#but that’s why bleaching your hair can be such a pain down the line

[floriwoo]

the way you can kinda still see his oreo hair 🥹

gone but never forgotten

[ferniessss]

#1 “Apple of the Eye”

Bleach [Ichigo × Reader]

[Y/N] [L/N] has always been the apple of the eye of Kurosaki Ichigo. Throughout the years of knowing each other, he never dared to man up and confess. He was a coward which is the opposite when he's fighting a hollow.

So you could not imagine the horror he felt when he saw the woman unconscious with blood dripping down from her head to her neck in the hand of his friend, Chad.

“What happened?!”

“Hollow attack at the plaza, I'll bring her to Urahara's.”

He could not utter a word but gave his friend a nod instead. Eyes full of worry he watched them go as he made his way towards the hollow.

Two days had passed when the attack happened and Ichigo watched the [H/C]-headed girl struggle to write notes as one of her hands was broken. Bondages were still wrapped around her head which was still healing.

“Don't worry too much, she's fine.” Rukia suddenly said, breaking Ichigo’s worried thoughts.

Looking to the other side he spoke, “I'm not that worried.” a lie.

Rukia called her friend and showed him the notepad in her hands showing him her drawing of a bunny version of [Y/N] with Ichigo and a little heart in the middle. She gave him a proud and teasing look while the orange-haired man's sweat dropped.

After class, [Y/N] found herself mindlessly walking back toward her home. Her head was painful as hazy memories of what happened the other day came back crushing in her mind.

“A weird-looking monster attacked me? I must be going crazy—” Her thoughts came to a stop when she saw her classmates who were not far from her fighting a giant weird-looking monster that she thought was just her mind playing tricks on her.

“What the fck?” Was the only thing she said as the monster turned into nothingness.

Her eyes followed Ichigo's form landing beside Rukia in such a cool manner.

“Good job Ichigo!” The black-haired woman gave a thumbs up.

The orange-haired man gave a sigh and turned around and that's when his eyes locked with hers which was shining out of admiration.

“Let's go back, Ichigo!” Rukia called and was about to make her way back but stopped when she realized her friend was not moving even an inch.

Following his line of sight she saw their classmate standing not far from them. She would have thought that it was a romantic situation as the sunset was gently shining on the three of them but that would make her a third wheel.

Brushing her thoughts away she went towards [Y/N], looking her in the eyes she asked.

“Can you see him?” she pointed at Ichigo who was now awkwardly standing.

[Y/N] gave her a small smile and nodded. “Since when did you see him in that outfit?” She questions once again. “Since today.” answered the [H/C]-headed girl.

Rukia let out a sigh and looked at Ichigo, with a teasing look she spoke. “Ichigo, why don't you escort her back to her home.” She said while wiggling her eyebrows. “It could be dangerous, you know.”

“Kuchiki-san it's okay I can manage—”

“Don't worry [L/N], Ichigo here will walk you back to your place!”

And that's how the two found themselves slowly walking together down the street. It won't be that far anyways, two more turns and they'll reach their destination.

Except the two were enveloped with awkward silence and it was overbearing.

While looking at their shoes walking in synchronization the man beside her finally spoke.

“Does your head still hurt?” He softly asked.

“A little, three more days, and I can finally get rid of the bandages,” she said and it was again silent. A few more steps and they’ll reach her home.

“I'm sorry.” Ichigo halted his steps and looked downward.

“What for?”

“I was not quick enough and you got yourself hurt.”

That made her face soften, walking towards her classmate she tiptoed and gave him a pat on the head.

“Don't worry about it too much Kurosaki-san, what is more important is we're both okay.” She said and he finally looked at her. “I don't know what is happening but I know you're doing a great job… you look so cool earlier!” The young woman chuckled as Ichigo felt his face burn. “I'll see you at school, Kurosaki-san.” She said with a wave and finally entered their gate.

Days after what happened [Y/N] and Ichigo started spending time together. For example, if Ichigo skipped classes to kill hollows the [H/C]-headed woman would gladly give him notes or tutor him about the lessons he missed.

This scenario continued for a month until Ichigo suddenly stopped attending school alongside Chad, Rukia, and Ishida.

Of course, this worried the shit out of her. She tried visiting his house but he was not there, she also tried asking Orihime but got a sad look instead, she even asked the afro soul reaper whom she keeps seeing probably thrice a week but unfortunately, he also doesn't know about Ichigo's whereabouts.

The young woman was losing her mind, not until she bumped Orihime along the road. After apologizing to each other Orihime suddenly realized that it was [Y/N], when their eyes met the orange-haired woman gave a reassuring smile and spoke. “Ichigo is okay, he asked me to tell you that you don't have to worry too much [L/N]-san.”

[Y/N] eyes widen about what she heard. She felt relief about the news but also bitterness about the fact that he couldn't tell that to her himself.

The [H/C]-headed woman sighed and gave her classmate a grateful smile. “Thank you for telling me Orihime-san” She gave a short bow and continued walking.

“Why would he ask Orihime when he could've told me about it himself? Ichigo where are you and what's going on?”

Weeks had passed and still no sign of the orange-headed soul reaper. [Y/N] could only sigh.

The situation couldn't get better when a big hollow appeared in front of her.

Her mind went on autopilot and ran, without a clear plan she mindlessly ran hoping the hollow would get tired of chasing but of course, that won't happen.

With her stamina getting low she took a turn and tripped. “WHAT A GREAT WAY TO DIE! JUST BECAUSE OF A ROCK.” while aggressively panting she turned around and watched the hollow slowly make its way to her.

She couldn't do anything, she was too hurt to stand up and too tired to run. The hollow prepared for an attack and all she could do was to close her eyes and block her face with her bare hand.

When no pain came to her [Y/N] slowly opened her eyes and saw a figure that was looking down at her with a small smile, the claws of the hollow blocked by his zanpakuto.

“Are you all right, [Y/N]?” He softly asked.

“Just mild scratches.” She answered and watched him cut the head of the hollow without any struggle.

Ichigo offered his hand and [Y/N] took it, after regaining balance she pulled the orange-headed soul reaper into a tight hug.

Ichigo stiffened at the sudden action but gladly gave in and returned the hug with equal affection.

“I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too,” he replied, head slowly resting on her neck.

Up above if you look closely you can see two figures watching the two below them.

One red-headed man and the other was a short raven-haired woman.

“Told you he'll find her first.”

“Ichigo finally man up, I guess I need to do the same.”

“What do you mean by that, Renji?!” Rukia whispered shouted.

“I'm saying I like you.”

[MASTERLIST]

Author's Note:

This was made out of boredom, LMAO

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Mayuri Kurotsuchi (Bleach) - Chapter 3

These meetings always make you anxious. The second you stepped through those doors your chest felt heavy.

The captains were all lined up and Jushiro sent a sympathetic smile. You're technically still a member of his squad, but you practically live at the twelfth division now.

"Kurotsuchi, present your findings."

The head captain's tone never truly held much emotion unless he was scolding. It still made you weary. You're at the center, just waiting.

"Very well."

He stepped over to you.

You're not sure what's about to happen because he hasn't exactly been very forthcoming with his research.

"She possesses power that most of you cannot comprehend." Those clearly aren't the words they want to hear. A few of them shift, and Toshiro's eyes are focused on you. This wasn't exactly helping your case.

"You all fear her because you don't understand her power, it's actually quite pathetic. She is not a threat to us. Let me demonstrate."

You aren't really sure what exactly he intends to demonstrate. When he reaches for your blade you flinch. He pulls it right out of the sheath.

"W-Wait what are you doing!"

He lifts his own blade that glows. You gape when he raises your blade and brings his own down. It strikes your zanpakuto and you're shocked when the metal shatters into pieces. Your eyes shake and the entire room looks stunned.

Mayuri drops your broken sword, disinterested.

You drop to your knees, staring at the shattered weapon.

Jushiro is enraged.

"What is the meaning of this!!"

He looks ready to fight, but Shunsui grabs his arm, shaking his head.

Mayuri sheaths his zanpaktou.

"Is this not what you all wanted? For me to get rid of the threat." His words sound like a jab, and Toshiro looks a bit guilty.

"You view her as an enemy, why should it matter if she no longer has a weapon? Would that not give us the advantage? You fear her. Her power makes you uneasy."

You're still trying to process that it's gone.

You still recall when you got it.

"No way (Y/N)-chan, you have a zanpaktou!!"

The voice of your friend catches you by surprise. Growing up in Rukongai was rough. That's why when you all finally made it to the academy, it felt like a dream.

That morning you had woken to shouting.

You turned your head, and sure enough there was a blade right at the side of your futon.

"W-What! That's impossible! It can't be mine."

A few of the others were staring in awe. No one had truly gotten their weapons yet. You were all in the first phases of the training. According to the captains, attaining a blade usually took months.

You stare at the weapon, hands hesitant.

"Are you..really mine?"

You aren't sure what you're asking, it's not like it can hear you.

"Akaya. That's my name."

Your eyes widen.

"Did you hear that!!"

Your friend shakes her head.

"Hear what?"

You can't believe this. You must be hallucinating.

Unless...

"Akaya."

You say aloud.

It glows and gasps echo throughout the room. You don't know why, but it's almost like it's calling you. Reaching out, you pick it up and the familiarity of it is amazing. You feel connected.

"I'll treasure you, Akaya."

You finally understand what they meant when they spoke about the bond between a reaper and it's zanpaktou.

"I'm in your care."

Sitting there, it feels like you've broken that promise.

The somber looks are shared throughout the room.

"Akaya.." You whisper.

The light that elects from those pieces catches you off guard. Mayuri just smirks.

The entire room lights up and the gush of wind has your hair flying around wildly. A few of them cover their faces. When the light finally dissipates, your zanpaktou is airborne, hovering right in front of you.

Good as new.

On instinct you hold out your hands and it drops right into your grasp.

They just stare, astonished and you grip it.

"Akaya..y-you're okay.."

The second it was broken you should have been more worried about your title of a reaper, but the thought of being here without your blade was much more painful.

"I have adjusted the properties of my blade to reconstruct in the event that it is ever destroyed, but (L/N) has the ability to do it at will."

You look up at him.

"She's not dangerous. That day her zanpaktou was merely protecting her. Like all of us, our blades are part of us. She has just reached a higher feat. One that I intend to implement into my studies."

He's wearing that creepy grin whenever he finds something he'll like to tear apart, but you can't be happier. You're about to express your gratitude, but your head lolls forward.

Mayuri pauses, curious. When you lift your head, your gait changes. Your eyes are glowing.

"I appreciate you trying to prove your point reaper, but the next time you cause harm to my master, emotional or physical, I will not take it lightly."

Yamamoto stands, bringing his staff down.

"You are Akaya."

He questions. Your head nods.

"My alliance is to my master, no one else. Tread lightly."

That is surely a threat.

The spark in your eyes disappears and you blink.

The stares directed at you have you a bit uncomfortable.

"A-Ano..is something wrong?"

Jushiro just smiles.

"Welcome back, (Y/N)-san."

Your face lights up and you're beaming, because Yamamato just takes a seat.

"You'll be approved to return to your previous position. That is all."

Nothing else is said. With a thankful smile, you turn to Mayuri, bowing.

"ARIGATOU!!"

Turns out all you really needed in your life was this crazy scientist.

[sleekervae]

Yoü & I [2.2]

A/N: Heyy, I'm trying a new format link for my master list. Here's to hoping it works 🤞

Warnings: Swearing, slice of life mostly

--

"Why does Luke call you 'Shorty'?" Michael asked Charlotte. They were all packed onto the bus, some ways away from Berlin. Within the next week they would close the European leg of the Sounds Live Feels Live tour and take another break before heading back for a cross-country tour of the States.

The young songstress turned to him, his hair faded back to a bleach blonde to take a break from the dye, "He never told you?" she replied. 

Michael shook his head, having paused his Nintendo game "I always assumed it was 'cause you're a dwarf," he glanced at his mates who were enthralled in a tense game of Uno.

Charlotte rolled her eyes "A: fuck you. B: no. When we first started hanging out together we went to this cafe for coffee and they had these really amazing shortbread cookies -- the kind with the little cherry in the middle. I bought like six or seven of them -- and I really love shortbread -- so he just started calling me 'Shorty' because of it," 

Michael smirked, "So, if I put a shortbread cookie in front of you, you'd lose your shit?" he chuckled.

"No," Charlotte replied, "I have a sweet tooth is all. And yes, he also makes fun of me because he's a giant and I am not," 

"That's actually kinda' cute," he grinned, "I'm hungry, now," 

"We'll be in Berlin soon enough, and you can have all the Schnitzel you want," 

When they reached the hotel, the girls were all set for a couple hours of sight-seeing before they'd have to head off for soundcheck. Unfortunately, they were instead treated to a barrage of calls from Terryn.

"Oh, brother," Maria sighed when her phone started to ring, "It's the Terror!"

"What does she want now?" Kimberly asked.

"Maybe she was driving Harry nuts so he blocked her number and she's bothering us now?" Chloe grinned.

"Isn't it sad how we all shit on the one person who got us to where we are?" Charlotte thought aloud. 

Kimberly shrugged, "Hey, I'm not knocking her, but the woman's a little control freak. I get heartburn whenever she's within six feet of me!"

"You think we don't know the pain?" Chloe replied as Maria picked up the call, "I get a migraine when the old bag starts screeching,"

The three girls turned to Maria when they heard Terryn's familiar screeching, just as Chloe had described. She placed her cold hand over her forehead, feeling a pain coming on, "Oh! Here it comes!"

Maria's face was drawn in confusion and horror, trying to understand what their manager was crying about in her hysteria, "T-Terryn! Terryn! Slow down! I can't understand a word you're saying!"

Charlotte glanced at Kimberly, "I wonder what's wrong?"

"Probably isn't happy with record sales or something," Kimberly shrugged. 

"We didn't do anything! What are you talking about?" Maria hollered into the receiver. The more Terryn talked, the paler Maria's face became as she relayed the terrible news, "What? How?"

The girls were curious now, sensing that this wasn't some over-dramatizing feat from Terryn, "We didn't do anything, I swear!" Maria said. 

"What is it?" Chloe whispered.

"Yeah? What didn't we do this time?" Kimberly added.

"Hold the line, Terryn. Take a Xanax for crying out loud!" Maria pulled the phone away, "You guys aren't gonna' believe this but our song's been leaked!"

"Which song?" Charlotte asked cluelessly.

"Doctor Doctor!" Maria replied, "The one you wrote about dickwad!"

After that, any sound became white noise to Charlotte. She whipped out her phone and logged onto Twitter, and sure enough, their band was trending with news of a leaked audio for 'Doctor Doctor. Charlotte couldn't believe it, feeling like her diary had just been raided and someone aired out all her dirty laundry for the public to feast upon. That song wasn't meant to be released for months, and whoever had grabbed the audio clip had just flushed eight months of work and prep down the proverbial drain. 

She played the clip and sure enough, she could recognize her voice and Maria's guitar tinkling quietly as she sang. The clip already had thousands of listens, the edge of surprise for the new album had been blown, "Fuck my life,"

"How is that possible?" Kimberly cried as she listened to the clip, "How -- I mean... what the actual... I mean -- what the fuck!?" her fists clenched tightly.

"We got ripped off!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"There goes single number one," Chloe huffed.

Maria was still on the phone with Terryn, "I don't know how it happened, Terryn! We haven't shown this song to anybody! I swear! I swear on my abuela no one has heard the song! You think we'd jeopardize our careers like that? Look -- I... I'll call you back!"

As if it wasn't any more possible, Charlotte began to feel sicker, "Girls, we played it in the studio weeks ago -- with the guys," she admitted.

"And anybody could've passed by and heard us," Kimberly gasped, "The doors aren't exactly sound proof and we don't know who works the switchboards," 

"The migraine just got worse!" Chloe exclaimed, clutching her head, "Oh, my God! What do we do?"

"Nothing," Charlotte shrugged, "What can we do? The song is out!"

Kimberly scrolled through Twitter on her own phone, "At least the feedback is positive," she mumbled. 

"Oh, goodie!" Chloe chided, "Everybody loves a stolen song! The public is sick!"

The girls' outburst had drawn some considerable attention in the lobby, especially from the boys. They came wandering over, sensing the thick throes of panic.

"Hey," Ashton greeted them, "What's happening?"

"Somebody leaked our fucking song!" Chloe exclaimed, loud enough for passing hotel guests to stop and stare at them. Maria grabbed her.

"Lower your damn voice!"

"My head hurts!"

The boys were visually and understandably just as gobsmacked at the girls, "Somebody leaked your song? Which one?" Calum asked.

"The one we played for you guys. 'Doctor Doctor'," Charlotte replied soullessly.

"Who the fuck would do that?" Luke asked. 

"If we knew that, would we be in the middle of a crisis?" Kimberly snapped.

Harry then came over to calm the crisis, "Alright, girls I understand you're upset, but let's move this upstairs. People are staring at us,"

"Being photobombed is the least of our worries right now," Maria chided back. 

Nonetheless, they hauled their things up to their rooms and reconvened together, trying to piece together how the audio was stolen and what their next game plan would be. Releasing 'Doctor Doctor' as the lead single was now out of the question, the anticipation was ruined. Charlotte's tongue tingled with dread as ideas were passed back and forth, anxiety overtook her when they all came to a solid conclusion.

"What if we replaced 'Doctor Docter' with 'You & I'?" Maria finally suggested, staring nervously at Charlotte. The younger brunette was at a crossroads, having sworn the last thing she wanted was to release something that -- if interpreted correctly by a handful of people -- would become more destructive than she would like. 

Chloe crouched down in front of her, placing her hands on Charlotte's shaking knees, "Char, nobody is ever going to know who you wrote it for. Hell, we were kinda' thick the first time around, too," she tried to smile.

"And until we get the rest of our songs recorded and produced..." Kimberly shook her head, "It's a beautiful song, Charlotte. I think it'll be received well," 

Charlotte placed her head in her hands, her chest felt as though it would burst at any moment, "I -- it'll take weeks to get done. We're on the road, we have to edit, record, track everything --"

"We're back in LA next week, babydoll," Maria said softly, "If we put the pedal to the metal... we could have it out by December,"

"A little later than Terryn would like, but screw her. These are extenuating circumstances," Chloe said.

"I don't know what to do," Charlotte said, her voice cracking. 

Maria nodded slowly, she felt for Charlotte but at the same time they were under a wire for time. Charlotte didn't have an eternity to figure out whether she was ready to tell the world how she felt about Luke in a song that people may not even interpret it as being for him. She had to grow up.

"Charlotte, it's a song," she said sternly, "It's a silly little love song that you could've written about anybody at any time. Nobody is ever going to know it's about Luke and if someone tries to steer down that path we'll find a way around it, but 'You & I' and 'Doctor Doctor' are the only concrete songs we have prepared. So, I'm sorry, but you need to get over yourself," 

It hurt and angered Charlotte to hear those words, but she knew Maria was right. Nobody would ever know; she even played part of it for Luke and even he didn't get the hint. But it wasn't so much Luke's reaction she was worried about.

"What about Melody?" she asked, "What if she figures it out?"

"Let her figure it out!" Kimberly exclaimed, "That bitch has been nothing but cruel to us from the moment she came charging in like a bull at Indianapolis. Who cares what she thinks? This is your song, your story,"

"And if she has a problem, she'll get her hands on you over my dead body," Chloe assured, "And ya'll know I'm crazy enough to whack a bitch before I let anybody get their hands on you," 

Charlotte tried to smile a little. Maria folded her arms over her chest, "So? What do you say, Charlotte? We got your back no matter what," 

Charlotte was quiet for a long time, trying to will her voice box to make some sort of affirmation noise. This was personal risk she'd take, but it was for the good of the band. The band, her livelihood, her friends were always going come first. She knew what she had to do.

"Alright," she finally agreed, "I'll do some last edits and we can start tracking next week," 

The other three let out a collective sigh of relief, knowing that this wasn't easy for Charlotte to do but they appreciated her taking the leap. And they'd back her up no matter what. 

"I love you!" Chloe praised, throwing her arms around the singer, "I love you! I love you so damn much! I'm gonna' buy you so many gifts for your birthday this year!"

Charlotte chuckled but hugged her back, "You don't have to do that but thank you. I love you too, Crazy Person," 

Maria stood up and grabbed her phone, "I'll call the Terror, let her know what's going on," 

"I'll order us some room service," Kimberly decided, "I'm starving," 

"I think the guys want to have lunch with us," Charlotte said.

"Well, they can go on their own. We have shit to carpé," Maria said, dialling Terryn's number.

The entire afternoon the girls worked on rehearsing and perfecting the song, editing and rewriting so it became a collective Caper song. It was beautiful and desperate and Charlotte couldn't help but emotionally triggered as though it was the first time she penned it down. They would only have about two and a half weeks to get the first demo completed. 

Charlotte couldn't help the tingles that coated her tongue, all throughout the day and into the evening when they were minutes away from playing their Berlin show. And she still for the life of her couldn't figure out who would steal their song and leak it on the internet. Who could be so cruel and detrimental?

And then on stage, as Catch the Caper broke into their song 'E.V.O.L', the conclusion slammed into Charlotte like a brick wall. It hurt so much to think about, but it angered her too. And it made a lot of sense. 

There were five people in that studio that heard their first acoustic demo: four of them were young men who would never dare break the unspoken oath of artistic secrecy. But there was one person who would be brazen enough to do so. 

Charlotte couldn't even admit it to herself aloud but she kept the conclusion in the back of her mind. And as they stage was packed up for the night her eyes fell on Luke, on the phone probably with his little devil's angel right now. She couldn't point the finger, namely because there was no proof and Melody would just deny it. Not to mention it would probably drive a wedge between she and Luke -- as though her feelings for him weren't complicated enough. 

♛♛♛

Luke sat across from Charlotte, both of them silent on the long-winding bus drive from Cologne to Barcelona. She had her earplugs in as she listened to the hasty recording of 'You and I' she made on her computer, something to guide her and the band when they'd go into the studio. The girls worked in any spare moments they had to compose the right bass beats, guitar chords and drum spreads that turned simple words on a page into a rough concept for a beautiful work of art. 

Luke could hear small echoes of the song leaking from Charlotte's headphones. She didn't talk about the song much, even when he asked. He figured she was still upset about 'Doctor Doctor' having been exposed to the world with no warning. At least the girls were moving on to the next, perhaps she didn't want to talk about the song simply because she wouldn't dare let the opportunity for a leak arise anywhere.

So, Luke busied himself with his own guitar, trying to twang out the same melody he had playing in his head all day. He envied Charlotte in that it took her a simple chord and she could write out a full verse in a matter of minutes -- with the right inspiration, of course. What he would give to be as artistically gifted as she was. 

Charlotte felt the opposite when she heard Luke's music. His work was much more optimistic than hers, taking a more positive outlook on life rather than her cynical and bittersweet approaches. The sound of her own voice permeated through her ears and she couldn't help but cringe at some parts, but if Luke heard it he'd tell her that her voice was perfect, no slip of error. 

