#they just dug their heels into feeling hurt & that mattered more to them than preserving the relationship

[novadreii]

So my homegirl @cardiac-ossification and I were talking a couple weeks back and we had a misunderstanding that temporarily flared tempers; we are both going thru some shit atm.

Even though we were both kind of annoyed at each other, we walked it back, found the exact source of the misunderstanding, and cleared it up. It was over in maybe 5 minutes.

Because she is an angel who considered the possibility that this might still be bothering me, she STILL apologized to me about it again last night, even though I had completely forgotten about it the moment we cleared it up.

Having healthy relationships in my life is something I'm really grateful for and do not take for granted. We triggered each other but care more about each other than our egos, so we were able to sew it up neatly in a few minutes, and she still wanted to check in with me after the fact to make sure we were good.

This person has never once made me feel anxious or uncared for because even though it's rare that we argue, anytime we have, it's clear that we'd both rather move through the strife and preserve our friendship above all else, so our egos are easy to identify and neutralize in the face of conflict.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄13

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Alright, I cranked it out. Here ya go! 

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Steve got you back to the casino in one piece but you weren’t foolish enough to think it was because of your pathetic play with the pen. You suspected his behaviour hadn’t entirely been spontaneous. His boss surely had something to do with it though how, you couldn’t guess. 

You waited in the office on the second floor for the delivery of the carelessly selected furniture. After the scene against the desk, you were less than interested in your actual purpose in the store. Your selection had been impulsive and rushed.

You helped the men as they set up the large wooden desk and the purple suede chair you tacked onto the purchase. There was also a set of simple arm chairs that you placed opposite each other around the low table preserved from the casino’s skeleton and the jade paperweight better used as a bludgeon. 

You like the carved curlicues along the sides of the table and really didn’t mind the overall effect. It was much better than your former school-girlish set up in the antique shop. In fact, a third room had been cleared out to provide your own space though you noted that Bucky’s own separated you from Loki. A deliberate and heavy-handed move.

You locked your ledger in the second drawer as your irritated boss appeared and sneered at the mismatched set-up. You were thankful that he arrived alone. Though you suspected he did not feel the same. He crossed his arms as he refused to cross the threshold.

“It’s late,” He hissed.

You looked at him. He didn’t need to say anything else. His faced was drawn in a sharp scowl and his green eyes burned as they skittered around impatiently. You grabbed your bag and rounded the desk to meet him at the door.

“Thor?” You asked.

“Late. Still.” He turned and strode down the hallway, barely concerned about your presence as he did. “As always. I’m hardly surprised and yet I am entirely annoyed.”

You grumbled and followed him down the wide staircase to the foyer. The men continued their work, the hammering and drilling, as you passed. Outside, the air was cool and you could smell the water as its mist wafted over the boardwalk not far from the casino.

Silent, you dropped into the passenger seat of Loki’s car and he cleared his throat as he swung his long legs under the steering wheel. He shifted in the seat and shoved the keys in the ignition. His fingers tapped on the leather wheel before he turned the engine and roared away from the curb.

“Your little shopping spree,” He snarled. “How did that go?”

“It… went,” You sighed and leaned against the door. “I don’t dare ask about your own day.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel even tighter and ignored a red light. He hissed as he kept his fiery gaze on the road ahead.

“That… imbecile…” He muttered. “And his damn one percent!”

You were quiet as you stared at the dashboard. You adjusted your bag in your lap and tangled your arm in the strap. You could smirk and say I told you so but that would do you no favour.

“I say one thing, he wants the other,” Loki continued. “As if I’m stupid enough not to realise it is all a joke to him. If I were to say the sky is blue, he’d declare it yellow. And--” Loki huffed and pulled a hand away from the wheel to smooth his hair. “You!”

Your eyes rounded in confusion as you peered over at him.

“I know he won’t leave you alone,” He growled. “He can’t leave my things alone. Like a child.”

You blinked and frowned. While his ire was mostly aimed at Bucky, you knew it would not be thrust upon him. You shook your head and turned back to the gaze out the windshield.

“And this business with the hotel rooms,” He carried on. “As if to keep us apart. To keep me from my toy.”

You hugged your bag tightly, growing irritated by his ranting. But his blatant disregard for you. The scabbed cut on your pelvis itched beneath your dress.

“Well, darling, he has only fed my appetite,” He smirked. “And I don’t care if the entire city should hear me sate it.”

“Christ,” You uttered as he pulled up to the front of the hotel. 

As he did, a man in a dark blue jacket approached and stood in wait at the curb. Loki shot you a warning look as you opened your door. He neared the valet and handed him his keys with a curt order not to manhandle it and his room number. 

You gave an apologetic smile to the employee and dug around in your bag. You fished out a fifty and offered it to him with a sorry before he could round the car.

You turned and found Loki with his arms crossed waiting by the hotel’s facade, the door held open by another man in a similar jacket. You hurried over, your heels loudly clicking across the walkway. He turned and preceded you as you struggled to keep up.

“I can pay my own way, darling,” He grumbled under his breath. “Speaking of.”

He held out his hand and you fished around for the black card. You slipped it into his palm as he swept over to the elevators and he quickly tucked it away. He hit the button and waited with his hand on his hip. He checked his phone and tutted under his breath.

“Fucking Thor,” He waved you forward as the doors slid open. “I swear.”

He got into the elevator with you and you watched his reflection in the doors as they closed. His eyes went to the ceiling as he roiled with anger and impatience. You didn’t see this turning out well. Your fears were confirmed as his gaze found your owned mirrored image and flared. His tongue poked out and the corner of his mouth curved.

He grabbed your elbow as the elevator dinged and he dragged you out with him. Your bag slipped down your other arm and you barely caught it before it hit the floor. You stumbled over your feet as he pulled out his room key and checked the number in the shiny folder. 

He slipped the card out with two fingers and stopped before the suite at the end of the hallway. He flicked it along the slot and the light flashed a pale purple as the lock sounded. He pushed inward and as good as flung you inside. You caught yourself on the small table beneath the regal mirror, a doorway just beside it which led to a darkened bathroom.

The door closed with a decisive click and Loki brushed past you. You set your bag down and watched him pace the large suite as he removed his jacket. A kitchenette, a luscious living space, a polished dining set, and an immense sliding glass door led to the high balcony. Another doorway at the other end of the suite led to what you assumed was the bedroom.

Loki tugged at his tie as he neared the sofa and pulled out his phone once more. One hand worked at untangling his tie as the other typed out something on the screen. He dumped both on the table behind him and turned back to the cushions.

“Come on,” He pointed to the couch. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You hesitated before you walked across the marble floor and onto the rich rug. You stopped at the end of the sofa and shook your head.

“Why--”

“No. No.” He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you towards him. “This entire day has been one big argument, I’ll not have another. Especially with you, darling.”

He spun you to face the couch and shoved you harshly. Your knees hit the edge and you fell awkwardly onto the cushion. He pushed you down so that your chest was against the back of the sofa as his other hand hiked up your dress. You wriggled and reached back to slap him away. He caught your wrist and twisted cruelly.

“Must we continue like this?” He snarled. “My patience with you runs thinner and thinner, darling, and I become more inclined to…” He squeezed your wrist and bent your arm further up your back until you whined. “Really make you suffer.”

You whimpered and he kept a hold of your wrist.

“Now do you prefer I break your arm then fuck you, or just the latter?” He added more pressure and you cried out.

“Ah, stop, stop!” You pleaded. “Fuck, Loki! Stop! Okay, okay!”

He released you harshly and your arm shook as you drew it away. You shakily touched your skirt and drew it over your thigh. He ripped it up entirely to your waist and pushed you against the couch so that your arms were bent between you and the upholstery. Your arm still throbbed as the blood rushed back to your hand.

“Good girl,” He smacked your ass sharply and his long fingers crept beneath the elastic of your panties and tugged them down just as roughly. 

He fumbled behind you and you heard the familiar metallic clink. You closed your eyes and hung your head. Maybe he would be quick. Ha, did it matter?

He stepped closer and you felt his smooth, swollen tip against your ass. He gripped your shoulder and bent you further. He guided himself down to your folds and rubbed along them. He growled and pushed into you without warning. You weren’t quite wet enough and it hurt. You bit into the heel of your hand as your other grasped the couch.

He rutted into you without pause. You grunted and gritted your teeth as you clung to the back of the sofa. He jerked your body with each thrust as his breaths grew heady. One hand kept hold of your shoulder as the other closed over your hip. His pelvis hit your ass with loud slaps and his groans sounded like bestial growls.

“Fuck,” He uttered as he sped up and dug his nails into your hip. “Come on, give me something.”

He slammed you back into him and you shuddered. You did your best to move your body in tandem with his. Your spine ached as he pounded into you harder and harder. You panted into the thick fabric of the sofa and clamped your lips shut as you held in the unbidden moans.

“Ah, shit. Darl--”

His voice died and he stopped suddenly, completely sheathed in you, as a knock came at the door. You lifted your head and he reluctantly slipped his hand from your shoulder. He pinched your ass as he pulled out of you. He took a breath and exhaled slowly.

“Fuck, must be our bags,” He stepped back and you carefully stood as he tucked his cock away and buckled his pants. 

He found his jacket slung over a chair and pulled it on in an attempt to hide his unspent arousal. You pulled your panties up and straightened your skirt as you turned to sit on the sofa. You clasped your hands over your lap as you watched him near the door. He cursed again as he peered through the peephole.

He grabbed the handle and shook his head as he slowly opened it. You were just as uneasy as him to find Thor on the other side. The older brother wasted no time as he grinned and entered with a casual ‘hey’. He pushed past Loki as he looked around, his eyes falling on you as you tried to keep your cool.

“This is quite the room,” Thor mused as he came close. He turned back as he reached the couch and looked to his brother. “Everything you need, eh?”

He flopped onto the couch next to you and stretched his arm behind you.

“All the amenities,” He winked and his arm fell down onto your shoulders.

Loki squinted and sighed. He took the chair where his jacket had formerly resided and shifted awkwardly on the seat.

“You’re late.” Loki declared.

“Well, shit, I had a lot to do before I could just leave behind your business,” Thor retorted as he played with the sleeve of your dress. “You know, Heimdall flew all the way from London, all night, so you know, unlike you, I do allow my workers some degree of humanity. He took a nap before we could get all sorted.”

“A nap?” Loki rolled his eyes.

“You ever let your sweet bookkeeper sleep?” Thor asked as his arm hugged you. “I can’t say I would but…” He glanced over at you. “She looks tired, doesn’t she?”

You wriggled and tried to draw away. He was strong and you suspected his brother would do little to aid your escape. You glared at Loki and his lips thinned.

“Oh… oh, did I interrupt something?” Thor chuckled. “Well, don’t mind me, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“You’re repulsive,” Loki snorted. “I am certain you might acquire your own board for the night.”

“Front desk says they’re all booked up for the night.” Thor clung to you as his other large hand rested on his thigh and he rubbed his trousers with his finger tips. “So looks like we’ll be rooming together, brother, hmm? Just like when we were boys.”

“Hopefully not,” Loki sneered. “You will take her room, then.”

“Ah, no, I could not inconvenience the girl. I see you’ve already done so.” Thor insisted. “Beside, we do have much to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”

Loki leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingers together and pressed his lips to them. His eyes bore into Thor and then flitted to you. He sat back and nodded.

“You’re right,” He said. “Darling, why don’t you go get settled in your rooms? I’ll send the porter with your bag when he arrives.”

You peeked over at Thor and slowly slid forward. You stood and his arm fell, his hand grazing your ass. You smoothed the front of your dress and cleared your throat.

“Alright.” Your legs felt unsteady as you swept to the entryway and scooped up your bag.

“It is business, brother,” Thor intoned. “Shouldn’t she stay?”

“We can go over numbers tomorrow,” Loki said. “And I would agree with you, she does look tired.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Go on, darling. Enjoy your night. Alone.”

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 6

Day 6 of whumptober and part 6 of the oof!au. (Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.)

I.... arranged this preface a little different today because we’ve moved into the peak of Anakin’s nastiness, today and tomorrow. He’s laying the ground work for his own defeat, but we’re not there, yet. It’s also a brief return to using the right prompt on the right day! Look at that! Technically “Get It Out” probably applies, actually....

Warnings for torture, abuse of a prisoner, non-con (of a particularly twisted sort), being mind controlled into hurting someone you love in some pretty awful ways. PLEASE heed the warnings. Dead dove, do not eat, etc. 

No 6. PLEASE…. 

“Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

 The med-droids rarely had reason to file reports on Mustafar. Vader didn’t care what they did to the troopers. He left those reports, taking a twisting sort of pleasure in it, to filter through to 2224, who… Likely did nothing with them. Why would it? Vader demanded only reports on Obi-Wan’s progress, as time went past.

Apparently, he had died twice while they worked to preserve his life after Vader crushed his throat to make him stop speaking about Shmi. Still, they had managed to get him stabilized, managed to keep him alive, which was as it should be. He was only permitted to die when Vader decided he was, and--

And Vader was not ready for that moment, regardless of Obi-Wan’s foolish decisions. He tossed the report aside, ignoring a comment about severe damage to Obi-Wan’s vocal cords - apparently they were not sure they could repair them - fury curling around in his gut and through his bones. He’d known Obi-Wan was a monster, but to say such things about his mother--

She hadn’t deserved anything that had happened to her. Her entire life had been a punishment for crimes uncommitted. Finding her in the village of the Sand People had proven to Anakin that the galaxy needed direction, a strong hand, someone to make things right--

He swallowed, his respiratory and cardiac systems entirely out of order, the image of his mother chained up, brutalized, rising in his mind, memories he didn’t want and fought so hard to bury. He shut his eyes, shaking his head, and when he opened them again he was staring at the rack where Obi-Wan had hung.

For an awful, lurching moment, his mind supplied an image of his mother, hanging there, instead, and of Obi-Wan strung up in the Sand People’s hut, and he lurched a step backwards, a scream caught in his throat as he lashed out with the Force.

No one came to check on him, despite the cacophony of noises that must have echoed out from the room. When he did call the troopers in, later, he only said, “Remove that. I never want to see it again.”

He listened, staring out at the lava, as they dragged the twisted pieces of the rack, still covered with Obi-Wan’s blood - not his mothers, never his mother’s, he could have never hurt her, never - away.

#

Obi-Wan had done something to him, Vader realized, later, when he found himself down in the infirmary, staring at the bacta tank where Obi-Wan floated, healing slowly from the latest wounds he’d forced Vader to inflict upon him.

Obi-Wan had - had gotten into his head, somehow. He must have found a way around the collar. He’d used the poison of his words to steal Vader’s ability to think clearly, to rest. He could not stop conflating the images of his mother and Obi-Wan, which was -- ridiculous. 

They were nothing alike.

Obi-Wan had never done anything but fail him, but turn Padmé against him, but try to hold him back and confuse him, diverting him from his true purpose. Vader stared at him, fists clenched, and resolved to make Obi-Wan pay for everything he’d done.

Including the new nightmares, playing out each time Vader closed his eyes. Vader tried to make him pay, after the med-droids repaired him, but his voice wouldn’t work, even after the droids said he was recovered. Vader sent Obi-Wan back, for more work, eaten up by the nightmares and memories echoing in his head.

He needed to make Obi-Wan pay. Somehow. He had time to think of something appropriate, while Obi-Wan recovered.

#

The nightmares remained, terrible, confusing things put in his head by Obi-Wan, through another campaign. Vader returned to Mustafar in a foul temper, feeling so full of anger at the injustice of it all that he almost vibrated with it. 

He found he did not care if Obi-Wan had recovered or not, barking an order that Obi-Wan be delivered to him, immediately. He’d taken injuries, been sloppy, during the campaign. Some of the rebels had gotten away, because Obi-Wan would grant him no peace, had him spinning out of control.

Well. He fully intended to regain his control of this entire situation. Of Obi-Wan. Of his thoughts. He opened the windows to the lava flow below, all the way, wanting the convective heat to blow in around him, wanting the charred air to fill his lungs. He stood before the window, his hands clenched at his back, feeling just as full of fire and upheavals as the volcano, so far below.

He did not turn to look, when the door opened.

“I see you’ve redecorated, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strange. Hoarse. Quiet, only barely over a whisper. Infuriating as his words.

Anakin spun on his heel, snarling, feeling the hot air lift and tug at his cloak as he spat, “I’ve indulged your impertinence long enough, old man. You will call me by my proper title.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, blue eyes unblinking and faded. There were dark bruises under his eyes. His cheeks cut sharp, especially without any beard to hide them. Troopers held his arms. 2224 gripped the chain at his neck. And yet, still, Obi-Wan stood with his back straight and his shoulders back, his head high, as though--

As though he had any right to dignity. 

Obi-Wan said, staring right at him, his voice quiet and raspier than Anakin had ever heard it, “I will call you by your name. It doesn’t matter what you do, you cannot avoid who you are. Anakin.”

Something hot and pure as lightning ran down the back of Vader’s back, dug teeth into him and spread through his gut. He could not allow Obi-Wan to keep mocking him in his own place of power. He could not allow Obi-Wan to have this hold on his dreams, to hurt him, somehow. He took a step forward, growling, “I am Lord Vader. Anakin is dead.”

That weak failure of a boy was gone. He’d burned down in the lava flows. All that had remained was the core of Vader, strong enough to do what needed done, to herald the galaxy towards order and peace. 

Across from him, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, managing to look supremely unimpressed, chained and bound and otherwise naked, utterly at Vader’s mercy - he’d proved that over and over - and still refusing to acknowledge his utter defeat. 

But why would he, Vader thought, sharply. He’d obviously done something. Struck out at Vader’s mind. Planted nightmares there, left him dry heaving as he woke up, plagued with - with the ghosts of guilt and regret and--

And he had no room for those weak emotions in his life. He would burn them out, destroy them in the fire. Destroy Obi-Wan in the same fire, if required. If he would not be remade into an appropriate shape. He considered the plans he’d made, during the campaign, breathing hard, hesitating for just a moment as he said, “I give you one last chance. Kneel and greet me properly.”

Obi-Wan drew in a little breath, scowled, found some way to straighten his spine yet further and said, “You are Anakin Skywalker and you will never--”

Vader activated the collar and watched him fall, watched him spasm across the ground, watched him struggle for breath, when the pain stopped. “I tried to be reasonable with you,” he said, the heat of Mustafar curling around him, the heat of his rage kindled within him. “Remember that. But, obviously, you require a firmer hand. You will call me Vader, before we leave this room.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, rocking himself up onto his knees, blood dripping from his nose, splatters of it across the ground. “I will never,” he rasped, mouth quirking, infuriating.

Vader exhaled, harshly. His hands clenched and his gut burned with anger, fury that Obi-Wan would push him to this, would not just accept-- “You’ve brought this on yourself,” he said, “and so I’ll let you stop it, at any time. Call me my proper name, and you may return to your cell.”

“I--”

“I don’t let my men enjoy themselves nearly enough,” Vader barked, talking over Obi-Wan. He could guess what Obi-Wan had to say, anyway. “2224,” and, oh, he liked the way just saying the numbers made Obi-Wan suck in a breath, something in his posture stiffening. “I need your assistance.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Obi-Wan said, pushing to his feet and swaying once he got there, and for a moment Vader just stared at him. There was something darkly amusing about Obi-Wan trying to step in front of 2224, trying to protect an empty vessel. Especially considering what Vader planned. “Anakin, leave him--”

“The prisoner is being disruptive. Pacify him.” Vader enjoyed the brief flash of despair across Obi-Wan’s expression, the swell of it through the Force. Obi-Wan turned, looking towards 2224, just in time to take a blow across the jaw. He made a sound, low and stunned, covered by the impact of a fist into his gut.

“Wait--” Obi-Wan panted, words cut off when 2224 kicked his knee out, sending him down. 2224 was moving jerkily. Hesitating before each blow. Malfunctioning again. “No, this isn’t--”

Vader watched and listened, respiration increasing, as Obi-Wan tried to curl away from the blows, as 2224 followed him down, pulling him around, blows landing over and over and still Obi-Wan made no move to beg, to listen to instruction, to--

Well. Vader had known he’d likely require… further convincing. He grimaced.

“2224, you’re programmed to recreate,” Vader said, the words tasting like ash. “Aren’t you? Under Order 312.” Sidious had insisted that such actions could assist with appropriately subduing an entrenched populace. Vader had seen it work, on Ryloth. He could remember the way the insurgents there had screamed. Cried. Wept--

2224 stopped, froze in place, one fist drawn back still, black glove wet with blood, hand shaking. It was a broken damn thing, unable to process a question and continue a simple task. Vader scowled. He’d have disposed of the model already, if merely seeing 2224’s ugly, scarred face didn’t make Obi-Wan’s emotions twist, every time.

“What’s Order 312?” Obi-Wan panted, voice thick with pain, but neither of them answered.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” 2224 said, after a long beat for processing, with less emotion than a droid, expression utterly and completely blank. Still, Vader could not help but notice that its index finger was twitching, jerkily, and for no apparent reason. There was a smear of blood, under its nose.

Defective.

Perhaps Vader would have to make Obi-Wan watch as it was decommissioned. Permanently.

The thought held no small measure of appeal. But it could wait. At least a little while. He knew, very well, how his old master had felt about 2224. Before. He worked his jaw, once, twice, and then said, “Execute Order 312 on the prisoner.”

“What’s--” Obi-Wan started again, words cutting off when 2224 grabbed him. “Cody?” he said, sounding confused, feeling lost in the Force. There was a sharp little thrill of hope through him, at every touch of 2224’s hands, and Vader felt his lips pull back from his teeth.

He’d put that hope out, every single spark of it. 

Obi-Wan jerked as 2224 gripped his shoulders, shoving him over onto his stomach. Vader watched Obi-Wan’s chin hit the floor, heard him make a sound, felt his spreading alarm. “No,” he panted, struggling in earnest, and Obi-Wan was strong, had always been strong, even without the Force, but… his arms were bound, he’d just been beaten, viciously.

And Vader was almost certain the troopers had always been stronger.

“Stop! Don’t--Cody!” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, as 2224 put a hand on the side of his head and pressed down, its other hand pulling robotically at its armor. “Please,” Obi-Wan gasped, voice failing with another crack, and, oh, he was shaking, Vader noticed, shaking all over, his eyes gone white all the way around, breath sharp and choppy. “Cody, don’t!”

