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eternal-evergreens · 5 months ago

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｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - VI"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Non/Con, Gore, Physical Abuse, Victim Blaming, Mental Breaks, Bondage, Abduction, Drugging, Murder/Death, Dissociation, Dissociative Amnesia/Lost Time,

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

You’ve been trying to loosen your bonds for a while—the drugs long out of your system—but it’s hard when one of your wrists is injured. You can hardly move it without pain shooting up your entire arm. You can hardly even feel your fingers, and you’re sure that if you could look, they’d be white as a sheet—or, worse, purple. You stop your shuffling when you hear footsteps approaching the door. Kylar walks in, holding a sketchbook. He probably wants to draw you.

“Kylar, can you take a look at my hands? I think the ropes might be cutting off circulation.” Please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene. Kylar puts the food down and walks behind you.

He touches your hand. “C-can you feel that?”

“Feel what?” You say, trying to feign ignorance in hopes you’ll be taken more seriously. Kylar doesn’t say anything, but you feel him undo your restraints before retying them more lightly. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, you have to suppress a sigh in relief as you feel pins and needles begin to prick at your skin.

“Better?” Kylar stands in front of you now.

“Could you just undo them instead? I’ll be good, I promise.” You bat your eyes and try to put on your best cutesy voice, but Kylar just shakes his head. You aren’t going to convince him this way. He wants you helpless.

You’re going to have to try something else.

Bile threatens to rise up your throat, but you suppress it as you allow your eyes to droop in a more seductive manner. “Really? That’s a shame…I was going to surprise you with something if you did, but if you don’t want to…” Kylar’s eyes go wide.

“W-wait! I’ll do it!” He rushes behind you, scrambling to get your binds off with such haste that it actually takes longer than if he had taken his time. When you’re finally free, you don’t hesitate to rush to Kylar, pushing him against the wall with your uninjured hand. He doesn’t resist, and you can tell from his flushed face and his erratic breathing that his guard is nonexistent right now. You kiss him, pinning his hands above his head. When he closes his eyes, you knee him in the balls as hard as you can. +Control

Kylar crumples to the floor, but you doubt he’ll stay there long. You rush towards the door and swing it open, following the flickering and entering the room it leads to. You grab the flashlight and run out the door, fumbling to turn it on in the dark as you focus on running.

You don’t make it in time. You run into Kylar, knocking both him and yourself over. You scramble to get up, but Kylar has already grabbed your arm. He’s not very strong, but your panic doesn’t allow you to recognize that, and you freeze. Only for a second, but a second is all it takes. You feel a sharp pain in your arm, and everything fades to black.

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It is Sunday, the 13th of September, 2022. It has been 9 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears well in your eyes Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are strained Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 6 days to escape.

When you wake up this time, you feel much less under the weather than the first time you were hit. Probably due to the fact it had been several hours since you were shot. You feel capable of basic movement, and you’re confident that if you can just fight through the pain, you’ll be able to get out of these bonds.

And you do. You rub against your restraints until you feel something warm and wet trickle down from your wrists onto the floor. Then you keep going. +++Pain +++Willpower

Your ropes are looser than they were. But it could easily take another day or even two until you’re able to get out of them. After your first attempt, Kylar double-wrapped you, and he added ropes to connect your legs to the chair.

You hear footsteps approaching the door, so you stop struggling and wait. The next thing you know, the room is dark, and Kylar is on the floor with his head in your naked lap, seemingly sleeping. You feel slime on your bare skin between your thighs and fresh bruises all over your body. There are bandages on your wrists. He probably noticed your attempt to escape and hit you for it. You don’t know. You have no way of knowing. All you know is that you’re hurt and scared, your ropes are just as tight as they were this morning, and now even your waist is tied to the chair.

You can’t do anything about it without waking up Kylar, so you’ll have to wait until morning before trying anything else.

—————————

It is Monday, the 14th of September, 2022. It has been 10 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears run down your face Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are strained Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 5 days to escape.

“Good morning, my little tease,” Kylar says, smiling and without a hint of embarrassment.

Do you wish to view Kylar’s stats? Y/N

You blink twice at “Yes,” and a blue textbook appears beside him.

Kylar The Loner Kylar is manic Fascination: 100% Love: 10% Devotion: 10% Jealousy: 95% Lust: 55%

Before you have time to process the new changes in his devotion and love stats, Kylar begins to sob.

“W-what are you looking at? I’m right here!” He waves an arm in front of the textbox, effectively blocking your view. +++Jealousy

You turn your gaze back to him, and he visibly relaxes, though he still looks on edge.

“Sorry. I thought I saw a bug.” -Jealousy. Your voice is so dead that if it weren’t for the feeling of your vocal cords moving, you never would have recognized it as your own at all. Kylar tenses and quickly whips around, frantically searching for a bug that doesn’t exist. You use the opportunity to check his stats again, and see that in just the span of a few seconds, you’ve managed to up his jealousy from 96% to 99%.

You should be feeling dread right now, but all that washes over you is ice-cold indifference.

“I don’t see it,” Kylar says, voice low. “Were you lying to me?” You tilt your head but don’t answer. Kylar seems to be spurned on by this, though you know he would have found a way to get upset even with your input. “I don’t understand. Who are you thinking about?! I’m right here!” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you as much as your restraints will allow. You steal a glance towards the status window.

Jealousy: 100%

“Is…is it him? Were you thinking about him?” Kylar’s voice begins to take on a tone of insanity. “Wh-when we were together…were you pretending it was him?” His grip on you tightens, but you feel disconnected from the pain. He pushes your chair over again, leaving you to land painfully on your arms. Again. He starts hitting you, screaming incomprehensibly. You can make out a few words.

“Cheater”

“Love”

“Hate”

“Bailey”

You stop listening.

He’s still hitting you, straddling your waist to get a better angle. You wonder if he even realizes he’s hard right now. You hope not.

Kylar pulls a knife to your neck, pressing it against the skin until you feel something warm and wet start to dribble down and pool onto your collarbone. You stay like that for a few seconds, with Kylar methodically applying pressure at a rate too consistent for him to not be at least partially clear-headed.

You swallow. It was involuntary, and you hadn’t meant anything by it, but the movement seemed to be enough to break Kylar out of his daze as he quickly repulses, dropping the knife and staggering backward. It takes him a moment to realize he should probably set you upright again, too.

He doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to do anything but meet your blank stare. You don’t say anything, either. You have nothing to say. Kylar hangs his head, muttering apologies to himself. You see tears dripping down onto the floor.

An idea strikes you.

“Do you want forgiveness?” You ask, trying (failing) to make your voice sound anything but flat. Kylar whips up, nodding his head vigorously. You see snot and tears running down his face, which is covered in blotches. Of course, he’s an ugly crier. You focus your vision away from his face. “Earn it.”

“H-how?” His voice indicates a clogged or tight throat. You guess he feels terrible. Good.

“Being cooped up at home isn’t good for anyone. Let’s go somewhere. Together.”

It takes a bit of convincing to get him to agree, but as soon as you mention the word “date,” he’s all but putty in your hands. He wanted to tie you to him, but you managed to talk him down to just holding your wrist like a slightly less madman. Your clothes have been irreparably destroyed; you’ll have to borrow from Kylar. —Jealousy (Kylar’s current jealousy: 45%)

After getting changed and cleaning up your cut, Kylar and you leave the manor. As expected, this brief outing doesn’t automatically complete your quest. You’ll have to make it permanent. His grip is tight, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You just need to escape this place. Things will get better.

They have to.

“You’re going to do whatever I want today, right?” Kylar nods with vigor. You try to smile. Your muscles don’t move. “Good.”

You take Kylar to the shopping center. It’s school, so you don’t need to worry about running into anyone. You glance at the hairdressers. He’d probably go bald if you asked him to. You almost feel the urge to giggle. Almost. -Trauma

You take him to the clothing store, picking out everything that looks expensive, ugly, or extremely diffucult to get on and off. Kylar doesn’t say anything as you browse, but a few stolen glances indicate he’s extremely nervous. -Trauma

He let go of your wrist so you could look around, opting to switch his hold to a dart gun instead. You wouldn’t make it very far if you ran now.

You hand him a pair of heeled boots to try on. He seems hesitant, so you offer to help him lace them up. He won’t be used to walking in heels, so running after you will be extremely diffucult. You’ll be sure to triple-knot the laces so he can’t undo them easily. -Stress

Kylar watches you as you kneel by his feet, a slight hunger in his eyes. +Lust +Stress

You suppress the urge to shiver. You finish getting him in the shoes and stand up quickly. Kylar struggles to remain balanced and has to hold onto you for support. His dart gun has been put back in his bag so he can better cling to you.

You help him into a corset next, making sure to lace it much, much, much tighter than it needs to be. Kylar looks back at you pleadingly a couple of times, but you just show him your neck in response, and his gaze returns to the ground. +Lust

Running will be even harder. -Stress

You bring him an open-shoulder lolita dress next, simply because it looks difficult to get on and off.

“I don’t need to help you get this one on,” you say, pushing Kylar into the changing room before he can protest, watching blankly as he lands on his butt. You close the curtain and wait until you hear the rustling of clothes before sneaking away, planning to switch to running as soon as you’re out the door. Unfortunately, Kylar seems to have been watching your feet, as he speaks up as soon as you move away from the curtain.

“M-My love? Where are you going?”

“Just pacing,” you say. +Jealousy

“St-stay where I can see you.”

You run. +++Jealousy

You hear scrambling and falling from the curtain, as well as the sound of the curtain rod crashing to the ground. You don’t look back, but it wouldn’t have mattered if you did.

A sharp pain hits you right in the back of your thigh. —Control

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency —Status It is Tuesday, the 14th of September, 2022. It has been 11 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 4 days to escape.

Kylar is already sitting across from you by the time you wake up, sketching something in his notepad.

…You should try to get on his good side again, though you can barely bring yourself to care. Right now, you’re operating out of sheer will alone.

“Can I see?” Kylar glances up at you but doesn’t say anything. He goes back to sketching. You try to smile. You feel your lips quirk, but you’re not sure if its upwards. “Do you have a favorite color to use while drawing?” You ask, sneaking a glance towards the status floating next to him. (Jealousy: 99%) Kylar glances at you but continues his silence.

“Maybe you can use something with my favorite color sometime. Do they call those monochromatics? When are there different shades of one color? Or does it have to be the same shade?” You thought asking about his interests might make him pipe up and let his guard down, but he seems hellbent on wasting your breath.

“I don’t know if you know my favorite color, actually. I’m not sure if anyone does, actually. It changed a while ago, and I don’t think it’s ever come up since.” Kylar pauses, just for a second. The idea of exclusivity always gets people, especially if it’s about something they like. “Do you want me to tell you?” Kylar nods.

“Promise to make me a picture in that color, and I will.” A look of hesitation flickers across Kylar’s face, probably wondering how you could use a piece of paper to escape him—you’ve really broken his trust, haven’t you? You may need to lay low for a few days, as much as the idea makes your skin crawl.

At last, Kylar nods, and you tell him your favorite shade of the rainbow. He gets to work on your picture right after, tearing off what he was previously working on and leaving it unfinished on the floor. You sneak a peek at it. It’s a picture of you getting strangled. +Trauma

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Wednesday, the 15th of September, 2022. It has been 12 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are fatigued Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 3 days to escape.

Kylar didn’t bring you any food yesterday. You didn’t bring it up either, but now it’s hours past midnight, and your stomach is keeping you from sleep. Not having anything else to do, you use the opportunity to check on things. Primarily, you never did take a look at what Eden, Alex, or the two beastmen’s statuses ended up being. Hopefully you’ll never see them again and it won’t matter, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least curious.

First is Eden.

Eden The Hunter Eden is in town Fascination: 80% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 40% Dominance: 0% Lust: 100%

Fuck. Fuck this. Seriously? This game isn’t going to give you even a moment of rest, is it? You don’t know how his jealousy got so high, but you suppose it doesn’t matter right now. You have to deal with Kylar first, and…as much as the idea makes you feel like vomiting, you’re going to need to contact Bailey.

…You move on. No need to linger.

Black Wolf The Alpha Black Wolf wants to see you again

There's not much to see on this one. You feel relieved.

Great Hawk The Terror Great Hawk wants you as his wife Fascination: 100% Love: 0% Devotion: 50% Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 90%

There isn’t much to this one, either. Honestly, it doesn’t even look that different from his usual status.

Alex The Farmhand Alex wants to start over Fascination: 80% Love: 7% Devotion: 100%* Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 70% *Alex owes you an apology! You may request one favor to which he can not refuse. Devotion will return to normal after the favor has been spent.

…Huh. That’s weird. Really weird, actually. What’s his goal? Is he actually sorry?

No, if he were sorry, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place. He probably wants to use this as an excuse to get closer to you, now that his first plan has failed. Still, you might be able to leverage something useful out of this, if you play your cards right, that is. At the very least, he’s probably too busy with the farm to come hunt you down in town.

Kylar enters the room, and the textboxes fade from your attention.

You have a lot to think about, but for now, you have to play along.

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status You haven't eaten. Your physique has deteriorated slightly as a result. It is Thursday, the 16th of September, 2022. It has been 13 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 2 days to escape.

Kylar finally brings in food today after two days of starvation.

“I-I’m sorry for not feeding you earlier,” he says, but doesn't offer anything in the way of excuses or explanations. You think you prefer it that way, honestly. At least he's not pretending to be anything he isn't.

At least you're the only one who has to pretend.

On second thought, maybe it would be better if he was lying to you. Maybe it'd be easier to play along, if he helped you out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. You have the cards you've been dealt. No use in complaining.

You plaster on the biggest smile you can muster. Your lips barely curl upwards.

“It's okay,” you say. “I was bad.” Kylar seems to light up at your understanding of what he was saying implicitly. But his face then morphs into one of suspicion.

“Y-you’re lying,” he says. “You're manipulating me. You just want me to lower my guard so you can run back to him again.” You barely manage to suppress a flinch.

Kylar grasps you by the shoulders, shaking you. You don't even think, you can't think. You kiss him. ++Lust —Control –Jealousy

Kylar's eyes go wide but quickly flutter closed as his grip on you loosens into something more affectionate than constricting. He straddles you, and you pull away gently, pushing your forehead against his so he knows you aren’t rejecting him.

You feel sick. You almost can’t bring yourself to speak. But you know what you have to say, so you shove those feelings so far down that not even the devil would be able to find them. -Control

“I’m sorry for running away,” you say. “But I realized something.” You try to steady your heartbeat as Kylar seems to salivate in anticipation. -Control

“He can’t fuck me the way you can,” you say, voice shaking and almost a whisper. ”No one can.” -Control

Kylar all but jumps you.

-Control

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You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Friday, the 17th of September, 2022. It has been 14 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are calm Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You must escape by today.

“G-good evening, my love!” Kylar is dressed in a full gothic suit. His makeup is sloppy. You don’t remember how yesterday ended. You don’t want to remember.

You’re tied to a wheelchair this time, and dressed in an elaborate gothic gown lined with cloves of garlic. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t looked down. Your whole body feels numb. You won't be able to escape today. You went through all of that for nothing. Sold your pride for false hope.

“I wanted to introduce you to my parents. You have to be awake for that. You’ll be good for them, right?”

Oh, so this is how you die. You try to nod, but your neck won’t move.

“I gave you a bit of a sedative to calm you down,” Kylar explains. “I know how nervous you can get. I've been working on it for the past few days—that’s why I couldn't see you as often as I'd like.” You have no way of knowing how often he visited you. The idea of him talking to you in your sleep is something you'd rather not think about.

Kylar wheels you out the door. You wonder if it'll hurt when they rip your throat out with their teeth.

You'll find out soon enough.

Kylar’s parents look about how you expected—looming androgynous figures with milk-white skin and sharp teeth. Their baldness and smooth faces make it difficult to tell them apart, but you think one of them has a slightly thinner face. You could be imagining it, though.

“Mom, Dad, this is my fiancee,” Kylar starts. You think he might be skipping a few steps, but it’s hard to expect reason from someone who just sedated you in front of vampires. Kylar is still speaking, going on about how you met and how you fell in love (If you were recording this, it’d be some pretty damning evidence) while Kylar’s parents watch on in silence. They’re still, gaze transfixed upon you. It would be unnerving if you had the energy to care.

Without warning, one of Kylar’s parents is upon you, nearly knocking down the wheelchair but just managing to avoid it. With a claw of silver, they tear through your bonds and lift you up, running through the house to the garden, then out the garden into the forest. They don’t stop until you reach the altar, setting you down and running away.

Well, it was nice of them to let you go, but with the drugs still in your system, you’re kinda stranded. Additionally, you notice that your quest for escaping the manor hasn’t been completed yet, meaning you’re still on their property. You stare up at the sky. It’s nighttime now. You’re running out of time.

Kylar emerges from the bushes sometime later, looking disheveled.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, approaching you. “I didn't know they would do that. You aren't hurt, are you?” You blink at him, unable to do much else. Kylar seems relieved despite your lack of response. You think you can talk now, but you don’t feel any need to.

“Let's get you back home,” he says, attempting to lift you off the altar. He fails. He tries get you to lean on him, but despite the growing feeling in your legs, you still can't walk. “I-I’ll be right back,” he says. “I'll get your chair.” You watch him go from your place on the altar. As soon as he turns his back to you, you start flexing your fingers and toes.

It’s not over until it’s over.

Your movements seem to help, as within the next few agonizing minutes, you’re able to just barely drag yourself off of the altar, crawling with your arms and legs through the forest underbrush. It’s hard going, but you’re making progress. Still, you hope your legs will regain their strength sooner rather than later.

You shimmy along the path, propelling yourself forward by your elbows and the movements of your hips. You feel sticks and leaves poke through and tear your gothic gown, trying to reach the soft skin underneath. You ignore the pain and press onwards, slowly inching towards freedom, though having no idea what direction it ought to be in.

It occurs to you as you’re crawling that you very well may be making a snail trail in your path, but you have no choice but to press onwards. You won’t find another chance.

So, you keep going. You crawl and crawl until the moon is resting just shy of the center of the sky, and you hear rustling in the distance. You still, hoping it’s just a stray wolf or fox. Hoping that it’s not looking for you. Hoping that even if it is, it’s not Kylar that’s looking.

The rustling stops, and you think you have enough strength in your legs to sit on your knees, so you peek up from behind a bush, just barely above eye level to avoid being seen.

Green eyes meet yours.

In a moment, Kylar is on top of you, screaming unintelligibly. You can make out some of the contents, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of his knife plunging into your stomach, dragging blood and viscera with it as he rips metal from flesh and plunges it down once again.

You think you’re screaming, too, but it’s hard to tell. Hard to even see anything through the blur of blood and tears running down your face, your sides. You think most of the tears aren’t even yours. You think Kylar is crying harder than you are, that his tears are painting your face as yet another sign of ownership.

You think you might be bleeding out. He must have stabbed you at least a dozen times. You can barely feel it anymore. All you feel is your blood pressure dropping into hell, that unique lightheaded sensation you only get when you’re on the verge of death. Your head is light, all earthly sensations feeling so far away, so disconnected to you.

You feel calm. Peaceful, even. It’s not how you wanted to go, but maybe you can find peace in the fact that it’s over.

Kylar has stopped stabbing you, his knife held over his head in both hands, a look of horror on his face. You smile at him softly. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle of his knife—your favorite color.

It’s the last thing you see.

Feat unlocked—The end is never the end.

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#dol #degrees of lewdity #yandere degrees of lewdity #yandere x reader #male yandere #kylar the loner #bailey the caretaker #dol x reader #yandere dol #degrees of lewdity x reader

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cressidagrey · 7 months ago

Text

Holy Ground - Chapter 3

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The library was supposed to be a safe space. The priestesses were supposed to be sheltered there.

A place far away from the terrors of the world. A place where they could study and learn far from the grasp of those who would harm them.

But clearly today that peace had been destroyed, Rhys reflected weakly.

Merrill was dead.

Neither Cassian or Rhys had let Gwyn see the…carnage of that, Nesta and Emerie bracketing her away from…her fellow priestesses’ corpse…and Irena…

Rhys had to keep repeating the words to himself, over and over again. Like a litany, a prayer, desperately trying to make them stick.

Irena was alive. Irena would be fine.

She would be alright, even though she looked so, so pale, deathly pale in Azriel's arms.

Irena.

Irena, who Azriel had saved around two centuries ago…

Not from the horrors of the war but from her husband.

The daughter of a merchant, married off young, to one of the richest men in the midlands…she had been raised to run an estate…had excelled at it in fact. And her husband had excelled in killing young girls.

The things he had put her through... The things he had done...

Azriel, who had found her and brought her to Velaris had been shocked that she'd stayed in one piece to be honest. Rhys had been shocked too.

And once she had been in the library…she had excelled once more.

Rhys had gotten long used to see her handwriting, not long suffering Clotho’s, fill out the sheets with expenditures and acquisitions.

She had cut the fat, made sure that the House of Wind was self sufficient, thanks to research requests being able to be submitted, thanks to patents and the gardens…

Irena had been a godssend. Literally.

Rhys wasn't quite sure how they had survived before her.

But the last fucking thing he had expected was that…her and Azriel were…mates.

Rhysand had not seen that coming in a million years

But there was no question about it.

If Irena's thoughts, an utter mess of shock and pain and grief and agony...with the only thing that ran through it the whole time was her thread to Azriel wouldn't have been a dead giveaway...then it would have been Azriel's behaviour.

Azriel who had gone on his knees next to the priestess, his hands slick with her blood and had simply clung to her. He had begged her, his voice broken.

Rhys would never forget the sound of his brother's voice, the pure desperation bleeding from every single letter. Please. We haven't had enough time. I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight. Don't you dare. Open your eyes. Look at me, love. You can't go. Fight.

That look on Azriel's face as he had held her close, refusing to let go as he tried to will her back from death's clutches. The words he had kept murmuring like a prayer. A desperate mantra to the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who would listen.

Azriel was never the most expressive of them. He rarely even showed a flicker of emotion for most things. To see him lose so much control, to beg. To see tears in his eyes. None of them had ever seen him like that before, had ever even considered the possibility of him acting like that.

He was always composed. Always calm, collected, in control. To see him on his knees next to Irena, begging her not to leave as he pressed kisses to her forehead and kept telling her to stay with him…

For a moment, it had felt like he had forgotten the others even existed. That nothing had mattered except her pulse, the slight rise and fall of her chest. The only thing that had mattered to him in that moment was that she was still with him, still alive.

She was important to him. There was no question about it.

Sometime during the last few years, that Priestess had become the Shadowsinger’s whole focus.

Sometime in the past, Irena had become Azriel's whole world.

And Rhys hadn't known. Had known nothing about this.

He could feel the guilt clawing up inside him.

Rhys had had no fucking clue this was happening, right underneath his nose.

That he had never noticed that Azriel's eyes lingered on Irena…had never noticed that Azriel sought her company…hadn’t known that Azriel had spent time with her…

Rhys hadn't known. Hadn't...hadn't even thought about it.

Azriel had pulled back from them after that catastrophic solstice and Rhys had let him. Had thought that Azriel needed to lick his wounds...that maybe then he would see it Rhysand's way...but none of this happened.

Azriel had kept his anger tightly leashed, even though Rhys had gotten a taste of it every time he badgered him. But Azriel hadn’t exploded.

Instead, he had been vicious in throwing Rhysan’ own words back into his face.

There didn’t pass one day where Rhys didn’t regret that one sentence, because Azriel was clearly… furious about it.

Azriel had grown distant...cold...unfeeling. And Rhys had badgered him and got on his nerves and figured that if Azriel would just get it out of his system… but he didn't. Didn't get angry. Didn't fight. Didn't scream...Rhys would have preferred it if he did.

What wouldn't he give to have that old Azriel back, the one who actually got mad? Who didn't just accept everything with a nod and a word of acknowledgment. Who talked to Rhysand, who told him when he'd done something wrong. Who fought with him if he went too far, who made his opinion known. Who told him to his face when he was being an arrogant prick, who didn't just accept his commands with a quiet nod.

But now it made sense. Azriel hadn't fucking cared what Rhys did, what any of the did, because his priorities had been rearranged completely. As long as he could get home to his priestess...he hadn't cared.

He did all the missions Rhys had for him and then went home to the House of Wind and found one quiet corner or another to romance his mate, out of the view from everybody else.

And that was the worst part. That Rhys had been such a prick to Azriel, so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, that he hadn't even noticed that something had shifted so fundamentally in his brother. Had pushed him so far away.

Rhys had thought that they were simply…in a rought spot. That in a few years, Azriel would be over Elain and it would be done. But now Rhys realised that…that it wasn’t about Elain. Not really.

Rhys had never realized how deep this was, how close to the breaking point he'd taken his brother.

Deep enough that the fact that Azriel had found his mate...that was something that Azriel didn't share with any of them. Something that happy... Azriel had just kept silent.

Azriel hadn’t trusted them with the most treasured and precious thing in his life.

And that hurt. Hurt more than he could put into words.

That Azriel had found the one person who he was destined for, the only one who was perfect for him in the entire world. The one person who would love and cherish him, who would complete him, who would accept him as he was, who would understand him...and he hadn't told Rhys. Hadn't told any of them.

Azriel hadn't told anyone that he had found his mate.

Had kept that to himself for who knew how long. Just how long had it been? When had he figured out they were mated?

“Bring her to her room,” Madja said at the moment. And Rhys watched as seemingly some colour went back into Irena's cheeks, her eyes closed, her breathing still laboured…her mind filled with Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. and Safe, Safe, Safe.

“My room,” Azriel corrected, his voice fierce. The mating instincts must have gone completely haywire at that very moment, not soothed at all, even when he had pressed a kiss against her forehead moments before.

.“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply, staring at Azriel, then at still, quiet Irena. She seemed to be utterly shell-shocked, not that Rhys could fault her.

"Gwyn," Rhys said carefully. It was best if none of them...interfered right now. This was between Azriel and his mate.

"Az, how long have the two of you..." Cassian asked, clearly having come to the same conclusion, but Rhys interrupted him. *Leave him be,* he warned their brother.

*Leave him be?! I had no idea that he and Irena are...whatever the fuck they are!*

“Two years. She’s my mate,” Azriel answered, not even looking at any of them, completely concentrated on said mate.

"Mate," Irena agreed weakly. "Mine."

"Yours," Azriel agreed, his voice hoarse, as he picked her up carefully like his mate was made out of spun glass. "Let's tuck you into bed, Love," he told her softly.

And off his spymaster went carrying the priestess that was his mate.

Rhys could just stare after them.

"Did you know?" Cassian demanded sharply.

"I had absolutely no fucking clue," Rhys admitted weakly.

He felt the guilt swirling inside him, deep and bitter and vicious. He should have known. He should have realized and supported Azriel.

But it had been Rhys who had pushed him so far away that he hadn't told him. That he didn't even think that he could tell Rhys that he had found his mate.

And it hurt. Gods, it hurt. To know that Azriel had kept something that he should have been so happy about to himself just so he wouldn't have to deal with Rhys's bullshit.

Cassian started barking orders...About a stretcher and about Merrill's body...It would be taken away and prepared for the last rites.

It wasn't often that one of the priestesses died. It wasn't...They were safe here. They were supposed to be safe here...but whatever happened in this room…

“What even happened?” Rhys asked, as he turned around to surview the carnage.

It was bad. Really bad.

“Irena went to talk to Merill, because Merrill got…angry with one of the newer acolytes…” Gwyn said, her voice shaky. “Merrill was in a bad mood because Irena forbid her newest research project.”

Her newest research project? It was well known that Merrill was brilliant. So for Irena to…

"Why did she forbid it?" Rhys asked curiously.

"It involved some form of spell crafting. Irena wanted Merrill to have supervision from a spellcrafter, because it was a language that none of us actually understood and we didn’t eve know about what kind of spell it was…Merill didn't think that was needed," Gwyn said weakly, wiping away tears. "And now look where that got us. God, how could Merrill be this stupid?"

"It wasn't stupidity, it was probably arrogance," Cassian said with a sigh. "It's dumb luck that only...that only Irena got hurt.

Rhys couldn't but agree with Cassian's assessment. It was a miracle that Irena was alive. That she'd survived when Merrill’s body was…near unrecognisable….clearly it had been closer to whatever had blown up in their faces

Merrill had probably thought she knew what she was doing, but she didn't have the skill or training to work on advanced spell work. I

rena wasn’t the type of person who would deny research on a whim either. If she believed that Merrill needed supervision then Merrill had needed supervision.

Irena was clever. And cautious.

Azriel's mate was a damn good judge of character after all.

Gods, Azriel's mate. What a thought…

The spymaster and the priestess. Rhys’ near silent brother and…and gentle, caring Irena, the beating heart of the library.

Rhys would need to wrap his mind around that in private.

“I’ll seal…this room,” Rhys said quietly. So nobody could enter. And then he would probably turn Amren loose in it, to turn around every fucking stone, so that they figured out what that spell had been that had reacted like it. The last thing they needed was for the spell to have any sort of consequences that involved Irena.