Her eyes flickered to him for a moment, and she blushed when she saw he was staring right back at her. She mouthed 'what' at him, to which he shrugged and raised his eyebrows up and down, the creepy way which always sent a shiver up her spine.

"I hate when you do that," she said, pausing her song and pulling out her earphones. 

He only chuckled, "How's it coming?" he asked.

"It's okay," she said, confident in her answer. It seemed the more she listened to the actual melody, as opposed to focusing on the words' context, she found she enjoyed it more. It made it easier to work, "What're you working on?"

"No bloody clue," he sighed, sinking back into the chair, "I wish we weren't driving,"

"You don't like staring out the French countryside?" she asked.

"I do," he nodded, "But if we took a plane, we could've been there by now. Maybe get some sleep," 

"I don't mind so much," she said softly, looking out over the lush produce orchards and fields filled with colourful wildflowers, "I do have to admit, it is a little strange how the booking agencies have us zig-zagging all across Europe. We've been to Germany three separate times in the last month," 

"I don't know why they do it like that, maybe it keeps us on our toes?" Luke replied. 

"It keeps me annoyed, if anything," she chuckled, "Maybe after all this touring shit is over I'll fuck off to Bali for a couple weeks, do some exploring. You're welcome to join me if you want,"

Luke smiled, "A trip to Bali with my best mate? I'd be honoured," he said.

"Somebody has to drive me nuts with his lame jokes," she cocked her head to the side, "Besides, I feel like it would be fun; traveling with no schedules or shows. Haven't done that in a while,"

"It's a date. Next summer: you and me, two weeks in Bali," Luke declared. 

"Done," she smiled, "God, what are we even gonna' be doing next year?"

Luke shrugged, "Hopefully, still out on the road, doing what we love. Still have you with me, causing mayhem,"

"If anyone causes the mayhem in these bands, it's Chloe and Michael. Pinky and The Brain," she said.

"They keep it entertaining. Chloe with her fucking phrase books," he snickered. 

"She means no harm," Charlotte assured, leaning over to see his guitar, "You writing a song?"

"I have no clue," Luke shook his head, "I think I'm just bored,"

"Well, in boredom there's always something to entertain us," she said.

Luke licked his lips, contemplating quietly to himself, "I was thinking about that song we wrote a few months back. What do you want to do with it?" 

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, "How do you mean?" 

"Well -- I mean, do you want it? You did most of the brainstorming so I'll give to you if you want it," he said.

Charlotte stifled a laugh, "Luke, we wrote it together. It's our song. We can both have it. It's the ultimate culmination of what two crackheads come up with when they're sleep deprived and filled up on shitty pizza," she grinned, "You think we should sing it?"

"Together, yeah," he nodded, "Have we ever sung together?"

"Not in public," Charlotte felt a lump grow in her throat. It was one thing for her and Luke to sing and goof off on the privacy of her apartment, but it was another for this side of their friendship to blossom over a stage in front of fans, "I mean -- if you want to, I'm down. Maybe when we get back to the states we can work on it," 

"Sure," he nodded, "We can help with your next album too, if you'd like. I know, the whole leaking thing was a bit of a thorn but --"

"It's okay," Charlotte forced a smile, "Things happen. I'm not going to focus on past fuckeries from inept assholes," she wouldn't dare give away her accusations.

Luke smiled at her, oblivious to her conclusions, "That's the spirit, Shorty,"

[itcamefromthetoybox]

DOLLLLLLS IN SPAAAAAAACE!!!

So continuing from last week’s review, we’re going to keep up our review on Barbie dolls. Why? Because the upcoming movie looks so great, so this is how I’m handling my enthusiasm, so I don’t talk my wife’s ear off! This week, we’re looking at one of my personal favorite dolls from the franchise, “Space Discovery Astronaut Barbie!”

The “Space Discovery” line, as you can probably guess from the name, is a line of Barbie products focusing on space. You’ve got space stations, small space ship playsets for child dolls to play in, and even science classrooms focusing on space. That’s a lot of space stuff, and as someone who loves him some space toys, I am thrilled!

The doll we’re looking at today, Astronaut Barbie, comes in two varieties: white Barbie and black Barbie. Both dolls come with the same outfit and accessories, and they both have the same levels of articulation, so let’s dive in!

Each doll is posed standing at attention, with slight bends in their arms. They’ve got the standard Barbie articulation: moving arms and legs, and ball-joint necks. So pretty much what you’d expect from a Barbie doll.

You would not believe how hard it was to get a picture without massive amounts of glare on the helmets.

The dolls have the standard Barbie bodies, like you’d expect. There is one big thing to note here, though. Normally, people think of Barbies as having big arches in their feet, like they’re wearing eternal high heels. In fact, one of the big scenes from the first Barbie trailer puts focus on Barbie’s foot having that arch, and a later trailer makes a big deal out of Barbie no longer having that arch. So considering how much I’ve been talking about the arch in Barbie’s foot, you can probably guess what I’m about to say: “Barbie has no foot arch.” Well, you’d be wrong. What I’m actually gonna say is that the arch, which still present, is slighter than what people would expect. 

That annoying moment when you misplace your shoe before work.

This is actually the case with a lot of modern day Barbie dolls. The reason is so your Barbie can wear different shoes and outfits without having to do a different leg mold for each Barbie. While some dolls do have the classic high arch and others have completely different leg designs, this lower arch is actually more common in modern day dolls. So if you haven’t bought the dolls for ages, this could be something useful to know. It also means you can grab most dolls and expect the different outfits sold separately to fit just fine.

The black and white Barbies do have different heads and hair textures/haircuts, which is great. The main thing I want to talk about here is the hair texture. The black doll has softer, curly hair, while the white Barbie has stiffer, straight hair. It’s a huge difference in texture, and leads to one of my few issues with Astronaut Barbie. The blonde hair feels like straw. It’s stiff and dry to the touch, like someone used way too much bleach for too long.

Barbies pose for their company photo IDs.

Now, let’s talk outfits. Astronaut Barbie wears a smooth spacesuit with a very nice amount of detailing on them. I love how the suits look and feel. They’re shiny, smooth to the touch, and covered with detailing that really adds to the look without being too much. It’s the right amount of detailing. The suits also have space program logos on the chests, which is a really nice touch.

Astronaut Barbie has a pair of large, plastic gloves and boots. The gloves have slits down the back to make it easier to put them on Barbie and to let them better go over the sleeves of the space suits, but the slits don’t close all the way and some of the sleeves can stick out of the slits as a result of this. The boots are very thick, which I really like, and even fit under the suit legs. Getting them on and off is a challenge because they are very stiff, which can be a little bit of a pain, but I do love the boots. They have a lot of sculpted details, which look really great will definitely excite kids. Also, the boots are treaded on the bottoms, which helps the doll stand on her own without the need for a stand.

Barbie also comes with a space helmet that’s made of two pieces that clip together over the doll’s head. The helmet looks great, but it also brings us to the second issue I have with the doll. The helmet doesn’t fit tightly over the doll’s head, so it’s loose and flops around. The other issue is from how the helmet clips together. Since the dolls have hair, the hair can get caught in the helmet and stick out of the top and sides. It can take a good amount of fiddling to get the hair completely in the helmet.

Barbie comes with four accessories: a small flag and three astronaut ice cream sandwiches. The flag has a little clip on it that lets Barbie hold it in her hand, but it can be a bit of a challenge to fit the clip on the gloves. I often just wedge it onto the glove’s thumb and hope it doesn’t fall off. 

We claim the moon in the name of the Barbie Empire!

The astronaut ice cream sandwiches actually bring us to my third and final complaint: Barbie has no way to hold those at all, so you’re probably gonna lose them like I did. That’s a shame, because astronaut ice cream is one of my favorite things ever. I would kill for an astronaut ice cream sandwich right now, in fact. So delicious.

Behold, one of humanity’s greatest achievements!

“Space Discovery Astronaut Barbie” goes for about $17 and can be found at most retailers. She’s recommended for ages 3+, but do keep in mind that both versions of the doll come with very small accessories that can fit in the throats and noses of both kids and very dumb adults, so use your best judgement there. Would I recommend this toy? Absolutely. Space is freaking awesome, and the idea of a Barbie that explores space is really awesome. I feel like this doll and the theme itself is one that everyone, kids and adults alike, would love. Definitely don’t be afraid to grab this doll. Next week, we’ll be looking at a more collector-aimed doll as we continue our look at Barbie. So come back and take a look at what’s happening! This is JS signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

[pancakehouse]

Love Me Harder

(I just finished my two thousandth re-read of @theprongsletthatlived‘s Chocolate Cake/Banana Split, can you tell?)

based on this song // Also inspired by that one time my best friend sent me a video of some random frat boy giving her a lap dance at a party and said - without an ounce of irony - “this is kinda romantic, right?”

CW: swearing, alcohol, partying, mentions of sexual content (nothing explicit), very brief mention of an STD, and some overall questionable drunken behaviors

(nothing too crazy though, all in good fun!)

********

“Hey James?” Sirius asked, frowning down at his phone, “If you saw a video of Lily giving some other guy a lap dance while an entire house full of people cheered them on…you would probably feel the need to cry, right? Or punch him in the face? Or track fucking Benjy Fenwick down at his pretentious little filming studio and hang him upside down out of a window until he promises to keep his grimy little hands off of my Remus?”

“You know, I’m not sure Lily even knows Benjy,” James said, before sighing and pulling Sirius’ phone from his clenched hands.

Sirius gritted his teeth as James pressed play, resisting the childish urge to close his eyes and plug his ears until it was all over.

If you just let me invade your space,

I’ll take the pleasure, take it with the pain

“Well, I guess this explains why I’ve been hearing this song through your bedroom wall on repeat for the last 6 hours,” James stared incredulously at the screen. “Christ, who even knew Remus could move like that?”

“I did,” Sirius said bitterly. “And now, apparently, so does the entire school.”

‘Cause if you want to keep me, you’ve gotta gotta gotta gotta got to love me harder, love me harder

And if you really need me—

Sirius had memorized the entire video by then, but he couldn’t resist peering over James’ shoulder to torture himself with it once more. Gideon Prewitt had filmed it - before forwarding it on to Sirius with a cheeky, this yours? - and the only thing that kept it from being completely unbearable to watch was the angle it was taken from.

Gideon was in Remus’ direct eye line from the first moment. Which meant that, because of the way Remus was positioned (straddling a pair of hips that were decidedly not Sirius’), Benjy’s face was never actually featured in the video. And by using his thumb to cover the blob of near-bleached blonde hair in the corner of the screen, Sirius could easily let himself pretend the show was all for him.

When I get you moaning, you know it’s real,

Can you feel the pressure between your hips?  

And God, it was like he was looking right at Sirius. The way that Remus’ gaze stayed trained directly on the camera, as if making sure Gideon wasn’t missing a single moment of swaying and hip thrusting and grinding, it sort of did feel like it was all for Sirius. He just would’ve much preferred enjoying the view from up close.

It had only taken Sirius about three minutes of threatening significant damage to Gideon’s bodily functions before he’d gotten Benjy’s name. But, after the haze of rage had faded enough from his mind to consider something other than graphic acts of violence, he recognized that a Future Sirius might be grateful that a video of Remus moving so delectably existed. He might even thank Benjy for his role as a pawn in whatever game Remus was trying to play with him.

‘Cause if you want to keep me—

Sirius watched as an on-screen Remus, still looking right into the lens as he moved (and all but ignoring Benjy completely), tilted his head slowly to the side and deliberately tapped the spot just below his jawline, right at his pulse point.

That soft patch of skin was Sirius’ absolute favorite spot to latch onto. It was silky smooth and so warm and always smelled so thoroughly of Remus. It was all hints of cinnamon and honey and remnants of the tea he always ordered from their favorite cafe. Sirius loved to run his nose against it, followed by his lips and then teeth, just to hear the way it made Remus’ breath catch and his body melt like putty in his arms. That was Sirius’ spot and since the day they met he’d never once let Remus out of his sight without making sure he had good and thoroughly lavished his attention (and tongue) all over it.

Seeing Remus touch that spot now, with his groin in another man’s face—

And if you really need me,

You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to

Love me harder

He never should’ve bailed on that fucking party. Or, actually, he absolutely should have. But he should have bailed on it and then proceeded to spend the rest of his night with Remus in his bed. In his arms. In his mouth.

He should not have been spending his night at Grimmauld Place arguing with a set of parents who meant less to him than the speck of dirt on his shoe.

And he most definitely should not have refused to tell Remus where he was going, preferring to let him believe he was fucking around on him, rather than forcing him to hear about the never ending shit-storm that was Sirius’ family.

“Were you the one recording this?” James asked, turning the volume down as Remus’ show ended and cheers rang through the party.

“Are you insane?”

“Okay, okay, I know. It’s just the way—I swear he’s staring at the camera like he wants to, I don’t know, crawl inside of it and it’s making me feel both very violated and maybe a little turned on,” James said, laughing. “But it also just reminds me of the way he always looks at you.”

“He looks at me like he wants to crawl inside of me?” Sirius smirked, not minding the visual of that in the least. If it were up to him, that’s precisely where he would keep his Remus at all times. Inside of him. Where he belonged.

And where faceless blondes wearing cheesy Hawaiian print shirts couldn’t get their grabby little hands all over him. And he would do just about anything to make that happen.

********

Sirius had just sat down at the table when he registered the music playing from the restaurant’s overhead speakers.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Love me, love me, love me

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius grumbled. But when he looked up, all annoyance immediately evaporated as he was greeted with the grinning face of one Remus Lupin standing over him. The exact angle he should’ve been enjoying that stupid fucking song from last night.

“Sorry I’m late,” Remus leaned down to kiss him softly, running his hands lightly across Sirius’ chest before pulling away, smirking as Sirius’ mouth chased after him. “My shift ran over when I had to take revenge on one of your dickhead economics buddies after he cussed Dorcas out for daring to actually do her job.”

“What’d you do - corner him in the back alley? Slash his tires? Throw a wad of chewed up gum into his over-gelled hair?” Sirius grinned widely as Remus settled into the booth across from him. Much too far away for Sirius to be as handsy as he generally preferred, but he contented himself with closing the distance between their legs, slotting them together under the table.

“Worse,” Remus’ eyes shone as he pressed his thigh into Sirius’. “I told him cryptos are fake money, The Wolf of Wall Street was a shitty movie, and convinced him the ROI on an Economics degree is the same as Art History. He almost cried, it was delightful.”

“Delightful,” Sirius agreed, heavily distracted by the warmth of Remus’ legs and the devious gleam in his big doe eyes.

They first met last year, on a night out at the Three Broomsticks, the main bar on campus where everyone converged on weekends. James had been right in the middle of his relentless pursuit of winning fair Lily’s affections, so Sirius had resigned himself to a night of getting drunk, playing billiards, and watching his best friend repeatedly confess his undying love to a (not-so) reluctant party. But when they’d walked up to the corner booth where Lily sat with her friends, it had taken all of three seconds before Sirius was the one on his knees confessing his undying love to the beautiful creature in front of him.

Remus Lupin was all flushed cheeks and full, pouty lips and dimples and soft curls made up of freshly spun locks of gold. Sirius was floored. Remus was an absolute angel and Sirius told him so.

But, even then, Remus had unequivocally matched Sirius’ over-the-top flirting and blatant innuendos with his own cheeky retorts and the same devilish glint in his wide amber eyes that were on display across the table from him right now.

“So,” Remus said, peering up at him through long eyelashes, “Did you see my video?”

Sirius took a long, slow sip from the drink he’d barely noticed the waitress setting in front of him. “Mmhm.”

“And what did you think?”

“What did I think?” Sirius repeated.

“Yeah, Benjy thought it was kind of romantic,” Remus said. And he almost managed to look genuine, but Sirius knew better. He could see the hurt in Remus’ eyes, the hint of accusation in his voice. He was maybe the only one_ _who would be able to tell the difference.

And he hated himself for being the one to put that look there. But him and Remus didn’t play games with each other. Well, they did, but that was usually in a much sexier scenario that generally involved a tangle of limbs and sheets and most definitely did _not _include Remus’ gorgeous long legs anywhere near someone else.

“And did you?” Sirius asked, pulling his own legs back to his side of the table, immediately missing the warmth of Remus against him.

“Did I what?”

“Did you think it was romantic?” And Sirius’ own hurt must’ve shown on his face because Remus reached quickly across the table for his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I saw Gid and Fabian there. Figured they were always looking for a chance to piss you off and it suited my mood perfectly last night, thinking about you out with some—” he paused, taking in a breath, then continued, “Anyway, I got the DJ to play that stupid song and dragged—”

“I liked the song,” Sirius cut him off quickly, unable to stand the idea of hearing that name come out of those lips again. He was used to the hordes of faceless men who were always sniffing around Remus. There were groups of them he had to regularly fend off himself. But Remus had never picked any of them over Sirius before. And that stung. “The song was great. Your dancing was great. It was all great,” he leaded back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest in and smirking in an attempt at nonchalance, “Definitely romantic, I’d say. You two seem like a good match.”

Remus stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, then slid straight out of the booth. He ran a hand roughly through his curls, before letting them flop back onto his forehead with a sigh. “You just—You never say what you really fucking mean, Sirius. And I don’t know what to do with it anymore,” he took a second to drop a creased bill onto the table before looking back at him.

Remus frowned slightly, seeming to contemplate something, then said, “I love you, Sirius. I’ve been in love with you since day fucking one. And you know it. But we can’t—I can’t do it like this anymore. I can’t be _us _like this anymore. You never just let me all the way in and I don’t know why and I’m just so fucking tired.”

And he looked it. His lips were downturned in a frown, dimples nowhere to be found, and Sirius didn’t know when that look had starting appearing in his company. Didn’t know when he starting being the one to put it there.  

Remus turned to go and Sirius felt his heart make a very real effort to pop straight out of his chest. Like it was trying to warn him that he was about to let the best thing that had ever happened to him walk away. As if he wasn’t already painfully aware of that fact.

“Wait, wait, Re. Please, stop,” Sirius grabbed his arm, tugging softly. “Please just listen.” Remus turned around slowly. Reluctantly. But that was enough. It had to be. “I wasn’t with any other guy last night. Or any other night.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, disbelievingly, but otherwise stayed silent.

Sirius breathed deeply. “Right. So. No other guys.” More silence. “I mean, unless we’re counting that time at the Hog’s Head that James dared me to take eight shots of Firewhiskey and I ended up with my hands down Rosier’s jeans. But that was only because I thought he was you! I realized my mistake as soon as I was on my knees because, well, even drunk out of my mind, I still know exactly how it feels to have your co—”

“Oh Christ,” Remus cut him off, an adorable blush dusting the tops of his cheeks, “So you groped Evan Rosier because you mistook him for me? We look nothing alike, he has like seven piercings!”

“It was dark! And his butt is very perky and grabbable, it’s a compliment really.”

Remus scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Sirius counted the slight twitch in his lips as a victory. “Oh, well, thank you, I suppose.”

“I meant a compliment to him,” Sirius grinned cheekily and was rewarded with another eye roll and a brief flash of the dimples.

“Right,” Remus said, “well, thanks for clearing that up then. No other guys. Got it.” And then he turned to leave again, making it all the way out of the restaurant before Sirius realized what was happening and sprinted after him.

“I was with my family!” He shouted, much too loud considering the parking lot was nearly empty, and Remus was only a few steps ahead of him.

“What?”

Sirius shrugged, smiling sadly. “They’re the worst. Truly, the worst. I barely let James near them and he knows what they’re like. I was just—trying to protect you from them,” Sirius paused, frowning, “That sounds like an excuse. I suppose it is. I just didn’t want you to see how certifiably insane they are, realize that I’m exactly the same, and bolt.”

“Why would I bolt?” Remus stepped closer, just two short feet separating them now.

“Because it’s too much?” Sirius shrugged again, “I’m too much? I mean, last night after watching that video, I definitely texted everyone I’ve ever met that Barry has the clap. Including your mother.”

“Benjy,” Remus corrected, then smirked, “And he doesn’t have chlamydia.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes playfully. “And how would you know that?”

Luckily Remus laughed. But it was much too short and then he immediately became serious again. Fixing him with a hard look. “You are way, way too much. Always have been.”

Sirius nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

“And I love you.”

“Yeah?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Good?”

Sirius grinned, watching as Remus unconsciously mirrored him. “Yeah, because I really fucking love you too.”

********

“You know,” Sirius said, two hours later, from where he sat sprawled out on his couch, hands gripping tightly onto the hips that were twisting and swaying so fluidly above him, “I think what’s-his-name might have been right.”

“Oh?” Remus smirked, pausing his dancing to hover just above Sirius’ lap. So close that Sirius could easily pull him down into a proper straddle if he wanted to. Which he would. Soon. “Right about what?”

Sirius tangled his hands in Remus’ hair, yanking gently and reveling in the soft moan it brought. He smiled at his flushed cheeks, letting his fingers dust over every inch of Remus’ face. The tops of his cheekbones, the light sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of his nose, under his eyes then, so softly, his eyelashes. And finally, pulling gently on his lips, soft and plump beneath his fingers.

“Sirius?” Remus whispered, letting their foreheads fall against each other.

“Yeah?”

“What was what’s-his-name right about?”

Sirius grinned, leaning in until their lips were barely brushing together. “This really is kind of romantic.”

Love me, love me, love me

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Harder, harder, harder

[blahkugo]

𝟖 ༒ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔩

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete hq m.list

atsumu miya — bondage

a/n: rc is bratty, atsumu is bratty, he/she/we are bratty. it’s basically enemies to lovers but they’re already fucking dating (aka my dream relationship)

wc: 1.4k

cw: bratty switch!tsumu, bondage (silk scarf), rough sex, begging, face slapping, degradation

Atsumu, in and of himself, is a challenge. Since you met the rowdy bleached blonde, every moment has been riddled with confrontation and provocation, spite and acts of defiance—clear cut attempts to prove one thing he believes wholeheartedly: in every sense of the word, he is better than you.

It’s a fucking marvel that the two of you are dating now.

“You’re a bitch,” he spits, all bark and no bite, sweat already beading atop his forehead.

“Did you say tighter? I can do that.” You knot the silk scarf around his wrists, tugging a bit harder just to see the scowl he wears so well spread across his face. The objective isn’t pain, but a reaction.

You want nothing more than to see him riled up, to push the loud mouthed bastard past his breaking point, until his curses become pleas and his only coherent thought is release. Tough as he may be, he always looks the prettiest when he snaps—a teary-eyed mess whimpering for a freedom only you can provide him.

But it’s far too soon for any of that; once the restraint is secured, he’s running his mouth all over again. Be it a smug click of his teeth or foul curses, Atsumu tries every possible tactic to talk his way out of knots and in between your legs.

“Not sure why you’re even trying,” he baits, “we both know you want me to fuck you senseless.”

“Baby,” you sigh, running a manicured finger up his bare thigh and reveling in the shiver it evokes, “I’d gag you if I wasn’t about to make you beg.”

