#what if i screamed like really loud for ten million years

[slutcore-starships]

.

[coeurdalene]

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 

And the clock continues to tick. 

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark. 

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

[soupedepates]

New Year's Eve part. 16 (we're in March now babyyyy)

Ongoing story with @corneille-but-not-the-author (to whom Sigi belongs) and @hel-phoenyx (to whom Tyr belongs).

TW heavily implied sexual assault, misogyny, sexism

"Can I sleep at your place?"

"What’s happening, Domhildr?" Sigi worries as he tries to put his hands on my cheeks.

I push him away, and enter his flat. I start undressing, as I'm trying to throw away the crap lingering on my skin.

"What’s happening?!"

I sense at the tremor on his tone he is starting to freak out. I can't cry. I really can't cry.

"You don't need to know. Just that I am fucking upset so you either fuck me senseless or you're giving a plaid and we watch a stupid show while drinking hot chocolate."

"What happened?"

At the third time, I lose it and cry, sitting on the floor, in my most plain underwear and sport bra.

***

So let's rewind a bit, okay?

I went to a general meeting where my union was meeting with other groups for the big big multi-sector strike planned for later in March, after CGT has called to it. I usually don't go to those assemblies - I'll elaborate on that later - but I am always on the picket line. So well, you know the drill, "ping pang your boss you hang, you'll finally rest, ping pang your boss you hang, you'll have your pension", and others slogans you learn to chant on the go.

And you know what you find at a general meeting?

Fucking leftist men.

Because they are "so deconstructed," they can't be queerphobic, misogynistic, classist, xenophobic. Or worse, they can't be abusers nor predators.

And when you call them out on something, you're either hysterical or a traitor.

I'm still salty about two or three or TEN fucking "incidents".

But well. I am here to see Tyr. So we can talk face to face. So I dressed up, y'know. And it's warming up outside so I can dress cute and short, like me!

So what. Yes I'm wearing a crop top and a really short skirt with fishnets. Nature is healing. You'll see it'll be relevant later.

I find Tyr, quite easily I must say, and what? We hug. I need that. He needs that.

"Missed you, Tyr."

"I missed you too, Domi."

His hand in my hair.

It feels good.

We have a thousand things to say to each other. Yet I am silent.

And then. The vacarm. The million voices talking all at once. People shouting and disagreeing. But what about the unqualified workers? The old? The young? The foreigner? The woman?

"Perhaps we should..."

The small goth lady trying to talk is always cut by male comrades. She is about to cry. She looks...

"OI DICKHEADS, LET THE MA'AM TALK?!" I shout with my big loud voice. The voice due to which I have always been "too much" (a little girl should be quiet, ain't it).

There's a big silence.

And...

"Sorry little missy bit we are discussing important matter", a middle-aged syndicalist answers. I know him. Fernand. I know rather well, actually. We fucked before. It hadn't ended well.

He stares at me a bit longer. At my cleavage. My legs. He recognises me.

"And the tramp should let people with interesting things to say talk rather than bother everyone."

I hear a little "Domhild don't" from Tyr. But I can't listen now. The "tramp" won't stay quiet. So I come up to him, while he looks so smug after "bringing me down a peg", and I scream. Never have I ever cursed someone that long in Arabic and ended it with a "ugly-ass tiny dick motherfucker getting off humiliating younger girls" before. Feels... freeing.

I take the microphone away from that pig and give it to the goth lady, before storming out, irritated to say the least.

I'll just smoke until Tyr comes out, I think like an idiot.

Guess who's coming to meet me and throw me to the floor? That's right, the ugly ass tiny dick motherfucker getting off humiliating younger girls.

He could've told me a lot of things. Like "it was inappropriate". Or "sorry to have called you a tramp".

Perhaps "sorry I let you down when you told me you got pregnant".

But no. He has thrown me on the ground and put his knee between my legs.

This is the moment I feel threatened.

"Sluts like you need to be taught a lesson."

This is the moment I close my eyes, terrified. Because I know what can happen.

But...

Wait.

He will use the pocket knife in my skirt if he finds it. Angry, humiliated men can do anything.

I don't want to die.

He is about to lift up my shirt. I grab my knife. I feel something hard on my knuckles. This is the moment I black out.

And the moment I am back is when I am shivering on my bike, my shirt half lifted, my right hand's knuckles bleeding and in front of Sigi's building.

***

I wake up. Sigismund is still asleep on the couch, snuggled against me, and Desperate Housewives is still playing on his TV. I have learnt he has the whole DVD set and, somehow, I have found it sexy.

He looks so peaceful.

We will need to talk. About my breakdown. About his mother, too. And during the day, I will have to see Tyr. He may have blown up my phone during the night.

Sigi lets out a yawn. So cute.

"You're awake already?" he says softly, still slumbering.

"Yessir", I answer before kissing him on his forehead. "I'm fixing us a breakfast, okay?"

"Mmmmkay..."

He stretches out on the couch. His bedhead feels so intimate. I get to see him like that. To see him when he is not dressed up to the nines. I go to his kitchen with only my bra and panties. He is my boyfriend. That's not like I want to hide my body to him. I'm preparing coffee, tea, and bread and spread. I slice some fruits. Look at me, almost a good girlfriend.

Yesterday night comes back to my mind. Fernand touches my chest. Rabid eyes. His hands on my waist. I'm frozen.

Until I am not and I fight back.

This is the first time I have fought back. I usually just let it happen because...

Because I asked for it?

No. I never did.

Never. Never. Never.

Me laying on the ground. Remember the body. Dead body. Dead.

What?

When was it?

When Sigi got kidnapped.

Have I really seen that? No. Yes? Feels so really. Cold. Scary.

I am not scared.

No. Stay in the here and now. Where am I? At Sigi's. At my boyfriend. When? We're in March. In the morning. Sigi is safe. You are safe.

I am not scared.

I am strong.

I bring the tray to the living room. Sigismund is fully awake now. He takes back his DVD from the player.

"You look so pale."

"I do?" I reply instantly as I put the tray on the coffee table.

"Do you want to talk about..."

"No."

I sit back on the couch. He comes to sit next to me. I put my head on his shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about...?"

"I don't know..." I think for a bit. Oh. Yes.

Your mother. Your fiancée. Your grandma. The fact you lied about me.

It's been two or three days. Four, perhaps. Wasn't ever good with date and number. I tried not to think about it. I shouldn't be bothered by it. I really shouldn't. It's a matter of survival, so I can't really say anything.

But...

I'd rather talk about that than about Fernand. Than about the guy that got me pregnant, about that...

What happened yesterday?

Nothing.

Something.

My pocket knife.

My bleeding knuckles.

My shirt.

Hands on me.

Nothing.

"What’s going on with your mother?"

His face turns cold. He sighs, and his gaze softens.

"She is... Well, my parents are... "traditional". And I am the only child. The only son." It sounds so wrong. "I... It's not that I am not at ease with you being by my side. It's just... My parents aren't very tolerant. You know?"

"And I am maybe very white-passing, but I'm still Lebanese. And dressed like a..."

Tramp.

"That has nothing to do with you."

He takes my hand. Gazes tenderly into my eyes.

"My parents want me to marry someone they picked. I... and I am a good boy. Always was. Always obeyed to my parents... but I love you. And you make me feel... you make me feel good. And seen." Tears form in his eyes. "Even if you're a lot. I love that you're a lot even when it's hard to manage. You make me want to live for myself for once. Which... oh my, I'm sorry, I'm crying, I..."

"You're allowed to cry, Sigi", and I kiss his tears.

"It's... My mother isn't a bad person. She's conservative and... and..."

He doesn't need to say more. His hesitation is even more telling. I can say a lot of stuff about my mother. She was always here.

If you can't say a thing about the person who brought you into the world, that person was either absent or so passive they never acted for you.

"She just wants a "proper" woman for me", he explains as he makes quotation marks with his fingers.

"And I couldn't be no proper girl in her eyes", I say with no sour tone. "I sleep around, I am not smart nor have I gone to college, I work at a gay bar and I dress like..."

"Domhildr. You are not the problem. You never were the problem", he cuts me. "It is... what are we even? We don't even have a label for us."

"I am your girlfriend?" I respond, puzzled. "You're my boyfriend? We're dating?"

You're the only one I haven't met in childhood who makes me feel safe.

You make me feel safe without having witnessed my darkest moments. You never held my hand while I was waiting to get an abortion at 17. You never had me on the phone as I was crying, hidden in a bathroom stall, and talking incoherently after the Karl file.

And you make me feel safe.

You make me feel clean.

You make me feel pure again.

Do you know how many people make me feel like this? Not a lot.

"You're stuck with me, Sigi. Until you decide to throw me away, you're stuck with me."

"I will never throw you away, Domhildr, I..."

He hesitates. He looks at my lips. He takes my shoulders. His mouth against mine. Chest to chest. I put my hands on his waist. He is so slender. So graceful. Yet I can feel the muscles. There. A hidden power. A gentle force.

I can touch his skin and it's so soft and delicate.

Never have I ever felt so many butterflies in my tummy. Nor my heart has beaten so fast. My body burns. In a...

In a good way.

I feel good and in control.

His hands on my hips. They're so warm. My body shaking under them.

He suddenly backs away, red in the face. Red and shaking too. He breathes heavily with a glimmer in his eyes.

"I... I can't. I'm sorry I... I got too far."

We exchange a gaze, before starting to snort together.

"Oh nooo, you want me so bad but we cannot be together as one", I dramatically act as I let me go against him.

"No, that's not it, that's just... We aren't in the right mindset right now, are we? I... I don't want to hurt you this way. Because you matter immensely to me."

I read as subtext: "I want our sex to be special because you are special to me". My heart melts. How can someone be so cute? So adorable?

How can I be someone special to such a wonderful one?

"I get it, you're a hopeless romantic", I smile before giving him a peck on the lips. "That's awfully cute of you. You're awfully cute."

Sigi presses me against his chest, and I snuggle against it. I hear him chuckle. He kisses my hair and strokes my back.

"I won't stay for too long, darling", I whisper. "I know you need your space. And I have to see someone. You know, Tyr. I have to see him. And... thanks a lot. To have let me stay here and... and I guess for Desperate Housewives."

"Don't you dare say it's a bad show", he giggles. "It's literally the best thing aired ever."

"Suuuure, Sigi", I say before kissing him again. "But y'know what? That makes you sexier."

"What-"

I stuck my tongue at him, before hugging him as tightly as I can.

[shhh-secret-time]

Seasons Change to Something Cold

"Run away, run away and let go; you're carrying too much. You'll break under all the weight."

Prologue

It started when he was ten. Or maybe before that, and he just can't really seem to remember, but does anyone when they open their eyes for the first time? Waking up to a world that greets you with dim colors, colors that seem to fade in and out like the seasons. But if you're anything like he is, then colors don't pop like they should. Everything is dull like a filter over his eyes he can't peel off. Maybe that was a common way to describe it, but there had to be a reason why so many people said the same thing.

Dull. That word popped up so much that it was starting to lose its weight. Even he had to admit he used it too many times in his songs or the little poems he secretly wrote in the back of his warped composition notebook. But how else was he supposed to describe it? Why fix something that's not broken, right?

It started when he was sixteen. Cheap whiskey and crumbled cigarettes coursing through his body; hazy nights lost in the bottom of some backwashed alcohol. Waking up in the back of his truck with a few missed calls from his mother or sister, never his father, wondering where he was and if he was safe. That's when the texts asking him if he was alright turned into ones telling him to get his shit together.

Or maybe it started with the farm. Screaming matches between his father getting louder and louder he swore someone in town was bound to hear them. Where the bags under his eyes got heavier and his mind got louder, so loud that even his music couldn't drown out the thoughts. Some nights it was lying on the floor of the bathroom trying not to vomit the cheap gas station food as it battled the alcohol in his stomach. Some nights it was him curled up in bed trying to find a reason to get up and do anything besides doom scrolling on his phone.

What he would have given to just go outside with his friends and get the rush of doing something. Anything. Instead of watching some stranger on his phone, do it. Like he was trying to squeeze that feeling out of the little box in his hands. Instead of sunlight, he'd settle for the screen's light in a dark room. His only saving grace was his guitar and his poetry. It felt like the only thing that got him through it some days. That’s when the fog would lift, and the seasons would change into something warmer. Where he'd pick his pen and create, his addiction turning into creation. The guitar strings digging into his fingertips would ground him and bring the color back for a little bit.

It started last month. He finally pulled himself out of bed. Talked to someone outside of class or one of the million parties he showed up to. It was Michael, someone he hadn't put merit in since middle school, the two sitting behind the school wasting time and probably years off his lifespan with a cigarette. Michael was the only one he really showed any of his poetry too, the two sitting in silence as he flipped through the book. Smoke billowing from his lips catching the light of the early sun and disappearing up into the clouds.

"It's good. Maybe a little rough around certain parts, but I get what you're trying to say." Michael pulled the cigarette from his lips and in between his fingers, giving it a new home. He was getting at praising the things around him, something that he grew into when he hit his senior year.

He didn't say anything as he rolled the cigarette between his lips, focusing on the burn in the back of his throat. He didn't need it to be good. He just needed it...to be heard. Maybe he didn't believe Michael really understood what he was trying to say, but it felt good to hear.

"I think you need to talk to someone though." He turned towards the taller man as he stood up using his cane. The silver tip tapping the ground wordlessly asking him to take a step back and give him space.

"I didn't realize you cared." His joke falls flat.

Michael doesn't laugh. Doesn't give him that pity laugh or nervous chuckle others do when he tries to deflect. Not that the goth was known for his laughter to begin with. He liked that about him. He was real.

What he didn't like was the way the curly haired man stared him down and silently took another puff of his cigarette. It made his skin crawl as the silence crept back over the two, but it wasn't the one he liked. The kind of silence where two friends could just bask in each other's presence, the warmth of their bodies reminding each other that they were there. He hadn't had that kind of silence with anyone in a long time, but he felt something like that when Michael was reading his work.

"Stan. I'm not the type to give you a lecture, preach to you about how it gets better." Michael breaks the tension when he's decided Stan's had enough, "I don't make pretty speeches, so I'll just come out and say it. Get help, talk to someone about what's going on in your head."

Stan's jaw shifts as he blows smoke from his nose, his eyes immediately shooting towards the ground. "I didn't say I needed your advice. I just wanted you to read what I wrote." He grumbles.

"I don't care what you want. I do care about you though, as much as I can." Michael responds with a bored expression like the venom in Stan's tone didn't even touch him.

"What's that supposed to mean? Am I that hard to care about?"

"Sometimes, but it's not because I don't like you honestly. You're one of the few that don't drain me." Michael pauses in between snuffing the light out of his cigarette on the brick wall behind him, being careful not to put it out on some of the artwork. "It's because it's like you don't want people to care."

Stan scoffs and rolls his eyes; he's not taking pulls from his cigarette anymore so he can feel the wind brushing against his lips. The cold nipping against his skin reminding him that it's here. The seasons are changing again.

"At least that's what I got from your writing, now if I'm looking too much into it than that's that." Michael taps his cane against the dirty stone, brushing away some crumpled-up newspaper as he limps over towards him. "You could always tell me I'm wrong."

God does Stan want to, to tell him to shut up and to stop talking. The embarrassing memory of him losing his cool in middle school flooding back into his mind, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and blink the thought away. The thoughts clawing at his lips trying to push themselves out.

".... When I graduate, I'm leaving South Park. I'm getting out of this hellhole and finding another one to call my own." Stan looks up from his feet at him as he speaks, "I might not find anything but it's better than wishing I did. Find something Stan, do something instead of wishing you could." Michael goes to walk past him like he didn't just pierce through any wall Stan tried to put up, maybe his poetry got too much across.

Find something.

Fuck that. He didn't have the energy or the time to deal with that.

"Here." Michael presses a worn-out looking card in his palm. Stan looks down at the creases where it was folded and unfolded over and over again.

Some therapist's business card looked like a woman's name if Stan had to guess, the address and phone number written in small text. His brows furrow together, and suddenly everything feels too heavy again. He feels too tired to walk back to class or even try and eat lunch with his friends.

"Do it or don't, I can't control you, but I don't waste my energy on people I don't care about. I can just hope you'll be here when I come back one day."

And that was the last thing Michael ever said to him, the last time he smelled the clover cigarettes in the air. The last time he ever showed his writing to someone. Rumors floating around school that he just packed a bag and left in his hand me down car he got from his mother. He didn't even wait for the school year to be over he left exactly how Stan thought he would.

Now it starts here. With him staring out the window, wondering what exactly it was that Michael was going to find out there. Stan presses his lips into the palm of his hand, hiding behind the fingerless gloves. The card tucked away in his worn-out brown jacket with his other hand, palming the card repeatedly bending it over and over.

Prologue | 1 | 2

[saga-project]

They'd asked him to spar. And Saga really should have said no. Should have just walked away, with the excuse that he needed to work on garden planning or security measures for the lair or a million other projects that he felt like attending to. But Mikey had sent those goddamned sad puppy eyes in his direction, like the manipulative little shit that he was, and, well---he couldn't very well say no to Mikey. It was just his baby brother. He could surely tell the difference between a friendly spar and a death match in the Nexus. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

And it had. For a time. He'd been confident enough to cockily grin as he kept dodging around Mikey's attacks, twirling his scythe around--setting it so that it would only give a light electric tingle whenever it touched Mikey, causing his baby brother to let out giggling yelps--and feinting once or twice before hitting him with the staff end as gently as he possibly could. "You're fast, Mikey! But not fast enough."

"Oh yeah? Fast this!" Mikey was coming towards him then, spinning his nunchakus, and Saga ducked into a crouch and swept one leg out to knock the box turtle off balance before he could even consciously think about the move, instinctively moving to---

--to.

--to pin his opponent.

.....someone was talking to him. But it sounded like it was underwater, and Saga Cain Saga shook his head to try and clear it, whining under his breath. Why did it sound like that. He wasn't....the fight was. Over. Wasn't it? Someone was pinned underneath them. They knew that much. Was this someone telling them to finish the fight?

Very good, Cain. Now finish it.

He spun, hissing under his breath as Rakshan's voice came to his ears. No. No. Rakshan wasn't here. He wasn't. Hadn't they....was. Was he back in the Nexus? He could have sworn he heard several voices, talking to him. Shouting, maybe. Were they the cheers of the crowd? Were they--

"No. I won't do it. You can't make me. The…the dumb-dumb fight’s over! I won! I did what you asked. You got your stupid show. I’m not killing someone who’s already…."

It didn't feel like he was saying the words, somehow. They seemed detached from him, floating, and all he knew was that someone was pinned under him and--

Fine. Don’t do as you’re told. I’m sure one of your brothers would be much more accommodating.

“Screw you. Don’t you dare touch my brothers. You can’t make me hurt them-” Why did their face feel wet. Had they injured themselves, during the match? That wasn't right. Their opponent hadn't been able to get a hit in. At least they thought--

Everything was too loud. Too loud. Why was everything so loud. Was this a punishment for their failing? Would it go away if they just did as they were told? Saga whined, tears trickling down from their good eye as they trembled like a leaf, feeling like they were coming apart at the atomic level. Like they'd unravel and be nothing but gossamer thread, floating away in the wind. If they finished it, if they did as they were told, the hurt would end. It would end, wouldn't it?

They lifted their bo, twisting it to make the blade attachment come out, feeling more than hearing the ragged sob tear its way out of their throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll make it quick, I'm sorry I'm sorry--"

Hands were on theirs, then, wrenching them backwards and taking the staff from their hands, and they screamed and writhed and bit, clawing at whatever was holding them because no, no, they had to complete their mission, they had to do this, they had to or Red and Blue and Orange would be hurt and---

And then recognition came back to Saga, in one startling, white-hot rush. He wasn't there. He wasn't in the arena.

He wasn't a scared ten year old in his first Nexus match. He was home. He was with his family.

....oh god.

He was with his family.

He'd just tried to put a knife through Mikey's skull.

He'd tried to hurt Mikey. And now they would know. They'd know what a monster he was--

Saga couldn't hear their words, then. They sounded like they were coming from underwater as he stood there, wide-eyed, shuddering so hard he thought he was going to come apart. He could feel the shrieking, sobbing wails coming from his throat but he couldn't hear them, and--

He did the only thing he could do, in that moment. He turned. And he ran, like a bat out of hell, not even caring where he was going as long as it was out of the lair. And all the while, the dark thoughts that he'd thought were buried came screeching back into the forefront of his mind, laughing and laughing and laughing.

JINX! JINX! ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT AHAHAHAHA YOU RUIN EVERYTHING RUIN EVERYTHING--

[justahotmesshuman]

Wow. I had ten million thoughts as I showered tonight, courtesy of Lemon Kush. Each one I committed to memory.

Then I step out of the shower and promptly remember “I need to google how to tell when cystic acne is going away.” Out of all the cool and creative things I pondered, I thought about how weird it is to age and how wild skin can be, the firmness, the texture…the laugh lines embedded a little deeper.

Anyway.

I used to journal in early 00’s. Open diary.com was, god, looking back, what saved me. I had done therapy before and just TALKING never felt like enough. I wasn’t aware of any other modes of therapy, so each therapist I saw it was just the same “So, what do you want to talk about today?” I needed give and take, I wanted to be challenged and made to think.

The community of FD was awesome. I would spend all day reading others diaries, and my mind was blown over HOW many different people are out there. I made a really great internet friend, that I still haven’t met IRL, but we drifted away sometime in the last couple of years. The point is that open diary (or was it freeopendiary.com) became my therapy. I unloaded so much utter shit that my soul felt like it had taken a big dump. I could feel myself getting better.

Open diary.com (freeopen diary.com?) is gone. I tried logging in years ago and found the website was completely gone. Just an error page. It was toast. I had lost my past, the triumphs that occasionally happened and the agony of defeat were wiped clean. Not to mention that damn cover that was PAINSTAKINGLY DESIGNED. All that code I learned for sweet colors and sparkles, customized to my every whim.

I was upset, there went my therapy history but I was proof that working through things as you write is so wonderful and freeing that I eventually realized that i couldn’t see it. Past me tried. She was raw and real and on the cusp of becoming a whole human. The me now can look back and see that hurts were mended, truths discovered and it made me feel OKAY.

On “about me” page I didn’t write about myself, I just posted a song lyric and no matter the background or font size, those words stayed ever the same.

And so it’s now my tag line to this revamped tumblr. (Had to keep a separate one for my weird interests)

I need to write again and expand and try to learn lessons again and just come with authenticity.

Here’s me. Stream of consciousness, ADHD in a big way, former over-sharer.

“2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd

'Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud

And I know that you'll use them however you want to…” Anna Nalick

[monster-noises]

I have spoken before on my trouble trying to do the thing where i Show Up to things and... Actually successfully follow through on the next step of Making Connections and a big biiig part of that that i'm going to vomit onto my blog about today is that I just

Mmmm

I simply have No Thoughts and that makes having conversations very! Very hard!

Now this isn't a~silly quirky~ like "No Thoughts Head Empty uwu" thing

What I'm struggling with when i'm trying to talk to people, usually strangers or people I've just met but this can and does stretch to people i've known for y e a r s too,

is that they will say something; express an opinion, tell me about something, give story about their life, you know, the things you have conversations about and in response my brain just Goes Silent.

and it's not that I'm not listening, I'm actually really good at the Listening part of having a conversation, but if the person I'm trying to talk to does not go off on some long diatribe or ask me a very specific question to formulate a response around...

it's radio static! it's a soft and thoughtless buzz maybe sometimes permeated by a vague feeling associated with what they were saying that, really, forms no basis for a response beyond basic platitudes.

I'd Love to say that like "Well actually I Do have thoughts but I'm so anxious about embarrassing myself I just can't voice them" but I dunno! because if it's that I probably wouldn't be writing this post because That's something I can Work On. I know what to do with something like That. This isn't!!!! That Though!! Experiencing this in real time in a conversation doesn't Feel like my other experiences with anxiety and nervousness, where I feel like physically held back or barricade from participating in the way I Want to. The thoughts would be there I just wouldn't be able to Voice them.

But there Are No Thoughts. It's a cold and silent wind blowing over a dark and dusty barren field, it's white noise static on a screen occasionally permeated with enough of an emotional reaction and recognition that I have to do Something to generate.. generic platitudes that don't really go anywhere.. (Though sometimes, Sometimes, like 10-20 minutes later, when I'm on my own again and Ruminating on fumbling Yet Another attempt to Participate and reach out, I'll be able to think of good engaging and charismatic responses I Could have used. Perhaps suggesting this Is a very extreme form of this anxiety where the nerves are screaming So loud it drowns out all else, which would explain why I can kinda get over this when having text conversations it just takes me about Ten Million Years to formulate a response.) And that's like... what the hell do I Do... about that. ? All the solutions I can come up with involve... having had thoughts. Which doesn't really help because again, it's not having thoughts but struggling to translate or release them, there is nothing there to release. Just silence, just static, vacant gaping hole where my brain should be.

I had a good chance to maybe form some connections with local comics artists via a zine fest today at the library but I was in and out in like ten minutes maybe less because I 1) only had like 20 bucks and that wasn't enough and I have Other Issues dealing with standing at someones table and then not buying anything, it makes me Feel Bad. and 2) Just could not hold a conversation to save my life! There were at least a few people there that I did stop buy a little bit I would have loved to have longer talks with and we'd probably hit it off but my brain blanked out and I nodded politely as they told me what was on there table, sweated a little bit in silence, bought something quickly and then ran away!! like!

Fuck man! I know I'm more of a person than that inside! but it sometimes it really doesn't feel like it! sometimes it really feels like I'm an animated husk with ideas above his station just kinda wandering around and sometimes stumbling into things sideways enough people think I'm a complete person! With this zine fest at least I know it's a local thing so I can try a different strategy of just Being There Physically often enough that people start to recognize me even if I don't say much which will ease the tension I guess?? Still strangers but not Complete strangers you know? For anything else though Idk what I'm going to do...

[the-raven-dhampir]

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Raven read the messages and screamed loud, starting to pace the room.

Alright. Rationality.

He had to get to Cain as fast as possible, alone, and there was no way he could get to him by normal means with everything happening. Raven had never Disapparated on such long distance, but desperate times…

He checked the live videos still broadcasting, looking for a reference. Cain was adding blood to blood, coldly and methodically. It felt revolting.

Finally, a glimpse to a statue at Cain's back and Raven was gone.

In a matter of seconds, he grabbed Cain's arm and Disappeared with him again before anything else could happen. Once they found themselves on top of the city cathedral, all suddenly fell so silent it felt like they were in a bubble. Distant voices, more gunshots, some blasting sounds. Probably Cain's army was already blowing up also the church under their feet.

Raven was shivering when he let him go and looked away. The annihilation went as far as his eyes could see, the same powerful and devastating. Something he wished to never witness in his life. It took him a few seconds to start talking, enough time to realize he actually didn't know what to say.

"Did I truly deserve this?" he asked just speaking his mind. Tears were stinging in his eyes and breaking every single note of his voice. "Death and destruction on a global scale, just because I decided to leave?"

Raven let out a cold chuckle when he spoke out those words. He had longed for so long to matter to Cain this much, and now that he did, it was all wrong again.

"I just wished to check out the way I wanted, and you took even that from me." He finally turned to Cain: the Eternal looked exactly like what he was, and that Raven learnt not to see: a powerful, icy and heartless creature. "This was your dream, why are you trying to blame it on me? Did I truly deserve this?"

How many ten-year-old boys were going to lose their mothers that night? How many were going to end up as miserable as Raven was? Enslaved by a New Order who were going to consider them nothing but scum.

It had already started and maybe Raven was just fooling himself thinking he still played any role at all in that.

“If I truly mattered in this decision, I’m begging you to listen to me one last time and call it off, Cain.” Raven was calm now, serene even. He was aware he had nothing to lose - he was already ready to die after all - and that he was doing everything he could to reverse what was happening. “You’ll never be saddened by me again. I’ll be whatever you want, whenever you want, for as long as you want.”

He slowly kneeled before Cain and looked down at the dark bricks under his knees. He never thought, not once in a million years, to ever kneel to Cain for real. It didn’t feel bad, it didn’t feel weird. If anything, it felt necessary. Raven had enjoyed playing with one of the most powerful beings on Earth and it was ultimately funny while it lasted, but Cain was always meant to win and have him kneel, it was just a matter of time and stubbornness. And, at such point, if Raven had to choose between being Cain's toy or having the whole world burns, there was really no choice at all.

