#so I rewrote it but then I felt like he was far too angry

[risuola]

IV — EPIPHANY // Sukuna thought nothing can break him. He's powerful, he has influence and means to always come on top – or at least that's what he thought, because now he realized that he's nohing but weak.

contents: angst, blood, usage of weapon, reader discretion is advised — 2,6k words

a/n: in this part i wanted to give you a little insight into Sukuna's persona. show the menace in him, show the threat and how he is when he's not influenced by weakness that is our precious y/n (aka when he's not confused as hell by what's happening in his heart). i rewrote this part four times before i was finally somewhat satisfied with it.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

You are safe with me.

Sukuna thought about the words with hilarity. The sentence so simple and kind, it felt foreign to realize that his own mouth allowed it out of his system. An odd sort of disdain washed over himself and he found it laughable that throughout his entire career of blood and murder, what made his blood pressure raise up was a lie he told you. A strangely comic amalgamation of letters and syllables that each time he thought of them made him more angry and more amused.

You were safe, technically, or maybe that’s what he wished to believe when he replayed the events of one very unlucky Sunday evening in his memory. It began lovely, too lovely in fact, but he chose to actively ignore the oddity of it – he came to terms with how easily you were able to render his senses useless whenever you came into the field of his view wearing something as pretty as the dress you picked for the date that day. It was in a shade of pink that you deemed similar to the color of his hair, a dusty rose, you called it, and Sukuna wasn’t sure exactly how much truth was that, but he couldn’t care less about it when you looked so drop dead gorgeous. When he watched you walking next to him through the crowded alleys in the park nearby your apartment building, he couldn’t help but notice only you in the mass of people around him. He felt like a teenager in a way, with his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage with pace similar of this after sprinting for long time. You were capable of triggering reactions in his body that he thought were long gone with the days of his youth but he was fine with it. As long as he could witness your beauty, he was fine with everything.

Sukuna laughed gravelly as the sequence of memories played in his mind – the dark sound of his voice causing two police officers outside the bars of his cell to tremble. Oh, how much he hated you and your stupidly breathtaking face for whatever the hell you did to him. If he could, he would tell you what he thinks of it right now and if not careful enough, he might tell you a little too much. Confess maybe. Yeah, he might do that someday. And maybe move out somewhere where you’d truly be safe. Where he wouldn’t feel like a fucking idiot for saying words that are so damn obviously a lie.

Moving out felt like a good idea. In couple of years, when he’s done ruling the criminal forces, he could take you out of Japan, somewhere far away and protect you from any harm. He’d take you somewhere warm, where he could shamelessly admire the way your skin tone looks under the golden rays of sun and the way your eyes shine and glisten like the most expensive and rare gemstones. The thought of you brought a wide smile to his face, as the picture spread in front of his closed eyelids. In the cold of his cell, he could almost feel the burning touch of your fingers tracing the shapes of his body.

* * *

Sixteen days.

It’s been over two weeks since you last saw Sukuna and it was getting harder and harder to go about your days. You missed him. You missed his face, his strong arms that manhandled you around despite your playful taps and tugs. You missed the huskiness of his voice, the low purrs he made in the morning whenever he’d nuzzle his nose against your temple inhaling the scent of your skin that he swore he was addicted to. And above all, you were worried and restless, and scared.

Whenever you closed your eyes, your mind was flooded with memories of the Sunday date you went on with Ryomen. He picked you up and handed you a little bag filled with your favorite mochi – the ones stuffed with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, a delicacy made in only one place in Tokyo and you remember how your heart swelled with warmth and love when you realized he had driven to that shop on the other side of the city just to get you few pieces of sweets. He was wearing his usual, black dress pants and a leather belt, perfectly polished boots and a dark grey sweater that made him look both casual and dangerous, with the tattoos around his wrists exposed under the rolled-up sleeves and his sharp features, that somehow whenever were turned towards you seemed a little bit softer.

You felt like a princess next to him, you felt loved and protected with his large hand enveloping your smaller one in his warm embrace. It was perfect. It was perfect until–

You didn’t exactly pick up what happened and how it happened. Even now as you think of it, you can’t truly recall how that tale-like evening turned into a mess that led you to lose your sleep every night that followed. It was a flash. One second you were leaning into Sukuna’s palm, greedy to steal his warmth and love and next one you were pushed tightly against his chest behind a bench. His hand, that was embracing you with as much delicacy as one would use to touch a doll made of porcelain was suddenly pressed harshly to the side of your head, covering your ear. Someone was shooting, Ryomen was shooting. You felt the impact of each bullet being extracted from his weapon. Each one of the subtle shakes of his muscular body reverberated throughout your smaller frame. You heard guns, despite his effort to protect your eardrums, but the loud explosive sound mixed with screams of people around was loud and clear in your head. An echo of danger and violence that you witnessed firsthand even though the man that held you did everything he could to protect you from the event.

You remember vividly the moment Sukuna groaned and cussed lowly. It followed a soft tremble of his large body and at first you didn’t realize what happened, but then you felt the unexpected wet warmth on one of your hands. “It’s fine, don’t worry,” he was telling you over and over again as your eyes began to water at the realization that one of your palms was covered in blood. His blood.

“It’s just a scratch,” he was lying to you, but you didn’t know it was a lie until you saw him later. The magazine in his gun was empty sooner than you thought it will be and the foreign shooting continued. It seemed like there were few attackers, but you couldn’t tell where all of it was coming from. All you remember was that you stayed hidden in the large body of your lover for the entire time until the police sirens broke the scene.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, doing everything in your power to hold back sobs, as he kept you close to himself. You knew that police couldn’t be good for him and if not for you, he would most likely run away somehow, but he stayed there, behind the bench, holding you tightly and making sure not a single bullet could land on your fragile body.

He didn’t look mad, not even annoyed, when he was telling you what to do next and how to act in the face of what was to come, and even though you had the hardest time registering it through the immense fear you felt regarding his future, you were nodding. He was calm, and you thought that he stayed calm for you because the scene of shooting was enough of a distress for you already. And then, you saw him in handcuffs, with his hands shackled behind his back, guided towards the police car. Cops that were responsible for escorting him looked almost funny next to his towering frame and if he only wanted, he would quite easily throw those officers away. But he didn’t. And he didn’t do it to save you.

You remember the last time you saw him he sent you a smile, more so a smirk, when one of those cops harshly pushed his head down, making sure he got into the car. Few moments later, he was gone and you were left with the mess of the crime scene and the burden of a witness.

Later, you were informed by one of his pawns that it’s not gonna take long, but you knew that things were serious because few days slowly turned into a week and then two weeks and he still was in jail. And you couldn’t go visit him because he said so. You stayed in his house, safe and sound in the bed you always shared with him, except now you were alone and cold. You missed him. And you were worried.

It killed you inside to think Sukuna might face charges. A life sentence, most likely. There was only so much that you knew about his criminal past and you were sure that he kept many secrets from you, that he wanted to save you from the heavy burden of his misdeeds and cruelty. You knew how dangerous his lifestyle was, how dark was the path he chose to fallow and you knew that even someone as strong as him couldn’t escape the jurisdiction forever. But why now?

You couldn’t shake off the devastating feeling of emptiness whenever you wandered between the luxurious interiors of his mansion. It felt like you couldn’t stop worrying, day in and day out you were thinking if he was alright. Was he properly fed? He told you that he won’t contact you while in jail to protect you, but all you wished for was just to hear his voice. You were worried about the way authorities treat criminals of his sort. What will they do to him? The mere thought of torture or interrogation filled you with dread and anxiety. You never felt so alone and helpless.

* * *

It took too long.

In fact, detention took much longer than Sukuna anticipated but time behind the bars was nothing but an entertainment for him. It was amusing, it allowed him to let loose. Surrounded by an air of sadistic satisfaction he didn’t get to experience in years, he played game of pushing and pulling, a game of power. Despite being enclosed and surrounded by dozens of officers and guards, Sukuna had a sense of control over his situation, and it amused him. He was enjoying the misery that he caused others, relished in the fact that he was feared and hated. It made him almost giddy. There was a twinkle in his eye and a playful grin on his lips, he relished the experience.

“I’ve got few questions to you.”

He smirked, sitting smug and relaxed. For the nth time he was questioned; a futile attempt of getting information out of him, yet another display of the illusionary power that authorities thought they had but lacked severely. It made Ryomen laugh out loud each time he sat against a new face, it pleased him, he loved the feeling of having the interrogator’s full attention. Detectives that tried to enforce the law onto him looked tough, each one of them, until they dropped their weight onto the metal chair in the interrogation room. The heaviness of the sinister aura was unnerving to anyone who dared to approach and the criminal enjoyed breaking them one by one.

“Do you?” Sukuna spoke, his voice low and menacing, but bearing a thrill of amusement and excitement. The heavy chains that grounded his frame clinked as he moved just slightly and the shiver that went down the spine of the man in front of him did not escape his watchful eye. “Afraid?”

“Hardly,” a tone of false confidence responded to the question and Ryomen chuckled. To him, this was a game, and he was winning. He found joy in annoying the interrogator, knowing that he couldn’t get anything out of him. It was stimulating, it was fun. It was a game of cat and mouse. It felt euphoric to answer the questions, knowing that his words were confusing, that he was able to mess with the man’s head, make him question his own judgement.

Years and years of being on the top of mafia managed to clear his memory of being vulnerable and the caricature of it that he was now experiencing served for a nice refresher. He felt excitement to play with the law and as he sat there, restrained by metal bounds, he realized why he became a criminal in the first place. The constant chase of thrill and power was what made him who he was.

As the detective sat there, intimidated more and more with each passing second, Sukuna watched the disaster unraveling with a dark glint in his eyes. He enjoyed every moment of the tension and knew that chills were running down the spine of his current opponent. He was imposing, savoring the fear and the exquisite feeling of danger that surrounded him. It was intoxicating, it made him feel alive. He played with the interrogator as if the predator would play with its pray, he stared at him with a small grin of pure evil.

“You’ve been stubborn this whole time,” the officer said, clearing his throat and straightening his spine to make himself appear bigger but to Ryomen, he was merely a source of amusement. The criminal stayed relaxed and leaned forward, slowly closing the distance between his own face of death and the eyes of the person in front of him.

“Was I stubborn?” He questioned, his tone low and menacing and his lips stretched slowly, baring the teeth. “You’ve got me all chained up and still, you can’t get your job done?”

“You’re chained up because of the potential threat you might pose.”

Sukuna laughed. A raspy and low chuckle came from his throat; a dark omen that hung heavy in the air as if signifying the upcoming danger. It was cold and malicious, an ominous showcase of his real persona, of someone who has no compassion and knows no mercy. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at the sight of sweat running down the face of the man in front of him. He exuded an aura of fear, leaving everyone in the room unsettled.

“If I only wanted to, I could rip out your throat with my bare teeth.” Ryomen’s voice was low, it was quiet and nearly whisper like but the message it carried was more than enough to freeze the blood inside the veins of the interrogator.

“I assume you’re familiar with the idea of good cop bad cop method,” the man spoke again after a moment of dread. He cleared his throat once more, squared up his jaw.

“And which one are you?”

“Oh, I’m neither, but allow me to show you something,” interrogator reached to the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a phone with his sweaty palms and pressing down few buttons.

The moment Sukuna looked down on the screen, his expression changed. A ghost of anger washed over his features as he took in the picture. Suddenly, he felt a wave of burning hot filling his veins and reaching his face; a dizzying sensation of dread and rage and then he realized that the power he wielded was nothing. With his eyes fixed on the little phone and his jaw clenched, shaken by the rush of adrenaline and with his knuckles white, Sukuna Ryomen experienced acknowledgement. An epiphany of sorts. The illusion of might and influence burst like a bubble made of soap and slowly he realized that he’s nothing but–

“Seeing something familiar?”

–weak.

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed @b3llair3 @lzaj19 @sanzusforeverwife @annshz, @mrs--imperfect @kaminari-no-ritsusha @gojos-princesa @burpzz

[lenna-z]

Hello everyone! Finally update, after a long time. The last thing I want to do is leave this fic unfinished, and to be honest I didn't realize like three months had passed in all that time.

I said before that I wrote some of the chapters, and when I re-read the chapters I wrote, there were parts I didn't like. So I started editing the chapter for the next update and eventually rewrote the entire chapter... I'd like to think this is normal and a good thing, because I think all this time has passed is because I've been improving my writing style.

There may be this much space between future updates, because in this state of the chapter, I have accelerated the events a little more, so I may have to rewrite entire chapters in my drafts. Anyway, I talked too much, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Previous chaps: | -1- | , | -2- | , | -3- | , | -4- |

What Happened There? Chap. 5 : Nightmare

While the headache was more bearable, it didn't make the wait any easier.

And as time went on, he found more and more things to think about and worry about.

International Rescue had been stopped, according to official reports. And after that, the media focused more on accusetion.

They were accusing her of killing innocent people, and Scott had personally investigated these people.

They were all people with strong families.

Mr. Smith's company was designing protective equipment for most defense units, especially the GDF.

Ms. Rodriguez's husband came from a political family.

And... Mr. Stewart's company, on the other hand, was a multi-faceted company such as all kinds of scientific and experimental research and R&D studies.

All this was like a bomb ready to explode, and he was afraid that his family would end up in the center.

And he didn't know what to do.

All he wanted was to wake up from this terrible nightmare as soon as possible. Unfortunately, what they experienced was too real to be a nightmare.

And his mind immediately returned to the present reality; his sister had been in surgery for hours.

He kept telling himself that she would be okay, but he needed someone walking out that door and tell him that.

When finally someone in an operating room gown came out the door, he only realized he was holding his breath when his chest felt tight...

○○○○○○

He had to do virtual research to understand some terms... And every word he had learned had shown that she was far from good.

So John had understood why they taking her to HDU yesterday, and he wasn't surprised to hear that she had to stay in there for one more night.

But he wanted to hear that she was fine...

Still, he had to find out what had happened there.

After sending Casey the necessary documents, he continued his research.

But the GDF and local authorities had blocked his access to the documents, so he couldn't find much.

And even worse, it was the topics in the news.

"...an International Rescue personnel was thought to have been injured, but the official statement has yet to come..."

"Is International Rescue still reliable and unbiased?"

"Why are the Tracys quiet?"

"There was no new statement from the authorities, and it is still unknown what happened there."

And he was really scared that someone would go too far and explain what happened there.

While they didn't welcome Casey's arrival on the first day, he knew that the finds had not been released to the media thanks to Casey, and he was grateful for that.

Just- ...It was too much...

○○○○○○

Blood. Too much blood.

He had blood on his hands.

There was blood everywhere.

Kay's blood.

"Kay? Kay, hun please-"

"Virgil..?"

...

"Virgil? Virgil, it's okay, it was just a dream."

Blue eyes. John.

"I-" A quick breath. And another.

It was a nightmare far from a dream.

He clasped his hands to his face.

"Virgil?"

She will be fine. She would be angry with him for not sleeping.

"Just a bad nightmare."

A mocking breath. "No. First time I find you sleeping and then you-"

"Just a nightmare, John." He wasn't there. He couldn't understand him. "Any progress?"

His eyes examined him.

"Yeah. She was extubated this morning. If her condition remains stable, they will remove her from HDU."

It wasn't that simple. Still, this wasn't the first time doctors said positive things to patients' relatives.

"This is a good thing. Actually, this is great news."

He really needed her to be okay, seeing her covered in blood every time he closed his eyes took him back to that moment.

"She's strong, Virgil. She's going to kick our ass when she wakes up and finds out we're worried about her."

He couldn't help but smile. He would do anything for this to happen.

"Any news from GDF?"

His eyes narrowed at the question.

"Colonel Casey doesn't say anything. Penny is quieter than usual on this one."

Silence was not good.

"All this has to have a logical explanation, John."

GDF knew Kayo. She was with the GDF until she became part of International Rescue.

So they knew what they were accusing her of.

And this scared him even more.

When Kay woke up, she would be facing accusations. They had already suspended International Rescue.

They had managed to take the entire family out of the equation in one go.

"The only explanation I know is that she didn't do all this. But... she still has herself to blame, Virgil."

Just like the man in front of him...

When would he realize that it wasn't his fault that he sent Kay there?

And Kay was going to blame herself for damn things he couldn't even think of.

Breathing in thought, he closed his eyes and immediately opened them again when he saw those moments again.

"How long did you sleep before Virgil woke up from the nightmare? Oh wait wrong question- when was the last time you actually slept?"

He had stopped counting how long he hadn't been able to sleep.

"I'm fine."

When he looked at him with that know-it-all look, he knew he didn't believe him.

"John. Can you look into my eyes and tell me that you are having a sound and peaceful sleep?"

This was the truth no one wanted to say, and John took a step back.

"I want to go to the hospital, now." He came eye to eye with worried eyes. "It's fine, John. Let's go."

"Grandma doesn't let anyone leave the hotel until everyone has eaten something. Actually, the reason I came here was to let you know about this."

He honestly didn't think he could eat anything right now.

"I am not hungry."

"Virgil, she's just as determined as yesterday, she even feeds pancakes and cookies to the guards."

It was Grandma who forced everyone out of the hospital yesterday.

Virgil had refused with all his might, but a war with a determined Grandma was a war over before it even began...

His eyes must have been involuntarily resigned, because John's face relaxed.

"Everyone's in the common room in the suite, and Grandma ordered more things than anyone could finish."

Literally the idea of ​​any food was enough to make him feel nauseous, but he shook his head to be left alone.

"You may want to wash your face before going to the breakfast bro, you can't fool anyone like this." He said, pointing to his face with his hands.

As John turned and left the room, he put his hands over his face again.

He couldn't forget those moments.

He needed her to be okay. They all needed her to be okay.

With nearly every limb aching, he struggled to stand up and made his way towards the bathroom.

When he looked at his face in the mirror, he looked truly awful.

When he touched his face, his beard that he didn't care about and his darkened under eyes made him look tired.

His hair was a symbol of complete mess, and he couldn't even fool himself in this state.

He noticed shaving lotion, razors and hair gel on the counter next to the sink.

He made a mental note to thank his brother for this and started looking in the mirror at the shower head behind him.

He had to waste time with all this stuff anyway, and a quick shower wouldn't hurt either.

He wanted to leave as quickly as possible, but he didn't want anyone else to ask him if he was okay.

They were already worried enough about one person, there was no need another person.

○○○○○○

No one had sat at the breakfast table voluntarily. Even the Grandma was obviously here just to make sure everyone had eaten.

They hadn't been able to have breakfast for a long time when the family was this crowded -they were busy at work and no one was blaming anyone- they could almost never be together except for special occasions.

He couldn't even remember the last time they all did an activity together, but he was sure everyone was happy and laughing.

But this time it was one of the quietest and most tense breakfast tables he sat at.

The reason why he seemed like a positive person on the outside was simply because he didn't want to think worse about what happened.

It literally wasn't working, because Gordon was afraid...

He was afraid of losing someone he loved like his sister, he was afraid for his family because, God knows, they had been through enough already.

Or maybe they hadn't, because this whole thing was a complete nightmare.

It was a nightmare he really wanted to wake up from.

When the owner of the other part of her worry walked in with a napkin on his cheek that was turning red, the atmosphere became even more tense.

His effort had to be appreciated, but he still didn't look any better than yesterday. He had taken a shower and even shaved, the napkin on his cheek turning red confirmed this.

But even though his hair was gelled, he looked very messy, his under eyes were more visible than the last time he saw him, and he looked pretty grumpy.

Normally, a grumpy Virgil would make his day, but in their current situation, along with the shaving cut on his cheek, he was making his even more worried.

It probably didn't surprise anyone that he turned to the coffee machine as soon as he arrived.

When he sat at the table with a large mug in one hand and looked at the food on the table, he took a sip of coffee and left it on the table.

There were lines on his face that showed he didn't like something and he was getting ready to get up from the table.

"Virgil, honey, you should eat something."

He glanced anxiously at the items on the table and swallowed.

"I am not hungry, Grandma."

Still, Grandma stood up and put something on his plate.

"Let me get something for your cheek, while you eat these."

Virgil didn't argue this time. Still, he swallowed hard and looked at the food on his plate, then forced something into his fork and brought it to his mouth.

He was too focused on his task to notice everyone in the room staring at him, but after a few seconds he stopped.

He swallowed with real effort and quickly pushed his chair back.

"I really don't think my stomach can handle anything..."

At least he didn't tell one of those ridiculous lies about not being hungry.

Just as he was about to get up, when the Grandma entered with a small medical kit in her hand, he froze like a child caught stealing cookies.

Both of their eyebrows immediately furrowed, but one with pure concern and the other with anger.

"Virgil-"

"No, I can't do this shit, not when she's in the hospital and someone's trying to accuse her. I found her and-"

"Virg-"

"Her heart stopped!" There were unspoken words hidden beneath his anger, he could tell. "You weren't even there- I don't even have to tell you anything!"

The coffee cup was dropped harshly on the table, and he stood up rather harshly.

Everyone, including Grandma, could only watch as Virgil angrily walked into the room.

○○○○○○

Beep... Beep... Beep...

The sound of her steady heartbeat was all he could focus on. Because it was the only thing that can stop that steady beep sound in his head.

When they took her to the regular room, he didn't give anyone a chance to argue. He would stay with her for the night. End of discussion.

It was already past midnight and several nurses and doctors had checked on her condition and replenished her medications, a few hours ago.

He had forced the doctors to be honest with him because they were all telling the same story about how everything would be okay.

They said she was lucky.

He had learned that he was right about one of the knives hitting her artery, and if the knife there had moved even a few inches further, she might have bled to death.

She was lucky the knife wasn't pulled back out.

The real reason there was blood everywhere was the stab wound in her liver.

Indeed, they said if she had arrived at the hospital a few minutes later there would have been nothing that could have been done.

They thought she hit her head pretty hard on something and they said she was lucky there was no fracture or crack in her temporal bone.

The rest of her wounds looked like defensive wounds, with the cut on her right shoulder, she had bruises in many places.

Of course, they said it in a much gentler and less scary way, but it wasn't difficult for Virgil to fill in the space between the words.

And in this situation, luck was a relative concept because, in his opinion, they were lucky not to lose her.

When the rhythm of the regular beeping began to accelerate, her full attention shifted to the figure on the bed.

"Kay?"

He leaned a little closer to her, watching her frown in the pale light coming from the window.

He held his breath as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

One of his hands immediately slid to her cheek, and he held himself back as the other moved forward to hold her hand.

The side where she was injured the most was her right side, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt her more.

What was he thinking as he stood this side?

Paying attention to her injured shoulder, he positioned his other hand for support on the bed.

"Kay? Honey, It's okay."

Even through all the signs of pain, he had seen the recognition in her eyes, if only for a few seconds.

She closed her eyes and her heart rhythm was starting to return.

"V- Vir-"

"Hey just breathe, Kay." His hand was gently wiping the tears from her cheek.

Her eyes quickly closed again and a broken sound escaped her.

Damn...

"Kay. I- I'll find someone for some more painkillers, okay?"

"N-no-" Her voice was cracking and it was obvious that even speaking hurt her.

She didn't have to suffer, so he was preparing to politely object. And suddenly he felt warmth on the wrist of the hand holding her cheek.

Tears began to flow down her cheeks as her shaky hand tried to find his hand.

She had said his name in a voice so delicate that if he wasn't nearby to her, Virgil would have thought it was another moan of pain.

"S-s-t'ay?"

"Of- of course."

Of course.

Of course.

He quickly pressed the call button at the head of the bed several times.

He didn't need to go for that.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kay."

He gently held her shaking hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Her eyes were closing again as her face took on a more peaceful expression.

"Tha- T-han'k-s..."

There was no need for her to thank him, because there was nowhere else he wanted to be right now.

"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

When her face began to take on a painless expression, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kay."

He probably called the nurses and doctors who were rushing to this room in vain, but at least she was awake, if only for a few minutes.

[lucas-taylor-rpg]

The Second It Began, Part 8

((Previously))

A few more minutes had passed. Lucas finished sipping his milk, prompting his father to comment, “Finally! Took you long enough.” Lucas frowned at him. The commander ignored that. He took the empty cup—and, much to his son’s disappointment, filled it up with more milk. Lucas frowned again. “Don’t give me that look, kid,” Taylor said while putting the cup back on the table. “You’ve got to drink.”

“No, I don’t,” Lucas replied. “I’ve had one cup, I think that’s enough for now. Actually, I think that’s enough for eternity.”

“Come on, it’s one cup,” Taylor urged. “Can’t you handle drinking just one more cup?”

“I can handle it with no problem,” Lucas claimed. “I just don’t want to.”

Taylor blinked. “Really? No problem?” he questioned. “It seemed to me you had a pretty big problem with the first cup. You were sipping it for half an hour.”

“I—” Lucas opened his mouth as if to respond, yet it took him a couple of seconds to find his words. Taylor raised his eyebrows at him. “That wasn’t because I couldn’t handle it!” the young man defended himself. “That was…” His voice trailed off.

“What?”

“You know what?” he said, leaning forward. “Here.” He grabbed the cup of milk and raised it to his lips. After giving his father a look, he downed its contents at once. Good grief, was it gross! He had to fight hard not to grimace at the taste—or, god forbid, puke. In spite of his efforts, there was a frown on his face as he put the empty cup down. He exhaled, then looked up at his father. “Happy?” he asked.

“Very,” Taylor said, smiling. “Want another one?”

“No!”

“Okay, then.” Taylor chuckled.

“I mean,” Lucas said, “I could handle it, you know? I could, believe me,” he insisted. He really did not want his father to think he was too much of a wimp to handle drinking something only because it did not taste great. “I just don’t want to because…” He paused for a second. “I want to save it for later.”

“If you say so…” Taylor took the cup and put it and the bottle into his bag. Afterwards, the commander leaned back. He eyed his son. The boy had been sitting in that chair for about an hour by then. While he had promised the kid two, he figured one was enough to get at once. “Hey, can I suggest something?” Taylor spoke up. “I know you still have an hour in my chair left, but how about you get it some other time? We could go walk through the rest of the colony now. I don’t know if I’ll get called away again later, and I was kind of hoping to get that done today.”

“Sure.” Lucas gave a nod. Immediately, his feet were down on the floor.

“Really?” Taylor asked while Lucas stood up. “You don’t mind?” He had not expected his son to agree so readily.

“To be honest with you,” the boy said as he stretched his body, “I was sitting in the same position for so long, it was starting to get uncomfortable.”

Taylor laughed at that. Lucas frowned once again.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They were walking through a part of Terra Nova which was surrounded by the wooden fence yet contained nothing but trees. His father insisted on showing him the entire colony, even the parts where nothing had been built yet. It was like walking through the jungle, except he knew he was (supposed to be) safe.

“Dad?” Lucas spoke up as they walked, prompting Taylor to look at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What?”

“Was it hard? Staying in the jungle on your own?” Lucas inquired. Taylor gave him a look, and Lucas added, “I mean, obviously, it must have been hard, but… I, I guess I’m trying to ask how hard it was. It’s just…” He paused, trying to find the right words. His father waited for him to finish the thought. “Well, you see, when they first told me what happened with the portal—that it malfunctioned when you walked through it and… Honestly, my first thought was: ‘He must be dead now.’ I mean, four months. That’s insane! The idea that you would survive out there, with all the dinosaurs and everything, all alone, for so long… It seemed impossible. But you survived.”

Taylor nodded. “I know what you mean,” he said. “If I had been in your place and heard this happened to somebody, I wouldn’t have thought they could have made it, either. Even now, having gone through it myself, I wouldn’t find it likely. It was a tough experience.”

“Yeah, but… you seem pretty okay now,” Lucas replied. “You’re still alive. You don’t even seem scarred by that. And I don’t mean just physical scars. I mean, you seem so happy here, like you really love this place. One would think you’d hate it here after what you went through.”

“Why would I hate it here? It’s not like it was Terra Nova’s fault I got stuck here alone.”

Lucas considered saying that Taylor clearly did not have a problem with hating people for things that were not their fault, but he decided to stay on topic. “So how hard was it?”

Taylor took in a breath. “Some days were… really hard. Some days were more or less okay,” he replied. “You know, it’s funny, most people think the hardest part about living out there was fighting off dinosaurs, but honestly? The worst part was being alone all the time.”

“Being alone?” Lucas questioned. “That doesn’t sound dangerous.”

“It wasn’t ‘dangerous’ per se; it was just hard to handle,” Taylor told him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying living among dinosaurs wasn’t hard. It was. But it was more of a… occasional hardship. Every now and then, I’d have a really big problem, but most of the time, I managed to steer clear of them. But the isolation? That was constant. I couldn’t hide from that.”

“Yeah, but still,” Lucas said, “it’s just being alone… I’m not saying it sounds like fun, but it doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Actually, in some ways, I’d go as far as to say it was good for me,” the father claimed. “It gave me a lot of time to think, you know? About life, about what’s important and what’s not.”

“Really?” The boy chuckled. “You never struck me as the philosophical type.”

“Well, there are only so many things you can think about when you’re alone,” Taylor said, chuckling as well. “To be honest, sometimes I kind of want to go back there. Not for long, just for a day or two. Maybe even a week. Like on a vacation, to take a break, clear my head. It really helped me figure things out. On the other hand, being alone for long 118 days… That felt awful. Never being able to talk to anyone, not even see anyone… It’s not easy to be isolated for such a long time. It’s not easy at all. Frankly, there were days I worried I’d go crazy from the loneliness.”