“Over my dead bod–” He cuts off all at once, letting out a sharp inhale, teeth gritted, the moment your hand wraps around the head of his cock. His thighs tense, shuddering as you pump his cock, once, twice—making sure to stroke at the spot that makes him see stars—before promptly letting go.

“You were saying?” You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, the power you feel surging through you at the thought of leaving Atsumu speechless. The disappointment on his face is palpable, glassy eyes and upturned brows saying everything he refuses to. But a sullen stare is not enough; you want him completely bewitched, want to hear the pleas of a man under a divine spell, one only Hecate herself could muster.

Your taunt seems to snap him out of his daze, resurges the disobedience you know so well. His mouth sets in a hard line, his hands straining against their confines once again. When he looks at you, the contempt is palpable, flows through the air like his own attempt at black magic.

But what’s a mere human to the divine?

“I could leave you here until you learn how to act right,” you begin shifting away, grazing his muscled thighs as you move. Once you situate yourself in front of him, you begin slowly stripping off what little lingerie you’re wearing. First, your bra. You rub at your skin, make sure to exaggerate the parting of your lips—the breathy sigh that leaves you—as you circle your exposed nipples.

When you remove the skimpy little piece of lace you call panties, the real show begins. “Or I could let you fuck me.” You spread your legs, revealing your slick cunt in all its glory. Atsumu’s gasp pierces the air, the widening of his eyes and swipe of his tongue across his lip making you grin. “I need you, ‘tsumu,” you find yourself baiting as you ghost a single finger across your slit.

“So untie me,” he asserts, a wolffish grin plastered across his face, “let me take care of you, princess.” Even with the smug declaration, his eyes don’t leave your heat, don’t dare to look you in the eyes when heaven lies down below.

You don’t respond, don’t care to drag out this little game of dominance any longer, choosing instead to crawl over and answer with a peck to his chest. Soon, you’re moving downwards, kissing and sucking his chest, his well-sculpted abs, following the path of soft brown hair that leads to his cock. All the while, Atsumu stares hungrily, believing his smooth talking has reaped some sort of deserved gratification.

When you reach his dick, hard and throbbing with need, you wrap your lips around the head and get to work. With every lick of your tongue against the underside or moan around his member, Atsumu stiffens, attempting to rut his hips into your mouth despite the restraints.

And this is the true nature of your spell, to lull him into a false sense of superiority, make him think he’s won—that his power over you can be validated with a few simple words and a flash of pearly whites—when in reality, this is the beginning of your victory.

When you feel him approaching the edge, chest heaving, low groans and curses muttered beneath his chest, you stop.

“What the f-fuck, no!” He wriggles against the lace scarf, desperately trying to push his cock back into your wet hole.

“Beg.” Your command is simple, should be easy enough for the wanton blonde to follow, but he hesitates. Stubborn bastard. Still, you can see him starting to bend—can see it in blown out pupils and quivering lip, his death grip on the headboard. Just a little more.

You clamber on top of him, hands stroking at his soft cheeks, and grind against him. “Tell me how badly you want me,” you tweak at a nipple, moaning when your clit brushes his cock, “be a good boy and beg for me.”

And like the magic chant of a spell, it’s that simple praise that breaks him.

“Please.” The word comes out rushed, embarrassed, especially when he repeats it. But it’s enough for you to sink down onto him, groaning at the welcomed stretch.

Once he’s inside your warm walls, the shame seems to dissipate. Over and over again, Atsumu prays and pleads, until your Achilles of a boyfriend is reduced to a mess of whimpers and tears—a mortal in your celestial realm.

The power is delicious, intoxicating even, but you can’t say you aren’t enjoying the sex too. Every slap of your thighs against his sends you reeling, his own desperate thrusts meeting your bounces and causing his cock to settle deep inside of you. Soon, you’re lost in the pleasure, unable to keep your voice muffled.

“Fuck– God yes, ‘tsumu,” you choke out amongst his symphony of groans, scratching red into his broad chest. The room is ablaze with sweat and heat, glossy eyes, bitten lips and the sweet sound of skin against skin. It’s almost too much, his dick pounding against your cervix over and over again.

So when he asks, no– commands, you to ‘fucking untie him,’ you do.

In seconds, your back is slammed into the mattress and your legs are pressed far above your head. Atsumu thrusts into you like he’s starved, grabbing at any skin he can—thumbing your clit, hands roaming your waist—as if he’s doing it simply to prove he can.

“You’re just a fucking brat on a power trip,” he stresses between grunts, “but we both know you like to be fucked ‘till you’re crying.” All you can do is garble and choke, a pitiable response unfit for such a divine being. But attempting anything more is a fruitless endeavor when his hand presses bruises into you, when his cock doesn’t let up, when his fingers slide against your bundle of nerves and make you keen with desire.

Once Atsumu starts running his mouth, he doesn’t know when to stop. “Who fucks you this good, huh?” When you don’t answer, he slaps your cheek roughly, a sting that makes your head spin. “Answer,” he demands, “or you won’t cum.”

And so you do, crying out strings of his name and his name only—the humble offering of an unworthy devotee. It becomes incoherent, as garbled and twisted as the coil in your gut as you approach your high. Atsumu is cruel, unrelenting in chasing his orgasm; your own is simply a bonus.

After all, what’s a minor divinity to the god of war?

[inarizakibabe]

Rumors

Rumors can either break a person or break a person. Atsumu knew that better than anyone. It seemed almost everyday there was a new rumor about him. Usually they weren't extremely bad but the rumor today definitely couldn't go unnoticed. He had no issues when the press slandered his name but he drew the line at them dragging his family through the mud. Currently he was waiting for a call from his PR team to figure out their best course of action.

"What the hell is taking so long? It's just one phone call." Atsumu seethed as he glared at the phone on the counter.

"Tsumu please calm down. They'll call soon and you can get it fixed." you placed a comforting hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze.

"I know that (y/n) but with every second that goes by with the tasteless story about you and Samu I get more uneasy. How hard is it for people to mind their own business?"

"It's their job love and they have to eat too." you sighed.

"Doesn't give them the right to post that story. I should sue 'em for slanderin ya like that." you could tell he was getting more aggravated as his accent became more prominent.

"Just take a breath darling. It'll be alright. How about I make you some fatty tuna?"

Atsumu smiled and kissed the back of your hand. "You're sweet doll but I'm good. Why don't you sit down instead. Your feet must be killing you."

"I'm alright and dinner isn't ready yet so I'll sit after."

"I love that you're a strong woman and you have a mind of your own but remember you're seven months pregnant. I can't do much for you at this stage but at least let me do what I can." Atsumu pulled out his wallet and placed it in your hands. "Take my wallet and order whatever you want for dinner. As much as you want too angel."

"We just went grocery shopping Tsum. I wanna make you something." you pouted hoping he'd give in but Atsumu simply chuckled.

"You're adorable but you heard me babe. You can cook tomorrow and I'll even take it for lunch the next day. How does that sound?"

"Alright fine. But I'm getting cake. And ice cream. With whipped cream. And sprinkles."

"Chocolate or caramel this time?" Atsumu smirked.

"Both with fresh strawberries on the side. Thank you."

"Anything for you my love." Right as he said that Atsumu's phone rang. "It's about time now to fix things."

Thirty minutes later Atsumu hangs up and turns to you with an innocent smile on his face.

"So a decision was made. I'm gonna take a picture of us and post it so smile big pretty girl." Atsumu held his phone over both your heads and took a selfie you weren't ready for.

"Tsumu! No! I don't look good there." You pouted.

"You always look good baby." Atsumu chuckled while posting the picture on his Instagram page.

The notification tone on your phone signaled when Atsumu was finished and you went to check the post. To your surprise it was a picture taken the same date the press accused you of seeing Osamu behind Atsumu's back. The most notable part of the post was definitely the caption.

"It pains me to see people treat this wonderful woman in my life with no respect. She's made me a better person in life and continues to show me the sweeter parts of life. I love her dearly and would love if people would stop dragging her name through the dirt. Not only is she my wife but she's also giving me the gift of fatherhood so in this special time for both of us I ask that you give her more privacy please. Support MSBY Black Jackals as we face Schweiden Adlers next week."

"Tsumu......" Atsumu cupped your cheek and wiped a tear you hadn't noticed fell from your eye. "You can't do that while my emotions are all over the place like this."

"I had to make sure they wouldn't harass you anymore and Hikari can grow with no problems."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. "You're still calling her Hikari?"

"I don't see why not. It's a pretty name for my pretty baby just like her pretty mommy."

"Don't forget her pretty daddy."

"I could never. She's gonna look like me. Maybe I can bleach her hair too."

"And moment ruined." You moved away from him and made your way to the couch.

"Wait come back. Don't just leave me here." Atsumu pouted.

"Sorry seven months pregnant. I really shouldn't be on my feet."

"(Y/n)-chan!"

[nothinghcppens]

small talk- pietro maximoff

part 1

part 2 here

masterlist

pair: pietro maximoff x female!reader

summary: after being apart of the team of super soldiers that hydra experimented on, y/n was one of the successful experiments and had been released to the world. the winter soldier and the siren had become the most prolific assassin duo in the world. but what happens when they get taken in by the avengers? what happens when she meets a particularly fast superhero with an attitude?

warnings: swearing, slight mentions of trauma

bang. the bullet left your gun and went through the targets skull and his body dropped to the floor with a thud. behind you, your partner barnes did the same, the body hitting the ground.

“go.” he demanded, pushing you forward. you ripped off your mask and turned to face him.

“don’t touch me.” you spat. you bent down and grabbed your knife, twirling it round your hand and placing it in your belt.

“hurry up. we have to report back to hydra.” barnes said, checking the bullets in his gun.

“you don’t tell me what to do.” you barked, sending him a sharp glare.

“shut your fucking mouth.” he seethed.

you went to retaliate but stopped yourself when he raised his finger to his mask, looking around.

“get down!” he called, throwing himself behind the wall. you dropped and rolled behind a metal box, covering your head. two smoke bombs went off next to you, clouding your vision. you peered around the box, seeing barnes stepping out of his hiding place, gun raised. you put your mask back on so that your identity wouldn’t be compromised and stood up. you took your knives out your belt and raised them.

trails of blue flashed in front of your eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows, confused and spin round, slashing your knives through the smoke. you heard barnes grunt and heard his body hit the ground. that was your cue to leave, you were in danger. you broke out in a sprint, preparing yourself to jump off the roof. but those blue trails cut in front of you, knocking you on the floor. you felt a sharp pain in your neck and your eyes began to feel heavy. you tried to kick and push yourself up but it was no use. your vision went blurry and everything kept going in and out of focus. before your eyes completely shut you felt a pair of arms reach under you and pick you up.

“i’ve got her! someone got barnes?” the voice said, it was a man with a thick foreign accent. the world went dark.

your eyes shot open and you tried to sit up but you couldn’t, your arms and legs were bound by some kind of force. your eyes darted around and landed on tow people standing guard. there was a man with light brown hair, his arms were large and crossed over his chest and a younger man with bleach blonde hair and a scruffy beard.

“good morning, sleeping beauty.” there was that accent again, he was the one who took you.

“pietro, enough.” the other man said. “i’m steve rogers.”

“i didn’t ask.” you mumbled. the man you learned to be name pietro let out a noise of surprise.

“you are y/n y/l/n, more commonly known as the siren. you are one of the more dangerous assassins on the planet.” steve said.

“how do you know my name? no one knows my name.” you questioned, trying to free yourself from their restraints.

“we know a lot about you, you and your partner james barnes.” pietro explained. steve stiffened at barnes’ name, does he know him?

“friday, tell stark that she’s awake. i’ll meet him in the lab.” steve announced.

“of course, captain rogers.” a female voice replied from thin air. you looked around confused, where did that come from? he left the room and went to find whoever he’s looking for, leaving you alone with pietro.

“how did you find us? where am i?” you asked.

“you were pretty easy to track down considering the trail of bodies you two leave all over the globe.” he declared. he pulled a chair over and spun it round, straddling it.

“well how come it took you guys this long to find us?” you spat, not liking how much he’s enjoying this, “who even are you?”

“we’re the avengers.” a man announced from the door. he had dark brown hair and a beard, he was wearing a zip up fleece and jeans. stood next to him was the steve that you had met previously, “i’m tony.”

“stark?” you asked, having heard his name throughout the hydra base you were trapped in.

“the one and only.” he said with a bow.

“are you all like that?” you questioned, really not in the mood for their nonsense.

“like what?” steve asked.

“annoying.” you spat.

“she’s feisty. i like her.” pietro stated with a smile.

“yeah. i’m dangerous too.” you commented.

“not when you’re trapped like this you aren’t.” he replied. he stood up from his chair and peered over at you. you struggled against your restaints and tried to get yourself free, but it was still no use. he chuckled condescendingly and you rolled your eyes.

“right, we’ll let you out. but you have to promise not to go all super soldier on us. we stopped you once before, we can do it again.” tony said, stepping forward and pushing pietro away from you. “we’ll explain why you are here and what we want from you.”

you agreed to stay calm as long as they explain what’s going on. they removed the restraints and you practically leapt out of the bed, landing unsteadily on your feet.

“careful there.” pietro muttered, reaching his hand out for you.

“don’t pretend that you care.” you grumbled. a look of hurt flashed in his eyes but was quickly replaced by that sarcastic smirk that never seemed to leave his face. “so, why am i here?”

“come with me and i’ll explain it.” tony said. you looked down at your clothes and saw that you were still in the same clothes from your last mission except your belt was missing along with your jacket and bulletproof vest.

“where’s my belt?”

“confiscated, for obvious reasons.” steve explained. you groaned and pushed your way past the men and out the room, tony following behind you. you stopped quickly, realising that you didn’t know where you were going. he overtook you and you walked behind him.

“welcome to the avengers tower. we brought you here because we know that hydra have experimented on you and barnes and you have been their weapons for the past few years. barnes and steve knew each other during their war days so steve wanted to free him and you, well you just got lucky.” he looked back and saw your angry expression.

“i’m only kidding, you’ll be a good asset to us. we’ve just got to get hydra out your brain. they’ve wormed their way inside you and at any moment you could go all assassin and try to murder us all.”

“they don’t control me.” you stated.

“say what you want, but they do. you won’t realise it but they are using you.” he stopped you and his tone went more serious. “pietro and his sister wanda, they were experimented on by hydra. they got sent out to attack us. we helped them realise hydra’s hold on them.”

“maybe i don’t want your help.” you said, thrusting your head towards him in an attempt to intimidate him. he didn’t flinch.

“i think you do. would you rather go back to being tortured?” he queried.

“i-“ you didn’t know how to respond.

“that’s what i thought, so i suggest you take our help before we change our mind.” he said, turning away and heading up the stairs. you jogged up behind him and followed him as he led you along a hall lined with doors. “welcome to your room, get yourself cleaned up and when you’re ready just ask friday to alert someone and they’ll come and bring you down.”

“who the hell is friday?” you asked.

“friday?” he announced.

“yes mr stark?” that voice from earlier replied.

“this is y/n y/l/n, she’s new here. i’m just introducing you to her. make sure she doesn’t leave her room unless accompanied.” tony said, opening the door.

“no problem, it’s lovely to meet you miss y/l/n.” friday added.

“uh yeah, you too.” you spoke quietly, unsure of who or what you’re talking to.

you stepped into the room and turned round to see tony flash you a small smile before closing the door on you. you let out a sigh and looked around the room. there was a large king sized bed against the right wall, a rug across the centre of the floor. there was a wardrobe and a set of drawers which you pulled open and saw filled with clothes.

“uh friday?” you asked.

“yes miss y/l/n?” the robot lady replied.

“who’s clothes are these?”

“they belong to miss romanoff and miss maximoff, they are for you to borrow until you can purchase your own.”

why would they give you their clothes? they don’t even know you. do they not know who they’re dealing with?

you let out a sigh and turned to the door on the left side of the room and opened it. inside was a bathroom equipped with a large glass shower and a small smile crept onto your face. you stripped yourself of your clothes and ran the water at the highest temperature. you stepped into the shower and felt the hot water run over your body, goosebumps forming on your body at the change of temperature. picking up the coconut scented shampoo, you opened the bottle and took a long inhale of the scent before placing some in your hand and running it through your hair. then doing the same with the conditioner. you then washed your body with the body wash they provided you with, it was amazing. constantly being on the run and in hiding, you never got the opportunity often to take a minute to take care of yourself.

after the shower you brushed your hair and got changed into some sweatpants and a hoodie. you lay down on the bed and closed your eyes for a moment, you didn’t mean to fall asleep but as soon as your head hit those soft pillows you were out like a light.

you were awoken by a soft knock at your door and a voice calling your name, “y/n?” you recognised it to be pietro and you shot up. you glanced around and noticed it was darker outside, it had been a few hours.

“sorry, come in.” you called, your voice a little hoarse from sleep. he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe.

“uh sorry to bother you but tony wanted me to come and make sure you hadn’t escaped or something.” he explained.

“still here.” you stated.

“i see that.” he replied.

“is there something else you need?” you asked. all of a sudden he wasn’t standing at the door, those flashes of blue light whizzed past your eyes and he was next to you on the bed. “speedy, how fun.” you complained.

he chuckled and flopped back on your bed. “make yourself at home i guess.” you said.

“so, hydra huh?”

“careful you might trigger the super solider within me.” you teased. “seriously though, i don’t know what you guys did but i don’t have the urge to complete my missions. i don’t feel like i have to murder anyone in my sight.”

“well that’s always a bonus.” he joked, moving himself up the bed and resting his arms behind his head on the bed frame.

“what was it like for you?” you asked, sitting cross-legged.

“isolated in a case, random injections, training. standard stuff. you?”

“shock therapy. makes me forget who i am.” you explained.

“wow. sounds like fun.” you huffed out a laugh, “what makes you change? how do they control you?”

“they have these books, one for each of us and there’s a sequence of words that like triggers something in each soldier. they just say them and it’s like a switch flips and then i’m ‘ready to command’.”

“sorry to interrupt but i have a message from mr stark.” friday announced, tony’s voice came blasting through, “speedy you had one job. see if i come up and see that the siren has brutally murdered you, i will not be sorry.”

you laughed at tony’s message and looked at pietro who’s expression was the same as yours.

“friday, i have a message for stark. put me through.” he said, “fortunately for you i am still alive, you better watch it before i send her to brutally murder you. we’ll be down soon.”

“he seems nice.” you stated.

“he’s a pain in the ass. wait till you meet clint, he’s even worse.” he joked.

“god, can he be any worse than you?” you questioned, copying his sarcastic smile.

“rude.” he said, getting off the bed, “let’s take you down.”

he took out out of the room and back down the stairs, he stopped at a large set of double doors and turned to look at you giving you a nod. he pushed open the doors and opened his arms wide, “i’m back! and i brought a guest.”

“took you long enough.” tony complained.

“what can i say? we get on like a house on fire, don’t we love?” pietro teased, placing his arm around your shoulder.

“just because i’m not being controlled by hydra, doesn’t mean i won’t kill you.” you growled and shrugged his arm off you.

“you’re right tony, she is feisty.” a man said from the sofa. “hi i’m clint.”

“where’s barnes?” you asked, ignoring him.

“he’s resting, i can take you to him if you want.” a woman with long brown hair suggested. “i’m wanda.” she added as she approached you.

“you’re pietro’s brother. tony told me about you.”

“glad to see my reputation proceeds me.” she chuckled. “come on.”

the walk began quiet until she broke the silence between you two, “i’m glad to see you and pietro are becoming friends.”

“far from friends.” you mumbled.

“he seems to think you are. it’s okay to admit it.” she said.

“nope. not friends.” you stated.

she laughed, “whatever you say. anyway, what’s barnes like? are you two close?”

“honestly, no. we only go on missions together and we don’t exactly get along. i don’t know much about him, i only know his last name. i guess there’s a lot of rivalry, we both want to impress them.” you explained.

“why do you want to see him then?” wanda asked.

“i want to meet him and get to know him when we’re both... free. maybe then we’ll get along.”

wanda pulled open the door and revealed your partner, the winter soldier lying on a bed in the same restraints you had been in this morning. steve sat in a chair next to him, eyes closed and his head on his shoulder.

“why is he still restrained?” you asked wanda.

“well, hydra seemed to have had more of an effect on him than you. he has been under their control for a lot longer than you have, so it’s taking him a while to come to terms with everything.” she explained.

you nodded your head in approval. wanda approached steve and nudged him awake, he blinked rapidly and looked around before meeting her gaze. “go get some rest, we’ll watch him.”

he nodded slowly and yawned before slipping out the room, leaving you two alone with the sleeping super soldier.

“i’ve never seen him this peaceful.” you mumbled, sitting down on the chair that steve left empty.

“where’s steve?” he grumbled, stirring awake.

“he’s away to get some rest, you’ve got us for now.” wanda said.

“siren?” he asked, now noticing your presence.

“yeah let’s drop that, call me y/n.” you insisted.

“how are you out? why am i still tied up?” he questioned.

a massive grin spread across your face, “you, my friend, are even more mentally unstable than i am. because hydra had you for like, what? 500 years? and they only had me for 8.”

“i am not 500 years old.” he spat.

“you certainly look it.” you muttered.

“what was that?” he asked.

“i’m kidding!” you chuckled, “it’s good to see you barnes.”

“bucky.” he said. a smile grew on your face.

“bucky.” you repeated.

———

a month or so passed and you had began to train with the rest of the team, you took it easy because they didn’t want to risk you somehow freaking out and trying to kill them all. during the month you had spent many hours in the lab with tony, running tests on you and making sure you were 100% safe to be around. he is still wary of you, so you aren’t allowed on out missions just yet, but, even if you were you wouldn’t go with them, just in case.

occasionally however, they let you join in for a few hours of training and you really enjoyed it. as much as you hated hydra and everything they put you through, you loved training and fighting, it was your nature. training was your release, it was your opportunity to take out your anger against the world. every punch was a way of pushing out every negative emotion pent up within you.

grunts left your mouth as you punched the punching back hanging in front of you and sweat dripped from your forehead. you then stopped and picked up a staff and moved to the dummy across the room. you took your stance and began to hit the dummy, changing techniques every so often. you felt a rush of wind behind you and stopped before turning around and sticking out the staff. pietro stopped on the left side of the stick, his sarcastic smile present on his face.

“remind me not to get on your bad side.” he stated, pushing the staff away from his face.

you rolled your eyes and turned round, “carry on with that attitude and next time i won’t hesitate to hit you.”

“well i’ve caught you once before, what makes you think i can’t do it again.”

“you caught me off guard. it doesn’t count.” you said, going back to your training.

“don’t be a sore loser, i did it for your own good.” he replied as he sped around and stood behind the dummy.

you looked up at your teammate, seeing his stupid smirk. deciding to make training even more enjoyable, instead of hitting the dummy in your next swing, you swung at pietro. he moved his head out the way and the stick missed him.

“what was that for?” he asked, a shocked smile spread on his face.