“My deepest apologies for leaving, it won’t happen again.” Raven said, in his voice there was nothing of his usual tone. "I'm at your service, Sire."

"I know they're about to host a party for my birthday", mumbled Cain as he was beating another stage of the match three game on his phone as he was hanging upside down from the ceiling. "I want you to sabotage it." || @painforcain

"Your... Birthday?" Raven repeated, getting the eyes away from his Alice in Wonderland book.

His eyes darted around the room several times without seeing anything, a very puzzled expression on his face. Nonetheless, every thought disappeared as soon as he laid his eyes on Cain: stupid of him to still wonder about a being who was literally defying the basical rules of gravity right now.

"So, you're an Aquarius, I'm a Libra. There's affinity." he simply commented with a grin, deciding not to ask any further questions, which were more about the date Cain had picked than about the reasons why he wanted Raven to sabotage it.

"Let's see..." he mumbled. "Can you get your hundreds bodyguards out of our ways for a few hours? Just the time we need to board my jet... There are a few islands in the Pacific Oceans with literally one single cabin on them." He got out of Cain's bed to look at him. He tilted his head to reach the cealing: no lies, Raven would have loved to sit like that at least once, no matter how uncomfortable it looked.

"I know, I know... You are probably imagining indoor explosions, fire, chaos, Hell on Earth..." he continued. "But... If it could be something that won't get me another step closer to be mysteriously murdered for natural causes by your Inner Council..."

He took a break, imagining them on a tropical island. Silence, alcohol, weed and some bags of blood. Alone, truly alone for the first time ever.

"I'd love that."

[gyusfavlibra]

THIS IS MY WORK! PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ON OTHER SITES/APPS!!!!

Warnings: +18, smut, fingering, hand job, sex in bathroom, language, jealousy, fighting, arguing.

Y/n and Sarah sat quietly on Kie's bed as they waited for Kiara to stop degrading the lavender dress she wore while standing in her large mirror. Mrs. Carrera coming through the door to make sure the girls were all dressed. "This is disgusting."

"I know it's just horrible."

"I'm asking you guys to just relax and go to a fun party."

"I look like a bourgeoisie pig."

"I think you look beautiful," y/n said while shrugging at Kie. She just gave a smile back to her, still hating the look no matter what compliments were given.

"Will you please not worry about socioeconomic injustice for one night?"

"Mom, people not three miles from her have no power, no running water, and we're going to Midsummers."

"That's so tone deaf."

"Y/n," the mother scolded at her niece. "Do you know how hard we had to work to get into the Island club?"

"Yeah, mom. How could I forget? You had to grovel for, like, ten years--"

"Twelve years, and we also had to cough up a huge chunk of dough-"

"To keep up with the Joneses-"

"No, so you had the same experiences that I had as a child."

"But weren't parents as teens out, like partying, getting drunk, making out in the backseats of their cars at drive in movies," the cousin listed while putting her things in its bag. "Getting pregnant."

"That doesn't sound fun," Sarah added.

"Do you girls even know what the Island club is?"

"A factory farm."

"For debutantes," Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"It's a nice place, with nice people where you can do fun stuff."

"With out-of-touch rich people, while the island sinks slowly into the ocean."

"Water filling the poor's destructive lungs while the wealthy ones get away on million dollar boats."

Sarah sat quietly laughing on the comfy blanketed mattress. Mr. Cerrera sighed, saying one last thing before walking out. "Okay, I want you to put on your party face, girls, if you want to live."

"Did your mom just threaten to kill us?"

"Maybe. I think so," she nods as she turned around to the duo, fixing the flower crown that sat on her cousin's head. "You nervous to see Rafe."

"Why did you have to bring that up?"

"I was curious. I know it's only been two days, but-"

"Hey, he broke up with me. So if he wants to talk, that's in his duty. Not mine. I did nothing wrong."

Sarah got off the bed, swinging on it's pole. "Except flirt with JJ, or so he says."

"I was not...flirting with JJ. He has a crush on Kiara. I'd never."

"But Rafe doesn't know that."

°°°°

*flashback*

"What if she doesn't like it?"

"She'll love it. She's hippie."

Y/n and JJ sat on John B's porch, smoking a blunt. The girl was trying to help him do something nice for Kiara so JJ could ask her out without feeling weird. He's liked her for the longest and he was finally ready to tell her how she feels.

"Alright, now practice what you're gonna say."

Just as Y/n finished saying the statement, her own boyfriend, Rafe Cameron showed up. Standing behind them listening in.

"Okay, uh, hey I have to tell you something...uh important," the blonde began speaking, using hand gestures because of his nerves. "I really really like you. Like not like friends like, but I have feelings, uhm, strong feelings for you. Because you're like super hot, andnyou're like a really cool chick. So I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna...go out with me."

"Yes, t-"

"What the hell!"

The manly unknown voice shocked them both, their figures jumping at the sound because they thought they were alone.

"Rafe, what're you doing here?"

Y/n asked confusedly as she stood from the steps. The Kook just scoffed and walked back out. Ignoring her question. She shared a glance with JJ before going to follow after him.

"Hey! Where you going? What's wrong?"

"A pogue!? Y/n, seriously?!"

"What're you talking about?"

"You're cheating on me with a pogue?" He shouted. Y/n scrunched her eyebrows, looking at the unnecessary upset individual.

"What do you mean cheating? I'm not cheating on you. We were just talking."

"Bullshit. That's bullshit! I heard it all."

"Rafe, it's not like that. Jj was just-"

"I should've known better. I should've known," he fumed. His right foot swung to kick the dirt near his truck that he was so very close to getting into.

"Known what?"

"I should've never trusted a pogue. I knew something like this was gonna happen. You were just gonna throw me away like Sarah did, Topper. Right? Huh?"

"You sound ridiculous. I was never throwing you away. I was helping him out."

"Yeah, while you're at it. Might as well help sleep with him too."

Y/n scoffed, taking a step back from the angered boy who's brain had just functioned what he said. Part of him regretted it very much. But the other part thought you deserved it because of his cheating accusation.

He opened his vehicle door. Stepping one foot inside. "We're done."

The girl just laughed with held tears reaching for the openess. She turned around to head back inside as Rafe just drove off.

°°°°

"Hey, no tearing up today. Go to this stupid thing and show him that his little cheating accusation act didn't hurt you at all. You're stronger than that."

"Thanks, Kie."

The girls finished up their last minute touches. That includes sweeping their dresses with roller for no hair, any makeup redos, or hair finishes. The ride to the country club was quiet. Well, y/n was quiet.

This would be her first time seeing Rafe since their break up a three days ago. They've been doing everything in their mighty to avoid each other. And it definitely worked. But like her friend told her, she wasn't gonna get worked up. Letting Rafe see her weak was like telling him he was right about everything. But he wasn't.

"Jesus, Kook land."

"I forgot how packed this thing is every year."

"Well, let's go. I gotta walk out with my family."

The Cameron family walked out with their heads high and the Kook crowd cheered for each one. Y/n kept her eyes gazed to Kiara since they were in the middle of a conversation. Not caring if that family came in or not. That excludes Sarah.

Rafe watched from his spot by his dad, as they exited to outside. Breath hitched when he saw Y/n and her dress. It was a dark toned red, had tulle, and a revealing  chest opening.

A red flower crown on her head, complimenting her beautiful down hair. She looked amazing and hot to Rafe. He had to clear his throat before excusing himself.

"Hey," the red dresses girl heard from beside her as a hand landed on her lower back. She removed it before her eyes retracted to theirs. Kie just pursed her lips before leaving to hangout with Sarah. Y/n internally screaming that she left her there.

"What do you want?"

"Uh, you look nice."

"Okay. Thanks. You don't too. What do you want?"

"Nothing. Just saying hi."

"Bye."

"Wait, wait, wait. Why are you mad at me? Shouldn't I be the mad one here?"

"Why?"

"Because of what you did," he said with furrowed eyebrows. Y/n shrugged.

"I didn't do anything."

"Do- do you not remember what happened on the cut three days ago? The fight."

"You slut shaming me and accusing me of cheating with JJ. That? Yeah, I remember that."

"Accused? I heard you."

"Heard what exactly?"

"JJ, was telling you he liked you and thought you were a cool hippie chick, which you are not. You're not hippie. And then he asked you out and you said yes. As soon as I walked in."

Y/n stared at him blankly. Before bursting out laughing. A few guests behind them staring with a look that showed they weren't used to loud talkers or laugher. "Oh my god. You thought? Jesus that's absolutely hilarious."

"What is?"

"That you think- you think that JJ was confessing feelings to me. Whew that's rich."

"I heard it, Y/n."

"He wasn't confessing anything to me you shit head. He was practicing for when he asked out Kiara."

Rafe was confused. Majorly. Inside and out. "But she-"

"He likes Kiara. And she's my cousin. You think I'd really hurt anyone like that? How low of me do you think? Have fun at this party."

Y/n walked off to go look for her disappeared friends. Not wanting to spend another second in a spot with someone who was so rude over something he knew nothing about. Just assumed. Never asked.

As she walked down the corridors of the porch that many people stood on drinking, a hand grabbed her shoulder, turning her around. Her eyes fixated on the blonde in a black tux and a bow tie.

"Holy shit, JJ. You scared me. What're you doing here?" She asked as she hugged him.

"Well, Sarah somehow convinced her dad to let me in tonight to hangout with Kie."

"Have you seen her?"

"I was just looking for her myself. C'mon. She's probably inside."

She grabbed his hand. Pulling him inside. They found Kie just minutes later with Pope. He was working the grill with his dad. Sarah was getting raided by Topper about their own stupid shit. Y/n decided to go get herself a drink and maybe find someone to dance with.

The straw rested on her lips as she stood against the porch railing. Gazing over all the people who say around laughing, probably bragging about their money, summer vacations, their older kids getting into a good college. Typical kook things.

Her eyes focused on a specific couple talking off to the side. Her eyes burning a whole in the back of Rafe's head as he tried to flirt up a storm with some Kook she didn't know whatsoever.

Her body was fuming. Was Rafe really gonna sit in front of her and flirt with a whole other girl that isn't her. Just a few days after their breakup. It's like he's trying to play victim. And she's had it.

"Hey, Sancho. Lassie."

The brunette Rafe was talking up a storm to laughed. "I'm sorry who are you?"

"Oh, you gonna introduce me to your side piece here?"

"Would you stop? We're just talking."

"Talking? Yeah, okay," Y/n laughed. The girl just looked at her dazed. "Hi, I'm his girlfriend. Y/n. And you, yeah you're excused."

Rafe was truly enjoying this scene. Internally rooting for Y/n. He wasn't gonna object to that fact that she called herself his girlfriend. Because now that he knew the truth, it changed his perspective.

"Who do you think you are?"

"I already told you. Wh- can you not hear correctly?"

"He said he was single so, why-"

"He lied. So, you can go away now- Rafe. Let's go. We need to talk."

"What're you his mother now?" The rando questioned. Y/n turned to her and gripped her face.

"If you wanna keep these teeth, then I suggest you stop talking. Go find somebody else's boyfriend to mack on."

She dragged Rafe by his hand into the upstairs private bathroom. Locking the door behind her. "What're you doing?"

"Just having a friendly conversation. There a problem?"

"You were flirting, Rafe. That was flirting," she paced. Hand against her for head.

"Like you're any better. You lied to me."

"I've never lied about anything."

"You said JJ liked Kiara."

"Yeah. He does."

"Then why is he holding your hand, hugging you, and leaving inside with you instead of the girl he supposedly likes," Rafe argued. Gripping onto the large counter.

"Rafe, I grabbed his hand and brought him inside to find Kiara. And I hugged him because I was happy for my friend. God, Rafe how many times do I have to tell you that I am not cheating on you."

"It's kind of hard to believe that shit when I keep seeing things with my own eyes."

"Then stop assuming and come ask me. Jesus, do you not trust me or something. Because I trust you. Anytime I hear that you're at a party doing lines with hot blonde's next to you, I brush it off because I know you'd never. Why can't you just do that for me."

Rafe stood from his seat. Pinching the bridge of nose. The guilty conscience grazed through his mind as he listened to her words. He had issues with trust and with others, but he knew it wasn't a reason to take it out on the only person who's loved him for him.

"I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. You're right. I should trust you. Just like you trust me. I'll work on it. I promise."

"Don't promise me that. Just show me that you love me just as much."

The words clicked. He did love her. And he cared about her. More than anyone in this world. And he wanted to show her. In the most physical way possible.

"C'mere."

"Why?"

"Just c'mere," he repeated as he grabbed her by her waist, pulling her closer to him. She stumbled, but Rafe's grip kept her in place. He moved his face closer to hers, lips almost touching as they grazed against each other.

He used the hand placed on her waist to grip the fabric of her dress. Pulling it upwards. Her breath hitched as he hand snaked under the red tulle and right onto her now soaking core. His pointy finger swept across the waistband of her panties.

Y/n wasn't expecting this as the outcome from their miniature argument but she wasn't complaining. And neither was Rafe.

He pushed her underwear down as much as he could from their position, before going back to her walls and making circular motions. Rafe finally closer the space, kissing her lips practically roughly as he continued rubbing her.

He kept a firm hand on her waist to make sure she had a gripping support if he legs gave out, which they indeed will. The motions stopped as Y/n pulled her lips away from his. Rafe stared at her daring eyes, questioning if she wanted his to continue.

"Put them inside me," she whispered. The Cameron smirked before obliging to her demand. He stuck to fingers into her wet cunt. A soft moan escaped her lips as he did so. Pumping them in and out of her. Y/n rubbed her hand against the erection in his dress pants.

"You like that, yeah?"

She nodded as the locked her lips. Not being able to speak because knowing if she did, she let out a loud moan and even at this club would hear.

She unbuckled his pants, putting her handninside to grip his penis and pump it as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The hand he held to her waist was now gripped on her neck, gently. Y/n clenched around his fingers. Feeling her high come close. "Dont stop."

Rafe began pumping faster just as Y/n did so. The teens were so horny that they were both already reaching their extent. Rafe's shaft twitched in her hand. "I'm cumming."

"Do it for me."

That's all it took for Y/n to finish. And Rafe too. His liquids filling her hands as they both let out moans due to their intense actions. In one swift motion, Rafe snaked a hand around Y/n's waist turning then so she was against the counter. Her pulled the straps of her dress of her shoulders, leaving kisses as he did so before connecting his lips to hers.

Her pulled his tuxedo jacket off him. Snapping the bowtie off as well. Y/n moaned at the tluchnof his hands on her breast. Massaging them in his hands over the fabric of her strapless bra.

Y/n unbuttoned the spots on his shirt before pulling it off his shoulders and onto the floor. Rafe stop his gripping motions and pulled down his pants and boxers. He sat her up on the counter. Her bare ass connecting to the coldness of the marble designed setting.

Rafe rubbed his tip against her fold once or twice before pushing himself into her. Not giving a warning, but Y/n loved the suddeness. Y/n let a moan into his next as he began thrusting his hips. The girl gripping her black painted nails into his back.

Rafe's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Enjoying the feelings of Y/n's cunt wrapped around him.

"You like that?"

"Yes, god yes."

Y/n sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck. Each moan and huff she exposed in his earn make his whole body shiver. Rafe let out a grunt before answering. She clenched her walls around his dick. The dirty blonde groaned slamming into her body. "Do it again."

She did so. Clenching around around the boy as he slammed into her again. This time, hitting the spot that made her whole body go insane. "Tell me I'm yours."

"You're mine."

A moan escaped her lips after he said what she had wanted. Her hand smacked down onto the edge of the sinks counter. Grilling onto it for dear life. "Tell me it again."

The feeling of her finishing was fastly approaching. As well as for Rafe. The moans she let out made his go over the edge as he fucked her hard. "Tell me, Rafe."

"You're fucking mine, ah-"

Each of them let out a loud moan as they finished. Covering each others mouths. There shouldn't be anyone upstairs but for precautions they covered either way.

Rafe's head fell forward onto her chest. Taking large breaths as y/n did too. "Shit, y/n."

The Cameron pulled out of her. Helping her get redressed and cleaned just after he did himself.

"You're still on the pill right?" He asked as he zipped his pants.

"Yeah. It's fine," she smiled up at his 6'4 figure. Rafe reached down to kiss her passionately.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, too."

[radiant-reid]

Songs that make me think Spence

And why

i'm really not sure what this is. i just started keeping a list of songs that reminded me of spencer and here we are so enjoy are suggestion for part II are appreciated

Cold Cold Man by Saint Motel.... but as a duet with italics being Spencer and bold being his s/o

Quite slow to pay you compliments Or public displayed affections

But baby, don't you go over analyze No need to theorize I can put your doubts to rest

You're the only one worth seeing The only place worth being The only bed worth sleeping's the one right next to you

htCan I Call You Tonight by Dayglow

an on-again-off-again situationship with Spencer.

Voice so low Sneaking around, so it goes The power's out and I can't turn the fan on

but something bad happens to him or you

I'm trying to make up my mind Just how I feel I hear your voice on the phone Now I'm no longer alone

and of course, happy ending where you get together

Don't go, don't go so easy Don't go, don't go and leave me

The Archer by Taylor Swift

Mad, post-prison

I'm ready for combat I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

lots of relationships in his life

Easy they come, easy they go

Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?

he shot people and he's been shot

I've been the archer I've been the prey

Insecure, sad baby

Then hate my reflection, for years and years I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost The room is on fire, invisible smoke

All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put me together again

I miss you by blink-182

Halloween is his fave

We’ll have Halloween on Christmas We can live like jack and sally

poor sad baby

This sick, strange darkness Comes creeping on, so haunting every time

Will you come home and stop this pain tonight? Stop this pain tonight

Clean by Taylor Swift

This song was absolutely written about Spencer's struggle with addiction, specifically in 3x16

Canonically, no one helped him out with his addiction

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud But no one heard a thing

In 3x16, he admits he's 10 months clean

Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older, I won't give in Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

Kid by Meija

sad spencer again

Give it, take it, I could break it Into a million pieces

About baby spencer going to college all alone

I'm a kid Oh my god I'm in over my head

because he knows so much and the team are always shushing him

Was it something I said? All these answers, but I forgot the question

Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant

sad spencer again

Close your eyes, so afraid Hide behind that baby face

About his relationship with Elle and his guilt about not knowing something was wrong before she left

Funny how it seems like yesterday As I recall, you were lookin' out of place Gathered up your things and slipped away

Pretty Boy by The Neighbourhood

His s/o dedicating the entire song to him

Ghosting by Mother Mother

Based after Maeve's death when Spencer's unable to sleep without seeing her, and the scene where they dance and he's able to let her go

Maeve lyrics

I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along Ghost in your house, ghost in your arms When you're tossing, when you turn in your sleep It's because I'm ghosting your dreams

Spencer lyrics

And this is why I have decided To pull these old white sheets from my head I'll leave them folded neat and tidy So that you'll know I'm out of hiding

Maeve lyrics I remember, I remember the days When I'd make you oh-so afraid And this is why I have decided To leave your house and home un-haunted You don't need poltergeists for sidekicks

Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John

Spencer, post-prison and worried about his s/o knowing the truth about his life lyrics

If I told you things I did before Told you how I used to be Would you go along with someone like me? If you knew my story word for word Had all of my history Would you go along with someone like me?

S/o assuring him it doesn't matter to them lyrics

I would go along with someone like you It doesn't matter what you did Who you were hanging with We could stick around and see this night through

A healthy dose of Spencer-style insecurity and abandonment issues

Usually when things has gone this far People tend to disappear No one will surprise me unless you do

[kokomochi]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨

"𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚. 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙."

being the daughter of one of the big-shot mafia bosses out there, l/n y/n found it hard to take after her father despite being one of the 'debt collectors'. however, she saw the opportunity to break through the tradition of 'men can only rule' by seeking a fake marriage with the guy who crashed her bike.

01. money and power

they would always tell you that money can't buy you anything that would bring you genuine happiness.

that money is nothing but pieces of paper that divided the world between the rich and the poor- between the ones with power and ones without it.

mostly it would be our older relatives who'd sit us down and tell us all about saving and spending our moneys wisely.

they were right of course, but l/n y/n was too busy counting on her stacks to even care about that right now.

the twenty-three year old woman sat on top of her chair, legs fully exposed to her loyal subordinates as cases of cash was sprawled on her feet.

in the eyes of the public, she's viewed as nothing but a spoiled girl with a rich businessman as a father.

but to those who work for the man and knew her personally- she was anything but spoiled.

she was a strong-willed woman who handles her own group of male subordinates like they were nothing but dogs, having them bow down at her every command without complaints.

and oh- her father was more than just a businessman.

for he is the seventh generation leader of the port mafia, the biggest yakuza group to ever roam the streets of tokyo.

so y/n's really more to it than those rumours that you'd hear leaving those jealous women's lips just because they couldn't afford what she has.

"hey- isn't this supposed to be twenty-million yen? where's the other ten?"

her subordinates watched in silence as they stayed in their positions on guard, hearing the loud clicking of her heels as she left her chair and up at the tied man who's bleeding on her velvet carpets.

the man let out a pained cry when she buried her sharp stilettos on his open wound with no mercy.

(e/c) eyes coldly glared at him as she waited in faux patience for the man to speak up.

"well?"

"i promise to give it to you soon-!" he was cut off when the woman successfully shoved her entire stiletto heel inside his wound, him letting out a pained scream as he tried getting away from her.

did he really think that he can get away from the l/n y/n?

"who do you pigs think we are to wait for your dirty ass money? my father told you to give it in full, right?"

(h/c) hair cascaded down her shoulders as she leaned forward, glaring down at the man while subtly moving her heel deeper into his flesh.

she was notorious for a twenty-three year old woman if her subordinates do say so themselves.

"he did- he did! but we we're short on-"

it was quiet for a moment, everyone watching as the man's body slumped forward. her fingers caressed the trigger, glaring at his bleeding figure in disgust.

her subordinates immediately went to her side, one cleaning her heels and the other two heaving the dead body away from her office.

"they should've known better than to mess with me."

the cold look on her eyes softened, letting out a sigh as she went back to sit on her chair- walking on the bloodied out money like it was nothing but a rag for her feet.

being the port mafia's debt collector has both it's pro's and it's cons- one of which is being able to get a hold on stacks of money without consequences and the other was getting her favorite pair of heels dirty of blood.

though love it or hate it, being in this position is getting her one step closer on being the next leader- wanting to take after her father and be the eight generations leader.

the young woman had a firm belief that if she, a woman, were to lead the most notorious yakuza gangs of them all then they would see just how powerful women can actually be.

she wanted to change the norms and make everything go her way- and nothing's going to stop her from taking that throne.

"miss l/n, i'm afraid to inform you that your father is requesting for your presence at the board meeting."

one of her father's most loyal messenger bowed down at her, keeping his hands behind him as he delivered the boss's message to her.

this made the (h/c) haired woman hum in wonder, narrowing her eyes as she began thinking on what could her old man possibly need her for.

more debt collecting? a unexpected monthly budget planning?

or maybe it was a promotion?

whatever his intentions were, she wanted to find out herself- half hoping that she'll hear the words 'promotion' leave his mouth so that she can finally sleep peacefully.

throwing the stack of money that she had in hand to the side, she stood up and walked out of the doors, her assistant and guards walking behind her without a word.

she was handed her usual accessories when going out- shades to cover her blatant stares at the passing cars and a hand bag with a gun hiding inside of it in case of emergencies.

walking out of those grand doors and into the sun, basking in the afternoon's cool atmosphere as a car pulled up in front of her ready to be used.

"your ride is all ready miss l/n. we'll leave at your words."

"let's go."

her driver didn't need to be told twice before driving out of the mansions lot, crossing that extravagant gate that secured the young woman's home as they made their way to her father's.

it's rare for the old man to call her specifically, normally sending her letters to inform her on the new things that's happening between the gang or things similar to that.

was this her chance to finally be japan's first ever woman leader who handles a group of grown men older than her?

a grin couldn't help but make its way on her face, looking out of the windows as she looked at the passing cars and houses that equaled to nothing compared to her's.

if that was the case, then tokyo should ready itself for when she takes that throne- they better be kissing on her shoes.

(e/c) eyes stared at the other board directors in distaste as she occupied the seat beside the head of the table where her father will be in.

y/n expected that it'll only be her and her old man who'd be here- so imagine her surprise when she was greeted by the strong stench of tobacco and alcohol.

scratch ruling tokyo- the first thing that she's gonna do when she becomes leader is to fire all of these old, wrinkly men from their positions and replace them with one's who are capable to fight for her.

they chattered loudly, whether it be about their wives or about money- she doesn't care.

the (h/c) haired woman simple sat there zoning out as she desperately tried to escape from her current situation by indulging in her imagination.

she felt the tension shift when the sound of the fusuma opening immediately shut the men's mouth as they stood up, bowing at l/n f/n who walked inside with pride in each step.

y/n bowed down as well in respect.

despite her known all around for being a notorious debt collector- she still had some manners and respect to the man who gave her such opportunity to do so.

"i can see you're all here. sit down and let's start, shall we?"

everyone sat down with their backs straight, eyes on the table in front of them as they waited for their boss's words before piping up on the conversation.

f/n let out a sigh as he finally managed to sit down after struggling for quite some time- his daughter wondering whether or not she should invest for a good walking cane for the man.

silence dawned inside the room, dull (e/c) eyes studying his men one by one as they respectfully and obediently waited like a dog waiting for its owner.

"as you all may know, the port mafia is nearing it's tenth anniversary."

"and the time to choose for the next generations leader has come." this made y/n perk up, looking up from her position to see her dad sigh through his nose.

this was it... this is the moment that she's been waiting for!

the rest of the men waited in bated breaths- hoping that the older l/n would choose them to be the eighth generations leader.

"akashi yuno, the next generations future lies in your hands."

what?

heels loudly clicked as they walked over the wooden floors, following behind her father with a confused and betrayed look plastered on her face.

the two l/n's walked through the traditional house and into the garden where birds fluttered away from the scene upon noticing her temper.

"father- what's the meaning of this?"

"the meaning of what my dear?" y/n had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes at her father who sat down on one of the stone benches underneath the wisteria tree.

f/n knew why she was mad but didn't bother entertaining her.

"that! i was supposed to be the next leader- your daughter!"

the man sighed, patting on the empty space beside him in hopes that it would calm his daughter down from throwing another tantrum.

he made a mistake spoiling her when she was growing older- but that's what happens when you want your children to have a better life than yours.

"for the second time y/n, akashi is now the eighth generation leader according to tradition. we can't do anything about it."

"that wasn't what happend to you! grandfather literally made you the leader because you said you wanted to be- why can't you do the same to me?"

don't get her wrong, she understands that men views women as lowly beings- only there to serve them and bare them heirs to take over their thrones. god how she hates it when she's told to make them a sandwich every time she visits her father.

but she never expected the man to be the same as those pigs.

"i already told you this a year ago- women aren't allowed to take after the position as leader. that's how it's been for the past decade."

this made y/n huff in anger, wanting to bash someone's head with her bare hands because of how angry she felt right now.

"you're the leader, why can't you just change it!"

f/n sighed, closing his eyes as he realized that there was nothing he can do to calm his daughter down than to talk this out with her.

it's been the port mafias tradition that either the current leader would pass their position down to their sons or their right hand man if they don't have any- that's how it's always been.

and no one had the guts to change the rules because of how used they were to it.

but the man knows that one of these days that will have to change- and he knows that his daughter was the only one who can do it.

the (h/c) haired woman dejectedly sat beside him, heart feeling heavy as her dream on being tokyo's first woman yakuza leader has been broken.

her attention was taken back when she felt her father nudge her on the arm softly.

"no one has ever told the others about this- but there is a way on how you can be the leader." this made her perk up, turning to her father with all of her attention on him.

"the second generations leader actually had a daughter and he wanted her to take after him- but knowing how dangerous it was for women back in the day, he had her marry a man and turned her husband into the third generations leader."

"that way, his daughter can still lead alongside her husband but the man would take all of the attention away from her."

was she hearing this right? marriage?

no... her father couldn't possibly mean-

"if you find someone willing to marry you before the month ends- then you'll become a leader alongside him."

"are you absurd?! marriage, really?!"

this left y/n boiling. there must be another way other than marriage for her to take the throne as the eighth generations leader!

before she can even protest, her father's glare shut her up, clicking her tongue in distaste as the man stood up.