"Clotho," he greeted the priestess as she arrived, inclining his head.

What happened? she demanded, holding out her usual piece of paper.

Rhys felt his stomach churn at that question.

How the hell were they supposed to tell Clotho that not only one of the priestesses had tragically died…but one of the others was currently holed up in an Illyrian warrior's room, recovering from injuries that should have killed her, and that said Illyrian warrior was said priestess's mate, so was probably not going to leave her alone anytime soon?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the absolute clusterfuck this whole situation was. There was nothing to do except to simply tell Clotho the truth and hope that she didn't have a breakdown.

"There was an...accident. Merrill is dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment Clotho was just frozen in place. But he could tell that his words had hit her hard. That she was shocked, horrified, stunned beyond belief. HOW?!

And Rhys took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain what had happened.

To explain how one of her charges had been killed in a room where she was supposed to be safe…How her own experimentation, her own research had killed her…

And how no one had even noticed that a priestess had been mated.

No...how the shadowsinger had mated to a Priestess and hadn't even thought to tell them because Rhys had acted like such as bastard to his brotherthat Azriel had actually thought it preferable to keep his mating bond a secret.

"Merill didn't listen when Irena turned down her research proposal," Gwyn said suddenly with a shaky voice. "Irena went to talk to her this afternoon, because Merill made Meera cry...It looks like the spell that she was taking apart went...haywire. Merill was killed in the backlash...Irena was hurt.”

Rhys just nodded. It was a reasonable explanation, even if it didn't cover everything that had gone on. At this point in time, he was almost more concerned about Clotho than anything else. The poor female looked ready to collapse.

I told Merill to keep away from that spellbook. We still don’t know what it even contained, Clotho agreed, even her handwriting looking shaky.

He could tell that she was in shock and grief. Could imagine how she must be feeling. Clotho protected the Priestesses with all she had. They were her flock. To lose one of her charges...There was no way that Clotho would not blame herself.

She was going to blame herself for something that wasn't her fault at all. And the thought made Rhys feel sick to his stomach.

Clotho had enough weight on her shoulders already, the last thing she needed was guilt over something that was not even her fault.

IRENA?! Clotho demanded sharply.

"Alive, if just barely," Rhys informed her, trying to push down his own guilt at the thought. "Madja is with her."

In the dormitory?

"No, in Azriel's room," Cassian said bluntly. "Apparently they have been mates for... two years.”

Clotho's head snapped around, facing Cassian, her eyes wide.

Nobody had seen that coming, not even one of Irena’s closest friends.

It seemed like both of them had kept it quiet. Azriel must have so badly wanted to protect his mate from…from him, that…

The thought made Rhys feel sick. Azriel would rather keep his mate a secret than reveal to Rhys that he had found her.

Than tell him that he had found his perfect match, that there was a female in this world that loved him above all others, who understood him, who supported him.

And it was all Rhys' own fault.

He didn't have any other thought. There was no other explanation. If a friend didn't trust him enough to confide in him that he had found his mate, it was because he had done something wrong. So wrong that Azriel hadn't felt like he could tell him.

She wanted to be with him? Clotho demanded.

"From the look of it, she was barely conscious, but still claimed him as hers. And Azriel certainly seemed to think that she would want to be with him," Rhys told Clotho.

And why wouldn't she? He was her mate. Her mate.

"He won't do anything to her," Cassian said fiercely. "She's his mate."

Rhys agreed with that. Of all the males in existence, Azriel was by far the least likely to do anything that Irena would not like. Hell, he wouldn't do anything that might make her even feel mildly uncomfortable. And if she told him to back off, he would give her as much space as she needed.

"Mor, whatever Clotho needs," he told his cousin, who had brought Madja there, who just inclined her head, seemingly shaken. "I'll seal of this room...we'll need to...figure out what to do with it," he said softly. "Clotho, whatever form of memorial you would like to hold...take all the time you need and then let me know."

Clotho looked at him sharply before nodding weakly. She probably wouldn't need his help when it came to something like this. She knew how to handle something like this. How to give her fallen a last farewell.

"I want to check on Irena," Gwyn said, her hands shaking as she crossed her arms.

Rhys nodded. That was fair. Of course Gwyn wanted to check on her friend. And at this point all anyone could really do was wait anyway. "Let me seal the room and then we can go," he said softly. "But I need to warn you, Azriel will be...overprotective," he told her. "Chances are, he won't let you get close to her at all."

"I don't have any doubt about that," Gwyn said dryly. "But she's my friend. I should at least be allowed to check on her."

***

He cleaned the blood of her skin...The shadows procured one of Irena's nightgowns. She didn't protest when he held her up and Madja pulled the soiled, ruined dress from her body...didn't even flinch away from his touch on her naked skin.

They had never gone further than some heated...kisses...further than his hands slipping under her nightgown and pressing against her soft skin. He had never wanted to push. Azriel had been willing to give her all the time in the world.

It had taken months until she had been ready for a hug…longer for a kiss. And he had waited. Gladly. He had gladly waited, because it was worth the wait. She was worth the wait.

Her marriage wasn't something that she was just going to get over, and Azriel was never ever going to push her for more than she willingly offered him.

He had never wanted to undress her under these circumstances. So he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her head, not looking at all.

Irena didn't make a sound, didn't even really respond...just stared into the distance. He wasn't even sure she really noticed what was happening to her. Wasn't sure she even noticed Madja cleaning the wounds…cleaning thin, silver lines, scars of her past, mostly hidden by her clothing, but still visible.

This was also when they saw the rest of the wounds...and the fact that her bad leg was broken.

Madja bandaged it carefully, stuffing pillows underneath it to keep it elevated, wrapped the rest of her bruises and scrapes with a tincture.

Still, once she was clean, no more debris in her hair, her skin as clean as he could get it...and the new nightgown was fitted over her skin, he tugged her underneath the thick goose feather stuffed duvet and then the furs.

There was no resistance on Irena’s part. She just let him do as he pleased, let herself be maneuvered and tucked in with the patience of a parent settling a little girl into bed. She didn't say anything. Didn't protest at all, even when he curled his own large body around her smaller frame, even when his wings came around her, shielding her from the outside world.

But she didn't move to snuggle up to him either. Didn't reach for him, didn't try to press her body into his. Just...allowed him to pull her close and hold her as tightly as he wanted. Her body was limp and unmoving, the only emotion on her face a sort of...emptiness. A blank expression that...it was terrifying.

He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, running a gentle hand through her hair with a sigh. He knew that she was in shock. That she had just survived something terrible, something traumatic. So it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really responsive at the moment, that her skin felt like ice to him and that she was shaking slightly, trembling…

But the instinct to comfort her, to protect her from everything that might hurt her was roaring in his chest. He couldn't pull away from her, even though he knew he should. Even though he knew he should just be thankful that he had her, that she was here, in his hands, breathing.

She felt so thin in his hands. So fragile. Like she might break if he didn't hold her close. And that feeling, the knowledge of how vulnerable his mate was, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“I have pain potions and a sleeping draught,” Madja said quietly.

Azriel felt his jaw clench at the mention of a sleeping draught. He wanted Irena to rest, needed her to sleep away some of the horrors, but there was also some instinct in him that revolted at the idea of making her vulnerable like that. That revolted at the thought of knocking his mate out when she couldn't protect herself.

“Is that alright, love?” He asked her softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. The only sign that she had heard his question at all was the way her fingers clenched more tightly in his shirt. The only outward sign that she even understood that he was there at all. That she could even hear him. "Love?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur. "Do you want the sleeping draught, love?"

“Sleep?” She repeated weakly.

“Sleep.” He promised her.

She simply opened her mouth in response, letting him pour it down her throat and swallowed.

He ran gentle fingers through her hair as the potion began to take effect. As her eyelids drooped and her limbs went loose and he could almost watch the tension leaving her body. He couldn't help but press a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head.

Azriel couldn't put into words how good it felt to have her in his arms like this. To have her safe and protected and healing.

Madja left with the promise to be back soon…and as soon as she left there was a knock at the door. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers.

*We could bar the door, master,* the shadows offered.

Azriel considered that for a long moment. It was tempting. Really, really tempting to just let the shadows seal the door and tell everyone to fuck off. That they could deal with the rest of the world later and he could just focus on Irena for now.

He knew that he couldn't though. Knew that he couldn't keep the world away from Irena. For all that he would like to protect her from all the harm in this world and lock her away into the safety of his arms, he knew that he couldn't do that. And that Rhys would throw a fit if he didn't let them in immediately.

He sighed softly, his arms tightening around his mate. He didn't want to deal with his brothers right now. Didn't want to deal with Rhys lecturing him about his decisions. Didn't want the pity and understanding in Cassian's eyes, his careful kindness. He didn't want to have to hold up the strong facade when his brother pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

Azriel sighed softly as the door was opened and his brothers entered, both looking at him with concern. There was something else in Rhys' eyes, something that he wasn't sure how to name. The High Lord had an indecipherable look on his face as he moved to come stand next to the bed.

But it was Gwyn that shouldered both Rhys and Cassian out of the way, that immediately went to Irena’s bedside.

“She’s asleep,” he warned her softly. “Madja gave her a sleeping draught.”

The Valkyrie moved in silence, but Azriel could tell that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch her friend. Could tell that there was some instinct in her to touch Irena, to comfort her, that she was fighting against. He almost felt bad for her, knowing how hard it must have been to hold back that urge to offer comfort, knowing how desperately she had to want to soothe her friend's pain.

He knew that the two of them were close. That Irena was well liked by practically every priestess…That Roslin was her very best friend, but that she also got along with seemingly everybody else, including Gwyn.

And he wanted to let her get close to his mate. He really did. But the need to keep his mate safe was too strong. Was something that he couldn't fight against. So he just pulled Irena more firmly into his chest.

His only saving grace was that Gwyn seemed to understand. Didn't even try to argue with him or demand to get close to his mate. She just stayed at a respectable distance and didn't protest when he pulled Irena closer to his chest.

He could tell that she recognized his possessive nature for what it was. Just a desperate instinct to hold and protect his mate from further harm. And she didn't argue with him.

“You are the one who gets her the tea and the cookies, aren’t you?” She asked him suddenly. “I was wondering where she got them from. They were always good but the tea has definitely gotten better the last two years.”

*See, Master?!* the shadows cooed, seemingly heaving and then coming to blanket Irena in their very presence too. *We are getting her the best tea!*

They seemed very pleased with themselves.

Azriel knew that when he wasn’t in Velaris, some of the shadows even kept Irena company through the night, cuddling themselves beneath her blankets with her. He also knew that Irena loved it.

Knew better than anyone even his shadows that those moments of comfort, those little gestures, mattered more to his mate than any large gifts ever could. Irena had never cared about large gestures, about pricy gifts, didn’t care about gifts or public displays of affection.

But those little things…she loved those little things. Loved her shadows coming to spend time with her…loved it when he gave her a back rub to ease the pain in her back, or when the shadows brought her the tea that she liked or her favourite cookies.

And Azriel…he loved giving her that. He was happy to provide each and every one of them. He would do anything for her at this point. Would bring her anything that she asked for with enthusiasm. Because he loved it when her face lit up or when she smiled when he brought her something she didn't expect to get. That was something that he would never get tired of.

Azriel would never get tired of watching her face light up with happiness at the smallest of gifts that he gave her. Would never tire of feeling those little gestures bring her even a small moment of happiness. It brought him somuch joy to see her delighted by something so small. Made something inside of him fill with warmth.

“I’ll let her sleep,” Gwyn said softly. “Tell her when she’s awake that she owes us all the gossip. None of us had a clue that the two of you were seeing each other.”

Azriel inclined his head in response, a soft grin pulling at his lips despite everything. "I'll be sure to tell her." Not that he thought that there was anything to gossip about.

Gwyn left with another smile. Which left him with his brothers.

“Az.” Cassian said with a weary sigh. ”What the fuck.”

Azriel frowned sharply, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his brother. His arms tightened around Irena unconsciously, the protective instinct coming into play.

He knew Cassian, knew all too well that his brother liked to be a pain in his ass, liked to push him further than he wanted to be pushed. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Cassian," he warned his brother in a low growl. "Say whatever it is that you feel the need to say, and then get out."

He knew that he probably looked completely insane. Knew that he looked like a madman clutching onto Irena with an iron grip and growling at anyone who dared get too close. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the instincts that seemed to be pulling at every muscle in his body, couldn't stop the tension that was coiling tight as a spring.

“How long has… this been going on?“ Rhys asked delicately.

“Two years at next Starfall,“ Azriel answered flatly.

Cassian whistled softly at that. "Two years?!" He asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Azriel's jaw clenched automatically at the words.

He had thought to tell them. Numerous times.

He had just never wanted to.

First he had wanted to let things settle and solidify before announcing it to his family and letting them come swarming in to analyse their relationship…Later…later he just hadn’t wanted to.

They were completely happy when nobody knew. Why change it?

Azriel knew that he probably should have anticipated this reaction. Probably should have expected his brothers to be confused and annoyed, probably should have anticipated them wanting to know more. But he just hadn't wanted to deal with the questions and inquiries and curiosity and judgement.

So he had kept his relationship with Irena a secret.

“It was none of your business,” he said simply.

Cassian stared at him, dark eyes pained. “We are your brothers,” he said quietly.

“Quite frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with whatever opinion you cook up about us,” Azriel said flatly. His brothers were way too nosy and curious for their own good. Always had been. “We are happy. I didn’t want you to ruin that.”

They would have never respected his privacy or any boundary he had tried to set up.

He knew that Cassianwas probably annoyed that he hadn’t told him about his relationship with Irena. Knew that he was probably feeling left out and...excluded. That he was hurt that Azriel had kept this from him. But he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel any sympathy at the moment. Not when his patience was already wearing thin. Not when he could still feel the fear of almost losing Irena thrumming under his skin.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t handle whatever pity or lecturing his brother would give him. Just wanted to hold his mate and try to keep the fear of losing her at bay.

That fear was already too much, already consuming him and threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing that kept him sane, the only thing that kept him from falling apart was the knowledge that his mate, his Irena, was safe in his arms. And he needed to focus on that if he wanted to keep it together.

“Azriel.” Rhys’ choice was choked.

Azriel stiffened at the sound, his attention flicking to his brother automatically. There was something in Rhys’ voice, some emotion in his eyes that Azriel couldn’t quite discern right now.

He had heard his brother choked or emotional or desperate before, but this was something else. This was emotion in his brother that he had never seen before: raw, unfiltered, and painful.

The tone of Rhys’ voice, the almost anguished look in his eyes had Azriel holding his breath for a moment. Had his heartbeat picking up speed as he waited for his brother to speak.

The tension was heavy and thick as he waited, his muscles coiled tight as he waited for Rhys to speak. His whole body tense like a tightly wound spring.

“I am sorry,” Rhys whispered quietly.

Azriel stiffened slightly at that, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His muscles were still tense, still ready for a fight, but the raw apology in Rhys' words, the emotion in his voice...it surprised him.

It was unexpected. He had expected the anger and the hurt and the bitterness, not the raw emotion in his brother’s voice. Not the apology.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, almost wanted to ask his brother to repeat himself. But he just stayed quiet instead, just tensed and listened and waited for his brother to continue speaking.

He couldn't even blink as he waited, as he hung on every slight movement or small change in expression on his brothers face. The tension was so thick, so heavy he could almost taste it. But he still didn't move an inch. Just waited, every muscle still as a statue as he watched his brother with an almost desperate intensity.

“I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhys said quietly. “I…we would have been happy for you,” Rhys promised him fiercely.

Azriel felt his throat go dry at the words. The apology, the admission of his brother's intent to protect him, it was so unexpected that he almost couldn’t comprehend it. He felt some of the tension drain from his body, some of the tightness in his muscles loosening slightly.

Azriel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he almost couldn't hear anything else over the sound. The raw emotion in his brother's voice, the sincerity in those simple words...it was overwhelming.

“You were hurt,” Rhys said softly. “I understand. But you could have come to us any time over the last two years and told us and we would have been a happy for you,” he promised him fiercely.

"Would you have really?" Azriel asked softly. "Would you really have been happy for us and not made a problem out of nothing?"

He wanted to believe his brother, truly he did. But there was still a small part of him, the small part that had been hurt and mistreated and rejected so many times before, that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of him that was looking for a catch, looking for the sign that this was just another manipulation.

He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to look for the betrayal and rejection that had been written into his very soul. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the small part of him that was constantly looking for the next blow, bracing for rejection and hurt.

“We would have,” Cassian said fiercely. “You found your mate, Az.”

Azriel nodded slowly.

“How did you even hide it?” Cassian demanded, crossing his arms.

“I do know how to use a sound shield,” Azriel gave back flatly.

Cassian let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head as he grinned. "Well, you've always been more adept at keeping secrets than I am," he teased, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “ Since when do you sleep surrounded by furs by the way?” Cassian muttered.

“Irena gets cold,” he said simply.

“Wait, she spend the nights here with you?” Cassian suddenly realised.

"None of your business," Azriel replied flatly, not even trying to hide his annoyance with the nosy question. "Just focus on keeping your own mate happy, brother."

“How do you even sneak her up here?!”

"None of your business," Azriel repeated flatly. "My relationship with my mate is my own business, not yours."

He knew that he was being stubborn, that he was probably being unreasonable right now. But he couldn't help it. His emotions were too raw, too overwhelming for him to handle the intrusion into his personal life. He just wanted to focus on Irena and making sure she was okay, not on his brother's questions and prodding into the details of his relationship.

It was none of their business how he and Irena spent their time together, how they snuck around the house without being caught. That was something private, something sacred between them. And he wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even his own brothers.

He just wanted to protect that intimacy between him and his mate, wanted to keep it safely guarded from prying eyes that might not understand. He knew that his brothers cared about him, but he also knew that they could be too nosy for their own good sometimes.

“…is she aware what these furs mean?” Cassian asked him pointedly.

Was she aware that Azriel was laying claim to her with every single one of those furs that he hunted for her? Aware that he was following Illyrian tradition, regardless of how much…of how fucked up it was in many senses?

“Yes,” he said simply. Kinda. A little bit.

"So it's...serious?" Cassian asked him.

"She's my mate," he snapped back.

Cassian held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, a sheepish expression on his face.

Azriel let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just…leave it alone," he said tiredly. "Please. I'm not in the mood for any more questions right now."

He just wanted to be alone with Irena, wanted to hold her close and let the warmth of her body soothe his frayed nerves. He didn't want to deal with his brothers and their incessant questioning. Didn't want to talk about his relationship with Irena or how serious it was. He just wanted to be with her and that was it.

. His emotions were just too raw, too close to the surface for him to hold back. He just wanted a moment of peace, of quiet, with his mate.

He just wanted to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her skin, wanted to feel her warmth against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He just wanted to know that she was safe, that she was still here with him. Was that really too much to ask?

He let out a long breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to be frustrated. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the surge of protective instincts that came over him every time he thought about how close he had come to losing his mate.

"If you need anything, let us know," Rhys said quietly.

Azriel stiffened at the words, his hands curling into fists at his sides automatically. He knew that Rhys was only trying to be supportive, that he was only trying to offer his help. But Azriel didn't want that. Didn't want his brother's help or sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone with his mate.

He wanted to protect her himself, to take care of her and keep her safe without his brothers' interference. He knew that Rhys only meant well, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his instincts. All he could think about was how close he had come to losing his mate, how close he had come to never seeing her again. And the thought terrified him.

It made his heart clench and his gut twist in fear and pain, his hands clenching tight as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to let his brothers see how much this had affected him. But he knew that it was pointless to try and hide it, that his brothers could probably see the rawness of his emotions written all over his face.

Azriel didn't try to argue with his brother, didn't try to explain himself. He just nodded.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #Holy Ground

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ohproserpine · 1 year ago

Text

vii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), allusion to death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Rocks and twigs dug into your knees as you crawled forward, the jagged edges cutting your skin as you reached Alastor's side. With trembling hands, you cradled his face against your lap.

"Alastor," you called for him, desperately clutching onto his body, trying to pull him back down to Earth and hold him there "Al, Al, please."

"What did I do? What can I do?" More tears dribbled down your cheeks as you looked down at your husband, leaning in to press tender kisses to the apples of his cheeks. You held him as tightly as you could, careful not to cause him any more pain.

"I can figure out a way to help you, I can. I know I can, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. Your gaze remained locked with your husband's lifeless eyes, the world spinning around you as panic tightened its grip on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"Al. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

˚୨୧₊♱

You woke with a startle.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaved with each inhale, the rapid beat of your pulse slamming against your ribcage, the sound hammering in your head. Blinking repeatedly, your vision slowly adjusted to the unfamiliar sight of a ceiling painted with outrageously colorful prints. Faint traces of neon lights filtered through the thin curtains, casting erratic patterns across the room, accompanied by the distant thump of music.

A gentle knocking at the door broke through the haze, accompanied by the muted tones of a familiar voice seeping through the metal barrier.

"Dollface? Are you up?" Vox's voice, though muffled, was unmistakable as it filtered through the door.

Shakily, you pushed yourself up and sat for a while, gathering your composure. The room spun around you, the vibrant colors of the walls and lights blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Eventually, with a deep breath, you pushed yourself into action, moving to open the door.

As you swung it open, Vox stood on the other side, his signature smirk etched onto his features. His mechanical eyes gleamed as they scanned you for any signs of distress or fatigue. And despite your disorientation, you straightened your posture, trying to maintain your usual demeanor in front of him.

"Good morning," Vox greeted smoothly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Of course, he wasn't interrupting anything. It was clear to both of you that you had just rolled out of bed. Your hair tousled in disarray, your sleepwear crumpled and creased, and your bed behind you a mess of twisted sheets and pillows.

Still, you forced a polite smile and shook your head.

"No, not at all," you replied.

"Excellent," Vox grinned, stepping a foot past your doorway. "May I come in?"

Despite the internal alarm bells ringing in your mind, you nodded, moving aside to let him in. As he passed by, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized, like prey under the gaze of a predator before the pounce.

Closing the door, you leaned against it, feeling the cool surface against your back, and turned to face Vox, attempting to hide the unease simmering within.

"What can I help you with?" you asked, keeping your tone steady.

Vox's gaze pierced yours, his mechanical eyes glinting with a hunger that unsettled you.

"I thought of how we could discuss the details of our partnership," he hummed, running his fingers along your dresser. "Over dinner, perhaps?"

The proposal hung in the air, heavy with implications you weren't sure you wanted to explore. Despite your best efforts to hide it, a seething sense of unease bubbled beneath the surface, twisting your features into a grimace.

"Dinner?" The word felt like acid on your tongue as you struggled to maintain your façade, your gaze sharpening into a glare aimed directly at the overlord. "I'm sorry, but… I'm not interested."

Vox's laughter cut through the tense atmosphere, but it sounded forced and hollow.

"I meant a professional meeting, love," he covered up with a wave of his hand, the charm in his voice slightly strained. "Let's go over your contract."

Relieved, you nodded, though beneath, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled.

This could be a chance for you to really have a gauge on your situation. Everything had happened so fast, and you found yourself stumbling in the dark. You knew the Vees were a powerhouse in the entertainment district, their influence stretching far and wide, extending into every corner of hell. They were notorious for their employment methods, for their ability to shape destinies and manipulate lives with the stroke of a pen.

Who knows what was even in your contract?

"Wonderful!" Vox's cheerful interruption jolted you from your thoughts as he extended his arm. "Well then, let's not waste any more time. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" you spoke slowly, your tone guarded.

"Shall we get to your duties, my dear?" Vox clarified smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his words laden with expectation. "Velvette is waiting."

"Oh—" you jolted. Quickly, you gathered yourself, smoothing down the wrinkles of your robe and adjusting your disheveled hair with clumsy fingers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you reached out and linked your arm with Vox's. The overlord smirked as he led you out of the room and through the corridors, already launching into conversation about his latest product line.

A part of you found it amusing how similar he was to your husband—both of them chatterboxes who couldn't keep their mouths shut if they tried.

Nodding along to Vox's conversation, you fell into step beside him. As you two walked, it was impossible not to notice the subtle shift in demeanor among the demons and imps, who hastily cleared a path for Vox, some even bowing respectfully as you passed by.

"And here we are!"

Arriving at Velvette's office, you entered cautiously, the tension thick in the air. Models lounged around in various states of undress, their statuesque figures draped in luxurious fabrics. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to suspicion as they observed your every move. Some whispered amongst themselves in hushed tones, casting wary glances in your direction, while others maintained an aloof demeanor, their gazes piercing yet blank.

Velvette stood at the front, her figure partially obscured by the tall curtains behind her. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over you with open scorn.

"Finally! Took ya long enough," Velvette scowled. "Edna, will you please go get her dressed?!"

Edna, a tall and slender imp with delicate horns curved against her head, nodded obediently before gliding over to you. With a gentle tug on your arm, she beckoned you to follow her backstage. You stumbled nervously, clutching your robe as you obeyed.

As you stepped away, Vox chuckled, waving you off with a flourish. You offered a cautious wave back before being enveloped by the heavy fabric of the curtains.

"I know what you're trying," Velvette scoffed as she tapped away on her phone, her perfectly manicured nails, painted in a glossy shade of neon pink, clacking against the screen. Vox turned to her, his expression one of exaggerated innocence.

"Whatever do you mean?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Oh, please don't act as if you weren't sending marionnette over there heart eyes," Velvette accused, her crimson lips forming a thin line of disapproval. "Listen, I don't care what you do with your little girl toy. Just make sure you don't get in the way of my show."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vox hummed, taking a seat on one of the plush couches.

Velvette turned to him, surprised, her curls bouncing from the abruptness of her movement. "You're staying?"

"Of course. I'm eager to see your dazzling ideas, my dear," Vox replied smoothly, spreading his long legs across the expanse of the couch. "After all, your show is going to be featured on my channels. It's all anyone has been raving about on Voxtagram lately."

"Cut the crap. You just want an excuse to ogle at her," Velvette scoffed.

Vox leaned back against the cushions, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Can you blame me? She's quite the sight to behold."

Before Velvette could snap back, Edna returned, leading you out from behind the curtains. You emerged, feeling somewhat exposed under the scrutinizing gazes of the two overlords.

No surprise, as the main act, you were dressed in one of Velvette's main designs. Black netted stockings hugged your legs as they met the bright red stilettos that adorned your feet. A red corset cinched your waist and emphasized the curve of your hips, accentuating your figure. Below the corset, you wore a dark miniskirt with cream ruffles and lace, its fabric swaying with every step.

You felt abash as you stood in the outfit. In the past, you had been considered a flapper girl with your bold demeanor and penchant for daring fashion choices, but even you couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at the lack of modesty of the skirt in this particular outfit. It barely grazed past your crotch, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

"Let's see…" Velvette hummed, completely absorbed in her task as she approached you, Vox long forgotten. With a couple of snaps of her fingers, the clothing and accessories you wore began to shift and change, transforming before your eyes.

Velvette's fingers danced through the air, conjuring delicate lace and cascading ruffles that stuck onto the corset. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a cream fur coat, draping it over your shoulders with a flourish. The colors morphed, the fabrics transformed, until finally, with a satisfied clap of her hands, she took a step back to admire your new look.

"Makeup!"

Suddenly, you yelped as a chair was dragged over, pushing against the back of your knees and causing you to fall right into it. A bunch of imps swarmed around you and they wasted no time in getting to work, dabbing various products onto your face and expertly brushing powder along your cheeks.

Once they were finished, they handed you a mirror, allowing you to inspect their handiwork. Unlike the outfit, the makeup look wasn't as unsettling. Your face was adorned with makeup reminiscent of classic clown makeup, featuring exaggerated lashes, a layer of white face paint, and a bold red lip.

"That's it! That's the one," Velvette grinned, delighted with the makeover. Her grin turned into a smirk as she turned to Vox. "Well, what do you think—Satan!"

Vox's screen began to glitch and buffer, emitting sparks of electricity that charred the couch beneath him. The sudden noise startled some of the models, their eyes widening in alarm as they scrambled to move away from the malfunctioning android.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Velvette shouted.

Vox tried to respond, but all that came out was static.

Concerned, you approached him, the clicking of your heels against the floor echoing.

As you settled beside Vox, there was a momentary pause in the static, and he stared at you with wide eyes, the malfunction seemingly halted by your presence.

Part of you screamed at yourself to leave, to let him handle his problems alone. But another part of you remained, despite everything. Somehow, you still felt a sliver of sympathy for the overlord.

Leaning in closer, you furrowed your brow, the red gloss on your lips catching the studio lights. The corset pushed your chest up, and Vox found his eyes shamelessly drifting.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice laced with genuine worry.

But before Vox could respond, he short-circuited, a burst of sparks and smoke emitting from his malfunctioning screen. You recoiled instinctively, your hand reaching out to shield yourself from any potential danger. With a final surge of electricity, he powered down completely, leaving behind a smoldering heap of metal and wires.

"Is he… okay?"

Velvette waved a dismissive hand. "He's always doing this. Probably overloaded his circuits again."