2224 hesitated. Froze into place. Vader scowled and snapped, “I gave you an order! Carry it out!” And Obi-Wan cried out, sharp, ragged, when 2224 pushed into him, without a word, without a single move towards kindness. Vader watched, stared, unwilling even to blink, waiting for Obi-Wan to give in. Waiting for him to break. Waiting--

He made an awful, guttural sound, when 2224 bottomed out, still pressing Obi-Wan’s face down, its other hand gripping at Obi-Wan’s hip, that index finger still tapping, endlessly, even as it set a fast, brutal pace. And Obi-Wan didn’t beg. Didn’t break. Instead, he gasped, “It’s not you. It’s not you -- it’s--this isn’t--”

“Is this what it was like?” Vader asked, making himself watch. How often had he wondered, over the course of the war? How many times had he imagined his high and mighty master, bent over and fucked, taken. It had irritated him, at the time, that Obi-Wan would let someone else touch him, that he’d spread his legs and beg, when he hadn’t wanted Anakin. It had left him hard and aching, back then.

It still did, he found, cock twitching beneath his suit as he watched and listened.

Obi-Wan had never handled himself properly. Never realized what was good for him. Vader snarled, listening to the sounds Obi-Wan made, gutted and soft. Wet. Refusing to answer.

“Have you missed this?” Vader demanded, taking a step forward, listening to 2224 pant like an animal, just rutting mindlessly into a warm body, still with no expression on its face, the white of its left eye staining red. Perhaps that was what it had always been like, Vader could imagine that. Vader spat, “I suppose 2224 deserves permission to have you like this whenever it likes, that’s what you let it have before, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth worked, soundlessly. Resisting, even still.

Vader went to one knee, watching, and snapped, “Answer me!”

Obi-Wan spat towards him, instead of saying anything, salvia pinkish with blood, splattering across his boot, expression twisted up as, behind him, 2224 made the smallest sound and stilled. Just… stopped moving, completely, the task finished.

“Go clean yourself up, Cody,” Vader ordered, eyes on Obi-Wan as 2224 pulled out of him, taking in the flash of pain across his expression. He collapsed sideways as 2224 rose, laying there, sprawled across the floor, exposed and bloody already, drawing his legs up, hunching around them.

Vader swallowed, harshly, and said, bile in his mouth, “Say my name.”

Obi-Wan laughed. It was a terrible, cracking sound. His eyes barely focused when he said, in a hoarse whisper, through a crooked smile, “Anakin Skywa--”

Vader activated the collar, for just a moment, white-hot rage moving through him, and gripped at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, shoving him flat onto the ground. He felt the way Obi-Wan jerked and jumped, beneath him, noticed the slickness of blood and spend, and -- and refused to hesitate.

Obi-Wan wasn’t moving, by the time he finished. Vader stood, feeling strangely shaky, split open inside, and looked down at the limp body. Obi-Wan was just… staring forward, breath shaky and hitching. Vader was sweating, heavily, under his suit. He could smell the stink of himself, and hated it, one more thing caused by Obi-Wan.

He stumbled back a step, but there was no one to see but the troopers. And they did not care. He said, turning away, “Take him away.” He added, as he heard them dragging Obi-Wan towards the doors, “To the med-droids. But tell all the troopers to enjoy themselves. After all, one of you is the same as all the rest.”

And, perhaps, that would be enough to teach Obi-Wan his place.

His mouth tasted of ash. He swallowed it down into his gut.

[dorkylittleweirdo]

the smut i regrettably promised

Five let out a groan as Simon told them yet another shitty pickup line. He was infuriating. Insufferable. Intoxicating. Without meaning to, they felt their playful glare soften as their eyes flitted down to his lips before darting back up. They silently hoped that Simon hadn’t noticed, but that would’ve been too much to ask.

Simon smirked, quirking a brow at them. “See something you like?” He teased, earning an eye roll from the other runner.

“You wish,” they snorted, the corners of their mouth tugging into a smile. If they were being honest with themselves, they did. But they would never say it. Five was never quite sure of what drew them to Simon, but it hardly mattered anymore.

“You’re gonna hurt my feelings one of these days,” he warned. He was only half joking, looking at them with a curious shimmer in his eyes. Simon still hadn’t quite figured them out. No matter how much he found out about them, each answer always seemed to bring more questions. He knew they were reckless, with a lack of self-preservation that rivaled his own. But he never knew why.

“And it’ll be your own fault for walking into it,” Five retorted, earning a laugh from Simon. He really was beautiful, much to their dismay. The way his hair fell, perfectly framing his face, his slightly chapped lips that they’d love to have pressed against their own. They hadn’t even realized they were staring until Simon spoke again.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” That damn smirk of his never left his face.

“Shut up,” Five chuckled, shaking their head as they rolled their eyes.

“Make me.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him in, angling their head so they could smash their lips against his. Five wasn’t sure how they were supposed to play this off as a joke; they couldn’t play off something as real as this was. But they weren't ready for that conversation. They kept kissing him.

Their mouth was hot against his, and Simon gladly swallowed the desperation and passion they poured into his mouth. He barely registered what was happening, but suddenly his hands were on their hips, his body pressed against theirs, their chest against his. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

Five let go of his shirt, wrapping their arms around his neck. His body against theirs like this was euphoric, and they were glad this area was so secluded. They let out a muffled sound as Simon backed them into the wall, their body sandwiched between him and the cool wall.

"Five," their name left Simon's lips like a prayer as he pulled away just enough to gaze into their eyes. Their breath was hot against his lips, their eyes lidded. It drove him crazy.

Five only responded by leaning forward, burying their face in his neck. They gently pressed their lips against his neck, their hands moving to grip his shoulders. "This good?" They whispered breathily against his neck, earning a noise of confirmation from Simon. With that, they latched onto his neck, their teeth grazing the delicate skin they sucked.

Simon inhaled sharply, taking a step back in surprise, Five's mouth still at work on his neck. "Shit, go easy, will ya?" He laughed, trying not to sound as pleasure-ridden as he knew he was. "You want the whole township to know?"

"Why not?" They answered, pulling away from his already-bruised neck to look up at him. "Do you not want this?"

"I do," he responded quickly, too quickly. God help him. He offered them a grin. "I just don't want you having all the fun." Without giving Five a chance to speak, he buried a hand in their hair and roughly yanked it, exposing their neck. Simon relished the way they let out a strangled gasp before nipping at their neck.

"Simon…" they breathed, their eyes shut with pleasure, their chin resting on his shoulder. They grinded lightly against him, earning a soft growl from Simon.

He kissed them again, the act both holy and sacrilegious all at once. His hands glided up their sides, and he tried not to think about how someone as sinful as he was could touch someone as divine as they were. They were too good for him, far too good. But he didn’t stop. Simon stripped them of their oversized t-shirt, breaking the kiss to pull it over their head.

Five grabbed his face, their thumbs tenderly brushing against his cheeks. The man in front of them was gorgeous, with his cheeks lightly dusted pink. They smiled. They caused that. In their mind, this was all there was. Just the two of them in this little room. And that was enough. Five tugged off their sweatpants before pulling off Simon’s shirt and shorts and backing him into the couch, pushing him down.

Simon’s gaze traced their body. He let out a breath, reaching out to place his hands on their waist. This was his. His to worship like it was a holy place. And it was, at least to him. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. He spoke with such conviction, more so than when his grandmother had forced him to pray out loud when he was younger. He pressed his lips to their stomach, trailing feather-light kisses up to their neck.

Five couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped their parted lips. “You’ve seen me undressed before,” they reminded him, climbing on top of him and straddling him. The feeling of his bulge rubbing against them only furthered the relentless throb between their legs.

“Mmm, it’s not the same as this,” he mumbled, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. He grabbed their thighs, gazing up at them with such adoration. Simon softly pressed his lips against theirs, this kiss much more tender than than the last two. He felt a hand on his chest pushing him down against the couch, his back pressed against the material.

They looked at Simon, his large pupils gazing up at them. They pressed their forehead against his, the back of their fingertips gently brushing against his cheek. They had never imagined that they would actually get intimate like this with Simon. Maybe Sam, they thought, but he only saw them as a replacement for Alice. But Simon was different. He had been with them since the beginning, and stuck by their side even though he knew so little about them.

Five buried their fingers in his hair, smiling sweetly at him. A smile they’d never truly given to anyone. They felt Simon reach up to remove their sports bra, slipping the undergarment over their head. They tossed it to the side before removing their underwear, watching as Simon shed his.

“How do you wanna do this?” Simon asked softly, which almost startled Five, who wasn’t used to him being so gentle.

“Whatever you want,” they replied, more than willing to relinquish control if it meant he would sleep with them.

Simon didn’t respond, he only leaned forward to capture their lips with his again. He felt their exposed chest on his, allowing himself to slowly be pushed back down onto the couch.

They placed a hand on his chest, trailing it down to his stomach, feeling his abdominal muscles. “You’re gorgeous,” they commented, planting rough kisses along his collarbone and neck.

Simon let out a small groan. His hands trailed up and down their back, his nails lightly scratching their skin.

“Harder,” they mumbled against his neck. They bit down harder when Simon immediately raked his nails down their back. “Good boy.” They pulled back with a sigh, looking down at his face. A wicked smile grew on their face at his red cheeks and his eyes wide with hope. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re a good boy.” Their hands were in his hair now, their face close to his.

Without a second thought, Simon threw himself forward, earning a squeak from Five as they were pinned against the couch. He nipped at their neck, getting rougher with each new area of their untouched skin. This saintly being was his. In this moment, nobody else had them. Not even Sam bloody Yao. He was tainting them, this sacred person, with his sacrilege. God forgive him. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He wanted this as bad as they did, if not more.

“Ha... good boy, such a good boy,” the words flowed from their mouth, their hand gripping his hair.

Simon moved himself lower, positioning his head between their thighs and looking up at them with hooded eyes. He watched as Five nodded, then flicked his tongue out, swirling it against their clit. Their soft pants and the way their fingers tightly gripped his hair edged him on. He thrust his tongue into their opening, pressing it up against their walls, moving it in and out. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter to him than they did.

Five let out a short, low moan. Their heels dug into his back, holding them in place as their back arched, their hips bucking up towards his mouth. Their hands desperately pulled at his hair. Simon’s mouth against them felt like heaven. This man, with them like this, was the only religion they’d ever known. “Just like that. God, fuck, you’re so good, Si,” they groaned, the words barely managing to escape their lips in their haze of ecstasy.

Every praise that escaped their lips was like fuel for him. All he wanted was to please them, to be good for them. And god, he was actually managing to do it. The soft gasps and pants they emitted was like a choir of angels to him. Their fingers tangled in his hair, their touch alone, was the most religious experience he’d ever had. His teeth gently brushed over their clit as they rolled their hips over his mouth, focusing on sucking and wiggling his tongue against it as their movements sped up in desperation.

They moaned, gripping his hair tighter, their back arched as a knot formed in their stomach. “Keep- keep going,” Five managed to pant. “Oh, god, just keep doing that.” they felt the knot in their stomach release as they came, a pleasure-filled moan of satisfaction leaving their lips.

Simon pulled his head from between their thighs to look at them. The relieved, contented sigh that escaped them caused him to grin to himself. He had pleased them. He had done good. The sounds that left their soft lips was all he needed. He didn’t care what they did to him next, or what they wanted him to do to them, as long as he could hear their moans.

Five barely managed to lift their head. They tugged his hair, pulling his head from their thighs and sitting up, holding his face in their hands so he would look up at them. His eyes were shining bright with lust, his lips slightly parted as he panted. “You’ve been such a good boy. I think you deserve a reward.” They smiled at the eager nod Simon gave them. “What do you want me to do?”

“Please, let me fuck you,” he found himself saying, earning a deviant smirk from Five.

“I dunno,” they answered, pretending to consider it as they straddled Simon, loosely draping their arms over his shoulders. “Maybe if you beg for it.”

Simon had never seen this confident side of them before. He had no idea that they could be this dominant in bed, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible. “God, please, Five. Please, please, I’ll be a good boy. Haven’t I been a good boy?” He almost felt like he was back in his youth, begging a god he was raised to believe in for forgiveness. But this was different, so much different. Because this was Five. And they thought he was good just as he was.

“You have been a good boy, haven’t you? Such a good boy. You’ve been perfect,” they told him, causing Simon to melt. They were glad to know their words had such an effect on him, because they never wanted to stop telling him how wonderful he was. Five pressed his back against the couch, sticking a hand between the couch cushions and producing a condom package.

Simon couldn’t help but laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve done this before,” he breathed, a soft smile on his face.

Five offered a smirk as a response, removing the condom from its packaging and slipping it over him. They positioned themselves over him, sliding him into them, letting him fill them up. “Is this alright for you?” They asked, tilting their head at him.

Simon’s head was so filled with elated fog, he barely registered their question. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out, his answer breathy and high-pitched as he struggled to bite back a moan.

With his confirmation, Five set a relentless pace, throwing themselves in with reckless abandon. They grinned when Simon let out a startled cry, throwing his head back, his eyes all but rolling back into his skull.

Simon gripped the cushion and bit his lip so hard it bled. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, momentarily rendered silent by the pleasure. His pupils were blown to shit, and he felt himself getting close. Five showed no sign of slowing down; their stamina really was an incredible thing. He came, moaning upon his release. He looked up at Five, who was still sliding in and out of him, unable to hit the spot they wanted. "Here, let me," Simon panted, his voice content but still strained. He expertly flipped Five onto their back in one fluid motion, pounding into their.

Five let out a gasp, their hands flying up to his shoulders, their nails digging into his back. Simon finally hit the spot that ripped a moan from their throat, and they melted beneath him. They barely registered what was going on besides the white-hot pleasure they felt, their walls clenching around him as they came. They gave a pleasure-filled sigh of satisfaction as Simon slowed his pace before pulling out of them and removing the condom. They lay on the couch for a moment, out of breath, momentarily unsure if they were still on this plane of existence.

"You alright there?" Simon asked, a smug smile on his face.

Five returned his smile as they sat up, attempting to run a hand through their tangled hair. "Nah, I'm dead. You killed me," they answered, earning a laugh from Simon.

"With my dick? That's a new one." He grinned at them, leaning back against the cushions, his arms hanging over the back. He didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful sight. Their sparkling eyes, their flushed cheeks, their just-fucked hair, the thin layer of sweat that shone off their skin. They were perfect.

"Oh, I'm the first? Figured you'd be adding me to the list." Five crawled towards him, curling up against him, head against his chest. They looked up at him. "But seriously, you were amazing."

"So were you," Simon agreed, hooking an arm over their shoulders, pulling them closer. He pressed his lips against their temple.

Five's eyelids felt so heavy, but they couldn't sleep now. Not like this, not a sticky mess in Simon's arms. "Can we- can we just stay like this for a minute..?"

Simon hummed in response, his hand running slowly up and down their side. His breath hitched when Five casually swung a leg across his lap and an arm over his chest, nuzzling the top of their head under his chin. He didn’t understand how someone as corrupt as him was able to wish for paradise and receive it, but he wouldn’t complain. He stayed as still as he could, almost afraid to move; one wrong move, and Five would retreat, never allowing him to get this close ever again.

Shifting slightly, Simon carefully, cautiously, wrapped his arms around their body. Their bare skin against his felt like fire, burning him like a demon on consecrated ground. Cleansing him. He held Five close, burying his face in their neck as his fingers weaved through their hair. He heard them let out a deep, relaxed exhale, and smiled against their neck. Simon slowly moved himself again, Five still in his grasp as he leaned back against the cushions, pulling them on top of him.

Five smiled softly, pressing their lips against his, sweet and chaste, before resting their head on his chest again. The steady lull of his heartbeat further soothed their mind. They felt his fingers in their hair, gently detangling it as his hand ran through it. Their eyes shut for a few moments in pure bliss.

“So, how long have you wanted to kiss me?” Simon asked after a while, a smirk on his face, hand still stroking their hair.

Five chuckled awkwardly, their face flushing. “A while now,” they admitted softly. “I wanted to know what it was like.”

“And what was it like?”

They paused for a moment before answering. “Incredible,” they whispered, almost awestruck. “God, you’re fucking amazing, Si.”

He grinned. “Of course I am,” he agreed arrogantly, though it was all for show. “Shit, Five, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that with you?” Simon laughed, almost in disbelief.

“You could’ve just asked. I would’ve said yes,” they told him, lifting their head and moving their hands to cradle his face, a teasing smile tugging at their lips. “When have I ever said no to sex?”

“It wouldn’t have seemed as genuine if I asked,” he answered with an eye roll, as if he’d just stated the most obvious thing. “It would’ve sounded like I just wanted sex, and not that I-” Simon didn’t finish his sentence, looking to the side as Five tilted their head, their eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“That you what?” They inquired, their heart pounding. Their hands still held his face in place, their eyes darting around his facial features. His pink-tinted cheeks, how he bit his lip, the way his eyes looked at everything else except them. Five smiled. “Aww, does someone have a crush?” They teased with a gentle laugh.

“Are you blind?” Simon snorted. “Of course I do, you bloody idiot. I thought I made it obvious.” Was that why nothing happened sooner? Had Five really not known he was attracted to them?

“Wait, seriously?” They asked, quirking a brow, their hands sliding from his cheeks to his shoulders.

Simon let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head, a small smile on his face. “Clever as you are, you’re certainly not the brightest,” he chuckled, earning a playful pout from the other runner. “What did you think all the flirting was for?”

“You were being serious?” Five yelped, their face flushed. “I thought you did that with everyone!” Their eyes were wide with embarrassment as Simon laughed, covering his mouth with a hand to stop himself, his eyes glittering with amusement.

"You responded to it!"

"Well, I didn't know we were actually flirting!"

The small room was filled with aching laughter, neither of them knowing quite what to say next. Their giggles died down after a while, Simon sitting up and leaning forward to kiss them. He could feel them smile into the kiss, causing him to smile. They laughed again, their smiles too broad for them to properly kiss each other. Five pressed their forehead against his, their arms draping over his shoulders while Simon’s arms wrapped themselves around the smaller runner’s waist. Gazing into each other’s eyes, both of them had the same thought: how the hell were they going to explain this to Janine?

[hwkewhy]

Cold Shoulder | j.w.

Summary: A little bit of liquid courage never hurt. And maybe a convenient patch up job in his room doesn’t either.

Pairings: John Wick x Reader.

Word Count: 1.9k.

Warnings: Blood. Mentions of wounds and violence. Light swearing.

“Don’t you look like absolute shit.”

No response. 

“Well... How have you been?”

Silence. Bone chilling silence. 

“I see... Not gonna answer. Fair enough.” You hum, fingers tapping on the bar top. In truth, you had hoped he might speak to you, putting your current job off for a little longer. “Well, I got a mark. Just thought I’d come see how you were before...”

Still nothing.

“Ah, forget that I asked.”

Just as quickly as you had sat down, you’re gone. Leaving your payment on top of the bar with a soft clink.

He doesn’t watch you go, keeping his back turned to you. He counts the clicks of your heels against the ground till he can no longer hear them. Then there’s the silence. You’re gone. Who knows when you’ll be back. 

He gives you about three hours till you’re back, sipping on your favorite drink under the light of the bar. And that just might underestimating you just a little. Three hours did make it seem like he didn’t think you could get it done quickly, without a hitch.

He knew better than that. 

Tapping his finger on the brim of his glass, he mentally kicks himself for not saying something. But was it his fault? You had said he looked like -- God. What was wrong with him? Normally, your little jabs didn’t bother him in anyway.

And who’s to say they even bothered him any now?

His brows fall together in thought. How long has it been since he’s last seen you? A year or two? Perhaps even more than that. He supposes the last time he really saw you was before he got out of it. After all, he would run into you time and time again underneath the Continental roof. It seems like nothing has changed for that matter.

After he got out, he rarely ever saw your face. There might have been a time or two where he thought he caught a glimpse of you among the bustling masses. Your figure disappearing into the sea of people as if you were never really there in the first place. And there’s a good chance you weren’t there to begin with.

When he was still a player in the game, you had been a welcomed companion. Maybe even more than that if his memory was serving him correctly.

He remembers how ready you had been to offer him any form of assistance. At one point, he might have thought you felt bad for him. He was old, and getting weaker and weaker every day. Not that he was doing a good job of showing that.

When the Doc wasn’t around, he recalls a few times you had dug into his side to pull fragments of bullets out, fingers coated in blood and a way to gentle of a smile on your face. You had treated him with care, not saying a word as you put him back together again.

You had been a good friend.

But, if you had been such a good friend, why did he insist on giving you such a cold shoulder?

Maybe because he couldn’t stand to see you direct that gentle smile his way. Maybe because he didn’t think he deserved the random acts of kindness you threw his way.

John Wick thought himself to be nothing more than a killer. A killer who didn’t know how to use his hands for anything else other than murder He’s almost been conditioned to know nothing else but broken bones and blood. How could he even begin to go about approaching your in any other way other than a killer.

It’s as if he can’t get past that one thought. That he is a killer. Nothing more, nothing less.

But if he were to think a little longer and harder about it, he might realize the same could be said about you. After all, you did work with him from time to time. And when you weren’t tagging along, there was no telling what kinds of chaos you were up to.

If you wanted too, you could probably take down an entire room of men with just the point of your heel. And John would never dare to put that past you. He would never doubt you like that.

....

You couldn’t even begin to make it up to your room. How pathetic. 

Charon had watched you stumble in through the lobby doors, flopping down into the closest chair you could find. You looked as if you had been put through the ringer. Maybe even to hell and back. Even from where he was standing, he could see the violent shaking of your hands as you latched onto the nearest object. 

“Miss. Y/n.”

If you had the energy, you might have jumped at his sudden appearance by your side. 

“Oh... Hey there, Charon. Is it okay if... If I sit here for just a moment? And... And Catch my breath?”

“Certainly.”

"Thanks.”

He lingers by your side. “Can I do anything else for you?”

“A drink... A drink would be nice. I don’t care what it is--surprise me.” You mutter, head lulling to the side, eyes looking off into some far off land. “Maybe... Maybe find the doctor for me?”

"Anything else?”

“Ah, no... No, I don’t think so.”

.....

“Hey.”

You groan.

“Hey. Hey.”