"you want to be a leader right? then learn to make sacrifices."

"i'll be giving you a month. if you bring me your husband, then akashi yuno won't be the leader but instead it's you and your spouse."

(e/c) eyes watched as he walked away from her, the sweet smell of the wisteria turning bitter at each second that passes.

"until then, i'll be the leader."

y/n's fists clenched on her sides, standing up as well as her guards immediately sensed her temper and approached her to ask what was wrong.

"get me my bike- and don't even think about following me."

riding through the streets of tokyo with no restrictions was the only way for the young woman to calm down, releasing all of her stress as she drove past stop lights and cop cars.

the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins fogged her mind from the recent events that happend- yet still tasting that sense of disdain at the tip of her tongue.

l/n y/n was known for getting anything in her way whether that be in legal or illegal terms. but she knows that the spot on being the next leader can't be cheated on.

fine, if she needs a husband then a husband she'll get.

after all, it'll only be a little while- right?

[heyiwrotesomethings]

How Not to Form a Thruple

Sayaka Igarashi x She/Her Reader x Kirari Momobami

A/N: Oh my god this took forever to do. There are just so many factors to consider when trying to make this work and I did not want this to turn into a novel and yet it's still sooo much. Anyway, much love to Sayaka and Kirari but they don’t know how their own relationship works without trying to date another person at the same time. Ririka is suffering, but at least she has Mary. Sorry if there are more errors than usual I had to deal with a cat menace. Also beware of Midari in this fic, you know how she is. And the OC I made isn’t very helpful either. Word Count: 18,395 (Why did I do this to myself?)

~

(Y/n) sighed and slouched in her seat at the back of the classroom, her eyes followed the form of Igarashi Sayaka taking her seat in the front of the room with her arms full of papers and folders. Her bag, looking just as heavy as the load in her arms, had the shoulder strap strained over the desk hook.

“Ugh, you really are hopeless, you know that?”

“Huh?” (Y/n) turned her head, meeting her friend’s eyes just in time to see them roll to the side.

“You’re looking at Igarashi with those dumb puppy eyes again. We’re well into our second year of high school now, shouldn’t you be over her by now? Or, here’s an idea, ask her out.” Tsubasa advised, pretending to be scandalized by their own suggestion.

“Don’t talk so loud!” (Y/n) hissed, quickly looking to see if anyone, especially Sayaka, had heard.

“The whole classroom is practically screaming about gambling and homework (Y/n), no one’s listening to us. Especially not Miss Workaholic over there. So, what’s the deal? When are you gonna finally make a move?”

“Are you crazy? There will be no move making from now until the end of time!” (Y/n) gestured wildly, emphasizing the word ‘now’ and the phrase, ‘the end of time’. “She obviously likes the president... and like is putting it mildly, there is no way I’m going to embarrass myself like that. I mean, when it comes to the president I can’t possibly compete. She’s too beautiful and suave, no wonder Igarashi wants to spend so much time with her.” (Y/n) sighed wistfully and slid further down her chair, openly sulking.

“Sounds to me like you’re simping double time these days, (Y/n).” Tsubasa snickered and kicked at (Y/n)’s foot with their own, producing a muffled groan from the girl who had since buried her head in her arms over her desk.

“You look at the girls in this school and tell me you can’t find easily like, ten of them that you’d immediately give your kidney to if they asked.” (Y/n) grumbled.

“Nah I’m good thanks, I’d like to keep my kidneys as a matched set if I can help it.” They leaned back in their chair and stretched. “Class is starting soon, better get your act together before you get called on and embarrass yourself in front of Igarashi.”

“God that would happen to me wouldn’t it?” (Y/n) sat up and opened her notebook for her first class, scanning the most recent notes with a critical eye.

“Hey, before you get too lost in that boring stuff I wanted to ask you if you heard about the gamble that’s taking over Yumemite’s stage during lunch.”

“I haven’t heard anything. What does Yumemite-san have to say about this? Didn’t she have a concert scheduled at that time?”

“You would know that wouldn’t you, simp.” Tsubasa laughed, poking (Y/n). “She’s sick or something so someone snatched up the stage for the day and they even got permission to broadcast to the whole school. Anyone can come by to gamble and the last person standing gets ten million yen!”

“What’s the catch? There always is one with these no admittance fee gambles.”

“Loser has to do one thing the winner asks each round. Something that can be done right then and there on camera to be broadcasted to the school. What do you think? Will you do it with me?” They grinned.

“Be humiliated in front of the whole school? No thanks, think I’ll pass.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. We could split the money fifty-fifty if one of us wins. What’s the worst request someone could demand of you if you lose?”

“Uh, have you been paying attention in this school?” (Y/n) looked up from her notebook, “A person having the power over you to make you do something for them is almost always worse then owing money. They could tell you to strip or rip your nails off— all sorts of crazy things!”

“I guess I could have been more clear. The winner just asks a question to the loser and they have to answer it honestly.”

“Wait, you’re telling me this is just going to be truth or dare without the dare?” (Y/n) looked at them incredulously. “I know I was complaining before but how is something so boring being broadcasted to the whole school?”

“Beats me, but really, the deal is a lot sweeter now, don’t you think, partner?” Tsubasa batted their eyelashes and (Y/n) lightly punched their shoulder.

“Alright, I’m in.”

***

“Never mind I’m not in!” (Y/n) trembled at the sight before her. The stage was filled with all sorts of creepy crawlies and dangerous looking animals in various enclosures. She made to leave but her friend grasped her arm and pulled her back.

“Too late to pull out (Y/n), I already signed us up!” They smiled brightly as if completely unaffected by the scene before them.

“Did you know about this?” (Y/n) asked, her throat tightening with equal parts anger and anxiety. “This isn’t truth or dare without the dare, it’s like, dare with a light suggestion of truth!”

“I know right? This is gonna be awesome!” Tsubasa grinned.

“Did Ikishima take over your body or something? What the hell is wrong with you!?” (Y/n) chastised through clenched teeth.

“Shhhh, I think the organizer is about to get things started. Don’t think about the risk, think about how awesome it’s gonna be when we win ten million yen! Five mil each!”

“If the more affluent students heard you getting excited over five million yen they would laugh you out of the school.” (Y/n) mumbled, rubbing at her temples to try to fight the oncoming headache she was starting to feel.

“Wow, a lot more of you showed up than I thought you would!” A voice called from the stage, crazy familiar laughter rolled over the auditorium.

“Ikishima actually organized this? Why am I not surprised?” (Y/n) sighed.

“Okay so a handful of you...” Ikishima scratched her head with her gun as she looked around the room. To (Y/n) surprise, the crazy girl suddenly fell to her knees with a cry of anguish. “Yumeko didn’t come? But I invited her directly! How could she stay away from such a gamble when I worked so hard to procure all this shit!” She moaned mournfully and motioned towards all the animal enclosures.

“Uh, so are we doing this thing or...?” Another student called out after watching Midari spread out on the stage floor and sulk for a hot minute.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a second...” Midari sighed despondently. “Yumeko,” she began, looking to the ceiling, “I made this all for you, enjoy the show... I know you’re watching!”

(Yumeko was in fact, not watching.)

“Alright, listen up everybody!” Midari jumped back onto her feet, her gun tracing over every face in the front couple rows of the auditorium. “Ya ever hear of Fear Factor? Well that’s what we’re doing except not really. Basically, I’ll have you face off one v one. You each get to pick an animal you’d like your opponent to get all close and personal with, the first person to bail loses and if neither bails after five minutes, then the person with the highest heart rate loses. We’ll be monitoring your heart rates with these little wrist monitors to keep you honest. If your heart rate continually spikes higher than the other person, we’ll know and you’ll be out of the competition, not before you let out a truth of the victor’s choosing of course.” Midari smiled wickedly and gestured to the giant screen behind her. “Here is our bracket, let the games begin!”

(Y/n) scanned over the names and was jostled by Tsubasa slinging an arm over her shoulders.

“Look at that, (Y/n). We’re on opposite side of the bracket, I’m liking our odds!”

“Yeah, great.” (Y/n) whined and slowly made her way to the stage. Her name was right at the top of the bracket signaling she would be in the first match.

“Go (Y/n)!” Tsubasa cheered.

(Y/n) grimaced as Midari fixed the cold heart monitoring device to her wrist and another beautification officer hooked up her opponent who smirked once (Y/n) met his gaze.

“Coin flip decides who picks first. (L/n), heads or tails?” Ikishima asked, her breath sticking to (Y/n)’s cheek because of how close she was.

“Heads.” (Y/n) chose. Midari flipped the coin and revealed heads.

“Lucky you!” Midari cackled, “Choose carefully because once an animal is chosen, it will be retired for the remainder of the gamble!”

“I’ll pick the tarantula.” (Y/n) declared, suppressing a shudder. At least now she knew it wouldn’t be able to be used against her later.

“Ahh tarantula-san eyy?” Midari giggled. “I love it, nice choice! And you?” Midari turned to address the other student.

He appeared to be sweating ever so slightly but his smirk didn’t leave his face. “I’ll pick that huge ass snake.”

“Boa-san? Hell yeah!” Midari cackled, looking all too pleased with how this was going. “Handlers, bring out the chosen animals!”

“Hold your arms out, kind of like a cradle please.” The handler asked (Y/n). She had just nearly put her arms in position before the handler looped the middle of the large constrictor around her neck. The upper half of the large snake began coiling around her arm as (Y/n) struggled to hold the heavy reptile.

(Y/n) chanced a glance at her competition who appeared to be holding his breath as the tarantula crawled across his pant leg. He was sitting on the stage, something about lessening the risk to the spider should the boy freak out. (Y/n) gulped as her attention was brought back to the snake. It had raised its head to be level with her own and scented the air between their faces before slithering up and over her head and it began its descent down her back.

“Hey!” (Y/n)’s eyes darted back to the boy who looked noticeably more panicked. “It’s crawling toward my junk!” He screamed as the spider slowly made its way over his thigh.

“So?” Midari shrugged, “What, you gonna bail already? It hasn’t even been two minutes.”

“Get it off me now!” His voice pitched higher, the spider had momentarily lost its grip and slid closer to the boy’s crotch. “Take it, take it!”

“Alright, you big baby.” Midari waved him off signaling the handler to take the spider. “Round one goes to you, (L/n). Sazanka class, represent!”

(Y/n) released a relieved sigh as the weight of the boa was lifted from her shoulders. She massaged her shoulder and almost left the stage before Midari called her back.

“Hey, don’t forget your question!”

“Ah, right, sorry. Umm, what’s your favorite color?” (Y/n) could heard the faint echo of Tsubasa smacking their forehead with their hand in the darkened auditorium and Midari groaned.

“That’s what you’re asking? That’s so god damn boring!” Midari sprawled out on the floor again. “Well shit, answer (L/n)’s boring ass question I guess.”

“It’s green.” The guy breathed, thankful for the low stakes question after his embarrassing screeching over the tarantula.

“Alright, who’s next?”

***

The final round was finally here. (Y/n) had survived a hand full of banana slugs and holding up a adolescent fox bat by its feet before finally making it to the last round with Tsubasa bouncing excitedly as her final opponent. They had made it, no matter what happens now the ten million was as good as theirs.

“Alright! Here we are with the last match! Only a handful of creatures left, what will be used I wonder...” Midari pondered. “Heads or tails, (L/n)?”

“I’ll go heads again.”

The coin flipped in her favor once more and she smiled at her friend. “I know you’ve been eyeing that iguana over there, go make a new friend.”

“I really appreciate that, (Y/n).” Tsubasa simpered. “However,” the sweet smile turned sinister, “Just because we made it to the end, doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

(Y/n)’s eyes darkened at the betrayal, her mouth twitched into a frown aimed at her unbothered so called friend. Sweat gathered at her brow. Were they going to pick the literal grizzly bear over there? Or maybe even worse, the—

“I pick the octopus.”

“No way!” (Y/n) gasped.

“Uehehehe, I see you recognize the coloration of octopus-san, don’t you (L/n)?” Midari leered over the other girl.

“Yeah, that’s a blue ringed octopus isn’t it? Those things can kill you and you expect me to hold it?” (Y/n) threw her arms out wide in disbelief.

“I had it brought here for Yumeko, but I’m glad someone is going to play with octopus-san.” Ikishima practically moaned. “Well, (L/n) are you gonna hold it or bail?”

“Of course I-“

“(Y/n), before you answer that question,” Tsubasa whispered, “You should know I’m planning on asking a really good question should I win. You know, related to who we were talking about this morning.”

“You wouldn’t-“ (Y/n) gasped.

“Try me.”

“I give you the iguana and this is how you repay me! I could literally die!” (Y/n)’s heart was absolutely pounding. Hurt and betrayal plain on her features.

“Listen, I don’t know what the hell you guys are going on about, but we are broadcasting live to the school and you have a decision to make. (L/n), whatcha gonna do?” Midari pushed.

“I...” (Y/n) took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze drifted to the deadly cephalopod. Her eyes closed tightly as she tried to quiet the wild thrumming of her heart in her ears. This was dangerous and stupid, but she’d sooner die than lose and answer that query truthfully. “I’ll do it.”

“For real (Y/n)? Are you crazy-“

“I love what you’re doing here (L/n)!” Ikishima interrupted (Y/n)’s gambling partner with a wheezy laugh. “If I didn’t already have the hots for Yumeko, I’d jump your bones right now!”

(Y/n) grimaced at the vulgar girl and made her way to the octopus’ enclosure, the vivid blue rings hypnotic in the shallow waters of the tank.

The octopus itself was small, no bigger than the palm of her hand, yet she knew that size would hardly matter, it could still easily kill a grown man twice her size.

(y/n) breathed in deeply and pulled up her sleeve, her hand just barely skimmed the water when her supposed friend spoke up.

“(Y/n) you don’t have to do this. You seriously would rather die than talk about your feelings?”

(Y/n)’s steely gaze met her partner who was nervously stroking the iguana in their arms and her frown deepened.

“Use my half of the ten million to pay for my medical bills and or my funeral.” She spoke coldly, carefully sliding her hand all the way into the tank. She would have just plunged her hand right in, but she really didn’t feel like dying today if she could help it. Please god, give me the luck of that one idiot I saw holding one of these things on social media.

Slowly, she nudged the creature into her hand and raised it up a bit so Ikishima could clearly see her dangerous skinship with the octopus. The one-eyed girl let out a delighted squeal but (Y/n) could not hear it over the pounding of her own heart. The tentacles of the venomous creature curled over her hand as if searching, maybe for the best place to bite (Y/n) thought wryly. It began crawling up her wrist and settled on her forearm. (Y/n) felt faint and she could feel the sweat roll off her in buckets, having the octopus sit still was almost worse than it moving.

“How’s it feel, (Y/n)? I can call you (Y/n) now, right? We’re kindred spirits you and I after all. How does it feel knowing you’re one little bite away from almost certain death? It’s great isn’t it?” Ikishima moaned grossly in (Y/n)’s ear and (Y/n) grit her teeth, her jaw tightened painfully. She did not dare pay attention to Ikishima, her eyes belonged only to the small mass now writhing in the crook of her elbow.

A loud buzz shot (Y/n) out of her concentrated state, causing her to move suddenly and offset the balance of the octopus. (Y/n) yelped  in response to the octopus’ renewed hold over her that was much tighter than before. Did it just bite me?

“Five minutes is up! Guess we have to refer to heart monitors for the winner. Though judging by (Y/n)’s face, her heart rate will probably be nonexistent soon!” Midari laughed and motioned to the big screen. The computer scanned over the last two competitors heart rates over the last five minutes and compared the data. It was quickly determined that (Y/n)‘s heart rate was much higher than her opponent’s, making her the loser of this gamble.

(Y/n) closed her eyes and hung her head in shame, if the octopus did bite her, she didn’t have it in her to care. Her life would be over soon anyway once she answered the victor’s question.

“Wait a minute... what the hell is wrong with octopus-san?” Midari screeched, bringing (Y/n) back into the moment.

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open to look at the octopus and she was surprised to see it had changed color to match that of her skin tone.

“But, blue ringed octopuses don’t change color so dramatically as this? What... this isn’t...” (Y/n) could hardly believe it. The small octopus on her arm wasn’t the deadly Australian native, but a mimic, and a talented one at that.

“Hey you! What the fuck is this!” Ikishima berated the nearest handler, gesturing to the tank with her gun.

“A mimic octopus, ma’am. This little baby has a tank adjacent to a real blue ringed octopus and the clever boy just loves to copy the colors. Intelligent little guy, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah,” Midari huffed, “but I asked for blue ringed octopus-san!”

“We didn’t want anyone to be hurt. We figured you wouldn’t mind as long as you got an octopus.” The handler smiled tightly. God these rich kids are crazy.

(Y/n) managed to free herself from the mimic and withdraw from the tank. She rubbed her arm and watched the small octopus change color again to match the the sand in its tank. She felt so foolish, all her fear had been misplaced and now- she turned to Tsubasa, now iguanaless, and stepped forward.

“Well that was hella disappointing. What’s-your-face gets to ask their question now.” Midari sighed, clearly disinterested. “If I wasn’t so impulsive and hadn’t put this thing together last minute, I would’ve made much better punishments for the losers.”

“(Y/n), please don’t let this ruin our friendship. I only want what is best for you.” Tsubasa rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly.

“If you didn’t want to do that, you’d pick another damn question. Just ask already.” (Y/n) snapped.

“Who have you had a crush on since middle school who you still like to this day?” They asked almost sympathetically. (Y/n) wanted to slap that awkward smile right off their face.

“Igarashi Sayaka.” (Y/n) answered clearly so as to not have to repeat herself before bolting off the stage, Midari cackling behind her.

“You like that stick in the mud? That’s hilarious!” Midari wheezed from the stage as (Y/n) pushed through auditorium doors with a boom and kept running.

***

(Y/n) should have just skipped school. She was basically doing it anyway since she couldn’t go to class. Not when she was actively avoiding three people in said class. Tsubasa she didn’t want to see for obvious backstabbing reasons, Ikishima because she was being... extra herself towards (Y/n) since the gamble and she didn’t appreciate it, and then of course Sayaka... who knew if she was aware of the gamble or what she’d do if she saw (Y/n). She’d probably tase me, (Y/n) thought glumly.

The last few days (Y/n) had exiled herself to the deepest, darkest depths of the library and didn’t leave until most of the students had gone home for the day. She didn’t need to worry about gambling. Despite not talking to Tsubasa, she saw that her five million that was agreed upon was transferred to her account with an, ‘I’m sorry :( <3‘ attached to it so she was set for awhile in the class rankings.

This day should have been no different as she made her way to the back of the library, but she gasped audibly once she took in the figure perched atop her table seemingly awaiting her arrival. She would have backed away if not for the fact that those icy blue eyes commanded her to stay.

“President!” (Y/n) squeaked. This was it, she was so dead. How foolish of her to think she would be able to get away with admitting her feelings for the secretary of the most powerful person in the school without any repercussions.

The president did not yet speak, but motioned (Y/n) to come closer, the way her glacial eyes bore into (Y/n)’s left no room for argument. (Y/n)’s legs moved slowly, they shook noticeably and she feared she might collapse right in front of the president. Finally she stopped and stood a foot away from the president’s regal pose over the table. (Y/n)’s hands wrung together and she scanned the titles of the nearby bookshelves so she would not have to look her intruder in the eye.

“You’re a surprisingly difficult person to find, (L/n) (Y/n).” Kirari finally spoke, examining her pristine, blue fingernails.

“I,” (Y/n) cleared her throat, “I’m sorry?” Her voice trembled, sounding oh so weak in the presence of the apex predator.

“That was quite the show you put on a couple days ago at Ikishima’s event.” Kirari continued, seemingly oblivious of (Y/n) speaking at all. “You turned that drab, mind numbing dullness into something I could tolerate watching with my afternoon tea. Sayaka seemed quite invested as well.” She said, her eyes casually looking up to catch (Y/n)’s again, gauging for a reaction.

(Y/n) didn’t speak for fear of her heart escaping out of the orifice due to how violently it was beating in her chest, in her throat. It was beating so fast it put the whole octopus incident to shame.

“Of course, the novelty of the octopus was shattered as soon as its true nature was revealed, but it was interesting to watch in the moment, sort of like a magic trick, wouldn’t you agree?”

(Y/n) stayed silent, only managing to tear her eyes away from the analyzing blue ones to study her own shoes.

“Sayaka couldn’t believe you would do something so, how did she put it? Irrational? Insane maybe? It escapes me now, but she was muttering to herself in that endearing way she always does when she’s thinking too hard and she just can’t contain her internal monologue.” Kirari’s smile grew a small fraction wider at the memory. “I didn’t see what the problem was. If anything I’d dare say she was being quite hypocritical, given the fact that she had jumped out of a five story building with me not too long ago.”

(Y/n) allowed a look of astonishment to take over her face and Kirari chuckled quietly.

The student council president slid off of the table and approached (Y/n) with confident, purposeful steps, causing (Y/n) to back away until her back hit the bookshelf behind her. Kirari rested an arm on the shelf beside (Y/n)’s head and leaned so far into her personal space that (Y/n) dared not breathe.

“Maybe you would like to give it a try?”

(Y/n)’s lips trembled, still unable to so much as make a sound. Her eyes were trapped by the icy, oceanic gaze mere inches away from her.

“No need to be so tense, it was just a suggestion. I know you are capable of speaking. What must I do to make this a two way conversation?”

“I-“ (Y/n) attempted to clear her throat, taking in a shaky breath, “I- what do you want me to say, president? Why are you here?”

“You’ve caught my interest.” She stated plainly, “To risk your life all to avoid answering a simple question of little consequence. Tell me, are you embarrassed to like my secretary so much? Do you find such feelings disgraceful, or is it because it’s Sayaka?”

“No! No. That’s not it at all, I just- I’m not embarrassed about how I feel. Igarashi-san is amazing. So incredibly dedicated and hardworking, intelligent, pr- pretty,” (Y/n) blushed, “I could never find anything disgraceful about liking someone like her.”

“Why hide it to such a degree, then? Why risk your life to keep it hidden?” Kirari came closer still, drinking in every micro-expression that (Y/n)’s face would betray for clues about the peculiar behavior she was so fascinated by.

“There was just no point in revealing my feelings. They obviously aren’t reciprocated, I didn’t want to make class awkward or ruin the good terms we were on as classmates. If I was to be embarrassed about anything, it would be the idea of receiving a rejection that I was well aware would occur and was trying to avoid.”

“I’d like to propose a gamble.” Kirari said suddenly, (Y/n) could feel the declaration disturb the air around her face, causing a slight tingling sensation that made her lips purse subtly.

“What do you propose, president?” (Y/n) whispered weakly, her back digging almost painfully I to the bookcase, trying fruitlessly to create a semblance of personal space between them. She surprisingly took  in the sudden declaration without question, probably due to how small she felt in Kirari’s presence. She dared not question the president’s seemingly sudden whim.

“A simple game, really. I don’t have time to plan some grand operation unfortunately. Such things are better planned out over the course of several weeks, months or even years. Something Ikishima will likely never learn even after her hastily put together show,” Kirari spoke, digging at the disorganization of the beautification officer while still looming over (Y/n) like it was perfectly acceptable to be so close, “but that’s neither here nor there, the game will be lightning round old maid.”

“What are the stakes?” (Y/n) asked, a hot cold rush ran down her spine as Kirari absently inspected a lock of (Y/n)‘s hair, twining a finger though it before letting the hair slip from her touch. She backed away, finally giving (Y/n) room to breathe.

“If I win, you’ll immediately start going back to your classes and you’ll become a page of sorts to the student council. You’ll be at Sayaka’s beck and call.”

“I don’t think Igarashi-san would care for that. I’m sure she has a very specific way in which she likes things done. I don’t want to be on her bad side more than I probably already am!”

“Sayaka would never say it, but with the added work the election has brought, I’m sure she could find a use for an extra pair of hands.” Kirari smirked, “Now, what would you like if you win?”

“...I guess it would be nice to have some assistance transferring schools?” (Y/n) mumbled after a moment’s thought.

“How practical. You’re about as imaginative as Sayaka I’ll give you that,” Kirari commented, striding to the other side of the table to sit with practiced poise, “well,” she gestured to the chair opposite her, “please take a seat. This won’t take long.”

(Y/n) bit the inside of her lip and sat stiffly in the presented chair. She couldn’t believe she was about to gamble with the president. Such an ‘honor’ was usually reserved for people like Jabami or Ikishima... What did this say about herself, (Y/n) wondered.

Kirari slipped three cards out of her blazer. The queen of diamonds, the queen of hearts, and a joker card. She presented the cards to (Y/n), allowing her to check for any possible tampering. When (Y/n) was satisfied, she gave the cards back with a sight tremor. Kirari reached past the cards, encompassing (Y/n)’s wrist with her hand and drawing out a surprised gasp from the girl. Kirari skimmed her fingers over the exposed skin up to (Y/n)’s own finger tips before finally taking the cards back and shuffling them under the table. All the while (Y/n)’s hand tingled, still suspended mid air until she remembered herself and quickly pulled her hand back to join her other tightly fisted in her lap.

Kirari eyed the cards, newly shuffled, and slid the queen of hearts to (Y/n)’s side of the table. With a reserved smile, she held out the remaining two cards. “Now, which one will you choose I wonder?”

(Y/n) scrutinized the backs of the cards in Kirari’s hand, silently cursing herself for not thinking of marking the cards in some way as she inspected them. Her eyebrows knit and her eyes narrowed in concentration as if that would help give her some sudden clarity, to open up the right choice.

“As much as I’m enjoying this intense look of concentration you are wearing, I do have other obligations that require my attention this afternoon.” Kirari spoke, jolting (Y/n) from her thoughts.

“Sorry!” (Y/n) swallowed and eyed the cards, darting her attention from one to the other at least a dozen times. Finally she sucked in a huge breath and reached for the the one on the right. Then, changing her trajectory at the very last second, she took the card on the left, missing the excited gleam in Kirari’s eyes.

With trembling fingers she flipped the card in her fingers and felt dread as the laughing face of the joker stared back at her.

“Wrong choice I’m afraid, looks like I’ll get a turn after all.” Kirari said.

(Y/n) took her queen and the joker, mixing them under the table until she was satisfied then held them out to Kirari, trying to will her face into impenetrable stone.

Kirari chuckled quietly as she reached out. She teasingly danced her fingers over the cards, gauging for a reaction. (Y/n) looked away from the scene, trying to invoke some kind of ‘I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ strategy. However, (Y/n) felt that she could have no face at all and Kirari would still be able to read her.

Her eyes shot open when she felt the card in her right hand being tugged free, she turned back to the remaining card with an audible gasp. The queen was still in her hand.

“Oh well,” Kirari smiled, “Another chance for you then, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) nodded resolutely, looking between the two cards once more. She took less time to deliberate this go around and took the left card. Incorrect again.

The joker traded hands at least three dozen more times and traded hands quickly. Staying in one hand only long enough to be shuffled and presented to be taken half a second later. (Y/n) found it exhilarating. There was no strategy, no second guessing, just the gamble itself. Taking whatever card they touched first without a care.

The joker had found (Y/n)’s hand again and (Y/n) couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief that escaped her lips. Her nervous frown had left rounds ago, replaced by a content smile. If Tsubasa could she her now, smiling and playing a children’s game with arguably the most frightening person in the school, they would lose their mind.

“I’m glad you’ve come out of your shell and are enjoying yourself,” Kirari spoke up, her eyes looking unusually warm. “However the time is quickly approaching for one of my aforementioned engagements so,” (Y/n) blinked owlishly, her mouth falling open ever so slightly. Kirari took the queen out of (Y/n)’s hand as if she knew she could have done so at will at any time and smirked. “I’ll be seeing you bright and early Monday morning to discuss your new duties.”

As Kirari stood and moved around the table to exit (Y/n) kept blinking at the joker in her hands. “Oh, and (Y/n),” Kirari stopped at the bookshelf momentarily and looked back at (Y/n), seeing the surprised girl turning slowly in her seat to look at her. “Do not be late.”

With that, the president took her leave. (Y/n) looked back at the joker and smiled brightly despite herself. She knew once the novelty wore off she was going to be an anxious mess before Monday arrived, but for now, she was ride out the high gambling with the president gave her. She gathered her belongings and left the library and the school, humming pleasantly with a skip in her step all the way home.