"Now, can someone please get this thing out of here?!" she commanded, snapping her fingers and tapping her foot impatiently.

As the models and attendants hurried to comply, you were pulled back up to your feet by the overlord. "He'll reboot eventually. Now, let's get back to work."

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Vox, you followed after Velvette as she led the way to a photo studio within the boutique.

The scene before you was akin to a circus, with vibrant hues of bright reds and pinks resembling a Valentine's Day massacre. A carousel in the background spun slowly, its eerie music echoing through the studio. Beating hearts hung suspended from the ceiling, their rhythmic pulses visible as they dripped with blood.

"Alright! Let's get the rehearsal started!" Velvette shouted out as she began to direct the crew. Cameras were adjusted, lights were fine-tuned, and the set was re-arranged to her satisfaction.

Turning to you with a tablet in hand, Velvette tossed it into your hands. You caught the device and quickly read through the document on the screen, realizing it was lyrics to a song. Your eyes rushed to memorize the words, the familiarity of the process washing over you.

Decades in the show industry had honed your skills to perfection, making this routine feel like second nature. A small pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of simpler times before everything went amiss.

“Alright.”

Barely giving you ten minutes to prepare, Velvette deftly plucked the tablet from your hands as she stepped back and settled into a director's chair. The chair creaked softly under her weight as she made herself comfortable, slipping on heart-shaped glasses that glinted in the studio lights.

"Let's see what you've got.”

Lifting the scepter to your lips, you pressed it against your mouth, leaving a trace of red lipstick staining the surface, a stark contrast against the sleek metal. As the lights dimmed, signaling the start of your performance, you took a deep breath and began to recite the lyrics.

I write poems to burn by firelight Drink champagne and guzzle gin Good girls call me "the town bicycle" Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin

With a flick of your hand, you pushed back the curls of your hair, the strands catching the studio lights as you kept your gaze glued to the camera lens. From her chair, Velvette smirked and captured the moment with her phone, the flash briefly blinding the dimly lit set.

Oh, my pimp, knows never mess with me Last prick did that faded quick to black I have no idea where to find him, officers But if you do, please mention that I'd Like to have returned the pretty knife That I stuck ten times in his back—

Before you could even finish, the door burst open with a deafening bang, causing everyone in the room to jump in surprise. Valentino stormed into the boutique, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. Without uttering a single word, he launched into a violent rampage, his movements wild and unpredictable.

The air was filled with the sound of crashing props and the desperate, panicked screams of assistants as they scrambled to evade Valentino's wrath. You jerked back instinctively as an arm was thrown in your direction, narrowly avoiding the chaotic fray unfolding around you.

"Damn it, Valentino! What are you doing?!" Velvette shouted over the commotion, her voice strained with anger and disbelief as she dug her fingers into her hair, her perfectly styled locks now in disarray.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the moth demon screamed back, his voice seething with rage as he held poor Edna by her throat, his grip like a vice around her delicate neck.

"I'm airing out my frustrations!" he spat, his eyes wild with fury.

A sickening tearing sound filled the room as Valentino viciously tore Edna apart, blood splattering across the floor and staining the nearby racks of clothing.

"Fuck!" Velvette cursed under her breath. Fumbling, she retrieved her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen in agitation as she dialed Vox's number.

"My dear," the businessman's smooth voice echoed through the speakers, a calming presence amidst the storm. "What can I do for you?"

"Cut the shit. Are you functioning now?" Velvette's words were clipped, forceful, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Functioning?" The overlord's response was hesitant, his movements jerky as he twisted his head, the wires on his neck audibly cracking with a spark. "I… suppose so."

"Good, because I need you up here now!" Velvette's voice crackled with urgency. "Mothboy is wrecking my department! And I'm waiting for a certain flat-faced prince to come and help!"

Without another word, Vox nodded with a weary groan, the weight of responsibility settling heavily upon him like an oppressive cloak.

"Just another fuckin' day with Val," he scoffed bitterly, his tone tinged with resignation as he pushed himself to his feet with a mechanical whir. "Fuck my life."

In an instant, he transformed into a crackling spark of electricity, zipping up into the CCTV camera before seamlessly teleporting into another one located in Velvette's studio.

"What's going on?" Vox sighed wearily as he materialized, his voice tinged with exhaustion, hands folding behind his back as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

"Valentino's lost it again. And he's tearing everything apart," Velvette hissed as her hand shot up, grabbing Vox by the collar of his metallic frame.

Her nails dug into the surface, leaving faint marks as she pulled him down to her eye level. "You need to stop him before he causes any more damage!"

"Consider it done," Vox muttered, rolling his eyes before moving toward Valentino. With a firm grip, he halted the demon mid-carnage, spinning Valentino around to face him. An unsettling grin stretched across Vox's metallic features as he locked eyes with the enraged demon.

"Val! What's got you out of sorts today?"

“That piece of shit! Can you believe what he did?” Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he flung a small imp across the room, the helpless girl crashing into a clothing rack. “The ungrateful whore!”

"Uh huh, which whore are we talking about now?” Vox spoke nonchalantly as he pulled his phone out and idly scrolled through it. Before he could react, Valentino lunged forward, his claws snatching the device from Vox's grasp.

"Who else would I be talking about?!" Valentino spat, his grip tightening around the phone until it crushed in his hands. With a primal scream, he hurled the remains of the tech against a nearby wall, the impact causing the column to crack under the force of the blow.

You watched with a frown as Vox attempted to calm Valentino, but his efforts fell short against the demon's relentless anger. Despite Vox's attempts, Valentino continued to rage, his voice echoing through the room as he screamed about hotels, phone calls, and among other things you didn't bother picking up.

“Fuck. Alright, he's not calming down anytime soon,” Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. She turned to you and motioned for you to follow as she began storming out. “Come on."

Quickly, you nodded, falling into step behind Velvette as she navigated through the gory scene. Blood stained the bottom of your heels as you stepped past limbs and puddles of blood, bones cracked underfoot, and muscles squished beneath your weight. The overpowering scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.

The overlord guided you out of the room and towards the other side of the building, where a door adorned with your name on a golden plaque awaited.

"This is your dressing room. We'll have another shoot in a few hours, so get yourself prepped in here while I go take care of the piss baby," Velvette scowled, already busying herself with her phone again.

"Will do," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, grateful for the moment of rest.

"Good. I'll see you then," Velvette declared with dramatic flair, her vibrant curls swirling around her face as she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air.

As you were about to step into your dressing room, the door beside you suddenly swung open with a creak, revealing a slice of the pink-filled bedroom beyond. To your surprise, you were met with the familiar sight of a fluff of white hair. An accented voice filled the air, screaming into a phone, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"I told ya, I didn't mean to—," The demon turned to you and froze, his eyes widening as he dropped his cigar in shock. The carpet beneath your feet caught fire from the dropped cigar, but neither of you seemed to care.

He stared at you, wide-eyed.

Hands flying up to your mouth, you stared back.

For a minute, all you could hear was the muted sounds of Valentino's screaming from the phone speaker and the building's hustle and bustle

"Dollface?" Angel Dust finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he blinked dumbfounded. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Your heart dropped like a heavy stone, sinking into the depths of your chest. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stood there.

Everything was becoming too much to even process. Your body betrayed you as you lost your balance, collapsing and hitting the floor. A high-pitched ringing pierced your ears, drowning out all other sounds, as warmth seeped from them.

"Aw, shit," Angel Dust hissed in panic. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, dragging you into his room, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Ending the call, he tossed his phone away and guided you to a plush couch, the fabric soft and inviting beneath your touch as you sank into its embrace. Angel Dust settled beside you, his presence comforting like a warm blanket on a cold night. He offered you a sympathetic smile, though slightly awkward, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his words a gentle caress to your troubled soul.

Opening his arms wide, Angel offered you a hug, and you leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as he enveloped you in a comforting hug. Slowly, your senses came together as you nestled against him, the gentle rhythm of his breathing calming the storm of emotions raging within you.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered softly, his voice a comforting murmur. Moving closer, he wiped away the warm liquid seeping from your ears. You could faintly see his hands moving away, stained with red. "You alright? What happened, mama?"

"A lot," you sighed, raising a hand to massage your temple as you recounted the events of the past 24 hours, from Mimzy's lounge getting busted down to your soul exchange with Vox.

Angel listened intently as you recounted the events, his expression shifting from concern to disbelief as he processed the gravity of what you had experienced.

"Damn, you've been through hell twice. You're one tough cookie, mama," Angel said with a warm smile as he reached for a brush on his vanity and gently ran it through your messed-up hair.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, a hint of laughter escaped you.

"You could say that," you sniffed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you let out a long-held sigh. "It's been a while since I've been able to let it all out like this. Most demons aren't exactly the nicest."

Angel Dust chuckled with a shrug, his hands gentle as he worked through the knots in your hair. "Yeah, I've… ah, been tryn'a to stay 'good' for a while now. Charlie's been real pushy with the redemption thing, and I thought, what the hell, why not?"

Suddenly, he paused his brushing and gawked at you, his eyes widening in realization. "Charlie! The hotel!"

Your heart skipped a beat as Angel Dust's words sank in. "The hotel," you echoed, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place in your mind.

"Shit!" Angel laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, there ya go! I get off shift tonight, and I sure as hell can get my ass over there. Hell, I can leave right this instant if you want!"

"Won't Valentino be pissed?" you asked, a flicker of concern crossing your features. "You'll be—" Your gaze darted over to his discarded phone on the floor, which was buzzing with calls. "Well, already are in deep shit."

Angel Dust frowned, his expression hardening with resolve. He grabbed your coat and swiftly removed it, tossing it aside to cover the buzzing phone. "Fuck 'im. He can bark all he wants in the studio, but outside of it, he's got no power over me."

The spider leaned in, his touch as gentle as a soft breeze against your skin, his fingers delicate as they brushed a stray hair from your face. "I'll help you. So don't get your pretty little tits in a twist anymore, alright?"

With a heavy heart, you whispered your gratitude, bowing your head as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. Today had been bleak, but a glimmer of hope lingered for a brighter tomorrow.

"But I don't want to get you in trouble, Angel," you said softly, wiping away your tears, exhaustion washing over you. "I can wait until tonight."

Angel Dust's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Nah, babe, ain't no trouble for me. Besides, waiting ain't my style, and I ain't about to let you deal with this mess alone."

"Plus," Angel grinned devilishly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, the corners of his lips curling up. "I know your man is going to tear shit down. And I want front row seats to all that drama."

˚୨୧₊♱

"NO!"

Charlie shrieked, her voice piercing the air as she lunged forward, her fingers grasping desperately at Alastor's piece on the gameboard. "Al! You can't just do whatever you want! You have to follow the rules!"

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he regarded Charlie with amusement. "But my dear, where's the entertainment in that?" he purred as he tilted his head in mock innocence. "Rules are made to be broken, after all. So, I had a little fun with it."

"A little fun?" Vaggie scoffed from her spot on the floor, her brows furrowed in frustration as she idly shuffled the cards.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, dickhead," she muttered, her voice laced with irritation. "That's what you've been doing these past 2 hours. If you don't start playing properly, might as well not play. I mean—why did you even bother?"

"For the entertainment!" Alastor cheered, his grin widening as he rolled the dice once the turn landed on him again. With a flourish of his claws, he moved his piece three spaces, landing on an unclaimed building which he quickly purchased. "I came here because I love seeing you wayward souls struggle to accomplish something great, and fail spectacularly!"

Vaggie scoffed and rolled the dice, her hand deftly moving the piece along the board with a flick of her wrist. However, her expression soured noticeably when the piece landed on the Jail panel. She seethed and sank back, silently cursing her streak of horrible luck.

"Ah, like you are doing now!" Alastor smirked down at her like the asshole he was, punctuating his words with a clap of his hand. "Good job!"

Vaggie clenched her jaw tightly, her knuckles whitening as she lifted the board, readying herself to strike Alastor. However, before she could make her move, the door burst open, and Angel Dust rushed in with a gasp. He looked every bit disheveled, as if he had just run through all nine circles of hell.

Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she lifted her hand, waving him over excitedly.

"Angel! Perfect timing. We need one more player for Monopurgatory," she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly towards the game board. With a gleeful expression, she plucked a piece from the board and held up a small metal figurine with a wide smile. "You can be the cupcake~!"

"Sorry, princess, I've got business," Angel huffed, brushing his hair back as he turned to Alastor. "Alright, freaks. We need to talk."

Alastor hummed, studying Angel with mild amusement. "My, my, such urgency," he remarked, his smile widening into a grin. "What's got you in such a hurry?"

"It's about Vox," Angel replied, pressing his hands flat against each other. "I need to speak with you in private."

Alastor's grin faded slightly, and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at Angel. Well, this was certainly getting very entertaining.

After a moment of contemplation, Alastor shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever daze he had briefly fallen into.

"Vox, you say?" Alastor mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. With a nonchalant shrug, he pushed himself up, twirling his cane in the air. "Oh, well, in that case, let's chat."

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor moved forward and gestured towards the door, indicating for Angel to follow him. Charlie and Vaggie exchanged puzzled glances, but they remained silent, watching as both men left the room.

"You know, I'd usually never even think of entertaining you, and I'd rather let you deal with your own issues. But you seem to be in a great deal of suffering!” Alastor laughed heartily as he shut the door.

"So, pray tell, what happened? Did you get yourself entangled in another deal from a whim decision? My! I certainly hope you don't bring any of this into the hotel. What will the papers say?"

Angel rolled his eyes and cut Alastor's rambling short, jabbing a gloved finger into the Radio Demon's chest. "It ain't about me. And you're gonna want to listen because it's your missus that's in deep shit right now."

Alastor's eye twitched at the mention of you, a brief flicker of static and symbols dancing in the air. His crimson eyes bore into Angel Dust, his expression unreadable, save for the wide curl of his lips.

Inwardly, Angel smirked. If he didn't have Alastor's attention before, he sure as fuck had it now.

"What does my wife have to do with this?" Alastor quipped sharply, his claws delicately removing Angel Dust's finger from his chest. "I fail to see the connection. Do enlighten me."

"Wanna be enlightened?" Angel waved him over, "Then follow me."

Without waiting for a response, Angel turned on his heels and strode out of the hotel. Alastor followed closely behind, his red-clad figure cutting through the streets of hell like fire against the night.

A few streets later, they approached the border edge of the entertainment district, and Alastor halted abruptly, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

"I don't particularly fancy this area, and I'd rather not enter," he scoffed, adjusting his coat and brushing away dust from his sleeves with a disdainful flick. "It's rather unsavory."

"Just look," Angel rolled his eyes, gesturing upwards towards the towering Vee tower, where a new advertisement had just been erected.

Alastor's gaze shifted upward, and he froze as he beheld your face plastered across the billboard, larger than life, dominating the skyline of the entertainment district. The vibrant colors of the advertisement clashed with the dark hues of the surrounding buildings, drawing attention like a beacon in the night. Beneath the image, in bold letters, was a sign that read: "Sponsored by VoxTek," stark against the backdrop of your image.

There was silence for a minute, then another, before a sharp crack split the air.

"Angel?" Alastor's chipper voice rang out as he stared up at the billboard with a manic grin. Crackling began to be heard as his limbs lengthened, each movement accompanied by the sound of bones shifting and sinewy muscles stretching beneath his ashen flesh.

"Would you be so kind as to…" His antlers began to grow in size, curling and twisting like the branches of a gnarled tree.

"—explain…" His eyes darkened, the whites turning to a deep, swirling black, while the pupils glowed with a golden light, resembling the flickering dials of an old radio.

"—what exactly am I looking at right now?" His hands elongated into grotesque claws, the fingers stretching and sharpening into razor-sharp blades capable of ripping flesh—or in this case, wires—with ease. As his claws extended, they stretched his glove to its limit until it tore right off, revealing the glint of his wedding ring.

"Vox got her soul," Angel replied immediately, his voice steady despite the horrifying sight in front of him. "Screens has her wrapped around his finger, and he's not planning to let go anytime soon."

Alastor's head snapped to the side with a sickening crack accompanying the movement.

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

˚୨୧₊♱

#im sorry for the shitty filler chapter :(( this was for the pacing and so i can prepare yall for the next chapter #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel velvette

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mullermilkshake · 6 months ago

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Keeping you hidden.

@ellavdrea

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

Yandere!Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader Tags: Yandere!Gojo, au with cursed energy, graphic depictions of violence and bodily harm, death, manipulation, physical/ psychological abuse.

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Satoru had enough of your shit.

The countless obscenities and hits to his face as you thrashed around because your will simply refused to be compliant. He could take that. He did take that.

But what he couldn’t abide was your countless, albeit rare attempts to leave him.

Him. Like he was riddled with an infectious illness or something. Or perhaps he was just that unlikable that you couldn’t bare to be in the same room as him. Satoru was far more than just likeable, he could ask anyone and he’d get the answer he wanted.

He was amazing.

You just refused to see what was right in front of you because you were that stubborn.

“Get off of me!”

You pulled and tugged, clawing at the back of his hand that held so tight like you would vanish if he didn’t.

“Don’t fight this.” He said, fuming purely at the fact that this time, you almost made it impossible for him to find you. Like a mole underground who hung tight until the fox had passed.

Well, Satoru was more intelligent than a cunning fox, he was more of a blood hound and sniffing your scent drove him wild.

“I will fight this- trust me, I’ll get out again and you’ll never find me you son of a bitch!”

As clever as you thought you were, there was always a trail you left behind, no matter how faint. Whether it be a scrap of your cursed energy you didn’t know you had or just that Satoru happened to be in the right place and right time, he always found you.

It’s just that this time was a close call. And there wasn’t going to be a second chance for that to happen again.

Not ever.

Satoru yanked you close and noticed your strained wince immediately. “I’ve told you time and time again that this isn’t an option. But you never listen.”

Now Satoru couldn’t just leave you alone in the house even if he did essentially baby proof it ten times over to prevent you stepping a foot outside.

You’d find some weak point eventually like an octopus squeezing through a hole the size of its eye, you were just as slippery.

Some days he’d be out the whole day, his life still rolling over despite you waiting at home. The daily stressors of sorcerer life put his patience to a tether that almost severed with you regularly.

“I don’t listen because you’re fucking crazy-“

You managed to move your hand and swing for his face, though you knew just as well as Satoru did. His infinity around most of his body was never lowered.

Especially around you.

He didn’t react to it and pulled you down the hallway, the soles of your shoes squeaking on the wood which bellowed your temper toward him. Satoru didn’t have a temper as such, he could make you do whatever he wanted when the occasion called for it. However his strength out matched you like a bulldozer to a sheet of paper.

You were delicate and Satoru worked hard to control how much force he used so he didn’t end up doing permanent damage. But he held out in the hope that you would eventually want to do things with him without coercion or unnecessary force.

“You have no idea how shit filled the world is. You’d be begging to stay with me if you actually knew what was out there.”

To date, oddly enough you had never reacted to low level curses Satoru used to test just how much you knew about his own world.

You knew nothing, or you were an excellent liar. Either way, the only thing that was truly special about you was your cursed energy. The energy itself was unaware of its own presence.

It’s what drew him to you in the first place.

That was a year ago.

Since then it was all still a daily uphill battle.

“Bullshit would I- Satoru, let me go!” Your shrill scream became raspy and broken like a tantrum from a child that compared to you acted far more mature.

So for Satoru’s own piece of mind, what you needed was a room with no windows and one door in and out.

Then he’d know where you were at all times.

Which translated to the basement.

And you hated the basement.

Though what choice did he have?

As soon as you knew where Satoru was taking you, the disgusted glare and gritted teeth switched for something far more upsetting.

“No. No, no, no, I’m not going down there!”

“You’re not giving me a choice.”

Standing in the doorway, Satoru took you by the shoulders and even pulled his blindfold down to show how serious he was. “You fight me every step of the way when I’m only trying to do well by you. There’s so much shit out there and you don’t even know how bad things can get.”

You said nothing, but your eyes were so wide they were watering. Satoru took this as a chance to continue. “I love you. And you don’t see it. I care for you, and you don’t see it. I only want what’s best for you and you don’t fucking see it.”

“And shoving me down in the basement is what’s best for me?”

Was it rhetorical? Satoru didn’t care. “Yes. It is.”

There was no way to protect yourself when you couldn’t see curses. Especially with the odd cursed energy you were emitting.

And if Suguru got a hold of you, Satoru dreaded to think.

And then as though a switch turned you back on, you struggled again. “I’m not going down there!”

“Yes you are.” He had to be careful not to hurt you.

“Fuck you!”

“You’re going down there. End of- be careful on the stairs or you’ll fall-“

“I hope I do-“

“Don’t say that.” His voice was so gruff, almost angry. You were trying his patience way too much saying things like that.

“I hope I fall and break my neck then I wouldn’t have to deal with you-“

“I said stop it… stop-“

You lost your footing, whether it was intentional, Satoru couldn’t gauge it and in his profound shock, he didn’t react in time to catch you. He watched you in slow motion and then time sped up, your pretty little neck hit every step in the way down into the dark pit of the basement void.

He blinked and registered. Moving in a blink to capture you in his arms by the third step from the bottom.

“Hey.”

You were limp, eyes closed. Your cursed energy bubbling beyond the surface like a boiling pot, nothing unusual only that you weren’t breathing.

“Wait… wake up.” He said, shaking you ever so slightly. “Wake up right now.”

It was as though you were joking, playing a game with him to get what you wanted and scare the living daylights out of him.

“Wake up right now!”

This time he shook you, teeth gritted hard together and your shattered neck jiggled your head about with his movement. Your slender neck just that little bit longer when he realised is was really broken and this wasn’t a joke of yours.

“No… wake up now.” He couldn’t heal you, only Shoko could do that.

Was it too late? Had death already consumed you that you would refuse to come back?

“Please… don’t leave.” His breaths were heavy, cumbersome.

And you were just lifeless.

Then, you weren’t.

It was your cursed energy that Satoru recognised, wisping about your body almost like it was weaving together. And then you twitched again, then jolted about in Satoru’s arms until you screamed right by his ear so guttural and primal that it even drew his head back from you.

Yet still he kept a hold of you, eyes wider than they had ever been and in shock at your reanimation.

Until now, Satoru had never seen anything like it. Suguru would most definitely dig his claws into you so deep if he realised just how special you had become in just a matter of seconds. A matter of seconds and everything had just changed. Your need for protection and risk factors had risen exponentially.

Satoru was sure you were still human too and not like the undead he had seen in movies. You were still… you, from what he could tell.

You huffed and heaved and coughed against him, opening your eyes with such panic took Satoru’s breath away from his chest as he held it. The fabric of his shirt squeezed between the joints of your fingers as though you would never let go.

Like you needed him.

You actually needed him.

“Hey- wait it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Satoru held you close and for just a minute, you leant into him and sobbed.

“I’m here, baby.”

Satoru shouldn’t have said that. You glared up at him with a face full of thunder, pushing away from him in an instant. “You fucking pushed me, you monster!”

He initially blinked at your sudden furious gaze, but got a hold of your wrists quick enough before you could through them around.

“I didn’t push you. You slipped-“

“Like hell I did- how am I even talking right now? You pushed me and it hurt!”

How on earth was your cursed energy so volatile that it repaired you without your say on reverse curse technique? You healed yourself at an exceptional rate and were none the wiser to it.

“I didn’t push you, do you hear me?” Taking you by the shoulders seemed to stop the messy haze you were in. “I would never do that.”

But this incident got you clinging to him like he was your favourite person in the world, even if it was just for a minute.

One minute was more time than you had bothered to give Satoru. Ever.

That minute alone would have been enough to get him by for the next few hours before he would want it again, going down a slippery slope he had inevitably opened without realising.

Your voice was broken. “You did- you did do it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Get away from me!”

“I didn’t fucking push you.”

You really weren’t going to let go of this, were you? Even experiencing something as traumatic as you just did.

“Oh really? Then why did I see you just looking at me as I fell and you left me there unconscious!"

You didn’t even know the extent of your injuries.

A little spark ignited in his head when he saw how distressed you were. Satoru could use this to his advantage. It was sick, but perhaps this was his way to put an end to your bratty attitude. That feral flame needed extinguishing.

“If you think that I would intentionally hurt you, then you don’t know me at all.”

Your anger shifted back to that of upset and distress, sobbing over your words and gripping a hold of his shirt more aggressively.

“I don’t, that’s the point. I-I don’t want to know you and I don’t want to be here. I want to go home and have a normal life without you lurking around every corner and breathing down my neck all the time!”

This wasn’t unexpected news to Satoru, yet it hurt just as much as if it was. Were you really that repulsed by his presence? Satoru found himself questioning everything and that little poisonous thought burrowed deeper into his brain like a parasite.

If you were unaware then it could be used against you. ‘I wouldn’t ever do that…’ those words held less meaning than when they were spoken aloud.

And if you were to fall down those stairs again, it was entirely logical that you would look at Satoru that way again and sob into his chest.

“Get up.” He said, his expression dropping to numb his horrid thoughts.

Everything had changed. Everything had gotten far darker than he even could have imagined. Your eyes were wide, almost deer like with anticipation of his response.

“Get up.” Satoru softened his tone and it seemingly worked enough to allow you to your feet. So there was no issue with your joints either after taking damage from the impact.

Satoru took to the steps first and waited. Waited until you reached the top behind him all timid and silent.

Then he pushed you.

Your body hitting each step like before and your cursed energy working its way around the body and clicked everything back into place.

He wondered what else your body could take and whether he really had to hold back and be gentle with you anymore.

After that, each time you reanimated, you clung to Satoru just that fraction longer. Every time a slither of your will broke and soon enough, you would be compliant enough to have the privilege of being left on your own again.

In time.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

EDIT: ALSO forgot to add, if you’d like anymore Yandere Satoru Gojo or other characters please check out my AO3 where I post all my long stuff and one shots like “sealed fate” which is exclusively Yandere/ dark one shots.

Take care!!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader

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tojiscrack · 8 months ago

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𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋: 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑

summary: 13.6k words — you and your friends have returned from a vacation trip in italy! but it’s now time to go back to school and kick start your junior year of high school, but straight off the bat, megumi finds himself immersed in gossip he's usually never bothered by…

notes: welcome to the first ever main-plot-starting chapter of liar, liar! *cheers in the background* FINALLY! we’re here. isn’t it ironic how this time last year i was writing the first ever chapter of liar, liar, and now an entire year later, i’m kick starting the main plot? 😧 time flies… here's my halloween gift to you all! (it's easily my most favourite holiday EVER). and it's also been a week since my birthday, ty for the wishes, kind messages, dm's, asks, tips, etc!! now enjoy this chapter <3

tw: swearing, gossip, mention of violence, threats, and that’s it lmao

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

september 2019 - junior year

"everyone open theirs at the same time, got it?"

"but mine's got tape on it!"

"shut up, yuji."

"i already opened mine."

you dived across the table to snatch the paper out of megumi's hands, throwing him a look of irritation because of how he'd spoiled the entire thing. it only irked you further when he had the audacity to fix you with a glare himself.

"you just couldn't help yourself, could you?" you snapped, placing his timetable face down on the table, refraining from looking at it before he could despite the devil on your left shoulder whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

you gave in and flipped the sheet over. he ruined the order of things anyway, what was the point of adhering to the rules he never listened to to begin with?

"megumi!" you gasped, feeling enraged as you stared down at his timetable.

out of the nine classes you had, pre-calculus was the only one you shared with megumi. to your disbelief, you didn't even share homeroom, so the only other chances to see him were during study hall, break, and lunch, which felt far too short to make up for the overwhelming imbalance.

it didn't make sense, now that you analysed it further. with all the classes available, how was it that pre-calc was the only one you had in common? you felt a nagging frustration, trying to wrap your head around the fact that your paths would now cross so little this year despite the fact that you used to be attached to the hip before. every other subject offered countless opportunities to stick together, yet here you were, navigating a maze of schedules that kept you apart.

you caught yuji and nobara in your peripheral vision, both comparing their own timetables and bickering simultaneously.

megumi was a genius, extremely academically gifted, especially in stem. when it came to any branch of math, the kid aced every exam effortlessly.

and you weren't the worst at it, some would argue..?

the more you thought about it, the more bewildered you became — how could you end up sharing the one class that exposed all your weaknesses, the same one that he excelled in?

he flinched when your voice suddenly rose once more:

"you're taking ap stats?" you demanded, only just realising that he had one extra lesson than you, yuji, and nobara. it was at the very top of the table, labelled 'period 0'.

"don't give him an opportunity to act more pompous than he already is," scoffed nobara, looking uninterested. you did not comment on how she still peeked over the sheet when she thought you weren't looking.