You know that voice.

“Y/n? Can you hear me?” A brief pause, fingertips carefully ghost across your cheek. “What happened to you.”

“I... I got the shit beat out of me, Jonathan.”

There’s another pause, this one longer. You can almost feel the unease vibrating off of him, debating whether or not he should act on his instincts to protect and preserve. But the longer he sits and waits, the closer and closer you get to the light.

“Where... Where’s the doctor?”

He gives you a simple answer. “Out.”

“Oh, you... You have got to be shitting me.”

“No... I’m not.”

A gentle hand latches onto your shoulder, his other hand moving to pull you up into a sitting position. If your body wasn’t weighed down with the feeling of impending doom, you might have reacted to his careful touch. But even with your mind clouded with the daze of blood loss, you know why he’s here. 

He’s here to help.

“Did... Did Charon send you?” You whisper, letting your drained body slump against his stronger one.

“Perhaps.”

“Then... Where’s my drink?”

John can only snort at that. Instead of humoring you any longer, he locks one arm tightly behind your back before the other loops down and around the bend of your knees. He picks you up as if you weighed nothing to him. You might as well not have when compared to the infamous Baba Yaga.

..... 

Strange to think hands that are so capable of murder and violence leave nothing but gentle caresses against your side.

John, ever the gentlemen, had called you up a bottle of liquor. At first, you assume it’s for disinfecting the wound. Instead he passes it over to you, mumbling a soft “drink” before ducking his head back dow, large fingers working needle and thread with ease.

Glancing around his room, you feel your body sink a little deeper into the mattress, eyes staring up at the ceiling. A bolt of pain shoots through your side, teeth gritting together at the feeling. 

“Are you --”

“I’m fine, John. But could you move a little faster?”

John only snorts at you. 

There’s a small beat of a pause between the two of you. 

“who would have known.”

John looks up, absentmindedly reaching for the surgical scissors on his thigh. “What’s that?”

“I was just thinking, you know.” You take a quick swig of your drink. “It’s just funny that it took me getting shot and nearly beaten to death to make my way into your bed.”

John jerks at that. His sudden movements pulls at the thread looping through your skin, tearing instead of piecing you back together. You can only chuckle. The brief and sudden pain was worth it to see him flustered, even if just for a moment.

He doesn’t give you a response. In fact he isn’t sure how to, only shaking his head. Locks of black hide the gentle curving up of his lips and the subtle flush of pink ghosting over his face. He decides not to loo too far into it for now. After all, piecing you back together was far more pressing than looking into whatever that meant.

“So... You’re just going to ignore me some more?”

“I think that --” John roughly points a finger to the bottle in your hands “--has gotten to your head.”

“Maybe so. I do feel pretty good.” You chuckle, head falling backwards onto the pillow with a soft thump. “But I’m just saying what I’m thinking. If I wasn’t missing a piece of my side, I would--”

John jumps up from his seat. “Alright, alright. I think it’s bed time for you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. You’re not listening to me, John.”

He pauses, hands looming on your shoulders. His brows fall together, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out for the first time all over again. This close to you, he can smell the liquor on your breath. He can practically taste it.

But the look you give him is so determined that he can’t help but believe you are in sound enough mind to mean what you’re saying. 

“I can’t.” Is all that he can say, finally allowing his grip to fall onto your shoulders. Large fingers hold onto you loosely but still with enough force to push you down onto the bed.”I can’t put you through--”

“Put me through what, John? You and I are exactly the same.” You smack his grip away with the back of your hand. “You’re a murderer. I’m a murderer. We’re both hitmen for hire. It happens.”

“But--”

“I swear if you interrupt me one more time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I don’t doubt it... But still.”

“What’s got you so scared?”

He blinks. He looks at you and then looks away. He looks at his hands for a second, twiddling his thumbs together. His gaze darts around, looking at anything other than the confused look you’re giving him.

“What if... I can’t...” He mutters. “...Being in me puts you in danger.”

“Danger happens to be my middle name.”

“Y/n.”

“John.”

“You could get killed.” He defends. 

“I could get killed anyway.” You retort back. 

Perhaps it was all but a losing battle with you. Perhaps he didn’t know when to back down. He certainly knew you weren’t going to back down. Not till you got the answer you were looking for or something to at least sedate your growing annoyance.

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping just a bit. It’s the first signs of weakness he has been willing to show you since bringing you up here. 

“Maybe you’re right.” He whispers. 

“Could you say that again?”

“No.”

You snort a bit at that, face twisting up in pain as your side jerks. “Fair enough. But what would you say to dinner?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I didn’t think you’d get around to it.”

John shifts a bit, a soft smiling upturning his lips. He shifts the pillows around you for a moment, pulling the blankets up and over your form. And then, very quietly, he goes, “If I say yes, would you get some rest?”

You meekly nod. His rather evasive yes was a start. And that start had to amount to something over time.

[ketchupcrisp]

Ask Strange, Part II for today

Content Notes: First response includes representations of physical violence from an enhanced teenager toward an adult, as well as discussion of grieving the loss of a parent. I also want to note that the POV character sounds and likely is vaguely suicidal at the beginning of the response. He's not making any definite plans beyond using time travel, but given that the context of said time travel would be rather different than in the canon, it takes on a different valence here. If you want to avoid the most direct discussions of that, start reading several paragraphs in at "He came to suddenly and violently."

Thanks for sharing, doc, this and the other intel, especially your note about the people who wouldn't listen to Tony earlier having to live with the consequences (that's something I'd love to hear a bit more about, sometime, if you are at liberty to say)

and

Hey, Doc! If it hasn't already been asked I'm desperately curious about the aftermath of whatever Tony did in his world. Particularly whether he did save Natasha, and how his subsequent loss has affected everyone (especially those who didn't appreciate or listen to Tony as much as they should have). And if it's not too personal, how do you feel about your role in all of this? Obviously you know where Tony is and how he's doing but I can't imagine it's easy when dealing with Tony's loved ones.

My feelings about my own role…well, as one would imagine, they’re complicated. There was little love lost between Stark and I, but I still regretted that this was the only possible ending to his story. He deserved better from this universe.

My own visions are not perfect, especially when I am under the kind of constraints I was on Titan. My initial impression was that Stark would perish during the final battle against Thanos. So initially I was relieved to realize it was otherwise. It is rather difficult to keep the truth of his existence in another universe from those who love and are missing him, and Peter in particular is not making it easy. He and Mr. Keener are secretly (or what they believe to be secretly, anyway) attempting to seek Stark out, correctly believing he is not dead. If they get far I may have to intervene; Stark is correct in assuming that contact between the universes could be catastrophic, resulting in (among other things) both his and Natasha Romanov’s deaths, or even the potential undoing of the team’s success against Thanos.

As to others who have regrets, there are unfortunately many to choose from in this regard.After all, practically no one listened to Stark when they should have.

For now, however, this particular vision should provide some valuable insights about one in particular.

*

The morning of the memorial, Steve was dozing in a motel room bed. It was a terrible bed even by 40s standards; springs dug into his back every time he moved, and it had a whole series of odors he had to actively work not to recognize. It didn’t really mater, though, because this half-sleep state was the closest he managed to get to actual rest anymore; Bucky had tried to remedy this with several over-the-counter sleep aids, and then some stolen opiates, but the serum burned through everything too fast, leaving Steve vaguely nauseated and even more irritable.

After a few days, even Bucky had mostly stopped coming by. Bucky mourned Tony, and Steve knew he regretted that the two of them had never had a chance to really make peace about everything that had happened in Siberia. But Bucky, like the others, also wanted to get on with the work of re-making the world and his own life, honouring Tony’s sacrifice by not wasting any more time.

For a guy so frequently reminded that he was out of time, Steve felt like he was swimming in the stuff these days. The future he’d fought so hard to preserve was here, laid out before Steve in an endless expanse of unsoiled promise. (He hated it. Hated everything about the idea of a future that didn’t include Tony Stark.)

Bucky knew what Steve was planning. Maybe he wasn’t clear on all the details, but outside of his Winter Soldier persona, Bucky wasn’t a subtle man. His disapproval had been just as easy to spot as the signs of his recent and extremely happy reunion with Sam. (Bucky wanted a future, a life here. He didn’t need Steve anymore, didn’t deserve to be weighted down by Steve’s stagnant refusal to move forward.)

He came suddenly and violently to full consciousness several minutes later when he was hit in the ribs with enough force to make him gasp. Another blow landed against the side of his head, and it was oddly lucky that Steve’s reflexes were as slowed as they were, or he would have responded with lethal force before he could have registered the familiarity of the disheveled curls in his face.

“Peter? The hell?”

The boy looked exactly how Steve felt: as if he had given up. Except while Steve’s approach to hopelessness had been to languish, Peter was just as full of rage and denial as he had been the day of the battle. Steve caught him by the wrists, but Peter was almost wild in his fury, and he struggled with every bit of his enhance strength. They rolled onto the floor, Steve’s head glancing off the corner of the night-table.

“You’re leaving? I heard Barnes telling Wilson last night—Tony did all this to save the world, to save your fucking friend for you, and you’re just LEAVING him and everyone else? Fucking off to the forties to live happily ever after?” If Peter kept landing blows against Steve’s arms and chest with this kind of force, there was a not improbable chance he’d end up hurting himself; reluctant though he was to use his own strength, he rolled them over and pinned the boy’s arms to the floor above his head. “He would have done anything for you, you fucking asshole! You left him half dead in Siberia and he still would have done anything!”

Containing Peter’s body only seemed to intensify his anger, so Steve loosened his grip just enough that the boy could feel it and act. In seconds they were both their feet, and Peter had slammed him against a wall.  (They would be lucky if they made it out of this without having to pay the motel for structural damages.)

Peter held Steve there and screamed until he was hoarse. He shouted accusations and curses and pleas, jumping from one of Steve’s faults to the next with little in the way of logical transition. None of it was anything Steve hadn’t thought of himself in the last several days, but there was still something particularly horrifying about hearing it all laid out by a desperate, broken teenager. (Tony’s desperate and broken teenager. This child was Tony’s just as surely and completely as any child had ever belonged to any parent.)

“What good am I here?” he asked hopelessly when the latest wave of temper had burned itself out. “I was already lost before. Now, the battle’s over, the world is saved…Peter, I’m tired.” This drew a harsh, bitter laugh which never should have emerged from someone as young as Peter. Steve winced.

“I am sixteen years old and I am about to bury my fourth parental figure. I died trying to save the world before I had even told the girl I like that I have a crush on her. Fuck you you’re fucking tired.” He started whaling on Steve’s chest again, but Peter’s strength was finally giving out, and he forgot to tuck his thumb properly on one of the blows. His thumb broke with an audible crack and Peter howled, collapsing onto the floor. “Agh god. Ow ow ow ow—no don’t you fucking touch me.”

For seconds that felt like hours, he watched Peter writhe on the floor. Steve imagined how the sight would have devastated Tony, what the man he loved would have given to cradle his child, soothe his tears and his pain. But it wasn’t just Tony he saw in Peter now. In the boy’s misdirected anger, his sorrow, his inability to even comprehend the scale of his own loss, Steve could see himself reflected just as clearly as when he’d actually battled his younger counterpart. Tony would never have wanted that for Peter, would never have wished for all the worst parts of Steve to take over his son.

Without another word, without pausing one more second to let himself think about the commitment he was making, Steve spun on his heel, seized the ice bucket, and marched down to the ice machine at the end of the hall. It was grimy enough that he wouldn’t have dared exposed the open wound of anyone who wasn’t enhanced to the contents, but for today it would do. He stomped back to the room, lifted Peter’s hand up onto the bed so it sat above his heart, and shoved it not entirely gently into the bucket of ice. Peter made to swear at Steve, maybe even hit him again, but Steve shook his head.

“We’re done with that now. Keep that in there while I try to find something to use as a splint.” Peter settled for glaring while Steve found the cleanest shirt he had in his bag, cut it into strips, and wrapped it carefully around Peter’s red, swollen thumb. “You’re right about…well, about almost everything. I made so many mistakes with Tony, there are more things that I wish I could take back than you even know about. But you can’t go through the world like this, Peter. It’s not what he would have wanted, to see you twisted and broken and cruel. You know that.”

“The hell does it matter to you?” Peter demanded, hissing as he pressed his hand deeper into the ice. “It’s not like you’ll be around to have to pick up the pieces. Not like you ever are.”

“Maybe…maybe this time I will be. For long enough to make sure that Tony’s kid is going to be alright, anyway. I owe him that much, don’t you think?”

“I’m not your absolution. You don’t get to feel better—”

“No,” Steve agreed quickly, before the kid could get himself worked up again. “I don’t get to feel better, not about him. But I loved him and he loved you, so you’re stuck with me until I don’t think you’re at risk of going all supervillain. Or worse…Captain America.” Peter snorted.

“Fat fucking chance.”

“Language.”

“Fuck you, old man.”

Anyway another question for you or for #AskStrange: to the good Doctor, we’ve been told/shown that the other Steve (MCU Steve) loved Tony and was going to admit his feelings. Did our Tony love his original Steve too? Ta.

Ugh, Stark and feelings. My least favourite combination of words. Now, to your question: my impression is that Stark had feelings for Rogers early on in their relationship, but that they were largely nullified by the events of the Civil War. He believed Rogers to have chosen James Barnes over himself in every possible way, so any romantic interest in the man was, while not immediately banished, certainly tainted.

The two did warm to one another considerably during their sojourn to the 1970s; there was, I believe, a very near kiss at one point. But before that particular spark could be much more than slightly fanned, Stark learned of his ties to the Soul Stone, and after that he kept Rogers at arms-length as best he could, fearing he would not live through the final battle against Thanos.

[kclenhartnovels]

Burn the Stars

[Have some not-quite-canon Wolf at the Gates whump, because I had a bad day and Jinx was the chosen victim. TW for torture, language (cursing and sex mentions), kidnapping, and death threats.]

“Hey, did you know they make srets in a buncha different colors, now? Look at this one I just hauled out of a hole in the ground.”

Jinx hit the dirt hard enough to have the breath knocked from her, arms still bound behind her back. 

“Were you referring to her hair, or her outfit?” the other mercenary asked, putting his heel against her ribs to roll her over. Though she was coated in a fine layer of dirt, the bright yellow and green of her tunic and leggings were still visible, even if she was missing the usual mask, and the high collar that normally hid her stars was ripped away, bruising on her neck to match.

“Both,” he chuckled. “Look at the height of her stars, Paedril. This’ll be the best bounty we’ve collected for the crown yet.”

“Close,” Paedril corrected. “But I’ve got one better--or I will soon, if rumors are right. Stars on his face, Hadrian--royalty. You know the price Silas offers for the harperellum that got away? We could retire.”

“The harperellum are all dead,” Jinx corrected, lifting her chin enough out of the dirt to talk.

“Oh! The rat finally speaks. I didn’t think she knew any words aside from damning my mother,” Hadrian laughed. “And how do you know so much about Elophia’s children, huh? Those neck stars mean you were the first one to hear how they were cursing the Kingdom, or were you just emptying their chamberpots?”

Jinx twisted her legs underneath her enough to get on her knees. She sneered. “How old do you think I am? I was a child when Silas lost his mind.”

“Came to his senses, you mean,” Paedril scoffed. “My father always knew the srets were nothing but tricksters and cons. How can anyone claim they’re star-born?” 

"You don't know a thing about us," Jinx scoffed, and pushed to her feet at last, throwing her shoulder into Hadrian's chest. It was enough to knock him back, but the moment of opportunity vanished just as quickly. Paedril seized the back of her shirt, throwing her to the ground again, a kick to the ribs leaving her breathless and cursing. 

Hadrian laughed, touching his chest gingerly. "What do you think? This one may be too much trouble to bring back alive. All we'll need is her stars for proof of bounty."

"Yeah, but we're used to cutting off hands, maybe as low as the wrist," he retorted, keeping a boot on Jinx's back to keep her in the dirt. "This one you'd have to nearly take off her whole damned head to preserve the stars, and that'll be heavy as hell to carry back. Don't you think Silas would like a live one for a change, especially one that said she was in court as a child? Maybe he'll keep her as a feisty slave. Bet it couldn't take that much to break her."

Jinx spat out a mouthful of dirt again, and her smile was bloody. "Didn't you hear? Filthy little srets will even steal your dick while it's in their cunt. Make it fall right off."

"How much did you say it would take to break her?" Hadrian asked with a grin. "Get her bound somewhere she can't have a run at us again. Let's see if we can't get her talking about where this harperellum isn't hiding, huh? They're bound to be close if she was that quick to dismiss it."

The camp fire was starting to burn low by the time the two mercenaries had finally gotten Jinx properly restrained. Stripped to the waist and double-checked for weapons (they were surprised not to find any), it had been struggle enough to get her arms above her head. Unbinding them from behind her back had rewarded Paedril with a black eye, and no matter how many times they cuffed and cursed her, she didn't stop fighting. They had her yanked up with her bare feet barely touching the ground, but as soon as Paedril turned his back, those strong legs were wrapped around his neck. Jinx had him blue in the face before Hadrian pried her loose, and only after using the flat of his sword like a whip, and the crosshilt like a cudgel. Two stakes in the ground and ropes around each ankle finally held her legs apart and down, and Paedril rubbed at his sore neck out of her reach even if she could have somehow magically snapped the ropes.

"Feisty might have been putting it mildly," Hadrian noted, standing back with folded arms, watching the redhead curiously. Bruises already spread along her ribs and back, but she watched him with measured eyes. "You gonna make it over there?"

"We should bleed out the bitch and be done with it," Paedril snarled, pulling out a small hand mirror to inspect his neck. "Star-cursed little monster."

"Normally they don't fight," he agreed, and his smile came thirsty for it. "You're an odd one, aren't you?"

"Been called worse," Jinx agreed. She rested as much of her weight as she could on the balls of her feet and her toes, feeling her leg muscles tight from the strain, but it wouldn't be the first balancing act she had done, and taking the stress off of her wrists might make it possible to get loose. If she could keep them distracted enough not to notice what she was up to, at least. 

"Well, let's see if we can get the fight out of her then," Paedril snarled, and finally stood, taking the horse-crop from their belongings. He tapped the leather against her stomach, watching her face, but she didn't even flinch. If anything, she looked bored. "I will get you screaming, sret. Singing, even."

"Well, go on then," Jinx said, the roll of her shoulders almost a shrug, as if she could raise them any more. "Before I fall asleep."

Paedril wasn't sure how long it was before his arm began to ache, but Jinx's back striped with marks from the crop, marked from the back of her neck all the way down to the hem of her pants. Throughout it all, she had made no noise, but for the occasional hitch in breath or shuddering sigh. 

"Are you done already?" she asked when he stepped back, twisting her head enough to try and look over her shoulder at him. "Where I come from, that's barely foreplay. I'm not even wet yet."

Hadrian couldn't help a snicker. "Paedril, first she nearly strangles you, now you can't even get a whimper out of her? You may need to try a new line of work."

He threw the crop at his partner. "You think you can do better? You have a go."

Hadrian blocked the crop from hitting his face, though barely. He shifted just enough to stir life back into the fire thoughtfully. "Well, I don't think bruises are gonna do it well enough, do you? Maybe something more permanent. How many fingers and toes does she really need to be brought into court?"

"Can't run if she's got no legs," Paedril agreed, watching her face as he paced around her. 

Jinx looked wholly unimpressed. "Going to be hard for you to keep me on a horse without legs. Are you going to carry me over your shoulder the whole way? That's almost romantic."

"Wouldn't want her bleeding out," Hadrian pointed out, as if she hadn't spoke. He stuck a knife into the fire, waiting for the metal to start to glow. "Maybe we'll just cut the back of her knees. That way she won't get her legs around your neck again."

"See, that makes more sense," Jinx agreed. "Easier to cart me along to the castle, anyway. Good to see one of you wasn't dropped on your head as a child. At least not more than twice. Maybe three times."

"You ever notice how all the srets talk too fucking much?" Hadrian chuckled. "Usually they're begging us to reconsider, praying the stars, but they never know when to shut up. Maybe we should've called them birds instead of rats, huh?" He stood at last, taking the knife with him, the last few inches glowing red-hot from the fire. "You know, most of the other vermin we collected were riddled with scars. They'd all been caught before, or maybe just stoned on their way out of a village. But not you. You're awfully clean. I think I could fix that." He held the knife close to her face, close enough for the heat to redden her skin. Her eye squinted against it, and sweat began to bead on her temple and cheek, but she didn't move. She just watched him, something almost daring in the curl of her lip. 

"Nothing?" Hadrian asked in a whisper, leaning close enough to her that his chest pressed to hers. He dug his fingers into a bruise on her ribs. Her breath hitched, and hissed out through her teeth. He dropped the knife abruptly, and pressed the scalding edge over the same bruise, holding it there until he heard the skin sizzle, and the acrid scent of burnt flesh. 

Jinx huffed when he pulled the knife away. "You're a tease, you know that?" she said, the tremble in her fingers the only indication of pain. "Here I thought you were going to be bold enough to take an eye."

"She's fucking crazy," Paedril said, sitting beside the fire and heating another knife, though he looked more dubious about it. 

"She's stubborn," Hadrian corrected. He flipped the cooling blade between his hands, then drew a thin line with it down the side of her arm, tracing an idle pattern on her skin. He smeared his fingers through the blood afterwards, then patted her cheek, leaving a streak of red behind. "There's a difference. Bring me another one. Let's see if I can't make a constellation on her side, huh? We'll see how star-born she is then."

Jinx found focus on the sky as it started to darken. In the scatter of stars that began to brighten against the sky, she heard her father's voice. 

"This is going to hurt," he warned, stirring the pot of ink that rested between his folded legs. She had already taken a dose of oddly-tasting tea, and felt herself vaguely floating, watching the way the wrinkles between his eyes deepened in thought. 

"I trust you," she said, her smile adoring. She had watched her father ink others many times before, watched the way his hands moved in careful sweeps, the way his fingers tapped against the hollow needle, his face so close to them, careful never to let a single line go astray. 

"You're sure you want to do this, little star? You know none of us would ask it of you. You know how dangerous this is?" 

Jinx looked past him, looked to where Kamin sat and watched the both of them. Still too young for his own stars, his eyes were wide and uncertain, even in the soft lights of the haven. "I'm certain," she answered at last, and looked up to the murals that dotted the ceiling, the sweep of stars and the promise of safety. "I want to do this."