***

(Y/n) hadn’t slept more than a combined total of eight hours all weekend. She had worried her weekend away to the point of feeling physically ill. What had she been thinking to entertain such a gamble? Not only did she need to start going back to class, but now she had to report in to the student council as if she were a member herself.

(Y/n) glanced at her phone again, squinting her eyes at the harsh light,  a panicked groan leaving her as she read the time. It was five-thirty in the morning. She had more than enough time to get ready and be at school before the student council meeting began at seven, but the anticipation was killing her.

She was not ready to see Sayaka. She wasn’t ready to sit next to Tsubasa in class again or get hounded by Ikishima. Today was going to be an all out assault on her emotional state.

(Y/n) stood outside the imposing doors of the student council room, the time on her phone displaying that she was fifteen minutes early. (Y/n) worked to control her breathing, willing herself to take deep, even breaths. Before she worked up the courage to enter, the door swung open with air displacing force strong enough to whip some of (Y/n)’s hair askew.

“I’ll retrieve the file president! You needn’t concern yourself with such menial tasks!” Sayaka strode a purposeful half step out of the room and rammed straight into (Y/n)’s chest, causing (Y/n) to stumble back, but not fall.

“What are you- oh,” Sayaka’s angry retort died on her lips as she registered who stood before her. “(L/n)-san, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, good- good morning, Igarashi-san. I’m, um, I’m here to-“ (Y/n) stumbled over her words looking over Sayaka’s head, unable to even look her in the eye as she felt her cheeks grow increasingly warm.

“Ah, (Y/n), right on time. Early even.” Kirari appeared in the doorway behind Sayaka who looked back at her with a bewildered expression. “Ready for your first day on the job?”

“President! What are you saying? What is the meaning of this?” Sayaka asked, looking between Kirari and (Y/n) as if to try to draw her own conclusion.

“Sayaka, (Y/n) is going to be your errand girl from now on. Sort of a secretary of a secretary situation.” Kirari explained with an amused grin. “I feel like your work efficiency would be maximized if you didn’t have to run all over the school.”

“But president, I can’t just-“

“(Y/n) has graciously gambled away her services, so use her as you see fit.”

The wording Kirari used, left the two second years gaping and thoroughly embarrassed. The awkward silence that followed seemed to be lost on the president and she continued to speak.

“I’ll provide the first task as an example. (Y/n), Ikishima has neglected to return a rather important file that is needed for the composition of a life plan, retrieve it.”

“Yeah, okay.” (Y/n) quickly turned tail and jogged away from the president and her secretary, thankful for every step that parted her from the awkward confrontation and headed to the bowels of the school.

Sayaka and Kirari watched her leave. The latter looking very pleased with herself.

“President, what did you do?” Sayaka asked, studying Kirari’s mirthful face.

“I was merely following up on my promise. I said I’d find out if she was okay, didn’t I? Now you can see for yourself anytime you wish.”

“I didn’t intend for you to gamble her into servitude!” Sayaka’s voice cracked with exasperation. “What was going to happen if you lost?”

“She was going to transfer schools.” Kirari revealed, drinking in Sayaka’s shocked expression with amused satisfaction, “I don’t know what you did to her Sayaka, but she is positively terrified of you.”

“I- I didn’t do anything! At least, I think...” Sayaka poised a contemplative fist over her lips, thinking back from middle school to present, sifting through memories to find anything to the contrary.

“No matter, you’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to proceed,” Kirari waved dismissively, “I never discussed a date of release before the gamble, but I’m sure keeping her in this position after your graduation would be a tad excessive. Now,” Kirari ran her fingers through Sayaka’s ponytail, eliciting a shudder from the underclassman, “I’d love another cup of tea before the meeting.”

***

(Y/n) descended the stairs to the basement floor of the school. She could hear the distinctive hum of old fluorescent lights and boiler room generators, by looking at the rest of Hyakkaou, you’d never think that such a rich school would have such an ancient, decrepit, looking basement.

As she continued clicking down the darkened hall she could hear a muffled, albeit echoing, cackle that would have sent her sprinting in the opposite direction if not for the fact that it was a familiar laugh she had heard disrupt class on countless occasions.

(Y/n) turned down the next hallway, jumping and covering her ears as a shot rang out, painfully reverberating off of the walls.

“It’s like a goddamn haunted murder house down here.” (Y/n) mumbled to herself.

She turned down one more hallway and met a couple beautification committee members loitering around.

“Hey,” (Y/n) addressed them awkwardly, wincing when the small group quieted and eyed her suspiciously, “I’m, uh, looking for Ikishima?”

“Get lost, she’s... busy” one of the grunts replied, a faint look of discomfort, hidden as she pretended to examine her nails.

“It’s student council business,” (Y/n) persisted. As much as she would have loved to peace out right then, there was no way she was going to return from her first errand empty handed. “It can’t wait.”

“No one gives a damn. Trust me when I say you don’t want to go in there.”

“I’ll take the chance.”

“Hey!”

(Y/n) walked passed the disgruntled committee members and banged on the door, the thudding carried down the hall.

“Ikishima! I’m here to collect a file for a life plan!” (Y/n) called through the heavy metal door.

“Damn it! What the hell?” Midari yanked the door open and (Y/n) had to take several steps back at witnessing the severe sweaty, disheveled state the girl on the other side was in. “I was so fucking close and you just cut me off like that? What the hell, that just turns me on more!”

“The file? Now, please?” (Y/n) stuttered out, desperately wishing for a line of brain and eye bleaching products that would make her forget ever seeing her classmate like this. For now she would simply have to settle with getting the hell out of there as soon as possible.

“Wait a minute, why did you get sent here, (Y/n)? The way you pounded on the door, I thought you were Sayaka again.” The girl laughed and (Y/n) mentally gave Sayaka her condolences. “Whatever, there’s a meeting in ten minutes. Why can’t I just bring it then?”

“They probably thought you would forget.” (Y/n) shrugged uncomfortably.

“Hey, you know what, that’s fair.” Midari nodded, “Hang on a second,” she slipped back into the room and came out a few seconds later with a stained and soggy looking piece of trash. “Here, now get lost. Unless you plan on joining me in here.”

“Wh... why is it wet? And what’s this stain?” (Y/n) made a disgusted face as she held the paper away from her, pinching one corner with her thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, (L/n).” Midari cackled, the sound continuing on even well after the door had been shut in (Y/n)’s face once more.

On the way back to the student council room, (Y/n) made a pit stop for a ziplock baggie and went to the restroom to wash her hands in the most scalding water she could handle.

***

“That was surprisingly quick,” Kirari smirked from her chair at the head of the table as (Y/n) knocked politely before letting herself in. Sayaka’s head swiveled in (Y/n)’s direction as well, looking more concerned than her amused counterpart. “Were you able to retrieve the file?”

(Y/n) nodded stiffly and presented the file, confined in the plastic of the ziplock baggie like evidence in a murder case, to the president.

“Oh my, it’s hardly legible,” Kirari spoke, her tone suggesting that she may have been mildly impressed by the paper. Or perhaps it was a morbid fascination. “And what’s this stain here?” She asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever want to know.” (Y/n) replied, placing the plastic wrapped atrocity on the table. Sayaka pursed her lips and nodded as if (Y/n) had spoken some old, wise philosophical scripture.

“Oh well, I’m sure Sayaka can write up a fresh copy later. Congratulations on completing your first assignment, (Y/n). The meeting will be starting soon so please take your position to Sayaka’s right,” Kirari motioned to the girl standing behind her.

“That’s wholly unnecessary, president,” Sayaka shook her head, “We will look silly.”

“Not at all. Surely you can see the logic of wanting my right hand by my side. The right hand of my right hand is by extension, mine as well and needs to be close as such. (Y/n), take Sayaka’s right.”

“Uh, yes, president. Whatever you say,” (Y/n) moved around the table and stood a respectable distance away from Sayaka, directing her attention to the exotic fish swimming in the large aquarium nearby.

“Closer.” Kirari commanded, gently.

Without moving her eyes from the aquarium (Y/n) took a half step in Sayaka’s direction.

“Closer, (Y/n),” Kirari said again, “we must look like a cohesive unit.”

“It’s okay, (L/n)-san, I won’t bite.” Sayaka said, ushering the girl closer with a worried half smile.

“Unless you’re into that kind of thing.” Kirari amended with an amused grin, watching the second years sputter and gasp at her like fish out of water.

When the rest of the council members finally began filtering in, (Y/n) and Sayaka were stood almost shoulder to shoulder while Kirari sat sipping her tea with a satisfied expression.

Although the council had technically been disbanded because of the election, there was still work to be done that could not be held off without threatening the school structure.

“Wow, (Y/n), you really working here now?” Midari asked, doing a double take as she plopped in her seat. “I thought you were just looking for an excuse to see yours truly again.” Midari laughed, pointing at herself with her gun.

“Not really, no.” (Y/n) spoke dryly, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“Oh that’s right, because you like-“

“Ikishima!”

As the door was violently pushed open to reveal the teen idol Yumemi,(Y/n) exhaled harshly, feeling heat crawling all the way up to the tips of her ears as she continued to watch the fish, not daring to even spare a hint of a glance through her periphery in the direction of Sayaka and Kirari.

“Ikishima, my whole stage still smells like a barn!” The idol gritted through a menacing smile.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Midari said, swinging her legs onto the table.

“I’m ordering a deep cleanse and you’re paying for it!” Yumemi huffed, taking her seat as well.

“Bahhh, whatever.” Midari waved her off, earning a laugh from Runa as she flopped onto a nearby couch.

The vice president silently made her way to stand at the president’s left, taking a moment to stare between the three people at the head of the table. Or at least, (Y/n) guessed she was. It was hard to tell with the mask.

Yuriko came in last, looking a bit frazzled as she took her own seat. Once it was clear that everyone was situated, Sayaka began to recite the major talking points and the meeting began.

***

(Y/n) swears she almost fell asleep standing up. Only jolting out of her meditative state as chairs scraped against the floor signaling that the meeting must have ended. Her eyes darting to the clock on the wall, revealing that classes would start soon. Taking the time into account, she moved to the wall where she had left her school bag and hooked it over her shoulder before turning back to the president and her secretary.

“I can go to class now, right?”

“Of course,” Kirari gave a slight nod, “just give Sayaka a moment to gather her things and you can go together. Won’t that be nice?”

(Y/n) chanced a glance at Sayaka as she packed her bag full of folders, quickly averting her eyes when Sayaka looked up expectantly from her bag. (Y/n) discreetly cleared her throat, “Sure.”

“Ready to go?” Sayaka asked, shouldering the heavy bag with little effort as she stepped forward. Wow, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“Yes,” (Y/n) responded, walking over to the door to hold it open for the secretary.

“Do be back for lunch.” Kirari called.

“Of course, president.” Sayaka nodded, provoking a hint of warmth in Kirari’s charming smile before she turned her back to the door to face the vice president who seemed to eye her intently as (Y/n) closed the door behind her.

They didn’t make it very far down the hall before Sayaka produced a fancy, black, hardcover notebook and held it out to (Y/n).

“I took the liberty of taking notes for you in your absence,” she explained, a small, sweet smile upon her lips.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, thank you very much!” (Y/n) stared at the notebook with a pleasant warmth building in her chest. She accepted the notebook, accidentally brushing fingers with Sayaka in the process. Her breath caught in her throat as Sayaka’s hand caught her own instead of falling away once the notebook had left it. Her other hand reached up to cup the notebook from underneath when it became clear that (Y/n) was about to drop it.

“It was no trouble but, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Haha, well, one of the president’s conditions of the gamble was for me to go back to class. I guess I couldn’t really hide in the library forever though.” (Y/n) shrugged, trying to be nonchalant while fighting off the emotions bubbling just below the surface.

“You were in the library?” Sayaka looked perplexed as students walked around them, a few giving inquisitive looks as they passed but otherwise hurried to class. “I must have checked there at least three times.”

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes,” Sayaka lightly squeezed (Y/n)’s hand and the notebook between her own, “I even spoke to that degenerate you sit next to, to see if they knew where you were. A useless conversation.”

“Why?” (Y/n) asked with a tremor in her voice, partially afraid of what Sayaka would say.

“I’ll be more than happy to explain at lunch, but we’re going to be late if we don’t start moving.” Sayaka pulled her hands away and motioned (Y/n) forward. (Y/n) fell into step beside Sayaka, heading to their classroom while her heart beat violently against her rib cage.

Upon entering the room mere moments before their teacher, Sayaka smiled kindly at (Y/n) before taking her seat. (Y/n) had her own dreamy look on her face that melted into a steady frown as she made her way to the back of the room and made eye contact with her sheepishly smiling friend.

(Y/n) plopped down in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Hey.”

(Y/n) ignored them, focusing her gaze on the front of the room.

“Come on, (Y/n). I told you I was sorry!” Tsubasa whispered, scooting closer, “You can have my notes if you want, you kinda missed a lot.”

“I don’t need them. Besides, you take shit notes.” (Y/n) grumbled.

“How about I let you punch me in the face? Trip me into the fountain outside? What if I buy my favorite ice cream and right before I get to taste it, you knock the cone out of my hand?”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but snort at the suggestion, covering her mouth with her hand and shying away from the look the teacher sent her way before resuming his lecture.

“I really am sorry you know. I’ve missed by best friend.”

“I’m still mad at you, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t miss you too.” (Y/n) simpered.

“Wanna join the crew at lunch? I’ll buy.”

“I can’t actually,” (Y/n)’s smile became a little regretful, “I kind of belong to the student council now so-“

“You what!?” Tsubasa yelled, their voice commanding the attention of the whole classroom, even Sayaka looked back with a raised brow.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” The teacher spoke coldly.

“No, sorry!” They squeaked, sliding further down their chair.

“Great, try to pay attention, please,” the teacher turned back to his presentation, “Now where were we...”

“Shit.” They sighed under their breath.

“Nice one.” (Y/n) whispered back with a grin.

“Well what do you expect when you drop a bomb like that? What happened?”

“Shouldn’t you be quiet? You’re already on thin ice.”

“What’s the worst he can do, this school is fucked academically anyway. Tell me what you’re doing with the stuco.”

“Okay, just don’t scream... I gambled with the president,” (Y/n) paused, watching Tsubasa cover their mouth and bend over their desk with shock. It was clear they were trying very hard to keep it all together as the lecture continued. “I lost and as per our agreement I have to go to class and assist Igarashi-san with student council duties.”

“Oh my god!” They gasped,

looking between (Y/n) and the back of Sayaka’s head. “Don’t you see what this means?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me what you think it means,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, taking notes on the new slide of the presentation.

“What it means is you’ve earned yourself not one, but two potential girlfriends!” They grinned, flashing a  discrete peace sign.

“That’s not what it means at all.” (Y/n) deadpanned.

“Come on, (Y/n)! Since when does the president find interest in plebeians like us? And don’t you think Igarashi would have been absolutely livid to have the president’s attention on you and not herself? I mean, remember how snippy she was when Jabami first rose in prevalence?”

(Y/n) shook her head, “You’re being ridiculous. I’m probably only in Igarashi-san’s good graces because she knows about my feelings for her and it would stand to reason that she doesn’t have to worry about me taking her place or making moves on the president. And then the president! As if anyone knows why the president does any of the things she does. She was probably bored and thought it be funny to watch me make a fool of myself in front of Igarashi everyday.”

“Just you wait. You’ll be a part of their weird little role play before the month is out, I guarantee it.”

“Don’t say it like that! Also, it’s not gonna happen so drop it.” (Y/n) kicked at the exposed ankle across the lane.

“Do I smell a wager to be made?” Tsubasa smirked through the pain, rubbing their ankle.

“I only thing I smell is someone who needs to mind their own business and start taking notes, you degenerate.”

“Igarashi is rubbing off on you already I see.”

***

After four more hours of hushed interrogation, lunch period began. Sayaka waited for (Y/n) in the hallway and (Y/n) gave her troublesome friend a warning glance, daring them to say anything stupid.

“Hey, Igarashi. Take good care of (Y/n) now, okay?” Tsubasa dodged (Y/n)’s fist and waggled their eyebrows before dashing off to the cafeteria.

“Ignore them.” (Y/n) said, almost pleadingly.

“Right, shall we?” Sayaka motioned in the direction of the student council.

“Oh, is it alright if I grab something from the cafeteria first? I didn’t pack a lunch.” (Y/n) asked.

“No need, I’ve arranged for lunch to be catered to the student council room.” Sayaka explained, leading (Y/n) to the grand, wooden double doors.

Sayaka knocked before entering, holding the door open for (Y/n) to slip in before closing it once more.

“Excellent timing, a house pet arrived with lunch just a few minutes ago.” Kirari informed, moving to the parlor area of the large room.

“Shall I fix your tea, president?” Sayaka asked, already walking across the room to start the kettle.

“Yes, please do.” Kirari nodded before then focused in on (Y/n), standing awkwardly near the fish tank. “Come take a seat, (Y/n). Sayaka will join us soon.” Kirari smiled, gesturing to the lush armchair seated to the left of the loveseat where Kirari regally sat.

“Of course, thank you, president.” (Y/n) sat back in the cushioned chair and although it was the epitome of luxury, she kept her back rigid and both feet firmly planted on the ground, staring at her hands as she nervously picked at the edge of her skirt.

“Still so tense,” Kirari sighed, “What happened to my old maid partner over the weekend? I thought we had hit it off rather splendidly.”

“Oh! That reminds me...” (Y/n) dug her hand into her blazer pocket and fished out the joker card from last Friday, presenting it to Kirari, “I figured you would want this back.”

Kirari pulled one eyebrow up in amusement and reached forward. Much like she had done in the library, her fingers grasped passed the card and took hold of (Y/n)’s wrist. Her icy lips curled into an almost sinful smile as she tugged (Y/n) forward. Not enough to pull her from her seat, but enough to bend her closer with (Y/n)’s arm fully extended, held near Kirari’s knees. (Y/n)’s ears burned as Kirari leaned closer and blew directly into her ear, raising the heat tenfold.  (Y/n) had no escape from the close proximity as Kirari kept her wrist hostage.

“Thank you,” Kirari hummed, “Is this perhaps your way of suggesting we play again? I would happily indulge you for the right wager.”

“I, uh, um-“

“The tea is ready president.” Sayaka informed, placing the tea set in the middle of the table with a barely audible click.

(Y/n) noted the loosening of Kirari’s grip and used it as an opportunity to straighten back up and put as much space between her and the president as possible, but she feared it was already too late.

Sayaka’s shadow loomed over (Y/n) and she clenched her eyes shut. Sucking in a breath, she tried to prepare herself for the volts of electricity that were sure to come.

“(L/n)? Tea?”

(Y/n) slowly looked up at Sayaka, meeting her mildly concerned features before glancing down to Sayaka’s hands, noting the tea cup and dish that were held out to her.

(Y/n) blinked, thanking Sayaka and accepting the tea with shaky hands. She wasn’t going to get tazed? Sure, Kirari had been the instigator of the close contact, but (Y/n) had expected a murderous look at the very least regardless of who started it. Yet, here Sayaka stood before her, offering her tea looking as calm as can be.

“Sayaka, come sit with me.” Kirari implored, patting the spot beside her on the loveseat.

Sayaka moved with barely contained excitement and with her cheeks blushing faintly, she took her place right of the president.

(Y/n) smiled from behind her tea cup though her heart ached. They looked cute together, happy. Everyone in the academy had some inkling that the president and her secretary had some kind of relationship beyond their work on the council, but many assumed that Sayaka was being used. Simply a means to an end that would be discarded once the president grew tired of her. Based on how tenderly Kirari wiped a stray crumb from Sayaka’s beet red cheek, (Y/n) would have to disagree with her peers.

With the attentions of Kirari and Sayaka focused away from her, (Y/n) took the opportunity to eat her own lunch. Wherever Sayaka had catered from was really great. (Y/n) happily ate the food on her plate and enjoyed the fish swimming around the large aquarium, lost in her own world.

“Are we too dull to keep your interest, (Y/n)?” Kirari asked, piercing through the girl’s all too temporary peace. Sayaka peered over at her as well, whatever the intelligent eyes were searching for (Y/n) couldn’t guess.

“Not at all! I was just in my own little world, sorry! Did you need something?” (Y/n) sat stiffly in her chair once more, waiting anxiously for the president’s reply.

“Now that you mention it, there is something I need.” Kirari smirked lazily, a hand resting just below her lips. “Unfortunately now is not the time however. Not until I further discuss the details with Sayaka.”

Sayaka looked just as in the dark as (Y/n) was as to knowing what that meant, but she didn’t ask for any clarification on the matter. Trusting that her president would tell her what she saw fit when the time came.

“Just be more present with us. I want us to all be well acquainted and we can’t have that if you keep floating off.” Kirari added. (Y/n) nearly spat out her latest sip of tea when Kirari’s foot slowly dragged up her leg from her ankle to her calf before sliding back down and returning to its original position.

“Okay!” (Y/n) coughed. Some of her tea seemed to have gone down the wrong pipe.

(Y/n) was tense throughout the rest of the lunch period. Especially when the president seemed intent on making (Y/n) watch her feel up Sayaka. Okay, so it wasn’t like, explicit or anything but, still! By the end of the lunch period Kirari had pulled Sayaka close enough that she was practically sitting in her lap. Sayaka at least had the decency to look embarrassed but Kirari just kept talking to (Y/n) as if this was all normal behavior. And who knows, maybe for the president it was.

(Y/n) had never been more relieved to hear the warning bell in her life. She stood quickly, hitting her knees on the table as she did so. Luckily nothing had broken or spilled.

“I’ll just help clean this up quick then head off to class, is that okay?” (Y/n) winced, trying to discreetly rub her knees.

“Mm, that’s alright. A house pet will get it. You may head off to class. Sayaka and I have something to discuss,” Kirari ran her fingers through Sayaka’s ponytail, “be sure to come straight back here after classes let out.”

“Yes, president.” (Y/n) turned towards the door, counting down the seconds until she could breathe again.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, (Y/n)...-san.” Sayaka called after her, still looking red. Perhaps even more so from addressing (Y/n) by her first name out of the blue.

“See you!” (Y/n) squeaked, feeling heat rise in her own cheeks. The president calling her by her first name hadn’t even affected her as strongly as it had when Sayaka just said it. Perhaps because Kirari didn’t seem the type to hold much stake in traditional formalities, but Sayaka certainly seemed the type. To call (Y/n) by her first name without asking her first, even with a formal honorific, it almost made (Y/n) swoon, as foolish as that may sound.

(Y/n) fumbled with the door handle and nearly knocked into the vice president by accident. With an apology quirk on her tongue she continued to walk briskly to her classroom.

“She sure left in a hurry.” Kirari hummed, resting her chin on Sayaka’s shoulder. Ignoring her sister flopping down on the couch. She may have been wearing a mask, but Ririka radiated exhaustion.

“I can’t say I blame her, president- Kirari, you were too... physical with your advances.” Sayaka replied, her hands reached up to cup her own cheeks in an attempt to cool them.

“I was just trying to be friendly, perhaps a little enticing, but how else would we let her know where we stand?”

“You’re moving too fast!” Sayaka exclaimed, “It hasn’t even been a full day since she has started interacting with both of us. You need to gradually work up to it, like with the Tower of Doors, like you did with me.”

“I seem to recall touching you just as much before the completion of the Tower, but perhaps you have a point. Should I be making (Y/n) a tower as well? I suppose it only seems fair.” Kirari looked as if she was already planning the schematics before Sayaka interjected, slightly panicked.

“No! No more towers. (Y/n) is smart, but as you have seen, she is not logical to the same degree as I, and you would most certainly kill her. I would not be able to bare it!”

“Oh, but how interesting it would be to test her mind to the limits.” Kirari spoke wistfully. “To have such an unconventional thought process for dealing with her problems. An irrational rationalism, rather oxymoronic, a paradox. Wouldn’t you say, Say-a-ka?”

“I don’t know why (Y/n) felt the need to touch a seemingly deadly cephalopod in an attempt to get out of answering a sensitive question, but you shouldn’t base a rule off of one experience. Stress has a way of making people do things they wouldn’t normally do. That being said, please don’t make her do anything dangerous.” Sayaka pleaded.

“My, so protective. I thought you said you only had a small crush on her before you met me.” Kirari teased, causing Sayaka to flounder about trying to find her words. “It’s alright, I can see the appeal.”

“The next class period is starting soon. What had you wanted to discuss with me?” Sayaka asked, hoping to derail the current topic of conversation.

“A gamble.” Kirari smiled.

“Ah, a gamble?” Sayaka sighed.

“Yes. I need something a little more stimulating than the election to keep me occupied,” Kirari turned to Ririka for the first time since she entered the room, “Perhaps my dear sister could play dealer for this little wager?”

“No.” Ririka deadpanned, the voice modulator giving the single word a bit more bite. “I love you Kirari, and you’re great Sayaka, but I’ve suffered enough watching you two dance around each other the better part of three years. I don’t want a front row seat to find out how you plan to add a third person into your dynamic.”

“No need to be so pretentious. All you needed to say was that you’re too busy trying to woo Saotome to help your poor, little sister.” Kirari shot back with light theatrics.

“I’m too busy trying to woo Mary to help you, yet again, with your own love life.” Ririka said, fishing her phone out of her skirt pocket to check a text before standing up. “Speaking of, Mary needs me.”

“That girl has changed you. Sometimes I worry it’s for the worse.” Kirari’s words poked at her sister’s retreating figure, hoping to get a rise out of her. She found that she quite liked trying to get under Ririka’s skin now that she had grown a bit of a backbone. Ririka did not give her the satisfaction though, opting to just flat out ignore her sister as she exited the student council room.

“So cold.” Kirari giggled.

“President, Kirari, the gamble?” Sayaka asked trying to get her back on track. She had less than two minutes to get to class now.

“Yes, here is what I have in mind...”

***

“What, you can’t go home now either? (Y/n), that is just tragic.” Tsubasa sympathized, patting (Y/n) on the back until (Y/n) slapped their hand away.

“Knock it off. All I need to do is follow the president and Igarashi-san around for an hour or two while the president gambles. Maybe fetch some things along the way. How hard can it be?”

“(Y/n)-san, are you ready?”

(Y/n) jumped when Sayaka came up behind her and turned swiftly in her direction, “Sure thing, Igarashi-san!”

“Bye (Y/n),” Tsubasa crooned with a mischievous grin, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“What are you even talking about? You know what, I don’t want to know.” (Y/n) waved them off and moved to fall in step beside Sayaka, following her to the student council room.

The halls had vacated rather quickly after school hours. Students usual were in a rush to get to the gambling dens or go home. Of course there was a small population that participated in extracurriculars as well, but in this school such things were of little importance.

After Sayaka and (Y/n) turned the first corner, the lingering voices from their classroom faded further into the background until all they could hear was their shoes clipping in near synchronization against the floor.

“Just Sayaka is fine.”

“Huh?” (Y/n) turned her head to face Sayaka, noting the flush of her cheeks as they continued walking.

“I have referred to you by your first name so you may call me Sayaka, I don’t mind.” She elaborated, still looking straight ahead.

“Oh! Sure, thank you, um, Sayaka-san.” (Y/n) stuttered out. Before long, her expression looked just as bashful as Sayaka’s. Never would she have dreamed that she and Sayaka would be on a first name basis! (Y/n) was already on a high from that objectively small step towards familiarity when Sayaka did something that nearly sent (Y/n) into cardiac arrest. She held her hand.

(Y/n)’s neck jerked from Sayaka’s pink face to their conjoined hands several times within the first few seconds of the unsuspected contact, her voice was strangled by her vocal chords allowing only the most pitiful confused squeaks to surface until she quickly clamped her own mouth shut with her free hand.

“I’m sorry, I have poor circulation. Y-you don’t mind warming my hand for a minute, do you?” Sayaka’s delivery was almost smooth, but even if she hadn’t fumbled with the line, the look on her face was anything but calm and confident.

“You’re fine!” (Y/n) winced internally. She sounded much too enthusiastic and spoke much too quick. Sayaka was going to think she was a creep for sure now. But no, Sayaka did not seem overly bothered by the quick reply. She actually seemed, relieved?

“We never did get to talk about why I was looking for you over lunch.” Sayaka stated, seemingly content to carry on a conversation while their hands swayed between them with each step.

“No, I suppose we didn’t.” (Y/n) replied. Her heart twinged, thinking back on how close Sayaka and the president had been. She needed to remind herself not to get her hopes up about Sayaka, even if she was currently threading her fingers between (Y/n)’s own.