“you got on my bad side.” you replied, glaring up at him.

he grabbed the staff and thrusted it towards you, aiming for your stomach. you dropped and rolled out the way, and pushed yourself up, landing on your feet.

“just because i can’t tavel at the speed of sound, doesn’t mean i’m not fast.” you teased.

“him, we’ll see about that.” pietro said. all of a sudden he was gone, those trails of blue light following behind him. he stopped behind you, staff across your throat. his head rested at your right shoulder and you could hear his light breathing in your ear.

“okay fine. you win.” you stated, but before he let you go you grabbed hold of the stick and bent forward, flipping him over your head. he landed on the mat hard and you dropped on top of him, straddling his chest. you placed the staff across his throat and held it there with a sly smirk on your face.

“what? didn’t see that coming?” you questioned.

“impressive.” he said as you stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him up with you.

you unwrapped the protective bandages from your hands and threw on a zip up hoodie over the sports bra you were wearing.

“want to order pizza?” pietro asked.

“no.” you replied.

“oh come on! it’ll be fun.” he said, leaning against the dummy.

“nope.”

“please.” he begged.

you glared up at him while tying your shoes. “fine.”

[starconsumer444]

Sakusa Kiyoomi (18+)

A/N: This is actually like??? Fucked up, but it’s stated that I write dark content (in my pinned), even then, I know it may still come as a shock to some people?? So, it’s only fair warning if I put this disclaimer here telling you its !!MESSED UP!! You’ll come to find out later on that this is fairly on brand for me tho...so yeah. I had fun writing this even though I’m sure the proofreading on this is jackshit.

(CW/TW: Yandere!Sakusa, “Master” as a Name You Call Him, Kidnapping, Semi-Stockholm Syndrome, Abuse, Implied Non-con, GN!Reader, Belting, Degradation, Being Forced To Wear A Maid Dress Regardless Of Gender [Forced Feminization??], Implied Enforced Line of Sight [Sakusa Doesn’t Typically Let You Look Him In The Eye], Abuse, A Knife [Wielded with... Murderous Intent], Lots Of Crying, Literal Drowning, Please tell me if I missed something...)

A rush of hot panic runs through your body as you hear the locks on the front door clicking open. You want to run, but it’s like your feet are cemented to the polished ceramic floor in front of the sink where you stand. 

You still have so many unwashed dishes. The water still runs when it should’ve been done well before he got here, like it typically is. It sounds so loud along with your heart beat in your ears and the shutting of the front doors. You know you're in trouble-- know there’s no way out of it and still you press on in hopes that maybe he’ll have mercy when he see’s you trying to be good. You know it’s no use though, it’s always been no use.

You should be waiting for him by the door, on your hands and knees, but you’re not. You’re pathetic, tears starting to stream down your face as you anxiously scrub away at a sullied plate from last night.

He let you off the hook last time, he’s not going to do it again, you know. But you can’t do this anymore, you want to go home. You want to go home so bad.

You grab a large carver knife from the drying rack as you hear his footsteps behind you. You’re done with this; you’ve been trapped in this hellhole with him long enough. It’s time that you free yourself.

You’ve told yourself that so many times before.

“Can’t do simple tasks?” He sounds so close; dangerously close. You turn around to find that he is.

You hold the knife flat to your chest, or rather the fabric of your French maid outfit that he forces you to wear around the house when you're busy. His face is indifferent-- annoyed actually. 

“You get one chance.” He huffs out. “Put the knife down now and I won’t factor that into your punishment.” His speech is slow, careful, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re gonna hurt me,” You try to stable your voice, wiping away your still falling tears with one shaky hand and pointing the tip of the knife at your kidnapper. He only steps forward, caging you in between him and the sink, tip of the knife pressed to his chest. “Sakusa, please-” You say as he reaches behind you to turn the tap off, and you recoil out of habit. 

“What did you just call me?” He stares down at you and you can only look down at the knife between you and him.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“Put the knife down.” He grabs your jaw with savage strength, pulling you onto the tips of your toes. Still you don’t let go of the knife, tip now pointed at his sternum. “Drop it.”

You shake your head as best you can, eye’s meeting his for the first time in a while, this can be your way out. It’s been months of his senseless torture. Days on end without eating, violating your body over and over, watching you shower, making you clean everything the way he likes it...you can’t stand it anymore. If you have to smell bleach for one more day, you’ll be sick. You can’t do it. Your body is worn out and you know you can’t fight him, but you have to try, right?   

“Fine,” He throws your frail form away from him, effectively slamming your backside into the sink counter. “Stab me. Do it. Now.”

Your tears start to fall harder now, blurring your vision. You don’t bother wiping them though, you just reach behind you to sooth your lower back as your knees hit the ground with a painful thump. Your curl into yourself, body wracking with sobs, as you hold up the knife to offer it to him. You know he’s unaffected by your show, he’s probably looking at you with that same avidly disinterested gaze he always does, as he watches you crying into the skirt of your dress. You can’t help it though, defeat and shame run through your body like fire.

You feel him slide the knife out of your hand, and the sound of it clattering into the sink reasonates, bringing on a new type of heartbreak.

Why did you give up? This could’ve been your chance? Your chance to kill him. To run away and never look back. Why did you give up? Do you hate yourself?

You don’t bother trying to fight it when he drags you up by your hair, telling you how stupid and useless you are. You can hear the faucet running again and you can feel him jerk your head back uncomfortably.

“Where were you planning on going?” He prods in all his sick glory. “We’ve watched the news together, they’re not looking for you.” He says as he pulls you backwards under the flow of the water. You weren't going to answer anyway.

You thrash about violently and you feel him press his torso against you. At the very least you want your feet on the floor, but with the way he’s holding you it’s impossible. And he must’ve put the stopper in because you stupidly gasp for air and catch nothing but water in your mouth, too urgent to notice the water coming above your face. Now you’re choking underneath him with no escape, you’re desperate and trying your hardest to pull yourself out of his grip. He’s always been too strong for you.

You kick at him, try to scream, try to bring your head up from such an uncomfortable angle...everything. It’s all useless. You feel him latch onto your throat to hold you under even tighter and all you can manage to do while you flail about is dig your nails into his forearm.

Your lungs are burning, your stomachs empty, you’re stuck here, why are you fighting? What is there to fight for?

He holds you under for about a minute, barely even struggling against your incessant kicking and scratching. When he cuts off the water and finally drags you up, you’re coughing up water until you dry heave, falling forward once more when he lets your hair loose.

You fall on all fours in front of him, lightheaded and swearing to yourself that you’re gonna vomit. Nothing ever comes up, and for that you’re thankful. Stomach acid on his floor would’ve angered him more and you know it. You try to crawl away, to catch your breath, hoping that this is all over. He just drags you back by your ankles, telling you to stay on your hands and knees, and pushing up your dress to reveal your underwear.

“No one wants a dumbass like you, don’t you get it?”

You know.

“This is where you belong.” You can hear the jingle if his belt coming undone. “You’re not a bad housekeeper, it’s just times like this.” He sounds so far away, like he’s not destroying you more and more the longer this goes on.

“I give a worthless fuck like you, who doesn’t wake up on time to do simple tasks, purpose and you want to stab me?” He chuckles to himself. “Pull your underwear down.”

You comply, moving one shaking hand back to pull them down with several hesitant jerks filled with urgency.

“I fuck you, I feed you, I give you a roof over your head...everything... I give you something to do with your pathetic life and you want to run...” You know not to say a word back. “You can’t even wake up on time to get your work done before I get here and you think you can run?!” He laughs darkly before you feel a sharp stinging pain travel across your ass accompanied by a loud cracking sound.

The belt sends your body forward in pure agony. You don’t even scream, just let out an open mouthed whimper and move back into place for him to lash you again. You deserve it.

You can hear him snicker evilly at your submissive display.

“Count.” He demands.

“One.” You whine.

THWACK

“Two.”

THWACK

“Three.” And tears start to fall.

You reach twenty and by then you’re flat, faced down on the ground, begging for his mercy.

“Please, master,” You inhale, trembling from his harsh mistreatment. You’re sure you have bruising welts on your ass, and its going to hurt to sit. You just want him to stop. “I’m sorry. I’ll learn to do everything on time. Please just don’t hurt me anymore.”

Begging has never once worked on him.

THWACK

“Twenty-one” This time you scream and drag your aching body away from him using your forearms. Tears and snot stream down your face in a miserable display of defeat.

He relents. You know its over when you crawl over to him, not even bothering with your underwear (instead opting to kick them off), and hug his leg. Your body is quaking and you’re still begging for him to have mercy on you for whatever reason. You know he’s done.

You don’t even notice you're getting tears and snot all over his pants as you beg and beg for him to be kind to you. He just kicks you off of him, not caring to hear whatever you’ve got to say for yourself. You lean back into a cold cabinet door, hugging your knees to your chest silently. 

“Clean up. When you’re done, take a shower and don’t come out of you're room for the rest of the day. I don’t want to see or hear you. Do I make myself clear?” He looms over you like the devil himself and you know to look at his feet.

“Yes, Master.”

[skzsauce01]

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind. 

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck. 

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured. 

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now. 

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk. 

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob. 

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you. 

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you.  “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity. 

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable. 

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation. 

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?” 

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?” 

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall. 

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response.  “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting. 

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters. 

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist. 

You knock twice on the door you were told. 

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are. 

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill. 

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?” 

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?” 

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.” 

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.” 

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly. 

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story. 

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.” 

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk. 

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

Ba dum.

Ba 

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet. 

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—” 

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N? 

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so. 

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim. 

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!” 

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance. 

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out. 

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you,  you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son. 

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?” 

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?  

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.” 

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness. 

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles. 

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn’t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name? 

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play. 

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces. 

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

<four years later>

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony. 

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

Non-despair AU! And ever since I watched that thirty minute anime clip with Nagito’s perspective on things, I’ve really liked the idea of him being buds with Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko. And Nagito openly talks about his past trauma on a plane so… what better way to bond than bonding over trauma? Anyway, I love these three so much. Also Komahina because I love them - Circle

(Also forgot to add this, sorry, but it’s on AO3 too) https://archiveofourown.org/works/33483538

Warning: descriptions of panic attacks, nausea, motion sickness, very mild vomiting (like barely any).

Fuyuhiko always thought Nagito was spouting a whole load of bullshit when he lamented about his talent being useless; he would’ve loved having Ultimate Luck right now.

“Haha! You got the short straw, Fuyuhiko!” Akane crowed. “Tough luck!”

“Wait, no! Can’t we do a best of three?”

“Somebody has to sit with them, man,” Nekomaru said. “You guys are already friends, it’ll be a great bonding experience.”

“I don’t want to bond with them in that situation. Because you all know it’ll be a shit show. That’s why we’re fucking doing this,” Fuyuhiko growled, glaring at each of his classmates in turn. Only two were missing, the pair who’d triggered this whole unfortunate drawing of straws in the first place.

“Why can’t you sit with them, Hajime? Nagito is always hanging off you anyway. And Kazuichi is your friend too,” Fuyuhiko said.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Fuyuhiko.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I didn’t draw the short straw.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Fuyuhiko stomped away, his classmates’ laughter echoing behind him. This class trip was already more trouble than it was worth and it hadn’t even started. He was almost tempted to skip the plane journey with the rest of them and hop on a different flight to Novoselic, just to show them. It wasn’t like he needed Sonia to pay his way. But she’d been so enthusiastic about taking her friends to see her home country, and Fuyuhiko couldn’t think of any way to tell her without causing offence. He couldn’t really say he just didn’t want to be stuck babysitting Kazuichi and Nagito on a flight.

It wasn’t that Fuyuhiko didn’t like Kazuichi and Nagito. Sure, Kazuichi could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, and Nagito would go all weird and self-deprecating if you didn’t watch out, but Fuyuhiko still considered them close friends. But the flight to Novoselic was long. Kazuichi could get motion sickness on a fucking bicycle, and Nagito hadn’t set foot on a plane since his parents died on one right in front of his eyes. There was no way it could possibly go well. Fuyuhiko pictured hour after hour of Kazuichi puking and complaining and Nagito… well, he wasn’t sure what the hell Nagito would do. He’d never seen Nagito get flustered before. Hell, that was much more terrifying. He had to get out of this.

In the days before the trip, Fuyuhiko kept trying to convince his kinder classmates to take responsibility for at least one of the other men. “It’s gonna be impossible to help them both,” Fuyuhiko said. “It’ll be better for them if you help me.”

“You could sit between them,” Mahiru said. “And I’ve already promised Hiyoko I’ll sit with her. Sorry.”

Asking Twogami was a no-go too. “It’ll be more considerate to the other passengers if they’re both in one area,” he said. “To limit the disturbance if they become distressed.”

“I’m the one who’ll be feeling fucking distressed,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

Peko overheard, and came over at once. “I’ll take your burden, young master.”

“No, not you!” Fuyuhiko hated the whine in his tone - and he hated the smirk on Twogami’s face too. “You don’t have to do it. You sit with Gundham and pet his hamsters or something. I… I want you to be happy,” he mumbled, blushing fiercely.

Damn it. He could be as bad as Kazuichi sometimes.

There was no way to wriggle out of it. The morning of the trip dawned bright and sunny, and Fuyuhiko’s ticket set him directly between Kazuichi and Nagito. Fantastic.

At least check-in and security went by reasonably peacefully, the walk to their gate quiet. Only Akane and Nekomaru seemed to be properly awake this early in the day, and they stuck with each other. Fuyuhiko glanced at his two friends. Kazuichi still seemed half-asleep, curled on one of the uncomfortable chairs by the gate, watching the planes take off and land in the distance through the huge windows. Nagito was much more concerning. He was smiling brightly… but he didn’t look happy at all.

“Hey, Fuyuhiko, want to know how a plane engine works?” Kazuichi asked.

“No,” he said, but he sat down with a sigh as Kazuichi started talking anyway. He tuned out after a second, though Nagito looked like he was listening.

“Seeing you talk about your ultimate talent is so inspiring, Kazuichi,” Nagito said - and smiled. That weird smile again, desperate and strained.

“It’s nothing. I just think planes are interesting. From an engineering point of view. I really wish I didn’t have to fucking ride one,” Kazuichi groaned.

“Aha, I can’t help feeling apprehensive too. The last time I was on a flight, both my parents died.” Nagito spoke emotionlessly, as if reciting a shopping list, but that smile was still fixed on his face. “But it’s okay. That bad luck brought me a lot of good luck later on. You just have to have hope that things will work out.”

Kazuichi stared at him, mouth open. “Um. Okay. Sorry.” He caught Fuyuhiko’s eye and mouthed what the fuck? Fuyuhiko wasn’t sure if Kazuichi was just now hearing the story or if he was confused by Nagito’s weird behaviour. He shrugged helplessly.

There wasn’t much conversation after that. You couldn’t really carry on your casual chit-chat right after somebody brought up their dead parents. Fuyuhiko kept an eye on Nagito. He was bolt upright in his seat, his eyes staring straight ahead, hands clasped so tight in his lap his knuckles bleached white. With his pale hair and ashen face, he looked like all the blood had drained out of him completely.

Their flight number was called far too soon, and Fuyuhiko dragged his motley crew to the right aisle, pondering where to put everyone. Kazuichi should probably be on the end if he’d be passing vomit bags to some poor stewardess. Fuyuhiko needed to be in the middle, so that left Nagito by the window. He’d have to keep the shutter pulled down.

Hajime passed them on the way to his own seat, and stopped short when he saw Nagito’s face. He leaned right over Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko, ignoring their complaints and curses, and took Nagito’s hand. “Are you alright? You look… off.”

“Don’t worry about me, Hajime.”

“Your hands are clammy.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. How disgusting for you,” Nagito said, smiling. Always smiling.

“That’s not what I meant… Look, do you want to sit with me?”

“Can we move it along please?” somebody called irritably down the aisle.

“You’re holding up the line, Hajime. Don’t worry about me,” Nagito repeated. Hajime looked like he was worrying dreadfully, but he was forced to move along. Nagito clasped his hands again and fixed his gaze on the seat in front, smiling smiling smiling. It was freaking Fuyuhiko out. He looked like he was wearing a mask and his eyes were the only real part of him, swirling with turmoil.

“Hey.” Kazuichi nudged Fuyuhiko’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Are Hajime and Nagito… you know. A thing?”

“Mate, you told me you’ve seen them leave Hajime’s cabin together in the mornings.”

“They could just be having a sleepover. As bros.”

“I don’t think it’s that, Kazuichi.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t want Hajime to get a new best friend,” Kazuichi said.

Fuyuhiko sighed. “I think you’re safe.”

There was a pause. Then another shoulder nudge a second later. “So Hajime and Nagito? Seriously? Am I the only person on my own in this class?” Kazuichi muttered.

Fuyuhiko was spared from responding by the flight attendants starting the safety briefing, demonstrating how to use the oxygen masks and the life jackets in case of emergency. He had to admit, it was pretty eerie to think that you could, however unlikely it may be, crash into the ocean or need extra oxygen to live long enough to get to land. He glanced over at Nagito nervously. His arms were now curled across his chest, hands gripping his elbows. His head was bent, a cloud of puffy hair hiding his face. Maybe that was for the best.

“Can you try not to puke as long as possible?” Fuyuhiko whispered to Kazuichi. “I feel like I might have a situation to deal with.”

“I’m never trying to puke,” Kazuichi said, but he seemed worried too, glancing past Fuyuhiko. “Hey, Nagito, you doing alright?”

“Don’t worry about me, Kazuichi,” Nagito said, eerily calmly.

“That’s not the same thing as saying you’re fine, is it?” Kazuichi whispered to Fuyuhiko.

“He’s clearly not fucking fine,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

“Should I ask Hajime to swap?” Kazuichi asked.

Fuyuhiko nodded, but before Kazuichi could even undo his seatbelt, the plane jerked and started reversing out of the gate. Fuyuhiko heard Nagito draw in his breath sharply - then he was the one fumbling for his seatbelt, standing unsteadily.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Fuyuhiko yelled, catching onto the back of Nagito’s coat as he tried to clamber over the seats. “Sit down!”

“I’m afraid I need to get off,” Nagito said, voice still calm despite his frantic movements.

“It’s already moving, for God’s sake! Sit down before a flight attendant sees you!” It wasn’t hard to force Nagito back into his seat - he seemed light enough for a strong gust of wind to knock him over - and Souda hastily got the belt fastened again just as the plane rolled onto the runway.

“Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine,” Fuyuhiko gabbled, trying hard not to shout or swear or scream at all his classmates for making him deal with this. “Just sit still and… I dunno, plug your ears. The takeoff part is the worst.”

There was a cacophony of whirring as the engines roared to life and Fuyuhiko would be very grateful for all that noise in a second, because Nagito started to laugh. Dry, hysterical laughter, his eyes over-bright and manic, lips bared in that grisly parody of a smile.

“Has he lost his fucking mind?” Kazuichi asked, sounding genuinely frightened.

“You must really hate me, Fuyuhiko,” Nagito gasped. “To restrain me here… You must despise me.”

“I’m not restraining you!”

“Then let me off.” He locked eyes with Fuyuhiko and for a second the manic grin faded. “Please…”

The engines roared to a crescendo and the plane shot forward so quickly everyone was pinned to their seats with the force, zooming on and on until they could feel the entire structure lurch into the air. Kazuichi groaned softly, shutting his eyes, but Fuyuhiko was far more focused on Nagito. He had his eyes squeezed shut too, but his hand clamped hard onto Fuyuhiko’s arm. Really fucking hard. Shit, maybe Nagito wasn’t as weak as he looked. Fuyuhiko cursed as his terrified companion started digging his nails into his skin, actually drawing blood. The pain prompted Fuyuhiko to try prying the hand loose a little, but Nagito clamped on harder, carving several new scratches. Fuyuhiko didn’t dare attempt again; he’d get his arm cut to ribbons.

When the plane was flying high and the swirling, disoriented feeling had eased, Fuyuhiko checked on both men. Kazuichi had his head in his hands, but he gave a shaky thumbs up when Fuyuhiko prodded him.

“‘M okay,” he mumbled. “Got through takeoff. Gets better when it’s levelling out.”

“Right, good. Try to stay that way, yeah? I’ve got a lot to handle right now,” Fuyuhiko sighed. Nagito was still shredding his arm up, but he could feel one finger tapping for attention.

“What? What do you need? Please, no bullshit, Nagito. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do,” Fuyuhiko said. He was practically yelling in his panic, and the people across the aisle turned to glare.

It was several seconds before Nagito could gather enough breath to speak. Fuyuhiko saw that awful smile stretch across his face again, like somebody had twisted his frown the wrong way round. “Aha, I’m sorry to trouble you, Fuyuhiko, but I think I might be having a panic attack.”

“What?” Fuyuhiko felt like he was going to have a panic attack too. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I can’t seem to catch my breath. And the cabin has been spinning for several minutes.”

“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you say anything?” Fuyuhiko hurriedly pushed Nagito’s head down as far as it would go before it bumped the seat in front. “Fucking… think of things you can see or something? Shit, I don’t remember.”

“Five things you can see,” Kazuichi chimed in. “Is he really gonna pass out? Hajime is gonna kill us.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him for leaving this shit to us! How stupid can you get?”

“Ahh, I’m such a nuisance. If I’d known I’d react in such a shameful way, I’d have been sure to take a seat away from all the Ultimates. Why are you taking care of someone like me?”

“Nagito, shut up, this isn’t your fault,” Fuyuhiko said shortly. “Stop babbling on about ultimates and do the panic attack thing. Listen to Kazuichi, he knows how to do it.”

Nagito did as he was told, working through the grounding techniques with Kazuichi while Fuyuhiko held onto his shoulders feeling helpless. Nagito was shaking so hard it was difficult not to drop him altogether. He didn’t pass out, but even after the grounding Nagito looked far from what you’d consider calm. He was grey-white when Fuyuhiko carefully hauled him back upright.

“Are you okay..?”

The smile came back, though it seemed a lot more tired than manic this time. “Ah… I don’t think so, Fuyuhiko.”

“Well. At least you’re honest. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Physically, I mean. Clearly I see you’re fucked mentally. And please stop smiling like that, you’re creeping me out,” Fuyuhiko said.

Nagito finally released his grip on Fuyuhiko’s arm, his nails coated with blood. He bent forward slowly, carefully, like he was terrified any sudden movements would send him spiralling again, and let his elbows rest on his knees. “I still feel slightly lightheaded. And nauseous. I’d still like to get off.”

Fuyuhiko examined the long scratches on his arm, sighing and mopping the blood with his sleeve. “Well, you’d have a long drop if you tried to get off now. You should cut your damn fingernails too. I’m going to get Hajime.” He turned to Kazuichi. “Watch him for a minute, okay? I don’t fucking care about drawing the short straw anymore, I can’t handle this.” Fuyuhiko scrambled over Kazuichi’s lap into the aisle, ignoring the flight attendant yelling for him to remain in his seat until the seatbelt signs went off.

