes, you draw the strength to speak from your personal darkness.

“I loved my mom. I knew her so well. I had all these expectations of her and ideas of who and what she was supposed to be. So whenever she did something to hurt me or yelled at me it was easy to be mad at her. To wish that she was dead.

“But Leland... even when I loved him and he was my best friend I never really knew anything about him behind the act.”

Hannibal strokes the back of your neck, the rhythm of his touch like the rocking of a child to sleep.

“He had a mother that died, I heard,” you say. “A cousin, too, I think he mentioned once. He still has a lot of living family he never goes back to visit. Maybe all of that’s part of what made him what he is, but I don’t think so.

“They say you’re born with those attractions. I guess some people are ashamed of it and try to be better, but Leland obviously never did. He... relished what he was. Even before I knew what the dark shape behind the eyes of his mask was I always saw he had no shame in anything. And I couldn’t comprehend it, so how could I be angry?

“It’d be like trying to be mad at an animal. Or some kind of spirit or entity. I wouldn’t know how to kill something like that.”

Hannibal says, “It’s not an impossible feat to exorcise such a being.”

Even within the pain of remembered past you are amused that he is beginning to entertain your flair towards supernatural thinking rather than attempt to translate it into rational or psychological language.

“And how would I do that?” you ask. “Prayers and salt circles?”

“That won’t be necessary. All we must do is demystify your uncle’s past and the creation myth of his evil. Once we have before us the fabric of his becoming then he’ll no longer seem unknowable to you, only a mere mortal. A thing that can be killed.”

Opening your eyes you immediately glance aside, too conflicted by your gratitude towards the creature you most fear to meet his gaze.

“I’ve tried looking him up before,” you say, “going through all his social media and stuff. There wasn’t a lot. Fishing photos and dad jokes, mainly.”

“Leave it with me,” says Hannibal. “For now, I have one final question on the matter of Leland Frost. If you were to ever reach the point you were able to kill him would you do so in the same way you’d envisioned for your mother? It is a form of intimacy, the use of a knife. It allows you to feel every physical aspect of death as it occurs and to witness in close quarters the recognition of its approach in the eyes of your victim.

This again, you think with a weary resignation.

"I don't know how I'd do it," you say. "Just like I wouldn't know how to kill you. It's unthinkable."

"Is it?" asks Hannibal, and with a liquid motion he withdraws a knife from the inside of his jacket— not the little fruit peeler with which he'd threatened you on that night of revelation but a steel kitchen blade, half the length of his arm and cruel in the maintained evil of its edge.

You start away from him across the couch, halting only when he turns the weapon upon himself, offering you the handle.

“Show me how you’d kill me if you had the opportunity to do so.”

Anxious, incredulous, you accept the knife from him.

“You’re trusting me with this, Dad?”

“Yes. I hope that you appreciate the gesture. Besides, I’m confident that I could disarm you before you’d done more than graze the skin.”

The image of him snapping your wrist in his fingers elicits a shudder.

“I don’t want to do this," you say, and attempt to hand the knife back, which Hannibal refuses.

“If you fear and respect me as your father then you must obey. Demonstrate your instincts for me, Little One. Would you pierce my heart as you would have done your mother? Perhaps you’d slit my throat, as you’d considered for Will."

You don't like to be reminded of the evening your cowardice had shattered your just revenge like a spell, the hour that Will had taken you so spitefully against a wall behind which Hannibal had listened. Perhaps it would have been a kinder fate to have died for your attempt on him before you’d learned that there was no use in hatred against him any longer.

“You’d never let me kill you, Daddy," you say, aloud. "You’d kill me first, just like you said.”

“You’re stalling, Little One," says Hannibal, with a certain fondness. "Is it the honesty of the act that perturbs you? So much else in you is performance or secrecy; this, even in theatre, would be true to your desire.”

Exasperated, you set the blade down beside you, careful not to slit the cushions and induce Hannibal’s controlled wrath.

“I don’t want your blood on my hands. Or on my face. What if I swallowed it? There are calories in blood, and I don’t know how many.”

Hannibal’s brows rise.

“You’re serious.”

It’s certainly one reason for your hesitation, and you are more than happy for him to latch onto it if it gets you out of this sinister play of his.

“I worry about a lot of stuff like that,” you admit. “Gum. Toothpaste. I used to think maybe just smelling food would make me gain weight, but then sometimes I’d walk past restaurants or through the kitchen just to breathe the food in and pretend I’d eaten it. I’d watch cooking shows or make Pinterest boards of meals so I could look at them and eat them through my eyes.

“But I’m scared to have it touch my mouth. Even when I chew and spit food sometimes I get mad I even let myself go that far.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to spit any blood of mine,” says Hannibal. “You’ve already consumed parts of me; whatever change would come of it is already in motion.”

His semen, his saliva, particles of him altering you each time they pass the forbidden frontier of your throat— will they make you like him, you wonder, by the process of biological assimilation?

“You’re right,” you say. “And I’m scared of that, too.”

Hannibal takes your face in his hand, tracing the round of your cheek as he might some delicate ornament of glass.

“You’ve been driven by your experiences to view any sort of evolution in a negative light. I understand that, and so I don’t ask that you become identical to Will or I. That’s why we allow you to remain a child and manage all the responsibilities that would otherwise overwhelm and inhibit your progress. We would protect you with our lives if we had to.”

With shock you realise you believe him. The logic of their violence is beyond your comprehension in its uncertain borders, yet that they would guard you with it as surely as punish you cannot deny.

“Still, I don’t want you to be helpless,” Hannibal continues. “Try as we might, there are dangers even Will and I cannot anticipate or prepare for. It’s pertinent for you to possess the ability to defend yourself under those circumstances, should they ever occur. So, with the knife, please—"

“Not today, Daddy,” you interrupt, and again tuck the knife into one of his loose hands. “I’m too tired for this right now. But I’m wondering... if you were forced to kill me, even if you didn’t want to, where would you cut me?”

For a moment Hannibal’s face registers surprise, and you are almost proud that you are able to elicit this emotion in him. Then his free hand goes to your neck, holding your face at a distance from his before slowly enclosing your throat in its cravat.

“Here,” says Hannibal, in a husky undertone, and as he kisses you the blade falls away in place of a new hardness against you.

You feel Will’s returning presence as a dog does an intruder in the house, turning to see his glaring jealousy pierce the distance between you. Proud and resentful— and, perhaps, still uncertain of the sexual aspect of his obsession with Hannibal Lecter—he does not invite himself into the triad as he has done before.

He would rather abstain, sneer in absence of reconciliation, make an outsider of himself in the most unnecessary fashion.

“Is this a private moment?” Will asks as you reverse with a guilty velocity from Hannibal’s lap.

“Certainly not,” says Hannibal, pushing the knife out of sight. “How was your call with Beverly? Did she have anything of interest to say?”

Will, regarding you with an unreadable expression, only says, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Meaning after you’ve gone to bed, either disinclined to let you in on their private gossip or having judged what he has heard too foul even for your seasoned ears to perceive.

Whatever the case Will is choosing to hide something from you, and you do not like it.