“You must know by now that I saw the broadcast, Midari’s gamble.”

(Y/n) swallowed audibly, hoping desperately that her hand wouldn’t start sweating. “I figured as much. But the president did tell me that.”

“I see. Well, I wanted to talk to you about what you said. About your truth. I needed to talk with the president about it first of course. Then by the time we had it sorted out, it had been a few days and I had already noticed you hadn’t been in class at all so I had started looking for you. I wanted to tell you—“

“Don’t worry about it!” (Y/n) cut in with a forced smile, “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?” Sayaka asked, (Y/n) almost believed that the secretary had gripped her hand harder just then, but quickly pushed the thought away. Chalking it up to more wishful thinking.

“Yeah, I knew I never had a chance. I was actually kind of hoping you just wouldn’t bring it up, but knowing you, I should've guessed you would want to follow the rules of etiquette and reject me formally.” (Y/n) had said, struggling to keep the melancholy out of her tone.

“(Y/n),” Sayaka actually looked rather pained, but the expression was lost on (Y/n) as the other girl tried to distract herself by looking out the windows they passed. “That’s not what I-“

“There you two are. Having fun without me I see.” Sayaka and (Y/n) whipped their heads forward, watching Kirari walking towards them as the student council room doors closed behind her with a dull thud. “Need I remind you that there are gambles that require my attention?” Kirari smirked lightly.

Sayaka looked momentarily torn before finally addressing her president. “I apologize president. I hadn’t realized we were running late.”

“Oh, you weren’t. I’m just feeling antsy today I suppose.” Kirari shrugged her shoulders lackadaisically before making a show of noticing Sayaka and (Y/n)’s connected hands. “My, I hope I wasn’t intruding on anything just now. Look how close you two are already. I think I might even be jealous.” Kirari said, her soft smirk never once faltered as her glacial eyes pinned the underclassmen in place.

“She said her hand was cold is all!” (Y/n) quickly explained, and although her hold on Sayaka’s hand slackened, the secretary did not take the invitation to remove her hand. “You’re more than welcome to take my place. I’m sure she’d prefer your company anyway.”

“I see,” Kirari’s eyes drifted over Sayaka for a moment, “Unfortunately, I suffer from the same ailment. In fact, I’d argue I’m worse off than Sayaka in that regard. I hadn’t realized you would be so valuable, (Y/n),” Kirari closed the distance between them, surprising (Y/n) by slipping her hand into (Y/n)’s free one. “Mm, yes, I could get used to this.”

If (Y/n) thought Sayaka’s hand was cool to the touch, Kirari’s was literal ice. Were the rumors of her being a vampire true? My god, her hand was down right freezing maybe the blue coloring of her nails wasn’t even polish.

“Well then, the gambling hall awaits. Not that I care to appease the masses, but Sayaka insists I entertain the delusions of the smaller fish.” Kirari sighed.

“I want to see you come out on top of this election, president. Every vote counts.” Sayaka stated matter-of-factly.

(Y/n) just stared blankly ahead as they strolled down the hall, occasionally looking down at her hands, each encompassed by the hands of the president and her secretary who continued to talk around her. She would have pinched herself if she had a free hand to do so.

Before they entered the den, Sayaka and Kirari disengaged, breaking (Y/n) from her trance just in time for (Y/n) to tune into the president’s words now directed at her.

“I do hope you have a vivid imagination, (Y/n). I can’t fathom that any of these matches will be particularly entertaining to watch.”

Sayaka looked the slightest bit irked by the president’s behavior, but it was very subtle. Especially when devotion and loyalty always seemed to shine most prominently when she looked at her. Sayaka motioned (Y/n) to open the left side of the double doors while Sayaka herself opened the right, allowing Kirari to saunter right in. Any ambient noise that they had heard before died instantly upon the president’s entry.

The trio made their way to the back, center table and Sayaka pulled out the vacant chair that would serve as Kirari’s throne for the evening. Kirari sat gracefully, hooking one knee over the other she smiled down at the students who had already gathered around the free seats before connecting eyes with the election committee member who would serve as their dealer.

“Let us not waste anymore time. What are we playing tonight?” Kirari asked. (Y/n) could only see her side profile from where she stood beside Sayaka, but she swore those endlessly blue eyes were glowing.

***

Despite Kirari’s warning, (Y/n) found she was not bored at all. Kirari was a gambling beast. Claiming vote after vote until none remained and the room was quiet for a whole other reason, everyone had left, dejected and voteless.

“Another clean sweep Momobami-san. I’ll be sure to process the votes before the updated rankings come out tomorrow.” Inaho informed.

“I see. Thank you for your diligence.” Kirari replied offhandedly as she rose from her seat. “Sayaka, is my car waiting out front?”

“Of course, president.” Sayaka nodded.

“Let’s be on our way then.”

(Y/n) walked with them until they reached the school gate. Expecting to go their separate ways from there, but when she made to continue past the expensive black car, Kirari stopped her.

“I hope you weren’t planning on waking home. It’s already quite late you know.”

“I always walk home, actually. It’s really not that far. I’ll be fine.” (Y/n) assured.

“If you live so close then come with us. I’ll have the driver drop you off.” Kirari left no room for argument, cementing her position by waving (Y/n) into the doorway Sayaka had pulled open.

“If you insist...” (Y/n) crawled in and sat at the far end of the car. She was amazed at how spacious it was in there and how soft the seats were. The vehicle also still had that new car smell, (Y/n) vaguely wondered if the Momobamis just bought a new car every week.

Kirari crawled in soon after her, followed by Sayaka closing the door tightly behind her. The secretary signaled the driver before pushing a button that closed the privacy window, blocking the driver’s view of them in the back seat.

(Y/n) tilted her head to look out the window however, her jaw was quickly snapped up between icy fingers, pulling her vision back to the interior of the car.

“Not this again.” Kirari tutted, keeping her hold on (Y/n)’s jaw, “Sayaka and I are right here. Surely you could spare us a few minutes of your attention.”

“Sorry.” (Y/n) gulped, feeling the icy fingers slide down her cheeks to her neck before pulling away. Staring at the two of them, their eyes, it was like being caught between the deepest depths of the sea and the furthest reaches of outer space. It was intense, who could blame (Y/n) for trying to look away.

“Ah,” Kirari startled (Y/n) by leaning fully against her side, resting her cheek fully against (Y/n)’s shoulder, “what a dull evening this has turned out to be. It’s only Monday as well.”

(Y/n) felt more weight press her a tad further against the car door and saw Sayaka lean against Kirari in turn like the three of them were toppled dominos.

“Keep pushing on president. The weekend will come faster than you think.” Sayaka assured, reaching one arm over Kirari to cover (Y/n)’s hand that was picking at the hem of her skirt, stilling the movement and further confusing the poor girl.

“Mm, but do I have anything to look forward to this weekend dear Say-a-ka?” Kirari playfully tapped Sayaka’s nose for each syllable of her name, causing the secretary’s nose to scrunch cutely.

“Well, that’s the gamble, isn’t it?” Sayaka answered back, her eyes shifted to meet (Y/n)’s as of trying to convey something to her.

“Mm, I suppose you’re right.” Kirari agreed, joining Sayaka’s hand over (Y/n)’s.

“What gamble? Is it for the election?” (Y/n) asked, dipping a metaphorical toe into the conversation. Even if Kirari seemed to want her attention, that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted her commentary. She still didn’t know where she was supposed to fit in this new role. Kirari, however, seemed pleased with her query.

“No, it’s a separate affair. I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out. Sayaka rarely indulges me when it comes to such things. Tell me, (Y/n),” Kirari’s eyes glinted, “which of us do you think will come out on top?”

“Kirari!” Sayaka scolded halfheartedly.

(Y/n) felt her cheeks prickle with heat. Was that supposed to be an innuendo or did Sayaka simply want to keep the gamble to themselves? She wasn’t sure. Still, it would be unwise to drop the subject when the president was so clearly waiting for an answer.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure, president.” (Y/n) answered diplomatically. “What are you gambling for, if I may ask?”

“That, dear (Y/n),” Kirari drew in close, “is a secret for another time.”

(Y/n) gulped at the proximity then sighed when Kirari pulled back to play with Sayaka’s ponytail. She was somehow both relieved and disappointed to have her own space back.

“It appears we’ve reached your destination.” Kirari spoke as the car came to a smooth stop at the curb. “Be sure to get a good night’s sleep. Don’t think Sayaka and I hadn’t noticed the dark circles under your eyes.”

“Yes, please sleep well (Y/n).” Sayaka echoed, earning a chuckle from Kirari.

“You also sleep too little for my liking. Don’t think I forgot about that ‘accidental’ phone call at four in the morning last week.” Kirari taunted lightly.

“Kirari!” Sayaka covered her eyes, embarrassed.

“I’ll try to get some sleep.” (Y/n) smiled, stepping out of the car. She bent over to look back in, “Thank you for the ride. Good night, sleep well. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

(Y/n) stood straight up and closed the car door. She walked to the curb outside her house and waved at the car as it picked up speed and disappeared down the road.

No one else was home. They were either out working or out on business retreats or cocktail parties so the first thing (Y/n) did upon entering her home was yell about the fucking weird turn her life was taking.

***

It was Friday and (Y/n) felt like she had aged thirty years in the last four days. For some reason beyond her comprehension, Sayaka and Kirari had become even more... touchy, since Monday. Every touch, especially from Kirari, seemed methodical. Like they were trying to provoke a certain reaction from (Y/n). What kind, she wasn’t sure. But they would often say some sweet words and get way too close to (Y/n)’s face. Close enough that if (Y/n) didn’t keep her wits about her, she was worried she’d close the short distance and kiss one of them.

“I don’t know what they’re making you do over there in that council room, but I think you need to ask for a vacation or something because you look like shit.” Tsubasa had lovingly told (Y/n) during class.

“I don’t know what they’re trying to do to me.” (Y/n) groaned, rubbing her palms harshly against her eyes.

“What are they doing to you?”

“I don’t even know how to explain. ‘Don’t think I want to.” (Y/n) leaned further into her desk.

“They’re trying to seduce you already, huh?” Tsubasa grinned.

“No!” (Y/n) hissed back. “Stop saying stuff like that!”

“Well, whatever’s going on, you clearly need a break.”

“I would love a break, but in case you forgot, I pretty much sold my soul to the president for the rest of high school. It doesn’t seem like an option.”

“I have an idea. What if you just, broke your legs?” Tsubasa suggested, looking pleased with themself. (Y/n) frowned at them, unimpressed.

“How the hell would that help?”

“Bed rest. Can’t really follow them around all day with broken legs now can you?”

“They’d probably get me a wheelchair. It’s make more sense to fake having tuberculosis or something. Rather than actually break my own legs.”

“Oh now you’re all about self preservation. Where did octopus girl go?” Tsubasa mocked jokingly. (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“That’s it!”

(Y/n) and Tsubasa jumped in their seats and all their classmates swiveled in their seats to look back at them. Their algebra teacher seemed to have finally had enough of their little conversation.

“(L/n)-san, can you tell me what I just said?”

“No sir, I apologize.” (Y/n) quickly replied, heat crawling up her neck and settling in her cheeks.

“That’s what I thought,” the teacher shook his head despondently before switching his gaze to Tsubasa who looked largely unaffected, “I’m not even going to ask you. I need both of you to stay after class.”

“But, but lunch!” Tsubasa cried, their expression turned on a dime.

“It won’t take long. Everyone else may leave a few minutes early so we can have the classroom to ourselves.”

(Y/n) watched everyone else get up to leave. Her eyes caught Sayaka’s and she felt even more embarrassed at the sympathetic wave she gave her before following the rest of the class out of the door.

***

“Man, that teacher had no chill today, huh?” Tsubasa grinned when they finally came out of the classroom.

“Yeah, now I’m late. Thanks for making me suffer through that talk.” (Y/n)’s frown deepened.

“It’s about time honestly. I was starting to think he had a bias against me.”

“My work shows I’m learning something. You never get above a ‘D’, so of course he’d be more pissed at you.” (Y/n) looked up at the clock on the wall and noted the time,  “I’ve got to get to the student council room. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, maybe we should get in trouble more often. I hardly get to see you these days.”

“I’d really rather not make a habit of getting chewed out by teachers. I got to go.” (Y/n) called over her shoulder, already making her way to the student council room. When she arrived, the door was already partly ajar and she heard Sayaka and Kirari talking to each other.

“Time is running out for our little gamble Sayaka. At our current standings it appears that we both may lose.”

(Y/n) paused just out of sight. She had forgotten about Sayaka and Kirari’s secret gamble. With a wave of curiosity flowing through her she stood quietly, waiting to see if she could hear anything else about the wager.

“You do like a challenge, Kirari. I can’t imagine she could hold out much longer though. I’m sure (Y/n) would have kissed me yesterday if you had not sent Midari to interfere.”

(Y/n) knew what Sayaka was referring to instantly. Yesterday, she and Sayaka had paused to sit at the fountain in the courtyard. Sayaka had told (Y/n) she had something in her hair and combed her fingers through it, smiling tenderly all the while. They had been so close, then Midari ran up and belly flopped into the shallow waters, dousing her fellow Sazanka classmates with it. (Y/n) never would have thought Sayaka had actually wanted to kiss her before that moment.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kirari giggled, “Besides, (Y/n) and I have had a few close encounters ourselves. It’s anyone’s game.”

(Y/n) was in shock. We’re they really trying to make her kiss on of them for a gamble? Her blood began to boil. Was this all just some funny game to them? They knew about her feelings for Sayaka, they had to be making fun of her.

(Y/n) roughly gripped the door handle and swung the door open, startling Sayaka, but Kirari simply looked back with a raised brow and an amused smile.

“I don’t care that I have to be a secretary to a secretary for the rest of my days at this academy, but I refuse to be played with like this!” (Y/n) shot angrily. “Oh, (Y/n)’s so pathetic and desperate! Let’s see if we can get her to kiss one of us so we can laugh about it later!” (Y/n) mocked. “Well, I refuse to be walked over like this.”

“Oh, (Y/n)! It’s not like that I swear!” Sayaka pleaded, stepping towards (Y/n) only for the other girl to step away from her.

“(Y/n),” Kirari singsonged, “you are talking about things you do not fully understand. Come sit so we can discuss this and shed some clarity on the situation.”

“No!” (Y/n) clenched her firsts tightly against her sides. “I need some time to myself.”

“(Y/n), wait!” Sayaka called after her, but (Y/n) was already darting out the door and jogging down the hall.

She kept going, slipping out a side exit and headed to one of the back trails of the school forest. As she continued on, she happened upon a small pond, filled with algae. There was a large flat bolder at the shore that looked about just as good a place as any to host a mental breakdown so she sat there, pulling her knees to her chest. (Y/n) sat there looking at a frog that rested half submerged in the duckweed and algae. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket but she ignored it.

“Fuck school.” She muttered to herself. She was sure it was a text from Kirari. Lunch period had ended ten minutes ago and she was supposed to be in class right now. “I’m taking a vacation day.”

Something startled the frog and it dipped under the water, leaving the duckweed to swirl above the disturbed surface. Then a body came into (Y/n)’s peripheral and sat beside her on the boulder and she jerked her head to fully take in the invader.

“Vice president.” (Y/n) stared at the upperclassman, startled by her ghostly presence “What are you doing here?”

“Kirari tasked me with retrieving you and returning you to your studies.” Ririka’s voice crackled beneath the mask.

“I see. I can’t say I’m surprised, it was part of the deal after all.” (Y/n) frowned pensively.

“It was too easy to find you. Now we will just have to stay here for awhile. I could use a nap.”

(Y/n) stared at the vice president, her mouth slightly agape while she watched the masked girl lay back against the rock. Ririka laced her fingers over her stomach and released a relaxed breath. Though through the modulator it sounded more like a ghostly moan.

“You aren’t going to make me go back?” (Y/n) asked.

“Not yet, making Kirari wait should be a more than fitting punishment for being such an idiot.”

“Hh... huh?” (Y/n) didn’t know what to think about any of this. Was she seriously hanging out with the vice president now? Listening to her call the most terrifying person in the school an idiot?

“She has a uniquely awful way of dealing with her feelings that is simply exhausting. I thought once she and Sayaka got together she’d smarten up a bit, but Sayaka continues to indulge in her nonsense.” Ririka looked up at (Y/n) through the black mesh that covered her eyes, “They really do like you, you know.”

“You must be mistaken, vice president.” (Y/n) shook her head, a humorless laugh bubbled past her lips. “It’s all just for some stupid gamble.”

“I never said they were good at conveying it in a way that makes sense.” Ririka shrugged. “Kirari’s idea of a love letter to Sayaka was a five story tower that came with a four out of five chance of death. You should feel relieved that they dialed it back for you.”

“I don’t understand. I heard them talking. It was all for a gamble to see who could make me kiss them.”

“Did you hear what the wager was?” Ririka asked.

“No, but does it really matter?” (Y/n) sighed, looking back out at the pond.

“The winner would get to go out on a date with you first and the loser would have to pay for it.”

(Y/n) stared down at Ririka incredulously.

“Believe me, I know it makes no sense. They both intend to date you, but they don’t seem to know how to go about asking.”

“But, aren’t they already dating each other? I don’t...” (Y/n) went quiet, trying to piece it all together. Her head was starting to hurt.

“It all started during the tournament. We noticed Sayaka was agitated watching the event, but we really didn’t understand why until the octopus round. Kirari wouldn’t let it go, of course. So she finally got Sayaka to admit that she had a crush on you before meeting her.” Ririka recalled.

“Then they spent the following couple days talking about that, and about the possibility of inviting you to join them on a date and then, yeah, you see where that all spiraled off to.”

“That’s... they really like me like that?” (Y/n) whispered.

“Yes, you have my condolences.” Ririka’s phone rumbled in her pocket and she took it out to check it. (Y/n)’s phone rumbled not too long after.

While Ririka read her sister’s text, (Y/n) read her own.

Five new messages

12:14pm

President Momobami: (Y/n), I hope you aren’t planning on backing out on our agreement. I will give you one class period of reprieve, then you must get back to class. We will talk after school.

12:15pm

Igarashi Sayaka: (Y/n), where are you? I’m so sorry, but I swear it’s not what you think.

12:18pm

Igarashi Sayaka: I’m worried about you. Please come back.

12:19pm

Igarashi Sayaka: Please talk to me. At least let me know that you’re okay.

1:02pm

TsuBAKA: where r u? Igarashi looks feral lmao but srsly what u up to?

(Y/n) sighed and turned off her phone without answering any of the messages.

“It’s time to head back, (L/n)-san.” Ririka stood and stretched, “Please don’t make me drag you back as the president suggests.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) scooted off the boulder and smoothed her skirt into place, “thank you for explaining everything to me, Veep. I’m still kind of worked up, but this really helped.”

“When you work as closely with the president as I do, damage control becomes second nature.” Ririka deadpanned.

When they made their way back into the building it was within the five minute break between class periods. (Y/n) waved goodbye to Ririka before walking into her classroom where students were quietly talking amongst themselves. Immediately she heard a desk chair screech harshly against the floor and she looked up just in time to see Sayaka push her right back out the door. She took her by the hand and pulled her down the hall and turned the corner to a more secluded hallway.

“Ah!” (Y/n) gasped when Sayaka pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Sayaka scolded. “We really need to talk.”

“And we will,” (Y/n) pulled back from the hug a bit, “but first we better finish the school day. I’m already on thin ice for violating my contract with the president for one class period.”

“Don’t worry. She understands, we both do,” Sayaka took (Y/n)’s hands in hers, “But before we have to sit through another three class periods, I want to tell you how sorry I am. I promise it’s not what you thought, we just went about it in an entirely inappropriate way and I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make it right!” Sayaka proclaimed, growing steadily louder with each word, making (Y/n) wince, but also smile a small, appreciative smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Sayaka. You’re well on your way to fulfilling that promise already.” (Y/n) lightly squeezed Sayaka’s hands before letting them go, making the secretary blush. “The teacher will be in soon, better get back to class.”

“Right.” Sayaka followed (Y/n) back into the classroom. Taking her seat, she had finally taken notice of the drumming of her heart. At least (Y/n) didn’t seem as devastated as she had when she stormed out of the student council room, but now she was worried for a whole other reason. Would (Y/n) still be interested in her after all of this, or was it all too much for her?

“What was that all about? Trouble in your office role play?”

“Shut up, Tsubasa.”

***

The classes dragged on and on. When they were finally done, all (Y/n) really wanted to do was go home and sleep the weekend away, but life had other plans.

Sayaka watched (Y/n) gather her belongings intently. As if she was afraid (Y/n) would disappear if she withdrew her gaze. With one last annoying look from Tsubasa, (Y/n) approached Sayaka and they made their way to the student council room together. Sayaka’s mind was whirring with the proper sentiments to convey to her classmate, yet she held her tongue. Deciding it would be best to do so with the president by her side.

Upon entering the room, they saw Kirari gazing into her aquarium. She was seemingly too lost to hear them enter, but of course someone like Kirari Momobami was never one to be caught off guard. Kirari turned to face her underclassmen, offering a slight smile.

“(Y/n), what a pleasant surprise. Are you done with your tantrum?” Kirari teased, much to Sayaka’s chagrin.

“President!” Sayaka warned, cheeks red.

“That depends,” (Y/n) crossed her arms, “are you going to explain yourselves?” (Y/n) doubted that the vice president would lie to her, but to hear it directly from the horse’s mouth would make her feel much more secure.

“Explanations,” Kirari sighed, moving to stand in front of (Y/n), “I don’t do explanations. Not in anyway that makes sense, at least, according to Sayaka,” smile never changing she turned her head to Sayaka, “perhaps you could explain the logistics of it, Sayaka?”

“I should have expected as much,” Sayaka grumbled lightly, earning a chuckle from Kirari. She took (Y/n) by the hand and sat her down on the large, plush couch nearby before taking a seat next to her, “(Y/n) in order to keep this as simple as possible, I’m going to be very brief. I’ll be happy to answer any questions once I present our case.” Sayaka spoke as if she was getting ready to do a presentation.

“Mm, so methodical.” Kirari hummed, taking the empty seat on (Y/n)’s other side, making their thighs touch despite the ample space left on the furniture. Sayaka ignored her and began her explanation.

“The president... Kirari and I, want to date you. Kirari came up with the idea that whichever one of us you kissed first would get to take you out somewhere first while the other had to pay and stay home. It wasn’t our intention to hurt you. We really should have just asked you like the vice president suggested. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m confused,” (Y/n) started, trying to ignore how Kirari kept dancing the fingers of one of her hands up and down (Y/n)’s thigh, presumably out of boredom, “If you both want to date me, why wouldn’t you just... why was the gamble a one or the other thing? Why wouldn’t you both get to go?”

Kirari’s fingers stopped tapping and Sayaka’s face drew a blank. (Y/n) took the silence as a sign to keep going.

“Like, okay, say this somehow worked and one of you took me out on a date. Then what? Did you think you could just... switch off? Were you actually planning to approach me about polygamy or was it supposed to be some kind of surprise? And doesn’t it sound backwards to kiss before we actually start dating anyway?”

“We hadn’t thought about that.” They answered in comical unison after a few moments of dead air silence.

“Wow, now I understand why the vice president is so tired.” (Y/n) released a laugh of disbelief, “You two are kind of hopeless, no offense.”

“I would advise you watch your tongue, (Y/n),” Kirari shifted her weight to loom over (Y/n) with their faces inches apart, “I had previously chosen to ignore your insubordination earlier, but if you’re going to tempt me, a punishment may be in order after all.”

“Here is the new gamble,” Kirari continued, eyes gleaming, “kiss Sayaka, and she wins, kiss me, and I win. Whoever loses still has to pay for the excursion, but gets to tag along. Of course, you could choose to walk out the door if you so desire. Just keep in mind that I technically own you.”

“Kirari! You can’t just coerce her like that! We already failed with the first gamble attempt. I’m all gambled out, can we not push (Y/n) further away please?” Sayaka pleaded.

“I’ll do it.” (Y/n) shrugged, standing up from her seat and turning to face the other two girls still on the couch.

“You... you will?” Sayaka asked. She really couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, can you two stand up, please.”

“My, (Y/n). I must say I didn’t expect you to take the bait after our misunderstanding earlier,” Kirari stood up, poised as ever, “I’m excited to witness your choice.”

(Y/n) stared between her two choices, eyeing their expressions, their body language, for any last second tells that this was all just a dream or a cruel prank and found nothing. She took in a deep breath and nodded to herself.

“President.”

“Yes?” Kirari smirked. She hardly moved forward before (Y/n) stopped her.

“Could you lean down a little? A little more... great.” (Y/n) cupped Kirari’s left cheek and startled Sayaka by cupping the secretary’s right cheek. She pushed the duo’s heads together until they were cheek to burning cheek and angled their surprisingly pliant faces until they were more or less kissing each other awkwardly with the corner of their lips. With one quick look at her handy work, (Y/n) hummed and leaned in. It was hard to do so with so many noses in the way, but she tilted her head back and managed to land a chaste kiss on both the icy blue and glossy pink lips before her.

“Ha, bet you weren’t expecting that now, were you?” (Y/n) pulled back with a grin. It hadn’t been a sexy first kiss, but it was going to be a memorable one, that was for sure.

After a beat of silence, Kirari began to laugh. Sayaka smiled beneath the hand she had brought up to her lips.

“So now what happens?” (Y/n) asked, feeling a bit smug for finding some kind of loophole in the gamble, until- “MMPH!”

Kirari’s lips met (Y/n)’s fervently and just as quickly as she descended, she pulled back just a hair to speak, her lips brushed against (Y/n)’s now quivering ones with each word. “That’s the best part, (Y/n),” Kirari paused for a kitten lick at the corner of (Y/n)’s lips, “You see, we had discussed what we would do if you had decided to play us both in our original gamble. Since Sayaka and I have both won, we choose what we will do together, the three of us, and you will pay.”

“What!?” (Y/n) felt sweat slide down her cheek, swearing she could hear it sizzle out once it came into contact with the heated flesh. Her tongue darted out of her mouth of its own volition to taste the tacky flavor of the blue lipstick residue Kirari had left on her lips. Kirari was going to kiss her like that and then try to pull a fast one on her like that? “You can’t do that! That was the previous gamble! The rules changed when you presented this new version of it to me!”

“Perhaps you should have asked me what would happen in the event of a tie then. I had decided your punishment would be for me to withhold the trivial information about ties.” Kirari smirked, running her fingers through (Y/n)’s hair. “If it makes you feel any better, your solution was still a bit of a surprise. We had only accounted for you kissing each of us behind the other’s back, not kissing us at the same time. Had you tried to be secretive in your advances, Sayaka and I would have had a lovely night to ourselves at your expense.”

“Oh that’s such—!” (Y/n)’s jaw was pulled to the side and her lips were captured by someone else. This kiss was much softer, and lasted a tad longer. When Sayaka pulled back

(Y/n) had forgotten how she was going to cuss out Kirari, which was probably a blessing.

“I know it was an absolute mess to get to this point, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m so glad Midari came up with that idiotic gambling event.” Sayaka smiled, resting her forehead against (Y/n)’s arm.

“Yes, this has been quite the interesting development. I’m looking forward to seeing how this turns out,” Kirari added, speaking more as if this was a science experiment rather than a major change in a relationship dynamic with not just (Y/n), but Sayaka as well.

“You two are so fucking weird.” (Y/n) laughed breathlessly, swinging an arm around both of them to hug them close, “You’re both lucky I like you guys so much.”

“You’re lucky you piqued my interest or you would find yourself as a house pet before you could say mittens.” Kirari easily replied.

“Get along you two. Can we not just enjoy the moment?” Sayaka sighed.

“Are we not getting along? I thought we were doing just fine.” Kirari asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“Sorry Sayaka.” (Y/n) apologized sheepishly, hesitantly resting her cheek on the top of Sayaka’s head.

The door to the council room clicked open and Sayaka and (Y/n) startled and moved away from their little group huddle.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Kirari smirked as she watched her sister come in and close the door behind her. “Look Ririka,” Kirari spoke, a hint of excitement audible in her tone as she pulled Sayaka and (Y/n) back to her body, “I’ve got two girlfriends. That’s 200% more girlfriends than you possess.”

Ririka rolled her eyes beneath her mask. “Godspeed, (L/n)-san.”