Lucas was surprised to hear that. Taylor had never struck him as all that social, either. Sure, the man had friends, but they were only the people he knew from work. In fact, he barely spent any time with them outside of work. Lucas had not realized those people were so important to his father. “If you say so…” Besides, he still found it hard to believe that loneliness could be more difficult to deal with than the threat of becoming dino-food. After all, he had been lonely ever since his mother had died, and he was still alive nearly five years later. He did not think he would survive five years among dinosaurs. Shaking off that thought, Lucas spoke up, “So, Aristotle…” He chuckled to himself. “Amuse me: what is most important in life?”

A little smile appeared on Taylor’s face. “Family,” he answered.

“Ha!” Lucas laughed, and his father’s smile suddenly turned into a frown. “Come on!” the youth said. “You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?”

Taylor blinked. “What, you don’t think family’s important?”

“I’m not saying I don’t think so. I’m saying I don’t believe that you think so,” Lucas clarified, his voice gaining a mere hint of bitterness.

“Oh, you think family doesn’t matter to me?”

Lucas shrugged and nodded at the same time.

Taylor snorted. “Why do you think I wanted you to come here, genius?”

“Because if I had stayed in 2143, you wouldn’t be able to get on my nerves?” His father shook his head while Lucas chuckled.

“Let’s be honest,” Taylor replied, “that’s probably the reason you came here.”

Lucas smirked. His father was not far from the truth. Not far at all.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

They went around the whole colony. Taylor told Lucas not only about the places that were already there, but also about pretty much everything that was planned. Lucas wondered how many of those plans would come about before his employers would pillage the planet. He hoped it would not be a lot. The smaller the colony was, the easier it would be to defeat it.

Eventually, their walk led them back to where they had started—their house. “And, as you already know,” Taylor said, nodding towards the yellow building, “this is your new home.”

‘Home.’ It felt strange to hear his father say that. Not so much because it was new, but because he knew it would not last. Because he knew he could not want it to last. He had to hate it, did he not? A place he hated could not be considered ‘home.’

“Hey, I have an idea,” Taylor spoke up.

The young man looked at him, noting the father had a smile on his face. “What?”

“Why don’t we take a picture here?” Taylor suggested.

“A picture?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s take a photo in front of the house. Our first picture together in Terra Nova.”

Lucas considered it for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t want to take a picture.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like taking pictures,” Lucas claimed.

Taylor wrinkled his brows. “Since when?”

“Since you want to be in the picture, too.” After all, wouldn’t his handsome face fade in comparison with his father’s ugliness? He mentally laughed at the thought.

“Oh, come on! Just one photo, that won’t kill you,” Taylor insisted. He looked into the bag he was carrying and starting rummaging in it as he spoke, “Years from now, we can look at it and remember the early days of the colony and the time you arrived and how nice that all was.”

‘Nice’? Lucas had spent his first day feeling so sick he ended up vomiting, and Taylor still called it ‘nice’?

Finally, the father found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small, flat device with a tiny camera installed in it. He looked up at his son. “Let’s do this.” The man put his left arm around Lucas’s waist and pulled him in front of the house’s main entrance. Lucas groaned, but Taylor ignored that. Keeping his arm around the boy, he stood next to him. He raised his right hand, extending it before them. A screen on the device showed a preview of the picture they were about to take. They were standing a little too close in Lucas’s opinion (he would have preferred standing at least five feet apart), but he did not comment on that. Taylor smiled for the camera and got ready to capture the moment.

Realizing his father was not going to relent, Lucas complied and looked at the camera as well. The expression on his face, however, remained displeased.

“Come on, smile!” Taylor urged.

He did not feel like smiling, not in the slightest. Nevertheless, he wanted to get it over with, and so he forced a smile as bright and toothy as he could manage.

One second later, a quiet click was heard. Taylor lowered his hand. “There we go,” he said to himself. He tapped the device’s screen, and the image he had just taken reappeared. “Aw, look at us.” He chuckled, showing his son the photo.

It was an ordinary picture of two men, one young, at the mere beginning of adulthood, one older, with white hair to prove his years of wisdom. They were standing close next to each other, smiling at the camera. It looked sweet, actually. There was nothing in the picture to suggest it was fake. If it had been a photo of anybody else, Lucas would have been fooled into thinking the relationship between the two men was warm and loving. Into thinking the two led happy lives. ‘If only…’

“Isn’t it nice?” Taylor said, admiring the photograph. “You have such a pretty smile there.” It was not a smirk, it was not a grin of gloating amusement. The smile in the picture, while feigned, looked like a genuine smile of happiness. It was a beautiful sight in Taylor’s opinion. Not only because it meant his child was happy—a father’s greatest dream—, but also for the resemblance he bore to his mother. Taylor could always see Ayani’s features on Lucas’s face (to a certain extent, anyway), but nothing made it as obvious as the smile. “You should smile like that more often.”

“Oh, I smile plenty often,” Lucas claimed. “Just not when you’re around ’cause…” His voice trailed off. The boy gazed aside as if he was lost in thought. “You know, it’s strange,” he said, sounding confused in spite of the fact he was anything but, “I never feel like smiling when we’re together for some reason…”

Taylor narrowed his eyes, prompting Lucas to grin—not a happy grin, but a mocking one. The commander sighed. “Anyway…” He turned off the device and put it into his bag. “So now that we’ve finished our walk,” he said, looking up at his son, “what do you think of the colony?”

Lucas took in a breath. “Well,” he answered, “it’s no Chicago.”

Upon hearing that, Taylor furrowed his brows. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.” Lucas shrugged. “Oh, please!” the commander replied, frowning. “That place is filthy; this world is pristine. Don’t tell me you’d rather live there.”

“I’m not saying that,” Lucas responded. “I’m just saying this place could use some work.”

“Believe me, people are working hard on it every day.”

Lucas did not find that hard to believe. If he were being honest with himself, the colony was bigger and built better than he had expected. For a place that had been founded mere five months earlier, he could see the beginning of a real town there. While impressive on the one hand (plus, he had to admit—the more advanced his new ‘home,’ the more comfortable his stay, however short), he was not glad there were such capable, industrious people.

“You know,” Commander Taylor spoke up, “there is one more place I want to take you to. And when we’re there, I promise you’ll see how great the colony is.”

“What place?”

Instead of answering, the corners of Taylor’s lips turned upwards. “It’s a surprise,” he said.

Lucas blinked. The look on his father’s face seemed rather sly. When he considered what a crazy place he had come to, the smile made Lucas feel a little nervous. “Seriously, where do you want to take me?” he asked again.

“Uh-uh. I’m not telling you,” Taylor insisted. “You’ll have to come with me and see for yourself.”

Lucas sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Can you at least tell me how long it’s going to take?”

“Not more than an hour.”

“An hour?” The boy thought about it for a moment, then said, “Okay, but I’m going to need to use the bathroom first.”

Upon hearing that, Taylor’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not sick again, are you?” he said, looking his son up and down. After all, the last time Lucas had announced he needed to use said room, he had gone there to puke.

“No,” Lucas assured him, “I just need to pee.”

“Okay, then.” Pleased to know that, Taylor nodded towards the house. “Go on.”

Lucas opened the front door and headed for the bathroom at the back of the house. In the meantime, Taylor walked into the kitchen. He put his bag onto the counter, then poured himself a glass of water.

A minute later, Lucas returned—with his right arm over his left shoulder. He glared at his father, eyes angry enough to kill. “Oh, no,” Taylor said when he took in what his son was doing. “Are you scratching again?”

“Yeah,” Lucas confirmed, scowling.

“I thought it stopped itching.” After all, Lucas had not scratched the whole time they were at his office. Nor while going around the colony. He had not even squirmed like he had while they had been watching the brachiosaurs.

“It did stop,” Lucas grumbled as he scratched his shoulder blade. “I don’t know. I guess when I was sitting there, I was thinking about other things…” He switched his hands, but the attempt was as futile as all his previous ones. “Then you asked me if I was sick again, and it got me thinking about how I was sick before and how I had the leech and how itchy it was, and suddenly it started itching again. This is your fault!”

Taylor gave a shrug. “Well, just stop thinking about it again.”

“I wish I could…” Lucas tried extending his arm as much as he could. His shoulder made a cracking sound, but he did not scratch his intended target.

“Your shoulder is cracking again.”

“I can hear,” Lucas all but snapped.

“Then stop scratching! You know you can’t reach the spot, anyway.” Lucas stopped, only to glare at his father, then resumed the desperate activity. His shoulder cracked once more. Taylor shook his head. “Lucas!” The son paused, looking at him. “Enough,” Taylor said. “Listen, when I take you to the place I want to take you to, I’m sure you’ll forget all about your itch.”

The young man frowned as his attempts to scratch proved to remain unsuccessful. He let his arm drop. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am,” Taylor said, sending the boy a little smile. Lucas began to walk towards the door, but Taylor stopped him. “Actually, you know what?” he spoke up. “I think I’m going to relieve myself, too.” Lucas nodded, then proceeded to scratch himself again. Why he was still trying was beyond Taylor’s comprehension; then again, Lucas had always been stubborn. Deciding not to comment on it further, Taylor reached for his bag. “Before I go…” The man took out the bottle of milk. When Lucas saw it, he could not help but groan. Taylor chuckled, then poured his son a glass and set it down onto the counter. “Enjoy.” Finally, he went to the bathroom.

Before his father could walk in, Lucas spoke up, “Dad?”

“What?” the man asked, looking back at his son.

“This might be wrong, but… Do you think it could be the gauze?”

“The itching?” Taylor questioned.

“Yeah,” Lucas replied, nodding. “I mean, I don’t know what it’s made of, but it’s not the same as my shirt. Do you think it could be the fabric?”

“Well, I don’t know, but…” Taylor shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s probably just the wound healing.”

“I don’t know.” Lucas sighed. He tried to scratch himself with his left hand again. “Could you take it off?”

“I don’t know if that’s—”

“Just in case,” Lucas cut in. “It might not help, but maybe it will, you never know.”

Taylor flattened his lips for a moment. “Did the doctor say how long you should have it there?” he asked.

“Well, she only put it there because it was still bleeding a little. I’m sure it’s fine by now.”

Taylor walked toward his son. “Let me see.” Lucas turned around, lifting his shirt. There was a square of white gauze between the lower part of his shoulder blades, taped to his skin from top and bottom. The father took hold of the right edge of the upper tape and started peeling it off. Slowly, carefully, making sure not to disturb the bottom tape. Once the top was separated from Lucas’s skin, he took a look at the wound underneath. He frowned. “You’ve got a pretty big scab there,” he said.

“Is it bleeding?” Lucas asked.

“No, it doesn’t seem to be anymore.” After those words, he pulled off the bottom tape—fast. Lucas flinched. Given how gently his father had peeled of the top, he had not expected the sudden pain. Taylor heard Lucas let out a small gasp, and he could not help but chuckle at him. Lucas scowled. He pulled his shirt back down while Taylor threw the gauze in the trash. “Is the itching any better?” the man asked, looking up at his son.

Lucas shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he grumbled. He started to scratch himself once again. “It’s itching like crazy!”

“I told you it wasn’t the gauze,” Taylor replied, shrugging.

Lucas sighed. He was anything but happy about his father being right. “Just go to the bathroom… or whatever it is you wanted to do.”

Taylor turned around, walking towards the room in question. “And stop scratching already!” he ordered, looking at Lucas over his shoulder. “You know we agreed you’d only get two hours in my chair if you wouldn’t scratch.”

Lucas sighed again, but he lowered his hand, anyway. Taylor gave a nod, then went to the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind his father, Lucas began scratching his shoulder blade. The spot that itched, however, remained untouched.

He stopped a few seconds later. The boy shook his head. ‘This is useless,’ he thought, leaning against the kitchen counter. ‘I’ll never reach the spot on my own.’ Suddenly, he got an idea. What if he did not reach it on his own? What if he had help? Not his father’s help, of course; the man had made it clear he would leave Lucas to twist in the wind. But what if he had the help of an instrument? If he could not reach it on his own, perhaps he could find something around—a long, sharp object, preferably—to scratch himself with.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

Commander Taylor walked out of the bathroom, only to hear Lucas utter a bathroom-related word. “Sheet,” Lucas said under his breath while staring at his right hand.

“Hey!” Lucas nearly flinched as he looked up at him. He lowered his hand, shielding it from Taylor’s view behind the counter. “Watch your tongue!” the father said.

“Sorry,” Lucas apologized.

Taylor went closer to the boy, eying him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lucas quickly replied. “Doesn’t matter. Would you excuse me for just a second?” Sending his father a polite smile, he started to walk towards the bathroom.

The commander furrowed his brows. “Where are you going?”

“I need to pee,” Lucas claimed, not stopping in his tracks.

Taylor blinked. “You did that five minutes ago,” he said.

Lucas had reached the door by then. He opened it but did not walk in. Instead, he looked at his father and told him, “Yes, but then I drank the glass of milk, so now I have to go again.”

Lucas stepped into the small room while Taylor looked at the counter. The glass was standing at the same spot as before—and what more than that, not a single drop of milk was missing. “But the glass is still full.”

“No, it’s not,” Lucas called out from the bathroom, then closed the door.

Taylor looked at the glass once again. Unless he had gone mad and his eyes were deceiving him, it was full to the brim. He looked at the bathroom door, then back at the glass and back at the door. One thing he was sure of: Lucas had not gone to pee. He went over there. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door. He found Lucas crouching in front of the sink. The doors of the cabinet underneath it were open; he must have been searching it. However, as soon as he heard the bathroom door open, Lucas’s eyes shot up to his father. The youth scowled. “Excuse me!” he said. “Can’t I get some privacy? This is the bathroom.”

As he looked at him, Taylor noticed something concerning on Lucas’s hand—blood. A small amount of it, to be fair, but even that was more than there should have been. “What happened to your hand?” He bended over and tried to take hold of it to have a closer look, but the boy pulled away. “What—”

“Okay, just,” he cut in, looking up at his father, “just promise you won’t get mad.”

Taylor furrowed his brows. If his son was asking him not to get mad, that probably meant he would, in fact, get mad. However, he could see in Lucas’s eyes (the kid was staring hard at him—why was he not blinking again?) that he would not get an answer unless he complied. “I promise.”

Lucas studied his father’s face. He knew the man had broken similar promises in the past. Then again, he seemed to be in a good mood that day; perhaps he would not be angry. Lucas blinked and heaved a sigh. “My hand’s fine. I wiped that off my back,” he admitted. He got up from his crouch, getting on the same level as the commander. “I think I may have—accidentally, mind you…” Lucas paused for two seconds. Taylor raised his eyebrows, already suspecting how the sentence would end. “…scratched off the scab.”

“What?” Taylor replied, even though Lucas had said exactly what he had expected.

“I don’t know. I can’t see it, but—”

“Let me see.” Taylor went behind Lucas and lifted his shirt up. Sure enough, red was trickling down from the spot where the leech had bitten him.

Lucas tried turning his head back, but he did not manage to see the condition of the scab. “Is it off?”

“Mostly,” the old man confirmed. “It’s hanging there by one edge, but it’s not covering the wound.”

“Damn,” Lucas muttered while Taylor let go of the shirt. The boy crouched again, looking into the open cabinet.“Hey, where is the healing spray?” he asked. “Do we not have it?��

“Top shelf, in the back, but…” Taylor took in a breath. “Son, I think you might better go back to the infirmary.”

“What?” Lucas glanced up at him, then shook his head. He looked back into the cabinet. “No. Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Well, I don’t know how deep the leech bit you, but didn’t you say the doctor rubbed some ointment on the wound to help it heal?”

“So?”

“Don’t you think you might need the ointment again since you re-opened the wound? If the spray had been enough, she could have just sprayed it in the first place,” Taylor said.

“I’m sure the spray is enough. Ah, here,” Lucas said as he found what he was looking for. He took out a small, gray bottle of medical spray. He stood up straight and held it out to his father. “Can you spray it?”

“No.”

“Dad—”

“But I can take you to the infirmary.”

He did not want to go back there. Especially not with his father. The doctor would surely lecture him for scratching the wound. Then his father would find out he had lied about scratching being allowed. And then his father would scold him, too. He was hoping to avoid all that. Lucas shook his head. “I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Well, I really…” Taylor paused. “Actually, I don’t know if it’s necessary, but I’m not taking any chances.” He snatched the spray from Lucas’s hand and placed it onto the sink’s edge. “We’re going.” After those words, he headed out of the bathroom and to the front door.

Lucas took in a deep breath. His eyes traveled up towards the ceiling as he mentally asked higher powers he did not believe in for mercy. Afterwards, he followed his father.

Taylor was already at the door, but when he reached for the handle, he stopped. He turned around and looked back at Lucas, his eyes as narrow as his mind (at least where his son was concerned, or so Lucas thought). “How did this happen, anyway?” the man asked. “I thought you couldn’t reach the spot.”

“I couldn’t,” Lucas replied. “Not with my hands, anyway…”

“Oh. What did you scratch with?”

Lucas shrugged. “Just… something I found nearby.”

It was at that moment that Taylor’s eyes landed on the kitchen counter Lucas was standing next to. The answer was lying right there in plain sight. Taylor’s narrow eyes suddenly widened. “A knife?” he questioned incredulously. Lucas shrugged again. “Are you kidding me? You scratched a scab on your back with a knife? Of course you scratched it off! What were you thinking?!”

Lucas frowned. He had known his father’s promise not to get angry would be broken. “I wasn’t thinking. I was itching,” he grumbled.

Taylor shook his head, then opened the door. “Come on, you genius,” he said and proceeded to walk out.

Lucas stayed behind for a moment, fuming. His frown turned into a scowl. ‘Genius.’ Good god, he hated it when his father used that word ironically! He went after his father, but he slammed the front door shut when he left the house. Taylor did not seem to notice that.

After a few seconds, Lucas caught up to the old man. Together, they walked in the direction of the infirmary. Once again, Commander Taylor shook his head. “I told you to stop scratching,” he muttered. “I told you, but you just wouldn’t listen…”

The son sighed. “In my defense,” he spoke up, “the wound’s not itching anymore, so, you know… At least it worked. That’s a good thing, right?” Taylor sent him a glare. “Okay, I’ll shut up now,” Lucas concluded, looking away.

He walked the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived in front of the building that was the infirmary, Taylor held the door open for him. He took in a deep breath, then stepped inside.

Oh, he really hoped the doctor would not scold him…

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

“Come on, I told you not to scratch the wound.”

Damn it! The doctor’s tone sounded awfully similar to the one his father would use when admonishing him. Lucas frowned.

When Taylor heard what she said, Lucas’s ‘I’m sure it’s fine’ came back to mind. The father gave his son a look.

Lucas shrugged. “I forgot.” Taylor shook his head, seeing through the lie.

The doctor sighed, then said she was going to get more ointment.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

“There we go,” the doctor said after cleaning the blood and applying the ointment. “But no scratching this time, all right? Just leave it be for the day. It’ll stop itching in a few hours. Okay?”

“O-kay,” Lucas uttered. What, did she think he was an idiot? That he had not learned his lesson? That he was too weak to control himself? He barely knew her (he did not even remember her name, in spite of the fact she had introduced herself to them when they had first arrived), but he already disliked her.

She stepped over to a nearby table, where she took some tape and a piece of gauze. As she was about to cover the wound, Commander Taylor stopped her. “Actually, you know what?” he spoke up. “I was thinking, do you have anything around here that could help relieve the itching? Another ointment or something?”

Lucas’s eyes snapped to his father.

“I can take a loo—”

“I don’t need another ointment,” Lucas interrupted her, glaring at his father. What, did great Commander think he was weak, too? Of course he did. In fact, he had held that opinion for as long as Lucas could remember. It gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked at his son.

“If you didn’t need it,” Taylor told him, “we wouldn’t be here right now.”

And there he had it. The look was confirmed by his words (not that it was necessary). Lucas scowled. “That’s not true!” he argued, telling it to himself as much as he was telling it to his father.

The doctor looked at him, then at Taylor. Taking a step forward, she said, “I will go—”

“Hang on!” Lucas stopped her. “I don’t want any ointment or anything else for the itching. I can handle it.”

Taylor eyed him, clearly not of the same belief. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

In spite of Lucas’s wish, the doctor still looked at Taylor to see if she should go get something for the itching or not. Apparently, it did not matter to her that he was an adult, that he was in charge of himself. In the doctor’s eyes, the great, greatest Commander Taylor ruled everyone. He really disliked her.

Taylor just shrugged when she looked at him, and so she proceeded to tape the square of white to his back. Before letting him go, she reminded him one more time not to scratch the wound. Lucas bit his lip. Hard. His nostril flared a bit, but he did not say anything in response. A part of him wanted to snap at her; however, he figured it would be best not to make enemies just yet. (Sure, he had to consider everyone there an enemy, but he did not want to be considered an enemy himself. He had to keep up appearances until he finished his job.) Instead, he decided to leave. He quickly put on his shirt, practically jumped off the bed and headed straight for the main exit without bothering to say goodbye.

Taylor followed him, wondering why it was that Lucas was walking so quickly.

Once they were outside the building, Taylor spoke up, “So are you ready for our trip?”

Lucas groaned.

“Well, gee, don’t be too excited.”

“Do we have to go now?” Lucas asked. “It’s been a long day.”

Taylor furrowed his brows. “It’s only afternoon. And you slept for almost twelve hours last night,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Lucas sighed. “I’m fine,” he lied.

“You don’t look fine.”

‘Oh, what do you know?’ Lucas thought in annoyance. Since when did his father not fall for the ‘I’m fine’ reassurance? True, he had not said it very convincingly, but he had not thought it would be necessary.

“What’s going on, son?” Taylor asked.

Lucas shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he replied. Taylor raised his eyebrows, tilting his head a little. Lucas stuck his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight on his feet. “Look,” he said, briefly glancing at the ground, “I’m… not in the best mood right now.”

“Is the wound itching again?”

“Not yet.” Thank god.

“Then why are you in a bad mood?”

“I don’t know. I just…” Lucas took in a breath, glancing away again. “Sometimes moods just happen, you know?”

Taylor heaved a sigh, then decided not to question his son any further. He suspected the mood was not random (although he was not sure of its cause), but if Lucas wanted to keep it to himself, he would not force him to do otherwise. “Well, trust me,” the father said, “the place I want to take you to will make your mood a lot better. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood there.”

‘I don’t think a place like that exists…’ “Let’s go, then,” Lucas said, forcing a smile. Taylor returned it with one that seemed a lot more genuine. After giving a nod, the commander started walking. Lucas followed him. “So where is it we’re going?” the boy inquired.

“First, we’re going for a car,” Taylor said. “We’re going to drive there.”

Drive? Was the place in the jungle? That did not seem safe. Then again, his father probably knew better if it was safe or not. Unless his father was taking him there to kill him… Geez, why did that thought occur to him again? Mentally shrugging it off, Lucas spoke up, “And we’ll be back in about an hour, right?”

“Yeah, probably,” Taylor confirmed.

Lucas gave a nod. “Can I get the second hour in your chair as soon as we come back?” he asked. He was not sure why, but sitting behind the dino-desk had felt empowering. He figured he needed that.

“Oh, you’re not getting the second hour,” Taylor said—rather nonchalantly, Lucas was disappointed to note.

As soon as he heard what his father said, Lucas stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Taylor came to a halt as well. He looked at his son and sighed. “I’m sorry, but that was meant to be a reward. You didn’t earn it.”

Lucas glared at him, but when Taylor returned the stare, his gaze softened. “But you promised,” the boy all but whined.

“The agreement was you’d only get two hours if you stopped scratching,” Taylor countered. “Which you clearly didn’t do.”

“But I—”

“Commander!” a familiar male voice interrupted their conversation. Upon turning his head in its direction, Lucas found Lieutenant Guzman rushing to them.

Commander Taylor took a few steps toward him. “Guz, what is it?” he asked.

When Guzman reached him, he explained the situation to Taylor. Lucas did not catch the whole conversation (partly because they were not standing right next to him and were using more-or-less quiet voices, partly because he just did not care enough to listen and so let his mind wander), but he overheard a mention of Washington and the barracks. Based on the little information he had, Lucas guessed his father would need to leave.

After a minute, Taylor and Guzman exchanged nods. While the latter began walking away, the former came back to Lucas. “I knew I would get called away again,” Taylor said, more to himself than to Lucas.

It appeared Lucas’s guess had been correct.

“Listen, I have to go now, but I’ll be back within half an hour. We’re going to go as soon as I come for you, okay?”

Lucas shrugged. “I guess…”

“Go back to the house and wait for me there. This won’t take long, I promise.”

Ah, another promise Lucas was sure would be broken.

He did not mind, though. In fact, he was glad to have some time away from his father. He needed a break from the old man’s presence. After he gave his father a nod, the commander left, and Lucas went back to his new house.

((Continue here))

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Desire

good morning @bougiebutchbitch, you requested some angry smooching obkk in kamui! I tried to comply, but I have to admit I struggled a little with coming up with a very good idea and then rewrote it all three times, so it is all over the place. I hope you find something you enjoy anyway. I really like our ramblings in the dms and your art is amazing~

Hatake Kakashi x Uchiha Obito

2133 words.

In the midst of their kamui fight Obito and Kakashi decide to continue the battle with their mouths instead.

Obito glared at Kakashi across the mostly empty space they found themselves in. Kakashi was heavily panting, pressing a hand against his now ripped open chest. There was blood flowing out steadily and the pain pounded in his head like the steady beat of a drum. He was in a dangerous situation, with the person who’d orchestrated the entire war situation, who had killed his teacher and his wife, who  Kakashi, by all means, should hate.

But Kakashi didn’t hate Obito, not now, not before either. He looked up to his former best friend and pulled himself back to his feet. It was difficult, as his body was swaying from the blood loss, but he’d had worse in the past. He could deal. “I thought you would be stronger than this, Kakashi”, Obito joked from the other side, a lopsided grin on his scarred face. Kakashi straightened out his back, blinked twice and was fully back. He felt for a kunai in his weapons punch and threw it directly at Obito’s rinnegan eye.

Once they’d been friends, maybe dysfunctional, argumentative friends, but friends nonetheless. They’d done this sort of fight a million times 10 years ago and as it was unfolding it seemed that both still remembered these fight sequences very well. Obito knew Kakashi’s movements and Kakashi knew Obito’s movements, just like they always had. Years apart had not changed anything about the fact that they understood each other without words, just by intuition alone. 

Maybe Kakashi was fighting a little laxer than usual, trying to only use normal kunai, not exploding ones, and using his chidori only when absolutely necessary. Maybe that was wrong of him, to hang on the sentimentality to Obito so much that he was holding back. Obito was gone, he had shown most of that before dragging Kakashi into this kamui dimension they both shared, there was nothing left of the way he was when he was a child. But Kakashi had idolised him and adored him and lived his life after Obito’s doctrine and it just wasn’t easy to let that go now. He could also not deny that a part of him was just relieved that Obito was still around.

Their weapons clashed and Obito raised a brow. “Is that all you have?” He was laughing under his breath before launching at Kakashi again. Blow for blow, kick for kick, kunai against kunai. It seemed like they were evenly matched. Obito was holding back too, Kakashi thought eventually. Obito was clearly a superior fighter now, with both the rinnegan and the mokuton abilities at his disposal, still Kakashi could keep up with him, even after being gravely injured. Kakashi held on to that lifeline, understanding that Obito didn’t want to kill him either. Delusional maybe, yes, but it was what he told himself.

With a swift movement of his hand Kakashi threw the kunai out of Obitos and grabbed his wrist to push him. Obito in turn held up Kakashi’s wrist, their faces now mere centimetres away from each other. Kakashi’s red eyes stared at him like from a mirror and Obito’s anger and resentment was visible all over it. “Stalemate”, kKakashi said and wiggled with both his arms. “Neither of us can move now. We can’t continue.” 

Obito’s nostrils flared dangerously. “Obito,” Kakashi said sternly. “Maybe we can still stop this nonsense. I know this is not you.” This had not calmed Obito down the slightest and instead seemed to spur him on even more. He pulled at both Kakashi’s arms, trying to get the one Kakashi was holding free, while still grabbing onto Kakashi’s other one. He didn’t get far.

“I told you”, Kakashi scolded and suddenly felt like he was twelve again, “it’s a stalemate, you can’t do anything.” 

Somehow Obito seemed to think that Kakashi meant those words as a challenge. He bore his teeth. “You don’t know anything about me,” he grumbled and sunk his nails into Kakashi’s wrist. Kakashi flinched a little at the sudden burn, but did not let Obito go. The other man tried to rip himself away with brute force, but when he did not succeed he looked back up to Kakashi and the Copy Nin could see the light in them, a light he knew well enough from their time as children. He had a plan.

Before Kakashi could wonder enough about what Obito’s next actions were, the Uchiha had already pulled forward, teeth out like spikes and Kakashi knew what he was trying to do, so he moved his head just slightly out of the way, avoiding the sharp teeth to bite into his cheek to instead bit the fabric of his mask. Simultaneously Obito pushed his head up with a shove to his arm which ripped his head even high and as such, when his teeth hit Kakashi’s face, it was on his mouth. Kakashi could feel Obito’s lips on his lower one, even through the fabric of the mask.

Obito had strong teeth, just like Kakashi suspected, and ripped a piece out of the fabric as he went back, leaving part of Kakashi’s lips exposed. They stared at each other and the grip around their hands tightened. Kakashi tried to take a step back, still feeling Obito's lips on his. He’d always been more sensitive than others, wearing a mask to cover his nose from unwanted smells and his lips from unwanted tastes, ever since he was very young and as such he’d gotten used to tasting things through the mask. The bite hadn’t even hurt that much, mostly because it had missed, and the pain in his upper lip quickly evaporated, but the indirect kiss lingered. Suddenly he could hear his heart pounding in his ears and it was no longer related to the pain in his chest.