The sky was dark. The fire crackled. She heard the sound of frustration, and when she blinked she finally saw Hadrian standing in front of her again. His shoulder quivered, and blood splattered up his arm, streaked on his face from where he had raked his hand over it in frustration. 

"Fine," he said at last. Paedril, behind him, looked a little pale. "Pain means so little to you, does it sret? Then we'll have to find some new pressure. Paedril, get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we'll follow your lead to this harperellum. She can wait here for us to get back."

"You think someone will come along and cut her loose?" he asked dubiously, still regarding Jinx as if she were some sort of evil spirit.

"I think if someone was coming for her, they would have already been here. I'll take first watch."

Jinx didn’t dare look down; she could feel the blood all down her torso, could vaguely feel where her skin was blackened and burned, where gashes from the edge of the knife made for a star-map of future scars. She had the idea of bruises that would form from crop and fists and hilts, and held onto the comfortable numbness that threatened to vanish with every beat of her alarmed heart. She watched the stars and may have slept. It was hard to be sure. She was suspended from a tree, or she was tucked safe in a haven, listening to her father sing and feeling the tap of ink against her neck. She was in pain, or she was in the arms of a lover, teasing fingernails against her ribs making her shudder and beg. Her shoulders ached from the unnatural position, or they ached from practicing routines over and over, laughing in the back of a wagon with a half-dozen relatives, their breaths clouding in the brisk autumn air, warm blankets heating life back into her limbs. She was here, or she wasn’t, asleep and dreaming, awake and dreaming, but waiting--

The sun was high at midday, hot against her skin and painful against the burn marks. It wasn't the heat that woke her, though, or even the return of Hadrian and Paedril to the camp. It wasn't the snort of their horses, the slap of their scabbards against their thighs, but rather the familiar whimper that came with the sound of a body hitting the ground.

"Jinx?"

For the first time, Jinx’s expression cracked. She pulled violently against the ropes, and pain rippled up from the marks on her torso. Tears threatened in her eyes, but didn’t fall, and she gritted her teeth. “Get your hands off of him, you bastards!”

“See? I told you we would find him,” Hadrian chuckled, dismounting and picking Kamin up by the back of his neck. “Stars on his face and all. Do you know how much we’ll get paid for the both of you?”

Kamin already had tears rolling over his cheeks, looking up to his cousin. “What did you do to her?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What is wrong with you?”

Paedril finally cracked a grin. “You were right, Hadrian, this might be the way to break her. What do you think, sret? Should we tie up Elophia’s son and see how long it takes for him to start singing instead?”

“Don’t--” Jinx felt the rope begin to tear against her wrists, blood running fresh down her arms as she struggled. “Don’t touch him.”

“Why not? What are you going to do to stop it?” Paedril asked, hooking his fingers under Kamin’s chin to tilt it up. “What do you think, Hadrian? Should we stir the fire up again for him?”

Hadrian shook his head. “I don’t think it’s necessary. He won’t take that much effort.” He flipped one of his knives casually, then turned it around and buried it into Kamin’s thigh. His shuddering cry was more than they had gotten from Jinx all night, and his knees buckled. Paedril held him up, curling tight fingers into his dark hair. 

“Was that still foreplay?” Hadrian asked Jinx, watching her instead of the young man quietly crying under his knife. He yanked the knife free, then waved the bloody weapon in front of Jinx’s face. She snarled, but it came out a sob. 

“Leave him alone,” she whispered, leaning as close to Hadrian as she could. “Cut me instead. Hurt me.”

“I like the begging,” Hadrian agreed, tapping the knife against her collarbone thoughtfully. “But I don’t believe you yet. Paedril,” he called.

The other mercenary obediently wrapped his hand around Kamin’s neck, choking off a sob under his strong hand. 

“Stop!” Jinx pulled against the ropes, leaning forward. The knife dug into her skin, and she impaled herself on it as far as the restraints would allow. “Do it to me. Hurt me. Please,” she added. Paedril tightened his hold. Jinx sobbed out again, “Please.”

Hadrian held up his hand, and Kamin was allowed a quick breath. He pulled the knife back, then leaned up and cut the rope that suspended Jinx. Her legs immediately gave way, and she collapsed into the dirt. Hadrian cut the ties on her ankles, then took half a step back, toying with the knife. “I don’t know. I don’t think you have the energy to keep us entertained.”

Kamin choked again. Jinx used her shaking arms to push herself up, dragged her aching legs beneath her, and fisted one hand into Hadrian’s belt. She knelt in front of him, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth from where her gritted teeth gashed open her tongue. “Hurt me,” she begged, pulling him close. “Please. Hurt me.”

Hadrian tucked the knife under her chin, tilting her head back so he could see the hate and fear in her eyes. “One more time, sret.”

“Cut me, mercenary. Hurt me. Please.” She moved her head enough to take the tip of the knife between her teeth, letting it rest against her tongue in mimic of a much more obscene gesture, then said again, “please.”

“Jinx, don’t--” Kamin begged, before Paedril’s hand clamped over his mouth.

Jinx closed her eyes as the knife tipped downwards, cutting a thin line across her tongue and filling her mouth with blood. Hadrian’s hand fisted into her hair, jerking her head back further. “Open your mouth wider,” he demanded. “Let’s carve some stars inside of there, huh?”

For once in her life, Jinx let go. She didn’t hear the soft trip of hooves over the sound of the cries shaking her chest, over the beat of her heart so loud she thought it would burst, over Hadrian laughing, over the fingers in her hair and the orders whispered in her ear. 

“Again,” she begged through a bloody mouth, because he wanted her to, because it kept Kamin safe. “Again. Please.”

She didn’t hear Paedril’s sound of surprise, didn’t hear the startled snort of the horses, didn’t even hear when Kamin finally took a free breath. She felt the knife in her mouth again, and dropped her jaw open, feeling the tears sliding backwards, curving down her temples and sliding over her ear. Or maybe it was blood. Maybe it was Hadrian’s fingers. Maybe it was sunlight, starlight, the rush of the river, the pounding in her chest, the breath that gurgled at the back of her throat, or--

“Jinx!”

Kamin’s voice pulled her away, pulled the knife out of her mouth, cradled her face between his hands. She cracked open her eyes. Paedril’s body had snuffed out the fire when he’d fallen into it, and Hadrian knelt with his hands up, a sword tip threatening his chest. 

“Jinx, stars--” Kamin’s voice broke, and his hands shook, not sure where to touch her to make it better, or at least where it wouldn’t hurt. “What did they do to you?”

She lifted one hand, brushing her fingers over Kamin’s neck, red from the rough treatment and promising to bruise later. “Sorry,” she croaked at last, blood running down her chin, creating dark rivulets down her neck.

“Those two are criminals,” Hadrian protested, looking up the length of the sword at the knight. “We have a contract from King Silas to hunt them down and deliver them to the crown.”

“And to torture them?” Alastair demanded quietly, his gray eyes uncharacteristically hard. 

“They’re vermin.”

“Yet I’ve seen hunters more humane to rabbits and voles,” he snapped, then looked over to the pair. “Can you two ride? I promise you, I will keep you safe. There is a house not far from here, I can beg for shelter.”

Jinx gave a raspy laugh, and finally tipped her head against Kamin’s shoulder, letting him wrap his arms around her. “I think,” she whispered, her mouth aching with every word, “we’ve begged enough.”

[just-jordie-things]

The Boxer (part five) - Stiles Stilinski

word count: 6,974 warnings: swearing, themes of depression based on this song

[ i have squandered my existence for a pocketful of mumbles ]

When (y/n) arrived home, she went inside and to her room as silently as possible, changing into comfortable clothes to sleep in, hoping she could just crash on her bed and not have to worry about it.  But that plan didn’t work.

She decided on calling Lydia.  Surely the banshee had some sort of advice for her, so she crawled out the window to sit on the rooftop, just in case her parents checked on her, she’d have some privacy.

“(y/n/n)?” Lydia’s voice was groggy, like she’d just woken up.  “You alright?”

“Stiles kissed me” (y/n) panicked, and blurted it out.

Silence.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Lydia? Did you hear me?”

Silence.

“Are you there? I said Stiles kissed-”

“He kissed you?” Lydia finally spoke, slowly, like she wasn’t understanding.

“Mhm” (y/n) put her fingers to her mouth, running the pads of her fingers over where Stiles had just kissed her.  “Right on the lips”

“He kissed you” Lydia repeated, and (y/n) groaned.

“Yes, now can you give me any advice?” She pleaded, but Lydia was silent again on the other end.  “Lyds? Please?”

“I’m gonna have to sleep on this…” The banshee finally mumbled.  “So are you.  Call me in the morning.  At a reasonable time”

“No, Lydia-”

“Goodnight, love-dove” She teased, and then hung up the phone.

“No-” (y/n) tried to beg her friend to stay on the line, but her phone beeped, indicating Lydia had already ended the call.  She groaned, and crawled back inside.

After plugging her phone in, she attempted to crawl into bed to try and sleep. It took her a few hours, but eventually she grew too tired and gave up on trying, just letting it happen.

Maybe she should let this thing with Stiles happen.

The next day the pack had gotten together to snoop around the Preserve again, following Deaton’s clues and heading towards, what they hoped, was the omega pack’s hideout.

While Scott, Stiles, and Liam were leading the way with great haste, (y/n) hung back a bit to talk with Lydia and Malia about what had happened last night.  She’d quietly given the girls the whole story, but neither of them were much help.  She wished Kira was with them instead of taking the SAT, maybe she’d be more reliable help.

Both the banshee and coyote were pushing her to act on her feelings, but neither of their ideas seemed all that great.

“Guys! I think we found it!” Scott took off running, catching a scent, causing Malia and Liam to follow suit.  (y/n) picked up her pace as best she could, but with her previous injury running wasn’t exactly a choice.

Lydia, knowing (y/n) wasn’t going to run with the others, and Stiles wasn’t going to ditch (y/n), gave the girl a wink before taking off after Malia and Scott.  Stiles saw Lydia go, and turned around to (y/n), who was awkwardly trying to walk as fast as possible.

“You feeling alright?” He asked her worriedly, falling in stride with her.  She nodded quickly.

“Yeah, just can’t exactly break into a sprint yet” She answered.  Stiles nodded in understanding.

“I’ll walk with you then,” He told her.  “They’re gonna be running for a mile, and Lydia wore heels again, so this will be fun to watch” She smiled as he chuckled to himself, glad to have his company.

Stiles wondered if he should bring up last night or not, so far they were both fine with ignoring it, which for the time made sense, this was no place to dive into their feelings, but he didn’t want to sweep it under the rug and leave it there.  And he wasn’t sure if that was something she didn’t want either.

But their walk together was comfortable.

Once they reached a clearly man made shack, everyone’s noses scrunched up.  A rancid smell surrounded the area, and Malia, Liam, and Scott were suffering the most.  Their heightened senses working against them for once.

“What the hell is that?” Stiles asked, pulling the collar of his sweatshirt all the way up to his nose to block the smell.  (y/n) put her entire hand over her mouth, eyes watering from the stench.

“Smells like death” Malia said, looking like she could puke at any moment.

“Smells like- no actually it smells worse than even that” Liam groaned, pinching his nose.

“It’s coming from- holy shit” Scott had wandered around the shack, finding a fairly deep hole in the ground.  “It’s their omegas, the ones we-” Scott turned away, gagging like he was about to throw up.

“Oh my God…” (y/n) whimpered.  Two werewolves had been tossed into the man-dug grave, a man and a woman.  The woman’s skull was busted due to Lydia’s scream, her brain matter out in the open and maggots already infesting the area.  The man had bullet wounds scattered through his chest, and his eyes were still open, seeming to stare up at her.

“Chris… he killed him” Scott commented quietly.  The hand (y/n) had held to her face was shaking as it slowly fell, staring at her attacker in his lifeless eyes.

“He- he was gonna…” She took a few steps back, running into someone but still barely recognizing she had.

“Hey, hey…” She turned to see it was Stiles, and he was leaning over to quietly console her while the others grouped up to make a new strategy plan.  “Listen to me, it was self defense, okay?” He whispered.  “Chris saved you, he saved your life, you were going to die” He spoke seriously, never once looking away from her eyes.

The girl was shaking, and he’d never seen her react this way to anything.

“You understand me?” He asked, setting his hands on her shoulders.  She nodded.  “I’m gonna need you to take deep breaths, alright?” She nodded again, taking in sharp inhales, and shakily releasing.  Stiles stood with her as she repeated the action until her breathing was steady.

“Thanks” She sighed, shutting her eyes.  Stiles rubbed her shoulders before guiding her back to the others.

“Not a problem” He reassured.  “Just stay calm, this is all going to work out alright”

“This is definitely not alright!” (y/n) screamed, trying to move as fast as she could through the Preserve and back to the cars.  Stiles threw her a frustrated look but it didn’t stay, just trying to get the hell out of there without leaving (y/n) behind.

“Really?” He hissed.  “You’re gonna take that out on me, now?”

The pack had gotten caught by the remaining omegas, getting threatened almost immediately, and before anyone could instigate anything, Stiles had screamed ‘run’ at the top of his lungs, snatching (y/n) by the wrist and taking off.

Scott Malia and Liam were far out of sight, Lydia a good thirty feet ahead of them.  But Stiles wasn’t about to race off knowing (y/n) wouldn’t be able to get there in time.

“Come on” He insisted, taking her hand in hopes of helping her speed up.  But her other hand was on her side, and the more she ran, the more visible pain she was in.

“I-I can’t- Stiles I can’t-”

“You can, come on (y/n), come on”

“No I-” She was cut off by panting, about to collapse from the pressure she felt in her side.  Before she could fall Stiles caught her in his arms, lifting her up hastily and running as best he could while carrying her.

She said something in protest, but he didn’t quite catch it, too busy trying to move as fast as possible.

By the time they made it to the car, he was stumbling and panting.  Scott and Malia took off on his motorbike, and Lydia was in the passenger seat of Roscoe, Liam ready in the back.

“Come on!” The beta hollered, swinging open the door to help (y/n) into the seat.  Siles handed her off as carefully as he could, before rushing to the front and jamming his keys into the inition.

“Why are we running?” Lydia asked, grabbing onto the handle on the car door as Stiles made a sharp U-Turn.  “We could’ve taken them-”

“No, we couldn’t have” Stiles responded, speeding out of the Preserve and catching up with Scott and Malia in no time.

“Why not?” Liam angrily asked from the back.  “We had them! Lydia’s right, we could have taken them-”

“Drop it!” Stiles snarled whipping around to glare at Liam before focusing on the road again.  “I’m taking you home, we’re done” Lydia gaped at him, but didn’t say a thing.  He was clearly aggravated, and she didn’t want to push him.

“Are you doing alright?” Liam asked (y/n), seeing her leaning against the window with an arm around her side.

“I’ll be fine” She said through heavy breaths.  Stiles looked into the rearview mirror, his face contorting as he saw (y/n) in clear pain.  She wasn’t going to let that on as best she could, but he could read her like an open book.  It just took practice.

“We’ll get there soon” Liam reassured, leaning over to pat (y/n) on the shoulder.  “Is there any pain? I can try to take it away” He offered, but she shook her head.

“No,” She hummed quietly.  “No pain” She knew the toll it would take, on a beta even more so, to take away the pain she was in.  It would harm him just as much as her, and she didn’t want to hurt someone for her own benefit.

Stiles checked on her through the mirror, unconsciously pressing a little harder on the gas.

“Stiles,” Lydia muttered under her breath.  “You’re twenty over the limit” She warned him quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of Liam and (y/n) in the backseat.  Stiles let out a long breath, slowing up on the road and trying to focus on getting Liam to his house.

“We’re close,” Liam spoke gently to (y/n).  “Just take deep breaths, you’ll be home soon” He set a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently in hopes to calm her.  “I know it hurts, it’ll pass soon”

Stiles was watching the pair in the rearview mirror, paying little to no attention to the road.  His knuckles turned white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.  Somehow watching Liam comfort (y/n) like that made a red hot anger boil up inside of him.

“Stiles,” Lydia hissed again, and again, he took a few breaths and forced himself to look at the road.  The banshee scoffed, looking from the two in the back, then back to Stiles.  “Are you shitting me?” She seethed.  “Let it go.  This is not the time or place”

Stiles growled slightly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and ignored her words.

The ride only lasted a few more minutes, but when they got to Liam’s, Stiles whipped the door open for him, and slammed it as soon as he’d gotten out.  Lydia slid into the backseat to sit with (y/n), who was finally sitting upright.

“You doing alright sweetheart?” She asked her softly as Stiles headed towards Lydia’s house.

“I’m doing okay, really” She insisted.  “It was the running… I miss running”

“Never heard that before” Lydia joked quietly, earning a soft laugh from (y/n).  “Is it hard to box?”

“Yeah… been a few days” (y/n) sighed, leaning her head onto Lydia’s shoulder.  “I can’t wait to get back to it…” She trailed off as her eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion.

Stiles looked back at the two, earning a sad smile from Lydia before he turned back around.

“You’ll get back to it soon, honey” She assured.

“You always this overly sweet when someone’s in my situation?” (y/n) mused.  Lydia chuckled and shook her head.

“Of course,” She hummed, “I’ve got a thing about not leaving people behind” She mumbled.  (y/n) smiled a little bit, but didn’t say anything, just rested on her the rest of the way to her house.

She gave Lydia a hug before she got out of the car, a short but secure one.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the banshee’s ear.  “For being my friend, for not leaving me behind” Lydia smiled, releasing and laying a hand on the girl’s cheek for a moment.

“Get some rest,” She said softly.  “Call me when you’re feeling better” (y/n) nodded, saying goodbye as she got out of the car.  Stiles turned in his seat to meet eyes with her.

“Am I taking you to your house?” He asked cautiously.  (y/n) visibly winced, but nodded.

“Yeah” She mumbled, and gave him the address, before leaning her head on the window, and praying that her parents wouldn’t be home.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked her, hoping she’d keep talking.

“Yeah, I am.  Just tired now” She answered.  “I just want to rest up, and hopefully get back to boxing tomorrow”

“How long has it been?”

“A week” She answered quietly.  “I miss it so much” She sighed, the idea of getting back to her punching bag at the school making her smile a bit.  “Is that detective work for you?”

“Not even close,” Stiles chuckled to himself.  “I do like it, gives me something to do, but I’ll never be nearly as attached to it as you are with your boxing.  Compared to you, I’m undedicated”

(y/n) laughed softly, shaking her head as she stared at Stiles as he drove.  Leaning forward and holding onto the passenger’s seat to keep her steady, she watched his focused features.

“I think you’re a very talented detective,” She told him quietly.  He looked over for a moment, then back to the road, then did it again.  She smiled at him a little bit, a pink blush on her cheeks as she did so.

When he’d pulled into her driveway, he’d rushed around the jeep to open the door for her.  She gave him an unsurprised look, but took his offered hand anyways.

“Always a true gentleman” She commented with a small smirk, and he returned a smile.  He walked her up the drive, to her doorway, where her shoulders straightened and her posture stiffened, staring straight at the door, while Stiles still held her hand.

“You going to be alright?” He asked, and she nodded shakily.

“It can only be so bad, right?” She replied awkwardly, glancing upwards at him, and then turning back to the door.  He squeezed her hand.

“Would it be smarter for you to just go in through the window?” He asked, and she chuckled to herself like it was an inside joke.

“That is my go to” She told him, and he laughed a bit now too.  “I think it’ll be okay” (y/n) said.  He nodded, and she reluctantly let go of his hand.  “You? You were freaking out in the car, I could tell”

“Yeah, well, you looked like you were going to die” He said dramatically, and she laughed again.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow.  “I was worn out Stiles, not bleeding out” He rolled his eyes as she giggled at her own joke.  “Really though, you were gonna lose it?”

“Yeah!” Stiles said exasperatedly.  “I don’t need anybody dying in my jeep!”

(y/n) gasped and punched him in the arm, trying to hold back her laughter.  Stiles feigned hurt as he grabbed at his arm and winced.  “Really? You’re only caring about what, blood on the car seats? You could wash it out!”

“No no of course not” He said nonchalantly, hand affectionately resting on her arm.  “Obviously I’d be way more worried about somebody dying than whether or not it’s in my car” His hand subconsciously slipped down, until it was nearly on her hand.

“Wow, flattering, really” She mused, the skin on the back of her hand tingling with warmth and anticipation as Stiles’ hand ghosted over it.  He’d held her hand before, he just had not a minute ago.  But for some reason standing right here the idea made her nervous.

They faded away from their supernatural crime fighting personas, and became two emotionally confused teenagers who were reluctant to say goodbye.  His hand was just barely touching hers, and again all she could think of was his kiss from last night.

“Well, I’d invite you in, but there’s a good change you’d get shot” She told him quieter than she meant to.  Stiles chuckled, breaking eye contact for a mere second, not able to look away from her that long.  “I also don’t like to bring guys home on the first date” She joked, and when his jaw dropped at her reference she even winked at him.

“So it was a date!” He said, almost scoldingly, and she giggled, shaking her head.

“No, I’m just messing with you” She said dismissively.

“Yeah well a month ago, ‘messing with me’ was pushing me against the lockers and threatening my life”

“You remembered” (y/n) said sweetly, holding a hand over her heart just to fuel his annoyance.

“You are going to be the death of me (y/n) (y/l/n)” He groaned, shaking his head at her.  She smiled cheekily, rocking up on the tips of her toes and back down again.

“I’ll have to try a bit harder then,” She said.  “I better get inside before someone sees your jeep in the driveway”

“Yeah, probably,” He sighed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.  “I’ll see you at school?”

“Sadly so” She replied, making him chuckle as he backed off her front steps.

“Later then” He waved as he made his way towards his car.  She stayed at her door for a moment as she waved back, suddenly wishing she mustered the courage to get him to stay, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to kiss her again, or why at this very second she’d wished he had, but now he was unlocking his car and it was definitely too late.

The next day at school was a daze.  (y/n) had barely seen Stiles, and ended up spending her morning with Kira and Scott, who’s only topic of conversation that they would stick to was about the ‘date’ that her and Stiles had gone on that weekend.