“Hey! What did you mean drawing the short straw?” Kazuichi called behind him. Fuyuhiko didn’t look back.

“Hajime!” Fuyuhiko yelled when he was still more than six aisles away from the startled man. “You’re swapping with me!” He lowered his voice when he reached Hajime’s seat, but only marginally. “I can’t handle this. I don’t know how you expected Komeada to react to this shit, but whatever you thought, it’s worse. Way fucking worse. And I can’t help him. So go fucking do it yourself.”

“Well, I was going to swap as soon as the seatbelt signs were off,” Hajime said pointedly.

“I don’t give a shit. Look at my arm! Your fucking boyfriend nearly ripped it off at the elbow.” Fuyuhiko brandished his scratched, bloodied arm, and Hajime looked genuinely shocked.

“Oh my God…” He stood up hastily, clinging to the seats in front as the plane was still slightly off-balance. “I’m sorry, Fuyuhiko. I didn’t expect him to panic so much. He never said anything much about it when I asked.”

“Yeah, well, no offence, Hajime, but you can be as thick as three short planks sometimes. So if he implied anything, I don’t doubt you missed it,” Fuyuhiko snapped, taking Hajime’s empty seat - next to Chiaki, thank goodness. She hadn’t even looked up from her Switch this whole time. Perfect.

“I have taken some offence…” Hajime mumbled, then turned to go back down the aisle, trying hard not to catch the eyes of the other passengers staring like they were all part of a circus act. He was pretty sure the whole class was going to get banned from this airline. Gundham had been in trouble already for taking his hamsters out of their little travelling cage - several times. He was insulted by the insistence of the staff that all pets had to be contained, both by their labelling of his hamsters as mere pets and from their implication that his dark devas could ever be contained.

Hajime followed the sounds of more disgruntled passengers to Nagito’s seat. He was in the middle now, hunched over one of those white sick bags, while Kazuichi awkwardly patted his back. He looked relieved to see Hajime, beckoning frantically. “Come help me! I think he’s gonna spew. Weird that it’s not me for once.”

Hajime sighed, struggling to shuffle past his friends to get to Nagito’s other side, squashed by the window. Nagito didn’t acknowledge him. Hajime could see he had his eyes closed, his face strangely calm and smooth, though his breathing was erratic.

“Hey, Nagito? You hearing me?” Hajime called, tapping the other man’s pale cheek.

“Did I drive Fuyuhiko away?” Nagito said, voice strained. “I’m not surprised. To bother the Ultimates with the problems of an insignificant nobody like me.”

“Dude, shut up,” Kazuichi groaned. “Nobody thinks that. Stop being so weird. Fuyuhiko just doesn’t know how to look after people.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit up? I doubt you’ll throw up, you wouldn’t eat anything this morning,” Hajime said.

At that exact moment, almost as if to pointedly prove him wrong, Nagito made a choked retching sound and ducked his head down further, cringing.

“Oookay. Or not. Um. You’re okay,” Hajime muttered, placing a wary hand on Nagito’s hair to keep it out of the way. It was strange hair; soft yet thick at the same time, and it poofed up determinedly no matter how many times Ibuki tried him out with different hairstyles.

The seatbelt signs were now off, so Kazuichi stood up hastily, trying to shield Nagito from the people hurrying up the aisle to the bathrooms. Hajime was grateful, but part of him wished he could switch places with Souda. He didn’t think he’d be having to coach Nagito through something so strangely intimate so soon into their… relationship? They’d never come out and actually said they were boyfriends, not even to each other, but their classmates seemed to think they were a couple.

As Nagito really hadn’t eaten much of anything all day, the actual vomiting didn’t last too long, but the dry heaving continued for several agonising minutes, and the nausea remained indefinitely. But Nagito felt safe to lift him head, his pale cheeks dusted with pink. He smiled shakily at Hajime. “How embarrassing. I caused a scene in front of all these people. You must be lamenting the day you set eyes on me.”

“Stop,” Hajime sighed, taking the soiled bag and handing it to Kazuichi.

“Hajime!” Souda squealed, hastily handing it off to a flight attendant, who offered a bottle of water for Nagito in response. Her smile didn’t slip once. Hajime was impressed by her poker face.

“Drink,” Hajime prompted, forcing the bottle into Nagito’s hands. “I want you to try eating something later too. You’re going to pass out.”

Kazuichi sat down again, glancing at Nagito. “You feeling… okay now? Like as okay as you can?”

Nagito took a long drink of water, eyes blank. Then he smiled again, that strange, forced smile. “I really am pathetic, aren’t I? Causing such a dramatic spectacle over something that happened years ago. I don’t deserve such attention from the Ultim-“

“Stop!” Hajime took Nagito’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. Hajime thought he saw something flicker in them, some semblance of an honest emotion. “Nagito, can you please stop trying to act like you don’t have feelings. I know you’re scared. And you know what? It’s okay. It’s completely fucking normal to feel like this right now. I shouldn’t have left you. That was me being dense, and I’m sorry. But you can stop pretending. It’s just me here - and Kazuichi, but he’ll understand too. He’s scared of everything.”

“I am not!” Kazuichi cried, outraged.

Hajime didn’t break eye contact with Nagito, both breathing heavily. Nagito glared back at first, his face twisting into a scowl, but Hajime didn’t falter.

“Let me in,” Hajime muttered. “I know you, for God’s sake. You’re not gonna scare me off. It’s okay to need help. Please.”

Another silence for several long, tense seconds. Then - finally, amazingly - Nagito made a soft frustrated noise, lunged forwards and wound his arms around Hajime’s neck so tightly that for a second Hajime thought he’d messed up so badly Nagito was trying to throttle him.

“Hey, careful,” Hajime said, but his voice was gentle and he didn’t try to pry Nagito off. Nagito let his forehead rest on Hajime’s shoulder, his hair falling to shield his face completely. Hajime snaked his own arms awkwardly around Nagito’s slender waist. He could feel Nagito shaking, feel the warm puff of his breathing against his shoulder. The shaking never eased, but as time passed the breathing seemed to calm slightly.

Nagito didn’t speak as he clung to Hajime for dear life. Not a single word. But Hajime hadn’t really expected him to. This was already a degree of vulnerability that Nagito was completely unaccustomed to showing anyone, let alone his almost-boyfriend, his classmates and an entire plane full of strangers. It was a good place to start.

Kazuichi watched them slightly bitterly. “It’s alright for some. I wouldn’t mind someone to cuddle up to,” he muttered.

“That’s your other talent. Ultimate Third Wheel,” Hajime quipped.

Their row of seats was reasonably peaceful after that, though Hajime could hear the laughter and yelling from their classmates further back. He hoped the sensible members of the group could stop them causing too much trouble. Hajime couldn’t go tell them to knock it off himself; whenever he moved at all Nagito would tighten his grip.

He sat there, hour after hour, until he had to pry Nagito off him for a bathroom break. It wasn’t easy. Nagito fought him and clung on as much as he could, though Hajime explained he’d be back in five minutes.

“Look, cling onto Kazuichi while I go pee,” Hajime suggested. Kazuichi didn’t look overly enthusiastic about that idea, but he didn’t protest.

Nagito sighed. He slowly drew back his arms, and whispered three breathy little words into Hajime’s shirt before he went, perhaps the most raw, vulnerable words Hajime had ever heard Nagito say: “Please come back.”

“I will. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.

Nagito shifted shakily in his seat, turned to Kazuichi and lunged at him too, wrapping his arms around his neck. Kazuichi squealed and whined that he was being strangled, but he didn’t shove Nagito away. Hajime almost felt like they were new parents, passing their newborn between them: “I’ll hold him for a bit, you go to the loo.”

There was a queue for the tiny airplane bathrooms. Hajime stood impatiently, wriggling his cramped shoulders and rocking back on his heels; he was glad Nagito seemed to be trusting him more, but he was pretty stiff after sitting in the same position for hours.

Two women ahead of Hajime in the queue seemed to be having an animated discussion about something, and when Hajime caught the word “school” he started to listen properly.

“I don’t know what sort of school they come from, but they’re a strange bunch,” one lady hissed. “There’s an odd boy in the row ahead of me, one of that lot, who has a collections of rodents, all free from their cage! Running all over the seat trays! Well, that’s not very hygienic, is it? But when I told him as much, he gave me the most incredibly rude answer.”

“Young people have such foul mouths these days,” the other lady agreed.

“No, he wasn’t swearing. It was ever so strange, almost as if he was… well, you’ll think I sound silly. But it was like he was cursing me.”

It was a good job for Hajime that the toilet became available and the lady rushed inside, because he was biting his cheeks to contain his laughter. When he’d used the loo himself and gone back to release Kazuichi from Nagito’s vice grip, he recited the story for both of them.

Kazuichi laughed, poking Nagito gently. “There you are, Nagito. No need to worry. No matter how weird we are, we can always count on Gundham to be weirder.”

Nagito didn’t respond, but Hajime saw a hint of a smile - a real smile - on his lips before he buried his face in Hajime’s neck again.

[shorkbrian]

(Needles (aphrodisiacs!), blood, and medical paraphernalia ahead. No outright NSFW, but implied at the end)

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

Latex gloves snapped as they stretched over the man’s hands.

You were nervous.

“Sign here. It’s a consent form for the vaccines you’re receiving today.” His voice was level, almost monotone as he placed a clipboard and pen onto the counter next to your chair.

Three vaccines, routine injections.

You’d been putting them off, wary of needles, wary of people having to touch your body. You knew it would be an all-around unpleasant experience, but you had to get it done sometime, no matter how much you tried to avoid it. 

Originally it had just been two shots, but the Doctor, Chisaki Kai, had called back informing you that a third injection would be necessary.

A quick scribble with the pen before the masked man was whisking the clipboard away, confirming you’d signed the papers with a quick glance. He had pretty eyes, you noted - golden iris’s visible above the surgical face mask covering his mouth and nose.

Those pretty eyes snapped to yours, the man looking significantly bored. “All’s in order.” You watched him begin assembling the injections on the counter, needles by bottles, alcohol wipes and bandaids nearby.

“The first will go in your left arm, the second in your right, and the third in your left again. It will hurt.” His bedside manner left something to be desired.

He worked quickly and efficiently, plunging the first needle into a bottle, drawing back the plunger to fill it full of liquid before removing it from the bottle. “Please roll up your sleeves.”

Then he was stepping close, needle in one gloved hand, sterile alcohol swab in the other. You were watching him like a hawk, trying your best not to flinch when the cold wipe came into contact with your exposed upper arm.

A quick glance at your flinch, the slight bit of air hissing through your teeth at nothing but the coldness of the wipe had the man cocking his head, but he said nothing.

“Uhm, can you please-uhm, tell me when you’re about to do it?” You gulp, wide eyes trained on the far wall. Just don’t look at the needle, you’ll be fine.

“You prefer to know when to expect the pain?” It was less a question, more a statement, but you nodded nonetheless. “I’ll count to three.”

“One.” A gloved hand lightly touched your arm.

“Two.” Pointer finger and thumb smoothed over your skin, keeping it taut.

“Three.” There was a pinch, immediately followed by deep burning, stinging pain that had you gritting your teeth and wincing.

-----

The scent of bitter, sterile alcohol filled your nose, harshly jerking you to consciousness. Everything smelled like chemicals, latex and bleach and ammonia - not the most pleasant thing to wake up to.

Opening your eyes was easy, lifting your head not so much. You were slumped in your seat, head resting against the counter at your side, feet planted on the ground.

The doctor was crouched in front of you, a small wipe pinched between his fingers, held up to your nose. Golden eyes studied you closely, and upon seeing your eyes open, lashes fluttering, the doctor withdrew the wipe, subsequently taking away the chemical smell.

“You fainted.”

A blink as you gained your bearings, feeling disoriented and weak. You were still in the exam room, a tiny cramped space with barely enough room for a chair beside the exam table.

You swallowed, throat feeling dry, head fuzzy. God, did you hate needles.

“Have you had this reaction to injections before? It’s not uncommon in patients.”

“I.....no? I don’t-uhm-don’t think so...” It felt funny talking, as if you weren’t inside your body.

The doctor stood abruptly, quickly discarding the ammonia wipe into the trash, stripping his gloves off as well before donning a new pair.

“Stay there while you recover. Are you up for the other two shots today, or would you like to schedule an appointment for them at a different time?”

Why the hell didn’t he just give you the shots while you were unconscious?

“I wanna do it today please.” You sighed, reaching to feel the bandaid on your left arm. “I would hate to have to come back and do this again, know what I mean?”

Nothing else was said, just a brief nod from the man before he disappeared from the room. You shuffled your feet, closing your eyes as you leaned back in the chair. 

“(Y/N)? Do you feel ready to stand?” He was back, standing in the doorway and looking at you.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You rocked up to your feet, rolling down your sleeve as the doctor stepped froward towards the counter. He gathered up the remaining syringes, bottles, and other supplies before stepping around you and back towards the door.

Again, you did your best to not shy away when he passed you, not wanting to make contact. Your skin was so sensitive, you hated touching people, or feeling their clothes brush against your skin. The man didn’t seem to notice, but that was alright. You were used to dodging threatening sensations in your life.

He guided you through the clinic, towards the back where a small office was situated, a comfortable-looking couch against one of the walls. His name wasn’t on the door - you remember now, Doctor Chisaki. 

Or was he a nurse? You didn’t know.

But his name wasn’t on the door. Was it okay to be in this office? Don’t they usually make you wait in the exam room?

“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back shortly.” 

The door clicked shut behind him.

Today was your day off, the entire day devoted to getting your shots done, to overcoming this obstacle, handling the immense stress that came with it. It didn’t bother you to spend it sitting down and playing word searches on your phone. 

But still....

“Don’t patients usually wait in the exam room? Or in the waiting room?” You asked the man as soon as he re-entered the room, stack of paperwork in one hand as he shut the door with the other.

He gave you a once-over, body tucked into the corner of the couch, before he spoke. “Usually, but I want to make sure you don’t pass out where I can’t see you. That’d make me a bad doctor. This isn’t common procedure, sure, but I didn’t expect your body to be so-” weak “-easily indisposed.”

The tone of his voice kept completely level, hardly any emotions showing on his face, but still you felt... chilled by this man. There was no reassurance from him, no compassion or empathy.

“I’ll administer your remaining shots in 45 minute increments, that should give you enough time to recover between each one. You’ll have to lay down for them though, that’s why you’re sitting on that couch.” 

Polite, but it still felt like you were getting talked-down-to. He was patronizing you.

You gave him a curt nod to show you understood, before fumbling your phone out of your pocket to begin passing the time.

Doctor Chisaki sat down behind the empty desk, neatly placing his stack of papers on the wood before taking a sheet off the top and clicking his pen. From where he was sitting, you were in his direct line of sight, and you could feel him glancing at you occasionally as the scribble of his pen and the tapping of your fingers filled the silence.

45 minutes passed quickly, too quickly for your liking. You weren’t looking forward to the next shot.

Same instructions as before - roll up your sleeve, he’d count to three.

But the doctor paused after swabbing your arm clean. “You keep flinching. Am I  hurting you?”

“No, I mean, not really.” You shrugged. “I don’t like it when people touch me I guess, feels funny.”

“Well, try to relax.”

Easy for him to say, hard for you to do.

This time, with you laying down, the shot went much smoother. The doctor counted the three, you hissed in pain at the burning slice of the needle, but retained consciousness. Which frankly, was a success.

“That really hurts.” You breathed as soon as the needle slipped free from your arm. Even thinking about the thin point being in your muscles made you feel queasy. At least you didn’t have to look at it.

“That’s a common side effect. Muscle soreness because the needle is essentially causing a small injury to the fibers, and there are other reasons, but they're more complicated. You want ice?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ll just deal with it.”

The man blinked. “You have an interesting reaction to pain.”

“Uhhh...” You scrunched up your eyebrows as you glanced up at him, sitting up as you did so. “Thanks?”

“You’re extremely sensitive to tactile stimulation, like to know when you’ll be experiencing pain, but you don’t particularly care about relieving it. Have you ever given blood?”

The question caught you off guard, especially after realizing the man had been analyzing you more closely than you had expected.

“Nah. Does that matter?”

“Not particularly, I’m just curious I guess.” Doctor Chisaki admitted, once again stripping off his gloves and disposing of them before sliding on another pair.

He went back to his paperwork, and you to your phone, but his frequent glances weighed you down. Did you have something on your face? Was your hair messy?

“Could you point me to the bathroom please?” You rose to your feet slowly, making sure you weren’t going to faint as you stood up.

“It’d be better if you stayed seated.” Was his curt reply.

With a frown, you sat back down. Why couldn’t you use the bathroom? Maybe it affected..... something? With the vaccines? You didn’t know enough about how these things worked to really question it. Doctors were professionals, and they had their reasons.

Still, you’d feel a bit more comfortable if the man wasn’t watching you so closely.

45 more minutes of squirming until your next shot.

-----

Lay down.

Roll up your sleeve.

Try to relax.

Deep breathe.

“You smell.”

“What?” Your head snapped to the side, confused. You smelled?

“It’s not bad. What scent is it?”

Blinking back surprise, you relayed the scent on your shampoo and conditioner.  This doctor was a bit... unconventional. But his sudden question did take your mind off of the countdown, off of the pain. Smart.

“My nose is sensitive, most scents are overwhelming and while I like cleanliness I cannot stand the smell of bleach or most cleaning products. I chose the wrong profession for that, didn’t I?”

His version of a joke made you almost chuckle, a lazy grin stretching across your face instead. “You certainly did. You ever try Pine Sol though? That’s what I use for like, everything.”

The doctor shook his head, and you chattered on about the unoffensive-smelling cleaner, where you bought the bottle you have under your sink, how you use it. He listened intently as he plastered another bandaid over your arm.

“Alright, I can go now?” You asked, sitting up for the last time.

“No.”

“No?”

“Vasovagal syncope can still occur, I’d prefer you not faint and bash your head open on the ground. There’d be such a mess.”

Mouth snapping shut at the fancy medical term, you couldn’t help but sigh as you slumped back against the couch. 

“Bored?”

“I’ve been here for almost four hours. You don’t have other patients to get to?” You didn’t think to check the accusatory tone in your voice.

The doctor put aside his pen, folding his hands on the desk as he stared at you with golden eyes. “They’ve been transferred to different doctors. My current patient has taken precedence. I don’t half-ass things like some people, I see my  projects to completion.”

You were a bit taken aback at the vehemence in his voice, the way his eyes dropped to slits, narrowing fiercely at you.

“That’s what it means to be in this profession. I’m here to cure people. I make sure that sickness doesn’t spread between humans like fire in a barn full of hay. What I do is important and deserving of respect, I’m ensuring the survival of humanity, am I not?”

The intense tension in the air built, the doctor staring you down. “I’m close to becoming a renowned doctor. Just one, one breakthrough will finally get the world to see me. ”

He cocked his head, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled beneath the mask. “I thank your efforts in being a volunteer towards my latest project. It’s been a bit difficult to find someone who readily accepted an unknown injection.”

Unknown.. injection?

“What are you talking about?” 

“The second injection isn’t a vaccine, more like a... pet project of mine. I can’t wait to see what it does.”

“You can’t-this is malpractice, I didn’t consent to this-” Your fists clenched as you stood.

“You signed the consent papers. They’ll hold up in court. Most people receive the vaccines you got today when they’re still teenagers, and under their parents care. Lucky for me, you’re afraid of needles it seems, so you’ve been a bit neglectful. Hard to get a parent to sign over their child as a test subject, easy to get a fearful individual to listen to their doctor.”

A twinkle in his eye made you want to punch his lights out. “What the hell dude, you call yourself a doctor? What did you inject me with?”

The man rose from behind the desk, moving until he stood in front of you. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m pleased that you’re so concerned with hygiene, that makes this easier for both of us.”

“What??”

“And you can forget about calling for help, not that you’ll want to. But everyone’s left for the day-” He checked his wrist, where a nice watch gleamed at you mockingly. “45 minutes ago. So feel free to disclose your symptoms as they pop up as loud as you’d like.”

The man sat down on the couch, easily sinking into the plush material looking up at you with a malicious gleam in his eyes. He had been playing you since you’d walked into the clinic. Was this some sort of prank?

“You’re messing with me.”

“I’ve told you, I see my projects to completion. This is the testing stage, and it might be a while before it’s over. Why would I waste time messing with someone else’s dumb little life?’

Your mouth felt dry, face warm. Why did your legs feel all pleasantly tingly? There was a slowly-building heat simmering low in your core, and if you weren’t standing directly in front of Chisaki, you’d rub your legs together. What did he do to you?

“Now, sit down, and tell your doctor what's bothering you.”

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Flower (Revenant x Reader)

[For AO3 archive, click here.]

Theme: Loneliness and depression are a painful but wicked combination after you have to talk about your past when you don’t want to. No matter how optimistic your friends might be, it doesn’t really fix anything.

Warnings: Graphic content, references to sex, references to past assault, references to noncon, male dominance, threats of violence, descriptions of violence, sharp objects, pain, post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar, depression, mania, fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: What the fuck is a plot?

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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You wake up to the sun fully over the skylight window, shining brightly into your eyes. You groan as you realize what time it must be. Closing your eyes only reminds you how thin your eyelids are, as the only color you see is a fleshy red rather than the lovely darkness you wish you could experience. You pull your arm over your eyes and experience the darkness again, if only for a few precious moments.

As you come to, you remember what you did last night and feel a weird sense of concern overcome you. That wasn't a dream, was it? You are lying here without clothes on, after all, and you don't exactly feel clean either. It definitely happened. You panic a little and jolt up in bed, holding the blanket to cover you as you scan the room. You're alone, and there's no sign of where Revenant could be.

You review the events of yesterday to yourself. You remember Revenant taking apart his old chassis and saving some of the parts from it. You remember teasing him until he tied you to a chair using his scarf, although you remember kinda deserving that. You snicker to yourself, remembering how he called you a "bully" to Sherry. Yes, you definitely bullied the giant, metal simulacrum built to kill. You remember Revenant left you pizza that was good enough that a blatant murder couldn't distract people from it, and then you remember chasing it down with too much vodka. You remember Revenant covered in blood at some point after that, then Pathfinder showing up, then falling asleep alone...? That last bit doesn't make much sense, but there was probably a decent reason for all those things happening together. Then you remember waking up in the middle of the night and definitely remember Revenant gently loving on you to the fullest extent.

You've never actually thought you'd be open to sex at all. Especially considering all you've been through, it's amazing you trusted Revenant enough to let him do that to you. You take a deep breath to yourself. It's too easy to be anxious about experiences like this, especially when they tread such a close line to your past traumas. In reality, you don't regret anything, you've just surprised yourself. The main concern now is why would Revenant run off immediately after a night like that?

Maybe you'll feel better after a shower and cleaning stuff up a bit. After all, you've learned that dwelling on discomfort only leads to more confusion and generally a breakdown. That's the last thing you need right now. No need to ruin something that should be a positive experience with an anxiety-riddled spiral into depression. Imagine losing your mind all because Revenant had some errand to run today. That would be silly.