"wow," yuji began, looking pleasantly in awe at megumi's hefty schedule. he leaned back in his seat, careful not to pull himself too far back in the event that he might fall off. you secretly wished that he would, if only to stifle your current shock. "so you'll start the day earlier... won't you be exhausted when we get to football practice?"

that was a good question. since coach yaga had stubbornly given both megumi and yuji spots on the school's football team, it had since been announced that practice would take place every day after school unless otherwise mentioned. with megumi's mornings starting earlier than the rest of you, and his days finishing later, he was bound to be torn down with exhaustion. although he acted like a robot all the time (eat, sleep, make a rude comment about you, repeat) he was still a human who needed rest. more school meant more social interaction. more social interaction meant a drained megumi. things would only go south from there.

he shrugged at the question.

"i'll be fine," he answered, unbothered.

you disagreed. "you'll die —"

"— revive me with your mermaid abilities then —"

you hoped you pinched him hard enough to bruise.

"wait," you said, halting your attack on him with a slow frown. he took the opportunity to rip your hands off his ribs and shuffled away from you. you ignored him, sliding down to sit hip-to-hip with him. "if you do ap stats in the morning, we can't walk to school together."

for the nth time that day, megumi snatched back his timetable from you.

"good luck," he said, eyes half-lidded with that ever-present air of indifference. "you cross the road like you have nine lives."

"you basically just told her that you wouldn't care if she died," yuji intervened, quick to jump to your defence despite the many times you would argue with him, too.

you glanced at him, eyes naturally drifting down to the obvious tan line on his neck from the vacation the four of you had attended with your family in the summer.

nobara scoffed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before pointing, accusatory, at megumi. "this is what happens when you hype him up," said nobara, her finger jabbed at him with enough aggression, any outsider would probably assume that he'd committed blasphemy — you liked to think he had.

"i'm surrounded by idiots," you thought you heard him mutter, his voice low enough to almost go unheard, though the faint tightening of his jaw gave him away.

waving his timetable at him, you unknowingly creased the smooth sheet. "speak up, porcupine."

"do you hate it when he mumbles, mother gothel?" said yuji, randomly turning on you instead.

your head might have had a fifty-fifty chance of snapping right off your neck with how fast you'd turned it to face yuji with a glare. of all the things he could have thrown at you, why did he pick a tangled reference, one that barely bit at your core?

"first of all, what the hell?" you responded, visibly and audibly startled. "secondly, you were supposed to be on my side —"

"yeah i know," he replied, breaking out of his character to speak to you in that usual, gentle and low voice of his, the one you were much familiar with, "but i just remembered that megumi might leave me behind after football practice, so i can't take any chances."

"you're a traitor!"

"it's every man for himself!"

to no one's surprise (except for yuji's), nobara, seizing the moment you had created, sent his head crashing forwards against the table. she'd apparently been waiting for the perfect opportunity for it, and you had handed it to her on a silver platter.

"y/n, swap," she said, sliding her timetable down and waiting for you to make the exchange, barely registering the groan of pain and annoyance yuji had followed her demand with.

you shrugged and complied, exchanging yours for hers with pursed lips.

as you scanned nobara's timetable, you found yourself pouting less, pleased. half of your classes aligned perfectly with hers, from pre-calc to english — even p.e and homeroom, matched. the thought of surviving junior year alongside nobara was a hopeful silver lining. leaving megumi behind wouldn't be too bad, you noted in your had, glancing at his unnecessary scowl.

maybe this was done for a reason. if you spent too much time with him, the grumpy attitude would probably become contagious and you'd be the unfortunate one to catch it.

you watched him glare at nothing.

yeah, you definitely didn't want to become that.

"but we all have gojo at some point, right?" said nobara, her voice drawing your mind away from the undiagnosed disease your mind had planted megumi with.

you lined each of your timetables at the centre of the white, circular table, flicking yuji's head away to create more room for it. he lifted himself back up, scowling when you flicked at his hands next.

"we're all in different classes with him," you commented idly, tilting yuji's timetable a little further to read it more accurately.

"oh, you and i have physics with him together," you informed him, content and satisfied.

"hmph," yuji grunted, rubbing his forehead and throwing dirty looks at nobara from the side. despite this, however, you could see the way his ears had straightened up at your comment, also seemingly pleased with the shared class — it reminded you off the ash-blonde puppy you had seen last year, when you were looking for totalityfor megumi's birthday.

"i wanted ieiri," said megumi, taking his timetable back and glancing down at it, then to yuji's, and back again, seemingly making a comparison in his head.

"we all have her for chem," said nobara, leaning the upper half of her body over the table to glance over his sheet. "don't you?"

"yeah," he confirmed, sounding displeased. "and satoru for every other science. ap bio first period — no one needs to hear his voice that early in the morning."

yuji beamed, taking his paper away from the line of your timetables you'd created with it and shoving it down towards megumi's side of the table.

"don't worry megumi!" he'd said, his pearly white teeth showcased as he grinned. "we have ap biology together!"

megumi's eyes slowly shifted from yuji's overly enthusiastic face to his timetable, and then back again, completely unamused. his expression didn't change, and no words were exchanged as he remained deadpanned, yuji patiently awaiting his response; the excited sparkle in his eye dimming as each second went by in silence.

megumi blinked twice, offering a dry, "great. just what i needed."

yuji took that personally.

"hey —"

"gojo might be incredibly annoying," said nobara, cutting through yuji without a care in the world; she was frowning down at her own timetable, brows furrowed, "but i've never failed a class of his. ever." she looked up at you all with a grim expression over her face. "don't tell him i said that."

"you've got a point," you added thoughtfully. "you think he pulled a couple strings to have us in his classes this year?"

"oh for sure," said nobara, her response quick and short. "we have — what — over twenty different science teachers in the whole school and somehow every year without fail we're in his classes? tell me that's a coincidence."

as your friends discussed the things that satoru must have done in order to have each and every one of you in his classes this year, you stared down at your timetable, eyes glued down as something suddenly hit you in your mind.

you were now going to be lonely in performing arts due to the fact that nobara had switched majors. her electives were now filled with fashion design courses, her dream ever since the end of sophomore year, and you were glad she had finally come to pick something she found genuine joy in, but it still stung a little.

you sighed, almost feeling silly for missing something so trivial, but the thought of no longer having those shared moments with her in drama class left a hollow ache. it wasn't as if she hadn't told you this would happen during your vacation in the summer, yet the reality was harder to digest than you had initially anticipated.

"fashion design," you stated, as yuji and megumi found themselves immersed in a pointless argument about satoru and his questionable teaching methods. "i think mai was saying something about that the other day."

"yeah," said nobara, her voice suddenly gloomy as she deflated in her seat, eyes half-lidded and lips in a pout. "there's a workshop in the first class. the seniors are helping us."

a small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as she sulked in her seat. her exaggerated pout and half-lidded eyes made it impossible not to find the whole situation a bit funny. you rested your chin on your hand, observing the way she dragged her finger absentmindedly across the table's surface, a clear sign of how unenthusiastic she was about the whole thing.

nobara's disdain for her was no secret — mai, with her sharp tongue and competitive attitude, grated on nobara's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. they'd crossed paths during seventh grade, and from that point on, nobara had made it clear she had no interest in mai's condescending remarks or constant need to outshine everyone, especially in the fashion design world. it didn't help that they were often compared to each other when shopping, fuelling the unspoken rivalry between them.

"y'know, she's not that bad," you commented thoughtfully. you had also grown to like mai a bit better throughout the years.

megumi thought it was appropriate to intervene and add his own unwanted input (during the middle of his stupid back and forth with yuji, too).

"you're only saying that 'cause she's your blackmail partner," he'd said, furrowing his brows at you with a look of obvious impatience.

you did not even turn your head to face him when you responded.

"it's not blackmail," you countered slowly, as nobara raised her brows at you expectantly. "it's... making someone do something... by using... pieces of information... as... leverage!"

"that's literally the definition of blackmail —"

"shut up," you smiled politely.

"megumi!" yuji interrupted, shoving his phone in megumi's face with such enthusiasm, you would have thought he just found out that he was the chosen one at camp rock. "look!" he shook his phone aggressively. "brazil likes tan lines! no you have to look, megumi! it says they associate it with beach culture!"

megumi grimaced at the screen, his nostrils flaring as he slapped yuji's hand away.

"yeah, 'cause nothing says 'beach culture' like looking like a poorly toasted sandwich," he retorted, scowling when someone on the other table had shot him a sharp look.

you laughed, met with the sight of yuji in a defensive stance, eyes wide and brows furrowed at the dark haired boy sitting next to you. he was pointing at himself, at the two shades of skin on his neck, his fist clenched which only emphasised the veins running up his hand.

"you keep saying that like i didn't wear sunscreen, but i did!" he snapped, drawing the attention of the people passing by your table. megumi pinched the bridge of his nose as yuji went on, uncaring of the fact that almost every eye in the cafeteria was drawn to the four of you, courtesy of yuji and his unnecessarily loud speech. "i wore the kids one, but it's still sunscreen!"

"what brand?" asked nobara.

"nivea!"

"didn't they run tests for that one and find that it's actually a leading cause for skin cancer in its consumers?" you said, watching his face comically pale as he glanced down at his own hands, a lot darker than what they used to be like before the trip to italy.

yuji's brows knitted together, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if struggling to maintain composure, but the fear creeping into his wide eyes betrayed him. you could see the panic in the way he darted glances between his hands, his arms, and even under the table where his legs were, as though expecting to see something awful already happening.

nobara had taken the opportunity to scare him a little further, making up random statistics about non-existent kids who had reached critical condition due to the sheer amount of the product they'd used, and as she continued, his expression grew more strained, the color slowly draining from his cheeks, leaving him looking almost as pale as the white cast left behind the sunscreen he'd used.

your phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up with a text notification. you pressed the button to read it properly.

coffee-hose victim: Check if final pay-check was received

mandy.

you'd check later. you were in no rush, you decided, as you stared at the message briefly, feeling a dull sense of finality wash over you.

both you and megumi had been made redundant after the café shut down over the summer — an abrupt closure that neither of you had seen coming. mandy, your old manager, had been sorting out the final payments for the staff, promising to get things wrapped up even after the little shop was cleared out. now that everything was nearly done, you'd finally be able to delete her number from your phone, erasing the last trace of that chaotic job, of her.

but it also meant finding new jobs, and you refused to work without megumi by your side.

"we need to apply for jobs this week," you told him, showing him your home-screen that had mandy's notification banner at the very top. his eyes followed each word smoothly before looking back up to meet your gaze. "probably not hospitality ever again."

"i'd work at miss B's if she ever let us," said megumi, as you placed your phone back down and silently nodded in agreement. "i like her."

"mind saying that again?" you grinned, lifting it back up and having it hover near his mouth that had been set in a straight line the second he saw your lip curl. "i want to make it my ringtone."

"shut up," he snapped, slapping your wrist away quite like he had done with yuji not even five minutes ago. you laughed but complied anyway. having megumi's voice as a ringtone would make it so that you would never actually pick up the calls. he frowned at you. "come over to mine and we'll apply then."

you threw him a sideways look. "no, you come over to mine."

he furrowed his brows at you.

"what difference does it make?" he asked, his eyes critiquing your every move. nothing out of the ordinary.

you sighed loudly; someone might have assumed you were in the middle of a chore.

"if i see toji, i'm going to be tempted to make fun of him. i'll get distracted," you explained, shaking your head at your friend as though it had been the most easiest thing, and he had failed to understand. "top of the class and yet you're not the exactly the brightest crayon in the box, are you?"

"shut up," he repeated for the second time in the very same minute.

nobara turned her head slowly, deliberately, her sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on megumi. there was a brief, almost theatrical pause before her lips curled slightly at the corners, (the way they did when she was about to say something cutting) as the dim light of the cafeteria above you all caught the sharp angle of her cheekbones.

"megumi, i can not argue with idiot number one," she began, lifting her chin to gesture at a pale yuji, "when you, idiot number two, keep telling someone to shut up. how about you shut up for a change, huh?"

megumi narrowed his eyes at her. "i'm the only one out of the four of us that only speaks when spoken to."

she gawked at him. "you calling us chatterboxes?"

"i'm saying that when either of your mouths open, the stuff that comes out of it is never relevant nor necessary."

the three of you sat in silence, each watching him with different expressions on your faces.

and megumi felt the need to clarify:

"none of your statements are of any substance —"

"we get it!" snapped nobara, her gaze cutting and sharp. she took enough care to kick him beneath the table, which only began the onslaught of physical attacks, one you joined in for the sole purpose of bullying megumi. you thought he deserved it this time.

as the assault continued, something clicked, and you pulled back from the friendly fire. watching megumi's face — strained and faintly exasperated — you remembered something nobara had mentioned weeks ago about the family's international dojo business, which was the zenin's main source of income and how they were so incredibly rich.

it was easy to forget sometimes; the quiet, slightly reserved megumi you knew now didn't quite fit the image of someone being groomed to run an international dojo and martial arts empire, but as he braced himself for nobara's next jab, you couldn't shake the thought: he was taking business classes, which only further supported your idea, and for a moment, you considered the irony of seeing him here, bickering with you all instead of learning the ropes of the large business awaiting him.

"hey," you said, tapping his shoulder and flinching when he turned to look down at you so suddenly.

"what?" he snapped, but only after swiping nobara's timetable off the table and onto the floor when she kicked him on his funny-bone. he was blinking hard at you, as though trying to clear his vision of the black spots contaminating his sight.

"oh excuse me for wanting to help mr dominant-alpha-wolf out," you shot back, hands raised mockingly. when he scowled at you and patiently (yet reluctantly) waited for you to continue, you went on. "talking about applying for jobs, why don't you just get some business experience at ten shadows?"

the zenin clan's dojo, ten shadows, specialised in jujutsu — a tradition they shared with the gojo's and, of course, the kamo clan too. it was where uncle ogi spent most of his time in, and where toji spent none of his time in.

megumi didn't seem to like that idea, regarding you with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose.

"so i can spend all day with uncle ogi?" he retorted, and despite your initial idea still standing tall in your mind, you had to silently admit to yourself that he raised a good point. uncle ogi was funny when he was angry (which tended to be ninety-nine percent of the time) but you could only take so much of that in one day. knowing him, he'd probably force you to work nightshifts with no breaks. "no thanks," megumi voiced, unimpressed with the suggestion.

"why don't you just lie on your application forms and stuff?" yuji suggested, his mouth in a straight line. it seemed that he had not got over the sunscreen scare just yet. "i did."

"you lied about working at ten shadows?" you asked, brows raised and eyes wide. "that's an international dojo. they go world-wide. global. your employers will find out."

yuji shook his head, raising his hand to wave it at you dismissively. "no, not there," he scoffed, smiling widely. "what do you think i am, huh? stupid?"

no one said anything; he sat up defensively.

"hey —"

"so what place did you lie about then?" nobara cut through him, literally pulling him out of his stance by his elbow.

he shrugged her off with a scowl, but answered nonetheless.

"gojo said i could say i worked at his family's pharmacy."

everyone around the table went still, eyes widening as they processed what yuji had just casually revealed. megumi blinked, caught off guard, while you tilted your head, brows raised at his unexpected response. it was only nobara, however, who looked thoroughly impressed, her lips curling as she nudged him with a newfound admiration and yuji, oblivious to the stir he'd just caused, seemed to enjoy the brief, astonished silence hanging over the table.

"it's cool, right?" he voiced loudly, grinning. "he said i should write that i worked at one of his biotechnology firms, but if the interviewer asked me questions about it, i'd never know how to answer 'em."

megumi shot him a look.

"what do you know about pharmacies?" he demanded, watching yuji shrug confidently.

"you gotta answer some calls, make requests. er... stock up on the medicine and stuff," he mumbled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and nodding. it looked like he was actually thinking hard about it. "deal with old ladies... and old men... er... yeah!"

"i'm putting that on my application too, then," said nobara, nodding. she made eye contact with a stoic megumi. "and you should too. only, with your family's business."

"no," the dark-haired boy responded, glowering at the three of you. "it's not genuine."

"oh here we go again," you sighed, rolling your eyes.

it had been the same situation two years ago with his easy position on the football team, when yaga offered him a vacant spot without the requirement of turning up to try-outs. megumi truly believed that if the offer was given solely to him, it was disingenuous and unfair, therefore accepting what was rightfully presented would also be disingenuous and unfair.

lying on an application form with security knowing that his family would definitely vouch for him if asked was where he drew the line.

"i'm not the serial liar here," he reminded you all, purposefully meeting your gaze to prove his point; you could have murdered him right there.

"maybe not, but you are the porcupine-hedgehog-sea-urchin breed here though —"

"you'dknow all about sea urchins, mermai—"

he left school that day with a small bump on the side of his head and a lesson still unlearned: do not mention the mermaid incident of two-thousand and eleven.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the hallway stretched ahead, brightly lit by fluorescent lights overhead that reflected off pale, polished floors. blue lockers lined either side, their surfaces a mix of chipped paint and stickers left from previous years, giving a lived-in look to the corridor's otherwise sterile presentation.

as you and megumi walked past several groups of people — some leaning against lockers, others conversing on the floor — you nudged him on his side.

"where do you usually sit?" you asked him, turning a corner to enter the corridor with the descending stairs. the two of you walked down them with ease, careful not to trip over that one step at the very bottom that always managed to catch your undone laces and have you stack in front of everyone.

megumi lagged a step behind, and before you could question it, you felt a slight tug on your bag, shifting it side to side. as you neared his homeroom, the faint sound of your zipper sliding into place caught your attention — he'd just fastened it for you without a word.

when he came back to your side to match your pace, you grinned up at his scowling face.

"thank you, porcupine!" you said brightly.

he adjusted the strap of his schoolbag, simple and black, and grunted, his form of acknowledgement.

you nudged him again, this time with your hip. "you didn't answer my question."

he shot you a sharp look, as though warning you not to test his patience. it wasn't like you'd ever heeded the warning in all the years you'd known him for, and yet you were still living and breathing and walking, alive and well.

"shouldn't matter to you," he responded, but only when it had become clear that you were not going to budge on it. megumi continued to face ahead, watching his steps as he spoke. "we're not in the same class and you won't be allowed in."

"ah, but if my memory serves me correctly," you beamed, sliding in between several seniors who were blocking the hallway to get to his class, and he shadowed you, right by the back of your heels, "you said the exact same thing in kindergarten and then they changed my name in the register so i was in your class permanently."

"set my fate with that dumb decision."

"hey," you frowned, looking at him from over your shoulder and furrowing your brows, lips set in a straight line. "that's rude."

megumi didn't grace you with a response to that, only following in your footsteps as you managed to squeeze past the groups of people huddled in the middle of the narrow corridor.

"besides," you began, once the two of you were walking side-by-side again, "if that decision wasn't made, you'd have a boring life, porcupine."

as the two of you neared megumi's classroom, the energy of the hallway shifted — voices grew louder, students lingered in clumps near the door, waiting to slip in just before the bell rang. it did tend to annoy you when they'd stand in a huddle and make it difficult to walk properly, but you'd gotten used to it after the first couple of weeks starting high school for the first time.

the sharp lines of megumi's face settled into something halfway between annoyance and resignation, his brows pinched, and his jaw clenched slightly as though he were biting back a retort. he shot you a sidelong glance, and for a moment, a split second in time, his expression softened — if you didn't know him that well, you might have thought you imagined it — almost as if he were mulling over what you'd said before huffing quietly, that familiar scowl reappearing on his face as he straightened his posture, ready to brush you off as he always did.

"you don't believe me?" you questioned, amused.

"it'd be stupid of me to believe someone who has a criminal history of lying," he grumbled, eyes half-lidded as though the answer had been obvious enough for a five year old to guess. arguably, you thought the five year old version of him probably would have said the exact same line, word for word. he had been too grown to actually be a kid.

"lying is part of my major," you reminded him, brows raised. "that's why i'm always the lead in the plays."

megumi averted his gaze, grumpy. "my bad. i thought you threatened everyone for the role —"

"i'm not a delinquent like you," you told him, smiling, and when he made a move to pinch you on your side, you dramatically flattened yourself against the lockers."i'll yell for help!" you hurriedly warned him, eyes cautiously wide as you followed where his pale hand was left outstretched near you.

he narrowed his own at you, contemplating. you could see the cogs turning in his head, thinking, deciding. you helped him make his decision faster by parting your lips, a silent threat. wisely, he retracted his hand, walking to his classroom which was at the end of the corridor, not looking back to see if you would catch up to him.

you did, in fact, catch up to him, if only to prove your initial point:

"if you weren't friends with me, what would you keep yourself entertained with, huh?" you asked, slapping his bag. he threw you a dirty look despite the fact that the hit wasn't enough to even make him stumble. "your non-fiction books? oh, i know a great non-fiction joke for you!"

"leave me alone," said megumi, glowering. "isn't your class down there?"

he gestured to the other end of the corridor.

you ignored him.

"why can't you trust an atom?" you asked, and when he refused to answer, instead choosing to duck under miss zaid's oustretched arm to go inside his class, you answered anyway, halting by the door because she stepped in front of you. "because they make up everythi— oh hey miss zaid!"

the teacher in question took back her arm and folded it over her chest, leaning against the door frame to block your entrance. you looked around, over your shoulder and around the corridor, before looking back up at her and smiling.

"who are you standing guard for?" you asked brightly. "can i help?"

"you can," she nodded, jutting her chin in the direction of the end of the hall, her expression half amused and half firm. "by making your way to mrs jenkins's class."

you shook your head firmly.

"but mr gojo said i could stay here instead," you said, expression grave. satoru had said no such thing, but that didn't matter, not to you at least.

"okay," said miss zaid, letting out a long exhale through her nose. "and is mr gojo part of the student advisory?"

your eyes darted left and right, momentarily speechless.

"he owns the pharmacy down the block," you tried, smiling pleasantly.

"and what does that have to do with the school?"

"erm... the first aid stuff in the school —"

the more you blabbered, the more unconvinced she became. you raised your brows at her, stern and serious.

"but my timetable's changed," you informed her, watching as the crease between her brows began to deepen as you spoke. "yeah, it says i'm in this class now."

miss zaid stepped aside to let two other students through. you took the opportunity to try and follow in right after them, only to be stopped when she rapidly stood back in that defensive position again. you frowned — what were you, a danger to the class?

"does it say my name on your timetable?" she asked you, curious.

you nodded.

she extended her hand, making a come hither motion.

"show me your timetable," she'd said, and at that, you froze.

it had been a lie after all. you were hoping to gain entry without the necessary proof. it had, after all, worked last year.

you watched her brows unknit themselves, tilting her head at you expectantly.

you paused.

"miss i really like the colour of your hijab today —"

"go," she interrupted loudly, pointing at the room you were meant to be in, all the way on the other side of the country, "to class, y/n." she looked up and nodded. "hi, yuji — come inside."

you turned and looked over your shoulder. sure enough, yuji was right there, walking alongside junpei, a tall, skinny boy who you had met during middle school in one of yuji's classes. the two were close, and when neither you, megumi nor nobara wanted to watch the weird movies yuji was always invested in, junpei had always been his go-to.

junpei was also in your homeroom class with nobara.

"what're you doing here?" yuji asked you, nodding at junpei when he walked off in the direction you were meant to be going in.

"what am i—" you repeated with a scoff, looking around as though that had been the stupidest question ever asked. "this is my class!"

miss zaid sighed. "y/n," she uttered your name sternly.

"miss, i can knock her out and then carry her to her actual class," yuji offered seriously.

you turned slowly, fixing yuji with a look that could curdle milk, disgust etched across your face, brows pinched and lip curled as though you'd just been asked to eat a pile of socks.

without missing a beat, yuji assumed a playful but overly dramatic fighting stance, feet squared and fists up like he was in some action movie. he bounced lightly, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness as he sized you up. perhaps it would've been almost intimidating if he hadn't grinned halfway through, flashing his teeth in a way that revealed he was completely unserious, and only had you staring at him with that unmoving disgusted expression.

"i appreciate your efforts yuji, but that... won't be necessary," miss zaid added, stepping aside to let him go inside.

"you have a bunch of weirdos in your class," you told her, scowling at the top of his pink head as he ducked under her arm and waved enthusiastically at megumi, who was slouching in his seat at the back of the classroom. "that's why i'm not in it."

and before she could order you to leave again, you stood on your tiptoes and waved at your grumpy friend, blowing kisses and beaming at him.

"bye megumi elizabeth fushiguro!" you yelled, smiling from ear to ear, and bouncing on your toes excitedly. "i'll miss you megumi elizabeth! bye megumi! i love you megumi! i'll miss you megu—"

"all right, i think he heard you," miss zaid nodded, looking over her shoulder to be met with the sight of the dark-haired boy facing the board with such seriousness, it appeared as though the class had already started and he was listening attentively to the non-existent teacher. his eyes would dart back to meet yours, and each time they did, his gaze would harden and his scowl would deepen.

"did i tell you how much i'll miss you, megumi?" you added loudly.

"y/n, don't make me write you up and give you a detention," said miss zaid, watching as you waved a hand at her and walked off.

"all right, all right, i'm going," you grumbled, turning on your heel and strolling down the hallway.

as you moved farther away, miss zaid's voice echoed faintly behind you, catching you off guard as she questioned whether megumi's middle name was actually elizabeth, her tone somewhere between bemusement and scepticism.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

the boys' locker room was a space with rows of navy-blue metal lockers, their surfaces chipped and dented from years of use. megumi unlocked his and shoved his school pants inside, the overhead fluorescent lights casting a sharp, sterile glow over the room, bright enough to reflect off the scuffed tiled floor where several of his teammates were sitting, tying their shoelaces. other members of his team, including yuta, yuji, and toge, sat on the wooden benches that ran parallel to the lockers, worn and slightly uneven in places, each spot marked by countless cleats and gear bags left by players.

chad had been complaining about the faint smell of old sweat and disinfectant that clung to the air, mingling with the metallic scent of the lockers, and despite megumi not conversing with the rest, he silently agreed.

where the few hooks were attached along the walls (each draped with stray jerseys, hoodies, and extra uniforms) megumi glanced down at his own, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips. he would need to get a new one — he had outgrown the one he'd just got over the summer.

he didn't know whether he should be pleased or annoyed: perhaps both.

"yaga's gonna murder you if you don't have that game plan ready for today, todo," one of the guys — oliver martin, megumi realised — had said.

todo had been quick to retort:

"this was way more important!"

in the back corner where todo stood tall, a whiteboard was propped up with play diagrams still faintly visible from last practice, but the deep lining of blue marker that formed a surprisingly accurate drawing of nobuko takada (a japanese pop idol who todo had mentioned several times that he'd die for) took up the rest of the board.

he kicked a couple of duffel bags that slouched nearby, stuffed with tangled shin guards, socks, and forgotten water bottles, before speaking in that excessively loud voice of his.

"if any of you, except for my brother yuji, can give me your type of woman that's valid," he began, only warranting several groans and protests from every member in the room, "i'll come up with a game plan so you don't have to!"

kamo, who had been minding his own business up until now, slammed his locker door shut and stared up at the demanding team captain, eyes half-lidded.

"you did this last time and then tried to attack chad," he reminded him, and chad, who had been sitting on the bench slouched over, sat up and shook his head, disappointed.

"yeah, dude," he spoke breathily, visibly upset, "and that wasn't cool."

"YOUR TYPE ISN'T COOL —"

"relax," said kamo, which prompted everyone else to follow and agree.

todo's gaze snapped towards kamo, lingering a beat too long, his eyes narrowing in an expression that balanced somewhere between irritation and threat, his jaw clenching as he sized him up, lips pressing into a thin line, as though silently daring him to say more.

"what's your type then?" demanded todo, pointing at an unfazed kamo who simply raised a brow and turned away, seemingly uninterested in participating in this game todo enjoyed so much. "HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU!"

kamo stared at him again, deadpanned. "sorry, didn't notice."

"every single one of us have said our type except for you, man," andre johnson added, momentarily shirtless just to speak before pulling his head through his blue jersey. "just say it."

"i actually wanna know what your type is," said yuji, interested. "i can't imagine you with anyone, kamo."

majority of the guys in the room collectively voiced their agreement. megumi silently agreed too — kamo never showed interest in anything other than his hobbies, like football. the hum of the vent overhead was steady as the low, animated chatter continued, todo waiting for an answer impatiently by the whiteboard.

"loner."

kamo placed one foot on the bench, bending down to tie his laces together. "liked you better when you were mute, toge," he said, though not unkindly.

"he likes a tall girl with a big ass, okay?" logan parker intervened, sighing audibly. "he told me, all right?"

kamo turned to logan, his expression deadpan, unimpressed by the sudden revelation. the lack of humour in his gaze spoke volumes, making it painfully obvious to megumi that kamo had never confided in logan about such a preference.

his straightforward nature, megumi had decided, left no room for such casual gossip, and it was hard to believe that he would ever engage in a conversation about his personal preferences with someone as prone to exaggeration as logan.

"is that true?" todo demanded almost immediately after logan had added his false input.

kamo tied his hair back, looking uncaring and tired. "no."

todo clenched his fists.