Obito’s eyes moved over Kakashi’s partially exposed face, eyes moving over the visible lip back up to Kakashi’s eyes. He was breathing hard too, Kakashi realised. The sharingan was spinning in its hole and Kakashi could see Obito bite his lower lip like he was trying to decide something. He tried to take another step backward, even let go of Obito’s hand in an attempt to free himself, but Obito caught his wrist again and held him close, forcing him to stay exactly where he was. There was some fire in the Uchiha’s eyes, not too different from the look others had when they saw Kakashi. It was desire.

Then, quickly, as if many things happened at the same time, Obito had mokuton wrap around Kakashi’s arms to keep him steady while he let go of his hand. It was too fast for Kakashi to reach for a weapon before Obito pushed him over backwards to topple on top of him. “You’re the worst Kakashi, did you know that?” Obito was pulling on the mask until it fell down Kakashi’s chin. “You don’t know anything, yet you talk so confidently about everything.” 

He wanted to say something, defend himself somehow, but Obito pushed him down and drowned out whatever words he’d thought of with his own lips. Kakashi whined into the kiss, the rough way Obito’s lips and teeth were gracing over his own. He was angry, kissing him like he was going to battle, stubborn and unrelenting. Soon he had Kakashi gasping for air, struggling against his captor, but keeping his tongue pushed forward into his mouth. Surly Obito had done this before, he must have done it many times before, Kakashi thought, which was the last thing his mind could produce before it all started spinning under him.

Out of breath and trying to regain control of an uncontrollable situation, Kakashi opened his eyes. “That is what you call a kiss?” It was basic shinobi knowledge that once you riled up your opponent you could eventually gain the upper hand. Kakashi needed to get his arms back to working, he needed an opening from Obito so he could maybe get a weapon out, or do quick one handed signs to fight his way free. With a surprise he might have an easier time apprehending Obito, even if the Uchiha was stronger, at least by brute force.

“Shut up!” Obito was clearly angry, but the desire had not left his eyes nonetheless. He pulled Kakashi up again by the jacket, his gloves now smeared with the blood from the wound he’d given Kakashi earlier. They kissed again, harsh and angry, as if they had decided to continue their battle with their mouths instead. Obito bit and pushe and Kakashi replied in turn, with soft touches and swiped across Obito’s scarred lower lip. 

The worst thing was that Obito tasted good, that his tongue felt right, familiar in a way, as if they were just a couple that was play-fighting, and not enemies interlocked in what was supposed to be a deadly battle. Never in his life had Kakashi ever thought he’d been in this situation, his tongue deeply engaged by Obito’s and even if he had then the situation would have been entirely different. And now that he found himself right here he could not stop himself from wanting it to continue. His mind was spinning with each new touch. 

Everytime he drew breath Kakashi needed to remind himself where he was, that it wasn’t the time to make out, that Obito was just trying to distract him. “Why are you doing this?” Kakashi couldn’t help it, all of this didn’t make sense. “You could have done all of that in your dream, at least by what you’ve been talking about so far.” 

“I'm just buying time for the plan to continue. As long as I have you in here you can’t help out out there.” Obito was clearly lying. He was obviously unable to explain his actions and judging by the look in his eyes he was also angry at himself, or maybe at Kakashi, or both, that he had acted on his hidden desires. Something he could use, Kakashi thought.

He moved his head up, closer to Obito, and waited for the other man to close the distance between them. Obito did, eventually, push their lips back together, their tongues into each other's mouth again. “Are you giving up and giving yourself to me?” Obito laughed into his lips. “You’re so weak, Kakashi. For all the reputation you have, you are nothing compared to me.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes under his closed lids, let Obitos teeth bite the tip of his tongue playfully, ignored the goosebumps it sent down his spine because of it and focused on pushing his body in the upright position. What he needed to do now was to make Obito forget that he had Kakashi on lockdown, slowly, gently, leading him to let go of Kakashi’s arms when his desire to touch Kakashi otherwise became too strong. To make sure of that Kakashi needed to keep Obito engaged and his sanity working. He ignored the blood flowing between his legs, he ignored the flame in his heart.

Finally, after Kakashi let out a rather loud, and rather involuntary moan, Obito let his wrist go to instead rip at Kakashi’s hair. The Copy-Nin was ready, breaking their kiss and reaching for a kunai from his pouch. He spun it between his fingers and then held it to Obito’s throat. The Uchiha had his hand around Kakashi’s hair and he grabbed it tighter, ripping some of the silver out. “You think you got me, do you?” Obito had his teeth pressed together as if every word was painful to him.

“Clearly, I do.” Kakashi could feel this swell of superiority in his chest, another thing that had come back to him from his twelve year old self, his arrogance. “If you don’t want to end up like a gutted fish, you should let go of me right now.”

Unsurprisingly Obito did not yield and  instead let go of Kakashi’s shoulder to use a one handed sign that left him as nothing but a puff of smoke. Kakashi looked around himself to find Obito standing further away, brows furrowed again, licking his lips. In his hand was an explosion tag.

“I changed my mind again” Obito grinned again now, eyes full of hot anger. “I will kill you here after all.”

“Likewise”, Kakashi said. “That is the best I can do for the Obito I know. The real Obito. I have to kill who you are now for who you were back then.”

And so, as with the taste of Obito’s lips still on his own, the feeling of his mouth still in his mouth, Kakashi leapt back into the fight, ignoring the loud rush that was now in his ears and heart that told him to stop instead.

[tangent101]

Why did D9 screw up the LiS timeline with BtS?

It's time to touch the third rail here and bring more criticism down on Before the Storm. Given the absolute delight (in a good way) True Colors was, along with the eventual success of the Remastered Edition, I have given Deck Nine some passes for the transgresses that was Before the Storm. But I have never forgotten the massive problems that came about with the whole-scale rewriting of LiS background lore.

When looking at why Deck Nine rewrote continuity, I think the blame lies with the vocal minority of fans who absolute hated on Chloe Price. The Deck Nine crew misconstrued this as a hatred of a deuteragonist who was angry and acted selfishly at times rather than realizing that the hatred was because Chloe was a woman. Thus they tried whitewashing the entire cast of LiS characters (outside of Max who was thrown under a bus and then run over repeatedly) by erasing anything potentially problematic with the characters.

(As an aside, why did they mistreat Max? There's two reasons that come to mind. First, Deck Nine may have felt that Max, as the least problematic character, was someone who could be their background "problem character" without causing too much hatred of the character as Max was only hated by a small group of the vocal minority hating on Chloe. Second, they needed to sell Amberprice and by having Max ghost Chloe, it took Max out of the equation. Seriously, having both Chloe and Max ghost each other would have worked far better, especially if Joyce kept bringing up "why don't you talk to Max?" and Chloe being sure that Max would want nothing to do with her. It would have had Max remain in the story without the blame being just on Max's shoulders.)

Unfortunately, there was a massive problem with trying to keep the core LiS characters from being "problematic" and that's the fact that Joyce was flirting with David within six weeks of William's death. (William's death happens after Max's birthday on September 20, 2008, and before Joyce's flirtatious note to David on November 20, 2008 - and the cold weather needed for the Price fireplace to be used most likely happened on October 10, according to RL weather records of the region.) This flirtation was enough that David Madsen kept the receipt from the diner to commemerate the date he met Joyce… and also annoyed the hell out of Max "I'm a teenage wallflower" Caulfield enough that she had impolite things to say about the note Joyce left David.

Joyce starting to date David within two months of William's death and marrying him within a year of being widowed would easily explain why Chloe hates David. It would paint Joyce in an unflattering light for a lot of people. And there are quite a few people who never realized just how quickly Joyce moved on from William and instead just insist Chloe was "unreasonable" for treating David that way. So Deck Nine just… pushed back the timeline. It's "dating" rather than "married" and it's past a year. So Chloe is just not moving on like her mom is. And David gets to be shown as "caring" if a little bit of a douche.

There were other ways they could have painted David in a better light. More, they could have had David and Joyce remain in an unfavorable light and in doing so provide some reason for Chloe to be acting out and causing trouble.

The truly sad thing is, there was an event in the Timeline photographs which would have provided an excellent way to not only provide a storyline for the game, but also stick to continuity (and even have Chloe meet Rachel Amber): Chloe running away when she was 15 years old.

Let's say that David moved into the Price household when Chloe was 15. Chloe has problems with it, says something offensive to David, he slaps her… and Joyce takes David's side. Chloe maybe even sees David proposing to Joyce… realizes he's here to stay despite having hit Chloe, and chooses to run away. Chapter 2 would have Chloe, with backpack and such, in the Oregon woodlands and coming across a campsite with a blonde-haired girl close to her age with two blue earrings who talks to her about why she's running away, who she is running to… and questions her as to why she's trying to reach a "best friend" who hasn't talked to her in over a year.

We even can have conflict that helps explain things in Life is Strange itself. If Rachel's father was homophobic, then the growing relationship between Chloe and Rachel would start raising red flags. Rachel and her father could come into conflict as a direct result of Chloe. And at the climax of Chapter 3 the father calls the cops on this "runaway" resulting in Chloe being sent home to Joyce and David. The game ends with school starting and Chloe being greeted by Rachel Amber, whose dad had moved to the area.

(How does this explain things in LiS? Well, in LiS Rachel's parents had given up on her… but in the William Lives timeline they are still actively looking for her. And in the William Lives timeline Chloe wouldn't have run away from home. Thus they don't meet up and Rachel's dad doesn't learn about his daughter being bisexual and thus be dismissive of his daughter.)

Now you have a fun little summer love story and justification for Chloe being upset with David and Joyce. You can even have made things so that David could be considered "justified" for his actions for the Chloe Haters. And it would have fit within existing continuity. BtS for me is creative fanfiction. It's a story that Chloe tells to Max, making it up out of whole cloth, so that Max is distracted from what happened with the Storm. And I think Max knows it's not the truth. But she lets the story remain because Max has been distracted and is having fun snarking with Chloe while poking holes in her plot.

[trashyslashers]

could u do a :3c a lil fic where tommy takes a liking to one of the victims hoyt brings him so he keeps her in his room and dresses her up and like brings her food and she hates him at first obviously because he killed her friends and kidnapped her but eventually she warms up to him

Conversion | Thomas Hewitt x reader | Part I

// AN: Anon I am SO sorry this took so long; I completely scrapped multiple drafts I had and rewrote this several times because I was unhappy with how it was going.

I want to just bring up a few things: I'm trying to be a bit more accurate in regards to how I portray slashers when I write for them; I've been... really unhappy with my own writing and portrayals lately, so with that I want to note that in the beginning of their encounter, though I don't go into it a ton in the first part, Thomas does treat the reader like he would any other victim - but obviously that changes once things progress. This is a bit after that.

Also, reflecting her scared state of mind, reader is a bit mean about Tommy in the beginning - not to him (i.e... what she's thinking, her feelings, lmao) but obviously this also changes. I think anyone would be at least a little angry if they were being held captive after witnessing their friends get murdered, haha.

Gave names to side characters just to save any confusion.

This is PART ONE. It's coming out... much longer than I intended for it to, and I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer so I decided to break it into parts. I'd apologize but I mean, hey, it's more Thomas content. And that's never a bad thing.

Words: 4,293

TWs: General violence and angst; reader's friends are murdered, and she's held captive and very obviously afraid. Mentions of Hoyt being a creep. Mentions of vomiting (though not described), and implications of reader going extended periods of time without eating due to fear.

----

It was the drawl of the old radio that you heard, first; static from the old thing so harsh that the voice on it sounded almost alien with how warped it was, the country song playing on it so incomprehensible that your first thought was how could anyone listen to this shit?

The heat of the sun beating through the window was the second thing you felt, accompanied by the nauseatingly strong, sweetly metallic scent that filled your nose and saturated your mouth. You would’ve vomited from the overwhelming scent if you hadn’t already done so before. Your bodyinstead settled for retching, and your legs were sore as you moved them, bringing your hand down to shield your eyes from the blinding sun, the simple motion jerking you with a start as you realized your hands were no longer tied up. That, and the question of how - and why - you weren’t dead yet.

You felt ill, and you wanted quiet, but the girl next to you - Piper, you think her name was - would not stop wailing. Her boyfriend was dead, and she had not stopped screaming and crying since then, degradation and insults thrown from her mouth every chance she got. You had been in and out of consciousness since then, your time spent in the basement feeling as if it were years ago, rather than only probably about an hour, at most, ago. You did not know why you were brought up to the kitchen and didn’t end up on the table like her boyfriend had, gut with a saw while alive, or on a hook - but you knew why Piper didn’t. She was pretty; a busty redhead, a bit taller than yourself, and a bit of an anomaly to look at; pixie cut auburn hair and soft blue eyes, skin lightly tanned and freckled. The Sheriff liked her. He liked her, and he had demanded that she better get left, and that’s the reason she wasn’t dead - the yet silent, but nonetheless tacked on.

She was tied up, but she had been since she was essentially dragged into what looked to be the kitchen of the house, her bare legs bound at the ankles and wrists above her head to a doorknob. You felt bad for her. You wanted to help her - but your head hurt far too much, the thought of even sitting up making bile bubble up in your throat. You whimpered, knowing that if you sat up yet, you’d go right back down.

“Fucking - help me,” She sputtered when she heard you, doing her best to nudge you with her legs. “This is your fucking fault - we’re all dying because of you -”

You, who’d suggested taking a shortcut, pointing out a smaller turn off of the main road you’d been traveling on. Your fault because you suggested it - but ultimately it was the driver, her boyfriend, who got your lot lost, nearly out of gas resulting in you guys having to push the van up the street to the small store. The woman inside hadn’t heard of the town you guys were heading to, and so she called the Sheriff to see if he could help while you tried to fight the feeling that something was going wrong. You busied yourself, fiddling with some of the various knick knacks that were up around the shop, half tempted to actually buy something, but stopped yourself when you figured your friends would’ve chewed into you for wasting your money on some old crap, as you heard them say. You liked the four of them, really - though you hardly knew two of them. Piper and her boyfriend were the newest additions, mutual friends of the other two. You’d just met them that day.

The Sheriff had arrived not too long after that. He was an angry looking, blunt older man who looked out of place in the uniform he wore - but despite this, though, he was cordial; the drawl of his accent and the way he so graciously offered to drive your lot back to the station to ring for a tow truck pulling everyone into a false sense of Southern safety. He actually let you sit up front, and your friends piled in the back. From the corner of your eye you swore you could see his lip twitch in irritation as he watched through the rear view mirror as Piper practically straddled her boyfriend. "Only three seats, sorry" was their excuse, spoken through bit lips. "Not enough room."

Hours passed like minutes after that. Once you guys realized you weren't being taken to the station and rather to a large plantation house far out of the way, nerves rose in the car, the tension palpable. Your two closest friends - Sonya and Holly, the ones the trip itself was supposed to be for as they were celebrating their anniversary - were the ones who asked just where the Sheriff was taking you.

"To mama's house," He’d said, his voice low and more foreboding than it was anything else. He didn't even try to sound reassuring. He spoke as if you were supposed to know what that meant.

That's when you realized that there were no handles on the interior of the car - only on the driver's side. Not even the passenger's seat. You didn’t want to question it, assuming that it was normal for a cop car to have none - but the lack of any on the passenger’s door only made the feeling of unease sink deeper into your stomach, until you couldn’t sit still or keep quiet.

“Why not the station?”

The Sheriff shot you a side eye, though he didn’t move beyond that. “Don’t you worry, honey. Things’ll be just fine.”

- Fine, with three of your four friends dead, and you knew that you and the remaining were soon to follow. Piper knew this too, and you knew her anger at you wasn’t personal.

You huffed, your throat tight as you shifted your weight as best as you could towards her and pulled yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the way your temple throbbed where you’d banged your head off the doorframe when you were hauled to the basement before. Piper hushed when she saw you moving to help her, her sobs dropping into sniffling whimpers. Whoever had bound her wrists and ankles knew what they were doing; the knots were tight enough that you almost had to search for a knife to pick at them, but you ultimately were able to free her without any help. Her hands trembled, her movements jerky as she stood up - and bolted for the nearby exit without you.

A single gunshot echoed through the yard not long after that. You didn’t hear her scream.

----

Thomas, as you learned his name to be soon after that, had shown an almost admirable amount of self restraint and gentleness towards you for the past week.

You could see it in the tremble of his hands; the way his fingers would flex and unflex so subtly that you might've been imagining it as he stood in front of you as he did from time to time; the look on what you could see of his face made you think he wasn't quite sure what to do with you. Like he hadn't expected to make it this far with you. The Sheriff - Hoyt, as who you presumed to be the matriarch of the household would call him -, nearly went ballistic when he saw that you were still alive later that day, questioning "The hell are you doin', Tommy?" when he saw you, alive but not quite well, with your arms tied behind your back and fastened to the banister at the foot of the stairs, not far from the basement.

Truth be told, you had no idea what Thomas was doing, either. You were half expecting the Sheriff to shoot you right there in the house, or for Thomas to change his mind and comply with the Sheriff's apparent desire for you to be killed like the others, but he didn't. Instead, he'd stood between the Sheriff and yourself, and from your spot on the floor could you see him shake his head - the action a subtle, yet clearly firm, no. He wasn’t going to kill you.

Or at least, not yet anyway.

You were exhausted, and you made no attempt at hiding it or kidding yourself - you were terrified, too. You’d been holed up in the room Thomas had brought you up to later that night, either tucked off in the corner or pacing whenever your anxiety was too high to sit. You felt like an animal in a cage; a half-dead mouse that the cat had dragged in, kept as a pet by the family from then on for reasons you could not determine. Thomas was at least trying to be hospitable, as befuddling as it was to you, and trying to apparently take care of you. Not a day went by that he didn’t visit you at least once, more often than not with some sort of food item in his hands that you aways, always refused to eat; the look of silent, but subtle frenzy growing on what was visible of his face as the days went on and you wouldn’t even touch what he brought you. The only thing you ever accepted were the glasses of water he brought you. You figured it was self preservation kicking in, or something - with the heat of Texas, even in the technically cooler months, you didn’t want to risk dehydration. You’d risk being poisoned, sure - though you figured that he would opt for a quicker method of death if he really wanted you dead, seeing as you were still alive nearly a week later. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was intent on keeping you around.

Either that, or he had impeccable patience and wanted to gain your trust before doing anything.

You weren’t sure which was the worse scenario.

What you were sure of, though, was that no amount of time was ever going to make you trust him fully. Your friends were all dead (Piper joined them in the basement, not long after her attempted escape. You had a feeling that the fact that you didn’t flee - despite being because you couldn’t, not because you didn’t want to - played a role in your survival), and if they weren’t killed by him, their bodies most certainly were handled by him post mortem. You saw how he picked them up - even Piper’s boyfriend - hauling the bodies of nearly grown adults around with ease, down to the basement, never to be seen again.

Thomas, both in size and strength, was terrifying.

Yet that was what astounded you. When he was around you, though, it was like this strength and brutality that seemed to come so naturally to him was gone. He seemed shy - dare you even say timid, almost - when he was around you; his eyes looking nervously at your face, up and down your body in a way that didn’t feel like he was giving you the same once over that a handful of people have given you in the past that always left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable. It was more like he was observing you; watching for any hint you might try to run, yet careful and hesitant as if he was calculating his next move in a deliberate attempt at not scaring you anymore than you already were. It left you frightened and confused, especially since Thomas never spoke. You hadn’t heard him speak to any of his family, either; whether or not it was a choice he made to remain mute or if he couldn’t speak you were not sure, but at times it only served as a point of frustration of sorts as he couldn’t, wouldn't, answer your questions of why, nor reply to your begging.

Despite this, he was apparently trying his damndest to make you feel comfortable. The occasions he wasn't coming to visit you in an attempt to get you to eat, he remained in the threshold of the doorway, not daring to set foot in the room. Instead, he would just stare at you - a look that you couldn't quite decipher on his face; his thick eyebrows knit tightly as he watched you, like he was desperately trying to, somehow, communicate something you couldn't quite grasp. It bothered you, to the degree that you found yourself questioning if you weren't doing enough to try and get yourself out of there. You had a feeling Thomas was the only thing that stood between you and a death at the hands of the Sheriff, and you feared that an escape attempt might potentially anger him. You weren’t sure if such a risk was even worth it.

And even then, if you did manage to escape, where would you go? What help was there? Was there even any?

The weight of hopelessness settled deep in the pit of your stomach once again, and you couldn’t stop the hiccup that crawled up your throat as tears returned to your dried out eyes. This entire situation was absurd; it was scary, intense like a fever dream you were desperately begging your mind to wake you up from - it was hopeless. There was no escaping. You keeled over, your spot on the ground in the corner serving you well as you probably would’ve crumbled to the ground if you were standing. You buried your face in your hands as you sobbed, and ignored the commotion from the floor below you. You figured it was Hoyt bitching about your noise, again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tune in. It would only add fuel to the fire of your upset, and that was the last thing you needed as you already felt like you were going to be ill from how harshly your body retched from your crying. It wasn’t the first time in your days there that this happened, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You were too focused on trying to control your breathing to notice the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, but your breath hitched in your throat when you heard the floor of the hallway creak, though you were at least mildly relieved when you realized it wasn’t the Sheriff. In your time spent in your room, you learned, even through separate floors, to tell apart the footsteps of the inhabitants of the house. Thomas’ footsteps were never hard to tell apart from those of the others; loud, almost unintentionally angry sounding - but not quite stomping. They always softened the closer he, the only one so far who had come to see you, got to your room, but never fell entirely silent - it seemed he was aware of his own size and strength enough to control it, but it wasn’t something that could be entirely suppressed. Some part of you appreciated the thought of him at least trying.

The slip of the latch on the other side made you flinch, and you sniffled harshly when the door began to creak open, the dim light from the hallway flooding into the mostly dark room (the moon shone through the bare window at the far end, but barely. It was cloudy out - ) and casting Thomas’ shadow across the floor. You didn’t look up at him, not wanting to see that damned look he always gave you. It was almost like he pitied you, or as if he felt bad for you; something akin to softness in his eyes as he looked you over, as if the knowledge of how sad and scared you must be upset him. It was a concept that just seemed so utterly bizarre to you that you felt like an idiot for even considering the possibility. Your refusal to look at him didn’t seem to put him off, though, as after a moment of what you figured was contemplation he crossed the threshold into the bedroom towards you. You wiggled yourself as far back into the corner as you could as he neared you, and kept your eyes glued to the floor between the two of you. He stopped just short of you, and you tensed harshly under his gaze as he shifted and dropped down to his knees in front of you.

The soft rustle of fabric made your heart skip a beat, not unlike a palpitation, and briefly did the idea that Thomas was different from what you thought skit across your mind, but it was hushed when a bundle of fabric was dropped onto the dusty floor in front of you. It just so happened to be a slightly faded [your favorite color], and before you could really think it through did you reach for it, your fingers brushing the fabric as you took in how soft it surprisingly was, and after a moment you pulled it open, blinking the remaining tears from your eyes as you realized it was a dress. Its surface was dotted with tiny, delicately printed flowers, and a size that seemed to fit you - the sleeves reaching just above your elbows and the hem of the skirt just above your knees. You weren’t sure how to feel about it, let alone react, and you had a feeling you already knew the answer to the question that pressed your mind more than anything else did.

Was this for you to wear?

You thought about how hot it was during the day; how your own clothes stuck to your skin which was slick with sweat in a way that made you itch for a shower to wash all the blood and dirt from your body. You felt heavy and damp all of the time, and the thought of how much better any change of clothes would be compared to your current well worn, filthy outfit made you shudder and you squeezed the dress in your hands as you thumbed the slightly pilled fabric.

The dress was nice - pretty, even - or at least it was, until your eyes landed on what you tried to tell yourself wasn’t a small, now browned stain of blood along the hem of one of the sleeves.

This came from a body.

Suddenly the dress felt dirty and cold in your hands. Your breath hitched in your throat and you shifted in your spot awkwardly and held your breath, your train of thought long off the rails as you weren’t sure what to do. You couldn’t help but wonder about the life of the previous owner of the dress, and what their final moments were like. You wondered how they’d feel knowing it was being given away like this.

You hoped they didn’t haunt you.

After a moment you realized Thomas was staring down at you, and you felt yourself shrink under him. Something about the fact that he must’ve gone out of his way to bring you what appeared to be, apart from the blood, a clean dress made your heart feel fluttery. Did he regularly just… save clothing from their victims? It would make sense, to a degree; the area of Texas was poor, and in your travels the only store you’d passed in about two hours had been the roadside shop you ultimately were taken from. You didn’t doubt that some of those who’ve traveled through had items of value on them, and so keeping items - no matter how much you wanted to argue the morality of - made sense more than it didn’t. You weren’t sure if you should take his gift as a sort of olive branch - an offering to show that he wasn’t going to harm you, that he wanted you to feel better because he knew you had to feel stuffy, dirty, and uncomfortable in your clothes - or if you should view it as more of a "you were good, you didn’t try to fight or run away, he’s your reward for behaving."

But then again, he brought it to you in the midst of your sobbing which you did not doubt was audible from downstairs.

You glanced through the window at the far side of the room. The moon was brighter, higher in the sky, and the glow of it made you realize how heavy with sleep your eyes were. The thought of slipping into something clean and dozing off was entirely too alluring.

Your voice was quiet, raw, and gentle; so very evident that you had only been using it for crying for some time, as you asked “Is this for me?” You found the courage to look him in the eyes, and your own met the soft concern of his as he looked down at you. He looked upset, as if knowing how uncomfortable and distressed you were was in turn upsetting him, but nonetheless he nodded.

“Thank you,” It was even quieter than your question, and you looked back down at the dress. Your naturally polite nature shown through, and you thought for a second you’d been too quiet for him to hear, but you could see his hands (which had been resting neatly on the tops of his thighs as he knelt in front of you) twitch ever so slightly before he slowly - slowly - brought his right one up. You weren’t sure what it was - let it be fear, anxiety, or perhaps adrenaline was still pumping through you - but the simple motion of his hand reaching for you sent you jumping back reflexively into the corner, your own startle seeming to give Thomas his own as he very quickly yanked his hand back. Had this been any other circumstance you would’ve laughed at your own skittishness over such a simple thing, but you found yourself feeling almost bad for frightening him as well. It was with an almost crushing sense more of confusion than anything else that you realized that Thomas did not seem intent on harming you. He’s had countless opportunities to do so, more than you could even count; you, asleep in the room at night on the rare occasion you were able to doze off; when you were left alone in the house with just him after the other occupants seemed to have left to go tend to their own out-of-the-house duties, the splintering door that kept you shut in being the only thing that kept the two of you separate; to times like now, when the others were home, and he had you practically backed into a corner like you were, still absolutely towering over your huddled form despite being on his knees in front of you in what you assumed was an attempt at not overwhelming you by standing over you. It confused you, it frightened you, but it also made you feel, in a very strange way, safe.

Swallowing your fear, your desire to placate the tension overpowering your hesitation, you moved before you could think enough to stop yourself and gently reached for him, your palm turned inward as if you were going for a handshake. You couldn’t get yourself to look him in the face, but watched instead as he, after taking a moment of what you assumed to be contemplation, brought his hand up to your own, albeit notably much slower than before. The feeling of touch after everything that’s happened was almost too much, but you ignored how your arm tensed up at the contact as you pressed your hand against his much larger one (oh god, how he could so easily crush your skull if he wanted to, being your first thought) before taking a deep breath and holding his hand with your own, your other hand releasing the dress and gripping the back of his hand, essentially enclosing his hand between your own.

It was a very strange feeling, and an even stranger moment; you weren’t entirely sure what compelled you to initiate contact with him, nor did you have an idea what it was meant to accomplish, but what it did do was at least establish, or at least the very beginnings of, one thing:

“You won’t hurt me?”

Thomas shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence like that for several minutes; neither of you sure what to do or say, but rather just trying to take each other in and make sense of everything. He left the room not too long after that, giving you the privacy you needed to finally discard the soiled clothing you’d been wearing, and without a second to spare slip into the dress. The last thing you needed was for the Sheriff to catch on that Thomas had left you alone while you changed.

Now able to really see yourself, the damage from the past few days was apparent; the now bare skin of your arms and legs was patterned with bruises, cuts, and scrapes; dotted with goosebumps as the slightly cooler air of the night time gave you a chill and left you shivering. But it was comfortable, and it was, after you pushed the knowledge that the dress you were in came from a dead body, clean, and you were, to a degree, arguably, safe. Or, at least, as safe as you could be in such a situation, and you had a feeling that your own sense of what safety was wasn’t going to really be quite the same anymore after everything that’s happened. You weren’t sure where you were going to end up after this, or what was going to happen, and you weren’t sure if you really wanted to know. At least, not yet. You were too tired to think anymore.

Not wanting to risk another upset, you debated between the bed and floor; the latter absolutely much less comfortable, but the former didn’t feel right - like you were getting too comfortable. You settled for pulling the blanket from the bed and curling up in the corner, allowing yourself to sleep after days fighting off anything that wasn’t just light dozing.

Thomas didn’t come back for the rest of the night.

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Pretty Lies: Fake Dating Draco Part 1

Pairing: Draco x reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to get your parents to stop looking for a perfect suitor for you, Draco offers his help when he hears you complain. You both mutually agree to keep the feelings mutual, but little do you both know, it's easier said than done.

Word count: 2004

Warnings: Angst, some fluff, sad Draco

A/N: Rewrote this story from a request I got from @harrypotter289 a while back. I was unhappy how it turned out, but I am very happy with the rewriting of this one.