She’d already gone over every detail with Lydia over the phone, and at this point she was tired of over analyzing everything.  Stiles kissed her, she kissed him back, and that was it.  There was no ‘thing’ between them, it was a heat of the moment thing.  It happens.

But Scott and Kira didn’t seem to think so at all.

“I mean, I have eyes you know,” Kira argued.  “I can see the way you two-”

“Are you done yet?” (y/n) asked, standing up from her table, and earning a pointed glare from the librarian.

“Hush”

“There’s nothing there!” She hissed at them.  “We don’t have any connections or looks, there’s nothing”

“Miss (y/l/n), continue at that volume and you’re out of here and into detention after school” The librarian warned.

“No worries Miss Lancaster,” (y/n) replied, looking straight at Scott and Kira as she got her things together to go.  “I’m leaving anyways”

“Oh, (y/n), don’t go I won’t-” Kira tried to protest but (y/n) had already hit the road and was heading to the halls.  She didn’t know where she was going to go, as long as it was away from everyone who was just going to give her the third degree about feelings she’s not even sure of.

“(y/n)?” A familiar voice called, and she turned to see Stiles walking down the empty hallway towards her.  “I thought you were spending your empty with wolf and fox-”

“I was” She said, almost snarling.  “But they’re not great fucking company, so I’m going somewhere else”

“Woah, hey,” Stiles’ volume dropped as he walked closer to her, instantly picking up on her distress.  His hand reached for hers, and she stopped walking to let him take it.  “What’s going on? What happened?”

“You, that’s what” She snapped.  “Because of you, I can’t carry a normal fucking conversation-”

“(y/n),” He breathed out, trying to get her to slow down.  “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play bullshit with me! You told Scott!”

“What?”

“You told Scott that you kissed me” She pushed an accusatory finger into his chest.  “And now they think that they can pry me open and evaluate every psychological aspect of my life” (y/n) stepped back, adjusting her bag, about to walk off.

“No, (y/n)- wait come back-”

“Just leave me alone,” She said, already halfway down the hall.  Stiles frowned, letting her go, because he didn’t want to push her.  But he couldn’t help the guilt that consumed him when she rounded the corner and was out of sight.

“Scott!” Stiles hissed as he rushed into the library and sat at the table across from Scott and Kira.  “You told her!”

“What?” The alpha’s brows scrunched together, not sure what his friend was upset about.

“(y/n) knows that I told you about the kiss thing, and now she’s pissed!” Stiles yelled.

“Mr Stilinski!” The librarian scolded.

“Give me a minute!” He hollered back, and the woman scoffed but turned away to ignore him.  “She’s not talking to me now” He muttered angrily.

“Look, man, I’m sorry, but I mentioned it once, and she started freaking out after that- I’m sorry” He apologized again, seeing Stiles’ face contort to one of anger.

“Stiles, I can’t believe you kissed her,” Kira said, her smile making her eyes twinkle, but Stiles scowled.

“Well it doesn’t exactly matter, now does it?” He asked, making her smile drop and her gaze avert to somewhere else.

“Come on,” Scott said, taking offense at his harsh words towards his girlfriend.  “I’m sure this is something you can fix, I mean, she told Lydia-”

“What?” Stiles’ face dropped as he stared at Scott with wide eyes.  “Sh-she did?”

“Well, yeah,” Scott shrugged.  “That’s what girls do… tell other girls their drama and…stuff” He looked to Kira, unsure really how it worked, and the kitsune smiled sweetly and nodded.

“Well-well what’d she say? To Lydia? About me?” Stiles stammered over his words as his interest suddenly peaked, forgetting completely that he’d been upset with Scott just moments ago.

“I dunno, ask her” Scott shrugged his shoulders again.  He really didn’t get how girl gossip worked.  Kira had tried to explain it to him a few times, that some things weren’t meant to be shared, but it just never clicked for him.

“Okay, I gotta go,” He said, rushing off, but turned around and ran back to the table.  “On an unrelated note, what class is Lydia in?”

“Darling, take some advice for once,” Lydia was whispering with (y/n) in the back of their classroom.  “Don’t take things out on the wrong people”

“I’m not” She argued back.  “He was the one that told Scott, his choice, and I took it out on him” She whispered.

“(y/n),” She sighed.  “You and I both know that you wanted, and you liked that kiss,” Lydia said, and before (y/n) could cut in with a protest, she continued, “So I don’t know why you’ve been dodging him so much.  At the Preserve, this whole weekend, even today” She gave her a pointed look.  “Either you tell him you’re done, or tell him the truth”

“Either I walk out or complicate it with my ‘maybe’ feelings?” She retorted, clearly upset.  “Lydia, I can’t just-”

“You’re not listening”

“I am too-”

“You’re not listening to yourself” Lydia emphasized.  “You’ve liked him for a while now, we all know that.  But you’re in complete denial”

“Denial? What, you think I’m in love with him?” She asked like it was ridiculous, but Lydia just stared back at her blankly.  “I’m not” She snapped.  Lydia rolled her eyes, fed up with the bullshit.

She checked her phone out of pure boredom, seeing weird messages from Stiles as soon as she opened it.

[ stiles ] : what class are you in? I need to talk to you [ stiles ] : i think I fucked up with (y/n) [ stiles ] : but scott said that she talked to you? what’d she say? [ stiles ] : and do you think she could maybe… like me?

The banshee looked over to (y/n), who went back to working on her classwork.  

[ lydia ] : yes, she told me about it

Stiles’ typing bubble came up as soon as her message had sent.

[ stiles ] : and??? what’d she say about it???

[ lydia ] : stiles i’m in class

[ stiles ] : oh come on, i can see you [ stiles ] : you’re not even doing the work, can you come in the hall?

Lydia whipped her head around to see Stiles outside the class door, waving his arms around to get her attention.  She scowled, hoping to get him to go away.  When that didn’t work, she went back to texting him.

[ lydia ] : go.  if (y/n/n) sees you she’ll go off on me

[ stiles ] : just say you’re going to the bathroom, come out here, and talk to me

Lydia groaned internally, but raised her hand and politely asked to go to the bathroom.  The teacher excused her, and she stormed her way to the door.

“What, the hell, do you think you’re doing?” She asked through gritted teeth as they started walking down the hall.

“I want to know what (y/n) told you about that kiss!” Stiles said, hands moving as he spoke.  “It’s important, this is the make or break of our relation- friendship, but maybe it can turn into more!”

“Okay, slow down” Lydia chuckled softly.  “I’m not spilling secrets-”

“Too bad, I’m your friend, you have to” Stiles said, and the banshee stared blankly at him.

“Stiles, (y/n) liked it, is that all you needed to know?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, she just doesn’t want you to blab about it to people, and she doesn’t want those people interrogating her about it.  You know things like that get to her, you know that” She told him quietly.  “Look, Stiles,” Lydia sighed.  “(y/n) cares a lot about you, she’s just upset right now”

“I know” Stiles breathed out heavily.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it with her, and it doesn’t mean that you can’t still pursue something with her, you just have to talk to her, she just needs to know that you still want to, and that you aren’t trying to pry her apart”

Not long after, Lydia had to go back to class, and Stiles was left to figure out what he should do to start off.  He didn’t want to scare her off, but he didn’t want her to brush him off either.

When (y/n) walked into the house, locking the door behind her, she didn’t expect to be greeted by her father.

“(y/n),” He spoke with absolute formality, “- you’re home early, no boxing today?” He asked with a furrowed brow, and (y/n) nodded her head.

“Yeah, yeah the football team or something was using the gym before practice, so I just thought I’d come home and get ahead on homework”

Lies came easily off of (y/n’s) tongue, even more so than they had before.  And even to her father, who had always boasted about his ability to smell a lie from a mile away.  He had almost seemed skeptical, but then shook his head.

“It’s always the football team that gets the privileges like that, huh?” The man sighed as he walked away.  (y/n) gave him a slightly awkward chuckle as she headed towards the stairs to go to her room.  Less time she spent around her parents, the safer she’d felt she kept her secrets.

She stuck to her lie for a little while, getting ahead in a few classes, studying a bit, but academics could only hold her attention for so long.  She lasted for maybe three hours, before finding other things to do.

Opening her window, and locking her bedroom door, she slipped outside, and went sprinting down the street as quickly as she could.

Boxing might not be a choice right now, but she’d find some other form of exercise to get her mind off of everything.  And by everything, it was Stiles.

She ran and ran, sometimes playing music from her phone, sometimes just listening to the birds and passing cars.  This wasn’t her usual anxiety-induced run, this was the most intense feeling she’d ever had in her entire life.  So much anger, and guilt, and infatuation, that was pent up inside her from the past month of her life.  It was all being released, through physical exhaustion and aching joints and muscles.

Her run didn’t come to an end until she found a bus bench, and decided she needed a break to sit.  As soon as she’d sat down, every inch of pain inside of her swelled.

Stiles had been driving for a while, trying to clear his head, focus on his new music.  But his mind had always found a way back to (y/n).  He couldn’t help it, she was always stuck on his brain, she was constant.

He’d called Scott, even though Lydia had advised him against it, he did it anyways.  He needed someone to rant to, to explain the situation to, to talk about (y/n) to.  

(y/n) was the one he’d really wanted to call.

And not long after he’d gotten coffee from their spot, the universe provided, and his phone rang.

“(y/n)?” He was surprised to have seen her name on his screen, not even sure he believed it was her.

“Hey… could I get a ride?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah… yeah of course you can, where are you?” He asked, pulling over to the side of the road.

“Uh…” She trailed off for a moment.  “The bus stop on third”

“Alright, I’m not that far, I’ll be there in a few minutes” He told her.  Turning the Jeep around, he headed back the other way to get her.

“Okay, thank you”

“See you soon”

Stiles sped up a little bit after he hung up.  It was getting colder outside, and he didn’t want her hanging around the sketchiest stop in town when the sun was going down.

He got there within a few minutes, coming to a halt quick enough to make the tires squeal.  Before (y/n) could simply get up and get in the car he was rushing out of it, running to the bench to check on her.

“Are you alright? What happened? Are you running away?” His hands came around her arms as she stood, pulling her slightly towards him.  “What’re you doing here?”

“Calm down, I’m fine,” She breathed out.  “I went on a run, and I’m too tired to run back”

“From home?” Stiles asked, impressed she’d come this far.  (y/n) chuckled, looking down at her beat up sneakers before back at him again.

“Yeah,” She answered.  “Look thanks for coming I-”

“It’s not a problem” He said before she could continue.  “Let’s just get you in the car, it’s fucking cold out here” Stiles muttered, getting the passenger’s door for her.  She smiled almost bashfully and thanked him.  After getting in on his side and turning the jeep back on.  “You cold?” He asked, but grabbed his spare jacket from the backseat and handing it to her before she could answer.

“Thank you,” She told him sincerely, slipping her ams through the sleeves and wrapping the fabric tightly around herself.  “Look Stiles I’m sorry about-”

“You don’t have to apologize-”

“I do” She argued back.

“No, you don’t, I understand” He told her, trying to take the responsibility for the situation, but she wasn’t having it.

“Would you just let me apologize?” She said, and Stiles stopped talking.  “I’m sorry, I took everything out on you, and I shouldn’t have.  I know that.  And you didn’t deserve it.  I’m sorry”

“You don’t have to apologize that much,” He said, looking over at (y/n) with a small teasing smile.

“Okay, but still, I want you to know” She said honestly, staring at him as he drove.  “Stiles,” She caught his attention for a moment before he looked at the road again.  “I don’t know if you realize this, but you mean a lot to me, you were my first real friend, you know? That’s important, you’re important, and I’m not going to lose you to one of my mental breaks-”

“Don’t say that,” Stiles sighed.  “It wasn’t like that, I know what I did wasn’t… smart of me… and I’m sorry” He told her.  She nodded slightly in response.  “Are we okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” She nodded her head.  “We’re good” He smiled over at her, earning a smile back that she just couldn’t resist.

“So… am I taking you home?”

“Good to see you again (y/n)” Sheriff Stilinski grinned at the girl as she walked into his home with Stiles.  “It’s been a little while”

“Yeah,” She sighed, smiling softly at the man.  “It has, but I’m glad to be back here” Noah smiled back at her, heading to his office.

“I’ll probably fall asleep on this case, so g’night kids” He called back to them as he shut the door.

(y/n) turned to Stiles with a tender look in her eyes, waiting for some sort of instruction.

“So… what now?” She asked softly, and Stiles smirked, shrugging a shoulder.

“Whatever you want,” He answered.  “Movies? You can do my homework? Another run?” She chuckled at his suggestions.  “You name it, whatever you want to do” He told her.

“Alright then…” She trailed off.  “How about a movie, I guess?” She thought.  “I’d rather that than doing your work” He grinned at the idea, already heading to the living room in search of a good movie.

“Oh my god, there’s so many good choices, how could I pick just one?” He rambled on excitedly as (y/n) sat on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself, since she was still in running shorts and a tee shirt, Stiles’ jacket not providing much warmth since it was so baggy.

“Anything works,” She said, tucking herself in under the throw blanket.

He ended up picking some new comedy that he’d become obsessed with, like he always did, and told her it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.  She just giggled at his antics and watched him excitedly put it in the player.  Then he joined her on the couch and pushed play.

“Trust me, you’ll love this”

But it was already so late, and (y/n) was still drained from over-exercising, and it didn’t help that she was finally warmed up and in the dark room.  So not long into the movie, her head had rolled back on the sofa cushion and fell asleep within minutes.

Stiles hadn’t realized until well into the film when he’d noticed she hadn’t laughed or commented like she usually did.  So when he looked over, thinking she’d zoned out, he was surprised to see her sleeping next to him.  Her head completely tipped back on the top of the couch, hands no longer gripping the blanket so it rested on her lap.  He smiled to himself, looking over how peaceful she seemed.  He wasn’t sure he’d seen her this calm since the last night they had spent together.

“Here you go,” He hummed mostly to himself, lifting the edge of the soft blanket to fold it around her shoulders so it’d stay.  But when he touched her she shuffled instantly, her eyes fluttering but not quite opening.  Instead, leaning over to tuck her head onto his shoulder.

“Thanks” She mumbled almost inaudibly, smiling as she made herself comfortable, bringing her legs up to tuck underneath herself and ready to go back to sleep, far more comfortable than before.

“Yeah, no problem” Stiles answered after he’d unfrozen himself from shock.  “You know, it’s pretty late…” (y/n) didn’t say anything.  “Are you still awake?” He asked in a quieter voice, just to be sure.

“Mhm, sorta” She murmured.

“You can… stay the night if you want” He told her hesitantly.

“M’kay” She answered.  “Thank you”

He hadn’t expected such a quick response.

“No problem” He told her again, wrapping his arm around to to rub her shoulder slightly, but she snuggled further against him at the touch, so he made the move to keep it around her.  It was silent between them for a bit, Stiles watching the movie and (y/n) resting her eyes.  But she must not have fallen asleep as easily, because she spoke again.

“Are you ever going to talk about it?” She asked so softly, she sounded delicate, and her tone made his heart drop to his stomach.

“About what?” He asked, too nervous to look away from the television.

“You know… that time you kissed me” She murmured back, a little embarrassed to say it out loud.  Stiles smiled involuntarily, remembering vividly the kiss they’d shared.

“Do you want me to talk about it?” He asked, and her brow furrowed as she sat up slightly to look at him.  Their proximity still close, and his arm still around her, but she studied his eyes, trying to get a read on him.

“I guess so” She finally answered reluctantly.

“Okay… what about?”

“I don’t know… maybe why you did it?” (y/n) suggested almost sarcastically.  “Why’d you do it?” She repeated quieter.

“Because,” Stiles shrugged his shoulders like it was easy, even though his heart was beating wildly in his chest.  “I wanted to” Again (y/n’s) featured scrunched up, confused by his reasoning.

“What do you mean you wanted to?” She asked, no longer keeping up the quiet volume.  “You just do everything because you want to? What kind of cop out answer is that?” Stiles chuckled as she got a bit worked up over it.

“I try to,” He answered.  “Do the things that I want, that is.  You don’t exactly make that easy” (y/n) scoffed as her jaw dropped open in offense.

“I don’t make that easy?” She tried to refrain from yelling, since Stiles’ father as definitely asleep.  “I’m not the one going around and just kissing my friends”

“You kissed me” He argued quietly, but she clearly didn’t appreciate his cocky tone, eyes narrowing skeptically.

“No, you kissed me” She retorted.  Stiles’ lips pursed as he cocked his head to the side as though evaluating.

“Yeah…” He said an octave higher.  “But you kissed me back… so…” Again, (y/n’s) jaw dropped open as she stared at him.  She didn’t have an argument, since technically he was right.  And Stiles knew he’d won.  “What, you’re wide awake now?” He asked in a murmur, and she quirked a small smile.

“Guess so” She mumbled, lashes falling as her eyes wandered to his mouth.  She wondered if she kissed him right now, her lips would remember what his felt like on hers.  When she looked back up at him, she caught him already looking at her.  A chuckle left her lips before she could stop it, and in seconds she leaned forward, her small hands setting on his shoulders, as they’d had before.

Her breath caught in her throat, not leaning all the way, and staring hesitantly at him.  Stiles’ hands ran down her torso, settling just above her hips.  He wasn’t going to do it this time, he wanted to know she wanted to.

But (y/n’s) eyes gleamed as she looked at him, a small and controlled smile, but her eyes gave it all away.  It was her tell.

So when she leaned in, and tenderly kissed him, he couldn’t help but wrap his arms completely around around her, tugging her in closer and breathing in deeply as he kissed her back, with much more passion than he had last time.

He could feel her smiling against him.

And when they parted, she smiled at him even wider, an airy laugh passing her lips as she did so, and he returned it, before leaning in and capturing her lips again.  She shuffled in closer to him, until his hand wrapped under her leg and pulled her onto his lap.  The action made her smile, her hands cupping his face as she leaned down into him, her body relaxing completely against him.

Stiles wasn’t sure how long they’d been making out, in fact he was in absolute heaven.  They’d gotten to the point where he was lying on his back, holding her on top of him, and sharing soft brushes of kisses.  She seemed to grow heavier as she became more tired, until eventually, they weren’t kissing anymore, and (y/n) had nearly fallen asleep  into his neck.

“Are you sleeping here?” He murmured, his fingers trailing over her back, slipped under his own jacket, but still over her tee shirt.

“Mhm” She hummed, her hand laying across his chest, as her body pressed into the back of the couch, trying to push her weight off of him so he wouldn’t ache from her lying on him.  “ ‘s that okay?”

“Really?” Stiles scoffed quietly, tilting his head to look at her, even though her eyes were shut and she was about to fall asleep again.  “Of course that’s okay” He nearly breathed out the words, and it made her smile softly.

He couldn’t believe, that she was here.  He couldn’t believe, that he was staring at her right now in this moment.

taglist: @theraggedwerewolf @cas-loves-pizza @fox-in-a-mousetrap-8 @lady-winterediting @the-crime-fighting-spider @socially-awkward-nerd @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @lovelynerdytraveler  @writings-and-stuff @jurassicpork @black-tights-black-heart @piper-x-lee @catcrown21 @anabundanceoftrash @dylxnob @barryallenplease @loverofwaytoomanythings618 @vibhati123 @spider-mendes

xoxo ~ jordie

[thealphabetmurders]

Scrambled Thoughts

Pairings: Romantic Logince, Sibling Analogical

Word Count: 2224 (for Chapter 4), 10424in total

(Previous) (First)

Summary: Roman was not a rebel by any means. Roman was not a fan of breaking rules. Sure, he bent some from time to time, but never done anything blatantly wrong, that was not in service to his passions. Yet, despite the protests his best friend and his consciousness, he picks up two dozen eggs and goes to vandalize. Now, Roman has to avoid suspension, make amends with Virgil, alleviate the concern of Patton, and not fall in love with his enemy Logan.

Triggers: Bullying, Violence, Vandalism, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Mentions of Racism, Classism

Authors Note: This took way too long to get out and I am not 100% satisfied with it, but you all deserve something, thank you for reading. This chapter is basically Roman saying “eat the rich” for 2k words. Also, I made both Roman and Logan 2nd Gen immigrants for fun. (,I was inspired by a dream @misplaced-my-notes had, thank you).

Taglist (for everyone who seemed interested): @misplaced-my-notes, @jaszczurkaaa, @an-atypical, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace (let me know if you wanted to be added/taken off)

(Read on AO3)

Roman liked working with his hands. Whilst worksheets and tests were never working in his favor, labs and presentations were always where he shined, despite them coming up less frequently. Which, pointing out, that that put many kids like himself at a disadvantage, seeing as it is difficult to focus on school work as just a piece of paper or online quiz, but give that same subject matter in practice and he excels.

Moving past poking holes in the modern day schooling system, Roman is a physical being by nature. While many people destress by watching television, listening to music, or sleeping, Roman is finding anything to do to keep himself working.

This does not mean in a “completing all of my homework 3 weeks in advance” way. It is in a sense of “I will do chores that I like so I can daydream freely” way. Today, Roman has planted new cilantro, walked down to his local farmers market to pick up fresh tomatoes, onions, and jalapenos for the tostadas he is making for him and his mother tonight, and is currently working on changing the oil in his car.

After talking to Mr. B and Dr. Picani, they both came to the agreement that Roman was working extremely hard for extended periods of time and needed to take a ‘mental health day’, which Roman was not a fan of. Not working often times gave him spouts of anxiety, like he was failing himself and others around him by not working towards his goals.

Nevertheless, the two adults were incredibly adamant about it, and Dr. Picani even wrote a note for his mother so he would not get in trouble for missing school. Mr. B even arranged for someone to bring his work to him at the end of the day, which was ending right as he began working on his car.

Roman would never be considered a “car guy” by any means, considering he drives his dead father’s old Jetta, but, the cost of auto repair (like healthcare) is hyper-inflated and (unlike healthcare) Roman finds most of the repairs he can perform himself. Also, it gives him an excuse to wear muscle tee shirts not entirely appropriate for mid September.

The rough texture of the skateboard he was using as a creeper dug uncomfortably into his spine, but a few moments of discomfort was worth it to use his old skateboard as a multi use tool.

Roman adjusted his oil pan so it was directly underneath the drain plug and took his socket wrench to twist it off. He hummed along to the low ambiance of Dear Evan Hansen , but the music was still quiet enough for him to hear doors to apartments opening and closing and the cars passing him in the parking lot and a low rumble of an engine near him.