“You always tell me how unconventional-“

“The word I used was convoluted.” Ririka interjected, (Y/n) snorted.

“But it obviously works,” Kirari continued on, not at all discouraged, “if you need me to set you and Saotome up with something I’ll gladly offer you my expertise.”

“Entirely unnecessary. Besides, if Mary so much as smelled you anywhere near the vicinity of where we were, she wouldn’t be happy about it to say the least.”

“Have it your way, dear sister,” Kirari  shrugged, looping her arms with Sayaka and (Y/n)’s, “we three have much to discuss for our outing tomorrow so we’ll be on our way. I’ll see you when you decide to come home.” Ririka waved dismissively while Kirari guided Sayaka and (Y/n) out the large double doors.

“But, election gambles!” Sayaka’s reminder went ignored.

“Wait, sisters?” Ririka heard (Y/n) ask as the trio left the room and she shook her head. Ririka’s phone buzzed and she checked the text and smiled.

3:32pm

Mary: Hey dumb dumb, done talking to evil incarnate yet? I’d like to get to that movie before the previews start.

3:32pm

Ririka: omw <3️🏻

***

Saturday came and (Y/n) prayed for her bank account. She was far better off financially than a scholarship student, but she wasn’t Momobami level rich. She still couldn’t believe she had to pay after all of that nonsense. She waited outside of her house, casually dressed as per Sayaka’s instructions. When a familiar sleek, black car pulled up to her she got in and was warmly greeted by her dates.

“Alright,” (Y/n) smiled nervously, “what have you two decided on for today?”

“We’re going to drive to the ocean, have lunch at a lovely local bistro, and then walk along the beach. Isn’t that right Kirari?” Sayaka leveled a look at Kirari that screamed no funny business.

“Yes,” Kirari sighed, “I wanted to go to the moon again, but Sayaka wouldn’t agree to it.”

“T... to the moon, again.” (Y/n) slowly parroted. She turned to Sayaka and shared her gratitude to the secretary with a light kiss on the cheek and a whispered thanks for rescuing her trust fund.

Lunch was great, a lovely view of the ocean from the outdoor deck they were dining on. They shared bites of their meals together, talked and laughed. They had a wonderful time and (Y/n) was surprised by the normalcy she felt sitting there with Kirari and Sayaka.

Then they walked on the beach, feeling the sand squish and grind between their toes. (Y/n) carried both hers and Sayaka’s shoes with one hand while the other was entangled with Sayaka’s fingers. Sayaka’s other hand was held by Kirari as the lightly swung their hands with each step. Eventually they slowed down and found a nice place to sit for awhile and watch the waves with some ice cream from a nearby vendor. After their rest, they continued walking along the shore, looking for neat shells and rocks.

As the sky turned pink, they watched how the sun seemed to get swallowed by the sea and they took that as their sign to start heading back home. They made their way back up to the nearest sidewalk where their driver was already waiting for them and piled into the car, giggling and recapping their favorite moments of the day.

They were about halfway home when Sayaka fell asleep. The car being as spacious as it was, allowed for the secretary to be maneuvered so that her head rested in (Y/n)’s lap and Kirari could move to sit on (Y/n)’s other side to leave room for Sayaka’s legs. Kirari and (Y/n) continued to talk quietly together. (Y/n) yawned, prompting Kirari to pull (Y/n)’s head into her chest.

“Sleep,” Kirari soothed, cool fingers rested against (Y/n)’s hairline, “I’ll wake you upon our arrival.”

(Y/n) nodded against Kirari’s chest and dozed off. Allowing the smooth motions and gentle whirring sounds of the car, as well as the even beats of Kirari’s heart, to lull her to sleep.

Kirari watched the blurred city lights come into view from the far window of the car. Her left hand lightly massaged (Y/n)’s scalp while her right held Sayaka’s. The younger girl had a cute habit of sleeping with her hands near her face, sometimes going as far to completely cover her nose and mouth. Kirari often wondered how she could even breathe like that. Kirari chuckled quietly and raised Sayaka’s hand to her lips, giving a kiss before lowering it again gently, the movement stirred Sayaka, but ultimately she remained asleep, snuggling further into (Y/n)’s lap.

Next, she rested her face in (Y/n)’s hair, inhaling the newer scent that seemed to compliment her own and Sayaka’s so well. She could really get used to this. Kirari pressed a kiss in (Y/n)’s hair. Kirari didn’t receive a reaction, but she simply chalked that up to be due in part by the stress of the week wrecking (Y/n)’s sleep schedule.

Kirari would have felt regret for having to wake them both, if not for the fact that she was excited to see their sleepy, grumpy faces staring bleary eyed at her. It was far too cute.

“This isn’t my house?” (Y/n) mumbled tiredly, rubbing her eyes.

“You disclosed earlier that your household is empty most weekends. Sayaka’s and my own are much the same. It will be nice not to have to spend the rest of the night alone, will it not?”

“I guess, but I’ll probably pass out as soon as I touch a pillow.” (Y/n) shivered as the cool night air hit her body. Sayaka, who was also too tired to function, latched on to (Y/n) in an attempt to keep warm.

“That’s the plan, now please, come in.”

If (Y/n) wasn’t so exhausted she would freak out at the vastness of Kirari’s estate. They got into a freaking elevator at one point and then kept walking down the grand corridor passing door after door, until they finally stopped at one and Kirari ushered them inside. Large fish tanks framed the walls, painting the dark room in a soft blue, ambient light.

Kirari guided (Y/n) and Sayaka to the bathroom to brush their teeth and to just get ready to sleep comfortably in general. Sayaka already had her own toothbrush there and scrubbed at her teeth with her eyes drooping shut.

“Don’t forget to take out your contacts.” Kirari reminded her softly before opening a nearby cabinet to supply (Y/n) with a toothbrush of her own. (Y/n) never would have dreamed the girl who came up with the house pet system could be so gentle.

The three girls brushed their teeth and washed their faces. Then they changed into some pajamas that Kirari had provided and made their way to the opposite side of the room where the bed lay. A bed that probably could sleep a family of five comfortably.

Kirari pulled back the covers and crawled in. Sayaka was quick to follow and was unusually demanding, curling into Kirari while also tugging (Y/n) in behind her. They snuggled into the silky sheets, holding each other close. (Y/n) had almost fallen back asleep before Sayaka sat up in bed with a cute, little frown on her face.

“Wait, goodnight kisses.”

(Y/n) almost laughed, simply believing Sayaka was too tired to filter her thoughts and desires, but the Kirari sat up as well

“I almost thought you had forgotten, Say-a-ka. Here,” Kirari pulled Sayaka in and gave her a short and sweet kiss that made the secretary hum happily.

“(Y/n),” Sayaka turned with an uncharacteristic pout, sleepy Sayaka was too cute, “come up, you too.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” (Y/n) sat up, allowing Sayaka to clumsily bump into her lips before the secretary fell back against the pillows, content.

“May I have one?” Kirari smirked, leaning over Sayaka’s body between them.

“You may.” (Y/n) had hardly gotten the words out before Kirari swooped in.

“Good night.” Kirari whispered, noting that Sayaka had already fallen back asleep.

“Good Night, Kirari.” (Y/n) smiled back as she wormed back under the covers to snuggle against Sayaka’s back. Kirari slipped back under the covers as well, draping an arm over Sayaka side and one of (Y/n)’s arms to rub them soothingly with her cool, soft skin.

Before long, Kirari and (Y/n) fell asleep along side Sayaka to the sound of bubbling water and the hum of the fish tanks surrounding them.

[pinkfluffybunnyy]

and like a moth to a flame, i'll find your light everytime: chapter 4

previous chapter: chapter 3 next chapter: chapter 5

content warnings: mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of medical settings

dividers by: @delishlydelightfuldividersand @anlian-aishang

(Y/N) sat in the driveway of her apartment, gathering the courage to put the car into drive after collecting her work bag. The numb feeling she’d been nursing was starting to fade, leaving room for a colossal wave of grief to hit her like a tsunami. She hit the steering wheel and let out a loud scream, attempting to release all the pain she was in. It didn’t work.

Fat, angry tears escaped from her eyes, blurring her vision. She sat in her car, wailing like a tall child, a dagger laced with betrayal wedged right through her heart.

How the fuck could he marry her of all people? She thought he was supposed to be intelligent, but, god, what a ludicrous and senseless decision that was for him to make.

She recalled her friends telling her that Eren had massacred eighty percent of the population, but surely, there must have been someone else he could have fallen in love with. But no, he fell for a murderer. Her murderer. And a girl in a rock, who never spoke a word for four years, at that.

Her wails slowly morphed into laughter as she mulled over how ridiculous the whole situation was. She was delirious, her brain operating at a million miles an hour, thousands of thoughts swirling around her head, making it fit to burst.

When she had let out her last laugh, she screamed again.

“I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!” she shrieked. Her eyes burned, her head throbbing from all the crying she was doing.

She had no idea how she was going to get through tonight's shift.

It was fair to say that she didn’t get through last night's shift.

Everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong. All the while, she was fostering a broken heart.

She didn’t feel as though she was present in the hospital that night, simply ghosting the corridors as muscle memory took over, completing her jobs for her as she floated above herself, watching herself while she worked.

Throughout the night her anger had morphed into a quiet sadness. Twelve hours was a long time, more than enough time to mull over the situation she had found herself in. She had concluded that, as long as Armin was happy, she didn’t care. She was too tired to care. 

The second chance that she had been given with her friends was a gift, a colourful bouquet offered to her on a silver platter. She couldn’t let her childish emotions ruin this for her all over again, she would never forgive herself. She would deal with her emotions and move on from it. If Marco could, she could too.

Fucking hell, she was knackered.

(Y/N) exited the hospital after her shift had concluded, looking dishevelled and exhausted, heavy bags hanging under her eyes. She stood still for a second before giving the bin in front of her a hefty kick, letting out a frustrated grunt.

“Long night?” a voice said from behind her.

She whirled her head around, coming face to face with a blonde halo of hair and ocean blue eyes. 

For fuck sake.

“...Yeah.” she sighed, looking down at her foot, her toes now throbbing from the impact.

“I-I just…” she broke her sentence with a heavy sigh before continuing. “I just had a really bad night. We were short staffed as hell, had four new admissions with complex needs in the space of three hours, I had to do CPR on a patient for forty five minutes, I haven’t eaten anything since ten AM yesterday, I hurt all over and I stink of shit and piss and..!” She looked back up at him, defeat painting her features, eyes welling up. “I’m just… really tired.” she sighed, nearly sobbing in exhaustion. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now, to let out all her frustrations and interrogate him. So she just opted for calm cooperation.

Armin opened his arms, giving her a warm smile. “Come here, bunny.”

Bunny.

The pet name her friends had given her in her past life, due to her bouncy and bubbly personality.

And with that, she broke down in tears, collapsing into his arms. He held her close, squeezing her tight, his cheek resting on the top of her head. He let her cry it all out until her sobs stilled to heaving breaths.

“Come on, let’s get you sorted out.”

“It’s okay, Armin.” she sniffled, “I just want to go home, have a shower and go to bed.”

“You can’t drive like that, (Y/N). You can stay at my place. I’ll lend you some clothes and I’ll wash your dirty ones. You can use my shower and sleep in my bed. We can get McDonald’s on the way home.”

“Armin, really, I’m fine.” she sighed, straightening herself up in an attempt to convince him that she was okay.

“(Y/N), I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.” he said sternly, looking into her eyes.

She was too tired to fight him. Sighing an ‘okay’, she walked with him to his car. He took her bags and placed them into the boot. She slumped down in the passenger seat, her body screaming at her in pain. Resting her head back on the head rest, she shut her eyes and took some deep breaths, desperately attempting to collect herself. The slam of the door adjacent to her caused her to flinch a little, but she didn’t open her eyes.

“Any song requests?” Armin questioned, putting the key in the ignition and causing his old car to stutter back to life.

“Just… something soothing please.”

He nodded, not that she could see it, and slid a Phoebe Bridgers CD into his CD player. She mentioned the artist in passing conversation once and he was so enamoured with her description and enthusiasm that he went out and bought her latest album. He was glad he did, as he liked her just as much.

As ‘DVD Menu’ began drifting into her ears, she smiled. “You liked her, then?”

“Yeah, her music is nice to listen to in the background.”

The drive to Armin’s apartment was silent. (Y/N) kept her head laid back against the seat, eyes closed, occasionally singing along quietly to her favourite parts of different songs. The sound of her delicate voice harmonising with the womens from the speakers caused Armin to smile to himself.

“Whatever you want… I’ll be whatever you want….” she sang along softly to the music.

‘Be mine.’ flashed across his mind. He quickly shook the thought from his head. Now was most definitely not the time for that.

“We’re here.” Armin said softly as he parked his car in his assigned parking spot. (Y/N) opened her eyes and sat forward, wincing in pain as her muscles spasmed in response to her sudden movement. 

“I don’t want to move.” she laughed quietly. 

“Come on, we’re almost there.” Armin flashed her a smile before getting out of the car. She gave herself a few moments to brace herself before following him. She stumbled a little getting out the car, hissing in pain. “God, I’m so stiff. I feel like an old man.” she laughed, more to herself then Armin. He collected her bags from the boot of the car and took their McDonald’s bag from the back seat before leading her to his apartment. She silently thanked any deities that may exist that he lived on the bottom floor and that she didn’t have to climb any stairs. 

Entering his apartment, (Y/N) took a look around the room surrounding her. It was nice and cosy, small trinkets decorating any spare surface, enough to feel homely but not enough to feel cluttered. Slipping off her shoes, she flopped down onto his brown leather sofa with a heavy sigh. Armin placed the takeout bag on the coffee table in front of her. 

“I’ll go get you some clothes. Don’t worry about waiting for me, you can start eating now.” he chuckled softly, disappearing into his bedroom. She didn’t need to be told twice, taking out her cheese mcmuffin, placing the hash brown inside of it like she used to do as a kid. As she took a bite of the now lukewarm food, she sighed in delight. It reminded her of childhood and soothed her soul in a way only food could. 

A minute later, Armin strode back into the living room, a neat pile of clothes in tow. “I got you a T-shirt and some boxers, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, thank you.” She gave him a tired smile, accentuating the dark circles under her lilac eyes. 

“The ensuite bathroom is in the bedroom, to the left. Use whatever you need to. I set some fresh towels out on the counter for you.”

A bright smile graced her face. “You’re a star, thank you so much, Armin.” She stood up, fumbling into the bedroom, still stiff from exhaustion. Armin sat down and started eating his food as he watched her retreat into his bedroom. 

Armin’s bathroom was small but nice and organised. She fumbled with the shower for a moment, trying to figure out how to turn the damn thing on. Once she finally got it working, she peeled her clothes off her sweaty body, folding them up into a pile on the counter. She winced in pain once again as she stepped into the shower, but once she got under the water she sighed in content, the hot water beating down on her skin and washing away the last forty-eight hours of worries and pains. 

(Y/N) emerged ten minutes later from the bathroom, Armin’s oversized clothes swallowing her tiny frame, her hair tousled from towel drying it. A light dusting of pink travelled across Armin’s cheeks and he felt himself become a little flustered at the sight of her, dressed in his clothes and fresh from the shower.

“I feel like a new woman. Thank you so much, Armin. I really appreciate this.” she laughed, scrunching her hair in a towel. 

“It’s amazing what some food and a shower can do, huh?” he chucked back, silently praying that his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Um, feel free to sleep in my bed. It’s not like I’m going to use it during the day anyway.” He flashed her a warm smile. 

(Y/N) sighed in relief at the thought of actually getting some sleep. “Thank you so much.” she repeated, retreating back into his bedroom.

Pulling back the pristine white sheets, she dropped herself onto the mattress, resting her head on the soft pillow and wrapping herself up in the cotton covers. She sighed once again in content. Taking in a deep inhale, Armin’s scent swirled around in her nostrils, a mix of sea salt and vanilla. It was extremely comforting. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, sleep took over her, wrapping its warm arms around her and releasing her from her anguish.

Armin popped his head into his room, smiling at the sight before him. (Y/N) was wrapped up in his sheets, soft breaths escaping her lips as she slept. He checked on her occasionally, just to make sure she was okay. He padded into his room, careful not to make a sound so as not to disturb her slumber. He stood over her, looking at her sleeping form. ‘Adorable.’ he thought to himself. His fingers twitched, eager to touch her. To stroke her soft cheeks, to tuck her stray sunshine locks behind her ear. She looked so peaceful, so serene in the throes of sleep. 

He sighed and decided to just sit with her, enjoy her company. He climbed into the other side of the bed gingerly, not wanting to disturb her. Just as he settled into place, she turned over, scooting up to him and subconsciously resting her head on his thigh, her hand placed next to it. It made his cheeks alight into flames, her hand dangerously close to his crotch. But he shook away his disgusting thoughts, instead admiring how peaceful she looked. 

Leaning back against the headboard, he pulled his phone out his pocket, aimlessly scrolling through his social media. He took another glance at her.

“Bunny… I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He gave into temptation, tucking a stray hair behind her ear to get a better look at her face. 

“I love you…” he whispered, completely overcome with adoration. 

He always saw her in a different light to everyone else. Her bubbly personality infected him, coursed through his veins and caused his heart to race. When she died, it shattered him into a million pieces that he was never able to truly mend. He always felt that she was his soulmate, his fate. Finding her again only solidified this feeling within him. He wasn’t going to lose her again. This time around, he had to find a way to make her his. His one and only. 

Like she always should have been.

taglist: @arlertwitch, @ashbash2403

where my phoebe bridgers stans aaaaattt

i knowwwww i should pace myself w these chapters but i just can't help myself, i'm so in love w this fic idea lol.

i'm gonna go have something to eat now, make sure you do too!

[panda-noosh]

something gained {george weasley x reader}

  words: 13.8k

  summary: you’re a beater on the slytherin quidditch team, so naturally, george weasley is your worst enemy.

   genre: fluff

   notes: masterlist - ask me about commissions! - enjoy my good pals. 

----

  the crowds are loud this morning.

   much too loud for a nine am rise, in your opinion, though you appreciate their enthusiasm. the bellows echo through the changing rooms, rattling the walls, poking at your nerves like a teenager prodding a zit.

    you sit on the floor, your back against the wall. around you, your team buzzes, making battle plans to defeat gryffindor, but you can barely hear them over the paired chorus of the chants outside and your own heartbeat. sweat rushes to your palms, and you gingerly wipe them on your quidditch gear.

    “we’ve got this one in the bag,” marcus flint says for what must be the seventeenth time since you first laid eyes on him this morning. “they’re not getting away this time. if we have to get violent, we will.”

   “and start the season off with a disqualification?” you pipe up. “wonderful game plan. very well thought out.”

    “it’s you who needs to listen up the most, l/n. you’re a beater - i want to see you causing damage.”

   you roll your eyes. “i cause damage every bloody game, flint. you don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

    flint’s lips curl into a frown, his dark eyes glaring at you. you refuse to meet them, instead picking up your beaters bat from the side and getting to your feet.

    “the match starts in two minutes,” you point out. “are we gonna keep talking shit or are we gonna get out there and beat gryffindor?”

    much to flint’s dismay, it’s your tiny little speech that seems to get the slytherins riled up. they cheer, stampeding from the changing rooms, each giving you a warm clap on the shoulder on their way past. flint stays behind, glaring daggers into your head.

   you nod at the open door. “after you, captain.”

    and so, despite the hidden rivalry you and flint have with each other, you walk out onto the quiddich pitch together. the cold air immediately sets you off, a feeling of dread settling in the pits of your stomach; it’s always been easier to play in the warm weather, when the risk of rain is minuscule and you don’t have to worry about obtrusion's. now, however, the sky is overcast and threatening. frost coats the grass beneath your feet. you have to rub your hands together to bring feeling back into them.

    the gryffindors are already there, as you expected. oliver wood stands tall in the centre of the field, his team crowded around him. they all look so confident, a feat the slytherin team have yet to master; your people walk onto the field with heads held high and shoulders drawn back, but the tension between them is always so tremendously obvious that it takes away from the confident aura they’re always trying to convey. it’s not something you’ve ever tried to fix, because there’s only so much you can do.

   you and marcus wade to the centre of the field, giving each other a brief nod before taking your places, marcus right in front of oliver, and you stood by his left shoulder. 

    madame hooch addresses the two captains, ordering them to shake hands before the game begins. as soon as she blows her whistle, you kick off and soar into the air.

   the cold is immediately a disadvantage. it whips at your cheeks and claws at your throat until your eyes are watering, definitely not a good thing when you have to keep an eye out for a two ton flying ball coming right for you.

   you do what you’ve always done, though, and fight through it, blinking the tears away at any moment you are given. as the match progresses, however, those moments get few and far between, the tension rising between the two teams.

    you stop paying attention to the score board, because you have to. already your mind is racing, focusing on a million different things at once. you have to keep an eye on all the gryffindor players, make sure you know where they are so you can knock them from their brooms - and you do. with the skills of a world cup player, you pummel the gryffindor players into the ground one by one, repeating the process when they clamber back onto their brooms.

    “doing well, l/n!” flint cries, whizzing past you at lightening speed. you give him a thumbs up, distracted for only a second, but it’s a second too long.

   you know of the weasley brothers, the beaters on the gryffindor team. they’re good. they come from a family of decent quidditch players, and their childhood training shows through. you’ve played them a handful of times, and they’ve always been equal competition.

    they take your distraction as an opportunity.

    the bludger is whizzing towards you before you can even drop your hand back to your brooms handle. you hear it, the screech as it races in your direction. you cry, slamming your hands into the front of your broom in any attempt to do a downwards dodge, but the bludger catches the rear end of your broom and sends you spiralling towards the ground. 

    your feet slam into the mud and you stumble. pain spears through your ankles and legs, making you whimper, but the anger and determination chases the feelings away, increased only when lee jordan calls out, “gryffindor scores!” over the loudspeaker. 

    you growl, low in your throat, and remount your broom. you kick off with renewed vigour, heading straight for the weasley twins. they circle the pitch, darting to and fro with a synchronisation you and the other slytherin beater could never emulate. it makes you mad. it makes you so, so mad, because this is a competition, and how are you ever meant to win a competition if your team won’t even cooperate? 

    “oi! goyle!” you yell.

    goyle spins in midair, scowling the minute he meets your eyes. “what the hell do you want? we’re in the middle of a match!”

    “i want you to do your fucking job!” and just to demonstrate your point, you slam your bat into a bludger heading right for goyle’s distracted mug.

   he whirls back around, gets ready to scream at you, but you’re already whizzing towards the centre of the pitch. the crowd is louder than ever now, but you have to ignore them, you have to keep going, you have to do some damage, just like flint told you back in the changing rooms. 

   your arms ache. your ankles throb. your fingers are numb, wrapped around the handle of your broom, but you push past all of it. you become a monster, unrestrained as you chase after the bludgers, catching them with your bat, speeding them at gryffindor flyers with a ferocity you have never before showed in a match. 

     one of the bludgers smacks george weasley right in the face. you hear his nose crunch from halfway across the pitch.

    you punch the air. “take that, asshole! woo!”

    the game continues, brutal by the end of it. your nose bleeds when oliver wood catches you with his arm; you get a free hit for the penalty, though, so you’re not even mad. george weasley’s own nose is broken, dribbling blood throughout the remainder of the match. multiple players have nose-dived into the grass.

   but at the fifty minute mark, lee jordan has to grudgingly call out, “draco malfoy has the snitch, the little pest-”

    and that’s the game over. a win for slytherin - first win of the season.

    you zip to the floor to an immediate group hug. it’s uncomfortable, with none of the slytherin players really knowing how to handle affection, but your own excitement chases away the awkwardness. you bundle draco into your chest, one hand in his hair, the other shoved in the air in a pose of victory that the gryffindors scowl at.

   you meet the eyes of george weasley. he cups his nose in one hand, holding his broom in the other, and never before have you seen such malice in someone’s expression. it sends excitement coursing through you. you give him a grin, a sarcastic little wave. he scowls, turns on his heel, and follows his retreating team back to the changing rooms, where they can wallow in their loss for the rest of eternity for all you care.

    ---

    in all your years at hogwarts, never before have you seen the gryffindors and the slytherins more hostile towards each other than they are after the match.

    you tend to stay out of house confrontations. you don’t see the point in them; you’ll play a little dirty during a quidditch match, but you won’t be caught dead sneering at any other houses on your days off. it’s pointless. it’s a quick way to get into some not needed trouble.

    but things are being taken a little too far now, and you’re struggling to keep your nose out of it.

    everywhere you go, a gryffindor has something to say. a puny little first year will yell insults at you as you walk to class. a third year will throw something at you in the dining hall. fellow fifth years will make it their life’s work to make your days a collage of living hells, just because your team managed to beat theirs during a quidditch match.

    “it’s getting quite ridiculous now,” you say into the fire, the head of your father bobbing up and down within the flames. “the match was a week ago, and the gryffindors still haven’t got over it.”

    “so quidditch is still as competitive as it was back in my day then, eh?” your father says, before breaking into a fit of coughing that you have learned to ignore over the years; he hates it when you bring up his peaked appearance, or the way his eyes sometimes roll into the back of his head without warning.

    “i suppose so,” you mumble. “i don’t know what they want me to tell them; i’m just the beater, for christs sake.”

   “hey,” your dad scolds. “everyone in a quidditch team is important.”

   “yeah, but i’m not the one who handed their arse to them on a plate, am i?”

   “you helped with the process.” your dad smiles, tilting his head a little bit; he looks at you like this sometimes, like you’re holding the world in your hands. you suppose it comes with you being his only child, his last remaining family. he is yours, as well, though neither of you ever talk about it. 

   after your mother died, it was just the two of you. at ten years old, you were too young to do much in terms of helping, but then you aged and got your acceptance letter to hogwarts, and for a long time, you were fully prepared to ignore it, pretend you never received it and get on with the faux muggle life you had been trying to settle into these last few years. however, your father has always been a smart man, and even after he started getting sick, he was always telling you to go ahead and do it - go to hogwarts like you were supposed to, like you had always dreamed. 

   and now here you are, miserable.

    “i miss you,” you say when the silence gets too much. you can hear his heart monitor over the crackling flames, and it puts you on edge. “how are things at home?”

   “oh, the usual,” he replies. “days are boring without you, love, but i’m cheering you on. you’re making me so proud.”

   you smile. “i try, dad, i try.”

    “well-”

   before your father can finish his sentence, however, the door to the slytherin common room bursts open. a group of three stampede into the centre - draco, goyle, and crabbe.

   you frown. “do you lot not see i’m a bit busy?”

    draco spins. his hair stands on end, and black soot covers his face. his eyes are startled but wide with a fury you have seen far too often on the young boys face - it still makes you snicker.

    your dad sighs. “i suppose i should let you handle this.”

   “talk to you later, dad.”

   his face disappears up the chimney, leaving you alone with the three panting boys.

   you stand, wiping your hands on your robes. “what happened to you?”

   “those bloody weasleys!” draco exclaims. “oh, i’ll get them. i’ll get them back, i swear to it!”

   you raise a brow. “the weasleys? you’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

   “well, who else?” draco gestures to his soot-stained face. “them filthy twins think they’re soooo funny with their little jokes, but wait till my father hears about this! they’ll be out of this school before they can even blink!”    

   you raise a brow. “is this about the fucking quidditch match?”

    “yes,” draco snaps. you can see the tethers breaking away, his temper rising as he trails his fingers through his hair, breathes heavily through gritted teeth. “of course it’s about the bloody quidditch match. them gryffindors wouldn’t know fair play if it hit them in the face; they just can’t accept that the better team won.”

    you bite your lower lip. it’s been days of this exact same behaviour, these childish pranks just because the gryffindors are mad that the slytherins finally had a taste of victory.

   it makes you mad.

   you curl your fingers into your palm, gazing down at the three younger boys as they pace back and forth, treading ash in their wake. you’ve never been overly fond of crabbe and goyle, but you’ve always looked out for draco - call it an older sibling kind of thing, but you’re always the one sitting next to him when he has something to rant about, always the one rolling your eyes and putting him in his place, because you’re the only person in the world he will actually listen to.

   your protective instincts flare up before you have a chance to stuff them back down again. 

    “i think i need to have a chat with the weasley twins,” you say.

   draco’s head snaps around. “what?”

    but you’re already grabbing your cloak, dragging it over your pyjamas. 