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Enjoy!

Being in a wealthy pure blood family meant you needed to find a good suitor. Your parents were a little too curious about your love life, and insisted on you finding a good pure blood to marry.

You weren't having it. They were messing with something they shouldn't, you either had to get a "boyfriend" or they arranged a relationship for you and they always had horrible taste in men.

You were gossiping and ranting to your friends how horrible it would be to go home alone for holiday.

"I have a proposition for you then miss Y/n."

"And what would that be, Malfoy?" Draco was part of one of the most known families in the following of the dark lord. He was handsome and smart, but also seemed sharp and angry all the time. You didn’t really talk to him, but you admired him from a distance, but you knew that you could never have a chance with him.

"You're a smart girl, so I'll make you a deal. You do all of my homework for the next month if I agree to be your 'boyfriend'. "

"You know what, done. As long as we keep our feelings to ourselves."

"Deal." He reaches his hand out for you to shake on it and you gladly do.

Your parents will be off of you for finding a good pure blood. Malfoy didn’t have to worry about doing homework. It was a win, win. Or that's what you thought.

~

"Remember when you meet my parents you need to act just like you would around yours."

"Why are there so many rules?" Draco groaned.

"Because my parents are strict. And acting like you do around your parents won't be so bad."

"I come to this stupid school to get away from them."

"I know." You keep walking.

"So what's the rules as far as what we can do?"

"When we get there you have to be holding my hand. They won't believe it unless you do."

"Alright, so like this?" He grasps your hand.

"No like this." You intertwine your fingers.

Draco nods, and you swore you caught him staring at your hands, "alright. I'll meet you at the station at noon tomorrow then." He stated before he hesitantly removed his hand from yours.

You smirked as you watched him walk away. You could tell you caught him off guard, but couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or if he was enjoying this. You immediately wiped the smirk off your face as you shoved how you felt towards him back inside. You both had agreed to keep the feelings to yourself.

Noon came quickly that day as you waited for Draco who was right on time. He took your hand in his and boarded the train. You two sat there the whole time in complete silence. He'd ask you the occasional question that your parents would ask like favorite color or favorite flower, but that was the extent.

You arrived late that night to platform 9 3/4. Your parents waited anxiously to meet your suitor. As you walked out their faces were in complete shock. Their daughter was with a Malfoy.

They hugged you and smiled, and introduced themselves to him. They looked at the two of you in complete awe. How did they get so lucky to have their daughter catch the eye of a Malfoy?

"So Draco, what got you so interested in our sweet Y/n?" Your mother asked him as you walked to a nearby floo network.

"She was the only girl that caught my eye. She was sweet and helpful to me. She was, how do you say, perfect?"

Your mother gushes in happiness, "well, I’m so glad that our daughter caught your eye." She smiles happily as she walks a little quicker ahead of you and Draco.

Draco looks down and fiddles with your fingers. It was almost as if he was trying to distract himself.

"What? You don't like it here?"

"No I do. It's just a lot."

"Makes sense." You lean into his side some, but he avoids you, it hurt a little, but you couldn;t let it show.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing...l-let's just enjoy each other's company."

"Fine." You look down as you keep walking, hoping he just keeps a hold of your hand.

Truth was, he wanted to hold you close. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, he wanted you to be his and his alone, but he knew that this was just a way to make your parents happy. You couldn't love him. No matter how bad he wanted you to.

You made it to your family home where a perfectly prepared meal was awaiting you. Dinner was uneventful though. Your father chatted away with Draco as you and your mom got a chance to catch up. Everyone seemed to adore Draco. You were happy with that thought, but you knew he couldn’t see you as anything more than an acquaintance, maybe, if you were lucky, even a friend.

"Well your father and I will clean up. You two are welcomed to head upstairs. The guest room is all made up for Mr. Malfoy if he would prefer to stay in a separate room.” Your mother stated. You were afraid she was catching on, but also you figured she was just trying to ease your father’s mind.

“Thanks mum.” You smiled and headed upstairs.

Draco followed you, pushing every urge he had to grab your hand, run into your room, push you up against the wall and kiss you. He knew he couldn't though. He wanted to respect the fact that you asked him to keep his feelings out of this.

You walk inside your room not expecting Draco to follow you inside, but he does. He closes the door behind him and looks around.

"This place is very lovely." He spoke up after a minute or two of taking in his surroundings

"Thank you," you smiled as you got your pajamas out.

"Are you sure you’re okay with lying to your parents?"

"I am. Are you okay with it?” You asked not knowing what he meant by it.

"Not really. I was okay with it in the beginning, but now I can’t help but look at you and wish this was all real. You know how hard it has been to keep how I have felt to myself, but because you asked me to keep my feelings out of this, I’m respecting that!" Draco started to shout.

"Shhh. Keep it down,” you said, gesturing for him to lower his voice, “I think we just need to rest. We’re both tired and it’s getting to us. We can finish this conversation in the morning. Now come on.” You gestured for him to get into bed.

"You're not mine to sleep next to. You're not,” his voice broke and your heart ached for him, “you're just using me to please them. You probably won't talk to me for the remainder of the year and we'll go on being perfect strangers."

"Like it was meant to be." You whisper.

"It doesn't have to be like that." He walked over and cupped your face.

"Yes it does,” you moved his hands from your face, “you're a Malfoy, I'm a nobody. So let's get this week over with so we can go back to being perfect strangers."

"I don't want to be perfect strangers," He gently gripped your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, “I want to be yours. I will wait as long as it takes for you to realise that.”

"You can’t be. If your parents found out we were together, they would take you away, or threaten my family. They would never allow a relationship to blossom between us.”

Draco sighs. He knew you were right. You were nobody to his family, but you were somebody to him.

"Let's just get through this week and we can see where it goes from there."

"Are there any boundaries?" Draco spoke, almost whispering, keeping your chin in a gentle grip.

"Why?"

"Just want to know."

"Not that I know of."

You could barely get those words out before he leaned in, closing the space between the two of you, his lip gently encompassing yours in a kiss. You freeze not knowing what to do, but you don’t hesitate to return the kiss

He pulls away slowly when realizes that you kissed him back. “I just had to know.” He whispered with his face still inches from yours.

"Me too.”

He lets go of your chin, “you want me to stay with you tonight?”

All you could do was nod. He walks over to the bed and hands you your pajamas, “go change. I’ll be right here.”

You smile while taking them, followed by him leaving a gentle kiss on your head. You walk into the bathroom and change quickly. When you walked back into the room Draco was waiting in bed for you. You happily walked over and crawled in as his warmth embraced you. This definitely was a feeling you could get used to.

The week went by quicker than you wanted and soon you two were back at Hogwarts. Draco hated being back because he knew that things would be different between you two. That he would never get to hold you in his arms again, or kiss your soft lips.

Things went back to normal and you felt indifferent about that. You knew how you felt towards Draco, but you weren’t sure if he was just toying with your feelings. Your friends warned you after the fact that someone warned Draco of your feelings towards him. You honestly knew what happened over the last week was too good to be true.

Things between you and Draco were awkward at first, but you tried to push that feeling to the back of your mind. You wanted to be close with Draco without it causing issues, but that clearly couldn't be farther from what was happening.

Draco started to distance himself more than usual and he always looked sad. He never spoke; he just sat quietly alone. Draco wondered if the way he felt towards you was a shared feeling, or just one sided. He was upset that you just let things go, that you seemingly forgot how happy you felt when you were with him. That was farther from the truth though.

You walked up to him one day to maybe see if you could help. You knew he probably would snap and tell you to get out of his face. That the way you made him feel over break was disgusting and that you were too naive to actually believe he could ever feel that way about you.

"Hey," you said as you sat down across from him.

"Hi..."

"Is everything okay?"

"Was any of it real? Any of it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The kiss, the cuddling...all of it."

"Draco I..." The truth was, you wanted all of it to be real. It was real. You loved him with every ounce and fiber of your being, but the letters that were coming in from seemingly unknown sources, proved that things between the two of you couldn’t escalate into anything more.

"If you're going to say it was just an act I don't want to hear it. Because everything was real for me it felt real."

"Draco I'm sorry...but it can't be..." You stand up and walk away.

You both were hurt after that, but you knew you had to stop things before someone got their heart broken more. These letters were threatening your parents lives, and threatening to expose your lie. So you felt it was best to leave things before they turned too serious. Forget what happened between the two of you that week. You may have loved him, but you could never be together. Though you knew you couldn't help but feel the opposite.

[citrinesparkles]

too much.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 478 words. notes: y'know how sometimes you get so angry you just start shaking. basically all of my emotions feel like that sometimes, and sometimes you have to reel that back in so you don't scare people. warnings: none, as far as i know!

love burned through your chest, fierce and protective and hungry.

it surged through your veins, settling into every crack and crevice and trying, pushing, prying its way out of your throat.

the urge to spill praises and promises almost consumed you.

the dim light of his phone filled the corner he was sitting in, catching on his cheeks and dancing in his eyes, painting the white streak of his hair an almost-blue as he read whatever was on his screen.

he was thumbing at the damaged corner of his phone case, fully engrossed in what he was doing and looking like a movie scene. something put together by an artist, something to capture a painfully human moment and leave the audience with a haunting mixture of belonging and yearning and something in between the two.

it succeeded, that sense of humanity and reality and mundanity and love filling your entire being as you watched him breathe.

you wrote and rewrote entire monologues in your mind, sitting on the floor of your hallway: lengthy, poetic pieces for the man in front of you.

rosy sweet descriptions of beauty; warm musings on what it meant to be truly alive and how he, despite everything, managed it; passionate speeches about how much love he deserved and how desperately you wanted to give all of it to him and then some. almost too much for you to contain.

then, when his eyes- more blue than green in the light of his screen, but as dazzling as ever- flicked up to meet yours, you scrapped every word you had stitched together. none of them could even hold a candle to the aching in your chest, to the way his brow furrowed in concern.

"you okay?"

the words came surging back, hitting the back of your teeth and begging to spill out into the cool night air and make him understand what you thought. how much you felt. how all-consuming it was, in that moment, to look at him and have him be alive and yours.

but he would shut down, pull away, too full of his own emotion and baggage.

if it was rage burning through you, he would take that without hesitation. if it was sadness consuming you, he would let you cry against him until he drowned.

but after everything, you knew that he wouldn't know how to carry all of your affection.

not yet.

all that escaped you was a rich "i love you," short and sweet and simple, which painted a smile on his lips and tugged a chuckle out of his chest.

"i love you too."

those four words were like gasoline to the blaze in your heart, carrying you across the hallway and pushing you into his side.

he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders and lowered his phone slightly. "seriously, is everything alright?"

"better now."

[sagabrielle]

Arrow in the Bear (The Last Kingdom OC Fic)

A/N: Very self-conscious of this. After reading the books, I wrote this primarily for myself, so my writing style mimics Cornwell's slightly here. There is a reason for that story-wise. Obviously, though I have my own style and I am a fucking amateur lmao. I've already posted this once before and immediately deleted it because I was embarrassed, rewrote it like three times, and now I'm here. Read it if you will, or don't, I'm not paying you... : )

Words: 4.1k.

Chapter One:

The air was cold and the thick liquid that coated my arm was beginning to dry. Day had easily slipped into night, and I was left alone to wander the open land of snow and ice. I had long since become numb to the pain, to the arrow firmly lodged in my right shoulder. I wasn't aware of how far I had walked, but my feet were aching and I felt my senses leaving me. There was light in the distance, though, promising fire and warmth, and someone to tear the arrow from me.

England was barren at this time of year. The people were holed up in their rustic homes, cattle driven inside, the roads unridden. The land was widely unknown to me, even during the summer months when everything was bright and clear. The land blanketed with white and the sky pitch dark, I bumbled through the expanse that could have very likely been my grave. A bear could’ve taken me and had a meal, though it would have been slight. Fever could’ve raked through me and killed me within a day. Even the faint light I was headed towards was dangerous, possibly home to angry Saxons eager to spill Dane-blood.

My head ached incredibly, maybe even more so than the rest of me. It had been hours without water, without food, and the blood that still leaked from the wound was not a good sign. I was about halfway to the light when I began to contemplate laying down and letting the Gods take me, but mother had told me that dying easily was dishonorable, so I kept walking. Foot after foot, I dragged myself to the hope of safety.

The camp was small, occupied by only two large tents and four horses that stood just outside the fire's light. I had to squint through blurred vision to make out the forms of two men crouched by the fire, shoveling food into their mouths. If I could have spoken, I would have, but my throat was too dry to let the words out. A man with dark hair noticed me first, his eyes widening before he called for the others.

“Lord!” He only had to call twice, his yell echoing through my head painfully. A man came from the tent, a coat of fur wrapped around his shoulders, and a sword held in his hand that glinted in the light. He held the blade up to me, and even through the haze of pain, I could see that it was well crafted and expensive. I had stumbled upon the camp of a wealthy man. Or a very, very, lucky one.

“A child, Lord?” A man whom I did not see said. This Lord took another step towards me, and I could see his eyes shift up and down, brows knitted together. It was a strange sight, no doubt. 

He could have killed me and been over with it, and that would have been the easy option. For some reason, the man lowered his sword, the tip sinking into the snow. The rest of the men were silent as he assessed me, clearly unsure of what action to take next.

“What has happened?” He asked me, moving to touch the arrow, then he suddenly stopped the movement having thought better of it. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got lost once again—my head had become so dizzy that the ground seemed to teeter below me, then I was falling forward into that silent darkness.

I woke up sometime the next morning, the sun streaming in like gold through the cracks of the tent. It had been a dreamless sleep, and while I was sure it had been hours, it felt as if my body was no more rested than the previous night. My muscles, my bones were so heavy that I didn’t move for a while, simply trying to urge my body forward, even if just enough to sit up.

 I had been wrapped in furs and the arrow was missing from my shoulder, but when I scanned the rest of the tent I found I was alone. It was a small tent. The camp wasn’t a permanent setup, to be used for a brief hunting trip. It was lucky that I had found them before the men had moved on to follow the ever-moving prey.

My boots were pulled from my feet, presumably still soaked from the snowy trek I had made. I waited for a moment to hear the sounds of the others in the camp, but when I was met with silence I shucked the furs from my still sore frame—forcing my body to move this any will and might I possessed— and pulled the soggy boots back on. My clothes were covered in blood, and my arm had been put into a sling. The coat was dry, albeit layered with grime, but it was well enough to keep me from the cold.

The camp was empty, as I suspected. The horses were gone, and the fire had died out, but I was grateful nonetheless. There wasn’t much I could do but wander, but at least I was no longer bleeding.

I reached for my hunting dagger which had been stabbed into the wood of the tent, at a bit higher than my eye level, when my wrist was harshly grabbed. I gasped and pulled back but the grip was tight, and when I twisted around I faced the Lord from the previous night. He wore the same expression as before, his pale eyes slit and cautious. It was the way a predator would have stared at an animal it was about to devour. I said nothing.

“Who are you?” He asked. I was pleased to hear that his accent was not Saxon. It served as some sort of consolation. Even if it had been Saxons who helped me, there was a deep-rooted fear of them in my gut, one that occasionally grew into resentment. There had been stories of their miserable ways uttered to me when I was still quite young, of their religion. I had never forgotten those stories, the ones my mother and siblings told me. At least with a Dane, there was a baseline familiarity, no malice between us based on our upbringing. 

 His grip loosened slightly on my bony wrist but he held me still as if he was expecting me to flee. I had no idea why he thought I would run after he had presumably saved my life, but in retrospect, it was probably the safest option for him. He had no idea who I was as much as I did not know him. 

"My name is Yrsa," I said meekly before remembering to add: "Lord." I had never addressed anyone like that. Never needed to. He shook his head, clearly still perplexed by my appearance and the circumstance of our introduction.

"You’re a girl, then—I could hardly tell. Where do you come from?" He said. I saw no point in lying. If he wanted to kill me for it, he simply would. It didn't matter what the interim was.

"Dunholm," I said, and he raised a brow.

"Was it a Saxon that did this to you?"

"No, Lord." 

"A Dane, then?" 

"Yes, Lord." He paused for a moment and finally released me, taking the blade from the wood himself. It was the dagger my mother had given me when I was first learning to hunt. It was also the only weapon I had with me, and my only means of survival. 

The Lord's lips pressed into a straight line as he balanced the blade between his gloved fingers.

"Am I to assume that the arrow was meant to kill you?" He said. That was given only a nod. He inhaled sharply. "What did you do?" 

That I did not give an answer to. Whether it was from shame or fear I wasn't able to decipher myself. When I did not respond he tilted his head downward slightly, waiting for my answer.

"Have you killed someone?" He asked and I contemplated telling him that I wished that I had. Maybe a tale of defending myself, something to fabricate an image of honor where I truly had none. But I hadn't killed any villain, so I shook my head and he took that as a 'no'. He turned the blade over in his hand and offered the grip to me. I eagerly took it back and quickly noted just how much larger his hand was than mine. I believe he did as well because he sized me up once more and looked vexed.

"How old are you?" 

"Eleven," I said. I was almost twelve. I was small for my age, but that had made me a natural at sneaking around and climbing, so I didn't mind my size. 

I watched quietly as the man before me stared up at the pale morning sky and seemed outwardly peeved. 

He was much taller than me but not as large as my father. His hair was blonde and tied back from his face. I couldn't tell clearly how old he was, but I assumed younger than my father but older than my eldest sibling. As in, much older than I was. The sword was now strapped to his back, the decoration in the pommel glinting in the light of the rising sun.

He said nothing more, instead nodding towards his horse that stood within the tree line. I did as he instructed because he was a Lord and I was nothing but an orphan destined to wander around the woods if I did not follow him. He saddled himself and then pulled me up to sit in front of him. 

As an adult, I think of how dangerous it was to go with the Lord, not knowing him or his men. I was only a child though, and I was still desperate for the pain in my arm to go away, and the heartache that weighed heavy on my chest made me act naively. I reasoned with myself that if he had the intent to harm me he would have done so rather than taking the arrow from me. He would have struck me with that fine-looking sword, or let his men kill me, or worse. I had met many men in my life that would have done just that, so I placed my trust in him and hoped he was a good man.

"Where do you come from, Lord?" I asked after a while, and I could feel his chest shake with a laugh. My face heated slightly.

"I am Uhtred Ragnarsson, Yrsa," he said, and I hadn't recognized the name, "my home is Coccham. I will take you there and someone will fix your shoulder." 

This sounded like a fine plan, so the rest of the trip was quiet. Maybe it was the pure exhaustion that still had hold of my body or the sheer desperation I was feeling, but I did not feel endangered with him. My whole life, dangerous men had lurked about, willing to lash out at me should I have annoyed them in any way. But this man—Uhtred—didn’t seem annoyed. A bit astonished, but not annoyed. I hadn’t known many men that would save the life of an unknown child, and then offer to bring that said secretive strange child to his home. 

When we did finally arrive at Coccham, I peered around the wooden walls of the estate. It wasn't half the size of my Dunholm, nor did it seem particularly pagan. It was not Christian either, though, for there was no grand church in sight. I had never heard of Coccham but it seemed to be a strange anomaly where the religious strife of the land did not exist. 

Uhtred's home was the largest in the town, far bigger than the one of my childhood. He aided me off the horse and led me inside the home which seemed more expansive from the inside. He called for his wife, who came from the upper floor, a curious look on her angular features. 

"Who is this?" She asked Uhtred, her eyes glancing back and forth between the two of us. 

"This is Yrsa," he said, "she was shot and is in need of healing. She is also eleven," he added the last part as if it was an explanation. The only reason he took me to his home. The woman, who he had called Gisela, seemed jarred for a moment before moving to set a kettle on the fire.

"Who shoots a girl?" She asked, seeking no answer, but merely speaking to herself. I wanted to tell her that I was almost a woman, but it seemed pointless when I considered everything. It would have still been wrong if I was twelve instead of eleven.

"A Dane, but that is all she had told me," Uhtred said, answering his wife's rhetorical question. Gisela set about gathering cloth and finally, she motioned me to sit at the long, dark wood table. I did so silently and focused my attention on the interior of the home. It was certainly the home of a Lord, with the occasional weapon hung on the wall, pelts from large animals strewn about. It even smelled different than where I had lived in Dunholm.

"Well, Yrsa," Gisela said after she had poured warm water into a bowl and set it in front of me, "we should certainly get this fixed." 

I also took notice of how she motioned her husband away, and he obediently made himself scarce. That I had certainly never witnessed before.

She had to tear my dress more than it already was, and assessed my wound carefully. I couldn't see it, but the wound still ached and the dried blood was beginning to itch. She sighed and began to clean the blood from my shoulder. It hurt but it was bearable. She took her time meticulously cleaning the wound, and once she could see where the arrow had been lodged she got to work cleaning out the splinters. This hurt much worse and I dug my dull nails into the table, to which she muttered a soft apology.

Once she was done, she wrapped my shoulder with new cloth and returned it to the sling. It did feel better eventually, but the skin was still sensitive to the touch, and moving the shoulder even slightly sent pain ripping down my right half. Gisela shuffled around some more and eventually came back to wrap me in a linen blanket. I quietly thanked her, my voice hoarse, and secured the heavy blanket around myself.

She had left for a moment to pour the bloodied water out and I was left in silence. Left alone with the memories of my departure from my home, and the pain that had been inflicted. I tried to stop my mind from wandering back to my childhood, but I had a loose grip on my thoughts and soon was occupied with memories of my sisters. Even my most beloved was surely better off. She was favored by my father, and so, without me there needing to be defended, she could fully assume the role of his favorite. Though, even at my young age, my heart ached at the thought of never seeing her again.

There was, however, a part of me that was relieved to be free of my father. While I lacked the security of home behind strong walls guarded by Danes, the looming threat of beatings had been exterminated. The fear of being sent out on hunting trips he was hoping I didn't return from halted. Afraid that he would marry me off to some slug of a man who would undoubtedly treat me no better. I was not a stool for my father to step on any longer. For that at least I was grateful.

"You are crying," Gisela spoke from where she leaned against the doorway. I reached a hand up and found my cheek cool and wet from tears I hadn't realized were falling. Looking at my hand I found blood was layered on my face as well, crusted and an ugly dark brown.

 "You were struck on the face, as well?" The Lady asked, moving forward so she could wipe my face. She reminded me of my mother. Both in appearance and attitude. The tears that blurred my vision were noticeable this time.

On many occasions, my father had struck me. On the cheek, the hand, the side of my skull. Becoming numb to that pain had been easy. It was the words he spoke that burned far worse than any smack. It was harder to ignore those. It was no surprise that he had struck me repeatedly on the day he had finally decided to kill me. He more than likely assumed I was dead, having succumbed to the arrow. It was better to have him think I was dead, for if he knew I survived, he would have sent men out to kill me for certain.

"And you do not want to speak of it?" She posed it like a statement, but I knew it was her way of asking. I shook my head because I did not want to recite everything that had happened the previous day. But I was also becoming increasingly aware that I knew very little of the people I was in the company of. I could tell by the look of Uhtred and Gisela that they were pagan, and that was better than if they were Christian, or at least I thought. They were rich, and if he was a Lord, he had political power, which made him dangerous. Those with power usually sought out ways to gain more, and in the case of Saxons, and those on Saxon land, that meant killing Danes. 

Gisela hummed before getting a bowl and filling it with soup. She placed it in front of me.

"Eat and then go wash," her tone had firmed up again, "Lord Uhtred probably has more to speak of with you."

I knelt by the mostly frozen lake and brushed the blood from the furs of the oversized coat, the snow around me pink with blood. The cool water I had scrubbed my face and arms clean with seemed to work quite well in quelling the headache, but my stomach had begun to twist into knots as I thought of returning to town. Uhtred wanted to know more, and I wasn't keen on telling him, but he had treated me with sympathy and therefore I was indebted to him and Gisela. There were many ways to repay a debt, and none of them were aided by lies or dishonesty.

I ran my fingers through my blood-caked hair. It made me look like a boy, with my once long black hair now cropped to my ears. It had been the thing about myself that most resembled my mother, so I had always despised it being so short. I had also assumed that my resemblance to my father's wife is what made him hate me so vehemently. What made him demand that I bare no more likeness to her than I naturally had.

I returned to the home looking less like a skinned rat, and upon entrance, Gisela handed me a green dress. It was simple in design but warm enough for the winter. 

Dresses were not my usual attire. Trousers were a part of my usual clothing, boots tied up to my shins. They were not expensive pieces, but they did allow me to move freely. Dresses were more confining, restrictive.

"It's from a neighbor girl," she said, "It is better than a blanket."

It certainly was, so I put the dress on without voicing any of my opinions.

I was once again presentable, the blood washed away, properly dressed, and I felt marginally better. The headache had subsided, and the Lady handed me a cup filled with herbs and reassured me that it would make my wound feel less horrible. I sat at the table again, sipping the warm drink slowly, and though it tasted bad, it served to soothe my throat which had gone raw with the cold.

Soon, though, Uhtred returned, my stomach immediately turning itself inside out. I wasn't afraid, so much as exhausted and nervous. He seemed kind enough when compared to other Danes. Most would have let me die rather than use their resources to bring me back to health. I wanted to trust him, but the part of me that spent days hunting vulnerable prey animals shied away by instinct.

The Lord sat across from me at the table and stared at me curiously. I could see that he had many questions, all of which I was sure I did not want to answer. 

“Am I a slave?” The question was quick and meek. Uhtred let out a huff of a laugh. "Lord," I added hastily.

“Do you want to be?” There was a smirk on his lips. 

I took pause at that. If I were a slave I would have a place to work and stay, and Coccham seemed well enough. Uhtred and Gisela did not seem cruel, so consequently I thought that being their slave would not be as terrible as being a slave anywhere else. 

“As long as I live, I will do anything,” I said, trying to make myself sound as sure as possible. 

Uhtred leaned back in his chair, the smile now gone. He studied me hard, his blue eyes searching my brown ones. I leaned back in my own chair.

“Your only intention is to survive, then?” He seemed confused by my declaration.

“Of course, Lord,” I said, “Dying dishonorably would not get me to Valhalla.” 

“You want Valhalla, girl?”

“My mother is there,” I said honestly. I rarely spoke of my mother to others, but Uhtred seemed to be satisfied with that answer. He seemed to realize then that I was an orphan, and there was no one for me to go to. I was a child destined to wander about England if I was not a slave. It was certainly strange, someone wanting to be a slave, but I much preferred that over my other options. 

Uhtred was silent as he contemplated this, his arms crossed over his chest. I said nothing more than what I already had.

“You are not a slave, I have no need for one,” Uhtred said, "And no slaves make their way to Valhalla."

 I did not believe that because I had seen slaves be skilled warriors, and surely Odin would want them to fight for him. I did not say this to Uhtred, though, because I knew I was probably alone in my belief.

If he had no use for a slave that meant I would have to find a place to live and work while simultaneously avoiding my father. I could not return to the Danes, because if they knew who I was they would give me back to my father for the silver he would undoubtedly give them. Then he would kill me in a far worse way than he already attempted. 

I would also make for a terrible Saxon. I would not attend church, and nor did I find it appealing to bow to the Lords of the lands on which my people were routinely slaughtered. Assimilating into their culture, at the time, to me, would have been a more dishonorable fate than getting killed.

Uhtred must have seen my deflated look, as he rolled his eyes slightly at me, then his eyes briefly cut over to Gisela, who had stood by listening to our conversation. 

"My wife is in need of a lady's help, though," he said cooly, "she is alone often, and could use the extra set of hands. Once you can use both of yours again." 

I liked Gisela, and the thought of being an attendant for her was by far the best option I had. Coccham was safe. I was not a slave. I nodded at the proposition.

"Good. You will still need a job—the tavern might need help."

"Yes, Lord," I said. It wouldn't be much pay, but it would add up over time, I could use anything I could get. Uhtred nodded and I could see him bite the inside of his cheek.

"And your father?" He asked stifly.

"No.” Was all I said. He seemed to understand that, so the conversation ended there with a stone-like expression on his features, and me sinking down further into my chair.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 6

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 4k Warnings: slow burn, sad feels/angst, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: When Fennec Shand reveals your true identity to the Mandalorian, you do your best to pick up the pieces. Notes: I’m sorry this took me so long!! I rewrote it like six times because I couldn’t get it to feel right. Next chapter should be much faster. Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​ @dunderr​ @honey-hi​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​ @mbpokemonrulez​  @oloreaa​ @red-leaders​ @speakerforthedead0​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​​ @theflightytemptressadventure​ @ubri812​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Fuck. Panic coursed through your veins and paralyzed you. Your brain moved infuriatingly slowly as you tried to think of a way to stop the disaster that was unfolding before your eyes.

And yet...despite your fear and despite the fact that this terrifying, high-level bounty hunter had once tracked you, hearing Fennec call you sweetheart made your stomach drop—in a pleasant way, not at all like when Toro had done the same. She was beautiful, strong, mysterious, intimidating. What little you saw of her fighting style confirmed that she was lithe and exacting—catlike in her grace and prowess. A sexy armored bounty hunter.

I have a type.

You shunted that wildly unhelpful train of thought out of your head to refocus on the crisis at hand.

You looked at Mando. “I—”

“What’s she talking about?” he prompted. You couldn’t tell if you were projecting because you felt guilty or if he really did sound a little hurt.

You opened your mouth again to respond, but Fennec beat you to it.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Even in the dark, you could see Fennec’s eyes sparkle in delight as she addressed Mando. “I don’t know how this one stayed off your radar,” she explained. “She was wanted by the Empire for years. Huge bounty... She looks a little different now—check her chest for a scar to make sure, but I’d bet her bounty it’s there.”