After getting the plug out, he set it next to him and Roman made sure the oil was flowing nicely into the pan and pulled his phone out of his pocket, setting a timer for 15 minutes. He pocketed the phone and turned to grab the plug, but the metal piece was not where he left it.

“Shit,” He turned to his left and right to see the plug, but it was nowhere under the car. He lifted himself off the skateboard slightly only to hit himself on the head of the undercarriage of the car.

Roman groaned out in pain, though, the goose egg on his head was the least of his concerns. He looked out from the dark of the car into the light and saw the piece of metal glistening on the pavement. He reached to his left for the plug, the skateboard leaning in that direction, but was just a few millimeters too far. He reached again, hoping to obtain a different result, but this time a hand reached down and grabbed the metal plug, handing it to the man under the car.

“Oh!” Roman cried out in relief, promptly pocketing the plug, “You are a lifesaver,”

“You are quite welcome, Roman,”

That familiar voice sent a chill down Roman’s spine and blood boiling in his veins. Of course he was here.

Roman did not want to come out from under the vehicle, knowing he would have to directly confront his problems. He could just turn up his music to max volume and pretend Logan was not there. Nevertheless, he would have to come out from under the car eventually, and Logan was just as stubborn as he was. Roman dug his heels onto the concrete and pulled himself out from under the car, to stare up at Logan, looking as radiant as ever.

“ Stupid gorgeous bastard, ”

“What are you doing here?” Roman asked, voice laced with venom, “Can you not see I am busy,”

“I am not blind, I do see,” Logan frowned, “What exactly are you doing, I am not privy to car maintenance,”

“Oil change,” Roman said sharply.

Logan chuckled weakly, “Do they not do that type of thing at car repair shops?”

“An oil change for a car of my mileage would be about $75. And I like to do things myself,” Roman told him, curtly. Logan hummed in response, hugging his sides awkwardly, “I answered all your questions, Arias, are you not capable of answering mine,”

Roman could not help but notice the way that Logan’s face hardened at the use of his last name, but the discontent with his presence was still prevalent.

“I am just here strictly for business, Prince,” Logan whipped his backpack around to his front and pulled out a bright red folder, “I was told to deliver your homework,”

The sting of betrayal from his teachers hit Roman in the heart, but he snatched the folder regardless, “So Picani asked you to deliver this,”

“Picani asked the student body president to deliver this. He did not say anything else,”

Roman hummed in response and tossed it off to the side after flipping through the pages, lazily.

“Thanks, then. See you later,” Roman shrugged his shoulders and leaned back on the skateboard to check on the oil, only to be quickly pulled back out, Logan frowning over him with his foot on the board, “What the hell, Arias,”

“I do not want to overstep, but what is going on?”

“I have no idea what you could be talking about,” Roman rolled back under the car, but not for long as Logan pulled him back out.

“Really? Because it was just two days ago we were making plans for Bubble Tea, now you are acting as though you have no idea who I am,”

“Tch,” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes, “I don’t have to act like I don’t know who you are, ML- Lame Formatting,”

Another roll back, countered by another roll forward, this was now coupled with an even more confused looking Logan, “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Let me just say, I am not the only actor in the midst of this tiff,”

“Acting? Prince, you know I do not do theater, please just state what is upsetting you,” Logan pleaded, his eyes filled with malcontent and confusion, but Roman said nothing in response, choosing to look at the other’s forehead to avoid eye contact with his bespeckled foe, “Princey, just listen, whatever I did to hurt you, just know you have my deepest apologies, surely, but you have to tell me what is going on,”

He opened his mouth to speak but he had nothing to say to the other. Instead, he rolled back underneath the car, staring at the darkened under carriage.

Roman felt the skateboard jerk around underneath him to where he almost fell off after Logan kicked on of the wheels, “Roman, get out from under the car and talk to me, goddammit!”

Too filled with rage and annoyance at his former friend, he rolled out from underneath the car and stood up in one fluid motion, towering over the other, both of their faces filled with anger.

“You wanna know what is wrong? Fine. I am not upset. I am pissed the fuck off, Logan! I am pissed because I don’t have many friends- no, I do not have any friends except for my friend Patton, who is a damn good one because he told me all about what you were conniving and planning. I trusted you, Logan, and you decided that using me and my friendship to get me expelled was more important than forming an actual bond between friends-”

“Roman, I-”

“Quiet!” Roman ran his hands through his hair, he was now pacing, “You used me. You wasted my time and my energy just so that you could get a leg up, a leg up you do not even need! I do not even care about UCLA or- or a scholarship. I care that you stooped so low to act like my friend for - for what? For information? A confession?”

“But I did-”

“It doesn’t matter your reasoning, it is the principle of the matter. You cannot just go through life picking and choosing people to feed off of and discard once you are finished. I - I - Y- You made me feel like nothing, like I was nothing and you made me feel like an idiot, because of all the time you have been in school, you never befriended anyone, self preservation should be your middle name, because it sure as hell -!”

“Roman I was not acting!” Logan stated, not too loudly, but stern enough to get Roman to stop ranting.

“W-what?”

“Roman.” Logan stated, punctuating each syllable, “I was not, acting,”

Roman head felt as though it had been filled with cotton, “You weren’t?”

Logan scoffed, “Of course not. Whilst it would have been a brilliant plan on my part, it was not worth the mental and physical energy to prove something that may have seemed like a lost cause. And, over the course of getting to know you better, there is a minimal chance of you actually causing the property damage,”

Roman opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it again, not wanting to correct any of Logan’s suspicions. He did not know what to say.

“I- I do not know what to say, I guess, I am sor-”

“Do not apologise Roman, please,” Logan waved him off and leaned on the back of his car, “I understand why you would believe what you do. I too often times have difficulties trusting people,”

Roman raised an eyebrow, leaning next to the other, “Really? Why is that, Bezos?”

“Well,” He sighed, “I am sure you can relate. I am gay and I am the kid of a first generation Peruvian immigrants, and neither of them were ever really around until a few years ago. It can get really hard to know who you can and cannot trust. People take advantage of you because of what they think you are, now more than ever. You sit next to people in school who believe you do not deserve to live because of who you love or are partnered up with people who believes our parents are 'stealing their jobs',” Logan’s expression was unreadable as he stared off into the distance, “I am just trying to understand, I know how hard it can be,”

Roman twiddled his thumbs and bit his lip, debating what to say, “Yea, you can understand Logan,” He sighed, “But… Also, you cannot understand.” Logan looked at his with confusion, “Look, if I tried to get you expelled then you can just apply to UC Berkeley or Harvard or wherever. UCLA is the only ‘elite school’ quote-on-quote, that the school counselor said would even give me a chance at a scholarship. Our lives are different and will always be different because you live in higher income and I live in the low. Your parents came here and now one is an anesthesiologist and the other is a lawyer. My parents came here from the Dominican Republic and my father died and my mother is working as a hospice aide living paycheck to paycheck. Everything is always going to be easier because of your money. You have a motorcycle and a nice car. And I- I have this car that my dad died in,”

“Jesus, Roman,”

Roman chuckled in spite of himself, “Yea, that was a bit dark.” He kicked himself off the side of the car and spun around to face Logan, his expression riddled with guilt, “Look, we do not choose our upbringing, but it does shape the people that we become. Comparing the two is like… Is like comparing ionic bonds to covalent,”

Logan smiled at this, “You actually remembered something I taught you, for once,” Logan moved closer to Roman, “So, I am presuming that this row is over, and we can go back to friends now,”

Roman smirked, “Of course, my glorious nerd.” Roman’s phone violently beeped at him, making his heart skip a beat, “Before we do anything else, I have an oil change to attend to,”

“Roman,” Logan said, hesitantly, “Do you think that you could, maybe… Show me?”

“Show you?”

“Show me how to change… The oil,” Logan bit his lip, looking down at his black, shiny boots, wearing an unsure expression that does not go with his usual cocky attitude, “I have always wanted to learn and fine tuning motor skills is important to become a well-rounded individual,”

Roman smiled and grabbed a wrench, throwing it to Logan, “It would be my honor,”

[ksoosmoon]

Talking to the Moon - Kyungsoo

Heir!Kyungsoo x Reader, ft. Best Friend!Sehun; fluff, angst, arranged marriage, run-away heir

“Can you do me a favor?” Suddenly, the favor that was Do Kyungsoo, young CEO, became too much. As much as he was an annoying brat who barged into your life to be “normal,” you loved him. 

Word Count; 9k+

Warnings; angst, fake death, implied smut

Song; Talking to the Moon - Bruno Mars

Your phone started ringing, the familiar ringtone song filling the empty room. Tell me when you’re tired of living repe—

“Hey Sehun!” you gushed, blushing already. Sehun was everything a man should be, he was even a bodyguard. He had connections everywhere, you’d fallen head over heels. Whenever you were around he broke his harsh professional appearance, when you needed comfort he was the first to call. You assumed it was him just being a good friend, and honestly, that was probably the case. Either way, you found him irresistible.

“Can you do me a huge favor? I’ll be over later to tell you what it is… Just this once,” he sounded desperate; you didn’t know what the favor was but honestly you’d do it if it was him asking, “Hello? I swear I’m not asking you to murder anyone, just - I’ll tell you later.”

“Anything for you Oh Sehun, no favor is too big!” Sehun laughed and hummed in response, which made your heart do flips. “Love you.” You were met with silence and the painful sound which meant he’s hung up. Hurt, embarrassed, and nervous you took a nap on your couch to just rest before Sehun would be over. Maybe it was an excuse to come over. What if that’s why he was being so secretive? Did he like you back? The possibilities, and the ‘x’ rated thoughts, made you ecstatic. Suddenly, you just couldn’t sleep and stared at your ceiling, cheeks burning hot and eyes hooded.

“Y/N, open up!” You jumped at the sudden noise but ran to get the door. You went to greet Sehun when you saw there was not one, but two men standing outside your door. This was not part of your ‘x’ rated thoughts. Ignoring the other man for a second you hugged Sehun, taking in his familiar scent. He smiled and pushed the relatively short guy in front of him. “Is this your favor? I didn’t think you would be into that kind of thing,” you teased, meeting eyes with - know what? You’d just ask his name instead of calling him ‘the other man.’

“This is Do Kyungsoo, he’s my favor. Well, he’s a runaway from home and would like to bunk here for fall and winter. I know it’s a bit weighty, but… he’s never lived a normal life,” Sehun bit his lip, “this cannot leave this household, but he’s the son of a very famous CEO.” You gulped, you didn’t expect this. Who would have? Having the son of a CEO, Do Kyungsoo, in front of you and your lifelong crush asking, no, begging you to take him in. It made your skin crawl, but no matter what you’d accept. If Sehun knew him, he had to be a good person. You nodded and shook Kyungsoo’s hand, then Sehun rushed to leave.

“So, you’re rich, huh? Did you run away to live like an average person? It’s not that interesting,” you raised an eyebrow, “or did you request to stay with a girl… perv.” Kyungsoo scrunched up his face and changed into your spare house shoes, reserved for Sehun. He didn’t bother to close the door; you figured it was because he hadn’t touched a door handle once in his life.

“Sooooo, is there anything you’d like to eat?”

“I’m craving some steak and maybe some lobster. Would you happen to know any places serving Petit Gâteau?” You tilted your head in extreme confusion, he was listing off food items you were pretty sure just glorified ice cream.

“Petite… Got who?” Kyungsoo laughed and shook his head. “I-I have ramen noodles - can your palate stand that? Or is everything you eat over sixty dollars,” you teased, running to the kitchen and filling your stained and scratched up pot, and no matter how hard you scrubbed there was a sticker caught on the side.

“Ramen! Ah, I can eat that… I know a wonderful ramen place, and it’s affordable!”

“Affordable for you - or affordable for me. I don’t feel like going out so you’ll have to suffer through freeze-dried noodles and powder flavoring,” you winked at him and started to make the ramen. His eyes were focused on you the entire time, which was a bit creepy but you assumed he’d never met someone who wore Cookie Monster sweatpants and a shirt three sizes too big. Hell, he was still dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his brown hair gently swept back to reveal his doe-like eyes which seemed to catch every move you made.

“Ow’ Fuck! Fuck!” you screamed as the pot boiled over. You’d been so focused on the stranger in your house you forgot that water is a very dangerous substance. Kyungsoo rushed over and threw the pot in the sink. He then took your bright red fingers and ran them under cold water, making sure not to be too harsh. The human contact you’d been longing for made your heart pound and you barely worried about your hand anymore.

“Where’s your medical kit?” You pointed to the bathroom. You heard him rummaging around, then he walked back with the clear box with faded sharpie MED KIT. He opened it and found almost empty Neosporin, oddly shaped bandages, medical tape, and samples of gauze cut into squares. You cleared your throat and Kyungsoo went to work, putting the clear ointment on your fingers and then wrapped them in cloth, securing it with medical tape.

“How can you be so clumsy?” he sighed, checking your hand for any other injury. You frowned and looked at your hand, delicately being held in his.

“Thank you,” you smiled before taking your hand away, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Obviously,” Kyungsoo scoffed before returning to his resting position, the phone constantly in his face. Plan B, something that just requires a microwave. Bagel Bites. They were yummy, and probably wouldn’t injure you! Win-Win. You unwrapped the bite-size pizzas and stuck them into the Heat Machine for two minutes, taking that time to squeeze next to Kyungsoo.

“So, Kyungsoo, tell me why you ran away.”

“Is that any of your business?”

“Unless you’d like to stay at a motel, it is.”

“Fine, being the son of a CEO means my life is set up for me, how cliche right? I have a fiancé but I can’t stand her, I’m only to marry her for a company bond. So, to live my last six months as a free man, I left.” You felt bad for him, while it would be wonderful to sit in the lap of luxury, having your entire life pre-decided seemed to be the con to drive any sane person away.

“Ah, I see… sorry for prying. Though it may not be much, I want to take care of you the best I can, so, I hope you enjoy your last six months,” you smiled and went to get the bagel bites, furiously blowing on them before you sat next to Kyungsoo. His eyes remained focused on the game he was playing, only causing you to snatch his phone.

“What are those?” Kyungsoo’s eyes went wide in disgust. You rolled your own and shoved one in his mouth. He chewed on it for a minute before furrowing his brows. You prayed he liked it. “Well, it’s not horrible. But… the thought of microwave food is extremely… odd.” You giggled and gave Kyungsoo another, and another, and another, until he started taking them himself.

“See? They’re g— you ate them all! You egghead!” You pouted. He laughed and raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk on his face.

“There’s still one in my mouth, do you want it?” You knew what he meant and violently shook your head, the thought of kissing anyone but Sehun made your nervous system go into fight or flight. Kyungsoo laughed and finished eating before wiping his face with a shiny handkerchief.

“It’s getting a little late and I have a job, so, I’m going to bed. Do you need pajamas?”

“Ah, yeah… my luggage won’t be here until tomorrow,” he sheepishly smiled. You nodded and went to your room, which was neatly arranged seeing as you were too busy to even dirty it. You dug through your wardrobe and pulled out sweatpants and a white t-shirt. You folded them and handed them to Kyungsoo, asking him to change in the bathroom.

“Where should I sleep?”

“The couch.”

“A— The— The couch? It’s freezing out here, can’t you at least let me stay in a room?” Kyungsoo whined, showing off his spoiled side. A sigh left your lips and you beckoned him to follow you. With a loud click, the lights in your room went on. He looked around, noticing the various posters on the wall, mismatch pillows, family photos, and notebooks neatly lined up on an old desk. Kyungsoo watched as you pulled out a comforter and a thick red blanket, laying them down on the floor. You tossed one of the pillows off your bed and grinned. You knew this would be hell for him.

“Torture, this is torture,” he mumbled, walking off to change. You stuck your tongue out. What a spoiled kid, probably used to staying in the finest feather top beds, silky sheets gracing his delicate skin that you just couldn’t get out of your head. Maybe he even had manicures to preserve the softness and comfort of his hands. You grinned to yourself before leaping into bed, a loud spring! echoing from it. When Kyungsoo came back he found you curled up, scrolling through your phone.

“I think casual attire suits you more than those suits,” you commented, peeking from the blinding light of your phone screen, “do you mind flicking the lights off?” He complied, turning off the lights. You heard a quiet tumble and then a thump. Kyungsoo groaned before laying down on his makeshift bed.

“Let me sleep up there.”

“No.”

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“Well, I can’t sleep with a strange man in my bed.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to you, I’d have to be severely drunk to even consider. Maybe you’d look cute in the eyes of an alcoholic.” You giggled, liking his sense of humor. Often, you gently bullied your friends just to tease them and see their comebacks. This would be no different.

“You’d have to travel to France to get the champagne first, by then I’ll be a model.”

“Let me sleep in your bed!”

“Fine!” You scooted over and huddled against the wall before you felt the warm body next to you. The presence made you uncomfortable but, it was better than having an already grumpy boy be even grumpier. You turned on the sleeping music, the lowest volume possible. Kyungsoo hummed, his breathing becoming more gentle and his face turning peaceful. He looked nice like that, quiet and unbothered. You stared at him for a while, taking in his features, before drifting off.

The angry beeping of your alarm woke you up. You groaned and went to sit up, but your movement was restricted by Kyungsoo’s arm resting on your torso. You sighed and turned off your alarm, trying your best not to wake him before you’d have to take off.

“Don’t leave… I can’t stand being alone,” he mumbled, but his mumble was leaning towards a whine. You huffed, he had a lot of money… maybe he could pay for his stay at your home. Wouldn’t that be a sugar daddy thing to do? But, he can’t stand to be alone, and you’d have to go to work every morning. Your head was spinning with options before you heard Kyungsoo stir.

“I’ll pay for things so you don’t have to work,”

“How about you get a job? I can ask my—“

“People will recognize me, that’s too big of a risk…” Kyungsoo hunched over, running his hands through his morning hair. God, he really was attractive. Maybe too much so. He already had a deep voice that could capture hearts but his raspy morning voice melted yours. “Just let me have this. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I—“ Sehun’s face ran through your thoughts, you promised to take care of Kyungsoo and show him your life, and you’d hate for him to report to Sehun saying you were the worst host. “I guess, but— Ugh!” You smacked the back of his head and dialed your boss, explaining that you were in charge of ‘your little cousin’ for the next six months because his mom was sick. After agreeing you wouldn’t be paid but could come back with a secure job, you politely said goodbye.

“Why did you hit me?!” Kyungsoo held onto the back of his head, he was screaming drama queen, “I’m not your little cousin either!”

“You make me frustrated!” you yelled, “How do I explain I’m taking care of a grown man for six months without him thinking I just want to run off with my boyfriend?” You wobbled your way out of the room before you started brawling with him. The stove made a loud ticking noise before lighting up, and you made sure to keep an eye on the eggs as you cooked them. A replay of yesterday’s event would be scarring - literally and figuratively.

“Eggs?”

“Oh you can’t have any, that would be cannibalism,” you chuckled at your own joke, hunching over to see his reaction. Only, there was none.

“I don’t get it.”

“Because you’re an egghead— like… forget it. It’s not funny if you explain it.” Kyungsoo shrugged and went to use the bathroom, the popping of eggs waking you from the trance laughing had put you in. They were just cooking, not on fire. Not on fire. Phew! You set them on a plate and went to make Kyungsoo’s, shouting to ask what his favorite kinds were.

“Literally— you’re the worst. I don’t have quail eggs, I have eggs from a very questionable origin and that’s it.”

“Then scrambled.” You raised your arms in the sweet victory of getting a normal response out of the guy and went to making scrambled eggs. By the time Kyungsoo was out of the bathroom, he’d changed into a suit again.

“I… don’t know how to tie a tie,” Kyungsoo blushed, holding out a patterned tie. You turned off the stove and made your way in his direction. Though it took a bit of thinking, you recalled how you used to tie Sehun’s ties when he was in a hurry.

Kyungsoo watched you, your hands moving around his neck made him get goosebumps. How focused you were on tying it; for a minute he really thought he could fall for you. You patted his suit and stood back to look at the tie. You nodded to yourself and silently went to put Kyungsoo’s eggs on a plate. He ran his hands down the tie, perfecting the look.

“Do you have any casual clothes? Maybe we should stop at the mall and get you some before you luggage arrives.” You handed the plate to him, a fork resting on the side. Kyungsoo sighed, wondering how he’d disguise himself,  as he ate his eggs. You watched with eager eyes, any excuse to go to the mall would be a valid one.

“Do you have a mask I can use?” You nodded and ran to get a dust mask for him. Maybe a hat would help, too; you grabbed an old baseball cap and handed both to Kyungsoo. He immediately put them on, trying to rush out the door.

“Hey! I still have to get ready!”

“Oh, I forgot about that part,’ Kyungsoo laughed, sitting down on your couch. His leg bounced as he waited for you. Getting out of the house to do his own thing without worry would be a breath of fresh air. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get to eat street food, try on one-size-fits-all clothes, but above all he was excited to spend the day with someone that didn’t have a clue about his background. Though he’d never admit it, the whole escaping for six months made him anxious, what if he got caught, or you got in trouble; if he caused drama in your presumably boring life Kyungsoo would never forgive himself.

“Alright, let’s get going!” You adorned an oversized sweater and mom jeans, your clunky boots made you an inch taller. You grabbed your bag and had to drag Kyungsoo, who had frozen, out of your apartment. He detached his arm from yours and followed you to your car. It was a gift from your friend, who had gotten a new car and didn’t want to bother selling the old one. You held the passenger door open for Kyungsoo, gently closing it behind him. If the door slammed it would be stuck open and that was a hassle. You tapped the wheel as the hum of the engine began, then took off towards the mall.

“Tell me Soo, what makes you hate your fiancé?” Kyungsoo groaned and stared at you, contemplating if he should tell you. He barely knew you, but, he could tell you were nice. Maybe a little feisty, clumsy, and messy. You took him in even though you knew nothing about him, cooked for him, and even took leave from your job just so he wouldn’t be alone. Still, Kyungsoo was drifting on the edge if some details would be too personal.

“Well, she’s unloyal. Countless times I’ve seen her hanging around men, and women, practically sucking their face. She’s annoying, always pestering me for money, do this, do that… I have to say I love her but the words are so empty, it hurts to say them,” Kyungsoo leaned his head back, “I’d love to genuinely love someone rather than being an object to bond companies.” You went silent. You didn’t dare say you understood, you couldn’t possibly.