"your type can't be that bad," he said, looking around before his eyes landed on megumi, who was now sitting on the bench beside yuta, staring at nothing in particular. "bet it's not like fushiguro's — which is BORING,by the way!"

megumi looked up at the mention of his name and scowled.

everyone had immediately come to his defence, telling todo to 'cut it out' and to 'leave him alone', but it still didn't remove the absent sting he felt on the side of his head when todo had made an attempt to attack him (and had also been very nearly successful in doing so).

during freshman year of high school, when the football team had been formed and established, everyone was made to introduce themselves to each other, which was where the drama had begun. long story short: todo had asked for megumi's type in women, megumi answered unsatisfactorily ('i don't have a preference, so long as she's compassionate and has an unshakeable character') which resulted in a traumatic experience of attempted murder — as yuji had called it.

"todo, get over it!"

"yeah, dude, you literally pressured him for it!"

"it just wasn't cool, dude..."

"man, you a weirdo!"

"HIS TYPE IS BORING!" todo roared, throwing the marker he had in his hand somewhere behind himself. "NO IT'S STARTING TO PISS ME OFF! NO IT'S STARTING TO— I SHOULD —"

he rolled his sleeves up threateningly.

megumi furrowed his brows at him as everyone scrambled to stop the team captain from making a decision that would get him suspended from the school entirely.

"WOAH, WOAH, WOAH —"

"— TODO MAN —"

"— BRO CHILL —"

"— CALM DOWN —"

"stop, you're gonna make megumi sad!" yuji added fiercely, before extending an arm past both toge and yuta to grab his arm. todo had turned away, chest heaving and shoulders shaking as logan and chad patted his back as though trying to silence a wailing baby. "are you okay, megumi?"

the exaggerated, pouting look on yuji's face made megumi want to punch him.

"i'm fine," he grumbled, shrugging yuji's hand off of him, but yuji had remained persistent, forcefully gluing his palm on his front and deepening his look of pity. megumi glared down at his pesky hand.

"it's okay megumi," yuji sorrowfully informed him.

"i said i'm —"

"you don't have to be sad, megumi —"

megumi took his hand and twisted it; yuji yelped and snatched his hand back, frowning as he threw his grumpy friend a pained look.

"little harsh," yuta commented, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

megumi averted his gaze, half annoyed. "he deserved it."

when toge let out a small chuckle, megumi looked up at the scene before him, half-listening to todo's persistent questioning (he seemed to have got over megumi and his type), the chatter weaving through the room in an easy manner, almost as though megumi hadn't just been targeted for no apparent reason at all two seconds ago. his gaze drifted over to kamo, who, as usual, remained largely unfazed, his expression somewhere between calm and indifferent as todo's relentless interrogation continued.

watching them, megumi's mind wandered slightly — his teammates' voices ebbed and flowed, equal parts curiosity and exasperation filling the space. it was only towards the end of the conversation did megumi actually find something he believed he had mild interest in...

"what's it called when someone doesn't like anyone?" saidoliver, holding his helmet against his side, beneath his arm. "like, when a person just doesn't feel anything?"

"depression," megumi answered bluntly.

every head in the room turned to look at his, some were laughing and some looked unsurprised.

oliver furrowed his brows, disappointed. "dude."

"stop projecting, man."

"bro, you good?"

megumi ignored them, mentally cursing himself for participating in the stupid conversation to begin with. he silently reminded himself to never do so again. perhaps he would note it down somewhere when he got home.

"nah, i meant when like — y'know a guy or a girl — like when they've never liked someone. or had a crush," oliver continued, turning to kamo with a shrug. "maybe you're that. whatever the hell it's called."

"not good enough," todo shook his head, arms folded over his chest in another obvious attempt to look intimidating. "if all you PATHETIC excuses for men, EXCEPT MY BROTHER YUJI, won't give me a valid type right NOW —"

"i like someone," said kamo, pinching the bridge of his nose with an obvious scowl.

everyone froze, looking up at him as though the mere idea of kamo showing interest in anyone was foreign. megumi believed they all had a right to act shocked, not that it was any of their business to begin with.

because it wasn't.

and yet, even to him, it was surprising.

a few of the guys exchanged wide-eyed glances, eyebrows raised, and mouths slightly open, the disbelief clear in their expressions. even todo, typically unshakeable in his boldness, seemed momentarily thrown off balance, his stance faltering as he processed the unexpected confession. a hush seemed to settle over the group of boys, broken only by the quiet sound of kamo's gear as he slung it over his shoulder and moved towards the exit, leaving a wave of curiosity and shock in his wake.

"c'mon man, you can't just say something like that and then leave!" andre said, hurriedly collecting his own gear to follow the stoic boy out of the locker room.

"it's mai, isn't it?" said ethan miller, slamming his locker door shut and staring at the back of kamo's head.

yuji looked at megumi and then back up at ethan. "mai zenin?"

"there's only one mai in the entire school," said ethan, nodding. he called out to kamo again. "i saw you and her speaking like a week ago or somethin'."

kamo turned around, his back to the door as he furrowed his brows, seemingly offended by the accusation.

"no it's not —" he began, letting out a sigh of exhaustion before rolling his eyes. "it's not mai."

"give us SOMETHING, then, and i'll take it!" todo demanded, slamming his hand on the whiteboard with takada on it. uncoincidentally, it landed on her behind.

kamo considered the proposal for a moment, his eyes glancing over every face in the room, nearly all of whom seemed relieved at todo's statement, before he sighed again, muttering something under his breath.

"you know her pretty well," he said, glancing at yuji and then megumi. they barely had the time to register his response before he turned away, pulling open the door to leave. "and that's all you're getting out of me," he added calmly. "so don't bother trying for more."

he left without another word.

the entire room shifted their attention to megumi and yuji, eyes darting between the two as if expecting one of them to unravel kamo's cryptic hint. a few of the guys raised their eyebrows, curiosity and intrigue plastered across their faces. logan nudged chad with a knowing grin, while toge and yuta exchanged speculative glances.

megumi could feel their gazes like a weight, pressing him to acknowledge that he, along with yuji, might know the answer everyone was dying to hear.

he turned his head to face his friend: yuji simply blinked, apparently still wrapping his head around kamo's words. but megumi believed yuji had a better shot at guessing who the mystery girl was. yuji was, after all, a million times more social than him.

as the silence lingered, megumi found himself lost in thought, trying to recall any recent interaction that could hint at kamo's mystery interest. he sifted through memories, wondering if there had been any subtle clues he'd missed — any glances, moments, or lingering exchanges that might narrow it down. kamo's calm, almost detached nature made it hard to picture him in the throes of a crush, but megumi couldn't shake the curiosity that now gnawed at him.

he only knew two girls 'pretty well', and that was you and nobara, but he could not imagine either of you hanging off of kamo's arm. in fact, if anything, he imagined kamo hanging off of nobara's arm (which didn't make sense, seeing as that would be out of character of him). similarly, megumi couldn't imagine you willingly being held back by his arm, instead choosing to skip off into the distance which would surely annoy the serious, long-haired male.

but he was well aware of the fact that nobara and kamo had shared several classes together...

he could still feel everyone's gazes burning holes all over his face, and he scowled, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of entertaining the idea too openly.

but it seemed that the team captain did not happen to agree with this sentiment.

"right, new task!" todo called out, clapping his hands to draw everyone's attention away from an unwilling megumi and a confused yuji to himself instead. he had already rubbed out the takada drawing and had begun the game planning. megumi had not realised it until now. "FIND KAMO'S GIRL! and this time next week, we'll gather 'round and narrow it down!"

as everyone nodded and cheered, some making their way out of the room while others lingered and chatted, he called out to both yuji and megumi.

"BROTHER!" he bellowed, pointing at him with the blue marker. "i'm leaving it to you and fushiguro!"

a pause.

"mainly you because i don't trust fushiguro!"

yuji and megumi had already stood up by that point, and megumi's scowl had deepened. it wasn't as though he cared enough to be part of this operation anyway. it was something he'd most likely think about alone, where no one could put in their unintelligent claims and disrupt his wise way of thinking. what did todo know about that anyway?

he looks like a pineapple, megumi thought to himself as he watched him demand both himelf and yuji to deal with the stupid task. and he's about as smart as one too.

"UNDERSTAND?"

"yeah!"

"sure," megumi answered, but he hadn't been paying attention at all.

todo had left the changing room, followed by majority of the team. yuji was the only one left in the room with him.

"i think it's nobara," he said, placing his helmet on his head. "she's extra mean to him 'cause he acts like he knows everything. she hates guys like that."

"that... contradicts your point," said megumi, furrowing his brows.

"no, don't you know that girls act really mean to the guys they like?" yuji chuckled, shaking his head at him as if megumi had very little knowledge. it made the dark-haired boy want to attack his friend. "hey... maybe that's why all the girls on the cheer team are so mean to me! yeah!"

megumi did not remind him of the time yuji had accidentally flashed the cheer team, and that from then on, every member, including the substitutes, would be extra harsh towards him.

"yeah," he said, putting his own helmet on and following yuji out of the room. "that's the reason."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

exiting the theatre classroom, you caught sight of megumi waiting on one of the benches outside, still dressed in his football uniform, his untamed hair still findings ways to stand up on its own despite the fact that it must have been forced down during practice. you almost laughed out loud at the broad shoulder pads and the snug navy-blue jersey that made him look slightly out of place in the hallway, but it was the way his helmet balanced awkwardly on his lap as he stared down at it, clearly impatient, that had you grinning.

you couldn't help but laugh, your voice echoing lightly off the walls as you made your way towards him, amused by how tense he looked even off the field. he looked up at the sound, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance as he rose to meet you, a faint crease forming between his brows.

"you look angry," you commented teasingly.

"shut up," he muttered, scowling as he lifted the helmet and carefully placed it over your head. it wobbled slightly, oversized and unsteady, making you nearly lose your balance when he gave it a firm pat on top — a solid thump, just hard enough to send a warning, though not enough to hurt.

"it's so uncomfortable," you said, as the two of you made your way to the school gates to leave. "how the hell do you football players wear this for hours on end?"

"with breaks," he answered, and you had to physically move your head upwards to actually be able to see his face, for the lines going over and under the front gap limited the scope of your vision. "you get used to it."

you hummed in response, looking over your shoulder and around the area with curiosity.

"where's yuji?" you asked casually.

"ran for his bus," said megumi, as the two of you had gone past the gates and onto the main road leading to your neighbourhood. "said he didn't wanna take the late one 'cause then he'd have to sit for most of it with todo."

"should've made him late so he'd have to take the late one," you tutted, nearly walking into a lamppost — it was megumi's quick actions that had saved you, tugging you away by your elbow.

"the hell's wrong with you?" he demanded harshly. "your vision isn't completely gone with that on. you're not blind."

"it takes a while to get used to!" you protested, rubbing the top of his helmet as though it were your own scalp. "you said so yourself!"

megumi's expression hardened, his brow furrowing as he shot you a look that seemed to question every life choice that led you to nearly walking into a lamppost. he didn't need to say a word; the look alone was enough to convey his frustration, his mouth set in a thin line as he continued to stare at you with a sort of weary patience that he seemed to reserve just for moments like this.

"stop acting drunk," he ordered, walking a step behind you now. it was as if he assumed that watching over you would prevent your free will from prevailing over his demands.

at some point during the walk home, the conversation had shifted from the limited vision with the helmet, to gossip you had heard during stage practice, to toji and the unethical ways he kept a steady income, to what his teammates were saying in the locker room earlier, something you found yourself quite fascinated with.

"i'd hate to be you, not gonna lie... but what would you have done if todo did attack you?" you asked him, drumming your fingers on the helmet which you still hadn't taken off despite how uncomfortable it felt wearing it. you turned your head (fully) to look at your own reflection in a car mirror by the crosswalk.

you thought you looked ridiculous.

you didn't care.

megumi placed a hand on the centre of his helmet and forced your head to face the front again.

"this is how you end up walking into lampposts," he lectured with a scowl, before placing his hand in the pocket of his shorts and answering your question. "i would've defended myself."

"against todo?" you gaped, stupefied. "no offence, but he'd crush you. he's — like — your dad of our generation."

"don't ever say that again," megumi had been quick to counter, and though you couldn't see it, you knew he was glaring down at you. despite the thick material of the helmet you were wearing, you felt the heat of his gaze, like lasers burning holes where they landed.

he did not like that comparison at all.

you apologised. "sorry. you're the only copy of your dad there is —"

"watch it."

"am i just not allowed to say anything then?" you snapped, your arms flailing about dramatically.

"it's a preference," megumi began, the tone of his voice sly in a way you were very much familiar with and did not like at all, "but i know you won't do it."

you raised a pointer finger defensively. "megumi, if i could see you right now —"

"— it's not that hard —"

"— and if i was as tall as you," you continued as though he hadn't interrupted, "i would head-butt you so bad, you'd wish todo was the one dealing with you."

as the two of you stepped up to the crosswalk, megumi reached out and firmly took hold of your hand, steering you with a purposeful grip so you'd follow his lead across the road. his hold was steady, guiding, yet the pointed glare he cast downwards made it clear he wasn't thrilled with the direction the conversation had taken. even as he glanced from you to the road ahead, his gaze lingered, sharp with irritation, and each time he looked back, it was as if he had been silently reminding you of the absurdity of comparing him to todo — or worse, his dad.

his hand stayed firmly around yours until you were safely on the other side of the street. he let go, only to hit you on the helmet again.

"ow!"

"shut up, that didn't hurt."

you ignored him.

"what happened next?" you queried as you tugged on his jersey and pointed at buttercup brew where miss B was waving at the two of you from behind the glass, entry doors.

you waved back, making sure megumi had too — he was much less enthusiastic, but it was still enough to please miss B, who went back to working, leaving the two of you to continue the short walk home.

megumi answered idly. "kamo said he likes someone."

your eyes widened, and if it hadn't been for his outstretched arm once again, you would have tripped over your own foot.

"WHAT?"

"for fu— be careful —"

"noritoshi kamo?" you gasped, walking alongside megumi in visible and audible shock.

the best way to describe noritoshi kamo, you decided, was a guy who had no care in the world for anything: he lost a shoe? he'd buy a new one. you lost his homework sheet you'd been copying from? he'd quickly make a new one. he lost a football game? the next one would be better.

noritoshi kamo was no optimist, but he was definitely not someone capable of romantic feelings for anyone.

or so you had thought...

"everyone just started guessing who," megumi added, frowning.

"and did they guess right?" you pressed, intrigued. "who is it?"

your dark-haired friend shrugged, which resulted in your shoulders deflating, immediately disappointed before he'd even said anything.

"that's the thing," megumi said, unbothered. "he didn't say anything about it."

"well that was anti-climactic," you mumbled, turning a corner and seeing both your houses in the distance.

the walk was nearly over, so you lifted the helmet off your head, shook your hair away from your face, and held it beneath your arm. you appreciated just how large your field of vision was now. the helmet had been pesky, hot, and annoying.

"and i'm out of gossip," you sighed, allowing the summer breeze to flow past your face, the air feeling nice against your skin. "wish nobara was here. she always has something to talk about."

"he said something in the end though. when todo forced him."

you were surprised your head hadn't popped right off your neck with how fast you'd turned it to look up and lock eyes with him. megumi needed to work on how he told and relayed stories — this was by far the worst one he'd ever done.

"well?" you prompted, stressed that the walk was shortening the closer you got to your houses.

"yuji and i know her pretty well," said megumi at last, brows furrowed as you handed him his helmet. when you raised a brow at him, visibly confused, he scowled. "his words, not mine."

the thought lingered, growing heavier as you replayed kamo's words in your mind: someone yuji and megumi know pretty well...

your brows knitted together as you tried to piece it together, replaying moments you'd seen kamo interact with people you that were close with both yuji and megumi. the issue here was that megumi's anti-social nature narrowed it down to two people:

you or nobara.

you knew with certainty it couldn't be you. you had had a fair few conversations with the male, but nothing that you could pick apart and decide that he had any interest in you. it was mostly just random, fun situations, like the time you had accidentally triggered malakai and requested kamo to support your statement that it hadn't been you, only to blame it on him (kamo) in the end.

that should make him dislike you, if anything. at the time, however, he didn't seem to care.

could nobara be the girl he liked?

that was something you'd have to ask her, though you highly doubted it. you knew her quite well, and no guy had caught her interest. at least, not at jujutsu high, where she mainly criticised the male gender and grew new icks every day that went by.

for the fun of it, you still asked megumi whether it could be possible that someone could have a crush on you.

his reaction, however, had you visibly startled.

he averted his gaze, his shoulders stiffening as though unsure of how to respond. you waited, but his silence lingered, and his eyes seemed to dart briefly to the ground, almost as if he'd been caught off guard by your question.

your brows raised as you bit back a smile. it was rare to see him hesitate like this — normally, he'd offer some blunt response or scowl and move on, but now, an uncharacteristic awkwardness settled over him, and it looked almost as if he was bracing himself, unable to fully meet your gaze.

"no," he finally settled on saying, walking you to your door as he always would when going home together.

"you hesitated," you informed him knowingly.

"i was thinking of how long it'd take for you to scare them off," megumi shot back, ringing the doorbell for you.

you watched him walk off the porch, hearing footsteps echo from behind the front door as you hummed, nodding.

"nice save," you told him, relishing in his scowl, the last thing you saw on his face before your mom had opened the door and allowed you in, closing it behind you after telling megumi to come inside — he had refused like the delinquent porcupine he was.

and as megumi made his way over to his own porch, he realised that for the first time ever, he couldn't help the feeling of relief after ending a conversation with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

bonus scene:

the helicopter incident of 2016...

"what the fuck?"

megumi staggered away from the three of you —yourself, yuji, and nobara — craning his neck in a desperate attempt to peer over his shoulder at his own backside. bewildered, he muttered to himself, trying to comprehend why his so-called friends had just collectively ambushed him, each having touched his bottom once before guffawing loudly. what had you all done to him?

he made his way to the back door (but not before throwing the three of you a menacing glare) using the reflection of the glass as a mirror.

he was left horrified at the sight of three different handprints made out of neon paint colours (bright yellow, vibrant pink, and an intense lime) on the most compromising part of his pants:

his ass.

"shit — look at his face," you gasped, chest heaving at his expression. "take a picture with — catch it! — my phone."

you tossed your phone to nobara, who, unlike you and yuji, had the least amount of paint coating her delicate hands. meanwhile megumi's had shot to cover his behind as he whipped around, fixing the three of you with a glare so fierce, it might have turned a lesser person to stone.

flash! flash! flash!

nobara had captured his expressions, postures, and stances before he had a chance to compose himself into something less revealing.

as you took your phone out of nobara's hands, your attention had been drawn to a growing commotion behind you, distant shouts and laughter cutting through the playful chaos around megumi. you tossed a quick, amused glance back at nobara and yuji, both of whom were doubled over in laughter, still entirely focused on your collective attack on megumi, before aiming the lens on your phone not at your porcupine's flustered face, but at the source of the noise in the distance, recording just in time to capture a particularly raucous burst of laughter that had echoed around the backyard.

toji, towering and muscular, stood with his arms flat against his sides, looking both impatient and exasperated as satoru (in front of him) and suguru (behind him) launched paint-filled balloons at him. each balloon splattered bright colours across his chest, only to be rebuffed by his broad, muscular torso in what seemed like a defiant bounce.

splashes of paint exploded across his 'man-tits,' as satoru had so eloquently called them, left bright patches on his shirt as he glared at the two childish men surrounding him, chest heaving and fists clenched.

"shit!"satoru took several steps back, looking down at his own chest where the balloon he'd thrown at toji had bounced back at himself instead, splattering his white shirt with bright blue. he looked up at suguru, eyes wide behind his glasses. "that one came from his right titty —"

suguru laughed, throwing a paint balloon up in the air, catching it, and then launching it at the oddly-silent toji.

only for it to bounce back, just as expected. he had stepped aside just in time. "and that one came from his left breast —"

the veins running up toji's hands and arms grew more prominent as the two continued.

"HA!" satoru pointed at his chest. "toji? more like titty —"

suguru shook his head with a sigh. "satoru, don't be childish," he said, and his best friend actually paused, brows raised in surprise. that was before suguru had clarified: "he's big titty toji —"

SPLAT!

when satoru swung his arm around in a dramatic manner while laughing, he had accidentally released another paint ballon straight at the ticking time bomb that was toji fushiguro.

he only laughed harder at that.

"look guys!" he called out to the rest of you. you zoomed in on the scene — satoru's arms were outstretched, presenting toji as if he was some special, endangered animal, rare and one-of-a-kind. "it's toji titty-guro—"

without warning, toji's arms shot out, his hands seizing both satoru and suguru by the collars of their shirts with effortless strength. you couldn't see his face, so you were unsure of whether he had been grinning, or neutral, or angry, etc, but you watched in both horror and amusement as he began to spin, dragging them with him in a rapid, dizzying circle.

every other commotion around the backyard had stopped, everyone turning to look at the odd scene, equal parts confused and terrified.

toji's feet dug into the ground, kicking up small clouds of dust, while satoru and suguru both flailed helplessly at his sides, their limbs whipping outwards as if they were rag dolls caught in a whirlwind.

a whirlwind...

"it's a tornado!" you yelled, looking around and trying hard to keep your phone steady, but the scene was so funny, your hands were shaking with the effort.

toji's powerful grip and force turned their attempts to wriggle free into nothing more than frantic gestures, their faces a mix of shock and a hint of terror as they were spun around faster and faster...

you zoomed out to capture mamaguro at the back, watching the scene with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

"are you gonna stop your... husband...?" you heard your mom question, sounding completely weirded out. and honestly — who could blame her?

what the hell was happening in the fushiguros' backyard?

"i... would," mamaguro muttered, carefully watching the scene continue to unfold before her, getting worse as time went on, "but... how?"

there was no opening for her to enter, you noticed. if she tried, she'd get caught up in the spinning andget severely injured too...

you couldn't believe what was happening before your eyes. you didn't know what was happening before your eyes. you didn't think you'd ever know what was happening before your eyes.

from your peripheral vision, you could see a stick of yellow just lingering awkwardly, and when you turned your head to glance at it, you nearly face palmed when you realised it was your father in his banana body-suit outfit. the only thing visible about him was the gap where his face rested. everything else, from his head, to his figure, to his shoulders, to his thighs, and to the majority of his legs, were all concealed by the thick material.

"that looks fun!" he commented brightly, a dopy smile over his face. he made an attempt to waddle over to the unnatural disaster. "i'm gonna join —"

"no, no," your mom was quick to hold him back by his banana-shaped body. she ushered him to the side, shaking her head violently. "no, honey, no. just... you're not going over there."

surprisingly, despite several minutes having gone by, the disaster was still going. in fact, everyone had believed it to be finished when toji had stopped (revealing the other dishevelled men stumbling over their own footsteps) only for the man to spin himself around only and charge at the duo again.

violently.

"round two!" you called out, startled. "round two or — or — er — round one point five since it never... it never finished, technically — oh my god —"

you focused your camera around the backyard, spotting mai climbing over the fence. her eyes met your phone, and she disappeared behind the wall without a second thought.

wise, you thought to yourself, wondering if mimiko and nanako had done the same, for despite several pans of the large area, your camera could not seem to find them.

a bellow erupted across the scene, stopping everything and everyone cold in their tracks. you turned, a jolt running down your spine at the sight of ogi and the sound of his voice thundering through the air — you fumbled to stop your recording in a panic, heart pounding.

a wave of silence blanketed the chaos.

toji froze mid-spin, his arms still outstretched, while satoru and suguru, dishevelled and breathless, stared up from the ground, shock and trauma wiping away their usual confidence. megumi, still clutching his rear, went pale, his expression stiffening as he shrank further into his hiding place. your dad, in his ridiculous banana costume, managed a sheepish, guilty smile, while mamaguro blinked, bewildered, glancing between her husband and the mess of people sprawled about. tsumiki giggled softly in the corner, the only one unfazed, her amusement uncontained. in the abrupt stillness, ogi's glare was sharp enough to cut through steel, as if daring anyone to make the next move.

"WHAT," he demanded, voice booming, "IS GOING ON HERE?"

there was only silence that followed his question as he slowly entered the backyard, paint and balloons all over the grass and fences, a mess.

"AN EVENT ORGANISED TO ENCOURAGE NORMALCY, AND THIS FAMILY CAN'T EVEN DO THAT!"

his eyes, cold and sharp, darted to megumi, whose back was flat against the fence.

"THE VERY PROGENY OF THE ZENIN CLAN — WITH RAINBOW HANDPRINTS ON HIS GODDAMN ASS!"

megumi's cheeks burned as he scowled. it didn't help that yuji and nobara were still holding back their laughter too.

"AND YOU!" ogi turned to a normal (now?) toji, looking him up and down with such disgust, you'd think he were staring at a homicide scene. it might have actually been one, to be fair. "I CANT EVEN SAY THAT YOU'RE PART OF MY BLOODLINE! WHAT WAS THIS, A RE-ENACTMENT OF KAMIKAZE?"

toji scoffed, throwing satoru a glare. "he was the pilot —"

satoru stood up almost immediately. "you were the helicopter —"

"SIT DOWN."

despite his obvious reluctance, satoru silently complied.

ogi took this as a sign to continue, glowering menacingly at the white-haired, dark-haired duo. now, literal partners in crime.

"WE GOT SPONGEBOB AND PATRICK OVER HERE, DOING GOD-KNOWS-WHAT. WHY IS YOUR HAIR A MESS AND WHY ARE YOUR GLASSES BROKEN?"

satoru reached up to take his glasses off, hanging in an odd, desperate position over the bridge of his nose, a pout on his face at the sight of the irreparable damage.

he glared at toji from over his shoulder. "HEY —"

"OI LEAVE HIM ALONE!" ogi was quick to add, irate. "IF YOU HADN'T BOTHERED HIM, MAYBE HE WOULDN'T HAVE MADE AN ATTEMPT TO ELIMINATE THE TWO OF YOU FROM EXISTENCE!"

he rubbed his hands over his wrinkled face, before starting at the two men again.

"NO, I'LL TELL YOU WHY THE BOTH OF YOU LOOK LIKE THIS, IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE BEHAVING LIKE MONKEYS — I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT GETO!" he added harshly, for suguru had an oddly deep hatred for the animal and whichever family it comes from, and had seemed particularly offended with ogi's comment. "I MEAN LOOK AT THE STATE OF YOU! YOU LOOK LIKE MAI'S FIRST GRADE ART PROJECT THAT I THREW IN THE TRASH —"

maki, who had been lingering at the back with your mom stepped forward despite your mom's silent actions not to.

"you threw that away?" she questioned, eyes narrowed behind her round, clear glasses. "she spent years attacking me for it —"

ogi's hardened expression had faltered slightly, a look of pain crossing his features. you were certain it was more about getting caught than the actual issue at hand.

"yeah, yeah, it was you that threw it," he mindlessly replied, before his jaw had clenched harder than before. "SPEAKING OF, WHERE THE HELL IS YOUR SISTER?"

maki sniffed, irritated. "i don't —"

"this has that luke kid written all over it," ogi interrupted, uncaring of maki. "GREAT! SO I'VE GOT A RUNAWAY BRIDE, AND TWEEDLE DEE AND TWEEDLE DUM ARE MISSING. PROBABLY AT THE ZOO ACTING LIKE THEIR FATHER — SHUT IT GETO."

he swivelled on the spot, his long hair whipping behind himself as his eyes zeroed in on your father, still in that banana costume of his.

"AND YOU — GET RID OF THAT RIDICULOUS COSTUME! THEY MIGHT WANNA EAT YOU NEXT — TRYNA JOIN THE HELICOPTER WITH HIS IDIOCY!"

your father frowned, but still made an attempt at trying to unzip himself. his arms, however, were much too short to go around the costume and reach the zipper.

"well it's kinda..." he murmured, bending his knees for a better angle, "stuck... i need some... help... here... honey?"

your mom turned away, drinking her lemonade with raised brows. "who's honey?"

uncle ogi had had enough. "G-GET BACK HERE AND TAKE HIS STUPID COSTUME OFF OF HIM!"

your mom turned back around, but her eyes were darting over the place as though ogi was speaking to anyone but her.

"IT'S YOUR CARELESS BEHAVIOUR THAT'S MADE HIM BELIEVE IT'S OKAY TO WEAR STUFF LIKE THAT. I'M GETTING A HEATSTROKE JUST LOOKING AT HIM!"

she glanced at her husband, watching him fall backwards due to his failed attempt at bending his knees to reach his own zipper.

she muttered under her breath: "you'd think that men would have a mind of their own..."

"YOU'RE NOT OFF THE HOOK EITHER TSUMIKI, I EXPECTED MORE FROM YOU. LAUGHING — ENCOURAGING THIS BEHAVIOUR?" he started, typically unusual, for tsumiki was never the one in trouble. today was full of surprises. he raised an accusatory pointer finger at her. "YOU WANNA BE A MOTHER SOMEDAY? YOU BETTER HOPE THEY DON'T TURN OUT LIKE THESE IDIOTS."

his eyes darted over you all in one massive circle, his mouth in a straight line.

"THIS FAMILY'S A DISGRACE TO THE ZENIN NAME —"

"not even a zenin," satoru grumbled to himself.