Mando had already seen the scar. He knew Fennec was right.

You caught the hungry look on Toro’s face as he drank in everything Fennec was saying. His eyes trailed down your face and landed shamelessly on your chest. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he tried to think up a way to confirm your identity and claim the reward for both you and Fennec. This little fucker.

Fennec looked at you, and you took a step back involuntarily. “You’ve gotten sloppy, baby. There’s been chatter for weeks that you resurfaced on Nevarro. If I hadn’t been pinned down here, I’d have come for you myself.”

Her words felt like ice sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You’d figured that news of your sighting would probably get out, but you had hoped against hope that the blue-haired bounty hunter had been taken out before she’d been able to spread the word.

Mando was silent, fists clenched tightly at his sides, visor glued on Fennec. Pulling yourself together, you grabbed his arm and dragged him a safe distance away.

“I was going to tell you. I’m sorry,” you blurted, once you were out of earshot.

“It’s fine,” he replied stiffly, his gaze trained decidedly to your right.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that even though it was just the two of you, his voice retained its icy, detached quality, all the tender familiarity gone.

“No, it’s not. I should have told you sooner. I-I wanted to—believe me—but I didn’t know if I could trust you. You were—you’ve been worried that I might turn you or the kid in, haven’t you? I was worried that you’d do the same to me if you found out. The longer I spent with you, the more I felt like you wouldn’t, but I had to be completely, totally sure. I couldn’t take the risk. You can understand that, right?”

He said nothing.

“Look—I really want to be able to trust you. I want you to be able to trust me. I just didn’t know where to start. It’s not easy for people like us to trust blindly, you know?” You hated that your voice sounded almost pleading.

Still, he said nothing, a blank beskar wall. The comfortable warmth that had developed—slowly, painstakingly—between you two over the past weeks had dissolved in an instant.

“Mando. Talk to me, please.” You reached out for his arm, but he stepped back. He still wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Not now. Not here.”

“But—”

Your heart sank when he turned abruptly and walked back to the others.

You watched as he grabbed Fennec’s arm roughly, hauling her to her feet, and you trailed behind as he lead your party back down to the foot of the cliff. When you reached the bottom, Mando threw Fennec to the ground.

“Uh oh, looks like two of us have to walk,” Fennec taunted, eyeing the lone bike.

Mando jerked his head, motioning you and Toro to follow him.

“Alright, so what is the plan?” Toro asked Mando.

Reluctantly, you refrained from asking him if he could contribute for once instead of letting Mando do literally all the work; instead, you turned to Mando and supplied, “That dewback isn’t far.”

Mando didn’t look at you. To Toro, he said, “I need you to go find it.”

“And leave you here with my bounty and my ride?” Toro asked incredulously. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Mando. I’ll only go if she comes with me, so I have a guarantee that you won’t leave.” Toro gestured toward you.

You and Mando spoke at the same time: “No.”

“Either she comes, or I don’t go.” Toro was obviously pleased with himself for thinking of this plan, a smirk painted on his face. 

You shot him a scathing look before turning to Mando to offer, “I’ll go get it alone.”

You’d love to put some distance between you and Toro, between you and Fennec, and honestly even between you and Mando at the moment.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Toro. “Less work for me.”

You ignored Toro. “I remember vaguely where it was.” You pointed.

Mando pressed a button on the side of his helmet and scanned the horizon, stopping vaguely where you’d pointed. Finally, he trained his visor on you. He looked from you to Toro to where Fennec was seated and to you again, deliberating. You could tell he didn’t want you to go alone, but he also didn’t want to leave you here with Toro and Fennec. “We’ll go together.”

You nodded, knowing you were in no position to complain. Now that your secret was out, it was evident that both Toro and Fennec would capitalize on your value at the first chance. And, even now, when your dishonesty had been revealed to him, Mando still felt compelled to protect you, his generous heart winning out over whatever malice he felt toward you.

A small part of you resented him for that; it didn’t rub you the right way that he didn’t think you could take care of yourself. A larger part of you knew it was exactly why you liked him so much.

It would be convenient if he were a selfish ass. You could convince yourself you didn’t owe him anything, that you’d done nothing wrong. But no. 

This is why it’s easier to be alone.

You felt both angry and guilty, an awful combination that manifested in the urge to hit something—a deep yearning to break Toro’s nose flashed through your mind when you caught the smug expression on his face as he looked from you to Mando. He was enjoying the palpable tension that had materialized between you a little too much.

“Watch her,” Mando reminded Toro, gesturing to Fennec. “And don’t let her get near the bike. She’s no good to us dead.”

Without a look or a word to you, he turned and started toward the dewback. 

***

You walked in awkward silence, knowing you’d have to be the one to break it, but you delayed the inevitable, admiring the array of stars spread out above you. Mando stomped up and down the swells of sand, staying several paces ahead.

You meandered your way through a storm conflicting emotions: anger at yourself for getting into this situation (rightful), anger at Mando for being infuriatingly honorable (misplaced), guilt that you’d hurt Mando (well-founded), fear about your safety (appropriate), fear that Mando was about to break your heart a little bit (honest), irritation that you were trekking through a damn desert and there was an aggressive amount of sand in your boots (fair but trivial)... and a myriad of others that were too nuanced to unpack.

After deliberating for a long time, you decided to take an offensive position and offer to leave preemptively to save Mando the trouble (and to save yourself from having to hear that from him). You steeled yourself with a deep breath and interrupted the oppressive quietude of the night, jogging for a moment to catch up with him.

“We can go our separate ways when we get back to Mos Eisley. I know I’m too much of a liability to keep around, especially with the kid.”

He turned his head to look at you, the night sky reflected in his visor.

“I have enough credits to get off world some other way.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It killed you a little just how much it wasn’t what you wanted. You were supposed to be totally independent—you’d chosen this life when you joined the Rebel Alliance, knowing that if by some miracle you managed to survive, you’d be hunted for years. The call for your blood wouldn’t—and didn’t—end with the Battle of Endor, especially when Imperial remnants remained strong. And years ago, condemning yourself to this life for a just cause had seemed brave and romantic. Now, here you were, desperate to build a connection with someone else, despite the risk. And you were starting to think that truly being brave would mean accepting that risk.

At what point is it worth giving up ease for happiness, for something more?

You gathered up what nerve you could muster and took a leap.

“It’s not what I want, but I know you feel betrayed. I really am sorry I didn’t tell you—I was planning to, but I was scared. Scared that you’d take advantage of that... scared that you’d take back your offer to stick together. And the longer I waited, the harder it got to come clean.”

“I understand.”

The frostiness of his voice had given way to something a shade softer, but it still hadn’t returned to its former warmth.

You nodded.  

As it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything else, the disappointment started to settle in, trickling into the hollow of your chest. He understood, but it evidently didn’t change the fact that the fragile trust that had evolved between you was shattered.

Well, fuck.

You suppressed the wave of emotions that threatened to overtake you, focusing instead on making a new plan for yourself. There would be time to work through the feelings later, alone. Your thoughts wandered to where you might go next, running through a mental list of options. Nothing sounded appealing. 

None of the places that came to mind would be stocked with a shiny, withholding Mandalorian and an ancient green toddler.

You walked for another twenty minutes before Mando spoke again.

“I want to trust you too.”

You stopped. “What?”

He halted too, turning to face you. The dark sky painted his beskar deep shades of liquid indigo, speckled with pinpricks of starlight, that moved as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I wish you... uh... had felt safe enough to tell me that, but I understand why you didn’t.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “Wait. You’re not mad?”

“I haven’t given you any reason to be open with me. And I guessed you were running from something.”

“Oh.”

“The Empire part caught me off guard—but I knew there was something.”

Of course he’d figured it out...that seemed so obvious now. He’d be able to spot that from a mile away. Plus, he knew you. You spent the last month or so learning his tells and quirks, but you hadn’t stopped to think that he was doing the same with you.

He continued: “But the kid and I are also wanted by the Empire. We’d have the same problem even if you weren’t here.”

“True...” You were struggling to recover from the whiplash.

“What are you wanted for?”

“I was an Intelligence Officer in the Alliance.” It had been years since you’d shared this information with anyone, but the words fell from your lips as naturally as if you said them every day, like you’d been ready to tell him all along and your mouth had finally caught up with your heart.

“Yeah, that makes more sense,” he said. “Explains a lot of your skills.”

You scoffed. “Fair.”

Mando cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “But... it’s...uh, nice to not always be alone.” He punctuated the end of his sentence with a shrug, a little embarrassed.

Relief washed over you.

You smiled. “For me too.”

“Good,” he agreed, nodding decisively.

“Shit, you really let me think you were furious,” you laughed, feeling infinitely lighter but still trying to wrap your mind around this abrupt turn.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I was... trying to figure some things out.”

You shook your head in exasperation and started walking again, but you froze when he said your real name. You’d known your name would sound good in his voice—everything did—but the way it rumbled and rasped through the modulator was borderline sinful, agonizingly personal.

File that away for later.

You looked back at him, and he cocked his head: “So you’ll stay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you agreed, a broad grin on your face.

You both started walking again, and suddenly, trudging through the sandy desert in the middle of the night didn’t seem so bad. The dewback came back into view as you crested another sand dune.

Mando looked over at you. “Din,” he offered. “My name is Din.”

You glanced up at him, surprised. “Din,” you repeated back to him, feeling it out.

Despite the contradictory definition of the word, it suited him. He was the opposite of a cacophony, a man of few words—though to be fair, he did often cause a commotion. But as a name... Din was short, to the point. It evoked a lot of feeling for just three letters, and that felt right.

“I know your real name now. I thought it was only fair that you know mine too, but only use it when it’s just me and you and the kid,” he explained.

Your throat was unexpectedly tight.

You reached over to squeeze his arm at the elbow, where there was a gap in the beskar. He didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” you answered, looking up into his visor. 

You hoped he understood that you were thanking him for more than just his name—for his understanding, for his trust, for his protection, for his vulnerability. You couldn’t say that all out loud at the moment, but you hoped he knew.

He dipped his helmet in acknowledgement, and you dropped your hand. 

When you finally reached the dewback, Din approached slowly, speaking to it in a calm, lilting voice. It warmed to him slowly, and he grabbed the reins.

He hauled himself up onto its back and then extended a hand down to you. You took it, and he pulled you up easily to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Is this okay?” You weren’t really sure why you asked this time. Things had shifted between the two of you, so you were compelled to check that the casual contact was still welcome.

He cleared his throat: “Yeah, fine,” he confirmed.

It had been a long time since you’d been physically affectionate with anyone, besides the occasional casual, short-lived tryst. It was nice to wrap your arms around someone familiar and comfortable, someone who knew you.

The dewback started forward. Din directed it back toward the cliffs with the reins in his fist. It wasn’t a huge distance, but the dewback was a slow means of transportation.

You had little idea what all this meant for your daily reality with Din. You had both shared that you wanted companionship, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in anything more than that. However, for you at least, this was undeniably no longer a superficial interest that you harbored; you had real affection for him. And it seemed like he maybe was starting to feel same way about you? Or maybe he was just getting comfortable with having companionship? The man was starved for human interaction, so it was hard to know if he was warming up to you or warming up to companionship in general.

One step at a time.

Time slipped by as the dewback lumbered on. You rested your cheek against the scratchy fabric of his cape and closed your eyes. The rhythmic movement, the darkness, and comfort of the position lulled you into a light sleep.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep when Din woke you, squeezing your now limp arm that was resting on his thigh above his beskar plate.

“Alive back there?” he asked in a low voice.

Leaned against him, still groggy with sleep, you felt the question rumble through his chest.

You sat up straight, pulling your arms back to your sides. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine. We’re close.”

The two suns had risen, bathing the landscape in the golden glow of early morning. You looked around and saw that you were a short distance from where you’d left Toro and Fennec. You couldn’t see them yet, but you figured they were hidden behind one of the many large boulders strewn across the landscape.

As you drew nearer, though, you could tell something was wrong. Only one figure came into view—and it was crumpled on the ground. Din registered this as well: his shoulders stiffened, and he pulled the reins tight to halt the dewback’s slow advance.

It was Fennec’s body on the ground. Toro was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“You were right about him,” said Din. “Stay here.”

Din dismounted and approached Fennec’s body. She looked dead, but he crouched to check. He tried to find a pulse, and after a moment, he stood back up and shook his head.

As Din walked back toward you, the realization dawned on you both at the same time.

“He didn’t—”

“The kid—”

“She must have—”

“We have to—”

Din hurried back onto the dewback and directed it toward Mos Eisley, doing his best to make the lumbering creature pick up its pace. It didn’t help much.

The ride back was interminable. You definitely didn’t fall asleep this time, adrenaline keeping you on edge as the hours passed. Both you and Din were incredibly tense, speaking very little, thinking only of the child.

***

Night had fallen again by the time you reached Mos Eisley. The speeder bike that Toro had been riding was parked outside Peli’s. Fury and fear spidered through your veins at the thought of him with the kid.

Din jumped off the side of the dewback and looked up at you expectantly, his arms outstretched. You maneuvered your leg over the side and slid down a bit until his hands gripped your hips, and he lowered you until your feet hit the sand. You could have easily jumped down on your own. He knew that. You knew that. You’d let him help you anyways.

You paused outside the bay to draw your blasters.

“Here,” Din offered you the flash charge.

You slipped it into your jacket sleeve, where it stayed tight against your wrist. Together, you crept through the door and down the stairway that opened up to where the Razor Crest was parked. It was eerily quiet.

You scanned the space, jumping slightly when one of Peli’s pit droids scurried past.

“Took you guys long enough.”

Toro walked slowly down the open ramp of the Crest, the barrel of the blaster in his hand pressed to Peli’s back. The child was held in his other arm.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh?” he sneered.

The urge to hit him flared up so acutely that you clenched your fists. You hissed at him: “Don’t you da—”

“Drop your blasters and raise ‘em,” he ordered, cutting you off.

You and Din exchanged a look before throwing your blasters to the ground. In a subtle movement, you shifted the charge from your sleeve to your fist as you placed your hands behind your head.

“Cuff ‘em,” commanded Toro, nudging Peli forward and throwing two sets of cuffs to the ground.

She moved toward Din.

“No, start with her,” Toro drawled, jutting his chin toward you. “To think I almost cut Mando out of this deal,” he laughed. “I would have gotten you and Fennec, but this is so much better. I get to collect the bounty on you and this target here that Mando helped escape,” he pointed his gun at the baby and all your muscles tensed in protective rage, “...and I get to turn in the legendary Mandalorian himself—a Guild traitor.”

Peli walked behind you. You grasped the charge in your fist so that she would be able to see the top of it. You heard her quiet, sharp intake of breath.

“Fennec was right,” Toro continued smugly. “Bringing you three in won’t just make me a member of the Guild—it’ll make me legendary. Three high-value targets on my first try. Wow, I should really thank you guys.”

Peli was fumbling with the cuffs behind you, taking longer than necessary on purpose.

You hoped she was ready to duck because you’d heard enough of Toro’s self-congratulatory monologue. You released the charge.

In the split second of blinding light, you, Din, and Peli sprinted in opposite directions, taking cover. Toro groaned and attempted to cover his eyes, shooting blindly at the empty space where you had been standing.

Din took Toro out in one shot.

You were closest to where he fell, so you charged forward with your blaster trained on his body. The baby wiggled out of Toro’s arms and ran toward you. His big eyes were watery and his arms stretched toward you, his fingers making little grabby motions. He chittered nervously as you scooped him up with your free arm, and he buried his head in your shoulder.

You kicked Toro’s blaster away from his body as Din approached to make sure he was dead. After he checked his pulse, Din tugged the pouch of credits from Toro’s belt and tossed it to Peli. “Here,” he said.

With a gasp, she caught it and emptied the pouch in her hands. Credits tumbled out, a few falling to the ground.

“That cover us?” Din asked.

Peli looked shocked, scrambling to pick them all up. “Yeah... uh, yes. This is gonna cover you.” It was clearly far more than she was expecting.

You passed the child over to Din, and he looked down at the baby, tilting his helmet in...what? Affection? Relief? This was a head tilt you hadn’t defined yet.

Peli approached him and looked down at the child. “You take care of him, you hear?”

Din nodded.

“Thank you for watching him,” you said to Peli, genuinely grateful that she had turned out to be trustworthy.

“Besides getting held at gunpoint... I guess it wasn’t too bad,” she replied, smiling down at the baby. She’d clearly grown fond of him, and you couldn’t blame her. After a moment, Peli mumbled a goodbye and walked away, eagerly counting the credits in her hands, her pit droids skittering after her.

You stood there, finger caught between three tiny green ones, as the kid babbled and cooed up at you. When you looked up, Din’s helmet was trained on your face.

He tipped his head toward the open ramp of the Crest in a wordless invitation.

You smiled at him, a comforting warmth settling in your chest, and he followed you into the hull.

***

Chapter 7

[dessarious]

How the Sirens Adopted a Ladybug Pt1

So when I was writing the last chapter of How to Not Get a Date it went full blown angst. Since that wasn’t what I wanted for that story and rewrote the chapter that I posted but the other idea decided to blow up into yet another story so here we go again.

AO3   Next

“I don’t suppose I could convince you not to steal that?” Catwoman spun around to find a girl in what looked like a dark red armored suit with black spots. In the Louvre at two in the morning. What the hell?

“And just what are you supposed to be?” The girl just gave her a sardonic smile and Catwoman couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked.

“I’m Ladybug. Hero of Paris.” The sarcastic tone was unexpected and it took her a minute to actually process the words.

“Since when does Paris have Heroes?”

“Since some megalomaniac found a Miraculous and decided to use it for his own selfish desires. If not for the fact that he targets people with strong negative emotions I wouldn’t care what you do. But since the last time the curator of this exhibit was Akumatized it was a three day battle, I would really like to avoid it if I can.” She just continued to frown at the girl. That couldn’t be real.

“Did Harley and Ivy put you up to this?” That just got her confused frown mirrored back at her. She was either a really good actress or she wasn’t lying.

“Look, this exhibit is moving to London in under two weeks. Could you please just wait until it leaves Paris to take whatever it is you’re after?” This was so strange. She claimed to be a hero but didn’t seem to care that Catwoman was stealing, just that it would become her problem. Even most of the bats frowned upon that sort of thing.

“So you’re just going to let me walk out of here like nothing happened?” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, refusing to make eye contact.

“The police have made it clear that it is not my job to apprehend criminals.” There was a lot of anger under those words. Catwoman walked up to the girl and gently lifted her head so she could study her. Seriously, what was it with black hair and blue eyes? Between the bats and Superman she was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence.

“When was the last time you slept?” She watched Ladybug’s eyes unfocus as she searched for the answer. “How about the last time you ate?” That produced a flinch.

“I can take care of myself.” Well that wasn’t a good reaction. The girl reminded her a bit of Tim and Jason. The sleep deprivation was all the baby CEO but the amorality screamed mister gun nut.

“I’m sure you can. I’ll tell you what; I’ll do what you want but in return you’ll come with me to meet a couple of my friends and let us feed you.” She hesitated but Catwoman didn’t see any worry in her expression. She wasn’t scared of being alone with criminals so it was likely pride holding her back. “I want to talk to you more about the situation here. It’s odd that I haven’t heard about it.”

“No it’s not. The Miraculous magic is very good at containing itself. Very few people outside of Paris have any idea what is going on.” That tone was odd. There was a trace of bitterness but it was mostly resigned.

“How old are you?” The way she held herself said she was experienced in what she did, but everything else screamed that she was still just a kid.

“Old enough to do what must be done.”  Yep, she was dealing with a baby.

------------------------------------------------------

“Will you quit worrying? I’m sure everything’s just fine.” Ivy just shot Harley an annoyed glance. She loved the woman to death but she really needed to take things a bit more seriously sometimes.

“She’s two hours late Harls, that’s a time frame for worry. Not to mention I’ve felt off ever since we got here. There’s something wrong with this city and I don’t like it.” She was constantly on edge and her skin felt like it was trying to crawl off her body. Ivy wanted nothing more than for Selina to get back so they could leave. Sightseeing be damned.

“As always your instincts are dead on.” She let out a relieved breath and turned to yell at Selina for trying to give her a heart attack but couldn’t manage to speak once she saw the person with her. Or rather once she felt the power coming off of them. She pulled Harley behind her and prepared for the worst. Selina was just looking at her like she was insane but the girl was studying her.

“Seriously, you’re scared of a kid?” Harley’s words made her really look at the person and that just made her more worried. Given what she felt this girl was capable of destroying the world without even trying.

“How can you not feel that? The energy radiating from her should be enough that even you should feel it.” Harley and Selina both just looked confused but the girl looked surprised.

“You can actually feel it?” Ivy just nodded. “I’ve never met anyone who could sense the Miraculous before. Whatever you sense though, I assure you I don’t mean any harm. There’s only one person I actually want to maim and I have a feeling when the time comes I won’t even be able to do that.” Well that was… odd. Even Harley was eyeing the girl like she had a screw loose.

“This is Ladybug. She’s a hero here in Paris.” Well that at least explained why she was late. “She’s asked me to hold off on my transaction until it leaves Paris.”

“And you agreed? She’s just going to go to the cops and make things more difficult for you later.” Harley’s words caused anger and hurt to flash across her expression before she controlled it.

“I said I wouldn’t. They wouldn’t take me seriously if I did anyway.” Now she saw why Selina brought her back with her. The girl looked like a stray cat. The stiff way she held herself was exactly like a cat who’d learned that people can’t be trusted, but she refused to run or show fear either. Then Ivy noticed the girls hair and eyes and almost groaned out loud. Selina had been spending so much time with her boyfriend that she was picking up his adoption preferences.

“I wanted to talk with her more about what’s going on here in Paris. We should order food since I have a feeling it’s going to be a long discussion.” Ivy saw the girl's cheeks turn pink and took the time to really look at her. She was the kind of thin that came from not eating rather than just being fit. Her mask hid any bags that might be under her eyes, but even standing still her body was swaying a little. The girl looked like she was about to pass out.

“Of course. Here, have a seat.” Ivy made chairs out of plants for everyone and the girl's face went completely blank before she turned to Selina.

“Is that normal for her?” Harley just started giggling but Selina gave Ladybug a sympathetic smile.

“Yes, Ivy has the power to control plants.” Ladybug let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank Kwami. I don’t think I’m up for another Akuma today.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley. What the hell was an Akuma?

“You’re fighting people that control plants?” The girl blinked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned.

“No, it’s complicated. I haven’t had to explain this to someone in a long time so I might not make much sense.” She sat while Harley went to order food. Ivy sat across from her and noticed how she melted into the seat. She obviously wasn’t used to being comfortable. When Harley came back in the room they were about to start asking questions when a little black cat shaped creature appeared. It was emitting just as much power as the girl.

“I don’t suppose any of you are willing to spring for camembert?” Harley gave out a squeak of surprise but Catwoman just looked stunned.

“Plagg! Are you out of your mind? Not to mention how rude it is.” Ladybug couldn’t seem to decide whether to be annoyed or embarrassed.

“Given that this one steals for a living I doubt they stand on good manners. Besides, you don’t know if you don’t ask.” The cheeky tone caused an eye twitch in the girl.

“What exactly is that?” Selina hadn’t stopped staring at the creature.

“I’m Plagg, Kwami of Destruction. I power the Black Cat Miraculous.” The girl actually threw her hands up in frustration.

“Tikki’s going to kill us both. Of all the people you could have decided to come out for why would you choose criminals?” Poor kid sounded close to tears and the creature flew up under her chin and started purring. Selina was grinning like a mad woman. Ivy had a feeling things were about to get a lot more complicated.

“Everything will be fine Bug, you’ll see. I’m the Kwami of bad luck and I can feel yours shifting.”

“I thought you said you were the Kwami of Destruction?” Selina sounded far too amused. Ivy shook her head at the woman. She still didn’t understand how no one else could feel the danger here.

“I’m both, just as Tikki is the Kwami of Creation and Good Luck, which is the Miraculous that gives Ladybug her powers.” The Kwami suddenly flew right up to Ivy to study her. “You’re an interesting being. Your abilities are inherently creation but you use them to destroy as well. She could be a good influence for you Bug.” Ladybug let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not using your powers to smite the people you think have wronged me Plagg. And I would really like to stop having this argument.”  

“You act like it’s an opinion rather than a fact. Even Tikki agrees with me there.” The Kwami sounded indignant and more than a little angry. The energy around it was getting steadily stronger. They really needed to divert it’s attention.

“What were you saying about camembert?” The Kwami perked up immediately but Ladybug cringed.

“Kwami need food to recharge and while just about anything will do in a pinch they each have favorites. Plagg’s favorite is extremely smelly and extremely pricy cheese. Which I haven’t been able to provide for awhile now.” Plagg’s expression dropped at her tone.

“Oh kit, it’s not your fault.” The creature flew back to her and began purring again. Ladybug wouldn’t look anyone in the eye but Ivy could feel the guilt and worry coming from her. Whatever was going on this kid needed a break.

“I just need to go change. Then I can run to the store while we wait for the rest of the food.” Plagg looked ecstatic at Selina’s announcement. Ladybug looked mostly worried but there was a bit of relief under that.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was expensive. I feel bad enough, don’t let them guilt you into buying something that isn’t really necessary.” Selina scoffed.

“I know exactly how temperamental some creatures are about food and given Ivy’s reaction I’d like to stay on their good side for the moment. Besides, the money isn’t an issue.” She was walking out of the room before the girl could respond. Instead she frowned at Plagg who was still looking after Selina.

“I thought we agreed no more surprises.”

“Tikki and Wayzz agreed, I didn’t. Besides, an opportunity is presenting itself that we don’t want to miss.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley, who just shrugged at her. Ladybug seemed just as clueless about what they meant. That couldn’t be a good thing.

AO3      Next

[sanktnikolais]

this is what love does

A/N: so here is your friendly neighbor zoyalai who rewrote that scene in the Os Kervo main hall (Rule of Wolves chapter 46). Idk man this is what I have in mind and I just wanted to put more monologue and make some drastic changes KJHASDFLKHASDF 

i think their scene in this chapter could have gone better ngl ahjsfkajsf but if you’re okay with canon, i’m absolutely glad you are. I just needed to make this bc my zoyalai heart said so HHAHAHA

as always @wafflesandkruge enabled me again and volunteered to edit this mess so thank you ily  🥺

contains some spoilers for Rule of Wolves so pls beware before reading :> 

Word count: 4169

When the doors to the hall finally closed, Zoya released a breath of frustration. She wanted a moment of total silence, where she could shut out the voices of the people chanting her name or the affirmative tones of the dukes that agreed with Nikolai in nominating her as Ravka’s new queen. A bottle of brandy would be good too, and yet it didn’t materialize out of thin air just as she wanted it to.

          She put a hand to her forehead, feeling the fatigue from the war slowly drain what was left of her strength. This was madness—everything that had happened in the past few weeks. Headache after headache, they kept coming like the barrage of Fjerdan firepower they had just encountered in the battlefield hours ago. 

          But the biggest headache of all was standing right in front of her in all his confident glory, the small grin never leaving his lips even as Zoya scowled at him. Nikolai Lantsov was a royal through and through. And despite the dirt that still smudged on his face, or the dried blood on his collar, he never lost that spark in him, no matter what he said about not wanting to claim the Lantsov bloodline. 

          How could he suddenly expect her to do this on her own terms? 

          "Are you out of your saintsforsaken mind?" Zoya hissed at the smiling king. He still was the king, and would continue to be as far as she was concerned. "I could strike you with lightning right now but I don't think I have the energy left for that."

          Nikolai's grin turned into a wince. "Ah, but I'm always in the right state of mind," he said as he approached her with rather careful steps as if he was testing the waters around her. "And I have never been more sane and sober than now, Zoya."

          The urge to summon lightning at him was still strong, but she shoved the thought down. Ravka didn't need another funeral right now, and especially not for its king. 

          "Say something spiteful." 

          Zoya furrowed her eyebrows. "What?" 

          "You're scowling again, and I think the only way to really know you're angry is when you combine your scowl with harsh words." 

          “Do you really have a death wish?" 

          The infuriating king pretended to think for a moment, his eyes narrowing curiously as he scratched the spot behind his ear. “I think we’ve had enough of staring down death today—”

          Thunder rumbled in the skies as Zoya’s anger flared, and Nikolai flinched. But Nikola, being himself, recovered quickly with a grin. She looked at him in disbelief. It was both baffling and amazing how fast this man could change into one of his masks in just a matter of a second and then he was another person entirely. 

          It was their difference—Zoya didn’t have that skill. She’d never had the capability of pretending. Where she had walls around her heart to hide the girl who once believed in fairy tales and love and other nonsense, Nikolai wore his masks like they were his second skin, and it blended with the boy who just wanted what was best for his country, until he didn’t know who he was anymore. 

          She had never shown any signs of weakness or vulnerability, and even if she did, she would still deny it until she convinced her heart it had never happened. But he was different. He was ready to wear his heart on his sleeve if he wanted to, displaying his emotions at all times. And if he didn’t get anything out of it, he would put his mask back on like nothing happened.

          Zoya hid; Nikolai pretended. If she were to look at it, pretending was better than hiding. 

          “Is it really that bad?” Nikolai asked softly. 

          Yes. 

          No.

          I don’t know.

          If she were still the same person she had been three years ago, she knew she would have accepted the offer right away. But things had changed and progressed since then, and whoever she once was, someone who wanted so much power, was long gone. 

          “We both know I’m not cut out for this, Nikolai,” she replied.