“I’m… sorry. Sounds exhausting. I hope you can find someone you love, you don’t always have to follow the path chosen for you. That’s why there're manmade trails in the middle of the forest.” You smiled, singing along quietly to the radio. It was the latest pop hits but not singing along was impossible. When your favorite song came on you couldn’t resist singing along and bobbing your head with the beat. Kyungsoo stared at you like you were a chicken with its head cut off. You glanced at him with a huge smile on your face, hoping he would sing along just like you.

“Oops, looks like we’re here.” You turned into the parking lot and found the farthest spot possible just to annoy Kyungsoo. He silently got out of the car and waited for you to catch up with him. While on the way to the mall you began to talk with Kyungsoo about his hobbies, if he had social media, and if he was close with Sehun. All of his answers came back very vague, and all of them being no, even the one about hobbies.

“Alright… hah… okay, let’s stop in M&H first,” you cheaply smiled before calling for Kyungsoo to follow you. He caught you playing in the tiles, avoiding walking on the cracks. He started to snort at the way you were walking and you quickly stopped.

“What was that?” he chuckled, trying to replicate the movement.

“I-I was, uhm, I had something stuck in my shoe,” you lied, your face turning red. Kyungsoo shook his head and started skipping along the tiles, missing any of the cracks. Relieved that he, too, was a child at heart you continued your waddle to M&H. When you entered the almost unbelievably big clothing store the scent of new shoes, perfume, and for some reason cinnamon pretzels hit you. Kyungsoo kept his head low, trying to avoid eyes with anyone.

“What is your style?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, scanning over the clothes.

“Fine, I’ll choose for you!” You sped over to a clothing rack full of colorful t-shirts, printed with contrasting logos, and sweatshirts that smelled almost like paint. You took a mustard yellow sweatshirt off of the rack, holding it up to Kyungsoo’s chest. His eyes averted from your gaze before you decided it didn’t suit him very well. He stood there as you held shirts up to him, picking out the very few you deemed worthy. Out of the maybe fifty shirts you tried, you decided on a navy blue sweater, black sweatshirt with embroidery going down the sleeves that said ‘thru the night’, a simple white t-shirt, and a very cute striped sweater. He picked out some things that caught his eye, all of them being black.

“Don’t you need some color?” you complained, looking at the garments he held in his arms. He shook his head, this is what he liked but could never wear. It was either suits and dress shirts or polos and awkwardly fitting shorts. You huffed and moved onto jeans. You frantically ran to grab the last pair of distressed blue jeans, insisting they’d look perfect on him. The holes around the knees, loose threads, and spots of white made your heart jump just at the thought of such a huge transformation. He hesitated to accept them but to humor you, he took them. He picked out the rest of the pants, not wanting you to pick out something else outrageous.

“Everything in here looks so nice,” you whispered, hands behind your back. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, a sigh escaped his lips.

“If you want something just say, don’t beat around the bush. Do you want me to play stylist, too?” A smirk spread across his face, one that you’d never seen before. It wasn’t snarky, but… almost sinister.

“I— Go for it,” you stumbled over your own words, feeling your chest swell at what he’d pick out. In the back of your mind you prayed, pleaded, begged he wasn’t going to force you to try on bodycon dresses and anything remotely in that area. Apparently, whoever you were sending those thoughts to was on the other line because Kyungsoo immediately pulled down the shortest skirt he could find, a cropped sweatshirt, and a silky side-slit dress. You groaned and took them from him. Surprisingly, they were all in your size.

“How did you know my size?”

“I’m good at guessing those things, pick out some other things while we’re at it. However, for every item you pick out you have to get one of mine, too.”

“I’m never going to wear these. If the wind blows once I may as well just walk out of the house pantless.” Kyungsoo snickered but insisted you try them on. Once you finished picking out some actual fall clothes you raced him to the dressing room. When your hand felt the fabric of the dress, geez, the satisfying feel of the fabric sent your secret binge-watching ‘100 Oddly Satisfying Videos Compilation’ side into heaven. You imagined having the smooth fabric over your body and quickly tried it on. It was cold on your skin, draping down in the neckline. The slit cooley revealed your left leg which gave you a weird sense of confidence.

Coincidentally, you and Kyungsoo both stepped out of the dressing room at the same time. He was clad in the ripped jeans you’d picked and the black sweatshirt. He looked like that guy on Instagram everyone, everyone, wanted to be. Sculpted face, a nice body, a cute but intimidating sense of style, and of course, he was just cool. His steely gaze was always burning, and when his gaze finally fell sleepy or soft you could finally relax.

“You look… good,” he sputtered, trying to avoid your chest. You giggled and rolled your eyes.

“You look dumb with your eyes flying around like that, just look at me!”

“I just don’t want to be disrespectful to a lady,” Kyungsoo’s voice cracked, his face flushed. Now was the time to tease him. You slowly got closer to him. You forced him to look at you by cupping his cheeks, millimeters away from touching. To your shock, he pulled you closer. You squirmed from his embrace, eyes wide.

“Psh, you’re so easy to fool!” Kyungsoo started cracking up, “Do you think I see you as a lady? I barely see you as a woman! Maybe a wench at best.” You stared at him, blood boiling. Your knuckles went white and you stormed back into the dressing room, peeling the dress off and slipping into your prior clothes. You furiously hung the rest of the untouched items on the return rack and left the store. A wench? Maybe you were being especially sensitive, stuff like this didn’t usually get to you, but to a person who barely knew you… wench. That word repeating in your head. You had to leave, running to the nearest bathroom and crying.

“Y/N, girl, what’s wrong with you? Wench is just a word, and he was just teasing— right?” You gave yourself a talking to in the mirror and rubbed your eyes, walking out of the bathroom confidently. It was just the tone of his voice, the snobbish side lingered no matter how sweet he was at times. A spoiled brat. Not only did he run away; he ran away to a stranger’s house expecting them to quit their job, provide good food, and manage the household. You swept your hand through your hair, finally making it back to the M&H. Kyungsoo was talking to a worker who pointed to the entrance, right at you. Kyungsoo quickly ran up to you.

“If I’d had known you’re so sensitive—“

“Don’t you know when to shut up? Pay for your clothes and let’s leave,” you ordered, foot tapping as you waited for his arrival again. He held two bags and silently walked alongside you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not used to - ah how do you say it - banter? All of it is fake, and I didn’t mean to, you know… I’m sorry,” he bowed and you flicked his head. He smiled, knowing that meant you accepted his apology.

“Do you still want to leave?” Kyungsoo poked you, getting you riled up. It was satisfying to see you get mad. Like an annoying younger sibling.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“They’re having a sale at the music store.” Your eyes widened and you took off, Kyungsoo struggling to keep up with the heavy bags slapping his legs every few leaps. You swung into the music store, taking down vintage tunes that always calmed you down. They had just the right amount of softness, and god, people’s voices sounded magnificent. Before Kyungsoo could even step into the store you were done, having picked up a coloring book, too. He was panting and holding onto his knees for stability.

“Let’s go,” you ran your finger under his chin, his eyes met yours. You quickly looked away and helped him out with the bags. “These weigh a ton! What did you get?”

“Well, I saw some cute things on the way out I thought you’d like. I didn’t want you to be upset… they reminded me of you and how you decorated your room. Sorry if that’s weird or anything, I couldn’t help it.” You laid your free hand on his back, running it in circles.

“Calm down buddy, you talk too fast sometimes.”

“I’m stressed right now, women are stressful, no, not women, you’re stressful!”

“I know.”

You got home, exhausted after the day. You flopped onto the couch, head leaning back on the cheap faux leather. Kyungsoo sat next to you, eyes fixed on the TV. Despite getting out early you’d come back way late. He decided to treat you to ice cream, then ate some street food he so desperately missed, finally you talked some to get to know each other. You had a lot of weird things in common, how you slept, if you preferred t-shirts or sweaters, your favorite temperature of latte, and if off-brand was better (you disagreed on that one, insisting off-brand chocolate cereal was superior to anything else.)

The noise of the TV became quieter. You could barely keep your eyes open no matter how hard you tried. You slouched onto Kyungsoo’s lap. Your breathing had become shallow and it took a bit for him to register you fell asleep. Kyungsoo studied your figure. He wanted to feel your skin, run his finger over your peaceful lips, play with your hair. He carefully brushed his fingers through your hair, lulling you into an ever deeper sleep. Kyungsoo stopped, realizing that maybe that was too intimate. You murmured something along the lines of ‘Kyungsoo-ie, it feels n…’ He smiled and continued petting you, almost like you were a cat finally resting after knocking everything off the shelves.

“Goodnight,” he switched the TV off and carefully put his arm under your knees, another under your arms. He stood, steadying himself with the new weight he held. Kyungsoo set you down on the side of the bed, tucking you in before slipping next to you. When you weren’t pestering him you looked so cute, tempting him to— no, he couldn’t admit it. No way.

Almost as sleep didn’t catch up with him, he observed you for maybe too long. When he saw you twitch in your sleep he slammed his head into the pillow in frustration.

“Sehun, I need to… I love you,” you mumbled, words not forming full sentences. Kyungsoo’s heart skipped a beat when you said I love you despite it not being towards him. He closed his eyes, finally drifting off. “Sehun… Why… spoiled.”

“Sehun… why—“ you shot awake, beginning to cry. The blurry memories of your dream (ahem, nightmare) began to engulf your head. Your eyes drifted to Kyungsoo fast asleep, meaning you had to keep quiet. This was a recurring dream that sounded and felt like a love song written by someone you loved but wasn’t written about you. Tears rolled down over the bridge of your nose onto the pillow sheet, your throat was caught up with chokes that took all of your power to contain. God, that fucking dream. Sehun, the one you longed for, your heart couldn’t say no to him; If he asked you to go to war for him, you would. Your mind was clouded with love, infatuation. When he would touch you in the dream, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, threatening to kiss you finally, he’d run away into the arms of a faceless woman, a woman that wasn’t you. That was your worst nightmare; he’d run into someone else’s arms. Faint whispers came from Kyungsoo, who was now leaning over to face you.

“A-Are you okay?” he whispered. You wiped your eyes and nodded. You looked around quickly, realizing you weren’t on the couch.

“Did you bring me in here?”

“Yeah. I didn’t do anything weird, I swear,” he laid down to face you, eyes connected with yours.

“I trust that. You’re nicer than you look, Egghead,” you smiled, eyes fluttering closed. Kyungsoo sighed as he watched more tears drip down your face. Then, with no warning, he pulled you into him. You gasped and rested your head against his chest. The comfortable warmth of his body let your tears stop finally, which meant Kyungsoo could sleep in peace.

“Thank god,” he groaned and fell asleep again.

Two months had passed, and Kyungsoo was bearable. You joked back and forth, went fun places together. Your favorite was the lantern festival you attended together. You held a custom lantern which adorned poorly-drawn cherry blossoms and other flowers. Kyungsoo then overtook the project, drawing something you couldn’t see before he lit it up and sent it off.

“What the hell!?”

“Hmm? Did you want to send it off?”

“Well duh!” you groaned and took another lantern, facing away from him to redraw everything. Before his greasy hands could touch it you lit it, watching it float up and away. That night was peaceful, every lantern represented a wish, which you wrote on the lantern itself. You’d wished for love, something that was draining from your heart. No longer did it jump when you spoke to Sehun, it only jumped when Kyungsoo scared you in the morning with a horse mask he’d found in your closet, or when you’d curl up on the couch and could feel Kyungsoo at the other end, eyes closed and listening to whatever was playing on the TV.

“What did you wish for?” Your breath hitched, maybe that wasn’t a good question. You didn’t want to tell him yours so why ask his? Why was his answer suddenly so scary?

“Well…” Kyungsoo’s arms snaked around your waist and he rested his head on your shoulder, “it won’t come true if I say it, will it?” You mumbled, trying to find a feisty answer. But, you just couldn’t. The feeling of his breath on your neck paralyzed you, the feeling of his gentle arms around your waist made your heart pound.

“I-I… g-guess not,” you stuttered. You found yourself sinking into his embrace, this was bad.

You didn’t mean it, you told yourself, when you sent off your lantern you didn’t really mean it. You didn’t want love, not now, not in his arms. You didn’t want the hopeless longing for someone you literally couldn’t have. You constantly reminded yourself he was engaged, that he would be married in four months, he’d be standing at an altar on national TV, reciting empty vows to a woman who had everything. Money, looks, fame, and Kyungsoo.

That’s what happened in two months, and suddenly this favor was too heavy.

Kyungsoo was scrolling on his phone, which he’d had to switch out twice in the past month to avoid government tracking.

“Want to watch a movie?” you pulled him to face you. He set his phone down and thought for a moment.

“What kind of movie,” Kyungsoo smirked. Without a break, you slapped his arm. He “winced” and fake cries left his mouth. You slapped him again and he regained his composure.

“There’s this movie on Netflix, it’s called Descendants of the Sun. I heard it’s amazing, and the main roles got married in real life!” your voice began to bubble with excitement, to which Kyungsoo smiled, “Seriously… I thought that only happened in movies or books! I guess spending so much time together, hmm, anyways. Haul your ass to the couch and I’ll turn the movie on.”

“Geez, alright,” Kyungsoo waited for you on the couch. He found the movie on Netflix waiting for you to come back. Secretly, you were sifting through the goods he got you and M&H. You almost shouted when you found the baby pink hair clips, multicolored hair ties, and the remnants of a packet of face masks. You quietly sat on the couch, shocking him for a second. You told him to start the movie then pulled him to sit between your legs, head propped on your stomach.

“What are you going to do to me?” he whispered. You placed your finger to his lips and took out the face mask, spreading the cold paste on his face. Kyungsoo shivered but didn’t stop you. His eyes stayed glued to the screen as you did all sorts of things, tying his hair into ten little ponytails, then holding the remaining bits back with hairpins. He only snapped back into reality when your camera flash went off on his sleepy face. You took a ton of shots before he panicked and hit the phone with his head.

“Wow, I love my new screensaver!” you giggled. Kyungsoo pulled your phone down. You paused as his eyes lingered on your current home screen. It was you at the lantern festival with him, holding up a peace sign and he held up a heart. Your faces were flush because of the cold and the warm light made the picture come out perfect. You clicked your phone off and set it on your lap.

“Weird, we unintentionally matched screensavers,” Kyungsoo spoke, not with his usual tone but softer, almost like he was nervous. “Oh, and you have nothing on me. I have tons of pictures of you sleeping in the strangest positions,” he chortled and wiped the face mask off with tissues. Your heart wanted to talk but your completely rational brain forbade it to.

“The movie is already over?” you groaned, not getting to really watch it.

“You were too busy making me look like Casper’s ugly cousin.” You laughed and pushed his body off of you. You stretched your legs which had fallen asleep under the weight of Kyungsoo. You stomped them a few times to get rid of the pins and needles before shuffling off to get ready to sleep. Silence lingered the rest of the night as you waited for Kyungsoo to come lay next to you. It seemed like centuries before he finally came in. You didn’t feel him immediately though, rather you felt his hand run along your cheek. Did he think you were asleep?

“Sehun warned me I was biting off more than I could chew,” Kyungsoo sighed, “I think he was right.” Finally, your heart took gear. It knew not to be obvious. It took the knowledge you mumbled in your sleep and began to throw out incomplete sentences before deciding on the perfect one.

“I wished… love,” you mumbled.

“Me too, but I wonder if maybe it was in vain,” Kyungsoo whispered, “because I think I already had it.” Gentle snoring followed soon after, making you drift off. No longer were your nightmares about Sehun, your nightmares were you perched in front of your TV, blanket wrapped around you, watching the news. Your heartbeat would pick up when the live footage came on, when Kyungsoo was looking into the eyes of a beautiful woman just like he would in four months, reciting beautiful vows out of his plump lips. The crowd would cheer, the hearts of women who were strangers to him would shatter, and yours would disintegrate when they kissed. You could never escape it, you never woke up crying, you were stuck watching.

“Hey, wake up,” you hit Kyungsoo with a pillow and he jolted awake. You smiled, cheeks flushed from sleeping so long. You kept pestering him until he finally woke up to steal the pillow away. Since you were weaponless you poked his nose and squished his cheeks. You yelled when he pushed you off the bed, thump! Despite being in immense pain you laughed, loving moments like these. The moments when he would be fed up and play-fought with you. When you saw the shine in Kyungsoo’s eyes you knew he enjoyed them, too.

“I have a place I want to take you tomorrow,” Kyungsoo didn’t ask permission, he just said it like it was already a fact. This sparked your interest, you’d been the one initiating outings. Since this was trust-fund kid you expected nothing less than spectacular. Maybe he’d take you to a fancy dinner, or rent a helicopter to fly around Seoul, perhaps he’d even guide you around the city to show you all of the places his family owned.

“Where to?”

“There’s a masquerade ball,” he hummed, “and I thought it could be… our last outing,” Kyungsoo choked. Your eyes widened and your heart began thumping. Kyungsoo avoided eye contact with you.

You told yourself you were joking when you wished you hadn’t taken Kyungsoo in. Just like love, you didn’t want it but you needed it. You needed him.

You kept your face straight, void of any emotion. You didn’t want to worry him any further. Still, insane emotions trailed through your body that felt like molten lava, like someone had shoved trash into your body and expected you to digest it. “Last outing?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, but, Sehun requested that I return home. Panic has been raging through the company.”

“Sehun? Sehun? Why does he ruin everything?” you screamed, breaking into a sobbing mess after everything bubbled up in your chest, “Don’t leave.” Kyungsoo’s hand fell on your back, rubbing small circles. You wiped your tears and grabbed your phone. Fury was controlling your fingers when you texted Sehun.

What the fuck Oh Sehun?

Y/N we can’t talk about this. He’ll be off your chest and back in his rightful place.

His fiancé needs him.

No.

You don’t understand Sehun. I need him. I selfishly need him. I need to hear his breathing next to me in bed, his warm touch when we watch movies, the crackling of bacon when he makes breakfast. I need that.

This isn’t up to you.

I know that!

Sehun, you’re evil.

I love him.

You what?

I fucking love him. His dumb smile and snarky remarks, they make my heart pound.

I’m sorry, but, distance yourself until I can get him out safely.

I’m sorry.

Don’t make him leave.

I’m sorry.

It was coming true. Your nightmare. And just as before, you couldn’t escape, only watch. There was no waking up. You clicked your phone off and threw it against the wall.

“Y/N, calm down, please. I don’t want to go, I’ll stop burdening you. I understand I’m an asshole and you being this welcoming to me has been amazing,” Kyungsoo’s voice cracked suddenly, “I was able to live because of you.”

You didn’t say anything back, you couldn’t, you just went to shower. You shuffled around the rest of the morning, sighing every few seconds. Kyungsoo was so perplexed by your mood, he’d never seen you look like the life was sucked out of you. When he heard the front door slam shut and the door lock he became concerned, more than he should have been.

You ran around the city, your system was full of odd mixtures of alcohol and you needed to see Sehun. You stumbled into his apartment building and stomped up to his flat.

“O-Oh Sehun, open up…” you slurred, “right now.” Sehun opened the door and looked at you. The mess you were. His phone was up to his ear, held by his shoulder.

“Oh Sehun, you life ruiner,” you grabbed onto his door frame and pushed into his place, slumping onto the couch. You couldn’t make out the mumbled of the phone but once he hung up you started spewing nonsense that Sehun couldn’t be bothered to make out.

“Sehun, help me forget.” Tears rolled down your cheeks, pooling at the bottom of your chin. “I’m so dumb,” you moaned, punching a throw pillow. “Sehun! Answer me, help me forget!” When he stayed silent you waddled to him and grabbed his locks. His eyes widened when you violently kissed him, biting his bottom lip. There was no passion, just anger.

“Y/N, what are you,” you silenced him with a sudden hand on his crotch which was undeniably warm and beginning to harden. He pushed you off and threw you over his shoulder. Like a child who didn’t get the toy they wanted, you whined and wailed, tears falling onto the carpeting of the hallway. The alcohol was fading and the painful reminder that tomorrow would be your last night with Kyungsoo, until your next life, came back. Sehun shuddered when you stopped hitting him, just beginning to sob. He pushed the door of the complex open and set you on a bench outside.

With not an ounce of energy left you slumped over, sobbing uncontrollably. Fool, that’s what you were, a fucking fool. You needed to call Kyungsoo, tell him to pick you up. But your phone wasn’t there. You froze, remembering you threw it at your wall.

“C-Call Egghead,” you choked, “Sorry, Kyungsoo.” Sehun laughed and his phone began to ring. Everything became gurgling in your ears, the loud cars flying past, people talking in the night, the phone call, even your own heartbeat was distorted.

In fifteen minutes, which were full of futile attempts to calm you down, Kyungsoo arrived. The first thing he did was hand you your phone. You went to your messages and saw new texts from Sehun, only, they were open. And it certainly wasn’t you who opened them. Your heart sank, he knew, he knew how stupid you were.

“Home… take me home,” you stood up. Kyungsoo grabbed your waist to balance you. He was silent as he called a taxi. The ride was silent, too. The walk to your flat, silence. It was finally broken as soon the door shut by a loud gasp. Kyungsoo’s lips slammed into yours, his hands ran through your hair. You were melting, his kiss giving you the touch you needed from him.

“Kyung—“

“I’m so sorry,” he pecked your lips over and over, “I didn’t know it would be like this.” He bit his lower lip, close to drawing blood. You couldn’t move, almost as if he’d threw an invisible rope around you and tied you in place. “I shouldn’t say this, but, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said instantly, eyes diverting from his.

“God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” Kyungsoo’s voice was cracking, wavering, his lips were quivering. You’d never seen him like this, the talkative boy you knew, the one who threw insults your way, the one who threatened to stab you if you didn’t stop nagging him to cook. The Kyungsoo who organized your room, helped your pick out figurines and sat down to read with you as you flipped the pages.

The Kyungsoo you loved, was leaving.

“I promise I’ll see you again, no matter what. I don’t even want to go to that ball, I want to be with you that night, we can get drunk, get tattoos, dance like lunatics, sing karaoke,” he choked, his grip on you tightening.

“That’d be great.”