"yeah, neither am i," suguru agreed, blowing his bangs away from his face.

"i'm literally a l/n," you mumbled to yourself.

toji dusted himself off. "my son's not a zenin."

"THE POINT IS... YOU'VE SUMMONED THE WHOLE OF BIKINI BOTTOM TO RECORD US!" uncle ogi roared, pointing at the neighbours peeking over the fences with their phones at hand. you couldn't bring it in yourself to blame them. if you had seen the same scene happen elsewhere, you would have recorded it too.

you had recorded it, not that uncle ogi needed to know that...

"WHY ARE WE LETTING PEASANTS MAKE A LAUGHING STOCK OUT OF US?" he demanded loudly. he aggressively turned to mr smith, a white, bald man from just down the block. "OI YOU, GET RID OF THAT CAMERA BEFORE I GIVE YOU A REASON TO TAKE ME TO COURT!"

he turned to mamaguro, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"i nearly forgot about you..." he began, before taking everyone by surprise by the sheer volume of his voice, as though he hadn't been speaking that way for the past five minutes. "YOU WERE THE BRAINS BEHIND THIS ALL. WHAT MADE YOU THINK THAT THIS FAMILY COULD DO ANY EVENT WITHIN THE REALM OF HOW NORMAL OR MESSY IT SHOULD BE? THAT THEY WOULDN'T PUT THEIR STUPID TOES OUT OF LINE? THAT THEY'D BE SENSIBLE —"

"now hang on a minute," said mamaguro, her kind voice shaky, "this is not my fault! my colleague recommended a —"

"WHAT DOES YOUR COLLEAGUE KNOW ABOUT THIS FAMILY?" ogi snapped harshly. "NO BETTER THAN YOU, CLEARLY!"

he let out a deep exhale, but the tension in his temple and shoulders remained as he slowly turned around to face you. you were stunned in place, unmoving, unsmiling, unsure of what to do with yourself, in fact.

you only carefully made sure the camera was out of his sight, hidden in your back pocket where he'd have no clue that you had been recording earlier.

"AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE-TIME, THIS ONE WASN'T INVOLVED IN ANY OF IT!"

you nodded proudly, mimicking his words silently behind him, pointing at satoru, pointing at suguru, even pointing at your mom.

"DIDNT EVEN START IT!" he continued loudly.

for this one, you specifically made sure to mouth the words to megumi, who you could tell, just from his cruel facial expressions, wanted nothing more than to out you right then and there, but for the first time ever, it was your word against his, and with the way things were going, you were bound to win, no difficulty.

"THIS WILL GO DOWN IN THE HISTORY BOOKS, I TELL YOU! how SHE became the role-model for you dimwits."

"role model," you mouthed, pointing at everyone. "for you, for you, and especially," you made sure to swivel your finger in a circle this time, "you."

toji gritted his teeth at you, but said nothing. you grinned confidently.

uncle ogi turned away again, eyes closed shut as he sighed audibly, a vein on his forehead threatening to burst. it only popped up again when he found yuji and nobara staring back at him.

"AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TWO?"

"damn... you'd think he'd know our names by now," yuji commented, rubbing his neck with shame.

"right," nodded nobara, shaking her head. "so rude."

"friends of yours?" uncle ogi turned to you, speaking in that gruff tone he usually had. but it was significantly different to the way he had been speaking to the rest of the family today. you mentally giggled to yourself as you nodded. "fine."

he glared down at satoru and suguru, eyes twitching at the mess of pain all over their white shirts, brows furrowing at the mess maid of their hairs, and lips pursing at the broken glasses satoru was still clinging onto.

"you two..." he began, voice rough and firm. "go to shoko, just go."

satoru sat up defiantly. "i don't need —"

"NOW."

satoru and suguru did their walk of shame out of the backyard.

everyone had done theirs at some point.

everyone, you noted with a pleasant smile, except for you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

notes: the scariest event for halloween imo, is the helicopter incident. the zenin-fushiguro-gojo-l/n-geto family would agree. wbu guys???

previous chapter :)

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i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

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voidspiraling · 5 months ago

Text

Time to talk abt everyone’s fav toxic yaoi LukaTill!!! Wait whattttt??

Hello friends have you ever noticed the weird similarities the number one rookie and the ruler of the stage have? Cuz they’ve been rattling around in my pea sized brain for a while now. (They were also my first Alnst ship but that’s not relevant rn) I think their “relationship” with one another is interesting based on the crumbs we have so far. I wanted to look a little deeper at how they relate to each other. Bc out of everyone in the cast Luka and Till are the most mysterious. This isn’t really an analysis just me rambling abt these two.

Anywho let’s start from the beginning and to do that we have to rewatch the sweet dream MV!

This is the first “interaction” between LukaTill and what sparked my love for the ship in the first place (Sorry Ivan! I love u too tho!)

In this scene a young Till is confined in a room and is forced to watch videos of a young Luka. However the way these shots are framed it looks like Luka is watching Till. I say this bc when you watch the full video it ends with Luka burying his face into his knees to escape from the bright lights of the camera flash (it could be triggering a migraine since I think I read somewhere he gets chronic migraines) But when you switch scenes it ends on Luka looking at Till but Till’s eyes are covered.

Thematically I think this is meant to show how Luka is like a final boss that looms over Till looking down on him. Even though they’ve never met Luka has had some influence over Till’s upbringing. In fact Urak calls Till “the ultimate weapon” probably bc Till is meant to be Luka’s foil. Where Luka is fragile and elegant Till is resilient and rough. In fact Luka’s popularity actually increased the rate of pet human ownership. I took this shot to mean that what Luka represents and symbolizes had played a part in shaping Till. Remember Urak was trying to make Till obedient through violence, likely what Heperu did to Luka. We don’t know exactly how bad Luka was treated by his guardian but we can assume from the crumbs that we have that it was bad bad. Like Till levels of bad. I’m pretty sure Heperu stopped Luka’s heart when he rebelled and is overtly like “Luka is only perfect because I made him that way.” It’s such an awful thing to say and somehow as malicious as Urak saying “His talent is what kept him alive.”

So while we know that Till is aware of Luka, we aren’t given any insight on how he actually feels about Luka. But we can assume due to the pressure put on by his guardian he probably doesn’t like Luka and maybe even fears him.

We also know that Luka has had his eye on Till as well. This is the ending scene in R3 after Ivan sang abt his yearning for Till. Here Luka has completed a Rubik’s cube and is staring at the teal and red sides, these are Till’s colors. Teal for his eyes and red from his brand, Till is mostly seen wearing some type of red. I think that even from the beginning rounds Luka knew that he would face off against Till in the final round. I say this bc out of all the contestants in Alnst stage Till is the most musically gifted. (I’m talking abt in canon the actual singers are amazing) We see Till start to sing and write music sheets when he was a literal baby. He sang more than he spoke. And in most shots of Till in the garden he’s playing an instrument or writing in music sheet paper while the other kids played with each other.

Ivan mentions it in his R3 interview but Till is literally an artistic genius. I think his profile said he struggles in everything else, but in stuff like art and music he excels way beyond his peers. That’s why even though his vocals are rated criminally low (like c’mon akugetsu vocals are heavenly what are you aliens on) he has the fastest selling album and consistently tops the charts when he releases a song.

There was also a chart showing the market value of each contestant over a period of time as well as the strengths and weaknesses of each contestant. At the end of the graph Mizi and Sua we’re both around 60/100. Hyuna and Ivan were at 80/100. And Luka and Till were at 100/100 (Important to mention that Lukas graph was a straight line at 100 meanwhile Till’s graph went up and down like crazy before settling at 100). Basically Luka and Till were like the best of the best. The only flaw on their profile was that Luka was fragile due to his health and that Till was aggressive. Musically they were perfect. And Luka likely knew this. I interpreted this as even though Till hasn’t met Luka yet he is still being watched by him. Like a hunter vs prey situation. It also sets up the power dynamic between LukaTill early on.

Now let’s talk abt the artwork of Luka and Till.

Another similarity they have is in this art from the school AU. All the characters have a cute drawing like this with hearts in their pupils looking at the other half of their pair. IvanTill are looking at each other and Hyuluka are looking at each other. But the thing that jumped out to me was that Luka and Till are the only two without hearts in their eyes. If it was just one character I would just think it was a mistake, but the fact that it’s these two makes me think it’s intentional.

Also in this series IvanTill and Hyuluka are heavily focused on, it’s through these relationships that we the humanity of the characters. Yet in the artbook Luka rates his affection with Hyuna at 70% and Till rates his affection with Ivan at 70%. As we the series progresses we see how important Hyuna is to Luka and Ivan to Till. So why the lack of hearts and the 70% rating? Do Luka and Till love in the same way? Are they incapable of romantically loving someone? Do they distance themselves from their loved ones for fear of vulnerability? And why don’t we have their pov of the pivotal moments in their relationship? Like Till’s pov of the meteor shower scene and Luka’s pov abt hyunwoo’s death. There’s so much mystery surrounding them and how the love their most important person.

Let’s also talk abt this merch from Alnst stage. Sorry for the poor quality but I’ll try my best to explain my delusions. So something I wanted to point out is that here LukaTill are the only two seen with flowers and with gore. Luka is standing on a stage made from the corpse of the alien that looks like the moon and has purple roses. Meanwhile Till he is standing in the blood of Freddie the alien in his guitar that he killed, and it looks like green grass. Till has a red clematis flower crown. I thought it was interesting how here LukaTill have this contrasting them in their merch. Life vs death, Till is surrounded by blood while Luka is surround by bone. I think this is meant to show how they both cope with their situation. They both live in a dystopian society and to cope they have to revel in the bloodshed of it all. For Till it’s violently rebelling against the aliens, seen by the freshly spilled blood of an alien, and for Luka it’s about having a reputation of being more powerful than his opponent, so overpowering that they have no chance of surviving if they’re up against him, evident by the long decayed corpse of an alien.

However the flowers represent their softer side. I think at their natures they are actually very gentle people. For Till it’s more obvious that he’s a sweetheart you just need to read his birthday comic to know how cute and lovable he is. For Luka you have to reach a bit bc we rarely see any sides of him besides his ruler of the stage persona. But I think in his interview when they ask what his favorite part of Anakt garden was he said it was playing hide and seek with the other kids. I thought that was uncharacteristically sweet to say. I was expecting him to say the classes were good or the music theory was really interesting. But no. His favorite part of being in the garden was getting to play with the other kids. (I hate that Till died but my heart also feels bad for Luka ;-;)

Another thing I wanted to mention is that Till has a flower crown in his art while Luka has a rose with thorns in his merch art. I honestly thought they would be reversed since Luka is “crowned” ruler of the stage and Till is pretty spiky, pretty sure there was merch where he’s just a spike ball lol. They almost seem to be referencing each in some weird way. This is most likely a coincidence tho since the flower crown is suppose to represent Till’s attachment to the innocent fantasy of the past and I’m like 99% sure Luka is a reference to the little prince. (A book abt a blond haired kid and a rose you should read it you def won’t get depression from it) Still I thought it would be interesting to point out.

LukaTill also share a lot more similarities than even I realized when i was looking back at all the content we have so far. For example, they’re the only two characters we’ve seen play an instrument. Guitar and violin. In their early rounds they both overwhelmed their opponent and won by a landslide. The only reason they’re alive is because of their musical talent. They both got messed up hands Luka and his purple fingertips compared to Till with his bandaged ones. Their alien owners are literal trash who have no regard for their life in anyway (i feel like the other guardians weren’t as bad bc to my knowledge Ivan, Sua and Mizi didn’t have their life put in immediate danger. Meanwhile Luka’s owner stopped Luka’s heart as a punishment. And Till’s guardian just assaults him without any regard for his safety or blood loss.) There’s so many little details these two share despite the fact that they’re just suppose to be two characters that clash with each other. Like imagine if LukaTill was the ship that had more focus in the series. This stuff would’ve driven me nuts!

The point I’m trying to make is that while LukaTill are like polar opposites they are also really really similar. I wonder if Luka is what Till would’ve turned into if he lived long enough. And I wonder if Till is similar to a younger Luka.

Super excited for the next video Vivimeng puts out! I’m going back to grieving for Till cya.

#alien stage #alnst till #alnst #alnst luka #lukatill

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wokealqaeda · 13 days ago

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Ryan Grantham (born November 30, 1998) is a Canadian former actor who portrayed Rodney James in Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2010 film) as well as Jeffery Augustine in Riverdale.

He was born in 1998 to Barbara Waite and his father in Squamish, British Columbia, Canada. He practiced acting as a kid and enrolled in schools that specializes acting. Ryan began working in the entertainment industry at the age of 9 in 2007.

His first debut was in The Secret of the Nutcracker in 2007, playing the role of Billy. Since then he has been in numerous TV shows and movies including Supernatural and Becoming Redwood with his last role in 2019 as Jeffery Augustine in Riverdale.

One day, Ryan would take the family rifle and he would shoot his mother Barbara Waite (October 24, 1995 - March 30, 2020) in the back of the head as she played piano.

Prosecutors revealed in June that after Grantham shot Waite in the back of the head as she payed piano on March 31, 2020, he recorded video on a GoPro in which he confessed to the killing and showed off his mother's lifeless body.

''I shot her in the back of the head,'' he reportedly said on the tape. ''In the moments after, she would have known it was me.''

The actor then bought beer and weed, experimented with making Molotov cocktails and watched Netflix before covering his mother's body with a sheet and going to bed.

The next morning, Grantham told authorities, he hung a rosary on Waite's piano and arranged lit candles around her body, before loading his car with three guns, ammunition, a dozen Molotov cocktails, camping gear and directions to Trudeau's Rideau Cottage in Ottawa.

He had planned to travel more than 50 hours to kill Justin Trudeau (Prime Minister of Canada), before changing his mind and considering committing 'an act of mass violence,' at Simon Fraser University, which he had dropped out from.

He turned himself to Vancouver police before harming anybody else and pleaded guilty in March to second-degree murder.

His sentencing began on June 13, 2022. His lawyer argued that Ryan did it due to his mental illness including an intense period of clinical depression but prosecutors stated Ryan committed a "heartbreaking breach of trust," saying his mother was an excellent parent and he had no reason to fear her.

Prosecutors said in the aftermath that Grantham fatally shot his mom ''to save her'' from seeing his assassination plot against the Canadian prime minister unfold.

They presented two psychiatric evaluations that concluded Grantham committed the crime to spare her mother from witnessing further acts of violence he planned on committing.

The evaluations concluded that Grantham exhibited cannabis use disorder, depression, self-hatred, and suicidal and homicidal tendencies months before the killing.

Prosecutors pointed to one March journal entry in which Grantham wrote: 'I'm so sorry mom, I'm so sorry Lisa... I hate myself.

''There's a lot of media of me out there … film and TV … hundreds of hours of me that can be viewed and dissected... No one will understand.''

''Mr. Grantham was seeking to save his mother from something he was going to do,'' prosecutor Michaela Donnelly said during the sentencing hearing in June.

She described the murder as a ''heartbreaking breach of trust.''

''Barbara Waite loved her son very much, was an excellent parent and in her mind had no reason to fear him,'' she said.

Donnelly added that Grantham had many opportunities to change his mind.

He apparently loaded and unloaded his gun multiple times on the day of the murder, and sat on his townhouse steps for close to 15 minutes considering what to do before ultimately turning back and shooting his mother.

On September 23, 2022, Ryan pleaded guilty to charges of second degree murder and was sentenced to life in prison. He will not be eligible for parole until 2036.

#tccblr #tcc tumblr #ryan grantham

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lo1k-diamonds · 9 months ago

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Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 7 (end)

"I said I like it fucking quiet.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi thought it would be bliss from now on, but not yet. Not until you both own the city.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: angst, plotting, kidnapping, blood, violence, knifes, guns, physical violence, death. (Am I forgetting something?)

A.N. Ahh, no way I could just let them be happy, okay? Not without suffering first, it's my style 🤣 Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for helping me around the clock and being incredible betas! Check out their fics too! Now get ready 😎

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter

Yoongi didn't know life could be like this. Once, he had been sold on that dream; it was the reason why he got married, bought a house, and started on the force. He wanted a loving home and family, and everyone told him to follow those steps to get there.

You were everything he had ever dreamed, immersing him in a bliss he never thought possible. That day, at the charity event, you took charge of things. You left with him, took him home, and spent the next twenty-four hours making up for the lost time. Your sheets didn't witness just your bodies reattuning to each other, but also the other moments when your hearts did. When you told him so much more about what you did, what you had in motion, what you proposed to secure both his and your positions, and how you planned on providing the best for your unborn child.

“Ours,” he corrected gently, kissing the back of your fingers.

You looked up with your head on his chest, and a moment later, you just nodded, “Ours.”

At that moment, he was willing to compromise for you — whatever you needed. He just didn't think it would come in the form of you not letting him leave.

He all but moved in with you soon after, and at 34 weeks, he believed he'd never leave. You adored snuggling up to him at all times of day, especially because he massaged you all over while you talked. Someone almost busted a plan of yours? You could vent while he thumbed the ball of your foot. A politician was acting ridiculous? Your hands and arms needed to let go of the stress you accumulated during the day. You had stood for hours at a charity event? Those idiots should be sued for having you standing like that; your legs needed the soothing of his fingers. You were still on your computer when he arrived home from work? Your shoulders needed to be relieved of the tension.

He still had to work and there was no way you'd pause your work, not when you had a grand plan to own the city, just like he suggested. You had decided you didn’t need to excel in every business you had to control the city, especially because the top was naturally the first to be challenged. You were too branched out, and it wouldn’t pay off — if you tried to dominate everyone, you were inviting multiple enemies to ally themselves to throw you down. Not even Yoongi would be able to help you, despite him assuring you he would.

“I’m not interested in destroying what makes you our good half,” you had chuckled when he brought it up again. You looked beautiful under the dim lights of your bedroom, naked with your baby bump up, half lying on him in bed. This was something he couldn’t do without anymore. “We’re stronger if they don’t suspect you have hidden interests. If they think I’m a woman alone, I seem fragile. A kid will help. It’s all about finding the right balance, because if I’m too weak, they’ll destroy me. You can be our secret weapon.”

Your teasing grin as your tongue peeked between your teeth made him laugh. Ultimately, you knew your way around that world far better than he did. He’d always trust you with it.

Your strategy was to have insurance. If you had dirt on everyone and monopolized at least that market, you would be as safe as possible. Your downfall would just be too risky all around, and it would be less likely that your enemies would become friends trying to overthrow you. You wouldn’t be a significant enough threat to alarm other organizations, but you’d easily manipulate things in the shadows — everyone won.

You had started with medium management, as you liked to call it, and worked your way up. You already had a pretty big web of people working for you on the inside in various industries — other mob families, prisons, the police, the military, the entertainment and media conglomerates, even hospitals and pharmaceutical companies, without mentioning politics. Your tycoon status allowed you to keep an eye on the echelon, which meant you had everything covered. A politician wanted to do something you didn’t like? You knew of their kids’ DUIs, and the scandal was just too easy. Someone didn’t want to fundraise for the Mayor you had chosen? You had reports of companies faking quality control reports for products or negligence in the hospitals; you would leverage the media to destroy their business overnight. The media heads themselves didn’t want to cooperate? Too easy to leak footage of them in brothels or orgies that could ruin their entire reputation. And all mob families had their weaknesses; having people in the prisons and low-level thugs meant you’d know what you needed to keep them at bay. In essence, a network that gave you just enough to have leverage but not enough to be a direct threat to anyone.

He admired you for handling everything with such zeal and trusted you absolutely to take care of things. On his side, he was more worried about assuring the one thing you were most likely to overlook: your safety. First, he became intimately involved with your security details. All of your staff answered to him, which he liked. On top of that, he had his officers keeping an eye on you as well. Some probably suspected this wasn't about a case, but Yoongi didn't care as long as you were safe.

You had worked hard all over those months to carry out your master plan. It was ambitious, and if the pieces fell into place, not even Jae Seong Seok could touch you. The frustration was in getting the last piece of information — if you could find out who he was working with now, you'd be able to use your network and have him in your hand. But whoever he was working with, he was keeping it under wraps.

“It's ridiculous!” You whined, despite Yoongi massaging your shoulders. “It's a better kept secret than who the President's mistress is! Fuck!”

You jumped up from your office chair in a burst of anger, only to groan and take support on the desk. Yoongi was instantly behind you as you rubbed your swollen tummy; he didn't even flinch when you gave him a look between petulance and tiredness.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It fucking does,” you insisted, falling back into him when he hugged you from behind. “Without knowing who is doing the Commissioner's bidding, we’re blind to his plans. It means we have a blind spot and—”

You held your breath, scrunching your nose with instant relief. He had just taken the weight out of your strained back by raising your belly, and you could breathe freely for a moment.

“Is that okay?”

His voice was a whisper to your ear that had you sighing praises. He kissed your neck the whole time until he had to let go slowly, gently, distracting you with his lips on your skin before you’d get grumpy again.

“Didn’t you have someone on his team?”

“I lost them a couple of weeks after I told you that. He took exile in Heuksando last I heard.”

Your head fell back into his shoulder and he hummed, “I’m sure we’ll know something soon. Between your people and mine, we’re bound to hear or notice something. It’s a matter of time.” You pursed your lips, rubbing your belly again; time was a luxury you did not have. “Besides,” he spun you so you’d face him. “He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t just attempt to get rid of you; he probably knows we’re together.”

Your expression didn’t smooth, “For as long as he does bullshit without us knowing, we won't own the city.”

He nuzzled you, “He’s just one man. One tiny, meaningless man. Don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t seem fully convinced but you definitely relaxed in his arms that night, and the few nights after. Yoongi believed what he had told you: if the both of you were blinded to the Commissioner’s movements, then he was to yours too. You were stronger than him, you were together. You were bound to win.

But that night when he drove to the Aether at the maximum speed his car allowed, he wondered if he’d been too naive. If it was right to think that owning 98% of the city was enough to protect you and your child, only to learn the worst way possible that it could all fall through the cracks.

He arrived at the club, and from the outside it might have looked like the security were handling a typical problem, like a rowdy customer. When Thoma greeted him at the entrance, Yoongi followed him hurriedly, his blood freezing inside his veins. Your head of security didn’t just make that face for no reason.

Still, Yoongi couldn’t have believed it until he saw it with his own eyes. Before he got to your office, he passed your security and staff being checked by medics in the hallway, some even bleeding on the floor, almost passed out. Yet, when he entered your office, the situation dawned on him.

You had put up a fight. Your office was completely upside down, with your screen and papers on the floor, fallen chair, and broken glass everywhere. There was blood on the floor, which he kneeled to see. His fists closed instantly at the thought of you getting hurt, but maybe you had hurt them instead before they took you. You were good with your knife. He looked around; he couldn’t see it anywhere.

He got up, “Who the fuck?”

He asked simply, quietly, and Thoma answered, “Look at the back of the door.”

Yoongi turned, his dark eyes scanning the open door for traces of it being used or handled some way. His long, black raincoat billowed behind him as he moved and quickly used a glove to push the door closed.

I also prefer it quiet.

The scribbles or the paper glued to the door made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Does it mean anything to you?”

Yoongi’s eyes were the color of death, “Yes, and it does for you, too. You’re going to do exactly as I say.”

Thoma disagreed with Yoongi’s instructions, but he’d carry them out anyway. Yoongi didn’t care about the man’s opinion; it wasn’t him who was about to lose his whole life to a bug he didn't squish properly.

When Yoongi had decided to help you back when it was a conscious decision. Not just to step into your life, but to stay in it. To make it better. To use what he had at his disposal to do so. He didn’t regret it for a second, not even now. Some would say he was reaping what he sowed, but that was a stupid understanding of the situation. A coward’s subservient view on what was happening — when they touched you, they knew there were only two possible outcomes. And for Yoongi, there was only one.

Of course, Thoma didn’t like calling the police and reporting the assault or that you were kidnapped. But the police responded to Yoongi in that area, so that wasn’t the problem. He didn’t like that he was to play dumb and not tell them who had done it. Eventually, they would be shown footage that Officer Jung could recognize, all to buy Yoongi the right amount of time.

Because to Yoongi there was only one outcome. As he stopped in a hidden alley without cameras, he opened the trunk of his car and pulled the bottom to reveal a secret compartment where he had an arsenal. He picked and loaded a pistol, screwed in the silencer, and hid it along with magazines under his long raincoat. Then, he made his way to the back of the Evgeni Sports Center.

Yoongi refused one of the possible outcomes as if it wasn’t possible. That was maybe why he entered the building casually and unnoticed amidst a football game, making the big crowd watching it on the flat screen completely wild. The beer was plentiful, as were the cheers, and he was able to swiftly enter the kitchen in the back, where the staff didn’t dare look at him. He was a man with a purpose and only one option.

When he reached the back door and went down the stairs, he grabbed his pistol and started his work. There was only one justice down there — the one he inflicted himself. Big or small, he didn’t care. People fell like flies before the commotion began and even then, to reach him was a nearly impossible task. He was an agent of death dealing it swiftly to everyone who had dared to condone this heinous crime. To touch you at any point would have been dangerous, but now? It was a death wish — the only possible outcome.

Blood tainted the walls at his passage while he shot, punched, and kicked whoever dared to stand in his way to find you. He noticed the heavy metal doors, knowing they hid bullshit that wasn’t meant to be found, but he continued. It would be a shit show, but he didn’t care. His officers would show and turn the place upside down. Weapons? Drugs? Torturing people? He huffed and wiped the blood off his knuckles; all fine and dandy, but not what he was looking for.

He didn’t mean to, but he ended up cleaning that floor like it was a military operation. No one but people being tortured were left alive in his wake; no witnesses, no surprises. All he wanted was you, he’d leave once he got what he came for.

He held his gun up and in position as he faced the last door at the end of the corridor. It took him one second to calculate the odds of finding you there. Then he risked it and opened it, only for a kick to hit his hands hard.

He grunted, and although he didn’t instantly loosen his grip on the weapon, a punch to his back made his form crumble.

A series of punches made him grunt and raise his arms to defend himself, and a careful dance ensued. Yoongi almost lost his patience as he handled that single amazing enemy, but then two things happened: his pistol fell to the floor, and he saw you.

You were sitting on a lonesome chair in the middle of that humid, dark storage room, tied and pale. He instantly saw your shining eyes and the hairs glued to your forehead with sweat, your chest heaving tensely over your swollen belly, and knew he hadn’t come fast enough. He needed to get to you.

Those fuckers just had to keep their strongest guy next to you. It pissed Yoongi off; he much rather shoot him too. But he was forced to fight and manage the situation, not letting him get near you or the gun.

After a succession of punches and counters, Yoongi landed a punch on the guy’s ear and made a judgment call that put everything in jeopardy — he ran to you. Your eyes widened, seeing the guy behind Yoongi rush for the gun on the floor. He was dizzy from the punch, and your brain struggled — even if you warned him, Yoongi would never make it back in time to grab it.

So you shook your leg frantically, “The knife!”

Yoongi rushed to kneel before you and grab the knife, thinking to use it to set you free, but you kicked him as hard as you could.

A gunshot echoed and Yoongi’s breath caught as he fell back to the floor. For a second, he thought his life was over — not because he had been shot, but because you had.

But a split second was enough to hear the bullet ricocheting off somewhere and hear the guy fall to the floor. Yoongi’s training kicked in and two seconds later, he was on top of the guy, trying to finish it. His enemy was brave, dizzy, and without balance, but he was still a tougher foe than most people Yoongi had encountered in his career or training. The pistol had fallen somewhere when the guy had lost his balance, so it was all about the knife. They started fighting for it and in a slip of his hand, the guy caught it, and slash.

Yoongi grunted and fell back, holding onto his face more with shock and instinct, than actual pain. He thought he was blind for a moment, feeling something thick on his fingers while his sight darkened, but he couldn’t stop. To stop was to endanger you, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He opened his good eye and, seeing the guy with his back turned advancing toward you, Yoongi rushed to kick him as hard as he could in the back of the knee.

The guy fell forward with a grunt, letting the knife fly away, and in your attempts to escape him, you leaned back on the chair. The push was enough to make you gasp and fall back with a bang that scared Yoongi shitless. His head was hurting, and along with the blood covering his eye, it put him off balance, to his frustration. He gritted his teeth, trying to get to the fallen guy by crawling; it wasn’t like it was his ears, so his balance was fine. It was just his damn eye!

But he didn’t move fast enough; suddenly, he heard steps rushing and tried to get back on track and jump on the guy, but he couldn’t see him. It was too late.

A gunshot echoed again, and this time a body hit the floor. Yoongi sat up and rubbed at his eyes roughly, widening his eyes to check on you , and there you were. In the same dress as this morning, though covered in sweat, dry blood, dust and now even chair bits from when it shattered with your fall, standing a few steps away from him, emotionlessly eying the guy you had shot in the head.

Then, you rushed to his side and kneeled. Yoongi wanted to grab you close, speechless, but you grabbed his head instead and brushed his longer dark hair aside.