You get out of bed and scurry to the bathroom, finding some used towels hanging to dry. You're not sure if they're the ones you used or the ones he used, but it doesn't really matter. He's made of metals, plastics, silicones, and PVCs. It's not like his towels are going to have anything gross on them. You grab the closest one and quickly change your mind when you notice the red streaks across it. That's blood, and it's not like it could possibly be his. You throw it to the corner of the tile floor to remind yourself to wash it later. The other towel must have been yours, because there's no blood on it and it's considerably drier than the other.

You turn the shower knobs and wait patiently for the water to warm up, taking a moment to brush your teeth while you wait. Ever since he went on a long tangent about shaving, you can't help but eye his razor case when you see it. You wouldn't dare touch it since you know how much it means to him, but you'd like to see it at some point. The steam starts to fog up the mirror, so you quickly finish with your teeth and jump in the shower. You rapidly clean yourself with as much soap as you can manage to lather into your hair and skin.

You nab the clean towel and dry yourself off, spending an excessive amount of time trying to dry your hair as much as possible. You made the right call, a hot shower helps a lot with anxiety. You leave the bathroom and rummage through your bag for the most comfortable pair of shorts and shirt you own. You notice you're a bit shaky and sore from the night before, but it's nothing you can't handle. As soon as you're dressed and your hair is brushed enough to be detangled, you consider yourself put together enough. Nothing wrong with a lax day for laundry and lounging about.

You grab the towels from the bathroom; the sheets, blanket, and pillowcases off the bed; your clothes you found in the corner of the room; a bloody old towel from the kitchenette; and a small pile of your dirty clothing from the past couple days and wrap them together in the comforter, dragging the giant makeshift bag of dirty laundry down the quiet hall into the laundry room. It seems like the trios match was as violent throughout as the ending was--there is not a soul in the hallway, meaning the infirmary must still be quite full. The only Legends you know are back from the match are the winners--Revenant, Wattson, and Wraith--as well as Pathfinder. That makes sense, after all Pathfinder just needs some repairs to be good as new since he's a MRVN, which can be performed hours after any match.

The laundry room has only one dryer running, echoing a mundane hum in the large room with the uncanny beat of the contents turning over repeatedly. You find a few washing machines in the far corner of the room and start separating the delicate items from the colors from the bleach-worthy whites. Thankfully, all the blood-soaked towels were once white, so they get a washing machine all their own along with the sheets. You pull the detergents and bleach out of the cabinet and start over-soaping all the loads, setting the timers to start each machine as they fill with hot water. Steam starts pouring into the room: commercial-quality washing machines are able to use tons of near-boiling water to sanitize anything inside of them. The room's vent fans kick in to try to keep the room's humidity low, but the fans will definitely struggle to keep up.

The door to the laundry room opens and Sherry shuffles in, bags under her eyes and likely hungover from a night of celebrating Wattson's victory. She's too foggy to notice you, so you shuffle over to her.

"Hey, Sherry! Drink too much last night?" You chime, Sherry weakly holding her head.

"Ugh, yes. And that stupid pizza didn't help. It was so perfectly greasy that I couldn't feel how drunk I was getting." She moans, making her way over to the only running dryer.

"So, this is all Revenant's fault then?"

"Absolutely, you and your stupid metal man always conspire to make me worry or drink myself into a stupor because of good pizza." She manages to put just a little sarcastic tone to her voice, but is clearly struggling through her headache. "So, why aren't you hungover? After what I saw yesterday, I was sure you'd bully Revenant into a drinking contest until he tied you to the ceiling vent."

You chuckle, it sounds almost too wild to be accurate, but you've learned that testing Revenant's limits always leads to the unexpected. Sherry continues, a sudden glint showing in her eye.

"So, since you didn't drink to celebrate, then you obviously must have--" 

"Sherry--!" You try to shout over her, knowing exactly where she's going with this.

A devilish look creeps across Sherry's face, almost wiping out her hungover grimace. She dashes away from you and towards the running washing machines, leaving you stunned just long enough that you can never hope to catch her. She throws the lids open of all three, pouring steam into the room and all over her face, but she doesn't wince at all. The hot steam almost seems to invigorate her more.

"Sheets! I fucking knew it!" She laughs maniacally, her face red and moist from shoving her face in the billowing plume of vapor. She slams the lids shut, letting them clang loudly as the agitators begin to whir back to life after being interrupted. "You did it! You finally did it!" She scurries back to you with the energy and erratic movements of a cockroach, finally reaching you to shove her finger against the tip of your nose. Her wicked grin is now in full form, only enhanced by the deep purple hues under her eyes.

"Sherry, it's not that big of a--" You start, trying to be honest but not let her go where she's definitely going.

"Ohohoho, yes it is! This is proof that you can move past your assault! It's huge! It means you're working past your traumas!" Her excitement makes her sound much louder than she actually is. "And it makes me feel so much better about this whole fling you're having, since Revenant was understanding of it all." She twirls away with her arms outstretched, as if to praise some unseen angels.

"Sherry, he doesn't know." You mumble half-heartedly, hoping she might ignore you. She whips her head back in a fury, which must hurt with her hangover.

"You didn't tell him anything?!" Now she's loud. "What were you thinking?! I get that you don't need to tell just anyone, but don't you think you should have told him so he'd know to take it slow?!" She grabs you by your cheeks and pivots your head to meet her eyeline. "What if he did something that caused a breakdown?! He wouldn't have had any clue why, and he wouldn't have been able to help you!"

"Sherry, it's oka--"

"No it isn't! That's not fair to either of you! You can't just let someone go waltzing through a minefield because you're not sure how to tell them that you had some fucked up shit happen to you!" She pulls you into a massive hug, shoving your face into her chest per usual, since it naturally lands there due to your height difference.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to yell at you, but you seriously need to be careful." She softens, sighing as she realizes you're shivering a little. "Look, if you don't know how to tell him, I will do it for you."

"Thanks, but I think I have to do it." You sigh, recognizing she's right. "Honestly though, the only thing I remember is the rag and then waking up in the hospital." You pull away from her, ensuring she can hear you clearly.

"I know you may not think it's a big deal since you can't remember much, but what happened to you is absolutely traumatizing." Sherry wipes away a tear you didn't even feel escape your eyes. "Seriously, if you really like Revenant, you should tell him what you remember and what you know, even if it's hard." Now you feel the emotional hurt, and you hate this. Everything was fine, but now it isn't, and you're struggling to keep your composure.

"I wish I didn't have to. I don't like talking about it. I didn't even do anything wrong, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why do I have to confess it like it's some crime I committed? It's not fair!" Now you start to cry, and Sherry hugs you again, drying your tears with her shirt. She pets your head and hair, trying to comfort you in any way she can.

"Like I said, I'll do it if you need me to." She sighs while holding you tight. You don't intend to pull away until you've calmed yourself anyway. "I guess you don't really have to tell him, but I really think you should..." She trails off, trying to undo any harshness from before. You feel her face bury into your hair as she holds you closer.

You manage to pull yourself together, the despair slowly releasing its hold on you, even if the sense of doom does not. You have no idea how you're going to tell Revenant anything. How do you even start such a conversation? What if he thinks you should have told him before, like Sherry does? Will he feel betrayed? Or will he understand? The knot in your gut stiffens more.

Sherry holds you until you naturally pull away, rubbing your eyes and now looking worse than the hungover woman in front of you. Sherry looks at you with very concerned eyes that betray her wary smile, clearly trying to cheer your spirits despite her honest concerns.

"I'm sure it will be okay. After all, you managed to open up to him already in a way." Sherry sheepishly encourages you, placing her hand on your shoulder. She takes a deep breath, clearly feeling her aches again, but continues to try to bring you back from the brink of despair. "I bet you opened up real nice for him last night, didn't you?" Her teasing is missing its usual edge, but you can't help but appreciate her effort. You chuckle a little at how hard she tries.

"Didn't have to when he can do it for me." You banter back, taking pity on her weakened state.

"Your little rendezvous must have made quite the mess to have to wash the whole bed, huh?" You shouldn't have given her the inch, she fully plans to take a mile.

"Sherry, why must you do this to me?" You ask, rolling your eyes, turning away to help her with her laundry in the dryer. She could use the help, there's no way she feels well.

"Did he pull out? Is that why you needed to wash the whole bed?" She pauses as you actively try to ignore her, pulling her miscellaneous clothing from the dryer and placing it on top of the machine. Sherry doesn't quit. "Wait, if he's mechanical, can he even cu--"

"Sherry! That's gross!" You interrupt her.

"The pursuit of knowledge isn't gross!" Her energy is back now that she's found a foxhole she plans to dig into. "Anyways, you're the one who holds this forbidden knowledge! Now spill it!" She pauses, "Literally, if you must."

"For fuck's sake Sherry, why are you like this?!" You yell at her through a genuine laugh. No matter how gross that statement is, it is also really funny. You feel a little better, but the knot in your stomach remains.

She grabs a shirt out of the clumped up pile and folds it with zero care or grace. It might as well be a glorified knot. She puts it down and grabs for another, not caring at all to fold anything well. You help her fold, but actually do it correctly.

"So? Spill it!" She insists after making a few knotted clothes. You sigh, frustrated but unwilling to fight her.

"Yeah, I guess he had something in him. Probably the same slick stuff those synthetic refills are made of that you can get for prosthetics. Not that I could really tell anyway, it felt like any other liquid would in there." You mumble quietly.

"Heheheheh, gross." She giggles.

You throw the warm pair of pajama pants you're holding square in her face for that one.

• • • •

You're sitting on the bench in the laundry room, a pile of Sherry's properly folded clothes off to the side and Sherry herself snoring against your shoulder. She promised to stay with you while you wait for your laundry to finish, but you're not sure how helpful it is for her to snore in your ear and drool on your shoulder. She didn't manage to stay awake for long after she sat down with you, but this was inevitable with how hungover she is. Sometimes it really is best to sleep it off whenever possible, although you worry about her hydration. You'll wake her up if you really need to move, and then you'll get her a sports drink or something when you do.

At this point you've moved your laundry into a dryer. The commercial grade washing machines are insanely fast, but drying can only work so quickly. You might be here for a bit, whether you like it or not. Properly folding all of Sherry's clothes kept you occupied for a little while, but now all you have left to keep you company are your thoughts and the sounds of Sherry's snores.

You wonder to yourself why you're so worried over talking about your past with Revenant. You've been dismissive of it this whole time, but to be fair he has never pressed you on it either. You've told him you were homeless and used to date one of the other women in the shelter, but you didn't tell him that she eventually found a way out of poverty. You had to break up with her so she could move on. You didn't fully explain that your past relationship was so you could always stick together and watch out for each other. You definitely didn't tell him how you ended up homeless in the first place, and certainly not what happened to you after the breakup. In truth, you don't want to talk about it. You don't like being a victim of circumstance, modern societal failures, and a criminal underbelly that intentionally preys on people like you. Everyone who's unfortunate enough to be born into this cybernetic hellscape has a story or two that could curdle blood, and you're no different. Heck, you're sure Revenant has plenty too.

The fact of the matter is, you're alive and able to tell the tales of your past, which is better than the slew of victims, predators, and petty criminals alike that are missing or buried in shallow graves. It almost feels disrespectful to the slew of dead and abandoned individuals to complain since you've survived and gotten somewhere better. There's no way you can deny that you've won the jackpot by getting to work for the Apex Games, let alone getting hired and getting so close to one of the Legends themselves. Who are you to complain? You know that feeling shame for getting out of your situation isn't how you should feel--after all, everyone should have a right to talk about their past and experiences--but you can't shake the feeling of survivor's guilt that ebbs away at you.

You put your arm around Sherry and rub her opposite shoulder, but she doesn't wake up. She's really the reason you're out of the trenches of modern society at all. She secured you this job which gave you everything you could need, rent free. The tips from the Legends have let you save up money to escape when this opportunity falls through. Even moreso, Sherry didn't drop the offer for the job when you were hospitalized; in fact, she doubled down on making sure you got the position. You have no idea how much harder she had to work to get you here while you recovered for months, and you've always been afraid to ask. You almost don't want to know the debt you owe her, since you'd spend your whole life trying to pay her back. Sherry probably wouldn't want you to do that either; she's just so happy to have someone she can treat like a sister again.

The door to the laundry room opens again, snapping you out of you pondering.

"Skinsuit! There you are! I've been looking for you." Revenant swiftly makes his way over to you. He's holding a plastic bag, clearly with something inside. He towers over you, looking down at you and the drooling sloth latched to your side.

"Oh, sorry, I was just doing laundry." You mumble, caught in his bright, LED eyes.

"Skinsuit." He pauses, likely seeing your blank stare. You take a moment to come out of your adoring trance, shaking your head a little to clear your thoughts.

"Sorry, what's wrong?"

"We need to talk." The knot in your stomach falls deeper and yanks your gut down with it. Those are the worst words in the world, and the catastrophic thoughts in your head immediately start to wind up. Before you can even finish processing your thoughts, Revenant has picked Sherry up and off of you, laying her down on the bench. She doesn't even stir, she just snores louder now that she's lying flat. Revenant grabs your wrist and hoists you to your feet. "Come, now." His voice is so foreboding.

"Wait, the laundry isn't done yet." You pull back, resisting his grasp on you. You don't want to confront whatever he's upset about. It could be anything, and you just don't want to hear whatever words will inevitably hurt you.

Revenant doesn't release your wrist, but he grips it harder, forcing you forward and closer to him.

"I'm not asking." His eyes are terrifying points, the most intense look he can give, and he's staring straight at you. "Come. Now."

He doesn't give you time to even step forward before he starts dragging you. You trip over your feet as you try to regain your balance. He takes you out of the room and down the long hallways.

You panic. What the hell did you do? Does he regret last night? Did you accidentally hurt or insult him? What on earth does he want to talk to you about? Is he going to fire you and treat you like a nobody again? How could you possibly still work here if he cuts ties? You'll be traumatized every time you see him. What the hell did you do?

He drags you into his room. You could throw up you're so stressed. He drags you to the bare mattress and flings you down onto it. You try to fall into a sitting position, but fail and roll onto your back. He's standing over you, the intense look still hardened on his visage. He throws the bag to the side, its contents smacking the side table hard.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" You practically cry, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. You hold your hands in front of you instinctively. He's breathing so rapidly, he must be livid. What the hell did you do?

"Skinsuit." His voice isn't angry, his heavy and rapid breathing isn't rage. He's clearly upset, but not enraged at you. He almost sounds sad. "Who tried to kill you?"

You hold your breath, staring at him. Time passes, but you don't know how to answer. Finally, Revenant hunches forward to get closer to you, slipping a claw under your shirt and against your abdomen.

"This isn't a surgical scar. This is a stab wound from a kitchen knife." He sounds calm again, but you're still too locked up to answer him. "I wasn't sure until I saw the other four scars."

His hands glide to another place on your abdomen on the opposite side, then to an area of your lower rib cage, a second under your breast, and one near your clavicle. He brushes each one carefully before pulling you up into a sitting position to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" His face is right in front of you. You didn't realize this is how you were going to have to tell him, let alone that the scars are what he'd latch on to. He sighs, not getting a word out of you yet.

He stands up and sits down next to you on the side of the bed. He's so damn heavy that he creates a pit in the mattress that sucks you towards him. You land against his arm, which wraps around your back and holds you close.

"Don't panic, I just want to know what happened." He states, keeping as monotone as possible. You can sense that he's actually quite upset still, but is likely trying to make sure you don't feel like the target of his ire.

You're still having trouble reigning in all the anxiety, catastrophic thoughts, depressed ideations, and traumatized fear to yourself. If you speak now, nothing is going to make sense and you might start to cry instead. His hold is reassuring, but it's not enough to stop your brain from running on all threads against your will. You feel yourself shaking against his metal frame, trying to come up with an extra bit of bandwidth to talk, but unable to muster any.

You hear him sigh as he notices you struggling. He pulls you further into the gravity sink he's created in the mattress edge and leans into you, intentionally rattling his artificial lung pumps in your ear. He gives you a few minutes to try to gather yourself before he decides to intercede.

He holds your chin and forces you to face him. His LED eyes are bright and much more relaxed than before, and the sight of him calms you down quite a bit. You almost forget what you are even thinking about; only a single, lucid line of thought still runs in your head. Your shuddering stops, and you feel clear enough to speak again. You take a deep breath, and you let yourself speak.

"Right after my ex and I went our separate ways and I met Sherry, I would walk between here and the homeless shelter so I could keep on top of getting this job." You lower your head to look away, so Revenant withdraws his hand from your chin. "I guess some gang was watching me and saw an opening one night. I got grabbed from behind and they put a rag on my face, but when I went to scream I woke up in the ICU instead." You pause. "I don't remember anything, but they told me I had been--"

"You don't have to say it." Revenant interrupts before your voice cracks from the thought. You sigh, grateful for the reprieve.

"I guess they decided to kill me and dump me in a ditch out in the Dust, probably hoping a pack of prowlers would destroy the evidence." Your voice tremolos as you struggle to put together experiences you don't remember. "They nearly succeeded. I almost bled out in the ditch, but a Hammond employee found me on his way home from a late night at the office and got me to a hospital." You feel numb, but your voice betrays you. "They destroyed one of my lungs, managed to slit open my digestive tract in a few places, barely missed both my jugular and subclavian veins at once, and hit me directly in the liver and popped one of my kidneys. I should have died."

You sit there for a moment, gathering your thoughts. Revenant respects the silence and waits for you to continue.

"The Hammond employee who found me donated a bunch of their prototyped synthetic organs to replace mine. One of my lungs, one of my kidneys, and my liver are Hammond prototypes of the ones currently on the market. I also have some of their experimental silicone meshes holding together the digestive tract in the multiple places it was sliced open. I don't think I would have recovered without them."

"How are they holding up?" Revenant asks, carefully pushing his hand against your chest on the side with the artificial lung.

"I haven't noticed any problems, not to say that I know what that would feel like." You place your hand over his, gently touching the Hammond Robotics logo etched into the plate on the back of his hand. It has giant gashes in it, as if he's tried to scratch it off at some point. If this is a new chassis, he must have scratched it out very recently.

"So they used you as a guinea pig for their prototypes?" Revenant growls. "Typical."

"I never thought about it like that. It's not like I could afford synthetics anyway, let alone real ones. It felt like a blessing." You run your fingers over each jagged metal scratch on his metal plates carefully. "I would have died if Hammond hadn't donated them."

"Not to scare you, but be careful with the deals you make with those devils." Revenant's hand pushes harder into your chest.

"I didn't make any deals, I wasn't even asked. They just put them in and sewed me up." You mumble, concerned by his apparent disgust for his own manufacturer.

"Of course they didn't even ask. Silly me." His voice is low and dripping with hatred. You start to pull away from him in fear, but he notices and pulls you back gently. He wraps his arms around you completely and his chin rests on your head. You're not going anywhere at this point. "I'm not angry with you. You're a victim in all this." His voice is softer, but it's a ruse. His lungs are labored with rage and you can feel the tension in his body. You let the silence fall for a moment.

"Revenant, are you okay?" You whimper from under his grasp, unsure of yourself. You feel his fingers turn to points and grip you, but carefully angled not to puncture you.

"I have a lot of work to do." His voice is low and hateful again, his words equally as ominous. His voice jumps back to something softer to address you. "Do you remember anything about the men who chloroformed you? Or when it happened?"

"I'm sorry, it's all really fuzzy." You shake your head a little, in case he can't hear your quiet whisper. He growls, clearly caught up in his thoughts, determined to find a way to narrow down his search. "Does it really matter?" You ask, unsure of what he plans to do.

"Yes, it's important." He huffs for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I'm going to give you the entrails of every punk who violated you as a gift, and I'm going to pry Hammond's claws off of you before it's too late."

"Wait, you don't have to--"

"You used up your pardon, skinsuit. Now, I am the sole judge, jury, and executioner in this case." He sounds so livid, you can't help but shrink under him and hope none of his wrath is aimed in your direction.

The silence falls again, spare for his blood curdling huffs of rage. He slowly calms himself, likely with some kind of plan on what to do.

"Skinsuit, did they kit you when you were at the hospital?"

"Of course, but there's not a universal DNA database of criminals in the Outlands, assuming it was even entered into one at all. As a gang they might have connections. Either way, it didn't amount to anything. Plus, there was a lot of different DNA..." You trail off, shuddering at your own words and trying not to vomit up the pit in your stomach. Revenant grips you tightly in response to your quivering.

"Skinsuit, I need you to listen to me. I will handle this. I don't want you to worry about it anymore." His voice is determined and steadfast.

"I wasn't worried about it before, I just didn't know how I was going to tell you any of this." You manage to get out as you choke back stressful tears. "I was worried you'd be upset that I didn't tell you earlier."

He locks eyes with you from above, but you avert yours. His LEDs are bright enough that you know he's staring at you, trying to gauge your emotional state. Sure, maybe you are upset by the whole ordeal. Maybe it is why you struggle so much with despair. Maybe it is the event that broke you emotionally. But you don't want to dredge it up any more than you have to. It's hard enough telling him this, why does he need to make it into a mission?

"Your heart rate is spiking." You hear him dryly state. You cower deeper into his frame. "Don't be so nervous, like I said, I'll handle it from here."

Something in your head pops and you feel the unmistakable taste and heat of anger overtake you. Mania shows up for a mere few moments, in an attempt to bring righteous indignation to the fray.

"Handle what?! It's not like you can just undo what happened! What's the point? Just pretend like I didn't say anything!" You pull away from him and stand up, but he holds onto your wrist, only allowing you to get arm's length from him. "You can't just assassinate every problem into oblivion! It doesn't work like that!" You're staring down a simulacrum that has single handedly spilt more blood than in all the people you've met in your lifetime, but for this rage induced moment, you don't care. "Heck, if you really want to erase the problem, kill me! Because then nobody has to deal with it! That's what was supposed to happen! But I just had to get lucky at the worst time imaginable!" Your lungs empty out from yelling.

He reels back in shock, releasing your wrist. You have nowhere to go, so you just hover there, staring him down. In this fleeting moment, you have bested the Revenant. You are in charge, but only for a mere moment in time. The anger peters out and sadness overwhelms you in its place. Tears start flowing before you even start to vocalize your pain. The moment has ended. You hurriedly collapse to your knees on the floor and bury your face in your hands, trying to hide yourself as you cry. You hate it when this happens. Immediately after you get angry enough to snap, you regret everything and collapse into a sobbing mess. Every time. You just openly confessed you wish you had died instead. You asked Revenant to kill you instead. On top of it all, now you're crying on the floor like you didn't just say something heinous to him.