“Get some rest,” he picked you up and took you to your bed. You laid there waiting for him to “fluff” the pillows by hitting you with them, and straightening the blanket by making it do a wave. That never came, he just laid next to you and held you. Kyungsoo held you like the world was ending, like he was trying to protect you from the dangers of tomorrow.

It would’ve been nice if the last day with him wasn’t a blur. You’d gotten wasted, insanely wasted. You faintly remembered karaoke, Kyungsoo’s heavenly voice ringing through the bar. He sang with so much passion, straight to you. He never once looked away.

You went on a shopping spree, buying useless things like giant stuffed animals, a huge Bluetooth speaker, a blanket twice the size of your bed, and tons of candy that stood half eaten on your coffee table.

You remembered the bus, the rain hitting the windows before you yelled stop, jumping off with Kyungsoo. You splashed through the rain with him, his heart shape smile never failed to make you happy. His eyes shining in the dimly lit streets made your soul easy.

The rest? It only came to you in the morning in the form of a burning on your leg, puke, and bright red marks on your neck. When you glanced at your leg it was a lantern with cherry blossoms and the word love. The sight made you tear up before you wished Kyungsoo farewell.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded. Kyungsoo held you and the way he pressed you to his chest muffled your sobs. He was crying, too, on the inside. He was cursing his entire life, he cursed fate for showing you to him just to toy with him. He hated fate for letting him hold your hand and feel your lips on his. He hated fate for letting you get hurt by him.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Kyungsoo choked up, a tear running down his cheek. He pulled you away, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. You weakly smiled and shuffled in your pocket, holding out a gold pin shaped like a flower. It was from your youth and now he owned it. Kyungsoo hesitated before taking it and running, running down the stairs. That night was sleepless, your heart couldn’t sleep, your brain wasn’t even working. You were just a shell moving around, kicking the edges of tables and cursing into the air. You’d run out of tears, out of words.

Then, not more than a week later, it was D-Day. You sat in front of your TV, curled up in the blanket you’d bought together, munching on candy. Live feed showed Kyungsoo at the altar, something shiny clipped to his shirt. When the camera finally panned closer your heart stopped.

The pin.

Your pin.

You turned off the TV and slipped on shoes, begging to leave that wretched place to get air, to escape the suffocating fire that was becoming your apartment. Your bed still smelled like him, his sweatshirt was still draped over your chair. You almost put it on but you just couldn’t.

The air hit your face and it felt wonderful, it was hugging your skin. You stared into the distance before shutting your eyes. You stayed like that, feeling the sun on your skin before it became night.

The moon was high above and you sat talking to it, begging someone could hear you. You sat there all night, talking to no one.

Kyungsoo was awake, too, leaning on the balcony of his five-star hotel. He stared at the moon, silence was spread over the city. It was odd, Seoul was full of feisty people who never slept; tonight it didn’t dare speak, not even a peep. The only thing that caught his attention was a scream, a loud painful scream.

“Are you listening? Can you hear me?” you wailed, crying harder than ever before. You didn’t care about looking like a fool, you didn’t care if the whole country could hear you, every emotion poured out of you at once. “Why do you only give me things I can’t have?! Fuck!” Kyungsoo heard your familiar voice but didn’t dare to call back.

There had been a lot of questions, he just answered he went on a vacation to celebrate his bachelor status one last time. It was all good fun, he made of stories of crazy strippers, drunken nights, a faux smile plastered on his face.

It’d been two years. You got a new job at a small diner. People came and went, some stopped to watch the news. Even you tuned in when you were on your break. The people who came in were nice, mostly older women. Their wrinkled smiles revealed their youth and if they stayed long enough you’d exchange stories. There was a lady who always came in at the end of your shift just to talk.

She was the only one you told about Kyungsoo. She told you anything was possible, everything would work out. You tried to believe her but honestly, you weren’t sure. Your heart still lingered on him no matter how hard you tried to pry its grubby grasp from his memory. You moved, you ditched anything that reminded you of him. Sehun let you use his spare room. In the two years that passed, he got engaged and eventually became distant. Now, your only friend was the sweet old lady with a sad smile.

October twenty-third your tuned into the news. It was just background noise, nothing special honestly. You sat with your hot chocolate and muffin, scrolling on twitter mindlessly.

“BREAKING! Young CEO Do Kyungsoo found dead, reports have left to be confirmed. There have been no statements from his family.” You shook your head, thinking it must’ve been misheard.

“Update, there has been no body discovered but evidence leads to—“ You couldn’t bear to hear the rest. You locked the diner early and sobbed, heart stomped on and thrown around in the back of a FedEx truck. You hit your hand on the table in agony.

They found you the next morning, passed out, nails bloody and your eyes puffy. Your co-worker had to shake you awake and ask you if you were alright. You didn’t reply but ran home, ran past your current apartment building and to your old residence. You banged on the door and a stranger was startled but let you in. You searched high and low until you found the sweatshirt that he left bundled up under the wardrobe, which they kept in the same place. You held onto it for dear life and cried, his familiar scent comforting you.

You bowed and left, shrieking when you walked into the hall and saw a dead man walking. Rumors everywhere said he’d left without a trace and his body was indeed found in a river. Whispers went around that he tied himself to a rock and let the current take over.

“K-Kyungsoo,” you muttered before running into his arms. He spun you around and dragged you to a very generic car. “You faked your death? What were you thinking you Egghead!?”

“I was thinking about you. Sehun helped me out, his fiancé is a master of special effects and created a dummy to fool the police just long enough for us to escape.”

“Escape?”

“There’s no time to explain, but I hope you don’t mind living in the hills of France with me,” Kyungsoo grinned a tired but excited grin. You squeezed his hand.

Do Kyungsoo, or, Do Kristien as he now went by, ran away with you to France. He took up a new identity but never changed, not once. He bought a pretty house in the country with a perfect view of the landscape and the sunset. Sehun kept in touch through burner phones, updating you that you missed his wedding. You informed him that he’d missed yours as well, and you assured him it was twice as grand as his.

To make a living in your new home you helped craft lanterns to sell, each with different words. You offered workshops for children and would set up events every month to watch the lanterns light up the scenic sky. Kyungsoo’s hand would be firmly around your waist and you could always feel the metal of his ring on your side.

Love. That’s one of the lanterns that drifted away. They didn’t lie, and that person’s wish would come true soon.

Everything worked out, and you always woke up to the crackling of bacon, a warm body next to you in the morning that breathed softly, and a pair of arms that would always wrap around you while you were watching movies. His snarky remarks never stopped, and you never wanted them to.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

A/N: This hasn’t been fully proof-read by me, so I apologize for any mistakes I missed. I also have extremely bad eyesight, so there may be some completely misspelled words... sorry. I hope you enjoy the fic though!

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Falling

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9809240

Seeing you here makes me sick. You're a murderer nothing more.

Clary's words, her anger, her disgust, her... hatred echoed in Alec's ears as he slipped quietly away from Magnus' apartment, out onto the balcony, barely able to keep himself standing.

Something had gone horribly wrong. That was the only thought Alec had running through his mind as a wave of guilt slammed into his chest, and knocked the breath out of him. Alec felt tears welling up in his eyes, and fought hard to hold them back as he crawled higher and higher and higher up the fire escape. Collapsing on the ground as soon as he had dragged himself up on the roof of the building. The gravel and dirt dug into his hands as he pushed himself upright into a standing position and made his way to the edge of the roof, tucking his knees underneath him as he leaned against the wall.

You're a murderer. You're a murderer. Murderer. Alec rubbed at his hand, wishing for the sharp bite of pain he had carried with him for days after Jocelyn's death, and being met with nothing. He slammed his fist angrily into the dirt and jumped up. He paced back and forth, wind tousling his hair, traffic from the street filling the silence.

Alec felt his throat go tight as images of the demon attack flicked through his mind. Blood dripping from his fingertips, Clary's mother laying on the floor with her heart ripped out of her chest, Clary's face...Clary's...face heartbroken and lost and filled with a rage that she could barely contain. And he was the reason she looked like that, he was the reason Clary had sat staring off into the distance with Simon's arms wrapped around her, while he rubbed his heartfelt, touching family reunion in her face.

He looked down at his hands, and froze. He was standing with his feet peeking out over the edge of the roof. He stared down, confused as to how he had suddenly found himself there, and for a fleeting moment he thought about what it would feel like to just...step off the edge. To fall, to perhaps see what it might be like to fly. He paced the edge, pushing aside the instinct to fear losing his balance, wondering if maybe that wouldn't be so bad. His heart pounded in his chest and he couldn't seem to catch his breath, his fingers trembled, he thought he might collapse. He closed his eyes, he tried to steady his breath, he wanted desperately to jump, to end the pain, the guilt, the anger. He wante-

"Alexander," Magnus' voice quavered even as it attempted to appear calm.

Alec flinched upon hearing his name.

"Alexander, can you turn around for me? Please?"

Alec balled his hands into fists and forced himself to spin on his heels, shame flooding his face. He couldn't bring himself to look Magnus in the eyes, nor to step down off the ledge. "Mags," his voice broke.

"Alexander, look at me,"

"I-I can't,"

"Please,"

"I can't, Magnus, I can't, I can't, I can't," the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Alexander," Magnus took a step closer "Can you step on to the roof?"

Alec sniffed, but stood firm, grappled between self preservation and the overwhelming guilt eating away at him.

"Alexander," Magnus' voice lost all control, and grew thick with sadness and shaky with worry. "You don't want to do this, Alec."

"Why not?' Alec snapped, "All I've ever done is hurt people. Lie to them, lie to myself, kill things...I'm a murderer, Magnus. I...ripped Jocelyn's heart out of her chest with my bare hands. I did that,"

"Alexander, that wasn't you." Magnus took another step forward "You know that, I know that, Clary knows that. Nobody blames you for what happened,"

"I do!" Alec screamed, Magnus looked as if he had been slapped "And Clary does! She just told me I was nothing more than a murderer!"

"She's not herself, Alec." Magnus' voice grew quiet, and uncertain "Something is going on in there, and I seem to be the only one that knows anything is different,"

Alec stopped "What-what do you mean?"

"I mean...this isn't you. You don't want to do this. Everyone has been acting strange. I mean, I'm not quite certain something isn't playing with your self doubts, exploiting them, trying to push you over the edge. Alexander...please, let me help you, please step on to the roof, let me make sure you're safe. Alexander, I've been where you are, trust me, it's not a good place. Just come down off the ledge, let me help you,"

"What do you mean you've been where I am?"

"You'll have to step down on the roof to unlock my tragic backstory, darling," the attempt was half-hearted, but Alec could see the toll this conversation was starting to take on Magnus, and he couldn't be responsible for hurting anyone else. He stepped on to the roof, and ran straight into Magnus' arms, the tears he had been fighting spilling out across Magnus' suit. Magnus wrapped his arms tightly around Alec's shaking body.

Everything Alec had been pushing down, every sensation of guilt, of hurt, of betrayal. Every moment of hopelessness he'd felt searching for Jace. Every moment of doubt he'd suppressed beginning his relationship with Magnus. Every night he'd been woken up by nightmares and spent the rest of the night staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling came crashing down upon him. He couldn't catch his breath, Alec felt as if he were three seconds away from fainting, his face growing numb as he started hyperventilating.

"Hey," Magnus traced gentle patterns across Alec's back "It's okay. You're safe. I'm here. I've got you," Magnus pressed a kiss to Alec's forehead. "Thank you, for not dying on me, Alexander,"

Alec sniffled, burrowing his head into the crook of Magnus' shoulder.

Magnus chuckled lowly "You know, I have a strong sense of deja vu right now. Except, the last time I was in this position, I was the one who needed to be talked down,"

Alec looked up into Magnus' eyes, concern wrinkling his forehead.

"Believe me, Alexander, I am not as infallible as you might think. Even I have my moments of darkness,"

Alec turned his head so his face was pressed into Magnus' neck and drank in the smell of his skin. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Magnus shook his head gently "This is not the time to worry about me, darling,"

Alec looked up, searching Magnus' face for...something that would give away what Magnus was feeling, but he had had hundreds of years to craft the perfect poker face. Alec pressed his forehead against Magnus' and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry that I scared you,"

"I'm sorry you've been carrying this pain, Alexander," Magnus wiped the tears from Alec's cheeks "And I promise you, we'll talk about all of this. But right now, I need your help. I think somebody spiked the punch, or something, everything downstairs is turning into chaos. How are you feeling? Do you need some time?"

Alec straightened up in Magnus' grasp and steeled himself, as if he were preparing for battle "No, I'm okay. Or...I'll be okay. It sounds like there are more pressing matters right now,"

Magnus smiled softly, and pressed a gentle kiss to Alec's forehead "Okay," he dropped his arms from Alec's body and intertwined their fingers.

The feeling of Magnus' hand in his made Alec blush, and he felt his knees go weak with surprise, and pride that Magnus Bane the High Warlock of Brooklyn was currently holding. His. Hand. Alec squeezed Magnus' hand tightly and smiled. "Magnus?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm really glad that I met you,"

[our-legacy-rp-blog]

KAY has been accepted for EOIN CRAWFORD

What an amazing app, Kay! We’re so lucky to have you back, and Eoin seems like the perfect fit. You really dug into hi personality, and we can’t wait t see where he (and his brother!) go next.  Welcome back to OL, and be sure you fill out the checklist HERE.

OOC name & pronouns: Kay, she/her

Age:  24

Timezone: PST

IC INFORMATION:

Character’s name: Eoin Crawford

FC choice: Dylan O’Brien

Position request: Beater on Slytherin’s Quidditch team. ( also, I picture him being in the Herbology club because of his odd love for plants. )

Birthday: September 8th, Virgo.  -  Virgo’s are seen as the perfectionist of the zodiac, something that I think rings true for Eoin. He has an almost obsessive need to be perfect that often extends into a need for efficiency. He’s also reserved and outwardly calm, which are two traits of a Virgo. However, they are always the butt-end of a joke, due to being overly critical.

Wand: 11", Chestnut wood, and Dragon Heartstring core.  -  A wand wood that is most curious, and a wand core that tends to allow the beholder to learn more quickly than other wands. It seems the best match for someone as ambitious as him.

Patronus: A cat. This often represents someone with patience and watchfulness. Something that Eoin very much possesses, especially day-to-day. He’s very observant and waits for the right moment to act. The cat is strongly symbolic of the connection with what usually hides in darkness or the unknown. Eoin has very little trouble slipping by unnoticed; being able to hide in plain sight and watch with curiosity.

Boggart: His mother, angry and disgusted with him. This is his subconscious fear, because she is the one person who’s opinion truly matters. If she ever lost hope in him or no longer cared, then everything would ultimately fall apart. Life would be grey. It’s a silly thing to be afraid of but for someone who doesn’t have a father, or always feels overshadowed by a brother who’s perfect in everyone’s eyes - hoping that your mother never stops loving you doesn’t seem so silly after all.

Headcanons:

1. ) Unlike his brother, Eoin has no feelings towards their father. He never knew the man. To him, Neal was just a blurriness glob of grey in a seemingly green landscape within his mind. Maybe Eoin should have felt anger for what he put his mothers and Charlie through - or felt sadness for never having a father figure throughout his childhood? But he didn’t feel anything. In fact, his father rarely came to mind. He had three great people in his life - his two mothers and Charlie - and they were, in his eyes, more than enough. So why bring up a man that did nothing to raise them? The answer was simple, he didn’t. 2. ) If anyone showed him unwavering affection, it was his mother. She was his greatest fan despite having very little of those. Eoin’s mother, Amelia, tried to give him all the opportunities her weathered arms could, and it was for that very reason he cherished her the most. Yes, there were often times when she’d embarrass him in front of a pretty girl by showering him with kisses as if he was a toddler instead of a teenager. But deep down, he knew she only meant well. Eoin often wondered what his mother had gone through as a child. She rarely talked about their family back home or her childhood in Ireland. And consequently, he stopped asking long ago as he found it hurt her too much to think back on those times. It was a puzzle he wasn’t sure she’d ever let him finish.

3. ) Quidditch was a sport that snuck up on Eoin. The quiet and reserved boy was the last person anyone would have thought to show a strange talent with a broomstick and a beaters bat. In fact, it came as a shock to many onlookers in the stands to see Eoin tryout for the rumored “elitist” Slytherin team. It was all thanks to Charlie, really, that he had the courage to even set foot on the Quidditch Pitch to begin with. And it was the older boy who had prodded and pushed Eoin to show off his ability. Just another reason for why he could never really hate his brother, despite the darkening jealousy he felt. They were inseparable, those two. And it only seemed fitting that the younger brunette showed some kind of gift on the Quidditch Pitch. After all, hand-eye coordination ran in the family.

History:

Ireland raised Eoin’s mother, Amelia, and pushed her out the door when she was eleven. A muggle with a working class family, Amelia was sent abroad to ease the strain on her family’s funds - with two younger sisters, it fell to Amelia to step up and take the brunt of the burden. She didn’t want to leave - in fact, she begged her father not to make her - but the boat was docked and her ticket paid for, and in the end she went anyway. England was to be her home from then on, and an uncomfortable one at that. Staying with an aunt who took good care of her, Amelia could never quite feel settled with wherever she was - she longed to see Ireland again, to hug her sisters, but in order to get there, she’d need money. Amelia worked hard as a young woman fresh from school, putting in hours at several stores and saving every pound she could. That was how she met Neal: she’d been working in a vintage store when he’d walked in, looking at old books.

Amelia hadn’t known at the time that Neal was married - all she knew was that he was handsome, smart, and he liked her. It was electric between them from the word go, and for the first time she was a little girl, Amelia no longer wanted to see Ireland. In fact, she hardly thought of home - she was head over heels for Neal and spent every moment she could with him. Naively, she’d dreamed of marriage and a house and a happily every after with him, and when she became pregnant, it seemed like the first step toward that dream. But every time she mentioned children, he would panic and they’d fight, so Amelia kept the pregnancy a secret. By the time she was showing and forced to tell, Neal cut contact with her and left, leaving Amelia stranded at five months with only her aunt for support. Of course, when Eoin was almost born, she tried one last time - and found that Neal had a wife and child of his own.

Eoin was born and immediately became the apple of his mother’s eye. Her aunt was displeased with the fact that Amelia had gotten married out of wedlock and all but kicked her out of home, and with nowhere else to turn, Amelia and Eoin moved in with Neal’s ex-wife, Katelin. With a newborn son of her own named Charlie, the four of them lived in Katelin’s parents house - and found that they had a lot in common. Fast friends, Katelin and Amelia joint-raised Charlie and Eoin as their own so that Eoin grew up with two mothers. He was a born that followed his brother everywhere: no matter the danger or the location, if Charlie was going, Eoin wanted to be there. He was easily manipulated because of his shy, introverted nature - and Charlie tended to protect him from anyone who would take advantage of him. They attended school together, always in the same classes, but it was always Charlie that got the spotlight, not Eoin.

Magic meant an opportunity to Eoin that he didn’t feel he was getting in the muggle world, and he went to Hogwarts hopeful. Placed in Slytherin not 30 seconds after Charlie had been placed there first, Eoin realised that he might not get that second chance after all. For the first few years, he lived quietly in his brother’s shadow, pushing himself in classes to consume as much of the magical world as he could. And in some areas, he exceeded his brother - but he never was ever able to outshine him; he often didn’t even try. Eoin is nervous by nature and someone who is always cautious of the consequences: he always wants to be on the winning side to save his own skin.

Learning from Charlie after all these years, Eoin isn’t bad with words, either - he fumbles over them more often than not, but he knows what to say to the right person in order to get what he needs to survive. Eoin is someone who will lie, manipulate, and flatter his way to the safest corner of the world if he needs to, but not out of maliciousness. He values self-preservation more than anything, and will always go with the turn of the tide. Seeing a lost cause makes Eoin’s stomach turn and every instinct tells him to run the other way - a cautionary tale learned from his mother, perhaps. But Eoin is smart and a welcome addition to whatever side he’s on: quick with facts and figures, Eoin has a good memory and a good ability to blend into any background, observing unseen. Unassuming, sly, and with the ability to judge a person’s most likely actions from a glance, Eoin is someone always watching and always trying to stay one step ahead.

Now:

Cast as a shadow by most, if not all, Eoin had felt the green ping of jealousy when it came to his older counter-part, Charlie. It was a conflicting feeling. Much like a bee-sting or a rose thorn getting stuck in someone’s palm and reveling scarlet red droplets. But despite those emotions, he never harbored any hatred towards his brother, he simply wished to be seen in a different light - a brighter light. And yet, after many years of trying, that light remained dim. Even within the walls of Hogwarts, Eoin took that wave of envy as motivation to dive into his studies. To learn all he could about the magical world around him and succeed with knowledge of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, among countless other classes. He thought that if his peers couldn’t see his greatness, maybe his professors would.

Eoin was gifted with a smart mind and patience among all else; spending summers locked in his room with books and pens instead of going outside to join the neighboring teens in the hot sun. He took much pride in his grades, and learned all he could with his chestnut wand, and yet his professors still showered his older counter-part with more praise. Something the young brunette could never wrap his mind around. Still, with a quiet mouth and wondering eyes, Eoin kept his roaring thoughts to himself. He was much quieter than his Slytherin peers and enjoyed simple things. Coffee was a beverage that gave him warmth on a cold morning, and he coveted nature, which was why he was often found perched on a rock overlooking the Great Lake or in one of the green houses, studying the many peculiar plants. His deep chocolate gaze focused on the ins-and-outs of Hogwarts, finding all the secret passageways and shortcuts to save him and his brother walking distance to their classes. He was a peculiar boy, even as a sixth year. Not as cunning as the other snakes or as prone to getting in trouble; he was just Eoin, the Not-So-Great. He was an anomaly within his house, always being questioned as to why he was sorted, though Charlie invariably hushed those queries with a sneer. But if he learned anything from his perceptive mother, it was how to survive no matter the consequences. If selfishness and manipulation was a given trait for a Slytherin, then he was right at home. And he’d prove it soon enough. Eoin could pick a side if direly needed, and he was beginning to think that time was coming. All this talk about a pure wizarding world and equal rights for the supernatural made the back of his hairs rise. Which side would he fall under? He was muggleborn, far from what most considered pure and he wasn’t supernatural. But if there was one thing he was certain of it was that he would find a way as his mother had all those years ago.