You sighed in relief, “You’re okay, it’s just a scratch.”

He blinked at you, finally acknowledging the sting on his eyelid and cheek and that he could see fine, but instantly it didn’t matter. He widened his eyes at you, raising his arms around you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

You meant to get up, but you groaned. Something wasn’t right.

Yoongi called your name and you looked at him. It was as though you had gone deaf; his lips were moving but you could barely hear him.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding,” he repeated, supporting you more steadily, trying to calm you, but you were confused.

“I’m not, I’m fine. I wasn’t shot.”

“No,” he brushed your cheeks gently, trying to make you focus. “You’re bleeding.”

It was like a CD entered the slot and it finally dawned reality on you. You looked down, holding onto his arms around you, and the pain hit you like a truck. You were bleeding down your legs, and suddenly you were dizzy. Your legs couldn’t hold you; you only wanted to curl around yourself and he let you down slowly.

“It hurts—”

“Breathe.”

Yoongi started the breathing exercises you both had learned but the way you glared at him was enough.

“I’ll carry you out. Ready?”

Your groan had a pitch of fear, but you bit your lip and screamed through the pain as he lifted you in his arms. Everything was a blur; hot and cold sweats going up and down your spine as you tried not to scream your pain out. It was visceral, terrifying, and rife with despair— something was wrong. You needed help. Now.

Once upstairs, people had scattered in a commotion, but fortunately, it seemed nobody quite knew what was going on. Some were running outside, others were filming, but the center's staff was surprisingly quiet. It was almost like suddenly, there was no one to take charge.

Fortunately, an ambulance had already been called to tend to the reported distress at the building. So when Yoongi stepped out with you in his arms, the paramedics quickly turned to the pregnant person with a bloody dress instead of a drunk making a scene.

In a matter of seconds, you were on a stretcher being carried inside the ambulance, and Yoongi wanted to go with you.

But you held his hand, “No.”

He frowned, but you just looked behind him and then gave him a look, and he understood. He let go of your hand and instantly turned back as swiftly as possible. The crowd was in shock with the reported noise and the bloodied pregnant woman that just passed by them, and so, distracted.

Yoongi rushed downstairs, leaving the door closed behind him. He grabbed your blade and his pistol, then quickly looked around. It was a storage room with all sorts of boxes and containers, and he needed something that could destroy evidence fast, but not so fast that all the people tied up in other rooms, bleeding to death, couldn’t be rescued in time.

In the end, he found flammable paint and poured it on stacks of documents far back in the room before setting them on fire with a lighter. He hoped the humidity made the fire spread slowly enough, but even just the water from the sprinklers would help once they were triggered.

After dealing with that, he made his way completely upstairs through another set of stairs that weren’t accessible to the public.

He had been there before, so he knew exactly where to go and that there were no cameras. He assumed he had killed most of the goons because only a handful tried to stop him. By then, he had reloaded, and nothing could stand in his way. Something was wrong; you weren’t supposed to be bleeding. It was too soon. It was all those fuckers fault!

He reached the office of Prokhor Evgeni and staggered for a second — Jae Seong Seok was sitting right there as though he had had an audience with the Russian. Both older men looked scared, which made the situation strange, almost comical. Only Yoongi wasn’t in a laughing mood; he raised his pistol and shot precisely twice.

Each man fell back onto their chair or on the floor while Yoongi pushed his hair back with annoyance, flaring, “I said I like it fucking quiet.”

Before his anger could go further, his phone started buzzing inside his pocket, and he sobered up. That meant Thoma had told Officer Jung what he needed to know; that signaled that the force was establishing a perimeter and a team to swarm the place.

He holstered his gun on his belt, then quickly put on gloves and searched for each man’s guns. Prokhor had one in his desk drawer, and Yoongi used it to shoot Jae Seong Seok a couple of times before shooting all around the room and throwing it on the floor. The Commissioner had a revolver with him, and it wasn’t hard to shoot in Prokhor’s direction and simulate a scene. Would it raise questions? Absolutely. But the more questions it raised, the harder it would be to get to the actual truth.

Yoongi went downstairs and blended in with the crowd still lingering about before reaching for the fire alarm to pull it. A loud siren went off, and the fire in the basement must have finally triggered the sprinklers because they went off, too. He made his way out amongst everybody else. Then, he faced the sky and started laughing.

He thought to just take out his raincoat so no one would know he was inside, but it was raining outside. So he stood there under the rain, smirking, letting it wash away the blood from his face, clothes, and any evidence that he had been inside.

He stood under the elements the whole time, the image of diligence coordinating the police and firemen who responded to the scene. It was a bloodbath and instantly the bodies became the reason for a national scandal. The media couldn’t get enough of it, especially the bit about the Commissioner and the Head of a Mafia family. The officers, though, were more inclined to believe the Commissioner had come to save you in person, and something had gone wrong. Maybe your child was even his. It would make sense, considering both your statuses. Maybe you were having an affair.

Yoongi focused on making sure that everything was accounted for, even the witnesses that said he was seen before the firemen and police arrived. He made sure their statement was taken too because they were contradictory with other witnesses. Some saw him carrying a pregnant lady, some only saw him when the alarm went off. The more information the police had, the better.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you. He understood why you asked him to stay, he needed to finish things and handle the outcome. After all, you both needed to own that city.

But he was dying to hear news from you. He had texted your people as soon as he had a second, so he knew they were with you, but still. Waiting just wasn’t possible, not tonight.

He was smoking and wrapping up the last details before the scene could be sealed when his phone buzzed inside his pocket. He picked it up this time, and the wails of a baby caught his breath.

“Is it done?”

“Yes,” he breathed, then he closed his eyes. “Our boy?”

“Eager to meet you.”

“You?”

“Come see for yourself.”

He didn’t need anything else to tell the last Officers on the scene he was leaving. He walked away to reach his car, then drove calmly to the hospital. He was drenched, so he left his raincoat inside the car and got on the elevator straight to the level you were in.

You were in a private, spacious room with everything you could need. It was just you, already wearing something of your own under the sheets, snoozing with a baby to your chest. Yoongi neared you and kissed your forehead, closing his eyes with the relief flooding him. You awoke with his touch and leaned in closer. He smelled of rain and new beginnings.

When he pulled away, you reached to touch the cut. Someone had cleaned it, leaving it red and furious across his eye, top to bottom. Looking into each other’s eyes, you knew the other was fine. Each with your own pain, but united in that moment, at last.

Finally, Yoongi took a look at his son. He was reddened too, with puffy cheeks and pouty lips, just like yours. He leaned in to kiss and nuzzle his son with a heart so full, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was sit on the bed, embracing you and him in his arms.

You were looking at your baby before you noticed your position, englobing your son on two fronts, completely. Your lips curved, and you looked at Yoongi. You had finally won.

There we have it! I hope it was a nice, wild ride! 😁👋💜

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viking-raider · 2 years ago

Text

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson smut #syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #Syverson/You #Syverson/Reader #Sand Castle #Fluff #Angst #Sy's Therapy Barn #Sy's Therapy Barn *Fic*

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scary-grace · 2 months ago

Note

Aaaand here I am again, because I forgot a portion of my ask about Magne.

Her canon rap sheet says she's got three murders and *twenty-nine* ATTEMPTED murders, which is... I'mma use Tomura's preferred dialect and say it's kind of an awful KDA. You try to create thirty-two corpses and only end up with three? I'd love to hear your take on that, because I wouldn't take it at face value in a hero-critical story, it's an excellent opportunity to explore spin-doctoring. Will it be explained in-story?

And I am having an excellent day, thank you so much.

I took a look at Magne's rap sheet also, and I noticed that the crimes that lead off her rap sheet are nine successful armed robberies. To me, this indicates that this is her preferred type of crime -- it's what she does with the most success, and it's also a crime that makes sense with regard to what might motivate someone like Magne! Compared to other criminals in BNHA (see Muscular, Stain, and potentially Rappa), Magne doesn't seem to be in it just for the violence. Every time we see her hit first, it's for strategic value, and I'm fairly certain that if she had wanted Pixie-Bob dead during the attack on the training camp, Pixie-Bob would have died rather than simply being knocked unconscious.

So that leads me to believe that Magne prefers armed robbery, and it would make sense to me if her murders were committed in the course of armed robberies -- presumably, if someone tried to prevent the robbery, or stood between her and her escape. Nine armed robberies, and only three deaths? That's a pretty solid record of getting in and out without killing anybody. As for the twenty-nine attempted murders...

This gets a bit conspiracy-ish, but here's how I see it: Because "hero" is the preferred profession in BNHA society, there needs to be a consistent supply of villains. To meet the criteria of villain, one simply needs to commit crimes using one's quirk, and the more brutal the crime, the more a hero will be rewarded for the capture of the criminal who committed it. In Designated Villain, this is demonstrated through the reader's rap sheet -- although she's used her quirk to distract or escape rather than to harm anyone, she's charged with and convicted of assault. Through that paradigm, I think it's possible that Magne's "attempted murders" were actually standard assaults, which were charged as attempted murders in order to increase the amount of time she'd spend behind bars as well as increase the reward for capturing her again once she's released.

thank you for the ask!

#asks #big sis magne #bnha meta #isekai humiliation tour

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whereisyourstar · 3 months ago

Text

Thank You

Part 7 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 6

Rating: SFW, Mature

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of violence, home invasions, choking, assault, blood, murder, panic attacks, mentions of sexual assault (mentions only, not described and do not happen to the reader), wound mutilation, don't hesitate to ask to tag any others I'm blanking out on

(AN: The warnings obviously give it away, but this part is heavier than the others. I toned it down a lot, but if any of those warnings sound like something you don't want to read, please message me and I'll give you the exact places to start and stop so you can read around it.)

The meeting wraps up just after midnight. For you, anyway. Due to the global nature of the somewhat shady operation your supervisors are running—there is, you think, a less than 1% chance that they're not using the site you write for to launder money somehow—meetings tend to be scheduled at strange times for the sole employee on the American east coast. This one started around ten tonight, and you've been dreading it all week for that reason. Ten isn't too incredibly late for you, but you're still subject to that deeply human psychological quirk of never being more tired than when you can't go to bed. That factor was doubled when the meeting's subject matter had been all about scheduled maintenance times for the site, the quarterly click statistics (then broken up into monthly stats, which was torture to sit through), and some vague talk about upping the possible earnings cap sometime in Q4. You made a valiant effort to stay present throughout the meeting, but sometime around the hour mark your brain started to long for the book you put down just before hopping into the call. Third in a series of romances, which is not usually your style, but the couple in this installment has you hooked—the love interest is so cartoonishly into the main character that it should be unbearable to sit through, and his "who did this to you" trope speech was objectively corny, but it's hitting so right for you regardless. Being on camera meant that you couldn't reach for the book and sneak in another chapter or two while the meeting was ongoing, but mulling over the unresolved romance between those two characters was the only thing keeping you awake as it wore on.

At least until Abby saw fit to hop into your lap and curl up there, at which point you were able to focus in while stroking your hand through her fur. If your supervisor minded, she never said anything. You did have to mute yourself when she started snoring, though. Encouraged by her noise, Heracles had started dream-yipping at your feet, and it was hard to fight your smile while they slept all over a long-winded response to a coworker's question. Another excellent reminder of just how much more bearable they make your life.

When the meeting is over and the little light by your webcam finally blinks off, you make short work of depositing Abby back to the floor and stretching a place in your upper back that's been bugging you for an hour now. The sticky note you keep over your webcam's lens is replaced—a precaution, just in case—and you find yourself with a weird amount of energy. Your body usually forces you to conk out around eleven most nights, but since you've pushed past that for the meeting, you've got something of a second wind. As you pull an arm across your chest to better get at that stiff upper back, you notice the book on the coffee table, and the opportunity presents itself so naturally. Wash your face, get into something comfortable, climb into bed, and spend however long this energy lasts knocking out the last few chapters in your book. Your sheets are newly washed and fitted on your bed already, a kindness you appreciate your earlier self for doing so much, and you know your favorite soft t-shirt is ready to be worn. Some, like your mother, could argue that your whole life out here is indulgent, but this—just the idea of curling up all cozy in bed with the book you like—sounds absolutely divine. The only thing it's missing is a cup of tea, maybe, but getting the kettle boiling is a lot more effort than you want to put in right now.

"Ready for bed?" you say to the dogs, crossing over to the table and retrieving the book. Two pairs of eyes stare back at you from the ground, tails curiously wagging. You cross your arms and smile down at them. "You're not getting second dinner, so don't even think about it."

They are thinking about it, you can tell, but for once there's something even more pressing on their minds. It's Heracles who stands and trots himself right over to the front door, looking back at you expectantly. For added effect, he pushes his paw against the wood and whines, his tail swinging back and forth like a metronome.

Ah. A small bump in the plan, but it's a necessary detour. With a nod to yourself, you toss the book back on the table and search around for your jacket—it's summer, but the nights can still get pretty cold out here. By the time you've gotten your jacket and shoes on, Abby's already joined her brother by the door, and she keeps glancing at the harnesses hanging up nearby. "We're not going far," you tell her, making your way to the small cabinet table by the door. Its cubby only holds one thing, and you take the hunting knife in its sheath and shove the entire thing into your jacket pocket. It's too late to bother with strapping it on, and besides, this will be quick. "It'll only be to pee, then it's back inside. Please don't make me run after you." You consider a threat, something like because you will not like what happens when I catch you, but you don't have that in you and you know they know it. These two have you so wrapped around their paws that it would make the dog trainer influencers that pop up on your social media feeds irate for days. But you wouldn't have it any other way, personally.

The night air is crisp and cool, a welcome reprieve after the heat of the day. It's been a slow, hazy march into June, but with the month half-over by now, you've come to appreciate the disparity between the sun being up and the sun being down. You spent more time indoors when you lived in New York, which means you never really noticed the seasons if it weren't obviously snowing, so this all feels new. Your body is still expecting hot, humid days and muggy, mosquito-filled nights—finding yourself shivering in the middle of June is kind of a fun novelty.

You plant yourself next to the treeline right in front of the house and take turns between watching Heracles and Abby sniffing around and observing the sky. It's clear tonight, and there's just enough of a moon to illuminate this front area in silvery light. Plenty of stars, though, all glittering down from their homes in the void. It reminds you to look up when Argo Navis is visible around here, if ever—Jason showed some interest in seeing it, though you're not sure you could ever confidently pick out the lines meant to connect the constellations. All the stars just look like stars to you.

At the thought of Jason, your chest constricts a little bit. You saw him just two days ago, and he stayed around for hours walking with you and the dogs in the forest, but you still…miss him. He's been active lately, spending plenty of precious time with you, and you try very hard not to think about what that means. Ever since that day at the lake, you don't look too closely at his clothes anymore. There's a reason you've been avoiding the news around Pinehurst County for weeks now. It's just—

The dogs notice it first. There's a low, rumbling growl that snaps your head back down from the sky, and your gaze slots naturally to where both Abby and Heracles are staring. Your first thought is a predator, a bear, or maybe mountain lion, but then the growl comes again and it's Abby. Her teeth are very white in the moonlight, head low, hackles raised, and that first flash of fear jolts down your spine. She's never looked like this before, not even when she was hurt and scared.

So fast you can barely track it, a figure bursts from the shadows that devour the side of your house. Upright, two legs, and running so hard that you can see the fog of their breath. That's a human, that's a person, and—at first you think they're going for the truck, but the two of you see the sliver of light coming from your not-quite-closed front door at the same time, and they angle hard to get there.

You don't think. Your legs are moving before you even know you're giving chase, and you barely hear the dogs following behind, or the way your voice cracks when you order this person to stop. All there is in the world is the image of this stranger running up to your front door, throwing it open wide, and stepping in. The flare of your indignation gives you the final push needed to run inside after them as they begin to shove the door back into place. How fucking dare someone just come in here—

But then it's just you, this person, and the sound of your locks being slammed into place. The dogs howl from outside, frantic and angry and confused, but you cannot think about them now.

The person presses their entire weight against the door and, between their panting, sighs in relief. In the low light of the room, you can plainly see all the details you need. This man isn't much taller than yourself, and his body is lean almost in spite of his obvious middle age. You can't tell what color his hair is, only that it's drenched in sweat—he's been running for a while.

And you have, with terrible efficiency, trapped yourself in with him.

Much steadier than you feel—fear and anger are taking rapid turns riding your limbic system—you say, "This is my home. You need to leave." You drop a hand into your pocket and squeeze the sheath of the hunting knife tightly, like one would a stress ball.

The man, still panting, cracks an eye open to look at you. Apparently he doesn't consider you much of a threat, because his lid slides back shut and he heaves a ginormous sigh. "Look, lady—"

You slam the heel of your palm into the wood just centimeters from his nose and the way he jerks back is satisfying. "You look. I'm not fucking asking! Get the fuck out of my house!" The yell is shrill, it lets on just how afraid you are, but you're already throwing back the first lock. You're going to wrench this fucking door open and shove him out.

An arm, sticky with sweat, hooks around your neck and drags you away. Your legs give out with the shock of it, hands flying up to pry at the arm suddenly and effectively cutting off your air, and the animal of your brain screams. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—

He's talking as he pulls you further into the room. There's so much blood rushing in your ears that you can barely hear him, much less process what he's saying, but you get the important parts. Friends and dead and wants me and I'm staying right fucking here.

You recognize, faintly, that you only vaguely assumed he ran into your house to steal from it. You knew exactly what he was running from. You know who killed this man's friends.

And some part of you, yelling over the panic, says good.

It's probably an accident, because you imagine this man has priorities other than sexually assaulting you while his friends die somewhere out in the forest, but his mouth brushes the sensitive ridge of your ear while he talks. He keeps talking, low and insistent, and your brain abruptly shuts up.

The hand still in your pocket rips out the knife, shakes off the sheath, and plunges the naked blade into whatever is softest behind you.

First, the arm holding you is abruptly gone, and you crumple into a gasping heap onto the floor. Second, the man howls, and there is a disgusting squelching noise between all the din. Third, you scramble to half-face him while your legs recover, and you watch as he tugs the knife fully out of his side. Blood, red and very, very fresh, blooms through the off-white of his shirt just above the hip. It drops to the floor and splatters where it lands.

The man presses a shaking hand to the wound in his side and moans like an animal. His entire body is shuddering, and you think you must have hit something important. He doesn't give you the time needed to wonder if you've just killed him, because when he looks up, zeroes in on you still on the floor, there is nothing but rage there.

"You BITCH!" he bellows, and he advances on you like a rolling thunder. You're already mostly to your feet and you sprint for the door. He never turned back that first lock, if you can just get the others—

He grabs you by the hair this time. Fingers pull painfully at the roots, but it's the fear, not the pain, that makes you cry out as you are thrown to the floor. You're being dragged back again, pulled by the hair like something hunted, and it's all you can do to clench your own fingers down next to his to alleviate some of the pain. The knife is somewhere nearby, it has to be, and you drop a hand to the ground to search for it. The word please repeats through your head like a siren—please let me survive this, please don't let him kill me, he can't hurt the dogs, please, please, please. Your fingers touch the familiar plastic of the knife's grip and you grab for it blindly, your eyes too blurry with tears from the pain to be of any use.

"No you don't—" is all the warning you get before the man slams his shoe down on your hand. Some delicate bone in the wrist dislocates itself and there is nothing but a blazing pain in its wake. Your scream is punctuated by the sound of him picking up the knife, his grunt rightfully strained. Then it's silenced by the feeling of cold steel against your throat.

Through the pain and the tears, you force yourself to look up at this stranger and see the fear in yourself echoed back in him. He's fucking terrified as he holds you to the ground and puts your own weapon, wet with his blood, to your jugular. His other hand is still in your hair, but he's crouched over you now, and his entire body still shakes.

"Don't make me kill you." It sounds like a plea. His eyes are so wide, you can see each individual red vein in the sclera. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't—it wasn't supposed to be real. You're all fucking crazy."

You finally find your voice. "Let me go," you rasp, swallowing. "St—stay here, call the police, I don't c—care. Or take—my keys, I have a car. Please." And here the tears start flowing in earnest. You've begged like this before. It didn't make a difference then.

At the mention of keys, you see a plan form in the man's mind, in the way his brows lift. Maybe it's the original plan, the one he had before he saw your front door was slightly open. Get to the truck and drive it to safety. It's a good plan—it worked for you, after all. Maybe you should tell him that.

He's panting again, but you don't think he ever truly caught his breath. "How do I know you wouldn't report me?" He asks it quietly at first, more to himself than anything. But the words have an effect on him, and in an instant, he's furious again. "How do I know, huh? Huh?" Each question is punctuated by his hand clenching in your hair, jostling you painfully. "I know what this fucking looks like, I mean—even if I survive, even if he doesn't kill you, there's evidence all over this place. You'd turn me in in a second."

You try to shake your head and earn another press of the knife's edge against your throat. Much more of that and he'll actually draw blood. "I wouldn't! I won't! I won't say anything, please, please, please, don't do this, please, I—" You're cut off by the back of your head connecting hard with the floor, slammed back by the man. Stars burst into your vision and you groan. It's the last sound you get to make.

The man has both his hands around your throat and he is intent on squeezing the life out of you. He's discarded the knife in favor of doing this more directly, it seems, and all your body can do is convulse. Your hands grab at him, try to push him away, but he has too much leverage. Even when you scrape your nails into his cheek deep enough to make him bleed, all he says is, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it has to be like this, don't fight it. I'll wait until you're gone to use the knife, they'll think he did it, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

You're fading fast, but the apologies make you furious enough to dig your nails into him again, and this time one hooks into the bottom rim of his right eye. He doesn't get to kill you and say sorry for it, like you're something pitiable and small. He's going to have to fight you the entire way down. You pull.

It all happens at once. One of the hands round your throat disengages as the man covers his now-bleeding eye, and the other is so weak that you're able to gasp for breath. Air floods into your lungs and you're dizzy, panting, but alive. The man is curled half on top of you, as distracted as someone with a ripped lower eyelid can be. He's still pinning you, though, and you're screaming wordlessly at him as you try to push him off. Your wrist is a dull roar of pain, but it's unimportant right now. You need to get away, grab your keys, get the dogs, and go. Jesus, you can't hear the dogs anymore, are they okay? There's so much in the forest that can hurt them, and Heracles is clumsy on foot, and Abby was mauled by coyotes, and oh god, you just left them to fend for themselves.

Then your front door explodes.

There's no other word for it. One second it's tall and solid as it's ever been, still mostly locked. The next it's hanging off its top hinge, thrown open wide by the force of the loudest impact you've ever heard. Cool night air floods in, and you should see stars, but they're blocked by the figure already bending to fit through the doorway.

Relief hits you like a downpour. "Jason."

It's him. He heard you, or he felt you, or he felt this stranger in his territory and followed him here, and you don't care because he's here now. He's here, and his mask is filthy with blood, and his sleeves are drenched in it up to the elbow, and the machete gripped in his hand is dripping on your floor, and you have never been so happy to see someone in your entire life.

The man reacts like you stabbed him again, making those wounded animal noises, and he starts to crawl off of you. You hear him chanting "oh shit oh shit oh shit" like it's a prayer that can protect him. He still has one hand over his eye, and the other discards the knife nearby entirely in favor of pounding into the floor, dragging him inch-by-tortured-inch away.

Perhaps he thinks Jason is going to kill you first.

It doesn't matter. Jason crosses the floor in three steps, the force of them enough to make your teeth vibrate, and seizes the man by the back of the head in one massive palm. He raises the man up to waist-level, just holds his body up like it's nothing, then slams him face first into the floor. Then again. And again. And again, until the man stops screaming and there's only the squelch of meat and blood and sinew.

When the man is released, he does not move. Not so much as a twitch.

From where you sit, not even three feet away, you watch as more blood than you've seen in your entire life pools from under his head. You're grateful you can't see whatever is left of his face.

Then you can't see anything, because your vision is full of Jason. He drops to his knees on the floor beside you, his machete makes a jarring clang from where he drops it, and you think he's trying to sign. His hands, brutal and terribly strong, flutter uselessly in the space between you two, and his shoulders hunch forward hard enough to look painful.

"I'm okay," you tell him, a hand flying to your throat when it hurts to speak. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm—is he? Is..?" And you gesture uselessly to the body that Jason blocks from view. He shakes his head no, hands still apparently uncooperative, but that's all you need. You nod slowly, not sure how you feel about that. You can't really feel anything right now. Maybe you've hit the threshold for emotion and it's just nothing after that. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I—okay. Um. Fuck. I'm trying—really, really hard not to freak out, um. Okay. Th—the dogs? Where are the dogs, I need…I need to find them."

Safe, Jason signs. You make a move to stand and he holds up a hand to stay you, shaking his head. They're outside. Abby is protecting. That hits you strangely at first, but then you think of that sound Abby made, the way she unnerved even you. She won't let anything hurt your boy, you're sure.

What hurts? Jason isn't touching you, which you appreciate. Your body feels like one live nerve right now, frayed and dangerously oversensitive. You'd probably start fighting him, too, if he touched you now. Even still, the weight of his eyes on you, hidden with his back to the only switched on lamp in the room, is almost too much. You have to look away to answer.

"My wrist," you say, flexing it and earning a trillion pinpricks of pain in your arm. Breathe, breathe, breathe, you remind yourself. "I can't tell if it's broken or just…sprained? But it—yeah. Um, my throat. Hurts to talk, but my brain's kind of stalled out and I don't think I can sign, uh. Right. Am I bleeding?" You turn your head to the side and gently prod the back of your skull. It's tender, and you suck in air through your teeth to even graze it, but your fingers come away clean. By some miracle, nothing has actually broken skin. With a myriad of bruises and a maybe-broken wrist, you're coming out of this encounter a sight better than the man that invaded your home. For some reason, that's what makes the dam break, and the tears start to fall.

They don't last long. You're emotionally tapped out, and it's awkward crying while there's a dying man in the room. Because he is dying, there's no doubt about that. You don't think anyone can survive what Jason just did to him.

You're sniffling, but more or less back in control of yourself when your voice returns. "Can you…can you get him out of here?" Another useless gesture—Jason is a very effective wall. His breathing has only gotten more and more intense since you told him your injuries, but it hits a peak when you mention the man. You don't have the energy to examine that reaction. "He can't die in my house, I…this is where I live." Which feels, in the moment, an important thing to emphasize.

Yes. I will take care of it. His hands hover next to your shoulders for a moment, and you despair that he's doing to touch you. Your brain is finally catching on to how close he is to you, and it's starting to send panic signals down to your overworked body. The last thing either of you needs is a panic attack because he's boxing you in. Maybe that shows on your face, because Jason instead returns his hands to where you can see them, and signs, I should not leave you alone.

But leaving you is exactly what he should do right now, because the panic is only continuing to rise at the thought of him staying. You need everyone out of your house right fucking now. There's desperation in your voice when you say, "I'll be fine. I'll have Abby and Heracles with me, we won't be alone. Just…I'm sorry, but please, please get him out of here." You can taste the iron in the air and it sits unpleasantly on your tongue.

He doesn't argue. You think, detachedly, that if you weren't already half enamored with this man, this would do it. No insistence, no attempts to sway or soothe you with words. It's just onto the next thing that needs to be done. Jason takes the man by the back of the head and hefts him easily over his shoulder, angling himself so that you can't see the worst of the carnage. At the threshold of your ruined doorway, he looks over his unburdened shoulder and lifts a finger. The message is clear: one hour. You nod your understanding and, before he can turn back, whisper a quiet thank you to him.

The dogs come barreling in moments after he leaves. white all around the eyes and, in Heracles' case, trembling. You gather them both up to you after checking for injuries, ignoring your aching wrist, and squeeze them tightly. Now you really cry. Great, shaking sobs that make every bruise and sore muscle twinge, but the crying helps calm you. The panic recedes now that it's just you and the dogs, and when Abby starts to lick the tears from your cheek, the need to cry peters out as well.

You sit there, too close to a cooling pool of blood, and stare out into the night. The door swings a bit on its hinge, and now that you can really look at it, that gorgeous solid wood is splintered around the edges. Jason practically tore the thing down to get in here.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the chill outside runs down your back. There was never anything actually stopping him from entering your home. Your sturdy door with its nice, expensive locks that you took so much comfort in, that you trusted to keep you safe, now hangs uselessly between you and the rest of the world. He didn't even have to hit it more than once for it to give in.

He has been letting you live for far longer than you realized.

The option to spiral over this is easily available, as is the option to spiral over the last hour of your life. Neither is particularly appealing. Those are options only for when your emotions even out and there's not an entire gallon of adrenaline trying to work its way through your system. The third option of just getting on with it will have to do.

First, you shoulder your heavy door more or less back into place. Not that it really matters anymore, but it doesn't feel right to just leave it, and the third option is all about restoring a semblance of normalcy. Then, with the harsh, pale light of the bathroom's overhead on you, you strip naked and assess your wounds in the mirror. Your throat already looks bad, and it'll certainly get worse before it starts to heal. You can't look at that one too long before you want to cry again, so you focus on everything else. A roll of elastic bandage wrap goes around your wrist, which seems to help a bit—you hope that means it's not broken. There's nothing you can do about the back of your head right now. The idea of a shower stream hitting it makes your stomach roll.