You gasp for air between your desperate attempts to suppress your cries, which leak out as sorrowful whimpers instead. You feel his palm on your head, but you can't bear to look up at him. He gives you a moment, possibly hoping you will collect yourself, but he gives up quickly. He kneels down beside you and you hear the clangs of his scarf straps coming loose. You feel his scarf wrap around your face like a hood, absorbing the wayward tears and helping hide your face. He bunches up the extra scarf around your shoulders and loosely ties the buckled straps to hold it to you. He reaches into the hood and holds your hands that are pressed against your face, intentionally fluttering his fingers around yours to wipe away tears. He withdraws, wraps his arms underneath you, and lifts you in his arms. He doesn't even struggle to lift you, remaining completely unwavering.

You feel him carry you out of the room and down the hallway, back towards the laundry room. You pull his scarf completely over your face, trying to calm your cries to be as quiet as possible. Your labored breathing is the only audible indicator of your tears now. You feel his arms push up against the swinging door to the laundry room before feeling the humidity difference wash over you as he enters. You hear the sound of Sherry still snoring on the bench. Revenant carries you towards the back of the room and gently places you on one of the still-warm dryers. You feel him open the front-loading door on the dryer and pull out the load of laundry, doing the same to the second dryer next to you. As the door clicks shut, you hear Sherry stir and wake up, moaning a little in protest.

"Oh, hey, is she okay?" She sleepily addresses Revenant.

"She needs time." A fairly honest dodge, but not really an answer to her question.

"I guess she told you while I was out, huh?" Sherry sighs, yawning afterwards. Revenant stops moving next to you for a moment.

"You knew?" He doesn't sound mad, simply intrigued.

"Of course, I lied and told them I was her biological sister so I could get into the hospital and stay with her." Sherry sounds sad, reflecting on it. "I had no idea she walked alone between here and the shelter. Had I known, I would have called a cab or just done the interviews over the phone..." She trails off, regaining her composure. "After that, I fudged everything to get her this job so she could escape that life."

"Do you remember any details of that night?" Revenant asks with piqued intrigue.

"Of course, I couldn't forget even if I wanted to." You rarely hear Sherry sound so deep in self-shame. You wish she would accept that it wasn't her fault, but you also know that's easier said than done.

"I'll speak to you about it later, then." You jump a little as his hand caresses your arm. You're too withdrawn in his scarf to see anything, so you have no warning when he touches you. Your startled wince doesn't seem to bother him, as he locks his arm around yours, allowing him to continue working with his hands. He must be folding some of the laundry, or at least trying. You can't imagine he's well-versed in the practice.

"You're going to try to find those guys?" Some hope returns to Sherry's voice.

"I will." He doesn't hesitate and he has no doubts. As an assassin he must have some sleuthing skills. He's more than proven himself to be clever, at the least. You still don't want him to bother, though. It doesn't fix what happened, but maybe it could save someone else, at the least.

"Hey! What the hell?" You hear Revenant shout as he withdraws his arm from you and staggers backwards. You pull your face out of the scarf to see Sherry hugging a very confused Revenant.

"Eviscerate them and hang them by their fucking entrails." Sherry mumbles before letting go, and turning to you. "I hope you don't mind, he earned it." She smiles through her exhausted expression, giving you a quick hug too. She pulls away and shuffles to her folded stack of laundry, picking it up and making her way out of the room. Revenant watches her exit with concentrated attention before turning to you.

"Never thought I'd have a second idiot asking me for a favor." He huffs, stepping back over to you. He reaches into the scarf and holds your cheek for a moment, locking eyes with you. "No worries though, you're my first and favorite idiot." His intense determination has melted back down to a teasing vitriol. You let your head tilt into his palm approvingly, letting some wayward tears drip onto him.

He pulls his hand back slowly, intentionally tugging the scarf back to cover your face so you can't see. You're startled when you feel a pile of warm, clean laundry land in your lap.

"Hold this." You hear him instruct as you feel him pick you back up. You wrap your arms around the pile of sheets, clothes, and towels, doing your best to prevent any from falling out of your grip. He carries you, buried in a pile of warm laundry, all the way back to the room before lightly dropping you onto the bare mattress. You let the laundry bury you, enjoying the warmth.

"Why did I even try to fold anything...?" You hear Revenant mumble as he reaches in and pulls you upright, undoing his scarf from you. You let him pull it off of you, but don't bother to watch him put it back on himself. You prefer to bury yourself back in the warm pile of clothing, messing them up further. You hear his buckles lock down on his chassis as he walks away. "I have some leads to follow up on, stay there until I find you a babysitter." The door slams before you can sit up and ask him what he means. He's already gone. He can disappear as quickly as he can appear, climbing walls and collapsing himself into vents and nooks. Even though he used the door this time, it never ceases to scare you a little.

You wish he would just stay around and not leave. Considering how hard it was to even explain what exactly happened to you when you were attacked, you had hoped he would realize being left alone is the worst possible thing. Although, maybe he does realize this, and is getting Sherry to stay with you. Still, you'd rather it be him. It feels like a cop out for him to just leave you with her, but maybe he's also dealing with some emotions too. Unfortunately, you're worried he thinks he can somehow undo everything that happened to you with a bloodbath of vengeance.

You sigh, getting up and looking at the disheveled pile of laundry. You begin to toss your wads of clothing into your duffel bag. No point in folding any of it, it's not like you own anything nice. As you pick through, some appear to be partially folded but his claws had poked some holes in them. Well, at least it's all cheap and replaceable. You toss them into the bag anyway, right now you don't have time to get new ones. You fold the towels and place them in the bathroom, nicely folded and ready to be used again. You take the one odd rag to the kitchenette, finding the drawer full of its siblings and placing it nicely.

Finally, you make the bed. It's an annoying and cumbersome process when you're working alone--the beds here are so big you have to do laps around it to get all the sheets and blanket right. However, you refuse to cut corners, and get it done pretty quickly. The majority of your past few years here have been focused on housekeeping, so you consider yourself quite adept and efficient at it. After throwing on the pillowcases and making a small mound of plush pillows to jump on later, you consider it done.

With nothing left to do, you decide to jump on the pillow mound early, burying yourself in it.

Almost as soon as you get comfortable, the door swings back open.

"Skinsuit! Meet your friend for the day!" Revenant sounds oddly sadistic, but why?

You turn around to meet eyes with a single, red, optical bulb.

"Hello, new friend! I'm Pathfinder, and I am a MRVN!" He waves at you as if you're not a mere few yards away. You actually already know Pathfinder, but he tends to forget who you are regularly. Maybe it's from getting damaged in the Apex Games? Or perhaps it's since he's only ever met you in passing before. After all, there's never been a good reason for him to remember you until now. "Very nice to meet you, Skinsuit!"

Revenant fights back a chortle as Pathfinder gets your name so morbidly wrong. You have no reason to correct him, though, after all you never had parents to give you a real name. You've been trying on different names for decades. 'Skinsuit' just seems to fit this stage of your life, weirdly enough.

"After our misunderstanding yesterday, I decided to make it up to him by introducing you two." Revenant explains to you, his hands gesturing sarcastically. Misunderstanding is one way to put it. "He's going to make sure you don't hurt, maim, kill, or otherwise damage yourself while I'm gone."

"Yes! I don't let friends do any of those things!" Pathfinder pipes up excitedly, probably not even realizing the subtext of what Revenant is implying.

Revenant must be holding on to your self-destructive rant from earlier. That explains why he's keeping some distance. You wish you could take it back, but words don't work like that. You still can't ignore it and let it stand, though.

"Rev, I'm sorry." You blurt out, not caring what Pathfinder might think. Revenant locks eyes with you for a moment, looking slightly less on-edge than before, but still quite tense. His pause doesn't last long, as his manipulative performance must go on for Pathfinder.

"There's nothing to apologize for. " He shrugs with heavy exaggeration, even though he clearly knows what you're referring to. "Just don't be a liability." He turns to Pathfinder, who has been listening intently. "Try to keep her safe, you wouldn't want to get me in trouble if she gets hurt, would you?"

"Absolutely not, brother!" He salutes, seemingly aloof to the tension in the air.

With that, Revenant disappears behind the closing door and is gone again.

Cool, more metal friends you didn't ask for. Well, the first one went well, maybe this won't be so bad.

"You said the right thing." Pathfinder suddenly sounds more serious, even if it still has an unmistakable twinge of optimism. "He seemed upset. I think you made him feel better."

"Wait, you saw through that?" You're dumbfounded, what is with all the perceptive robots in this place?

"He always acts like that for me, but I don't mind. He only does it for me, so we must be like brothers!" Okay, maybe he's not working with a perfectly clear perspective, but still. "And he wouldn't try to get me to watch you if he didn't value you, so I will do this as a favor to him." The screen on his chest emotes a heart-eyed smiling face. "He was very upset when he thought I had figured out his secret, so you must be a very good friend to be a secret friend!"

"Wait, you saw me yesterday?" Is this MRVN a genius and pretending to be unassuming, or somehow a perfectly naïve clairvoyant? He's able to hide his power of perception from Revenant, so he can't be stupid.

"Of course! I have sensors that pick up on heat and vital signs. But you were clearly hiding, so I did not want to ruin your fun."

Fun? Oh, he's so perfectly naïve, or you're falling for a perfectly executed feign. Whichever it is, Pathfinder is a little scary in the exact opposite manner that Revenant is. Revenant may be a homicidal simulacrum with deeply human roots, but his intentions are fairly obvious and any malice he has is clear cut and concise. Pathfinder is much more confusing, clearly more intelligent than he lets on, but so perfectly optimistic that he comes off as non-threatening. Despite that impression, you've seen Pathfinder take down some of the scariest Legends over the years, often with a near-condescending air of playful joy while doing so. When Revenant kills, the bloodlust is sensible, but playfulness? It's somehow scarier.

"Are you okay, friend? You seem nervous. Did I say something bad?" His emote shows a distressed face.

"Sorry, I just get caught up in thought sometimes. What did you want to do for fun?" You figure he won't hurt you, even if you can't completely figure him out.

"Well, what do you and Revenant usually do for fun?" His emote brightens into a smile again as you grimace internally. He's either wholly unaware or viscously teasing you.

"How about we do something else? Let's..." You think, what would be nice to do? You're a bit hard pressed to come up with anything fun.

"We could bring flowers to people in the infirmary!" He pipes up happily. It's not a bad idea, really.

"Sure! I actually wanted to visit the second place Legends, if that's okay. Fuse is so nice and so is Bloodhound. Caustic... probably won't mind." You've never really met Caustic, but you know he has a reputation for being grumpy.

• • • •

You walk out into the hidden atrium behind Pathfinder's room. You knew this was here, but nobody ever comes out here to your knowledge. The doors lock if you're not careful to keep them open, so the risk of being locked outside tends to lead most to avoid the area entirely, even though it connects two wings more efficiently than the hallways.

It's full of flowers of all types, sizes, and colors. The arrangement is chaotic and seemingly random, but the lusciousness of the plants more than makes up for it. The ground flowers are blooming and have various bee species hovering around, seemingly at peace with one another. There are a few small trees reaching around eight or nine feet high and giving a little shade. One has flowers, another has berries, and yet another has some kind of unripe fruit. It's truly breathtaking, and completely undisturbed after years of being left alone by the other Legends.

"You did all this?" You ask aloud, completely in awe of the secret oasis.

"Yes! Do you like it? We can pick some flowers from here!" Pathfinder seems especially happy to be sharing this with someone.

"It's beautiful." You mutter, still captivated by how mythical this little cut of land feels.

"Thank you! I have been meaning to show Revenant, but he will never chase me this far." Pathfinder shuffles over to an area and pulls up Revenant's abandoned bovine skull from the last match with a giant chipped gash in the forehead. He's filled in the bottom and red rose buds have been replanted in the eye holes. A large snail is making its way around the gash with its mossy shell, making for an artistic arrangement. "I am really proud of this one. I felt bad his new suit was destroyed, so I wanted to keep a part of it for him. Once the roses grow, it will look really nice!"

You're impressed. Revenant seems to have some kind of distaste for Pathfinder, and you're beginning to understand why. Pathfinder is scary. He's terrifyingly kind. If your guard isn't up at all times, he will reach a deep part of you and break down your defenses in an instant. When the entirety of the Outlands treats people as disposable assets and teaches everyone to trust as few people as possible, this MRVN will treat anyone like they truly matter, like they are truly cared for, and like they are capable of great things. It's dangerous to believe those things in this universe. That's how you get victimized, abandoned, and let down. Yet, this MRVN manages to hold on to these beliefs about himself and others, and he isn't broken, dead, or an abandoned shell.

Revenant, like you, can't adhere to those beliefs. The universe has spoken, and it says otherwise. Yet, it feels nice to indulge in the feeling of mattering, even if only for a few hours. Is that why he chose Pathfinder? Of course, Pathfinder is the living opposite of a suicidal ideation, after all. Maybe Revenant knew that.

"Stupid, clever jerk." You mumble out loud.

"Me?" Pathfinder has a confused emote as he points to himself.

"Oh, sorry, no, I meant someone else." You pause, switching subjects. "It's really nice of you to reuse his favorite chassis like this. I think it's really pretty, even if he never sees it."

"Thank you, friend!" His happy emote is back, and he waves you over to another area. "Have you seen this chassis? It's my favorite!"

You walk over and follow him to see a rounded red, purple, and white chestplate that has been cracked and shattered, but loosely put back together. It has the word "Thunder" and the number "81" written on it, as well as a unique mask attached to it. This mask doesn't look like any skull you've seen before, human or otherwise, but still has a bony texture. It appears to have hooks near the chin, perhaps where it was attached to the exoskeleton, as well as unusual leather bags under the eyes. It looks perpetually tired and angry, but you definitely can't say you've seen him wear this before. The chestplate is closed over an old wood stump and beautiful mushrooms have sprung to life in the darkness and reached beyond the chassis to meet the light. His mask has a particularly colorful fungus growing on it, happily latching onto the porous material more easily than the chestplate. It's gorgeous, but you wish you could see this chassis on him too.

"No, I've never seen this one before... I haven't seen him wear it in the games either. What is it?" You ask, curious why he would have such an odd chassis in his repertoire.

"He uses it when we spar! I don't think he uses it much otherwise."

"You two spar?" You're surprised. Maybe Revenant also finds excuses to dabble in the feeling of mattering sometimes.

"Yes! Not too often, I think he gets frustrated that I am an excellent boxer. I have tried to let him win, but he doesn't like that." Your eyes widen. Pathfinder can outclass Revenant in a sparring match? This guy really is scary. "You should come sometime!"

You look back at the busted chassis. Was Revenant knocked out of this one with a blow from Pathfinder? You knew all MRVN are particularly sturdy and powerful, but you never really felt it until now. You're a helpless ragdoll full of easily exploitable and fatal flaws to Revenant, but you never even considered that perspective when around Pathfinder. Now you do.

"You can really beat Revenant?" You mumble aloud, not intending it as a real question.

"When we only use our fists, yes! I don't think I could beat him if he was allowed to use his stabbing hands. He is getting better though!" He doesn't acknowledge your apparent fear, simply giving a chipper answer. "Whiplash to the neck is a weak point in his design. He is learning that he can't let me land an uppercut. You should come watch sometime! I bet he would fight harder with you there!"

The thought of Pathfinder knocking out Revenant with an uppercut is unbelievable to you. You almost want to know if it's really possible.

"I will, if you're both okay with it." You look up at Pathfinder, who immediately makes a happy clapping motion.

"Yes! I look forward to it!"

"Do you have any more insider information on his other suits?" You ask, curious how many he has seen.

"He's told me about some, but I haven't seen them yet. Only some special colored versions of his normal one." He looks upwards as if to think, the emote on his screen changing to match. You've seen some of the other colors in past games, but never in person. You hope he has a lot of different suits, especially since they tend to alter his personality a little. You wonder what his sparring suit does to him.

"We are here to visit Fuse, Bloodhound, and Caustic!" Pathfinder chirps, flashing his ID badge. You place yours on the counter as well, as the receptionist scans them both. You know the receptionist, Carol's been here a long time, and she's used to seeing volunteers come through to visit the Legends.

"Let's pick some flowers for the others, then maybe we can talk some more." You want to make sure you get to see the second place team, knowing the extent of their injuries is well beyond simple gunshots wounds. Revenant had run Caustic and Fuse through completely, and probably broke many of Bloodhound's bones. You're a little worried for all of them.

• • • •

You and Pathfinder approach the receptionist in the infirmary wing, holding three unique bunches of flowers. You couldn't find vases, so they're propped up in glass soda bottles filled with water. It may be a cheap alternative to a proper vase, but the flower quality makes up for it.

She starts to laugh after scanning your badge.

"Little Skinsuit? Is that what you're going by now?" She prods. "Also, I didn't know Revenant liked anyone enough to have a direct hire. I guess all that dedication to the grump-machine paid off, huh? Congrats!" She's very nice, and doesn't pry further than that.

"I'm not going to tell Revenant what not to call me, that would be asking for trouble. But thank you! It only took four seasons and figuring out his favorite liquor." You take your ID back.

"Ha! Leave it to you to make your way up in the world through the craziest means possible. Revenant still scares the heck out of me. Today was the first time I've ever seen him visit anyone, though. Maybe he's softening up." She spins a little in her chair thinking about it. "Anyway, tell Sherry I said 'hi' when you see her next!"

"Will do! Thanks Carol!" You chime back, walking past the desk with your arms full of bouquets, Pathfinder following behind. Why would Revenant have come by here earlier? That's very odd.

As you turn the corner, you see the names of the currently admitted Legends on each of the doorways. There are not many left, it seems like most were discharged this afternoon. Fuse, Bloodhound, and Caustic are all still here though.

Caustic's room is the closest, but you'd rather wait to deal with him last. You haven't met him, and those who have aren't usually treated well apparently. He almost has as bad of a reputation as Revenant, but Sherry has always been able to interact with him reasonably. She told you it had something to do with being close to Wattson, but that doesn't make much sense to you.

"Let's see Fuse first." You say, carefully making your way to Fuse's door. You knock lightly before you hear his booming voice welcome you.

"Door's unlocked, mate!" He barely sounds injured. As you open the door, you see Fuse grinning widely and sitting upright in bed. He's in a hospital gown, chest exposed to reveal a massive but sewed up and sealed wound. "Oy, you brought me flowers! How kind of ya." He's absolutely beaming for someone with a massive hole in his chest.

"Sorry we came so late in the afternoon, I just wanted to visit and make sure you were okay." You fumble over your words, not sure how else to admit you were worried about him and the others. Let alone that it's partially an apology for Revenant absolutely skewering him.

"Not a problem, I see you brought a different metal fellow with ya t'day." He motions to a table beside him, where you place the flowers.

"Good to see you again Fuse, I am glad to see you are recovering well." Pathfinder chirps, forever positive.

"So, sheila, how is the angry feller?" Right, he knows about you and Revenant.

"He's, uh, under some stress, but nothing he can't handle, I'm sure." You're not sure how else to answer. Saying he's fine is too obvious of a lie, but you don't want to be too specific either.

"Really? Who knew? The red rage actually has problems like the rest of us." He chuckles. Normally you wouldn't think much of his statement, but Fuse is the type to try to get anyone to warm up to him, Revenant being no exception. Perhaps you've said too much.

"Yes! Which is why I'm taking care of his secret friend for him! She's not allowed to be a liability!" Pathfinder gently pats your shoulder. Why did he have to say that? Fuse catches sight of your dejected look and laughs harder, gripping his chest to steady the pain. Pathfinder takes his laughter as some kind of endorsement, while you hang your head in embarrassment. Fuse catches his breath finally.

"No worries sheila, I won't tell a soul. You may have to keep that a bit more under wraps though, Pathy." Fuse says through labored breaths. That laugh must have hurt. Pathfinder cocks his head in confusion. "I think the point of having a 'secret friend' is to keep them a secret, not to tell everyone!"

"Oh no! I'm sorry!" Pathfinder realizes his mistake, a blue sad face appearing on his screen.

"It's okay, Pathfinder, Fuse actually already knew." You pat him on the arm in reassurance.

"Yeah, no worries mate. Just be a little more careful." His smile erases any embarrassment you feel. "Well, I'll let ya make your other rounds, I'm gonna turn in for the night." Fuse waves goodbye to you both as you excuse yourselves.

You make your way across the hall to the room labelled for Bloodhound. You lightly knock, and a nurse opens the door carefully for you. You slip in quietly and see Bloodhound lying on their back, their head facing your direction. You see their eyes dart in your direction, no longer buried under their usual goggles. Their head is well-wrapped in gauze, and their breathing mask is replaced with a hospital oxygen mask. You can finally see their eyes, which are filled with a softness you don't usually see.

Artur is on a large perch in the corner of the room, surprisingly. Bloodhound likely had to fight to get Artur into the infirmary at some point, since the perch almost looks to be a permanent installment now. Artur coos, watching the room carefully.

"Ah, the apprentice and Pathfinder." They address you both, but don't sit up. They likely aren't able to in this state.

You look to the nurse and offer her the flowers, not sure if you can approach Bloodhound at all. She takes the vase and puts it on a table a short ways from them, but well within their eyesight. Bloodhound seems enamored by the flowers, but also confused by their presence for a few moments.

"Ah, right, flowers are a common gift to the injured." They say to themself before turning to you both. "Your well wishes are accepted graciously. May the Allfather bless you in return."

You bow instinctively, not wanting to speak too loudly in the quiet room. Pathfinder notices and attempts to do the same, but starts to lose his balance and barely recovers. Once you right yourself, you break the silence for a mere moment.

"Get well soon, Bloodhound. Please don't..." You trail off, not sure where you were going. Die? Unlikely. Hurt? They're already hurt. Hate Revenant? They're not the type. "... don't be a stranger." You recover a little, but you're sure you're coming off awkwardly.

Bloodhound smiles with their eyes, and you feel much better, quietly slipping back out the door. Pathfinder follows, waiting for the door to close before speaking.

"I kept the secret!" He pumps his fists a little. You chuckle.

"By not talking at all. I guess it works." You pat him on the arm again. "One left, but I don't know anything about Caustic. I hope he's not as bad as they say."

Pathfinder takes the last bouquet from you and leads the way this time, apparently willing to handle the interaction himself. He knocks on the door and opens it, revealing a growling Caustic on the other side, sitting upright in bed and writing in a notebook. His usual mask is switched for an oxygen mask, and he's in a hospital garb that is far too large for him.

"Greetings, doctor! I brought you flowers!" Pathfinder chirps happily, ignoring Caustic's scowl.

"I don't want flowers. I already had to answer the simulacrum's idiotic questions, why are you bothering me now?" Caustic asks angrily, averting his attention back to his notebook.

"I intentionally got you chamomile flowers, they're Wattson's favorite for tea!" Pathfinder chirps, holding the white and yellow-centered flowers up. Caustic suddenly looks up from his notebook with a softer expression, before sighing and relenting.

"Fine, put them down on the table." His voice and expression have softened, but you're not sure why. Pathfinder must know something you don't.

As Pathfinder moves to put the flowers on his table, you lose your body to hide behind. Caustic notices you, and suddenly smiles a little wickedly.