    “y/n, what are you even going to say to them?” draco demands. when you don’t respond, he groans and grabs your arm. “if they do anything-”

    “they’re not gonna murder me, draco.” you shake him off, offering a warm smile. “i might murder them, though. we’ll have to see.”

    draco doesn’t argue. he watches you go, open mouthed and exhausted. you crawl out of the slytherin common room and into the hallways, thankful that curfew has yet to appear - you can march through these corridors with as much anger radiating off of you as possible, and filch can’t say a damn thing.

   that’s exactly what you do, because your fury only builds the longer you walk. it’s one thing for you to be harassed in the corridors by angry gryffindors; you’re a fifth year, and you’ve been through this many times. it’s a completely different thing to go after draco.

   and you understand, of course, that draco malfoy is hardly someone who needs to be protected, covered in bubble wrap for fear of shattering. he’s a little shit, and you’ll admit that as soon as the next guy.

   but he’s like a little brother to you in the sense that he was the only person in the world who knows about your fathers illness, and he hasn’t told a single soul.

    you round the corner, and that’s when you see him. it’s one of the rare occasions the weasley twins aren’t joined at the hip, because as far as you can tell, fred is nowhere in sight. george stands - alone - at the top of the stairs, waving goodnight to a group of gryffindor girls. there’s a slight red tinge to his cheeks, like he’s been running through wind, and you hate how adorable it looks.

   you push aside this thought, replacing it with the anger settled in your system. you march right up to him, grab his arm, and shove him up against the wall with the strength built from years of being quidditch beater.

    he stumbles, eyes widening a fraction before he realises what’s happening. his hand doesn’t even stray to his wand when he sees you, which just makes you mad; you want him to put up a fight. you want him to do something, anything that gives you an excuse to draw back and punch him in the nose. 

    “l/n,” he sneers instead. “what a pleasant surprise!”

    “you really are a piece of shit. you know that, right?”

    he laughs. it’s so jovial, so easy.

   you hate it.

    you shove his chest, willing his attention back to you. “i’m being serious! why can’t you and the rest of your slimy gryffindors just accept the fact that you lost? just because you’ve been lucky with potter on your team, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from losing.” you lean forward. “which, just to remind you, is what happened - you fucking lost, so suck it up and deal with it.”

    george blinks. that stupid grin is still on his face when he says, “christ, y/n, i haven’t even said hello yet!”

   you groan, stepping away from him to trail your hands through your hair.

   george points, squinting one eye in your direction. “draco does that all the time. is it a slytherin thing?”

    “what’s your obsession with draco?” you spit. 

   “he’s a tit. never leaves my brother alone, so he doesn’t.”

   “and is ron not capable of fighting his own battles?”

   george scoffs. “oh, he is, but being the amazing big brother that i am, i like to take the burden off him sometimes.”

   you scowl. george grins.

    “pathetic,” you grumble. “all of you. absolutely pathetic. when the next quidditch match comes around, you’ll be forgetting all about this one.”

   “ah, but the slytherin’s won’t, will they? you lot will be basking in your only victory in three years for as long as you can.”

    you growl, lunging for him. george laughs, placing his large hands on your shoulders to keep you at arms length, and you’re honestly not even sure what it is you plan on doing - scratching his eyes out? punching him in the face? some muggle fighting tactics you don’t understand?    

    “this is adorable,” george comments, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a painting of Sir Edmund Christo hangs behind him. “isn’t this adorable, Christo?”

    you groan, step away from him, shocked at how angry he can make you in such little time. his eyes glint in amusement as he stuffs his hands back into his robes and says, “finished?”

    “go to hell, george weasley,” you spit.

   his eyes pop open. “oh, look at that! you can tell me and fred apart!” 

    “leave draco alone,” you growl. “or next time i’ll put my hexes to good use.”

    ---

   the threat was idle. you weren’t actually going to hex george, or any of the gryffindors for that matter. you love draco dearly, but risking expulsion for him was not something you were willing to do.

    nonetheless, george seems to take your threat seriously, as he leaves draco - and the rest of the slytherin quidditch team - to their own devices. at one point, you even notice him telling ron to stop glaring over at your dinner table, and ron actually listened.

    “this might be the first time in hogwarts history the slytherin and gryffindors haven’t been at each others throats constantly,” says blaise, taking a seat next to you.

    draco scowls, still glaring over at the gryffindors despite your previous scoldings. “it’s weird. i don’t like it. they’ve got something planned.”

    “okay edge lord,” you grumble through a mouthful of yorkshire pudding. “this is literally why we can’t have nice things; you ruin it with your pessimism.”

   “coming from you, that means nothing.”

   you slap the back of his head. draco swats your hand away.

    “look, we don’t have to worry about the gryffindors any more,” you continue. “it was one quidditch match - they can’t hold a grudge forever.”

    “quidditch is a serious game,” blaise says through a snicker, because he’s never understood the fascination, no matter how many hours you and draco spend explaining it to him.

       “serious, but not enough to start a bloody house war.” you tap draco’s hand. “now stop staring and eat your roasties; you’re starting to look desperate.”

   draco scowls, but prods his fork into a roastie nonetheless.

    but now your attention is caught, no matter how much you want to forget all of it. the gryffindors aren’t worth your time and attention. they’ve done nothing but make your life a living hell these past few days - most of your hogwarts experience, actually - so why give them even the tiniest bit of your attention?

    you glance over to the gryffindor table. george is already looking at you.

   it’s reflex when you scowl. your eyes meet his, and you remember the night before when he was laughing, teasing you for your anger, and with those memories comes a surge of fresh anger, all pointed directly at him. you wonder if he feels the same, if he perhaps shielded his own frustration with humour; you don’t know an awful lot about the weasley twins, but from what you have gathered, that seems to be a common theme. they play pranks, and they tease people, and deep down, they are most likely dying inside.

    dying because they lost a fucking quidditch match.

    you look away when george sends you a grin. “idiot.”

   draco looks at you. “huh?”

    “nothing.” you stand, brushing your hands down your robes. your dinner was finished a long time ago; you were only staying seated to make sure draco didn’t throw himself into further conflict - not after you smoothed things out the night before. “i’m off to the library for a bit. you-” you poke draco in the cheek. “stay out of trouble, alright?”

    draco stares after you; he knows what off the library really means, and you appreciate that he isn’t blabbering the truth to the entire table. you give him one final smile before walking off, heading straight for the slytherin common room.

   it’s empty when you clamber inside. slytherin’s don’t spend an awful lot of time in the common room - that means socialising with one another, sharing pleasantries, and none of you are particularly fond of that kind of thing. you don’t mind, hating the faux pleasantries yourself, but it also gives you free rein to use the fireplace whenever you please.

  you sit on your knees and pull your wand out. it takes a bit of memory power before you can utter the spell your dad has illegally been trying to teach you since you left for your fifth year at hogwarts, but you eventually manage it. your body shrinks - at least, that’s what it feels like - and before long, heat is clawing at your face, and you’re staring into the family living room.

   what used to be the family living room. now, it’s empty besides your dad, curled up in the arm chair, watching the muggle news. he doesn’t notice you at first, giving you the time to analyse his form without him putting on a brave face. 

    he looks sick.

   very, very sick.

    you swallow thickly. his hair is thinner today than it was yesterday, if such a thing is even possible. his baby bird bones are tangled upon the arm chair, covered by an exceptionally thin blanket that makes you hope with every fibre of your being that he has the heating installed, running at full blast. his lips are chapped, and his eyes are bruised from lack of sleep, and just seconds before he turns to see your head bobbing in the fireplace, he coughs blood into a light blue handkerchief.

    his eyes widen when he spots you. he quickly shoves the handkerchief into his back pocket, stumbles from his arm chair and drops to his knees by the fire.

   “y/n!” he exclaims. “goodness, you could have made a little bit of noise. i didn’t even notice you!”

    “hi dad,” you reply quietly. “how are you?” 

    “very well.” he grins, grabbing the thin blanket you suddenly despise. “i’ve been crocheting, finished this a few nights ago. i was thinking of sending it to you, but the owl isn’t back yet, so you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

   you force a smile on your face. it must be a family trait, all these forced smiles. “that’s great, dad. you’re getting good at those.”

    “yes, well, i’ve got a lot of time on my hands now that i’m not running after you.” he scowls, but it lasts only a second before his expression breaks into a grin. “but enough about me; how are things with you? hogwarts treating you good? are those kids still giving you a hard time?”

   “dad, we spoke yesterday. how much do you think has changed?”

   he waves a dismissive hand, dropping his chin upon a shelf made by his interlocking fingers. “each day is a chance for new experiences, my dear.”

    “i nearly got in a fight with one of the beaters from the gryffindor team.”

   your dads eyes widen. “love, what have i said about using violence as a way to solve problems?”

    “i said nearly!” you exclaim, folding your arms across your chest, and even though he can’t see your arms, you know for a fact he is imagining you in this very stance, so familiar from your childhood. “he’s a real pain in the arse, dad, you don’t even understand. he winds me up something shocking.”

   “who is this boy anyway?”

   “one of the weasleys,” you grumble. “george.”

   your dads eyes pop open. for a brief moment, there is a flicker of life back in his body, startling you. “a weasley? goodness, y/n, i remember that family well! molly and arthur were in my year at school!”

    “yeah, well, george and fred are in my year at school, and they’re a set of bastards.”

    your dad chuckles, because that’s what he does when you get like this; he laughs, and he shakes his head, and he pretends you have the potential to be a Hufflepuff, just like he was back at hogwarts. 

    “i’ve never met them personally,” he says. “but i’ve never met a bad weasley in my life; some could be a bit overbearing, but they always had good intentions, and i think that’s what matters.”

    “i don’t think george has ever had a good intention in his life.” you slump forward, propping your chin on your palm. “all he cares about is quidditch and making people’s lives a living hell.”

    your dad frowns. “oh, love, i don’t think that’s true. i think you’re just angry at him. what did he actually do?”

    “he’s been tormenting draco since the quidditch match.”

   “is draco your little successor?”

   you scowl. “draco’s a little shit, and i’ll be the first to admit that, but george and fred are just taking the piss now. the match was a week ago. they need to get over themselves.”

    he hums in response, looking thoughtfully into the fire. “well, i hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’re quite competitive when it comes to quidditch, too.” 

    “not that competitive. i’m not a sore loser, that’s for sure.”

    “listen, i’ve never been an avid quidditch player, so i don’t know what it feels like getting sucked into that environment, but i’ve seen you get into some pretty deep dramatics over it. maybe george is just doing the same thing.” he shrugs. “nobody likes losing.”

   you scowl; sometimes you hate your dads ability to make sense, to explain every situation like it’s the worlds fucking philosophy. huffing, you cross your arms and lean your head upon them, staring at your dad with a disproved expression.

    he meets your gaze and laughs, raising his hands in faux surrender. “i’m just saying, love. i’m happy you’re sticking up for draco - god knows that boy needs a friend - but i don’t want to be receiving any owls from your teachers informing me about your expulsion because you’ve got in some fight with a boy in your year.”

     “i can’t make any promises on that, dad.”

    he rolls his eyes, no malice in the action. “whatever. just be a little wise, alright? you’ve got exams coming up, and i don’t want you flunking over something like this.”

    the mention of exams makes your stomach churn; through all the drama taking place these past few days, you had forgotten all about the end of term exams, approaching much quicker than you’re prepared for.

    dad smiles, as if reading your expression. “you’ll do great, love. i know you will.” he glances over his shoulder, spots the clock hung on the wall before turning back to you. “you should get going. it’s getting late.”

    you raise a brow. “will you be alright on your own?”

    “i’ve been on my own for a while now, sweetheart - i’ll be fine.” he smiles, blows you a kiss before swiping his arms through the fires flames, sending you back to the common room before you can even blink.

   ----

    christmas settles amongst the hogwarts students, and exams are dangerously close.

   quidditch must be set to the back burner, a fact that leaves you slightly depressed as you wade through what feels like a hundred hours of classes you have no interest in. revision piles up around you, leaving with you very little sleep and very little patience.

   call it a slytherin thing, but the desperate need to succeed has overtaken your entire being these past few weeks. you haven’t even spared george weasley - or any of the gryffindors - a glance, too absorbed in spell books to pay attention to their continued jeers. 

    george doesn’t go near you.

   you find it weird, of course, but that tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you any time you think too deep into it. you have to remain focused on exams, and exams only, because you have not left your dying father on his own for so long just to come home with no O.W.L’s. you have to succeed for his sake, to show him these difficult few years have not been for nothing.

   you’re in the library with draco on this particular day. outside the high windows, snow drifts pleasantly from the sky, and you can imagine the quidditch pitch in that moment, beautifully blanketed with little snowflakes that you will have no access to, because you’re stuck in the stuffy library with a slytherin fourth year who wouldn’t know the meaning of concentration if it struck him in the face.

    “why are you even here?” you snap, just as draco makes another comment about a passing gryffindor fourth year.

    draco raises a brow. he’s leaned back in his seat, so casual, textbooks open in front of him, though he pays them no attention. you don’t think he’s even glanced at one since he sat down. “what do you mean?”

   “i’m trying to revise.” you tap the front of your potions book to exaggerate your point. “in case you’ve forgotten, our exams start in a week. i don’t have time to sit here and scowl at gryffindors with you.”

    “i never invited you to scowl at gryffindors with me.” he throws a pencil across the room, just missing a distracted first year. “i can do that perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

   you slap his arm down, giving him your customary grimace. “wind your neck in, draco. how many times do i have to tell you you’re not special just because you’re a malfoy?”

    he opens his mouth to respond, but takes one look at your deadly scowl and goes quiet. he huffs through his nose, folding his arms over his chest as he leans over his textbook and gets to reading.

    you join him, tracing your wand over the words that are failing to embed themselves in your mind. why you ever decided to take potions - with snape as a teacher, no less - will forever be beyond you, and one of the greatest mistakes you have ever made in your hogwarts life. nothing he says makes any sense, and although you’re in his house, he still derives great pleasure in seeing you suffer at the hands of-

    “malfoy! are you studying?”

   your head snaps up. draco joins you.

   walking through the doors, and the most likely suspect of the jeer, is george weasley.

   your heart barrels into your stomach, a fresh surge of anger coursing through you at the mere sight of him. he’s done so well keeping himself to himself these past few weeks, and seeing him now - right back to square one - makes you want to punch him in the face all over again.

   because he strolls towards your table with that stupid little grin on his face, the evidence of a smirk taking place upon his face, and you hate that it suits him so well. you hate that you can’t even bring yourself to deny his attractiveness, no matter how hard you try.

    you slam your textbook closed. “let’s go, draco.”

   “what does he want?” draco stands and calls over to the approaching weasley twin. “where’s your dumb little sidekick, weasley? got lost in the halls?”

    “oh, would you-”

   your protest is cut short by george’s laugh. “actually no. he’s got a revision class with professor sprout, so i thought i’d come in here and check on my favourite beater.” he looks at you, smiles. “got a minute?”

   “no.” you scoop your textbook into your arm and stand, grabbing draco’s collar. “let’s go, draco. one more wrong move from you, and mcgonagall might not be so nice.”

    draco thrashes against your grip, grabbing the table to prevent you from dragging him right past the grinning weasley and into the hallway. “what do you want with y/n?”

    george raises a brow. “why would i tell you?”

   “because i’m their friend, and last time i checked, you’ve done nothing but torment them since that bloody quidditch match.”

    you groan. “again with the quidditch match? i thought we dropped that ages ago!”

    “apparently malfoy here holds grudges.” george turns to you again, ignoring malfoy’s disgruntled protestations. “i literally just want to have a chat; no funny business.”

    “no funny business?” draco screeches. “don’t listen to him, y/n. anything he wants to say to you, he can say in front of me.”

    a burst of affection blossoms in your chest. you push it down, turning to draco. “i can handle this, mate. you just go and find pansy or whatever it is you do. i’ll catch up.”

   draco narrows his eyes, going still in your grip. “you’re sure?”

   “when have i ever not been able to handle myself?”

   he pauses. “good point.” giving george one final warning glare, he straightens his robes rather theatrically and strolls from the library like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just made a massive scene on your behalf.

    with draco gone, you and george stare at each other. he’s got these pretty brown eyes, a little wide, a faux play on innocence. you see right through him, though. you recognise the glint of mischief he does nothing to hide, dancing behind those pretty brown eyes.

    finally, he says, “got yourself a little body guard, have you?”

   “draco’s protective.” you gesture towards his discarded chair. “take a seat, i guess.”

   grinning, george sits. you follow his lead, scooching your chair back a little bit; you have no idea what he has up his sleeve, and you’re not willing to find out.

    “what do you want?” you ask.

   “i know you and i didn’t exactly hit it off when we first spoke,” he begins.

    “that’s not my fault.”

   he pauses. “i think it was, but that’s not why i’m here.”

   you scowl, folding your arms over your chest. “you were the one being a dick to draco; you started it.”

    “i started it? you were the one pushing me up against a wall! and not even in a good way!”

    “because you were-”

   “being a dick to draco, yes, i heard you the first time.” george shakes his head, trails a hand through his hair. “now you’ve got me off track and i haven’t even been sat for two minutes.”

    “i don’t want to hear any apology - i know you don’t mean it.”

   george scoffs, glancing at you without entirely looking up, which is a look you never thought you would find attractive, but here you are. “i didn’t come here to apologise. in case you didn’t catch on, i don’t think i did anything wrong.”

    “no, you never do.”

    “but, i did come here to talk to you about something. just something i heard on the grapevine.” 

   you pause.

   george smiles, but it holds none of his usual playfulness. this smile actually looks genuine, maybe even a little soft.

    “so i was walking through the corridors - all on my lonesome - the other night, when i came across the slytherin common room.”

    you blink. you don’t know what else to do, having no idea what he even means. 

   he continues. “the door was left open, which i thought was a little weird; usually them things just close over by themselves, and you’ve got all the passwords and protection spells and stuff keeping peeping toms out, isn’t that right?”

    “what are you-”

    “does anyone else know your dad is sick?”

   you honestly would have preferred it if he had just drop kicked you then and there.

    you stare at him, waiting for a punchline that very clearly does not exist. you can scarcely believe your ears, let alone come up with a decent response to such an obtrusive, confusing question. confusing only because you have no idea how he could have ever found out, no idea how he just managed to peek his head into the slytherin common room when every enchantment claims it impossible.

    george stares back at you, his smile still present. it’s still soft, like he’s trying to test the waters, but you see no kindness in it now. 

   you push your chair back, very nearly stumbling over its legs in your haste to get as far from him as possible. that grin fades, his eyes narrowing as he tries reaching for your robes, but you pull away before he can get too close.

    “you nosy little shit,” you hiss, voice trembling. “you nosy, disrespectful little bastard!”

    “hey, hey, hey!” he stands, palms up in surrender. “i’m not teasing, i’m genuinely curious! you never talk about it, so-”

    “i never talk about it because it’s nobody else’s business. especially not some filthy little gryffindor who thinks he’s owed the god damn world!”

    george’s eyes widen. “that was so uncalled for. i was giving you someone to confide in!”

    you laugh, bitter and harsh. it makes george flinch. “and you think that person should be you? after everything? go to hell, george weasley.” you turn on your heel, not even bothering to gather your textbooks, or your quill - you’ll get them later. “and keep your massive nose out of things that don’t concern you!”

    and before george can say anything, you’re speeding out of the library, trying desperately to halt the tears threatening to pour down your face.

   ----    

    “i don’t understand how he found out. how could the door just stay open?”

    you keep your voice down, terrified of the other slytherins hearing what you have to say; the changing rooms are already packed, people fighting over garments and equipment, marcus already mouthing off about the lack of preparation the team had for this game due to exams.

    draco sits beside you, knees pulled to his chest. he stares out at the open space, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in that thoughtful way he always does. his brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed.

   “it doesn’t make any sense,” he says at last. “the entrances to the common rooms have enchantments and all that stuff on them. sounds to me like he’s lying through his teeth.”

    “but then how else did he find out?”

   draco hollows out his cheeks and shakes his head. “beats me.” he turns to you then, slaps a hand against your knee. “but we can’t focus on that just yet. we have a match today.”

    you sigh, tilting your head back against the wall; your energy has long since been sucked out of you, a week straight of exams not leaving you in the best state, though the excitement of finally being back on the pitch drives you to stand and join the rest of the team.

    slytherin versus hufflepuff today; should be an easy enough win. 

    you mount your broom and get started as soon as the whistle is blown. 

   soaring through the air, your adrenaline kicks back in. for the time being, you are able to ignore the anxiety throbbing in the back of your head, focusing only on the task you have been given. a few hufflepuff’s are wiped out in as little as ten minutes into the match; the slytherin’s in the crowd are howling their excitement, jumping up and down with fists in the air. 

   you look down, meaning to wave at blaise as he jumps up and down in the stands, but it is not blaise your eyes immediately land on. 

   you spot the shock of red hair almost immediately, sitting in the stands with his eyes trained on you. you’ve seen him at these matches so many times - and why wouldn’t he be? a player on the qryffindor team, an avid quidditch player. why shouldn’t he be watching you play right now?

    despite this, his presence distracts you. 

   “y/n!” draco shrieks, before a bludger whizzes past you. goyle, the god send, just manages to knock it away before it slams into your ribs.

   you spin, gasping. goyle sends you a dark look as draco calls out, “you okay?” you give him a shaky thumbs up, take one final look at george in the stands before whizzing across the pitch, determined not to let your attention slip again.

    but he’s there. he’s there, and there’s no way you can ignore him after yesterday. that smile of his, those big brown eyes, his confusion when you lost your mind and started yelling at him. it just felt like the right thing to do, and even now - after having a bit of time to think about it - you’re still angry. what draco said was right - george was probably lying through his teeth when he-

    “y/n!”

    goyle isn’t on the ball this time.

    you spin just in time to get a bludger straight to the chest.

   it knocks the air out of you, sends your broom spiralling to the floor. your fingers - surprisingly numb - slip from the handle, and you crash into the grass, flat on your back. 

    “mother of god,” you groan, rolling onto your side as madame hooch blows the whistle for a time out.

    draco is first by your side, slipping to his knees. “are you daft?”

   “no, i’m winded.”

    “bloody hell.” he grabs your arm, rolling you onto your back. you stare at the sky, disoriented. “can you keep playing?”

   “yes.”

   “are you just saying that?”

    “probably.” with one hand curled round your middle, you push yourself up. draco helps you to your feet, hands you your broom, and before madame hooch - or madame pomfrey for that matter, who is yelling at you from the sidelines to go over for a check up - you mount your broom and kick off again.

    your entire body screams in protest the entire time, ribs burning, chest tight. it takes everything in your power not to slip into unconsciousness. black dots sneak into the edges of your vision, but you push them away and keep playing.

   you keep playing, but not necessarily well.

    you make a hit for a bludger with your bat, only for marcus to curse you out for nearly taking a swing at his head, instead. your broom spirals in all different directions, you suddenly unable to keep it under any resemblance of control. your hands tremble against the handle, eyes slipping, slipping, slipping-

    the whistle blows again. you open your eyes. you’re on the ground again.

    “someone get them to the infirmary!” madame hooch screeches. “the match will commense with the sub - where’s crabbe? crabbe!”

    “no,” you grumble. “no, i can play. i’m fine.”

   “you’ve just passed out, you idiot.”

   george’s voice startles you back to reality. your eyes snap up, meeting his just as he puts an arm beneath you and hauls you off the floor. 

    and you could protest. you want to protest, because george weasley - of all people - should not be the one carrying you to safety, but your chest aches, and all your muscles are on fire, so you don’t even move. you just flop against him, trying desperately to keep consciousness as long as possible.

   it doesn’t work out that way, though. the black dots take over your vision before you’ve even reached the infirmary, the last thing you see being george’s furrowed brows and worried scowl.

   ----

   you wake up to darkness.

    curtains drawn, a quilt tucked beneath your chin, body comfortable against a soft mattress, you’re half tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

   that thought is squashed when you look to your side and spot george sat by your bedside.

   he’s fast asleep, head drooped, arms folded across his chest. he looks peaceful, though his hair is mussed, like he’s trailed his fingers through it numerous times.

   you push yourself onto your elbows and glance around; you’re in the infirmary, your body feeling good as new with whatever spell madame pomfrey put on you. clearly she thought you needed the rest, as it is now pitch black outside, and the curtains around your bed have been drawn to separate you from the other patients.

    you grab your wand from the bedside table and whisper “lumos.”

    george jerks awake.

    his chair screeches against the floor, making you wince with the volume. it sounds particularly loud when you’re in a room with people fast asleep, and apparently george thinks the same way. he squints into the darkness, before his eyes pop open at the sight of you.

    “you’re awake!”

   “what are you doing here?”

    in all honesty, you don’t mean to sound so harsh. it just kind of happens, a reflex when it comes to george weasley.

   he frowns. “i came to make sure you didn’t choke on your tongue in your sleep. i know how you slytherins can get.”

    “what happened?”

   he settles back in his chair, regarding you with a tired expression, though his raised eyebrow and wild hair make him look oddly attractive beneath the pale wand light cast upon his face. “you don’t remember?”

   “i remember. . . bits and pieces.” you wince. “we lost the match, didn’t we?”

    george smiles. “it was bound to happen. hufflepuff still had a full team by the end of it, and i think diggory was using slytherin’s weakness to his advantage.”

   “but we had crabbe as a sub!” 

    “crabbe is god awful. goyle’s on thin ice. you’re the only beater on that team keeping things going.”

    you scowl, slumping back against your pillows. it’s not like you had desperately high hopes for slytherin to win, but the fact that it was you who forced the loss upon them makes you angry - and a little bit embarrassed. 

   you flick a glance at george. “is flint mad?”

    george scoffs. “who gives a shit what flint thinks?”

   “i do. he’s the teams captain.” you close your eyes, throw your head back. “he’s gonna give me such a bollocking when he next sees me.”   

    “you were a little distracted up there.” george leans forward. “what happened?”

    and then you remember.

   that moment, just before the first bludger was barrelling towards you. you’d spotted george in the crowd, that shock of red hair, and his eyes had met yours, and you just zoned out. it was uncontrollable; once it started, you couldn’t drag your mind away from it - the fact he was there, the fact he was looking right at you, the fact you kind of wanted to talk to him.    

    “it was nothing,” you grumble, awkwardly picking at the quilt covering your legs. “i just felt a little ill, that’s all; not really the day for a match, was it?”

    george scoffs. “i’ve seen you play brilliant games of quiddich in blizzards, y/n. don’t sit there and tell me a little wind put you off your game this time around, because i know it’s a lie.”

   you scowl, but make no attempt to correct him. there isn’t really any point when he’s looking at you with that grin on his face, an eyebrow raised, a silent dare for you to go against him right now.

   you look back down at the quilt. “i could have carried on playing, you know. i was fine.” 

   “you fell unconscious when i was carrying you to the hospital wing.”

    “that doesn’t mean anything. my body gave up because the adrenaline stopped, but if i’d have just carried on playing-”

   “you probably would have broken a few more ribs.” george taps your nose. “and we can’t be having that.”

   you swat his hand away, scowling. “i still hate you, you know.”

   his smile drops, and for the first time since you woke up, he actually looks upset. he stares at you, those doe-like, mischievous brown eyes forcing you to look away, because you can’t stand them for very long without getting all giddy. it annoys the hell out of you.

    slowly, he leans back, fingers clasped in front of him. “is it because of what i said about your dad?”

   you close your eyes. “i was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

   “but that’s it, isn’t it?” he pushes. “you think i was out of line for asking you about it. you think i was teasing you, or something.”

    “it’s not exactly far-fetched though, is it? you’ve dedicated your entire life to taking the piss out of people from slytherin, so why should i think i was any different?” 

    “because you are different.” george grits his teeth, like the words have caused him physical pain to admit. “i wasn’t - christ, y/n, i wasn’t making fun of the fact your dad is ill. i’m not that bloody cruel.”

    “with the way you treat draco? had me fooled.”

   george’s nostrils flare, lower lip disappearing behind his teeth. “are you and draco a freaking couple or something?”

   “no.”

   “then why do you feel the need to stick up for him every two seconds?”

   “because he’s my friend, george, that’s why!”

    george rolls his eyes, like the mere idea of draco malfoy having friends is unbelievable to him. 

   “what?” you push, leaning forward to meet his eyes. “why is it so difficult for you to wrap your head around the fact i’m friends with malfoy?”