          He didn’t say anything else, and just waited. Zoya huffed in frustration.

          “You’re the diplomat, the charmer.” She gestured in the air vaguely. “Even if you’re not of the royal bloodline, there is no denying that you’ve always had the knack for this. I’m just—”

          She was just what? A general? A Grisha who broke the boundaries of the Orders and achieved the impossible? An actual living saint? 

          Zoya let out a breath. A shadow passed on Nikolai’s face, his expression darkening to some kind of disappointment as if he already knew what she was going to say. But considering everything they had been through, it was definitely safe to say he knew her no matter how good she was at hiding. 

          She still said it anyway. “I’m just no one.”

          “Don’t even go there.”

          “You know I wouldn’t say anything I don’t mean, Nikolai. I was meant to be a soldier, to train and lead armies to their victory and be with them until our very last breaths. It was always like that.” And when Nikolai looked like he was about to contradict her, Zoya beat him to it by raising a finger to silence him. “Don't. There's nothing to say. And don’t start with me by saying you were never meant for the crown, nor the throne. That may have been the case, but you are what Ravka has needed for a long time. You fought for it instead of selling it. Hurt for it, bled for it, almost dying twice just to keep it from the mud. If that’s not what a king does, then I don’t know what I should call it.”

          “A job well done?” he offered, laughing lightly when she gave him a glare that could silence the Second Army in a heartbeat. “I’m merely joking, Nazyalensky.”

          “Can you be serious for once?” Zoya shook her head, heading over to one of the benches and slumping down on it. 

          It was only then she felt the weight of today’s war come back to her, and she found herself not wanting to stand up for a moment. Maybe she would just stay here until  the madness outside passed, though she knew it would take a while. 

          She hunched forward with her eyes trained on her hands clasped together on her knees. She couldn’t bear to look at him as of the moment, and it irked her as it felt like she was hiding yet again and she was already tired of doing that. But when an enormous responsibility was suddenly presented to her, along with the ability to hold power over everything else, didn’t she have the right to hesitate or even think about it? 

          It felt like being appointed to the Grisha Triumvirate again after the war the Darkling waged that almost took Ravka down with it, and they were forced to stand up on their own feet to save the country from drowning right after fighting for their lives. It was never fair, but they braved through it. 

          But at what cost? 

          It doesn’t stop with us. It never does.

          It was what David always used to say, and Zoya found those words haunting her every night after his death, knowing all too well she could have done so much better to protect him and save Genya from her pain. If it didn’t stop with them, what difference would it make if it was her seated on the throne? 

          Ravka was finally free, even if not completely yet, but the light at the end of the tunnel they had long since walked through was already bright as any star could have been. 

          A shadow on the marbled floor caught her eyes, and she looked up just in time to see Nikolai kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. She almost—almost—wrenched away from him, but then she realized that it was him, the boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and bared everything to her without a second thought. He was looking up at her with such a soft, understanding expression on his face that she wondered if she was seeing right. 

          She blinked, and then she felt as if she was back at the ship again, hearing his confession that took the breath out of her lungs and made her heart beat like it had never been before. 

          And for the past years of her life and the rest that would still come, Zoya was sure she would never feel as frightened as she was now. 

          You promised yourself you would speak your heart when you had the chance, didn’t you? she scolded in her mind. Only the saints knew how much she had waited for this moment between them after the war. She almost didn’t have the chance. So why was she trying to run away from it again?

          He was so, so near, and yet she was still terrified to reach for him. 

          "I can't do this, Nikolai," she said instead. 

          "I will be by your side." Always, was what hung at the end and not said aloud, but she knew he meant it. 

          Zoya felt a small smile on her lips, the urge to touch his face becoming stronger than her will to fight it. What was stopping her? Her pride? Maybe it really was that, but her damn pride had already cost her enough. 

          So she reached a hand up to his cheek, her touch gentle as the breeze that fluttered in the room when her skin met his. 

          Nikolai learned in her hand almost immediately, a content sigh coming from his lips. 

          "I would give my life for Ravka over and over again, as I know you would too," she whispered, her thumb gently brushing his cheekbone. She dropped her hand and put it on top of his. "But I don't think this is what's best for Ravka. We have fought and lived through the wars it suffered. We vowed to drag it from the mud it had fallen into until our last breaths, and now that it can finally stand up on its own, I think it's had its fill of kings and queens and wars. Ravka now needs to listen to its people."

          Zoya knew it sounded ambitious and audacious, but it could be a start, a beginning of a new age. The journey would be a tedious one, as always, but she knew it was worth the try. Ravka was always worth the try, no matter how much it took from them. 

          Silence stretched between them for a moment, and Zoya was thankful for it being a comfortable one rather than a tense pause. She searched his eyes, trying to find the stubborn glint in them as a sign that he was thinking of arguing back. But she didn't see it. 

          There was only the look he had always sent her way, the same one he had when he bared his heart to her in the airship, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. She really ought to strangle him for making her feel this way. 

          "Spoken like a true queen, I'd say," said Nikolai with a laugh. 

          Zoya scoffed, grateful for the sudden distraction. "I remember that I didn't agree with the proposal of me being the new queen, so that means you're still the king, Your Idiocy." 

          There was a hint of an amused grin at the corner of his lips. "What can I say? When I thought of what's best for Ravka, my mind instantly thought of you." 

          "Didn’t I ask you to be serious even just for once?"

          "You speak as if I were making those words up." 

          "If you know what's best for you and Ravka, you would stop trying to change my mind because my decision would remain the same."

          Nikolai smiled ruefully. "I know." He paused, turning his attention to their joined hands. There was an unusual slump in his shoulders, something she rarely saw him have. He sighed, and then slowly pressed his forehead to her knuckles. "I thought I lost you today," he said quietly. 

             Her heart clenched at the pain in his voice, but she understood it. She almost lost him today too. "You won't be rid of me that easily, Nikolai," Zoya said. 

          He chuckled, and it sounded more in pain than in amusement. Then he drew in a shaky breath before looking back up at her. "When I saw you fall, I thought the worst and I—" He stopped with a dry laugh. "But I guess you're right, I won't be able to get rid of you that easily." 

          She felt a smile curl on her lips. "I should be the one telling you that, but I figure it can go both ways," Zoya said, and before she could make herself hide away again, she gave in and lowered her forehead to touch his. In a soft whisper, she said, "But I've never been more grateful you're still here with me." 

          They were still here, alive and breathing, and she was glad they both got to see the end of the day. When she felt herself plummeting to the ground, she thought that it was her end, and she had accepted it. Exhaustion crept in her bones, her own strength not enough to whip up a draft to cushion her fall. But there was a gust of wind—from Nadia or from Adrik—that caught her, saving her from the deadly impact. 

          And then a voice. His voice, full of worry and hurt and pain, pleading her to wake. He was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes again, and it was during that moment she allowed herself to wish that he would be the one she would wake up to every morning, and the last one she’d see when she fell asleep at night. 

          It had reminded Zoya of the time she saved the king from falling once, back when they were just soldiers fighting for their lives in the Fold, and she wondered if he had been glad to see her when he opened his eyes.

          Nikolai reached a hand up to touch her cheek, his fingers light as if she were the most important thing in the world that he was finally allowed to touch. His eyes never wavered from hers. 

          "I would still choose you, you know," he suddenly said, his voice trembling. "Even if you didn't want to do anything with me anymore. Even if you were in some place else, reassigned to another position. Even if you didn't want me." He tried to smile, but it seemed to take more effort than just not. "I'd still want you. I'd still want you with everything in me."

          Zoya already knew how he felt for her beforehand, his confession back in the ship sharpening into focus in her mind. And yet she still felt like she heard him bare his heart to her for the first time, even when he had already been doing it for years. 

          It would be so easy to tell him that she felt the same; those three words that were hanging between them for a long time begging to be set free. But still a small, terrified part of her held back, and she realized that it was the girl she had once been, the girl who believed in everything before the cruel world took that magic away from her and replaced it with fear. 

          This is what love does. It took away everything, blinded one's logic and reasoning, and even brought pain that no one should feel. Why should people hurt when all they ever wanted was to have and feel the love they deserved? 

          “I know I’ve already told you this on the ship,” Nikolai continued, the rueful smile returning to his lips. “But I wanted you to hear it again, as I almost didn’t have the chance today. No prince and no power could ever make me stop wanting you.” 

          Zoya felt her breath get knocked out from her lungs again, but her doubts and insecurities continued to cloud her, lingering in her as if they were the only ones her heart knew of. “Maybe for now you will want me.” She paused, unexpected tears stinging her eyes. She closed them instead; she didn’t think she could bear looking at him. “But soon enough you will grow to hate me. I’m too sharp. Too angry. Too spiteful.” And you deserve so much better than that. “That’s who I am, Nikolai.”

          “Zoya,” Nikolai murmured.

          She felt his breath ghost over her skin, and yet she still refused to look at him. She couldn’t. But if there was one thing she knew about Nikolai Lantsov, it was his persistence for everything. 

          “Zoya, my love. Look at me,” he said softly, and this time Zoya finally obliged him. 

          An unwanted ache clogged her throat as she met his gaze, bright and warm and open. There was nothing in them except the sincerity he always had around her. In this light, his hazel eyes looked almost golden. He had a golden spirit. Then it struck her, as she remembered the words from a memory a long time ago, that maybe she was finally looking at that boy in her aunt’s story. He had been in front of her all along.

          Nikolai grinned, his eyes brighter than she had ever seen them, and there were tears clouding them as well. “You speak as if I haven’t seen you at your worst,” he said. 

          “You will grow tired of me, Nikolai.”

          “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. A tear escaped his eye, and she felt it land on her hand. He let out another breathless laugh. “I’d want you for the rest of my life, Zoya.” 

          Something broke inside her chest, and then a tear fell from her eye as well. Her fingers intertwined with his, their hold on each other’s hands tightening as if the other would disappear if they let go. He brought her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A few tears slipped on her hand as he did, but he had a look of contentment on his face, like he finally felt he was home. 

          More tears fell from her eyes as she pressed her forehead back to his. For years, she had let herself believe that she wasn’t worthy of being loved, that she was only made to be a soldier, a weapon to be used by her own country. 

          This is what love does. Zoya had been wrong from the start. Because in the end, Nikolai’s love for her was what made him see past her worst self. Every flaw and every scar, he accepted them wholeheartedly. She didn’t know how he’d come to love her, someone who had avoided any signs of kindness and sincerity he gave her, thinking that it would be used against her later. 

          There was no denying the pain they had caused each other through the years, when their words were too sharp and they wounded their hearts and pride before they could even have the chance to think of it. And yet they always came back to each other, their faith in each other still there if not stronger before. 

          Love was never without pain. It would still be felt over and over again because it was real. 

          And if tearing down the walls she had built around herself and giving her heart away would make her vulnerable to hurting, then perhaps it was something she was willing to do. 

          Because Nikolai Lantsov was worth every pain.

          So Zoya took the leap, drawing him up to her and pressing her mouth to his, and everything felt like it finally clicked into place. He acted immediately, and she could almost feel his smile against her lips. After the long days of wanting, her heart was at peace for once. The Fjerdans could have come back and waged war against them again, but she didn’t care about anything but the warm press of his lips.

          When the need for air became stronger than the need for each other’s lips, Zoya pulled away and rested her forehead against his. Her eyes were still clouded with tears when she finally said, “I love you.”

          To say that Nikolai’s grin was bright would have been an understatement. In the dull colored room they were in, he seemed to be glowing. He let out another breathless laugh. “I never thought I would hear those words come from you,” he said, his eyes alight with utter bliss. “But for what it’s worth” —he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb— “I love you too.”

          Silence fell around them and everything focused on the man in front of Zoya. Perhaps she could stay here in his arms for another while and ignore the looming responsibilities standing right outside the doors. 

          She was his, and he was hers. For now, that was all that mattered. 

          “Is there really nothing that can change your mind?” Nikolai said, breaking the comfortable silence between them, and Zoya wanted nothing more than to strangle him right now.

          “You really had to ruin the atmosphere, didn’t you?” 

          He laughed lightly. “My ruthless Zoya, I am merely joking,” he said, and then his face became serious. For a moment, a small twinge of fear clawed at her heart. “Then what do you think about being a regent? At least until we find someone to rule properly, or until we could transition the monarchy towards something else.” He wrinkled his nose. “I mean, I said I would give you a crown, and this is my last chance to make good on my words even just for a short time. Besides, Regent Nazyalensky does have a nice ring to it.”

          Zoya raised an eyebrow, the idea not occurring to her until now. She furrowed her eyebrows. “You actually suggested something reasonable,” she said, earning a pout from the king. She looked at him with mild concern then, realizing the meaning of having a regent. “Are you really abdicating the throne?” 

          “I’m not joking when I said that the crown was never meant for me, and I think my bloodline really solidified that fact. I realized I was only fighting for this country, not the throne.” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And if that’s really your decision, I would be with you in every step of the way. But I hope we can stabilize Ravka until we can have a solution to my....sudden resignation.” 

          “What’s your plan if ever that time comes?” Zoya knew she was asking so many questions, but she couldn’t help it. This man continued to surprise her with his declarations and she had no idea what could come next. “Play pirate again?”

          Nikolai scowled at her, and she wanted to laugh at his expression. “Privateer,” he corrected like always. Then he smiled, his eyes suddenly having a faraway look. “For once, I don’t know. But maybe I would play privateer again as I’ve missed the seas terribly.” Then he turned to her, his expression gentle. “If I ask you to come with me as my first mate then, would you agree?”

          Would she? Zoya had never known anything outside her life in Os Alta. For years, it had been a continuous battle for the freedom of the country that took everything from its people, and she had no time to think about her freedom if she ever did retire from being a soldier. 

          But she could already see glimpses of a future ahead, a quiet and easy life, without any fear of having to go back to war. And in those glimpses, she could see him. 

          Zoya huffed, making it sound as disbelieving as possible. But she already knew her answer. “I’d make a horrible first mate as I easily get seasick,” she said. 

          “Ah, but I don’t mind. As long as you’re there with me,” Nikolai said, taking her hands in his again. He pressed another kiss to her knuckles. “So what do you say, Regent Nazyalensky?”

          The future was something she had no control over, she always knew that. The only way to know what it held was to continue fighting until she reached it, and as long as she had the right person beside her, she knew she would be alright.

          They had always been a team, she and Nikolai, and they would continue to be like that for as long as they lived.

          So without another hint of doubt, Zoya intertwined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently. “Alright, dearest privateer,” she said. “Let’s keep this country standing upright until then.”

          And they would. Together.

[mosswillow]

Try again, and again, and again - Maybe you’ll be free this time.

Dark!Charles Xavior x Reader (fem), Dark!Erik (Magneto) x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Adult content, Rape/noncon/dubcon, oral (male recieving), manipulation, abuse, mind control, posessive behavior, glove kink, blood, violence.  

Word count: 2222

A/N: Eek, I finally finished this. I hope ya’ll enjoy it. This is different from my original plan of multiple parts. I like how this came out though, it feels right with the vibe of part one. Hopefully it’s the right amount of confusing to make it fun and interesting but not stressful.

By clicking keep reading you confirm that you are an adult over the age of 18 and understand that this content is dark and potentially triggering.

You’ve done this too many times, stood at this window remembering it all. It’s exhausting; you’re so tired, so worn down. It’s a lie, all of it. You never married him. He forced you into this, erased your memories and added his own. He stripped you of your agency, moulded you into what he wants. A happy wife, someone to control - to submit.  

“Are you ready to stop this now?” Charles hisses from behind you.

A tear runs down your cheek and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. You step back from the window and slowly force your body across the room to your “husband”.  

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you down and kissing away your tears.

You close your eyes and let him kiss you. His tongue pushes in your mouth and you open for him, tasting the slight saltiness of your tears on his tongue.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he smiles.

You lie next to him and turn your body away, stiffening as he puts his arm over you protectively. Your life has always been like this since you were born, it was stupid to think you could ever find happiness in this fucked up world. You feel his hand snake down your body and take a deep breath before opening your legs for him.

He was the first mutant you ever met, found you scared and starving in an alleyway and gave you food - love - family. He made you feel like you weren't alone for the first time in your life. For so long everyone around you made you feel like your power was bad but he didn’t think that. He thought that your power made you better than everyone else. He taught you to embrace it, to carry your mutation with pride. He told you to never take abuse, to throw everything they did to you right back at them.

Comical, really, how the one who brought you to a place of acceptance, who taught you not to take abuse, turned around and abused you. He had taught you well, too well. As soon as the first bruise showed up you chose to leave. You deserved better.

“What do you think you’re doing,” He said as you packed a bag. You should have left while he was gone but it was too late now.

“I just need space Erik, some time to think about what I want.”

“No,” his voice was quiet but serious, the tone more alarming than any of the times he had yelled. it made you stop packing and look at him. He took a small step forward and you noticed the disheveled appearance. His leather costume was torn in several places and sweat was beading on his forehead.

“This is what I’m talking about, I need to be able to have my own life. You dictate everything and won’t even tell me where you go. You… you hurt me,” you grabbed your arm gingerly, looking at it and frowning.  

The familiar sound of metal being manipulated came from Erik and you looked up just in time to see pieces of silver fly towards you. Your wrists were suddenly encased and you tried in vain to move against them.

“Let me go,” you said.

“No,” he replied almost too calmly.

“I’m leaving you Erik, you can’t do this,”

He walked to you and ran a gloved hand over your cheek.

“I can do anything I want, baby.”

Your wrists suddenly slammed into the floor and he was grabbing your head, tilting it back so that you looked up at him. He brought his other hand to your cheek, smoothing his thumb over your lips. “Anything,” he said as he pushed his thumb in your mouth. The earthy smell and taste of his glove overwhelmed your senses and you struggled against him. It was no use though. He was stronger than you would ever be. You relaxed your jaw and closed your eyes and he removed his hand, replacing it with his dick. He grunted as he pushed into your mouth, slowly pushing further into your throat with every thrust. When his cum finally filled your throat you swallowed and kept your eyes down. He crouched in front of you and kissed your cheek before leaving to shower. He left you there all night and by the time you were finally released from your chains you were too exhausted to fight. He carried you to the bed and fucked you gently and you let him.

You spent months alone in the prison he created for you. He said you would be let out once he was confident you wouldn’t try to run or use powers but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. Even when you followed all his rules, when you acted like you loved him. He would still find reasons to keep you isolated. Your life revolved around him, a cycle of trying to please him, eventually acting out and the inevitable punishment that came with your rebelion. It wasn’t a way to live.

“You’re thinking about him.” Charles' voice has an edge to it, one you’re familiar with.

You nod and turn your face away.

“You’re not there anymore sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

Charles grabs your chin and forces your head towards him. He kisses you softly on the cheek and pulls you towards him until you’re settled against his warm body.

He’s the same though, it’s the exact same suffocating love you ran from almost two years ago.

It took five years of trying to finally do it. Erik made a mistake, He left the back door open and you took your chance without hesitation. The first barefooted step onto the dirt was euphoric. Being kept away from the earth was like torture. Silent tears fell as you dug your hand into the ground and felt it move. It sucked away the fear, leaving you with a sense of peace. You had power again, could feel it like electricity move through your body.

Sounds of fighting came from nearby and you hid.

You could feel where people walked. The earth was talking to you, telling you when and where to hide. You made your way to a helicopter and crouched in the back, making yourself as small as you could and praying that whoever was attacking would get away and take you with them.

You held your breath as a group of mutants piled in quickly and the helicopter lifted from the ground. You stayed hidden for an hour before someone noticed you. A woman, red hair and drenched in sweat looked at you.  

“Who are you?” she asked. her bright green eyes widening in shock.

“I’m not like him,” Charles says “You’re happy here,” The anger in his voice becomes more evident by the second.

“Stay out of my head!” you yell.

A headache starts burrowing into your brain and you cry out in pain.

“I’m not like him,” he reiterates.

You struggle in his arms, turning to your back and looking at him from inches away.

“You’re even worse. He always knew he was a monster, he wanted liberation at any cost, me at any cost. He was…” you search for the words to explain “a poisoned cup of water.”

You grit your teeth and stare in his eyes, bringing your face so that your noses almost touch. You don’t care, there’s nothing he can do to you that hasn’t already been done, no way he can hurt you more than he already has.

“You pretend like you’re a hero but you’re not. You're a glass of juice laced with the same exact pison as him. You look good and taste good but you’ll kill me the same way.”

He uses his power against you, reminding you who he is and what he can do. You scream as your body bursts into invisible flames. With Erik the bruises would remind you that it was real.  Charles doesn’t even afford you that. Everything with him is invisible, all in your head. They’re not the same, Charles is worse.

“Is she ok?”

“She’s fine Jean, give her some space.”

You groaned as you returned to consciousness.

“She’s waking up!”

You jolted up, turning your head to stare at your surroundings. The last memory you had was crouching in the helicopter, now you were laying on a couch surrounded by mutants.

“I’m Jean,” a soft voice said.

“I’m sorry I… there were no other ways out,” you whispered.

“We know,” You looked over to see Charles pushing himself towards you. He stopped and looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll take care of you,” He smiled.

You smiled back, feeling safe and free for the first time in a long time. The X-Men, you had found a true family at last. Everything was going to be ok.

You’re expecting him to knock you out again, for you to fall asleep and wake up his loving wife but The pain stops suddenly and you whip your head towards him in surprise.

“You didn’t take my memories?” you ask.

“I’m not like him,” Charles insists.

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

“Show me you aren't, let me go.”

He looks up at the ceiling and inhales.

“I can’t.”

It started so slow with Charles. He gave you personal lessons, treated you kindly. You started to actually fall for him.

But then a new mutant came in and the chemistry was like nothing you had ever felt.

Charles got jealous almost immediately. You slowly started to see him the same way you saw Erik, recognizing the signs, there were so many red flags. You weren’t going to stick around, you had to leave while it was still an option.

You packed a bag and ran without a word, finding a job far away.

You should have known better. It was your hope that he would just let you go but of course he didn’t. Charles found you easily, and he was angry. You had never seen so much rage, it was like you were looking into Eriks eyes. You begged him not to do it, cried for help.

They stood there complacent as he forced you to your knees and rewrote your history, wiping your brain for the first time. They said they were your family, you loved them, and they betrayed you.

“It would be easier if you just accepted this, I don’t like using my powers against you.” he says.

You roll your eyes. He does like using them, you see it behind his eyes every time he does it. He loves the power. You look at his face and see a slight twitch in his eye. The wheels start turning in your head, a theory forms.

“You’re losing your ability to control me,” you say.

He sets his jaw and you know you’re right. Your lips lift into a small smile as hope starts to bloom.

“What will you do once you can’t just erase memories?” you ask.

A headache starts again and you stare at him, fighting back. You’ve never fought back before like this, didn’t know you could.

“I’m going to leave you,” you say before the world goes black.

Jean was the one who made the memories return for the first time. She unlocked them for you, cried and apologized as you sat there panicking.

Nobody said no to Charles. he wanted you and they were too afraid of him to stop it, she told you. The team was happier, Charles was happier. They sacrificed you, pushed the abuse onto you so that it wasn’t on them anymore.

It was all a show.

Your husband of three years had only kidnapped you a week prior. It was stressful and confusing, you ran to the bathroom and vomited. Charles called your name from the kitchen and you bolted out of the house. You made it halfway through the yard before you were tackled and held with your hands above your head. The only thing you could reach was a little bow from your hair. You took it and jammed it into the ground, letting the earth take it and hoping that one day it could somehow help you. You had to fight, keep trying no matter what.

“Good morning my love,” Charles says.

“Good morning,” you smile back.

You give him a kiss on the cheek and stretch out before walking to the kitchen. You look out the window and your memories come back in a sudden burst.

You turn around to see him in the doorway. Fear washes over his face as he realizes how fast you escaped this time.

You smile and raise your middle finger at him. The window shatters into small pieces as your fist breaks through. Blood drips down your hand but you don’t care. You’re free.

“I’ll find you,” he calls.

Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll find you and bring you back, keep you locked up. Maybe he’ll add chains to your hands and feet like Erik did. He won’t chain your mind though, never again will he control you like that. He can try again, and again, and again but you’ll always break free.

[mooncademia]

Boys vs. Boys — PART 1.

PAIRING ~ prohero au! friends to lovers, Bakugou x reader ( x Yo Shindo) 

GENRE ~ fluff, a little bit of angst!, jealously 

WARNINGS ~ language! a tiny ~spicy~ joke inserted 

WORD COUNT ~ 8.1k 

SUMMARY ~ After more than a month being away in the States, you have finally returned to Tokyo...with a party more than one. And when Bakugou realizes who the extra person was, tension grows between him and ‘pretty boy dunce-face’ a.k.a, the one and only: Yo Shindo. 

[Bakugou] 10:35 a.m :

Text me when you arrive at Narita Airport, okay?

[Y/N] 10:41 a.m:

Of course :)

Bakugou leaned back on his chair in his apartment and read the text that you have sent to him yesterday, over and over again. In less than 30 minutes, you will finally arrive back to Tokyo after spending a month and a half in New York and LA for pro-hero work in the States.

Bakugou was never the type to be constantly checking his social media. He doesn’t even turn on his notifications because his simple rule was: if you had something to tell him, text him through Messages. Or just straight up call him. He doesn’t want to be spending time scrolling through Instagram, liking people’s outfit or food posts, nor did he want to retweet some silly tweet that Kaminari posted, complaining about how his neighbor’s cat hated him on a personal level. Bakugou had his own pro-hero work to do.

But today was different! And he had to be honest to himself, he was a little embarrassed to admit it. But ever since you texted him yesterday, he immediately turned on all his social media apps and now, he has spent way too long scrolling through your friend’s posts--hoping to know if there were any news of your arrival.

Bakugou grunted as he ruffled his blonde hair messily, feeling impatient that he hasn’t received any news about your arrival yet. He leaned over to his desk to grab his water bottle, but right before he unscrewed the cap, his phone vibrates loudly on his desk and he immediately dropped the water bottle and unlock his phone.

Finally! After so many weeks of you being away…you were finally here.

Closer to him.

Bakugou impatiently swiped right to unlock his phone and saw your message.

[Y/N] 7:56 p.m

At Narita, finally 🥴

His lips twitched a smile when he saw the emoji. Yeah, a 14 hour flight isn’t really the most comfortable, huh? He quickly replied back with his thumbs running with speed.

[Bakugou] 7:56 p.m:

How was the flight?

A few minutes past, no response. Bakugou shrugged, a smile still on his face knowing that you were safely here at Tokyo now, and in a few hours, he will be able to see you at the welcome-home party that Yaoyoruzu is preparing at the very moment in her godly-rich mansion.

But, before he rests his phone back on his desk, hundreds of notifications blew up on his phone and he checks his insta story to see what Mina, Uraraka, and Tsuyu posted. After all, they were currently at the airport picking you up.

Bakugou clicked on Mina’s latest insta story, his heart throbbed in excitement to finally see you until—

His face fell.

“I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW YOU TWO WERE DATING!,” Mina squealed in the short clip captioned: “I WAS RIGHT! @yaomomo u owe me $20 bucks 😘😘!” Her phone went flying everywhere which made the video awfully blurry. But Bakugou already caught it and oh, did he feel sour in the mouth.

You looked as beautiful as ever, with your simple yet stylish slightly cropped cream-T and gray sweatpants. Even though your eyes looked a bit dazed as if you had just woken up, you looked so cute to his eyes.

But what made Bakugou’s emotion shift so fast was not of you. Of course not!! How could he ever?!

No. 

It was who you were walking with.

He clicked next on Mina’s insta story, hoping in that split millisecond it was not who he think it is. Not the person in his mind that kept bugging him after seeing so many headlines on the news of the two of you working together in New York and LA. It can’t be him, right?

Right?!!!

But Bakugou’s guts knew way fucking better. And his eyes grew angry when he saw the pro-hero, Yo Shindo, standing next to you. Wrapping you closely in his arms with a smirk plastered on his face. And you looked just as pleased too as Mina caught you laughing with Shindo so lovingly before running towards Mina with your arms wide open.

“Wow,” Bakugou heard Tsuyu gleefully whisper next to Mina. “He’s even more hot in real life! Why the hell can’t I find men like that?!”

“It’s a rarity.” 

Bakugou heard Tsuyu scoffed playfully. “Tell me about it.” 

Mina continued to wobble the phone, which makes Bakugou want to shout at the device on his hand to stop! moving! But alas, the next clip that was just posted 16 seconds ago, he saw you with your arms wide open, giving all your girlfriends a hug.

“Aw, I miss you guys so much!!” You squealed. Bakugou could no longer see “pretty boy dunce-face ” anymore but he knew he was with you and his stomach drop.

Ah, Yo Shindo. The pro-hero who study abroad in New York after high school for an internship at a country-famous agency, second best from Captain Celebrity (who was #1 hero in the U.S!), becoming a famous pro-hero in America.

And surely enough, when you flew to NY and LA to collaborate with Yo Shindo, news broke out nation wide in America about the two of you working together that even Japan starred the news on television one day. And those past weeks while you were gone, Bakugou had to suffer from all the pictures that the paparazzi took in New York and Los Angeles. And he admits it. He spent way too many nights awake, changing his VPN to U.S.A on his computer (thank you Kaminari for the tip!) to read and watch CNN, New York Times, and any other newsline that starred or mentioned you and Yo Shindo, hoping to grasp any updates about you.

But now you were finally here in Tokyo…with a party more than one. And as Bakugou closed Instagram, he closed his eyes to calm himself down aka, reassuring yourself that you and Yo Shindo were definitely no more than just friends…

Who spent more than a month together in the States…

And flew back to Tokyo together in the same flight…

Yeah…not helping.