"Ah, the simulacrum's personal lapdog reveals herself." He sneers. How did he know about you? Did Revenant say something? "You have quite the science project at your beck and call. How did a little thing like you manage that?"

You're not sure how to answer, and you know your discomfort is visible on your face. Pathfinder seems to notice as well.

"You seem to be a kindred spirit, flirting with death. Makes you feel more alive, doesn't it?" He coughs a little, interrupting his train of thought. His voice returns in a much more serious tone. "I'm afraid I can't do anything more for either of you, but I'll keep you in mind if I need to get under the simulacrum's skin."

Pathfinder doesn't speak, but starts walking towards the door, gently herding you in that direction. You leave, unsure of what else to say after that. The door gently closes behind you both.

"Are you okay, friend?" Pathfinder asks.

Now late in the evening, you finally make it back to Revenant's room, bidding Pathfinder goodbye before opening the door. You're holding a single flower you picked out for Revenant, despite Pathfinder's insistence that Revenant doesn't like or accept flowers. He's tested it thoroughly, or so he claims. You're certain this one is different, though. You picked this one for him, and you picked it for a reason. As you slip through the door, Revenant stands up from the computer desk to meet you.

"Yeah, just disturbed, I guess. Let's go, it's getting late. Let me grab dinner and let's go back to your garden." You answer, not sure what Caustic meant. You'd rather spend the rest of the evening chatting about Revenant's different chassis with Pathfinder than dwelling on Caustic's cryptic words.

• • • •

"You must have had fun. You've been gone all day." He notices the flower. "Pathfinder managed to pawn one of his flowers off on you?" He scoffs, rolling his optics.

"Actually, I picked this one for you." You correct him, unsurprised by his initial rejection. He seems to tense at the realization it's a gift from you, not Pathfinder, and that he has already judged it so openly. "It's a datura flower, I thought it was fitting."

"Datura? Like the drug?" He asks, trying to ignore his previous judgement on the flower.

"Yeah, it's called the Devil's Trumpet. It's poisonous if ingested, and causes psychedelic delusions. It's legendary for giving some of the most hellish waking nightmares. Isn't that something you've said about yourself? A nightmare flower for the nightmare Apex Predator!" You finish your short speech, and he carefully takes the flower from you, staring silently at its alluring but deceptive beauty for a few moments in silence.

"Thank you." He finally says, carefully placing the makeshift vase and flower down on the computer desk. "I wanted to talk to you about something while we're at it."

"Is this about what I said earlier? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't thinking, and--"

"You wanted to die. It's okay. I understand that feeling." He takes your hand and sits you down on the bed as he takes the office chair opposite to you. "I don't want you to die, even though I am certain I will live to see the day anyway." He pauses, gathering the words he wants to say. "If you really find you cannot handle living any longer, I want you to die painlessly in my arms."

You sit there, unable to fully process what he means, or perhaps you're refusing to process it. It's hard to swallow, if your suspicion is right. He lets the pause hang before finally specifying.

"If you truly must die, I want to be the one to take your life." His head hangs, and he refuses to make further eye contact. "It will be painless, you won't be alone, and I can hold you one last time." His pain is apparent.

As soon as the words register in your head, you throw yourself to the floor and kneel under his hunched over body, trying to meet his gaze. He is unmistakably despaired, so you stand into him, hugging him as you do.

"I'm so sorry Revenant, I promise it won't come to that." You're pleading with him to trust you, but you're not sure how to convince him. "I love you, I just want to spend as much time with you as I can. I won't let it come to that."

You're pretty sure you sound desperate, but you're not sure how he'll interpret that. You are desperate to get him back from wherever his mind is. He stays limp in your arms for a few moments--long enough to concern you. His optics are still on, so he's not rebooting. He's just pondering, and somehow that's more worrying than anything.

Finally, Revenant hugs you back, standing up and lifting you off the ground. He brings you to the bed, carefully lying down in it and dragging you into an enveloping hold. He holds you tightly, but with an intensity you haven't felt before. He doesn't speak, just holds you, refusing to let go.

You lay there, unable to move and unwilling to abandon him for what feels like hours, until your consciousness starts to fade. You drift off quickly, unable to deny your exhaustion any further.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Okokok here this: april, reader and casey try to prank the boys. How does it go. With who does it fails/success, what was the prank, do they get caught? Do the boys get revenge, and if so, how?

Also, splinter sees it all unfolds, does he just gets himself a snack and watch, or does he tries to subtly join in without getting caught? (We all know hes got a playful side cmon)

Bonus: they try to prank vern too, maybe the boys join in to prank him? What do they do? Does he retaliate?

Okay so I admit I let my brain go nuts on this one, so it's a little long but I was cackling the entire time I was writing it.

TMNT Headcanons

Prank Wars

Leonardo

In your complete and utter defence, Leo had 100% started this

And also in your defence, you did tell him not to

Twice

But he tricked you into watching a horror movie and ended up dying your hair green

This meant war

You'd even wrapped up April and Casey into it

Their problems were your problems

Which meant that April was the one who convinced Splinter not to say anything to his sons

He was perfectly happy to oblige

Casey was just there to help set things up

And you liked the way his mind worked

The objective wasn't to go unnoticed, there would be no point in doing it and having no proof

You were doing this to prove that you could

Leo had emphasized that he couldn't be distracted

That you were to obvious and clumsy to prank him without him noticing

Challenge fucking accepted

And that's how you ended up at the kitchen table eating lunch with April and Casey when the boys were coming back from meditating with Splinter

April kept having to shove food in her mouth to hide her laughter

Casey just decided to wear sunglasses

And you kept overpowering the urge to smirk

"Hey guys, good to see you. Y/n have you seen my katanas?"

With the obstruction of water in your mouth you just nodded at him, pointing to the other room

He sauntered off, none the wiser to your victorious grin

When he came back in only a moment later his expression had done a complete 180

Leo made direct eye contact with you and you held that stare like a wolf cornered in its den

"does someone want to explain why my katanas are encased in blueberry jello?"

You raised your hand like a child in class

"hate to break it to you, but it's actually berry blue you uncultured bitch"

Raphael

Ohhhh you were so undeniably dead

A whole other level of six feet under

It wasn't a surprise that April and Casey had backed out on this one

It also wasn't a surprise that Splinter had offered to stand up for you if things went sideways

Donnie even gave you a sheet of paper with a list of hiding spots before hand

All of this went completely unnoticed by Raph, the target of your latest scheme.

And that was fine, you had only one objective here-

Make it out alive

But it was amazing what 1 person could do with some extra cash and internet access

So that's what led you to your current position.

Cross legged on the bench, watching the large red terrapin get ready for his first set, that in itself wasn't unusual, you always watched him lift just in case you needed to run and grab someone if something went wrong

Raph was none the wiser to your plan

At least that's what you thought

Your book was in your lap and you were calmly scanning your pages, somewhat comprehending the words but keeping a very close eye on the turtle across from you

"Hey y/n?"

You peeked over the edge of your book to meet his eyes

And your heart sank to your stomach

"Yeah Raph?"

He smirked at you, taking a lumbering step forward

"You ever seen that episode of the Office where Jim fills Dwight's phone with nickels so when he takes 'em out Dwight punches himself in the face?"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit-

"Uh... No, can't say that I have, why do you ask?"

That damn smile got even wider and all of your muscles tensed, you were ready to bolt

"I'm giving you a fifteen second headstart. Starting right now."

You flew to your feet and sprinted out of the weight room

"DONNIE WE GOTTA CODE RED!"

Your lungs were ready to burst by the time you made it to your decided hiding spot. Heavy footsteps went right underneath you and you held your breath, you wouldn't dare move.

You didn't come down until hours later when Splinter came and coaxed to you out of hiding

But deep down you knew you'd started something you couldn't finish.

Vern Fenwick

You didn't even have to convince the guys to partake in this

You didn't even get the chance to tell them what you were planning

They were already brainstorming

None of you let a word of it slip to April, she would've shut you down faster than you could blink

A complete buzz kill

But fake blood was relatively cheap and all of Vern's flooring was tile (meaning extremely easy to clean and bleach)

Donnie had really been the mastermind behind the execution, none of you had any idea how he'd rigged the apartment plumbing

But he'd assured you it would only affect Vern's suite and no one else's so you didn't concern yourself with it further

And after the fact you had to wonder what exactly the former cameraman was planning on the date he'd been in the middle of

All you knew was that you got a very frantic call from the falcon himself yelling about blood coming out of his tap and the sink wouldn't shut off and it was everywhere and what the fuck was happening?

You all knew that Splinter thought it was hilarious, he'd never been particularly fond of Vern

But he did make his sons assist in the clean up and bleaching of the victims apartment floor

You went too and offered moral support

Vern had hit on you one too many times, so there was no way you'd feel bad about this

Michaelangelo

As far as pranking went, you and Mikey were partners in crime

He always had great ideas and you always came up with the best ways to execute those ideas without getting caught

But when you separated those two chaos was guaranteed

You weren't entirely sure how you had been pitted against each other but you weren't entirely mad about it

You couldn't say the same for anyone else though, the others had been on edge all week.

Pranking Mikey was a challenge, he knew how you worked and vice versa

You'd been brainstorming with April for weeks now, maybe a new perspective would help

That's what the two of you told yourselves anyways

Much to your dismay, Mikey and Casey had been plotting against you as well, the traitor.

And perhaps even more unfortunate was the fact that both of your pranks somehow overlapped and backfired on the rest of the family

Because Mikey and Casey may have replaced the family tea set with a edible sugar replica that looked identical to the original

So that when you were asked to make tea for Splinter and Leo it would dissolve the second you poured the hot tea

But they didn't tell anyone else so Leo was left with an impromptu anxiety attack when he made his own tea before sitting down to meditate and it melted into sugary leaf water

And you and April had planned the 'cutting off your finger in the kitchen' with the knife, fake finger, and fake blood

Which in theory should've worked because Mikey was in the kitchen the most, that was his territory

However once you'd started your plan you couldn't stop it

so when you 'cut your finger off' and screamed for Mikey you didn't have time to yell "wait it's a prank!" before Donnie caught a glimpse of the scene and fainted

In your defence you didn't know the purple turtle could move that fast

And to Mikey's relief he was going to throw that cutting board out anyways

Splinter explicitly banned the two of you from pranking each other after that incident

Donatello

Per your own common sense you had come to the conclusion that pranking the families resident genius was a horribly stupid idea

So for once, you'd practiced some self control and refrained from any pranks involving Donnie

Now that's not to say that the turtle vowed from aiming any pranks towards you

He had morals but messing with you walked the line separating adorable from batshit crazy

And he was all for it

April advised against it severely and even Splinter seemed to think it wasn't the best idea, but that was a lesson his son had to learn on his own

On the flip side, the second Casey heard about Donnie's plan he was all for it

So when you came over for dinner they both had to hide their excited smiles as Casey passed you your spaghetti

He knew it was your favorite

Everyone else was oblivious, which looking back on it was a very bad thing

April had her suspicions that Donnie was pulling something this evening, but she couldn't put her finger on it

That wasn't until you swirled a mouthful of noodles around your fork and shoved it into your mouth, you were starving

Here lies your predicament-

You swallowed thickly and blinked like you were in pain, your hand went to your throat and you reached for your water, ending up chugging almost the entire bottle.

Your eyes met Donnie's in a serious type of concern

"Is there hot sauce in this?"

April choked on her breadstick and quickly covered her mouth

Casey hadn't picked up on it yet

"Awh yeah- how'd you figure it out so quickly?"

You erupted in a coughing fit that sent April rushing to your side before you could tumble to the floor

"You fucking assholes! Y/N has a capsaicin allergy! Casey go start the car we need to get them to the hospital!"

On the bright side you were fine after you were rushed to the ER

But you didn't speak to Donnie or Casey for two weeks following the accident

You eventually forgave them for it and they haven't targeted you since

Sorry if it got a little dark at the end, but I felt like it was more realistic. Also that has actually happened to me but it was a nut allergy (and that's how I found out I was allergic to cashews) But I feel like the ending was a good example of how pranking someone can go horribly wrong, you should always consider the possibilities before doing something that could cause harm to a person. (Unless they really really deserve it)

I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you guys like it as much as I do! 😁🧡👍

-Mars 🌠

[attllhak]

So I just got settled after getting home from camping, and I had forgotten that I hadn’t posted this before I left. I remembered in the middle of the weekend and felt bad, but I ended up not having time the morning I left. So have it now, since I did promise it!

Also, @tortilla-of-courage I promised to tag you in all the merAU stuff I posted, and so I’m tagging you. We now figure out what happened to Warriors.

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

“Is he alive?”

“Yeah, you can see him breathing,”

“What is he even doing here?”

“I don’t know, I just found him,”

“We should tell Grandma,”

“Obviously, but we can’t leave him either,”

“Oh, I can go tell her, and you can watch him!”

“Oh that’s a good idea!”

“Okay, I’m gonna, hey! He’s waking up!”

“Huh?”

Warriors squeezed his eyes and blinked, squinting at the sun above him.

A pair of round faces appeared over him. Kids, probably.

He groaned, reaching a hand up to his head. He tried to remember what had happened.

He’d been with his pod, and a ship came by. Poachers. They singled him out, and their captain had him fished out of the water. The rest of his pod tried to help, but the poachers had guns and harpoons. He had seen at least one of his pod mates impaled by one of the harpoons through their tail.

His pod had no choice but to flee.

He remembered sitting in a net for hours under the sun until he’d dried and his scales began to flake.

Eventually he was swung onto the deck and dropped there. He had managed to pull himself onto shaking arms when his face had been wretched up, sharp nails digging into his cheeks.

He immediately felt sick when the woman, the captain of the ship, looked at him. It felt like he was being examined, like some kind of object on display. He felt oddly exposed under her gaze.

It was only years of training as a guard for his pod that allowed him to keep from panicking.

“Oh aren’t you pretty,” the human purred, and Warriors struggled to swallow. “You’ll look so pretty in my home,”

I’m going to die, he had thought.

Her plan for him was worse.

This woman, Cia, wanted a pet. Some pretty mer she could dress up in fancy things and put on display for all her guests to awe at.

He learned this after he was shackled to the deck with a thick chain attached to a cuff on his arm. Occasionally someone would be by to dump a bucket of water on him, but only after another woman, who looked very similar to the captain, warned that he’d be dead by the time they got to shore if they didn’t.

By the time the sun finally set, he’d been laid out flat on the polished wood, his skin and scales burned from the sunlight and lack of water, feeling dizzy and unfocused.

Sun sickness, he’d heard some of the merrow in their pod talk about it. He never thought he’d have it.

Once the sun had well set, the woman who had told them he needed water returned with keys.

Had he been stronger, he would have tried to fight her off. As it stood, all he could manage was to bare sharp teeth at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize she’d be so cruel. I’m going to report her when we dock, but the authorities don’t release poached mer. So I’m getting you out tonight,”

He watched as she undid the shackle on his arm, and he dragged it slowly back to himself, trying to comprehend that.

He hissed and squirmed when she started dragging him, his burned skin and scales awake with pain as they ran over the unforgiving surface.

They got caught by one of the other poachers, and he and the woman argued and shouted. The poacher had some kind of fire, and didn’t hesitate to attack them.

He was thrown overboard, but the fire still hit his arm. He screamed, the first sound since he was brought aboard, and fell.

The cold water was a shock to his sun burned body, and he was out in an instant.

Well, the sun sickness explained his headache. And why his body was aching.

“Who,” he tried to croak, but his throat felt like it was lined with coral and filled with sand, and speaking hurt.

He went to move his hand to it, but cried out in further pain as the fire burns shifted on the sand. He squeezed his eyes shut to beat back tears, all but whimpering in pain.

“Go get Grandma! Now!” One of the kids, the boy, shouted, and he heard a splash as the girl left.

He was on a shore, not land, since he could now feel the water lapping at his tail. He moved his right hand over his body, reaching for where his left arm stung and stabbed with pain.

“Hey! Don’t do that!” Small hands grabbed his wrist and he opened his eyes again, blinking to see around tears at the boy leaning over him. “Don’t worry, help will be here soon,”

He decided to believe that, focusing on the boy’s face to try and distract himself from the pain.

The boy was young, maybe twelve or thirteen. Big, bright blue eyes, and sun bleached blonde hair. The boy was grinning, but visibly nervous.

‘Who are you?’ He flashed, not wanting to deal with his damaged throat.

“Me?” The boy blinked. “My name is Link! Do you have a name?”

Warriors smiled. ‘My name is also Link, but I’m not the only Link in my pod. They called me Warriors,’

“That’s such a cool name!” Link grinned.

Warriors smiled.

It took too long, as far as he was concerned, for help to arrive. Wind, Link’s new nickname since he wanted a cool name too, had done his best to keep Warriors distracted, when a very old mer climbed onto the beach next to them.

She hissed when she pressed a hand to his head, and Warriors found himself following her hand when it pulled away, chasing the cool wetness with a weak whine.

“Sun sickness,” she pronounced in an old, creaking voice. “And some very bad burning. He needs medical help,”

She slipped back into the water and the young girl replaced her.

Not long after he found himself gently, but no less painfully, picked up by a pair of merrow and transported back into the water.

He couldn’t help the whimper of relief as he felt the water around his body again, and did his best to bite back any cries of pain as they washed the sand from his body and burns. His spaulder was removed so they could treat his injuries, but he was promised its return.

He was far too gone to care about his property anymore, gripping the arm of one of the merrow supporting him with his good hand and pressing his head to their soft, cool skin.

They helped him down into the water, and set him up in an underwater cave where the sun couldn’t reach him. It was cool, and dark, and Warriors almost instantly curled up and passed out again.

He was in and out of consciousness for the next few days, hiding curled up in the coldest corner of his cave and letting healers come in and out to treat his burns. His skin peeled and scales flaked due to the sunburns, and they rubbed cooling salves into the burns. They treated the burn on his arm with even more care.

When he finally properly came to, he spent a long moment sitting in his cave and looking himself over.

His left arm had been pretty badly scarred, and the fin was frayed and damaged, but hadn’t been cut short. That surprised him a bit, he knew a few people whose fins were so badly damaged that it was better for their health to cut them shorter and he would have figured that had happened. Maybe this pod didn’t do fin cuttings for some reason?

The rest of his burns had healed well, and his throat didn’t feel like hurting him anymore.

He looked up when a mer snuck in, and he smiled when he saw Wind.

‘Hi, Wind,’ he waved, smiling.

This was when he noticed Wind’s fins were much smaller than his, and his scale pattern was different.

Wind was a coastal mer.

That explained the lack of fin cutting.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Wind asked, giving up all form of secrecy as he approached and plopped down right next to Warriors. He guessed Wind wasn’t supposed to be here.

Warriors shrugged. ‘More aware than I was before,’

‘That’s good!’ Wind grinned. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t fix your fin,’

Warriors lifted his arm, frowning at the damaged fin. ‘You tried to fix it?’

‘Yeah?’ Wind tilted his head, equally confused. ‘Why? What did you expect us to do?’

‘Cut it back,’ he answered honestly. ‘It’s too damaged to save, so back in my pod we would have just cut back the fin and got rid of the damaged parts,’

Wind looked horrified. ‘Why would you do that?!’

Warriors blinked back, not sure what was so bad about what he said.

‘We have very big fins,’ he tried to explain. ‘Dragging around damaged fins can be really annoying, and sometimes detrimental to your health. So anything we can’t heal, we usually cut back,’

Warriors and Wind shared a long look.

They agreed not to talk about it anymore.

‘What happened to you?’ Wind asked instead. ‘Aryll and I found you on the beach and you were really out of it. Gran said you might not remember that,’

‘I do remember that,’ Warriors smiled. ‘Thank you for that, by the way. You didn’t have to help me, but I’m grateful that you did,’

Wind shook his head. ‘Of course I had to help you! You needed help!’

Warriors ruffled Wind’s hair, laughing at the squawk Wind made. ‘You’re a good person, Wind,’

Wind huffed, fixing his hair. ‘So, what did happen to you? We don’t get a lot of tropical mer around here,’

Warriors frowned. Just how far was he from his pod?

‘I, uh, I didn’t leave my pod willingly,’ he didn’t want to scare Wind at all, considering he didn’t know if poachers frequented this area or not.

‘You were kidnapped,’ Wind nodded.

Sure, they could say that.

‘Something like that, yes,’ Warriors nodded. ‘I was on a ship for a while, and the humans weren’t very good at keeping me hydrated. One of them took pity on me, and dumped me over the side once the sun set. I, don’t remember anything after that, until you and your sister found me on the beach,’

Wind reached out and, after a second of hesitation, wrapped his arms around Warriors in a hug. ‘I’m sorry. Usually the bad humans don’t come here,’

Warriors startled a bit, he didn’t usually get hugs from people, but he carefully set his arms down around Wind in turn, not even trying to fight the soft smile on his face.

He liked this kid, he thought.

Wind was chased out by healers not long after, apparently he’d been slipping in and making a nuisance of himself since Warriors arrived, and they looked him over and asked more questions.

After a while, the healers left and the very old mer from earlier returned. Her blue scales had been dulled by age, and her grey hair was pulled up in a bun. She squinted at him through the wrinkles in her face, and he instinctively straightened up. This woman was the matriarch of her pod.

‘My grandson told me you were aware,’ she flashed at him.

He nodded, trying his best to be polite.

‘He also told me you were kidnapped,’ she continued. ‘By humans,’

‘Poachers,’ he confirmed. ‘I got lucky,’

She nodded. ‘Do you know how far you traveled?’

‘I don’t,’ he shook his head, and looked down to his hands. ‘I don’t even know how long I’ve been away from my pod,’

‘A while at least,’ she said once he looked up again. ‘You’ve been out of it for a few days here, and we don’t know when you washed up on the beach. Not to mention that there aren’t any tropical mer pods nearby,’

Warriors nodded, looking down again.

He was probably very far from his pod, and it would take a long, long time to find them again. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of heading out into the open ocean with no direction either. Who knows how far he’d traveled. Who knows how far he’d travel in order to find his pod again. If he found his pod again. He might never get back to them.

He looked up when a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

‘Don’t look so defeated,’ the old mer smiled at him. ‘We’ll help you get back to your pod. And until we find them, you can stay with us,’

Warriors looked at her, kind and helpful and comforting, and smiled back. He nodded.

He could do that.

(---)

Warriors got his spaulder back, and was quickly sussed out by this pod’s, very lacking, guard, and ended up employed. Mostly he was just retraining them, since they needed some help.

He liked having a spear in his hands again. It was a relief to be able to have a weapon.

Wind and Aryll had both attached themselves to him as well, and after a week they were introducing him as their very pretty big brother. Wind had even managed to convince Warriors to teach him how to fight.

Some days Warriors didn’t even mind that he might never get back to his original pod.

He did learn that Wind happened to be friends with a human pirate, however, and that stressed him out immensely.

Maybe he should talk to that therapist Gran had suggested he see. He hadn’t had issues with his podmates speaking to the marine researchers before he was poached.

But, pirates.

It never hurt to be cautious.