    “because you’re so much better than him.”

    he says it like it hurts, teeth gritted, eyes refusing to meet your own. he says it like the walls are crumbling and this is his last chance to admit the truth. he says it like he hopes you don’t hear him.

    you stare, unable to comprehend his words, because they don’t really make any sense to you. “no i’m not.”

    george stiffens.

   you barrel on, suddenly passionate. “no, i’m really bloody not. i got sorted into slytherin for a reason, george, just like you and all the other weasleys got sorted into gryffindor. draco and i, we think alike. we deal with problems the same way.”

    “that’s bullshit,” george scoffs, finally looking up. “you keep malfoy in check, because you know the difference between right and wrong.”

    “i keep malfoy in check because i’m not an idiot. just because i stop him from doing daft things, doesn’t mean i don’t agree with his intentions.”

   george swallows. you watch his throat bob, the emotion slipping into his stomach, forcing that mask upon his face that you saw disappear for only the briefest of moments during this confusing conversation.

   finally, after a moment, george claps his hands to his knees and stands up, not unlike how your dad rises from his arm chair on his particularly bad days. all huffs and puffs, grunts of discomfort, bones creaking from lack of movement.

    “alright then,” he says simply. “i’ll leave you to it then, shall i? you can get back to - i don’t know - plotting doomsday or something.”

    you growl. “grow up.”

   he gives you a wave, sarcastic, over-the-top just to make you mad. you don’t humour him with a response, instead just watching him leave with your arms folded over your chest, anger seeping into every inch of your freshly-healed body.

    it’s crazy how he can do that to you so easily, how he can wriggle his way into your brain, convince you he has good intentions, only to leave you feeling angrier than when he first walked in.

   ---

   you get out of the infirmary that day, having fully healed thanks to madame pomfrey’s magic. you thank her, offering to send some flowers up to her room as soon as possible. she smiles and says, “just like your father.”

    you manage to avoid flint for most of the day. him being the year above you, it’s easy to miss him in the hallways, and you certainly have no classes together. however, you were a fool to think he wouldn’t be tracking you down any time he possibly could, because as soon as you sit down at the slytherin table that evening, he is right beside you in seconds.

    you glare at your mashed potatoes, speaking through gritted teeth. “don’t wanna hear it, marcus. really, really don’t wanna hear it.”

    “and we didn’t want to lose the match, but here we are.” he shoves your tray away; your food lands on the floor. none of the other slytherins look up. “you gonna explain to me what happened?”

    “why do i need to explain anything to you?” you shoot back, before gesturing to your upturned dinner. “get up there right now and get me a new plate, or so help me god-”

   “you’ll what? sabotage another match?” 

   your eyes widen. “sabotage? i didn’t take a bludger to the chest on purpose!”

    “explain your little performance with weasley then, huh?” flint leans forward, so close you can smell the peppermint on his breath. “has he finally got in your brain, yeah? managed to turn you against us. i don’t forget that your dad was a hufflepuff. and what was your mother?”

   you scowl. “keep my parents out of this.”

   “oh yes!” he exclaims. “a gryffindor! funny how that works, isn’t it? i can imagine you have a soft spot for the enemy, growing up with one and all that.”

    fury erupts in your chest. you stand, nostrils flaring, fingers curled into fists at your sides; so easily you could draw back and punch him, flatten him on the ground of the great hall in front of everyone. so easily you could make him pay for throwing your parents into this.

    but you don’t. you’re tired. you remember your dads voice, his silent plea for you to just take things easily this year. he isn’t well enough to handle any more trouble you may bring to his doorstep.

   and so, it’s with hesitance that you step away from the slytherin table. you lean down, lower your voice to an almost deadly whisper when you say, “i’d sleep with one eye open, you little shit.”

    you turn on your heel and start towards the door, starving but you don’t care. you have to get out of there before you lose your temper even further, before you banish the sound of your dads voice and make a mistake.

   ----

    draco finds you a few hours later, because of course he does.

    he probably heard all about your little altercation, and you have no doubt in your mind that it’s made him mad. you’re protective of him, but it works both ways, and draco has proved that on multiple occassions.

    the door to the common room bursts open, revealing a brief glimpse of the lunchtime crowd finally emerging from the great hall. you look up from your textbook, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light. draco stands in the doorway, nostrils flaring, eyes firm on you.

    your lips twitch, an attempt at a smile. “hello.”

   “what did he say to you?” draco demands. “if he said anything about your dad, y/n, i swear to-”

    “calm down,” you grumble, slumping into the arm chair. “you know how flint gets; he doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.”

   “yeah, well, he’s going to fucking learn, isn’t he?”

    you look up, because he must be joking. draco might be intimidating to some, but it all comes down to a name at the end of the day; he couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. he certainly couldn’t go up against marcus flint.

    but the rage in his eyes leaves little to the imagination about what he wants to do. he turns on his heel before you can even stand up, fleeing the common room in search of marcus flint.

   “draco!” you stumble up, dashing after him. “draco, stop. what the hell are you even going to do?”

   “have a little chat with him.” he picks up his pace, as if afraid you’re going to stop him. you have to start jogging, pushing past fellow confused students in your haste to grab draco before he does something stupid.

    but the world is plotting against you, it seems, as draco rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the slytherin quidditch team captain as he makes his way to his next class.

    both boys freeze, and for a moment, you think draco’s respect for the older man might just break through. for a fleeting, hopeful moment, you think draco will come to his senses and turn away before any real damage can be done.

    and then he punches flint right in the face.

   you cry out, stumbling over your own two feet in your haste to get to draco before flint - stunned and confused - can come back around. even draco seems shocked at his own actions, staring at his fingers with wide eyes, face paling.

    “idiot!” you hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him back, but marcus is already regaining his composure, looking at draco with nostrils flared.

   you raise a hand in marcus’s direction, trying in vain to drag draco behind you. “alright lads, lets calm down, yeah? we’ve got classes to get to!”

    “get out of the way, y/n,” marcus growls.

    “don’t talk to them like that,” draco snaps, lunging forward. you try in vain to keep the smaller boy from doing any further damage, but he’s determined, and you know how draco gets when he’s determined. he fights against your grip like a snarling dog, spitting curse words in flint’s direction, half of which you don’t even pick up on.

   you’re too busy staring at marcus, silently daring him to do anything.

   because, the thing is, marcus knows you just as he knows every person on his quidditch team. you’re the beater that keeps the team upright, the only one of the three beaters he can actually trust to win them a match. you’re the one he’s studied for years as you play the game by his side, and he knows you won’t take any shit.

    but either will he. that’s the beauty of being a slytherin. you know that as well as anyone.

   and that is why you can do nothing when marcus dives forward, malfoy having just called him some awful name, and grabs the younger boy by the front of his robes. he shoves you out of the way, your shoulder crashing into a passing first year. you hastily apologise, stumbling upright, trying to get between them as draco yells and makes a fuss, and marcus keeps so calm and collected, it’s almost scary, a scene you don’t know how to handle-

    marcus is pushed backwards.

    he falls on his back. you hear his wand snap in his back pocket, quills and parchment flying left, right and centre. draco stumbles, gasping for air, pressing a hand to his throat; his eyes snap to you, but you pay him no attention as you stare at george weasley, now standing guard over the younger malfoy boy.

    he glares down at flint, fingers curled into fists at his sides. the crowd stand shocked, some of them whispering “is that fred or george?” but you pay them no attention. your heart is racing. you’re so confused.

    marcus blinks. “what the fuck?”

   “why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” george snarls. 

    “i can handle myself, weasley!” draco barks, and that snaps you out of your reverie.

    you march forward and grab draco by the ear. he cries out, but you don’t pay attention to his pleas as you drag him through the hall, yelling out, “nothing to see here people!” over your shoulder. draco kicks and whines, but you’re furious - furious that he would put himself in such danger, furious that he couldn’t even finish the job he started, because george weasley - of all people! - stepped in to save his ass.

     you push draco into the nearest empty classroom you can find. “you idiot.”

    “he deserved it!” draco exclaims, rubbing the reddened tip of his ear. “jesus christ, y/n, let me help you! why do you let people like him get away with stuff like that?”

    “i don’t!” you bark. “i don’t let them get away with it, draco, because i handle it on my own! you don’t need to protect me!”

   draco scowls, folding his arms over his chest.

   you sigh, running a hand down your face. “you’re like a little brother to me, do you understand? if you get hurt one of these days, i’ll never forgive myself. it’s better if you just let me deal with things like this.”

    “why do you get to protect me all the time but i can’t protect you?”

   “because i can protect myself.”

    “or george weasley will do it.”

    you purse your lips, glancing over your shoulder as if george himself will be stood in the doorway; part of you kind of wishes he was. 

    “i don’t know why he did that,” you mumble. “he hates your guts.”

   draco scoffs. “yes, i’m aware of that. but i think it’s pretty obvious why he decided to step in.”

   you raise a brow, a silent question. 

    “that boy hasn’t stopped gawking at you since the first quidditch match,” draco explains. “don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. and also don’t pretend like he wasn’t the reason you got so distracted during the match against hufflepuff.”

    you blink, heat clawing to your face. of course it’s true - you never denied that to yourself - but hearing draco say it out loud, like it means something, makes your stomach curl. 

    draco chuckles, still rubbing his ear. “i must say, y/n, i’m surprised by your pick, but whatever makes you happy.”

    “george is...” you falter, the acidic adjective balancing on the tip of your tongue, just enough of a lie to leave you hesitant. “george is a. . . interesting character.”

    “all the weasleys are,” draco agrees. “but not all the weasleys have caught your eye, have they?”

   “shut up.” you fold your arms, biting your lower lip. “i don’t feel anything for george. nothing nice, anyway. he annoys me.”

    “he annoys you, does he?”

    “you know he does!”

    “i also know you’re getting very flustered right now.”

   you scowl, quickly turning away before draco can gather any more evidence of your true feelings through your appearance. “go to hell.”

    “tell me i’m wrong. tell me he wasn’t the person who distracted you during that match.”

    you open your mouth, ready to lie. you’re a slytherin. lying comes easily when it works in your favour, but you glance over your shoulder, and you spot draco’s raised brow and amused smile, and you remember that he is a slytherin himself, a slytherin who knows you better than anyone else in this damned school. he can read you like an open book, a skill he is clearly using to his advantage now.

   you grit your teeth, turning back around. “it was an accident. i just wasn’t expecting him to be there.”

    “the weasley twins never miss a game!” draco exclaims, a burst of laughter mingling with the words, like he can’t believe you’re even attempting to lie. “honestly, y/n, who do you think you’re trying to fool? the entire school saw how george reacted to you falling-”

   “how he reacted?”

    draco’s smile fades. “oh, of course.” he shakes his head. “of course, you wouldn't have seen him, probably wouldn’t have heard him, either.”

    you raise a brow, heat crawling up your face again. “what are you on about?”

    “y/n, when you fell off your broom that day, george bolted. he nearly gave colin creevey a bloody concussion, shoving his way through the stands. professor mcgonagall tried to stop him from getting on the pitch, but he wasn’t having any of it. even mcgonagall backed down when she saw his face.”

   oh.

   oh, oh, oh, that wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. not at all.

   the blood thrums through your veins, louder than it has ever been. you can’t respond, can’t even think straight, trying to remember that day and what happened during the moments before you fell head first onto the pitch.#

   but you remember nothing. you opened your eyes, and you were on the floor, and george was stood over you, calm as anything. not once did you think he may have actually went against the rules to get to you.

    “that doesn’t make any sense,” you mumble.

   draco raises a brow. “why doesn’t it?”

    “because george and i hate each other.” 

    and draco laughs. he laughs, head thrown back, loud and obnoxious. you stare at him, but you’re not even angry. you’re still in shock, overcome with a sudden need to find george and ask him about whatever draco has just tried telling you.

    because it can’t be true. george and you don’t get along. he’s the guy who hates draco, the guy who knows about your dad, the guy who does your head in more than anyone else in the world.

    he’s also the guy who carried you to the hospital wing when you were on the brink of unconsciousness.

   he’s also the guy who knows about your dad, yet hasn’t told a single soul.

    he’s also the guy who just saved draco’s ass, and maybe you’re thinking too much into it, but did he only do that because you made it so clear that draco is your friend?

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands through your hair. “oh, draco.”

   “oh, indeed,” draco replies, still grinning. “here i was thinking you were smart.”

    “i have to talk to him.”

    “yes, well, go ahead.” draco places a hand on his forehead. “i’ll stay in here until flint calms down; i’ll be fine on my own.”

     usually, you would ask him if he’s sure. you might not even leave, instead choosing to sit with draco, sharing sweets, insulting each other’s life choices.

    but right now, you don’t stick around long enough for him to change his mind. you whirl on your heel, pure adrenaline thumping through your veins as you throw open the door and dart out into the hallway.

     george is in class. he has to be in class, because that’s where you’re supposed to be right now.

    you dash down the hallway, no longer caring about the teachers walking back and forth, all of whom are probably wondering what on earth you’re doing out of class right now. you pay them no attention, instead making a direct line for potions, where you know george is currently seated, probably bored out of his mind.

    you halt at the window of the potions classroom and peek over the top of the sill. there he is, seated at the back, chin resting on his palm as he stares at nothing in particular. at the front, snape paces back and forth, slapping a wooden ruler against the blackboard, a noise you are all too familiar with. 

    you grit your teeth, wave your hands back and forth, anything to get his attention. finally, however, it’s fred who sees you, and his eyes - identical to his brothers - immediately widen, a grin appearing on his face.

    you point to george, and fred gets the memo. he nods, gives you a thumbs up before tapping george on the shoulder and pointing in your direction. you make a come here gesture, to which george raises a brow, motioning to snape at the front of the classroom. impatiently, you tap your wrist, signalling to him that this is the one chance you’re going to get to talk to him, and you need to do it now.

    george rolls his eyes before throwing his hand in the air. 

    snape pauses his lecture. “yes, weasley?”

   “can i use the bathroom, sir?”

    “you can wait.”

    “no, sir, you don’t understand. i had one of hagrid’s fish suppers earlier, and-”

   snape slaps his ruler against the desk. “i don’t want to hear it! off you go, but be quick about it. any catching up you have to do can be done in my classroom during lunch.”

    “you’re the best, professor!” george stands and all-but runs to the door.

   as soon as he’s thrown it open, you grab the front of his robes and drag him down the hall, to a place where neither of you will be heard by the potions master.

    george stumbles after you, laughing louder than you’re comfortable with when the two of you are skipping class. you shove him into yet another empty classroom, closing the door and casting a quick spell to lock it.

    you spin, and as soon as you lay eyes on him, the speech you had planned dies in your throat.

    you just stare at him, because that honestly feels like all you can do. you’re struck by how gorgeous he is, those brown eyes you have never ignored, the messy mop of ginger hair, the chiselled cheeks and lanky body. all of it combined makes george weasley him, and it’s enchanted you quicker and more unexpectedly than you’ll ever be willing to admit.

    george raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “is this important, or am i risking a detention with snape for no reason?”     

   you blink, suddenly aware that you did not plan this out as well as you probably should have. what do you even want to say to him? what point do you want to get across?

   george tilts his head at your silence, leaning forward teasingly. he’s still got that smirk on his face, the one you refuse to acknowledge, because he’s only doing it to annoy you, and he looks so good whilst doing it. 

   you scowl in response. “you know flint is going to kill you next time he sees you, right?”

    surprised, george recoils. “that’s what you wanted to say to me?”

    “i’m giving you a warning. i know marcus flint really well, and he’s not going to let this slide. you should probably start thinking about leaving hogwarts next year, just to give you a better chance-”

    “y/n, for christ’s sake.”

    you deflate. your shoulders slump, the energy seeping from your body in one clean swoop. you groan, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if doing so will push the stress and confusion from your brain.

    “i don’t know how to do this,” you grumble. 

    “don’t know how to do what?”

   “say thank you.” you drop your hands; george has stepped a little closer. you inhale sharply, ready to recoil, but those brown eyes of his keep you trapped.  

   he raises a brow. “you want to say thank you?”

    “i know you don’t like draco,” you mumble. “you didn’t have to stand up for him back there, but you did anyway. god only knows what would have happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in.”

    “he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” george shrugs. “but he’s still the year below us. flint should have handled things better.” 

     you nod, pursing your lips. it’s the gyryffindor mindset, a mindset you will never properly understand, but a mindset you grew up witnessing, because your mother always had the same one. whilst you were usually all for getting revenge, your mother always calmed you down by telling you that, sometimes, it was better to take the high road. sometimes, you needed to protect people weaker than yourself.

    “plus,” george is quick to add. “he pushed you. that was a step too far for me.”

    startled, you look up. “that was a step too far? you don’t even like me, george!”

    george’s smile slips. his brows furrow, pinching in the centre in a most adorable way. outside, students bustle back and forth, class ending; you’ll have to deal with snape, and so will george, but right now, neither of you really care. george just stares at you, and then he starts shaking his head, and then he’s laughing.

    you recoil. “what’s so funny?”

   “you really are daft,” he says. “absolutely daft in the brain.”

    “what are you talking about?”

    but he only continues to laugh, throwing his head back. he turns on his heel, hand inches from the door handle, ready to leave this conversation at that, but your eagerness to know more drives you to stop him. you grab his robes and pull him back, stumbling just enough to push him against the wall, your chest inches from his own.

    his laugh dies, breath catching in his throat as he stares down his nose at you. “not this again.”

    “what are you talking about, george?”

    he smiles. slowly, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your heated cheeks. you’re startled by the touch, half ready to pull away from him, but you stay frozen, trapped in his gaze.

    “i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “in fact, i think i’ve actually grown quite fond of you these past few weeks.”

   it doesn’t make sense. none of it makes sense. in your head, you replay the relationship formed between you and george, the constant bickering, the harsh words, the dire need to be as far from each other as possible - a need that was never met, because somehow, you always found yourself drawn to him, even when you convinced yourself he was the last person you wanted to see.

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands down his robes, flattening the creases you made in the material. he watches your fingers as they graze over the collared shirt he is wearing, lingering just by his stomach before you flinch away and step back, chewing your bottom lip.

    george grins again. he’s always grinning. you don’t want him to ever stop grinning. “you alright there?”

    you nod. “fine. why wouldn’t i be fine?”

    “i don’t know, but you look a little shell shocked.”

   you scowl.

    his grin widens. “there’s that look i’m so familiar with!”

   you roll your eyes. “go to hell, george weasley.”

    ----

     last quidditch match of the season.

   slytherin versus gryffindor.

   marcus is all but foaming at the mouth.

   you and george are making faces at each other from opposite ends of the pitch.

   draco nudges your arm as madame hooch goes through the rules. you glance at him, raising a brow in silent question.

    “stay focused, please,” he whispers, nodding at george who is busy giving goyle the middle finger. “i get you two are friends now, but this match is important to us. get your head in the game.”

    you scoff. “when have i ever not had my head in the game?” 

    draco raises a brow.

    you scowl. “that was one time, alright? i’ve got it this time. them gryffindors aren’t gonna know what’s hit them.”

    and so, the game begins. 

    it’s a dirty game. blood makes an appearance a few times. one of your hands get crushed by a bludger that goyle failed to block, so your knuckles are bloody throughout the entire match.

   and then there’s george.

    he circles you, singing ‘happy birthday’ at the top of his lungs. he smacks a bludger in your direction, but you dodge it and smash it back at him; it hits off the end of his broom, sending him swirling through the air. 

     he rises again, however, and joins your side. the two of you speed the length of the pitch, shoving and grabbing at each other’s brooms, laughing the entire time.

     “just give it up, l/n!” he jeers. “look at the state of your hand! there’s no way you can win this game now!”

    “piss off, weasley!” you yell back, before slamming your bat into an oncoming bludger, sending it straight for harry potter. 

    “oh, you cheeky git!” george exclaims, whizzing after the bludger to direct it elsewhere. you laugh, whizzing as high into the air as you can possibly go before madame hooch blows her whistle and scolds you. 

    the gryffindors start to struggle. you see it in the score board, how fast slytherin are catching up to them. harry is whizzing around like a madman, searching left, right and centre for the snitch that draco is also on the prowl for. you, however, keep your eyes on the bludger, every now and then diverting your attention to the ginger boy who keeps blocking your path.

    “you think this is a kids game, y/n?” he calls, snatching at the bristles on the back of your broom, yanking you back in a way that would usually deliver a penalty, but everyone’s eyes are on draco and harry, so nobody spots the discrepancy. 

    “oh, definitely not!” you yell back. “watch out, georgie; looks like goyle’s put himself into high gear!”

    you do a loop in the air, giving george no time to even process your words before the bludger goyle whacked in his direction crashes into his back, knocking him straight off the front of his broom.

   you would be lying to claim there was not a moment of worry, a moment of genuine contemplation to follow him to the ground, make sure he’s alright. however, that moment is short lived when george gives you the finger, clambers right back on his broom and continues the game with more brutality than you’ve ever seen him possess.

   you’re panting by the end of it, sweat dripping from your brow, seeping into the thin cloth of your quidditch robes. you’ve screamed yourself hoarse, throat aching and raw, but you manage to still scream victory when the final whistle goes off and lee jordan is forced to announce slytherin’s success over the loud speakers.

     you crash to the ground, immediately joining the group hug, draco in the centre.

    “that’s my boy!” you yell, ruffling his hair. “you absolute fucking legend, draco malfoy!”

    draco scowls, shoving your hand away. “don’t know why any of you are surprised.”

    you flick his chin before pulling him back in for a hug. 

    once the team celebrations are over, however, you turn your attention to george. you’ve been doing that a lot more often these days - looking for him in a crowd, wanting to share your joy with him, even when your joy swipes his own from right under his nose.

    you spot him in an instant, because - as always - he’s already looking at you. he’s scowling this time, but that doesn’t stop you from dropping your broom and skipping over to him.

    “we won! we won! we won!” you jeer, grabbing the badge on your robe and shoving it in his face. “see that, weasley? that’s the crest of a winner! that’s the crest of the best house in this fucking school!”

    george folds his arms over his chest, staring as you jump up and down in excitement. 

    he lets you continue until you tire yourself out. you laugh tiredly, pleased to see the tiniest twitch of george’s lips as he glares down at you. 

    finally he says, “finished?”

    “oh, don’t be a sore loser!” you throw your arms over his shoulders, because you’re tired and you don’t really care about anything right now. “tell you what; i’ll celebrate with you later on.”

    george recoils, arms still folded over his chest, making your embrace slightly uncomfortable, though you refuse to let go. “why would i want to celebrate with you?”

   “listen mate, take it or leave it; i have an entire team i could be celebrating with right now.”

     george stiffens. you lift your head, leaning your chin against his chest. he glares down at you, and before you can grasp what his intentions are, he leans down and pecks you on the lips.

    just like that. no explanation, no warning. the kiss lasts no longer than two seconds before he pulls away, breaks out of your embrace and says, “go celebrate with your slytherin friends.”

    he turns, starting up the field. for a second, you just stare after him, shellshocked, but then the scene replays in your head, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need to repay him.

    you dash after him, despite the ache in your legs and the exhaustion in your bones. you grab the back of his quidditch robes, spin him around, and it’s like he expects it - he drops his broom, stretches his arms out and catches you the moment you leap into his embrace and slam your lips to his.

   and it’s so strange, but so perfect, so relieving all at the same time. he holds you tighter, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck whilst you busy yourself with trailing your hands through his thick, messy, windswept hair. 

   behind you, you listen to draco groan out the words, “now?” but it does nothing to deter you from the moment. 

   you pull away first. “i’ve changed my mind.”

    panting, george says, “about what?”

    “you should come celebrate with me,” you reply. “i don’t want to celebrate with my slytherin friends any more.”

     george laughs. in the background, you hear draco telling the other slytherins to just head up to the common room - you won’t be there for another few hours. 

[youryanderedaddy]

♡100 followers special♡

Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk 

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k 

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t. 

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst 

              AD 3061y., 14 September

 Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

 The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

----

 It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud  covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

 After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

 “Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

 “The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

 “The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

 “Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

 “Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

 The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

 “Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

 “Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

 A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

 But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

 “ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

 “My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

 “What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

 “We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

 “This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

 You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

  “It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

[talia-rumlow]

Chapter one of my Rumlow X reader story. This story will contain graphic description of violence, sexual content, BDSM content, murder and Domination. Please read on own risk.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Freya (@marvelous.no)

Chapter 1: We Don´t Treat Women Like That!

Chapter Text

He squizes tighter around your throat, you desperately try to tell him to stop, but because of his grip, you can't make a sound. You feel like your lungs are about to explode. You look at him, your eyes pleading him to stop, but he only smiles back at you. You can feel your eyes closing, and the energy leaving your body. *This is it, he's really going to kill me*

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

You are awaken by your own scream, covered in sweat, and breathing heavily. Fuck, another nightmare. That's just fucking perfect. Third time this week, and it's only Thursday. You turn around in your bed, and look at the time. 6pm, shit you fell alseep again, you should be unpacking. You sit up, and look around your bedroom. Still packed with cardboard boxes. Leaving David and Chicago was the only right choice, after what happened. But the move to New York, and this new job got you exhausted even though you haven't started working yet.

You take a shower, the warm water relaxes you, and you are finally able to shake off the nightmare. You put on some new clothes, and decide to go out for a drink, or ten. You could really use some, and you dont start work until Monday, so you are allowed one hangover Day. God knows, you need it.

The bar down the street is still quiet. It's still early. The only ones there are some regulars at the bar, and a group of badass guys all dressed in black, at one of the tables. You look at them. They all have the same shirts on. All black, exept a white logo, on the left arm. Looks like a bird of some kind. They look totally jacked, like they are mercenarys or something. What kind of place did they actually put you in. You got your apartment through work. And they promised you that it was the safest place in the City.

You order a drink, and look around once more. You never feel safe anymore. David is still sending threatening messages, saying he'll find you. And you know what'll happen if he does.

After a couple more drinks, the bar starts to fill up, with more and more people. You start to feel the panic taking over. You don't have control anymore. You go to the ladies room to compose yourself.

You splash your face with water, and look at yourself in the mirror. *Get it together YN. He would have found you by now*. You take a deep breath, before you open the door, and walk out into the hallway.

Before you can even think, someone is grabbing your neck, spins you around, and pins you to the wall. And then you look into those eyes. HIS eyes. You are so scared you can't make a sound. Tears are running from your eyes, and every fiber in you prepares for the inevetable. *God, this is it. He is going to kill me. I am going to die, outside the ladies room, in a fucking sleezy bar*. You are pretty sure you can hear the adrenaline pumping away in your vains. You are totally paralyzed. Even when he lets go of your arms, to grab your throat, you are unable to move. You close your eyes. You will never in a million years give him the satisfaction of looking into your eyes when he does this.

You expect him to grab your throat, but that doesnt happen. Instead you feel someone yanking him away from you. Then you hear a loud bang, as he hits the wall on the other side of the hall. Then another bang. You finally dare to open your eyes. And then you see one of those badass guys standing over David, punching him repeatedly.

- We don't treat women like that!

One punch for each word spoken. You are still paralyzed. You want to say something, but your whole body is in shock.

Then the guy standing over David, takes out a knife from his boot. You did not see that coming. You take one step forward. You are shaking so bad, that you have to steady yourself against the wall. So again, you just observe.

The guy puts the whole lenght of the blade against David's throat.

- God knows I want to do this. BUT, I won't, because of this beautiful lady standing behind me. But if I EVER see you put one finger on her or any other lady for that matter again. Trust me when I say, I will use it on you. Now, leave, before I change my mind!

David gets up, glance at you once, and then he leaves. You still cant make a sound. The guy comes over to you.

- Are you OK? Do you know that guy?

You take a deep breath, and look up at him. He is handsome. He is well built. You can see that, even trough his clothes. Dark hair, Brown eyes. He has a playful boyish kinda look, but at the same time, you can tell that he is older than you.

- Did he hurt you?

You shake your head..

- He.. He is my... WAS my boyfriend.

The guy looks at you.

- Boyfriend? Really? How did a beautiful girl like you, end up with a loser like him?

You look at him.. Beautiful?

- It's a long story..

- Well I've got time. If not, I can walk you home. You wouldn't believe how many of him it is out there.

You contemplate having a drink with him, and talk. But decide against it. You do however take him up on the offer of walking you home.

Check out the My Saviour Masterlist HERE!

Check out my Frank Grillo Masterlist HERE!

Next Chapter