Bakugou lifted himself off his chair and threw a towel over his shoulder, heading towards the shower to wash up before the party at Yao-momo’s tonight. But Bakugou’s phone buzzed once more and when he leaned in to check it, his heart did a little flip when he read your text.

[Y/N] 8:14 p.m

Not the very best 😔 a flight attendant and I had this argument because there was a seating error!

Bakugou relaxed a bit. He knew it was a little self-indulgent and selfish to feel this, and maybe it was jealously that was pouring over him, but he felt his nerves relaxed a bit knowing that perhaps you didn’t at all fell for that Yo Shindo boy.

Bakugou began to type back. Not an overly-top-gushy-pick-me-up text that he know that idiot Deku would type, but a nice and cool but sweet text to cheer you up from your bad flight. But before he clicked the sent button, he received another message.

[Y/N] 8:15 p.m

Thankfully Yo Shindo was there to help me out, he’s here in Tokyo too by the way! 

Bakugou felt his stomach drop again. He backspaced his previous text and rewrote a new one.

[Bakugou] 8:16 p.m

Oh, that’s great!

He knew it was far from the truth as jealously crept up behind his back again, but he had to play it cool. He can’t be jumping into conclusions before he knows anything about the two of you!

[Y/N] 8:16 p.m

I’ll see you at Momo’s, right?

Bakugou smiled at the screen. Despite the news of pretty-boy dunce face in town, he still can’t wait to finally see you after so many weeks. Of course you have been keeping him updated through your texts every week, but to see you actually in person after so long…his heart couldn’t stop beating when he typed back.

[Bakugou] 8:17 p.m

Yeah, I’ll be there.

And with that, Bakugou finally rested his phone back on his desk and headed towards the shower, hoping to wash away all silly thoughts flowing in his mind.  Hoping that…when he sees you tonight, he is able to have an opportunity in the near future to tell you about the emotions he has been feeling ever since you left Tokyo last month. 

With no distractions in the way—especially not that  pretty boy idiot!

—————

Okay so his previous plan came to a halt.

“Yo, Yao-Momo!!” Kaminari shouted as he hopped back onto the couch. He pointed behind him excitingly. “I didn’t know you had black custom-made toilets!!”

“Black toilets?” Kirishima asked, setting up the living room table with cups and beverages.

“Yeah! And there’s even a TV mounted on the wall above the bath tub. And OH! There’s “jacuzzi” mode in the tub! And there are speakers so you can listen to music and the mirror above the sink opens up to a—“

“So did you go pee, or did you just take a full-ass bath in my bathroom?” Yaoyorozu asked with her hands on her hips and sneered eyes.

Kaminari widened his eyes like a puppy. “I CAN TAKE A BATH IN YOUR COOL BATHROOM?!”

Yaoyorozu sighed as she placed two finger on her nose bridge, but Kaminari could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“Food’s here!!” Yaoyorozu’s boyfriend, Yosetsu Awase, announced as he plopped down six pizza boxes on the table.

“Thanks babe for picking it up,” Yaoyorozu said before giving Awase a kiss on the cheek. She smiled happily at her boyfriend and when Bakugou glanced up, the two of them looked so good together that he couldn’t help but feel a sour in his stomach as he reflected back at the news he saw on Mina’s Instagram story.

Bakugou cleared his throat as he helped Kirishima set up all the props. “So…when’s Y/N getting here?”

Kirishima looked at him and when he saw his best friend look so curious and innocent, Kirishima’s eyes immediately lit up and he nudged Bakugou on the ribs even though he knew he may be dead meat from teasing him.

“You still like her, huh!” Kirishima said in a low whisper with a smirk, which almost caused Bakugou to light up his hands and slam Kirishima face down on Momo’s fancy wooden floors. But before he could even act, he heard the entrance door whoosh open with Mina’s voice echoing from the door to the main room.

“YOU OWE ME $20 BUCKS MOMOOOOOOOO!!!!” Mina shouted as she dragged you to the living room. When Bakugou saw you standing a couple feet away from him, he sucked in a breath.

You were still wearing your airport outfit that he saw you last on Mina’s post. But when he thought that you couldn’t look any more beautiful from the small screen on his phone, he was so wrong. As you stood there with a sheepish grin on your face—to Bakugou’s eyes— you were 10 times more prettier in real life. Hell, make that a hundred.

When you locked eyes with Bakugou after giving Kirishima a hug, you blushed before stepping towards him, about to do the same, until—

“Y/N!! YOU’RE FINALLY FUCKING HERE!!! I MISS YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH!!!” Yaoyorozu squealed as she ran over, cutting Bakugou from his hug. Bakugou had to back up before Yaoyorozu jumped over him and he was not happy about that. But when you let out an “oof!” and rested your shoulder on Momo’s shoulder, your eyes were still on Bakugou’s and you gave him a weary smile that said: “sorry!”

Bakugou couldn’t stay furious too long when he saw your apologetic smile as you hugged Momo back. He gave an appreciative nod at you that made you know that he was glad to finally see you back.

When Momo parted away, she blinked her eyes at Mina, who was standing right next to you with her arms crossed and a sly smirk plastered on her face.

Momo perked up. “Wait, I owe you $20 bucks?”

Mina widened her eyes and grabbed your arm, shaking it so excitingly that Bakugou swore she probably loosened all your bones now. “Bitch! You owe me $20 bucks when we bet on Y/N and Yo Shindo being together!”

You shot your head at Mina with eyes widened. “You guys bet WHAT?!” You asked so sternly that it made Mina and Momo tuck their hands sheepishly behind their backs.

“Well…” Mina teased, eyes staring at the ground as she drew circles on the floor with her shoe. “We kinda bet on whether you will get together with Yo Shindo when you were away…”

“We? As in just the two of you, right?”

Momo clamped the back of her neck embarrassingly. “Uh…plus Asui and Ochaco..?”

You gasped, shaking your head in disbelief. “You guys! I cannot believe—“

“That you love us too much for you to get mad at us?” Mina interrupted with such a cute smile that you parted your mouth for a few seconds and darted your eyes from Mina to Momo before dropping your hands and releasing a sigh.

“Fine…” you said, rolling your eyes but your lips lifted up to a smile. You extended your arms to your friends. “Come here you guys…Ya’ll are so lucky I haven’t seen you two for more than a month. Or else you’ll be dead meat!”

Your girlfriends ran in to hug you one more time, continuing their warm comments on how much they have missed you.

Yaoyorozu parted away when a thought came across her mind. “WAIT, Y/N, FOR REAL THO. Are you guys dating? .… Oh my god,” Yaoyorozu cupped her cheeks with her hands and blushed warmly. “Don’t tell me he’s actually here, is he?!”

Bakugou silently pleaded to himself that pretty boy dunce face is not here. Oh god, please let him have mercy!

“He’s here!” Mina squealed turning her head back to Yaoyorozu. “And he’s so cute in real life!”

Yaoyorozu clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god. Yo Shindo. In my house.” She scanned the whole living room, making sure that everything looked fine.

“Uh. Your boyfriend. Also. In your house.”  Awase cleared his throat as he and Kaminari came back with paper plates.

Yaoyorozu walked towards her boyfriend and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Of course you know I love you, babe. But Yo Shindo is here. That’s like…that's like having Brian the Sun come over to perform a song, y’know. We are all just fangirling!”

“We?” Bakugou sputtered out. Kirishima flashed him a smirk which made him roll his eyes and mutter out a “whatever”.

But no one heard him, because right after Bakugou’s comment, Tsuyu and Uraraka entered in with the man that Bakugou never thought he’d ever have to see since his pre-license exam during his first year in U.A.

Yo Shindo came in holding two pack of beers and bowed slightly with a celebrity-level smile that would have all girls swooning after him. He was wearing a Gucci shirt under a blue flannel, paired with ripped vintage denim jeans and a black beanie that made the bangs on his head scoot down just a tiny bit. His face mask was resting right below his lips and his whole aura screamed: “FASHION” in all the right places. But it wasn’t just his looks that demanded attention, it was also his aura of easy confidence that he held. And if he wasn’t a pro-hero, he’s the type of guy that would be easily mistaken as a supermodel.

His yellow Gentle Monster sunglasses were tucked in his shirt and Tsuyu and Uraraka giggled as they sat down the rest of the beers on the table and directed Shindo to do the same.

“Hey,” Shindo greeted everyone as he moved next to where you were standing which made Bakugou’s eyes squint just a bit. You nodded at him with a smile that made Bakugou want to twist his guts. “It’s so nice to meet everyone! Y/N talks a lot about you guys.”

“SO YOU REMEMBER US FROM THE LICENSE EXAM?!” Kaminari asked excitingly, almost jumping out of his seat.

Yo Shindo chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you widen your eyes just a bit from his touch, but the look on your face didn’t really show any uncomfortableness—as if you were already used to it.

But oh, if only Bakugou shot lasers out of his eyes!! He would zap away his hand from your waist in a blink of an eye.

“Yeah,” Shindo nodded his head cooly. “You, Kirishima, and Bakugou are awesome!” He said looking at the each of them. Kaminari and Kirishima grinned appreciatively back. But weirdly, when Shindo’s eyes landed on Bakugou his gaze stayed a tiny bit longer than usual.

What? Bakugou mentally questioned to himself when he saw the way Shindo stared at him seriously. It was like he was challenging him, and there was a string of tension that only the two boys could feel and Bakugou already knew from the start that he and him were not going to get along.

Shindo blinked his eyes back to reality and flashed a friendly smile to you—a complete change of face for what he was expressing to Bakugou, but no one else seemed to notice. Shindo pulled you closer. “Well, let’s get this party started shall we?”

You nodded happily back and everyone began handing out plates and popping bottles of beer. Bakugou joined in too, with a grin on his face.

But although he smiled as he listened to you talk about your crazy adventures of that one creepy stalker you encountered in LA or how everyone must order the pastrami egg n’ cheese bagel at Frankel’s Deli in Brooklyn, Bakugou couldn’t help but feel a discomfort itch in the back of his mind as he saw you sitting on the couch with Shindo so closely next to you.

And whenever Shindo glanced at Bakugou, there was always this silent edge that he could feel from the look of his eyes. Unfortunately, in such a social environment, he couldn’t excuse himself with his best friend Kirishima to talk about this. Bakugou knew that people will question him. What’s there to be uncomfortable about in Y/N’s Welcome Home party?

So as Bakugou took another sip of his beer while you talked about your crazy adventures, he mentally crossed his fingers that you and Yo Shindo are merely just friends.

Even if a part of him told him otherwise.

————

“Wait, you two went on a date?!” Momo asked looking at Shindo as her back sat comfortably on the sofa with her boyfriend’s arm around her. “In New York?!”

Shindo smiled at you and laughed. You mirrored his expression and shook your head at Momo. “Well, it wasn’t really a date actually, it was just a tour around New York.” You said.

“Oh, please tell us!!” Uraraka said to Shindo with excited eyes. Shindo laughed and nodded happily, making all the girls put their full attention on what he had to say.

“Well, I first met Y/N in New York City. And after seeing her and her awesome abilities—“

“Oh please,” you said, waving your hand dismissively from that with an embarrassing smile.

Yo Shindo pouted adorably at you. “It’s true!”

Bakugou saw Uraraka and Tsuyu quietly exchanging each other glances that didn’t need much for him to know what they were thinking. And as much as it hurts his guts and heart to think about this, he couldn’t help it.

You and Shindo looked so good together. It was like those couples on k-drama or whatever the hell people were watching, where the audience knows that they are perfect for each other. And even though you hadn’t mentioned anything about him being your boyfriend and all…well, it was just obvious. Even your girlfriends could see it. And from the look of Kirishima giving him a lopsided smile as if saying “Ouch. Sorry bro.”  Bakugou could basically confirm his hypothesis correct.

But instead of wanting to just punch pretty boy in the face to release his anger (which, he wanted to do so bad) he kept his cool and restrained his emotions as he listened to Shindo explain this “date” that the two of you went on.

“Well, I offered to take Y/N around New York City, since she was new to the place on my motorbike and—“

“ON YOUR MOTORBIKE?!” All the girls (plus Kaminari) squealed. Awase tilted his head back to laugh at everyone’s reaction and Kirishima muttered a phrase that included: “dude, that’s so manly!” causing Bakugou to turn his head at him and shoot him a death dagger.

Kaminari—who by the way— is obsessed with motorcycles and dreams to own a Harley Davidson one so he could be as cool as Keanu Reeves, pumped his hand in the air and excitingly asked, “Yo, Shindo, what type of motorbike do you have?”

“The one I took with Y/N?” Shindo said, which meant that he had more than one. But the way Shindo said it wasn’t in an egotistic kind of way, nor was it annoying (which bugged Bakugou) but rather, he said it in a humble and polite tone.

Shindo glanced at you with a charming smirk on his face, as if remembering that precious time with you in New York. “It was a Harley Davidson Sportster Iron 883! In black.”

“WHAT!” Kaminari slammed his beer down on the table. “C-can I have a ride?”

Ugh, an idiot I swear! Bakugou said to himself as jealously crept up to him once again as he saw everyone—even Kirishima—so engaged on Yo Shindo.

Shindo laughed again and nodded. “Sure! I actually shipped that one to Tokyo since I’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mina lifted her eyebrows at Shindo. “You’re staying in Tokyo?”

Shindo shook his head. “I’m just staying here for a couple of weeks for some pro-hero work. I’ve been away so long and I wanted to come back since I realized I missed Japan so much. And a friend of mine offered me to collab with his agency for now!”

Bakugou let out a puff of air as Uraraka gleefully smiled and said, “Wow, that’s so great to hear!”

And so the conversation continued. After Shindo took you around on his motorbike, he took you to this fancy, romantic restaurant down in Manhattan, and then took you around Central Park when evening came. And during this whole conversation, everyone pitched in their squeals and glees here and there, but Bakugou remained silent the whole time. You laughed at Shindo’s jokes and descriptions and added a story on how clumsy he actually is, despite his cool exterior.  And Bakugou grew slightly more furious—but it wasn’t a challenging kind of anger. It was just that it frustrated him that he couldn’t point out, or find, any particular ”flawed” that Yo Shindo had.

As the conversation moved along from one to the other, Yo Shindo offered to help Awase and Kaminari to clean up the empty pizza boxes. Kirishima and Bakugou offered to help as well, recycling empty bottles away and folding paper plates to the waste bin.

And as Bakugou walked across the living room, picking up the last few empty bottles of beer on the side table of the couch, he heard you and your girlfriends lowly whispering.

“Well?! “ Yaoyorozu questioned curiously, patting your knee. “Did you…you know!?”

“What?” You asked curiously.

“You know…Yo Shindo…vibration quirkkkkk,” Tsuyu moaned as Uraraka and Mina nodded in agreement, eyes clearly swooned away by Shindo.

Tsuyu grabbed your arm and stared at you dead deep into your eyes before glancing to where Shindo and the other boys were at in the kitchen. “Please tell me what happened! You two obviously hit it up, right?!”

Bakugou wanted to throw up right then and there. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what you were about to say next. And as much as his conscious tells him to “WALK AWAY KATSUKI”!!! Curiosity killed the cat as he watched you in the corner of his eyes while he cleaned up the table slowly to the side.

You covered your face with your hands as embarrassment crept up on you and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I KNEW IT!” Uraraka said in a low whispered as she snapped her fingers.

Bakugou’s stomach dropped and his jaw tightened in grit.

“Guys, no,” You whispered sternly back, but your cheeks still glowed with heat. “Nothing happened between me and Shindo.”

Bakugou eyes widened as he darted his attention back on the table. Wait a minute… there is hope! A wash of relief swept through him when he heard your reply, but his happy thoughts immediately crumpled when he heard Mina’s suspicious tone.

“Sureeeeeeeee,” Mina exhaled a puff of air sharply—not convinced that you were telling the truth. “I can see it in your face that that’s a LIE!”

Bakugou knew it would be wrong for him to continue hearing this (wrong in a sense that if you were just hiding the true secret, he may blow the roof off of Momo’s house, and that wouldn’t be appropriate). Plus, who the hell takes 5 goddamn minutes to clear up some trash?!

So, with all his might, Bakugou bravely walked around the couch, passing you and the girls as he headed towards the kitchen. And when you saw Bakugou walk pass in front of you, you silently let out a gasp with a parted mouth shaped as an ‘o’ on your face.

————

After the party was over and it was getting pretty late, all the girls decided to finally head home. They offered you to join them but you passed appreciatively by saying how you had to thank and Awase and Momo for everything and Awase was still in the back, cleaning a few things up, while Momo had some errands to run.

“How do you not drink Momo-Yaoo!!” Mina said as she threw one arm around Momo’s shoulder.  

Momo sighed but a smile graced her lips. “Cuz I know I’ll have to take you guys home!” She said sternly but sarcastically.

Mina gave Momo a “thank you” hug and you and the girls laughed

“Since you’re finally here, we all have to go to that tendon place in Shinjuku!” Tsuyu announced happily, giving you one last hug before heading out.

“Tendon Tuesdays are definitely back ya’ll!” You laughed happily and all the girls hovered above the two of you, joining in for one last group hug as they shared “I love yous” and goodbyes.

“You guys are acting like I will be leaving again,” you laughed when you all pulled away and saw your friends getting teary.

Mina smiled softly. “We’re just happy you’re finally back.”

And after Mina said her sweet comment, Uraraka wailed a “You GUYSssssssss!” in a sarcastic tone and everyone bunched up together again for another group hug as they wailed their hearts out.

Bakugou walked in and saw all the girls form into one ball and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Yeah, he was so happy that you are actually in Tokyo.

After more “text me!” and goodbyes, the four girls exited out the door and you stood in the living room by yourself, cleaning up the last few trash on the table for Momo.

This is the time. Bakugou said to himself as he began to walk towards you. Nervousness crept on his neck which was unusual for him since you were one of his closest friends. Kirishima and Kaminari headed back to their places and before Kirishima exited, he gave one last talk to Bakugou.

“Dude, you don’t even know if she’s with him yet,” Kirishima said outside the front gate. “Maybe they’re just friends!”

“Just friends?” Bakugou repeated slightly icily—almost like a scoff. He tucked his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. You see it too though.”

Kirishima stares at his friend and bit his lip, knowing that from the way Shindo has been treating you and all the stories you two of shared together, it looked like you two were together. Sure! Maybe you two were just friends, but Bakugou felt like it was highly unlikely. Plus, you were exchanging whispers with your friends and from the look on their faces, it was like something exciting was stirring up.

“Yeah,” Kirishima finally said. “But still…we don’t really know. And now that everyone is almost gone, now’s your chance to finally talk to her in peace!”

And with that in mind, Bakugou walked towards you in the main room.

“Hey.”

You looked up from the table and widened your eyes. “Bakugou! I thought you already left with the other boys. You’re still here?” You asked. But you immediately blushed and waved your hands quickly when you realized how wrong that sounded out your mouth. “Not that it’s bad that you’re here! I didn’t mean that. I’m happy you’re still here!”

Bakugou laughed, his shoulders relaxing as he looked at you with a smile. You laughed too at your own dumb act and the awkward tension was slowly replaced with a comforting one.

“You really don’t wanna see me, huh?” Bakugou teased with a smirk.  

You rolled your eyes. “You know it’s not like that.”

Bakugou grabbed the back of his neck and locked his eyes with you. You hummed curiously, knowing that he wanted to say something.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say that I’m really glad that—“

“Y/N!!” Shindo’s voice echoed from the back kitchen. He waved his arm excitingly with a bright smile but then paused when he saw you and Bakugou standing in front of each other, alone.

Ugh! Bakugou thought to himself as he saw Shindo’s face grow slightly tensed when he looked at him.

Shindo walked towards you respectfully with a smile. “Hey, I know it’s pretty late. Do you want me to take you home?”

Bakugou parted his mouth opened for just a bit. His anger and jealously was rising high now and he wasn’t sure why.

“Oh!” You said, turning your head to Shindo. “No, it’s fine, really!”

“You sure?”

You smiled at him. “Yeah, thank you though.”

“Well then,” Shindo turned to Bakugou and then back to you. His gaze turned serious. “Can- Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

You opened your mouth and directed your hand towards Bakugou. “Oh! Bakugou was actually talking—“

“It’s fine, Y/N” Bakugou said in almost a strict tone that your face fell a bit. He nodded his head at Shindo and then smiled at you, telling you that it really was okay. “It’s not important, really. Actually…I think I’m going to head out.”

“Bakugou, wait—“ you said, your eyes staring directly at his.

“Y/N,” Bakugou tried to laugh. But you knew him too well that the laugh was forced. “Seriously, we can chat again later some time. Plus, since you’re back, we can finally hang out like we used too.”

Shindo glared at Bakugou sternly after he said that, but at this point Bakugou couldn’t care anymore.

You paused and stared at him before mumbling out an “okay” as Shindo turned and pulled you away from him.

And after letting Awase know that he was finally heading home, Bakugou exited the door and walked towards the front gate. He tucked his hands in his pockets and felt his heart grow heavier and heavier until—

“Katsuki! Wait!”

Bakugou twirled around to see you extend your arm up high out the front door. You ran towards him and put your hands on your knees to gasp for air.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you so directly.” You said apologetically.

Bakugou shook his head, but his heart skipped a few beats when he heard you call his first name. “It’s fine. You can call me that.”

You widened your eyes and hugged yourself closely. “Oh?” You smiled. “Okay then.”

“Uhm…did you need to tell me something…or..?” Bakugou asked curiously, internally wondering why you suddenly exited out of the house.

“Oh! Right!” You tapped your head dumbly. “Right….I- I actually wanted to say goodbye to you and-”

“Weren’t you just talking to Shindo?” Bakugou pointed out so cold that your face immediately fell when you heard his sudden shift of tone.  

“Um-”

“Sorry.”

“No! I- I actually need to apologize for that. I should have spoken up more. We haven’t…really chatted during the party.”

Bakugou scoffed and smiled as he tilted his head up towards the night sky in silence. He was so furious just a few seconds ago that any one who dared stopped him will be blasted off to space. But when he heard you call his actual name, he felt more at peace. But sadness lingered in his heart as he darted his gaze behind you at the door, knowing that Shindo was in there. 

From the door entrance to the front gate was a large garden in between, and when you realized how quiet it was, you cleared your throat and looked up at him.

“We’re not together,” you finally said.  “I mean, Shindo and I.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shot up immediately but quickly replaced his shock look with a calm one.

Wait…what?

“Oh…?”

He blinked his eyes and parted his mouth slowly, carefully thinking about the words before saying them out loud. “But Mina and them—“

“Kept teasing about the two of us being together? Momo kept throwing us questions about our quests? All the girls teasing and the “date”?” You said in air quotes with a smirk. “Shindo is really nice and he’s like that to almost everyone, really. Plus…”

You stopped, glancing up at Bakugo and then turning your head away. Heat crept up to the apples of your cheeks as you continued. “Plus, there’s someone else…”

Bakugou’s mind buzzed with clouds as he felt like a a horde of demons was ready to swallow him up.

There’s someone else.

It can’t be him, right? Bakugou’s shoulders fell and frowned a bit. How could he be so stupid thinking that you actually liked him in the first place? Could it be…Kirishima? Kaminari? Oh fuck, maybe it’s Deku. His mind continued to swarm with possibilities of the “someone else,” casting more and more doubt onto himself until he heard your laughter.

You clenched your arms around your stomach and laughed. A beautiful melody that never ceases to amaze Bakugou. It was like a warm breeze in the summer swooping him away. But Bakugou lowered his gaze with confusion as he stared at you. “What’s so funny?”

You looked up, wiping a small tear on the corner of your eye with a bright but soft smile on your face.

“It’s you, dumbass.”

Under normal circumstances, anyone who called him that will immediately turn into dust, but with you… He couldn’t even get riled up an inch. Because when he heard those words left your mouth, it was like fog clearing up on a raining day, a heavy weight now off his shoulders.

Wait…is this really happening?

A cunning smirk graced his lips as he stepped closer to you.

The cool evening air no longer felt cold and you grabbed his hand pulling him closer. It was dark but he could still see the perfect outlines of your face.

“Really?” Bakugou whispered huskily above you, not sure if he was dreaming or not. Excitement buzzed throughout his body, his focus entirely on you.

You laughed with a happy smile on your face. “Really.”

Bakugou smirked cockily. “Well, then dumbass…I’m glad… because I like you too.” He said slowly in such a cute way that it made you giggled.

“I’m glad then.” You said quietly.

“Do you… want to go grab lunch someday…?” Bakugou asked, the words rolling off his tongue seemed so foreign to him. Everything happened so fast but it felt so nice at the same time.

You nodded your head still smiling. “Yeah…that sounds nice. Though I want your homemade curry, I’ve been craving Japanese food for so long and New York and LA doesn’t even beat the meals that you make!”

Bakugou laughed, his heart feeling so overwhelmingly content. “Well then, I’ll bring you some food tomorrow. You’ll be jet lag and all.”

You groaned cutely. “Oh god, yeah. I’ll probably be sleeping all morning tomorrow. But at least I’ll have something to look forward to when I wake up.” You smiled.

Bakugou nodded, and you pulled him into a hug that surprised him at first but he wrapped his arms around you ever so gently and warmly. The two of you just wrapped in each other’s arms for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet night that Bakugou wished could last forever.

“I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.” He whispered softly in your ear that made you shivered with happiness. “I…I’ve missed you.” He added ever so quietly in a way that it sounded like he was talking to himself. But you still heard those words and it made you hug him a bit tighter.

You tucked your head into his shoulder and whispered out a soft “me too.”  

When the two of you parted away, you both exchanged goodbyes once more, but this time, there was a layer of love and excitement in the air. Bakugou glanced at the door behind you, and the sudden reminder of Shindo who was still in there came to mind. Bakugou has never felt so happy in his whole entire life, knowing that you had the same feelings he had for you. But seeing the shadows on the windows, the sudden flash of Shindo’s disapproving face re-resurfaced. He had a feeling that you didn’t know that Shindo actually liked you. And sure! He only met the guy today but his gut instincts knew better that the faces he gave to Bakugou plus his expression whenever he looked at you, it was something more than just a friendship. But before Bakugou could even dive deeper into this thought as he turned towards the gate, you stopped him.

“Katsuki—! Wait.” You called, causing him to turn his head once more at you. But before he could even ask what’s wrong, you slipped a hand through his and stepped on your tippy toes as you planted a warm kiss on his cheek, holding it there for a few seconds. Bakugou widened his eyes for a quick second, and just like magic, that kiss washed his doubts about you and Shindo down the drain. It was like a message that you were his—as dominating as that sound. But it nevertheless made him less tensed. 

You swallowed a lump on your throat as you parted away. A little embarrassed at your sudden move but when you saw Bakugou’s face glowed, you smiled and nodded. Words didn’t need to be said for the two of you to understand each other.

“Have a goodnight, okay? Drive safe.” You waved before turning your back to return to the house.

“Yeah,” Bakugou smiled as he tucked his hands into his pocket, turning to the front gate once more. “I will.”

And with that, the two of you parted your ways, with bright smiles and warm hearts that continued to simultaneously flow in the air.

—————

“Cuz I know I’ll have to take you guys home!” Shindo heard Momo from the living room said as he carried the trash bags into the kitchen.

“Uhm.., where should I place these?” Shindo asked Awase who was washing a few cups in the sink.

Awase pointed at the corner besides him where all the other bags were laid. “You can leave them here Thanks, man.”

Before Shindo nodded respectfully at him, he heard you and the girls burst out into a loud laughter, making him turn to the direction of the sound coming from the main room. His eyes softened, as if reminiscing precious memories from a time. And in all honestly, his attention was just focused on your laughter. The melody that he can always listen to and never get tired of.

Shindo had never believed “love at first sight.” But when he first saw you in New York, his heart bloomed in a way that he has never felt before and he was so interested in you ever since. Of course, he kept cool about it, but since he was such an open and honest guy, he always slipped in a move here and there, hoping to grab your attention or sneak in hints, to show that what you meant to him was in a way that was more than a friend.

After cleaning up, Awase takes a sip of his beer, glancing at Shindo’s still turned-head for a moment before saying, “You like her, don’t you?”

Shindo looked stunned as he immediately shot his head back at Awase. His heart pounded in his chest when he heard the question. “H-how did you know?”

Awase smirked. “I know that feeling, dude. That’s how I felt when I met Momo,” He said, tilting his head towards the living room where his girlfriend was.

“I don’t want anyone to find out,” Shindo said quietly as he rested his elbows on the kitchen island across Awase.

“Of course. This is just between me and you.” Awase replied respectfully, knowing what Shindo is going thorough, having a similar experience himself.

Shindo smiled at him appreciatively. He cleared his throat. “And uhm, I know that we just met and all…but do…do you you know if Y/N is involved with anyone—like, romantically?”

Awase pondered on that comment seriously for a moment. “I don’t really know, man. I think Kirishima and the others will know since they were all in the same class as her since U.A. But…from what I’ve heard from my girlfriend, I don’t think so.”

“Not even, uhm, Bakugou?” Shindo slid in the question curiously.  

“Y/N and Bakugou!?” Awase laughed. “I’ve never heard of that before! Who gave you the idea?”

Shindo just shrugged, not wanting to say why he asked. Ever since the day he accidentally saw your phone lock screen of you and Bakugou in your days in U.A when your phone dinged on his table, his suspicion arose. Of course it wasn’t much, but the way you talked about him was different compared to the others…

“Hey,” Awase said, interrupting his thoughts. “From what I’ve learned… you can wait to get the answers, or just be honest with her.”

“Be honest with her?”

Awase shrugged. “Yeah. In fact you can even tell her how you feel now, most of her friends are returning home now.”

Shindo nodded appreciatively at him and smiled. “Thanks man, really.”

“You got it, and don’t worry,” Awase reassured when he saw Shindo’s mouth open again. “I’ll keep things low-key.”

Shindo smiled again and walked back towards the main room to find you. Awase was right. After all that you two of been through for the past couple weeks there was a new foundation built upon your friendship—trust. And he trusted you that you can at least understand his feelings. Shindo knew he told everyone that he came back to Tokyo for a change of environment and for hero work…but that wasn’t necessarily the entire truth. Because in all transparency, he came back for you too…and maybe its because he has loved working with you, or maybe it was the way you described Tokyo to him in New York made him really miss home…

Or maybe it’s because he was falling in love with you.

Shindo made his way to the living room and called out your name, but his high emotions toppled over when he saw you standing with Bakugou in the now empty living room, alone.

He doesn’t really hate Bakugou, but ever since he had his suspicion, he couldn’t look at him the same way. And sure, it may be unfair of him to act like that but when he saw the way Bakugou locked eyes with him, he knew something was up that confirmed his suscpisoun. He could feel this unprecedented tension in the air between him and Bakugou—almost like an undeclared challenge.

Shindo mustered up the courage as he walked towards you with a smile. “Hey, I know it’s pretty late. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Oh!” You replied when you noticed Shindo. “No, it’s fine, really!”

“You sure?”

You smiled at him which made Shindo’s stomach flutter with butterflies. “Yeah, thank you though.”

“Well then,” Shindo turned to Bakugou and then back to you, hesitating just a bit about his next act act. His gaze turned serious and he lowered his voice so almost only you could hear him.  “Can… Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Shindo saw you opened your mouth slowly. “Oh! Bakugou was actually talking—“

“It’s fine, Y/N” Bakugou cut in, looking at Shindo and then back to you. “It’s not important, really. Actually…I think I’m going to head out.”

“Bakugou, wait—“

“Y/N,” Bakugou continued. “Seriously, we can chat again later some time. Plus, since you’re back, we can finally hang out like we used too.”

Shindo glared at Bakugou. He felt his heart ache when he heard that, knowing that the two of you are pretty close. But finally when you agreed, you and Shindo stepped aside for more space.

You turned your head at Shindo and noticed his serious expression. “Is there something wrong?”

Shindo blinked his eyes and cleared his throat. “N-no! I mean, not anything super important. Actually, Y/N… I just wanted to—“

Click!

Before Shindo could continue, your head shot to where the door was just closed and you saw Bakugou’s shadow exit out of the house. Shindo saw you turned your head back towards him as you bit your lip.

“Shindo, I’m so sorry. Can you give me a few minutes really quick?” You said with the kindest smile you had.

Shindo looked at you with a tinge of solemn in his eyes as he smiled. His gut feeling knew what you were about to do, but he didn’t want to force you to listen to him and so he smiled and nodded, earning you a brighter smile on your face that Shindo loved.

“Thank you.” You said as you grabbed his hand and giving it a squeeze.

Shindo saw you run towards the door, not hesitating a bit to open it immediately.

And when you exited, Shindo gave out a sigh. This was a lot harder than he expected. He headed towards the table near the door to pack up some of his things that he laid near, but his mistake was when he glanced up at the window.  His eyes widened and sucked in a breath when he saw you standing near the front gate with Bakugou.

It looked like it was all happening in slow motion.

The way you slipped your hand through his. The cute way you leaned in closer a few inches with the tip of your toes and kissed him on the cheek.

It wasn’t an actual real kiss, but still...Shindo felt a surge of jealously come crashing down on him. He swallowed a lump in his throat as a mixture of anger and sadness stirred in him. And as he saw you wave goodbye to Bakugou, Shindou looked away in sadness as his stomach dropped and his once cool smile now turned into a deep frown.

He felt like he lost you — even though he never really had you in the beginning.

But maybe there’s still a chance for him to confess how he feels.

Because even if you don’t share the same feelings as him...he’ll still find release… that at least the person he loves …. knows.  

Yeah… Shindo thought to himself quietly as he pulled out his sunglasses, getting ready to leave. He knew he couldn’t say it now…not after what he just witnessed. So with a sharp glide of his hand like a professional, he slipped on his sunglasses and beanie ever so smoothly and picked up his bags.

I’ll come back to you Y/N…you’ll see.

-------

A/N ~ oh gosh, yo shindo vs. bakugou. this love triangle just suddenly appeared and i’ll need to figure out how to unravel this mess. But thank you to everyone who read this fic! I know it is longer than my usual works so words cannot express how much it means to me. Thank you 💗 Please do not hesitate to send me a message through my inbox on about this fic (WHOSE TEAM R U ON?!) or about anything! Let’s just say...next chapter will def. be more about the charming Yo Shindo ;) 

[paradoxolotl]

Are there any quotes or moments from any of your fics that you've had to leave out of the final product? Like, deleted scenes. If so, do you feel like sharing?...(Particularly Inked Truths because I'm obsessed with it. I fell in love with BoM, read it multiple times. When I found out you were doing a prequel I was very excited and have not been disappointed since.) (I also love TftR but it makes sad.)...Absolutely no pressure. If you don't want to answer please just ignore this, I'll understand.

Truths for the Roof didn’t lose anything but Inked lost a bit. Really, it was just redone to flow better and fit the characterization better, or moved somewhere later on in the series. I’m more likely to add then take away. It’s pretty rare I scrap something completely, and usually find somewhere else to put it, even if it’s a different fic. But originally BOM was very different. Andrew was medicated and Aaron knew Neil Josten from class.

Here’s a scene that was reworked in Ink Blotted Memories ~

Aaron did his best to avoid Andrew after that. He made himself busy at work, hauling dishes back and forth and hanging out with the bouncers on his breaks. When they were home Andrew was usually shut up in his room or outside smoking which made avoiding him all the easier, giving Aaron space to dick around on the TV or be in his room. Nicky still tried to involve both of them in stupid bonding activities like family dinners and movie nights. When they did happen, it was tense and uncomfortable, mostly filled with Nicky’s inane chatter. Aaron purposely did not look at his brother on these nights. He was torn between wanting Andrew’s acknowledgment and wishing he had never found out about him.

He marked his days with video games and his nights with alcohol and cracker dust, counting the days until he could once again use school as a distraction.

And the entire original Brother of Mine, which I rewrote most of when I got partway through ~

Aaron could still remember lying in his bed in his mother’s house, body bruised and hurting, wishing to have someone who could help him. Someone to make things better. To stand with him and hold him up when he was so close to crumbling. Learning about a long-lost twin felt like something out of a movie. An answered prayer. Finally, Aaron would have someone, a brother, who he could talk to. He imagined late night talks and secrets shared between them. They would have a bond so strong that nothing could come between them.

Andrew’s response of ‘fuck off’ had felt like a back-hand across his face.

Still, he held out hope. He was told to try again in the Spring, and that was what he planned on doing. Even when Andrew was sent to juvie, Aaron held onto his hope of a brother who would care about him. They were twins after all, how hard could it be?

The first time he had met Andrew face to face, Uncle Luther beside him and a metal table separating them, Aaron’s idea of what their relationship would be went up in smoke. His face was looking back at him, but there was no expression, no emotion at all. A blankness that revealed nothing of what he was thinking. It was hard to make eye contact with Andrew, his eyes sharp enough to be cut on. Andrew didn’t speak to Aaron at all that first visit; he just stared at him with a flat glare the entire time.

And yet he still came to South Carolina to live with Aaron. Aaron desperately wanted for Andrew to open up to him when they lived together. He thought he had to, now that they shared a room. He also hoped that home would get better, now that Andrew was home. Maybe mom would get better, would stop being so stressed. So angry.

It only took one incident for Aaron to believe Andrew was untouchable. They were in the backyard so Andrew could smoke, both sipping from a bottle of vodka Andrew had acquired. He had only moved in a week ago, and so far, things had been quiet. Aaron had no new bruises, but Andrew’s blank stare made him warry. The slam of the front door had made Aaron flinch, Andrew’s cold eyes tracking the movement. Aaron could hear their mother calling for him, her words tight with anger. Remembering the pills he had swiped earlier in the day, he swallowed back the lump in his throat and went inside.

He remembers her screaming. He remembers the pain of a hand across his cheek. Then there was Andrew, her wrist gripped in his hand, twisted far enough to make her bend at an awkward angle. It was then that Aaron saw the first expression on his twin’s face, and it terrified him. His lips had curled back in a snarl, his eyes bright with an anger Aaron had never seen before.

It was that night that Andrew had offered Aaron a deal. They would stick together, just the two of them, and Andrew would protect him. Aaron believed this was the answer to what he had been asking for. Finally, he wouldn’t be alone. He made his promise to Andrew.

Months passed, and Aaron was still collecting bruises. It was almost worse now, to have a witness to his suffering. Someone who had promised him protection but couldn’t stop everything.

Then, the accident where Aaron was left with only Andrew. Just the two of them.

The funeral where Andrew’s arm was in a sling, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and a strange gleam in his eye as the dirt was poured on their mother’s grave.

Nicky coming back from Germany, taking them in.

Moving into a new house and Andrew installing a lock on his door.

The agony of being locked in that bathroom, withdrawal clawing his body to shreds.

The slow isolation at school, Andrew refusing to let anyone close.

Nicky’s assault and the mandated therapy.

That awful laughter and empty smile.

And Aaron had to wonder if instead of his prayers being answered, he had been cursed.

~~~

Things began changing the spring of their freshman year of college.

When they first joined the Foxes, there was a clear divide between Aaron’s family and the others immediately. Any interactions ended in spitting insults at best and violence more than not. The others feared Andrew and his knives, circling their group like alley cats. Not that the three of them were much better. Nicky constantly antagonized the others, and the twins’ general lack of effort to get along definitely rubbed a few people the wrong way. The Columbia trips solidified their isolation from the others. Honestly, Aaron couldn’t care less about getting along with his teammates. He would leave them alone as long as they did the same. He was here for a degree, not friends.

Now, they had officially been knocked out of the championships. Not that Aaron could bring himself to care, but games days usually also meant Columbia, and Aaron desperately wanted to get off campus. Between the upperclassmen, Day’s bitching over the season and Nicky’s whining, Aaron was looking forward to drinks, crackers, and music loud enough to lose yourself in.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t go without Andrew. His twin was currently perched on his desk by the window, smoking and staring out at the campus, fingers rapidly tapping. Normally they would already be packed up and gone by now, but they hadn’t gone once in over a month. At first Aaron thought it was because of exy, but then Andrew would disappear from the dorms for hours at a time, much to Day’s frustration. The only reason Aaron even noticed this as odd was because his brother rarely left Day alone. He never told them why they stopped going, or where he disappeared to, and any complaints fell on deaf ears.

“Come on Andrew!” Nicky whined, “We never go to Columbia anymore!”

Andrew’s laughter made Aaron’s jaw tick. “Oh, poor Nicky, don’t you know that no means no?”

“But why not?” Nicky was still going.

Aaron didn’t know why Nicky thought he could reason with Andrew. Unless you were Renee the best result from interacting with him would be victim to a cutting insult or dismissal. Worst case you’d need stitches.

His phone buzzing in his hand distracted him from the conversation happening. Looking at the screen, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, soothing the tension in his shoulders.

Katelyn

You played great today! It’s too bad the season is over

Katelyn was an instant balm to Aaron’s anger. It was still new, this thing between them. They had met in their intro biology class and had spent many late hours at the library studying. She had been the first person at Palmetto who had bothered to get to know Aaron for him, not just as ‘Andrew’s twin’. At first, he was a sullen asshole, but her endless patience and positivity snuck past his defenses and made a place for her in Aaron’s very bones. The only issue was they had to sneak around; Aaron couldn’t risk Andrew finding out about her.

Glancing up to make sure Andrew was still distracted with Nicky, Aaron settled further into his beanbag.

Aaron

Whatever it’s just stickball

Katelyn

Still, I’ll miss watching you ;)

Aaron had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face.

Katelyn

How’s Columbia?

Aaron

Wouldn’t know we’re still in the Tower

Katelyn

Think you could sneak out for a bit?

We’re in that bar with the turtle

Nicky’s yelp brought Aaron’s attention back to the room in front of him. Andrew was still on the desk, but Aaron caught the glint of metal as a knife was put back in one of his armbands. His eyes followed Nicky as he retreated to the bedroom, face split in his usual grin. When the door closed behind Nicky, Andrew’s eyes snapped to Aaron, pinning him to his spot. Aaron glared back, daring Andrew to say something to him. To say anything.

Instead, Andrew flicked his cigarette out the window, slammed in shut, and left the dorm completely. Aaron wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.

He sat there for a moment, fingers tapping on his phone. If this was going to be following his typical pattern over the past few weeks, Andrew would be gone for hours, and wouldn’t notice if Aaron left. He would just need to be back before Andrew. Really, it wasn’t that hard of a decision.

Aaron

Be there in twenty.

Katelyn

<3

Grabbing his jacket, Aaron hurried out of the dorm, eager to get away. Even if it wasn’t Columbia, even if it was with the Vixens, any time with Katelyn was worth it.

Aaron didn’t look up as he left the Tower. If he did, he might have seen a heavy stare and two lit cigarettes.

~~~

Summer came, and somehow Betsy had convinced the courts to change Andrew’s medication. Something about an incorrect diagnosis or dosage. Aaron wasn’t sure how they thought an Andrew off the pills would be any better, but no one asked him for his opinion.

The upside was that Aaron had weeks free of his oppressive twin, and he could spend as much time with Katelyn as he wanted. It was the first time in years Aaron felt like there was no weight pulling him down, like he could finally breathe.

It was in those few perfect weeks that Aaron came to a decision.

He couldn’t lose this.

~~~

Andrew had come back from Easthaven reverted back to the emptiness of when Aaron had first met him. He had barely said a word to anyone since he came back, simply leveling that bored glare at them whenever someone tried to speak to him. Whenever Aaron saw him, he was fiddling on that damn flip phone, barely acknowledging his surroundings. Even the upperclassmen had noticed his attachment to the device.

It was during a meeting before the first game of the new season that someone finally snapped.

“Damn it, Andrew, what are you doing?” When Kevin got really angry, his face flushed. Right now, he was approaching tomato.

Andrew snapped his phone shut, “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, you need to focus. Our first game is tomorrow, and we are nowhere near ready.”

“Maybe,” Andrew drawled, “instead of worrying about me, you should focus on what you’ll do when you see Riko again.”

It was a low blow, but effective. Kevin immediately fell silent, his skin changing from red to white so quickly Aaron was surprised he didn’t faint. Edgar Allen had joined their district after Kevin announced that he would be joining the Fox line-up. Last year Kevin had showed up, hand bloody and broken, looking for sanctuary. Apparently, Riko had broken his hand in a fit of rage. Kevin had tried to sue, but with the connections and money behind the Moriyama name, it was ruled as an accident. The public backlash of that along with Kevin’s transfer to the Foxes had caused several headaches last year.

“Jesus, Andrew,” Nicky whispered.

Andrew opened his phone again. No one else tried to speak to him for the rest of the meeting.

~~~

It was a new bet among the Foxes: what Andrew was doing on his phone. Everyone agreed that it was pretty clear he was texting someone, but the question was who. Some believed it was a secret girlfriend, while others were still convinced Renee and Andrew were together. Others thought it had to be something illegal.

Aaron knew what he thought, and he silently watched and cataloged information away.

~~~

The season was going terribly. They were winning games by the skin of their teeth and they were more divided than ever. Seth and Kevin couldn’t stop fighting, their newest striker was a nervous wreck, and Andrew didn’t give a shit.

Their last game was against the Ravens, and they had been destroyed. Now, Wymack and Dan were looking for a win.

They were in the locker room getting ready for the game when Andrew’s phone began to ring. Aaron didn’t recognize the song Andrew used, but he knew he normally used the default setting for his ringtone. Andrew picked up before Aaron could think too much on it.

“What?”

At this point everyone was staring at him, not even trying to act like they weren’t eavesdropping.

Andrew scoffed, “Junkie,” he said before snapping his phone shut, tossing it into his locker, and slamming it door closed. A moment later he was stalking out of the locker room.

Silence was left behind in his wake until Nicky broke it, “So it isn’t a girlfriend?”

When the team was gathered again (...missing...)

~~~

(...missing...)Today though, Aaron needed to talk to him.

The chances of Andrew brushing off any attempt Aaron made to speak to him were high, so Aaron waited until Andrew would have to acknowledge him. On Wednesday, when Andrew walked into Reddin, Aaron was waiting for him.

~~~

“Fuck off,” Aaron growled.

Josten had that stupid smirk on his face, his finger tapping on his test score. It wasn’t even that Aaron did bad. It was that Josten did better. He always did better in this stupid class. Aaron hated statistics, but apparently Josten was a math major and took every opportunity to show him up.

From day one Aaron had disliked him. He had plopped down beside Aaron, ratty clothes and shaggy hair, and called him ‘the second Minyard’. Not only was he a complete ass, but he was completely unnerving. His eyes were a blue so pale they were almost glacial, and his face and arms were covered in slashes and burn scars.

Once, Aaron had overheard someone call him ‘Scarface’, and Josten had just asked, with a terrifying grin, if they were looking for some to match.

And Aaron was stuck in a room with him twice a week.

Josten tsked at him, still tapping at his score. “What? Still second?”

“Fuck off,” Aaron really wasn’t in the mood.

He just hummed, pulling his phone out, a god damn flip phone, and spent the next few minutes ignoring the review happening. Aaron could barely focus as Josten texted away; each click grating on Aaron’s already frayed nerves.

Aaron wasn’t even sure how Josten did so well; he spent most of the class doodling in his notebook.

[stxphxn-strange]

truth tea (i’d love it if we made it pt. 2)

a/n: i rewrote this like 7-8 times and I’m happy with this version, so this is the story I’m sticking with! this is the continuation of collegeAU!Tony confronting and opening up about his past (sort of) after his wisdom tooth surgery. there are probably medical inaccuracies and also tw for mention of abusive and unhealthy relationships

summary: the truth was as uncomfortable as waking up in a stuffy room on a summer day. luckily, it was just as easy to open a window as it was to evade the truth

“Pepper you’re so amazing… you’re a godsend.” 

“You’ve said that, Tony. You told me that seven times while we were in the car” 

“Well I’m saying it again! I like giving my friends compliments… unless it bothers you, then I can stop. I don’t want to bother you or make you feel bad, because then I’m a bad friend.” 

“You’re not a bad friend, you’re sweet. You’re a good friend.” 

“I like being Stephen’s friend, and I like- no, I LOVE being his boyfriend. I miss him. I didn’t think you could love someone and be happy with them at the same time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think I’d be allowed to be happy and be in love. That would be perfect, and nothing is! Nothing except Stephen, and I miss him! Sometimes I worry I’m going to drive him away, then I’ll be really sad but I’d probably deserve it. He’s the best friend—besides Rhodey!— and the best boyfriend, I’m so lucky to have him!”

“How was your surgery?” 

“Speak of the devil, it’s Rhodey! Honeybear! Sorry. My teeth are gone so my voice carries more. That’s how it works.”

“That’s news to me, but I’m glad to hear that you’re okay.”

“I feel like... I’m at probably 81%. Get it? That’s a B- since I’m minus a boyfriend right now.” 

“He’ll be back soon. You could always sleep, to technically speed up time. He might be back when you wake up.”

“Maybe… Rhodey will you stay with me while I sleep? I feel foggy, and I don’t like it… It reminds me too much of old parties, and I’m a little scared.” 

“Don’t worry Tones, I won’t leave. I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.” 

++++

Anthony fell asleep immediately, curled up between Rhodey and Christine with his head on Rhodey’s shoulder, and he was still deeply asleep when Stephen and Bucky came home. How he managed to sleep through their yelling Christine would never understand. 

Rhodey shushed them immediately, fixing Stephen with a joking look of disappointment. “You of all people should know not to wake up your boyfriend while he’s asleep. Come on dude.” 

Stephen nodded. “Yeah Bucky, why would you make me so angry that I almost wake Anthony up?” 

“You’re testing my patience today, Strange,” Bucky replied. Then he addressed the group. “Is it ethical to cheat in Monopoly? There’s a right answer.” 

“If you’re good enough at it, you won’t need to,” Rhodey said. 

“I was going to say the same thing, but I need context about why you’re arguing? Don’t tell me this is the first time you’re finding out that Stephen cheats when we play?” Christine asked. 

“I only cheated one (1) time, and it was for a good reason,” Stephen argued. 

“I’m not sure if impressing your boyfriend who’s already madly in love with you and who you’ve known forever counts as a good reason,” Bucky said with a shrug. 

“And you know what, exactly, about being in a relationship?” Stephen teased. 

“Well I was going to say that my boyfriend is visiting next weekend,” Bucky explained. “So I actually do know some things about trying to impress your partner, and cheating in Monopoly isn’t the way to rock Steve’s world.”

“Steve?” Anthony mumbled, halfway between awake and asleep. “I still feel foggy.” 

“Go back to sleep Tones, you’re alright. Bucky and Stephen are talking about something,” Rhodey said. 

Anthony forced his eyes open. “Stephen’s back?” 

Stephen sat across from his boyfriend, on the coffee table that technically no one was supposed to sit on, and smiled softly. “Hey.” 

“I missed you,” Anthony said, clumsily reaching for one of his hands. “I don’t feel right. But you’re here, and Rhodey is here, so I don’t think I need to worry. Should I worry?” 

“No, you don’t need to. You were right,” Stephen soothed. “Go back to sleep for a little bit, I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

Anthony closed his eyes again. “I thought I heard someone talking about Steve?” 

“That’s my boyfriend’s name,” Bucky explained from where he sat in the kitchen. 

“I had a Steve,” Anthony mumbled. “He didn’t like me very much, but no one does. Isn’t your boyfriend supposed to like you? Stephen, do you like me?” 

“More than that, I love you,” Stephen replied, his words reminiscent of one of Anthony’s earlier rants. 

Anthony opened his eyes again. “Will you still make me food? And you’ll tell me about your day?” 

“I will, I promise,” Stephen said. “Sleep, that way I won’t bore you with my story later.” 

“You’re never boring,” Anthony murmured, closing his eyes for the third time and falling asleep against Rhodey again.

Stephen smiled sadly as he walked into the kitchen, trying not to give in to his urge to hit pots and pans together. 

“He’s too adorable,” Bucky remarked, somewhat detached from the conversation as he scrolled through his phone. “I didn’t know he had an ex, let alone one with the same name as my boyfriend.” 

“Yeah.” Stephen just shrugged, living the role of the boyfriend who didn’t find his lover’s ex an interesting topic. 

“He sounded fond of him, I’d watch your back, Stephen,” Christine teased. 

Stephen shook his head, a bit angrily. “It’s not my business, but that’s not at all what fondness sounds like. By the way, if you want to play a vanilla game of Monopoly, go ahead. Even if I wasn’t busy, I wouldn’t want to play.” 

“Cool, I’m going to text Hope to come over,” Christine offered.

++++

Anthony woke up again not much later, a little freaked out, slightly disoriented, and far too warm. He still felt foggy and uncomfortable, and his mouth was starting to hurt. All of this was an imperfect storm of feelings and muscle memories that reminded him of unpleasant things, and the mental pain was almost worse than the physical. 

Almost. But Stephen was there, holding him closely and protectively, and that helped to scare some of the memories back into the corner they belonged in. 

“It’s loud in here,” he complained. “Too loud.” 

“Do you want to go to bed? Or just in my room? It should be much quieter,” Stephen offered. 

“I want to sleep. I don’t want to do anything else,” Anthony replied. “Except maybe watch a movie.” 

“Or a TV show?” Stephen suggested. 

“Either, I don’t care. I just don’t feel like doing anything,” Anthony said. 

Stephen heard and understood everything that Anthony said, as well as everything he didn’t say. “I know. You need your rest anyway.” 

“I might never volunteer to sleep again, write this day down for the future.” He was still too warm and nervous and uncomfortable. Anthony knew that Stephen understood what he was saying even in his short responses, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Defaulting to self-deprecating humor always felt like a safe haven. 

For some reason. 

Stephen stood up, gently gathering his boyfriend into his arms. “By the way, now that you’ve gotten your wisdom teeth out—”

“If you ask me whether or not I feel wiser, I’m going to break up with you,” Anthony teased, no heat in his words. “It’s cute how you think you’re funny.” 

“I am!” 

“You’re not.” “I’ll have you know that I’m the greatest comedian of my lifetime.” 

++++

“Now that you’ve all reminded me of how competitive I am, I have an idea,” Bucky said. 

“Oooh everyone shut up, Bucky is about to present his one (1) idea of the month!” Christine announced. 

Bucky rolled his eyes but ignored her. “As I was saying, I had a great idea! My boyfriend is visiting this weekend— yes I know I told most of you that earlier, thank you Christine— and I was thinking we could have a couples’ Uno tournament?”

“What boyfriend?” Anthony asked.

“Remember earlier when I was talking about him?” Bucky replied.

“I remember singing in Pepper’s ear in the car and waking up when Stephen got back, but nothing else,” Anthony said. “So who did I accidentally embarrass?”

“I would say only yourself, you said nice things about everyone but then you wouldn’t stop gushing about Stephen” Christine looked over at Stephen. “He doesn’t know how to shut up when it comes to you.”

“Who wouldn’t talk about me for hours? I’m perfect,” Stephen quipped.

“You cheat at Monopoly, and I haven’t forgotten that time you ate my yogurt,” Christine said.

“It wasn’t labeled, and it was an accident!” Stephen rushed to his own defense. 

“A likely story. I don’t think Ant would ever eat another person’s yogurt,” Christine argued. 

“Don’t drag me into this,” Anthony replied. “I’m shrouded in plausible deniability.” 

Bucky tapped his fork against his plate. “No offense, but can we talk about me again please?” He asked, half jokingly. 

“I think we should talk about me,” Stephen replied. 

“Absolutely not, you haven’t been interesting a day in your life,” Wong teased. “Even the textbook collecting dust at the very back of our bookshelf has more personality than you.” 

Anthony slyly passed his iced tea to Stephen. “You might need this, for that burn.” 

“I thought you loved me!” Stephen pretended to faint, steadying himself by leaning against Anthony’s side. “Anyway, go on Bucky?” 

“What do you think about my idea?” Bucky asked. 

“I feel like playing an Uno couples’ tournament is a bad idea, but in the best way,” Anthony said with a shrug. 

“It’s about the chaos! I don’t even think my boyfriend is that chaotic, but I could be proven wrong,” Bucky said.

“Sorry wait, what boyfriend?” Anthony asked. 

“I think you were asleep when I mentioned him? He goes to school in Vermont but he’s visiting for the weekend. As I understand it he has the same name as your ex?” Bucky replied. 

Anthony looked at him with genuine confusion on his face. “How do you know? I’ve never mentioned Steve to you guys.”

“You did earlier,” Christine told him gently.

“Yeah I don’t remember any of that,” Anthony replied. “Small world I guess.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, his name’s Steve Rogers. He’s tall, kinda blond I guess, and he’s an athlete.” 

“That makes no sense to me, you don’t seem like the kind of guy who falls for an athlete,” Wong said. 

“I didn’t think I was, but now I’m living something out of a romantic comedy,” Bucky replied. He made a pitiful attempt to hide his blush. 

Anthony on the other hand made no attempt to hide his forced smile. Perhaps it was lucky that most people assumed it was residual pain from his surgery.

“Tony are you feeling okay?” Christine asked.

“Yeah I’m fine, but a little tired. I might go back to sleep soon. I’m sorry Bucky,” Anthony mumbled.

“For what? You didn’t do anything,” Bucky asked. 

“It’s not a big deal, but… yeah. Sorry,” Anthony repeated. 

“I don’t even know what you’re apologizing to me for,” Bucky replied. “You haven’t done anything, I’m confused.”

“I’m pretty sure the Steve you’re dating is my ex, and that’s just kind of awkward for a lot of reasons. I don’t remember what I said about him, or even if I said anything, but if I talked shit about him in front of you then I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for doing it in general, but just for doing it in front of you,” Anthony said. He shifted nervously in his chair, carefully triple checking everything he thought or said. Now wasn’t the time to go into any of the gross gory painful unpleasant details, not when the Golden Boy evidently made Bucky so happy. 

That would just be selfish. In a way, that would validate everything he said when Anthony finally got the nerves to leave him. He was jolted awake and back into the present when Stephen patiently tapped his shoulder. 

Anthony tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, like he’d just zoned out for a minute and hadn’t almost replayed his breakup like it was a movie matinee. “What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else. I probably should go back to sleep.” 

There was light, awkward chatter around the table as Anthony tidied up and refilled his water bottle. 

“Dude, if something I said made you upset or—”

Always the people pleaser, Anthony cut Bucky off. “No no! You’re fine. It’s weird hearing that your friend is dating your ex but I’m not upset about it. I’m not upset at all, just tired.” 

“You sure?” Bucky asked. “I don’t want to put pressure on you.” 

“And I don’t want you to feel bad, I’m fine.” Anthony smiled, his pleasant expression clearly forced again. “I don’t know how to convince you that I’m not upset, but I’m really not. I’m sorry.” 

Anthony hoped that something he said was believable enough, just so the conversation could end. Yes, he wanted to go to sleep, but he needed to stop talking or thinking about his ex. Unfortunately that was easier said than done, and it was already feeling like sleepless night...

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