Under your nails, you find skin from a dead man's cheek. Blood, too. You wash it away dispassionately.

When you exit the bathroom, you head straight for the drawers in your room and pull out the t-shirt you were so looking forward to wearing not even an hour earlier. You slip into it and pretend the worn cotton is comforting. Next is the baggiest pair of sweats you have—you don't want anything constricting you right now, save for the socks you make a grudging concession to. It's noticeably cool inside the house now, and there's still a lot to be done before Jason comes back. You don't want cold toes slowing you down.

Finally, you put your place back together. There's very little to do, considering most of the struggle took place only a dozen feet away from the door. This entire front area is open concept, so the entryway leads naturally into the living room and kitchen, but even still, all that's really out of place is the table by the door. After that, there's only the blood to clean up, and keeping the dogs away from it proves to be the bigger challenge. All it takes is one curious sniff from Heracles for you to briefly quarantine him and Abby to the bedroom so you can bleach the hell out of your floor. You go through an entire roll of paper towel mopping up the pool and the nearby splatters, and you're not entirely sure what to do with it all. You decide to throw the soaked sheets into a cupboard that houses all your cleaning supplies for now—no way are you throwing it out with your normal trash without rousing a lot of unneeded and extremely unwanted suspicion.

It's helpful, watching the blood disappear under your dedicated hand. In the low light, you can almost pretend it was never there at all.

The dogs come out of quarantine after you've scrubbed your hands raw in the kitchen sink, and you spend a lot of time just petting them and telling them how good they are. Tonight can't have been easy on them, either, though you're glad you got the worst of it in that respect. You'd be inconsolable if anything happened to them. Knowing that they're safe and unharmed is one of the only things keeping you from having that panic attack right now.

They act as comforting heaters when you gingerly open your ruined door once more and sit in the threshold. With one on either side, you settle a hand on their respective backs and stare, unflinchingly, into the night.

He failed you.

There is plenty he could be thinking about right now. The six dead ones miles and miles from here. The wound in his thigh where one of the ligaments still does not sit right after being slashed with a knife. The wretched weight upon his shoulder. But what he comes back to, over and over and over as he walks, is that he failed you.

He sensed the intruder. He knew it was too close to your home, bordering on that gentle, familiar presence that is uniquely yours. He could never have guessed it would find its way inside.

It hurt you. This thing—he refuses to think of it as a man—laid its hands on you.

He should have been there. The second he felt that one peel off from the pack, he should have chased after it and pierced its brain with the machete. Straight through, until the skull cracked and the earth swallowed up several inches of the blade. He should have.

Even now, with it gurgling and twitching over his shoulder, Jason thinks that's not enough. He wants to use his teeth to rip this things throat out. He would taste its blood and know that it failed to take you away from him.

Almost, though. One of the blood vessels in your eye was broken. That bruise around your throat. The way you shuddered, teeth bared in a grimace when you touched the back of your head. How close had you come to dying tonight? Too close. That is the only answer. Too close.

Guilt and anger. They have been with him since the beginning, and tonight they burn him more deeply than in years. Past the veins, right into the marrow. All of this thing's friends lay dead for the animals and the police to find. It will soon join them. The knowledge of the thing's imminent death does nothing to quell the inferno.

He failed you. The only thing Jason has to offer you is his protection, and he could not give it when it mattered most. He reaches out with his sense and finds you easily. You are where he left you, only fainter for the distance. The sound of your screaming still echoes in his ears, washing over his silent heart like wave after terrible wave, but the feeling of your presence is a comfort. It always is.

This is far enough. It's closer to your cabin than he likes, but he is anxious to return to you, and that can only happen when this is done. He will guide you away from this area for the next few months. The land will have drunk up all the blood by autumn.

The thing gurgles uselessly when Jason presses it back against a tree. He peers at it, attention sliding off the glistening ruin of its face in favor of the lesser bloom of blood on its side. He rips away the fabric covering the wound and ignores the thing's strangled yelp. A not-yet coagulated gash stares back at him, oozing fluid that the body really should be trying to preserve by now. Behind the mask, Jason's breathing is fierce. You fought. Your talons found their mark, and they went deep. His observant, dangerous hawk—he is proud of you.

He pushes his finger into the wound, curious, and the thing actually manages a scream. A slam backward against the tree silences it, and he refocuses. The edges of the wound are clean, save for a ragged section of skin near the top—your knife is serrated close to the hilt. Did you get it in all the way? Did this thing bleat in pain when you hurt it? He sinks his finger in deeper, probing for the end of the entryway sliced into its viscera. When he finds it, knuckle-deep in the wound, Jason's breathing stops entirely. He wants to drop this creature and find you, to tell you how good you did, but there is still work to be done. This thing is in pain now, but it isn't one tenth, one millionth of the pain it deserves for hurting you.

Another finger pushes into the wound and he does not silence the screams now. Instead he watches the thing's face, the burst eye and smattering of teeth and muscle and vibrant blood, and he readjusts his hold on it. He takes it by the throat now and is vaguely surprised to see its legs still kicking, connecting with nothing but the tree behind it. So much fight in this one—too much.

He isn't the type to draw it out like this, typically. His kills are efficient, singular in nature, just thinning out the herd of trespassers until the number is small enough to manage openly. There are some he has enjoyed killing more than others, of course, but this is different. The pain in him is so, so similar to the one that had him put a spike through the temple of his mother's killer. Too quickly that time, she should have suffered more—

A third finger in the wound, stretching and breaking the skin as he worms another digit into the hot, wet cavity your knife started for him. The thing's breath has long since run out, but Jason wants its last moments to be agony. He hooks his fingers, claws deep into tissue and pulls, and is pleased by the low, airless wail he receives. When its heart gives its final, tremulous beat, he drops it to the forest floor in a heap. Something snaps, and it may be a limb, trapped under its own weight. He is past caring.

Instead, he stares at the blood on his fingers, shiny and black in the moonlight. This is how he begins to avenge someone he loves while they yet live. He knows that now.

Your presence is a soft touch upon his mind, drawing his gaze through miles of forest where he knows your home sits. Has it been long enough now? One hour was all he could give you, all his shaking rage and guilt could manage. Yes, he decides, and starts off toward you. He needs to see you again, needs to see your injuries and know that you survived them. It will calm him, somewhat, to feel your pulse beneath his bare fingers.

(Even in the depths of his shame, Jason cannot help but remember the heat of your skin against his, how you stood there blazing just under the flesh like a star condensed to one body while his will broke almost entirely. He had wanted to press the flat of his palm against your cheek, to better understand the impossible softness of you. And if he had done that, if you had let him—you did let him, you stood so still and so quiet, watching him with those eyes he wants on him always—then the rest of his resolve would have died and he would do something regrettable. Something like press his bare face into your hair and breathe you in, just to envelop himself in the scent he's been chasing for months. And you would scream, and scream, and scream to see his face but he would not be able to stop.)

Jason breaks into a run, uncaring of the ligament that still slips poorly around in his thigh. It should have healed properly by now, and he knows why it has not. It doesn't matter. Nothing else matters more than getting to your side and staying there. Where he should have been all along.

He only hopes you will let him.

You have counted four hundred and eighty-two breaths since sitting. The counting is good. It keeps you from slipping into that just-under-the-surface panic. You started gasping for air at some point, feeling it rush over your senses like being caught in high tide, but the sound disturbed Heracles, and his dissatisfied grumble brought you back to yourself. That's when the counting started, and you haven't stopped yet.

It's four hundred and eighty-eight when Jason makes his entrance. Your spine straightens minutely when you spot his shape in the woods, walking toward you with such slowness that it can only be for your benefit. Maybe he senses how fragile you are right now with some land-given power he hasn't shared yet. Maybe the look on your face is putting the word danger in his mind for once. Or maybe he just understands that you've been through something horrible, and coming at you with any amount of speed is a bad idea. As he takes his careful steps, stride cut neatly in half with the effort, you find you don't actually care. All that matters is that he's here like he said he would be.

Unfortunately for him, you've had four hundred and ninety-four breaths to think.

The dogs are staring at him at your side, and you feel Abby's tail hitting your hip, but neither make a move to go to him. They're such good dogs. Somewhere in the emotional nothing space you're occupying, you spare a warm thought for them. It doesn't reflect in the flat, even surface of your voice when you say, "This has happened before."

Jason stops when he hears you. It's like he hits a wall, a dozen or so feet from where you sit, and it keeps him there. No seeing his eyes in this darkness despite the moon you admired only two hours ago, and it's better that way. Even knowing that they are focused solely on you is like a physical weight, pressing you into the ground, hands around your throat, squeezing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—no.

You take your hand off of Abby's back to gesture at the wreck of your door, into the dimly lit confines of your house. "Something like it, back in New York. About a year ago, now. It's why I left."

Abby presses more solidly into your side, so you put your hand back into its spot along her spine, and the warmth is nice. It's close to chilly out here now that the sun has been gone for hours. You don't really feel it, which some ultra-rational part of you recognizes as a problem, but you ignore it for the time being. It's much easier to focus on Jason's hands, stripped of their gloves—when did he takes those off?—and the way he signs, What happened?

"Which time?" you answer immediately, and you pause. A mirthless laugh bursts out of you and Heracles flinches at your side. Up until this point, he'd been dozing. "Christ, listen to me. Which time. An offense in the fucking plural, now." But you know what Jason's asking. No sense in torturing him, not when his shoulders are hunching inward. "I was subleasing a bedroom in a shitty apartment. Two beds, one bath, and the rent was awful, but it was the only place I could afford while still in the city. My roommate, the girl I was leasing from, wasn't actually home that often while I lived there. She had a roster of partners, but one was kind of rich, so she spent a lot of time at their place." It's a lot of concepts at once for Jason, whose knowledge of society at large outside of Crystal Lake you're still trying to gauge, but you're in no mood to explain ethical non monogamy to him right now. He's smart, you figure he'll get it through context or ignore it entirely. Either way.

"All of this is to say that she would rent out her room when she wasn't planning on using it for a while. Short-term, not like my situation, it was…temporary. Couch surfing with slightly more regulations." Again, you're working around saying the word Airbnb. "She wasn't great about changing the code on the lock after people had stayed, though. Sometimes people would just walk into the apartment and it wasn't clear if they were supposed to be there, but—whatever, you know. My bedroom door had a lock, and at that point I didn't actually leave my room that much, so it didn't really effect me."

You have to stop for a moment to fight down the panic. The breathing count is abandoned, no hope in keeping it up while you talk. This is the first time you've said any of this out loud and it's hitting you harder than you expected.

Jason is moving again, coming to stand in front of you. Heracles sniffs curiously at him when he drops to his knees in the gravel, tenser than you've ever seen him. He sees where this is going, no doubt.

Another breath, and you're mostly back to yourself. "It was three people. I was there alone, as usual, and they came in right as I was about to leave. I had an interview, my first in months—my hair was still wet from the shower. But they came in, and they weren't expecting me to be there, I think. I didn't recognize them, at least. I tried to leave, but one of them blocked me, and I was already nervous so I…yelped? When he got in front of me? And he—he smiled, and he told the other two to get started."

It's vivid in your mind's eye. The mundane yellow of his teeth, his height barely anything against yours, but built like he'd been lifting since he was old enough to stand. Thick cords of muscle in his arms, and a tattoo of a funeral lily near the wrist. A knockoff calculator watch that seemed so juvenile compared to the rest of him, just a few years older than yourself. The way you bit your tongue halfway through telling him to take whatever he wants, just let you go first, because he lifted his hand and you flinched away from it.

"It was fast. I mean, one second I was standing, and the next I was on the floor, blood all in my mouth. The others didn't care, didn't even look, so they must have been used to it. I…" You're shivering while you catch your breath, and it's as much from the cold as it is saying any of this out loud. "All I could do was just take it. I still don't know if there was a…a sexual element to it. Maybe that would have come after I was dead? But I do know he hit me like he fucking hated me. So. Yeah."

Jason spells out your name, as gentle in the movements as he's ever been, but you can see the stiffness in him. There's a vein in his neck, just visible in the moonlight, that jumps out in a way that you think means he's gritting his teeth. Part of you is gratified to see him upset over this, because you're pretty fucking upset about it, too. Still, you skip over the mess of your roommate coming home and the scuffle between her partner and the man with your blood all over his knuckles. How you blinked back into consciousness to find your roommate crouched next to you, phone to her ear and hissing, "She's hurt really badly." You don't feel particularly up to the task of detailing how many of your teeth had to be professionally tightened after it was all said and done, or how nothing ever came from the report you filed with the police.

There's a knot in your throat when you try talking again, choking you up. "That's why I left. I never felt safe there again. Getting Heracles helped, but I was so scared all the time, just constantly sitting alone in that room and wondering if he would come back, if he wanted to finish what he started. So I came here, and I made this place safe for me, but now—" another humorless laugh, and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks, "Apparently I have victim written all over me in bold and everyone else can see it no matter how far from society I get. I don't know what to do about that, I don't—what else can I do? Where else can I go? I'm so tired of being scared, Jason, I'm so fucking tired." And of course you include him in that. It wasn't long ago at all that you spent your days certain he would kill you as soon as you stepped outside, and that old fear clashes strangely with the door hanging off its hinge at your back. You want to scream at him to explain, finally, why he let you live. The answer, whatever it is, can't make this night any worse.

An argument is forming in the back of your mind while you watch Jason attempt to apologize. His hands are shaking as badly as they were when he knelt before you earlier, and he's exhaling hard through his nose every time they twitch too much. You think it's supposed to be an apology—not much of it is making sense.

As collected tears slide down the bruised surface of your throat, you tell yourself that the man who tried to kill you tonight would never have been anywhere near you if it weren't for Jason. How many others are out there right now, broken and discarded like you almost were? The thought of all that blood, always more blood, makes your stomach turn. And here is their murderer, knelt on the ground before you and all but begging for your forgiveness. Because he didn't kill one quickly enough.

It makes you sick. It makes you feel powerful.

"You don't have to apologize," some tired part of you says while the rest ruminates on the mess that has been made of your life. What were you thinking, getting wrapped up in this? Because you were lonely? Someone is dead because of you. Because of him. "I don't expect anything from you."

Jason's next breath sounds strained and he edges closer, knees leaving tracks in the gravel, until he's almost flush against your crossed legs. The light coming from inside your house is just enough to catch the glint of his eyes inside the mask, but you don't need it to know he's staring at you with an unfathomable intensity. Expect it, he tells you. His hands are in his command again, utterly calm. You still have trouble reading them, but only because you can't quite tear yourself away from the impression of his eyes. You are safe with me. I should have been here.

That does it. Everything comes crashing down over your head—the night, the past, the unfairness of it—and you start to sob in earnest. "Then why weren't you?"

I was tied up, he tells you, and before you can wrap your head around Jason using an idiom, he pulls up his dark sleeves and shows you the clear ligature marks still denting the skin.

He means it literally. For the first time, you have to look at the wreck of his shirt and ask yourself just how much of that blood is his? You assumed it all belonged to everyone else who has died tonight, but if someone was able to get him down long enough to tie him up, then he could have been seriously hurt. Not enough to last, obviously, but enough to rouse concern. You're hit with the impulse to ask, to check that he's okay, but all that comes out of your mouth is a garbled oh that's half-drowned by your own tears.

Jason takes your face between his cool palms. The skin is calloused and dry where it touches yours, and they lack the warmth anyone else's hands might have, but they are steady, and they are gentle, and you need them right now. You need him right now—everything else falls away, just for a second, because there is no one else you want nearby while you cry but him. His long thumbs swipe lightly across your undereyes to brush away the tears that just keep falling while the rest of his fingers rest along the natural space for them along your jaw. The pads of his middle fingers press in, briefly, on both sides, and a semi-lucid part of your brain wonders if he's checking your pulse. It jumps up to meet his touch, kickstarting your heart into a frenzied tempo that crosses the line into frantic. If he has a heartbeat, you can't feel it through the thundering of your own.

You come to pieces right then and there. Abby whines at your side while you shiver and rock with the force of your sobs, but neither of you can offer her any comfort. All you manage to do is reach up and hold Jason's wrists, keeping him right where he is. The indents left by the ropes make your brain stutter and you start rubbing at them without consciously deciding to. He doesn't seem to have much heat, or a pulse, but you know he has blood in those veins, and it's such a natural thing to try and encourage them to flow again. You feel him shudder, a full-body thing that moves you with it, and you're trying to form a sorry through the mess of your weeping, but he mimics the action before you can. In that space under the curve of your jaw, his calloused fingers rub small, soothing circles just over your pulse point.

He lets you cry much, much longer than you could have expected. Not once does he try to pull away, nor does he stop the soft circles that have steadily calmed your racing heart, and that is exactly what you need. He stays there, knelt in the dirt and gravel, and keeps you safe while you cry out every emotion you've ever felt. You think, when your eyes have gone raw and the skin around them starts to burn, that if anyone were to come here now, to see this, they would never believe it. Jason Voorhees, an emotional rock that you've readily tied yourself to. Of course, they wouldn't live long enough for what they've witnessed to matter—you've known almost from the start that you get to see a side of Jason that few, if any, others do.

When the last of the tears fall, you don't so much as relax as you do crumple. All the fight leaves your body and is replaced with an all-consuming, numbing exhaustion. There is nothing left in you but the shreds of consciousness keeping you awake, and you think you could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. But you do, eventually, slide your hands up to cover the back of Jason's and carefully pull them away. You hold his big hands between yours, whatever warmth left in you given over to him, and brush your thumb over a raised scar that spans two of his knuckles. He stops breathing. You only notice because you've been timing your breaths to his, once you both settled down enough for that to work, and you finally look up at him.

The mask is such a hindrance. In that moment, you want to take the edge of it and tip it upwards, to see what expression he's making under there, because you have never seen his eyes so soft. Just the impression of them in the light is enough to make your very, very tired heart thump.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For tonight." Which you mostly mean for letting you cry when you needed to, but also for the fact that you're sure he saved your life.

His hands are warm when you release them, your heat having permeated down enough to make him feel life-like, and he flexes them in mid-air a few times. He only takes his eyes off of you long enough to stare down at them, turning this way and that on the wrist like they've inexplicably changed. It would make you smile if you weren't so tired.

Then, with his gaze returned, he nods. It's all that needs to be said for tonight.

Jason glides his fingers through Abby's fur while you finish drying your face, and the way his eyes widen with clear delight encourages your heart to thump pleasantly again. He's never pet her with his bare hands where you could see—it's all too possible you're witnessing him truly petting his own dog for the first time. It's the most natural thing in the world to then take hold of his free hand and guide it to the top of Heracles' head, the fur there extra soft from a thousand kisses. His breathing goes funny behind the mask and this time you do find it in you to smile. It falters after a second, but it's there, and that helps.

You stand with all the grace your stiff limbs can muster, which isn't much. The groan that works its way up your throat is there entirely of its own volition, just your body's way of communicating how much it has not appreciated this day. Jason rises with you, and he makes to catch you when equilibrium is the last thing to catch up with the motion, but you're able to get upright on your own. A good thing, too—you're certain that if you let Jason touch you again, you'll fall asleep in his arms. It's just too much to consider right now. So you rub your face with your hand, more for the normalcy of the action rather than any need for it, and direct this next part over his right shoulder. "I'm…going to sleep. This…" a gesture to the broken door, "can wait until tomorrow."

I can fix it, Jason signs immediately, sizing up the ruin behind you as if for the first time. I will fix it.

"It's fine," you half-sigh, too tired to argue about wanting to fix it yourself, if possible. "It's a tomorrow problem, it's all a tomorrow problem, for now…I just really, really want to go to bed." And you look up at him with such plain exhaustion that you can physically see him dropping the matter. For now.

Getting the dogs back inside is more trouble than you expected. This night has clearly rattled Heracles, who growls upon getting past the threshold, and Abby's hackles raise within a few steps. It's something of a relief that your nose isn't as sharp as theirs—all you smell is bleach. You sigh as you step in after them. "I know. I know. Just…c'mon, the bedroom's still good. Please." You do feel for them, honestly, and you're over the moon that they're unharmed, but your patience is non-existent. In the end, you have to scoop Heracles' brick-like body into your arms when he refuses to to go any further, nuzzling your chin into the side of his neck so he knows you're not mad at him. Abby takes the cue and bounds down the hallway and into your open bedroom, and you watch her curl up in the middle of the bed with significant gratitude toward her. Heracles will calm down if she's calm, you're sure, and you'll feel better once they're settled.

Even still, you get two steps into the house with your burden before turning back and looking up at Jason. He fills the doorway once again, but he does not cross over, and his arms are firmly at his side. Just seeing him there helps fight away the dully encroaching fear of being inside again, his familiar frame backed by moonlight abating the press of your dark walls. The words are out of your mouth before you consciously decide to say them. "Will you stay? For tonight?" The idea of him leaving, of physically being where you can't get to him, is enough to make you shiver.

Of course, of course, he agrees. I will be here until you want me somewhere else. You and the dogs are safe, I promise. Your shoulders slump with relief to the point where you almost drop Heracles, and even then, you're only saved because he makes a grumpy noise close to your ear. Sleep. I am here.

Maybe you'll fight with him tomorrow. Maybe, when your head is clearer, you'll tell him you never want to see him again. Maybe you'll fall into his arms and cry until he swears upon the land that already binds him to protect you above all else. You don't care right now. He says he will stay and you believe him. It's enough.

You hug Heracles closer to your chest. "Okay. Thank you, Jason. I—thank you."

He does something just before he takes the wreck of the door in both hands and hauls it back into place for the night. He reaches across the threshold into your home and presses his fingertips to your cheek, then spells out the letters of your name with featherlight smoothness. You hold still while he does it, and the touch is so sweet, so gentle, that your lids flutter shut of their own accord. But then it is gone as quickly as it arrived, and when you come back to yourself, the door is mostly in its place.

Your breath flutters out of your chest like a newly living thing, completely unmarred by the terror of this night.

The dogs deign to make space for you when you finally get into bed. You need a shower, but that goes into the tomorrow's problem pile along with everything else, and once you've got the bedroom door locked, you are single-minded in crawling between the covers. The mattress presses against your sore body like a hug, which does prompt you to squeeze out a few more miserable tears. This fucking day.

Your last thought is of Jason standing guard outside, and that final press of his fingers to your cheek, and your body finally lets go. You are asleep within seconds, and if you dream at all, it is only of being carried far, far away by a forgiving current.

#jason voorhees/reader #jason voorhees/female reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #slasher x reader #hey so that took forever #waffled hard on just scrapping this because it feels too different from everything else #I think I've just been looking at it too long #also I told myself I was going to start making these shorter. lol.

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nethhiri · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 62: The Most Dangerous Game

Warnings: Violence, Sexual themes

Land came into view as you stood at the helm with Wire. It was late morning and mist still clung to the water's surface, not yet burned away by the sun. Wire yawned and stretched, lazily steering the ship towards shore. He had bags under his eyes.

"Not sleeping?"

Wire looked at you with contempt. "You're kidding right?"

"What?"

"You three have been keeping everyone awake for the past several nights. And days." Wire made a disgusted face.

You snorted. "With fucking? Grow up. Ignore it."

Wire grumbled, "Pretty hard to ignore."

"Use earplugs then."

"I hope Kid pisses you off again soon," Wire said under his breath.

"Doesn't bother me." Heat piped up from behind you.

"That's because you're a pervert." You and Wire said simultaneously.

"Ouch." Heat feigned being hurt, but he didn't really care. You weren't exactly wrong.

You turned to him and pinched Heat's cheek playfully. "It's okay. We love our little pervert. Right, Wire?"

"Do not get him riled up. He'll be whining all day," Wire groaned.

"Who you calling little, short stuff?" Heat laughed and mussed your hair.

"Why don't you go tell your two lovers that we'll be making landfall."

You curled your lip. "I'll go tell my very good acquaintances and bosses, Kid and Killer, that we're almost there."

"Whatever you say." You could hear the eye roll in Wire's voice.

Wire and Heat snickered as you did what Wire suggested and went to find Kid. He wasn't in his workshop, but Mini was there, licking crumbs off the floor. You checked the kitchen for Killer and he wasn't there either. It didn't take you long to put two and two together, and the closer you got to Kid's cabin, you knew you were right. You went ahead and let yourself in. There was no point in knocking. They wouldn't hear you over the chorus of grunts and groans that emanated from Kid's bedroom. Killer at least paused to look at you when he heard the door shut. Kid noticed and glanced quickly before returning to the task at hand.

"Want me to come back?" You asked. "When you're not balls deep in each other?"

"Gimme- ngh- a minute."

You rocked on your feet with your hands behind your back, trying not to look directly at Kid's pasty white ass clenching as he fucked Killer, fearing the reflection might blind you. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room while you stared intently at the cuticles of your nails. While you might have joined them in a different instance, you could tell earlier in the morning that they wanted to have time together, so you let them be. Not everything had to be all three of you all the time. Several pornographic sounds later, Kid slapped Killer's ass and rolled onto his back.

"You're insatiable. Last night wasn't enough?"

"IT WASN'T ME. IT WAS KILLER'S IDEA," Kid shouted defensively.

Killer had a sheepish grin. "Guilty." He sighed and let himself relax into the sheets.

"Why did ya come in here again?" Kid yawned.

"I was letting you know that we'll be reaching the island today."

"Oh shit. Already?" Kid mused.

"So wash your dicks or whatever and come up top."

"Well I already came down below." Kid's bellowing laugh rang out.

You muttered under your breath. "I cannot believe we both fuck this dude."

Kid and Killer joined you, Heat, and Wire on deck a short while later. The three of you were playing cards to pass the time until the ship made it to shore. All the preparations had been made for landing already so there was nothing to do except pass time. Wire had won both yours and Heat's pants in a matter of a few games. Heat had forgotten to mention that Wire was an excellent gambler. By the skin of your teeth, you had won your pants back, just as your superiors arrived. Heat wasn't as lucky, and was about to lose his shirt, too. The three of you threw your cards in, much to Heat's relief, in favor of standing at the rail with Kid and Killer. The fog cleared enough for you to see a dilapidated castle sitting on a mountainside.

That must be the hideout.

A castle was unexpected, though the questionable condition had been somewhat assumed. They most likely didn't use this hideout often. They were only using it now as a meeting place for this alliance. You didn't know much about Apoo or Hawkins, only that they rose to infamy around the same time as the Kid Pirates. They seemed lame and annoying, a magician and a bard. Just what they needed, shitty cards tricks and dull ballads. Surely those special abilities would come in handy, if the enemy could be defeated by irritation alone.

Kid announced his intent to feast tonight, as a pre-alliance treat, and to recognize your new position, which you assured him was not necessary. As he did with most things, he insisted. He was simply excited to show you off. Kid took pride in his crew and he was proud of you for how far you had come. When he thought back to the time you first came aboard, it made him frown. You were so scrawny and feral-appearing back then. Then he thought about how they treated you, which he did feel slightly bad about. More than that, he sweated, thinking about how you had so little control or knowledge of your devil fruit. If you had been at the level you were today... his thoughts flashed to your prowess in torture. That could have been him splattered across the floor.

The truth was, as much as they had helped you grow, you had helped them grow, too. Kid had become ever so slightly more in touch with his feelings. You had encouraged him to try new things, with his fruit, with his cock, and his emotions. Killer learned to love himself a little more and that sometimes it was worth it to take a risk and let his guard down with people. They both learned that they had room between them for another person again. Or maybe it had always been there after Victoria, and they were too afraid to fill the gap.

Minerva bowled over several of the crew, causing them to drop whatever they were carrying, in her rush to get onto dry land. She hated being cooped up on the ship for too long and you didn't blame her. She needed space to run and forage. There were a lot of pig activities she needed to catch up on. The boar didn't even wait for the gangplank and jumped right into the shallow water before jetting off into the trees.

Over the course of the day, the crew unloaded the necessary items for the party, mostly food, and took them into the castle. Killer went straight to the kitchens of the castle to sort everything out. He probably had to do a good bit of cleaning before he could cook there, but it was a much bigger space than the kitchen on the ship, and the cost of cleaning was worth it. Kid was curiously absent from his workshop, which is where you were, cleaning your gunblade. This stupid alliance had you on edge. You also used the time to mend your jacket, which you hadn't been wearing as of late. It felt off to wear it now. You were less The Sea Snake and more a Kid Pirate. However, it did make you look more distinguished and you thought it would fit your promotion. When you were done, you went through some of the piles of junk. You had never gotten your bracer back and you wanted it. Not because Kid had made it for you or anything like that, just because it was handy. While you were at it, you snooped around, out of curiosity. There were various unfinished plans and silly doodles on Kid's workbench, including one that very suspiciously looked like you and Killer kissing, each of you with cartoonishly huge boobs.

You sat down at it, fiddling with some of the metal bits scattered over the top. With your powers, you could easily turn them into whatever you wanted, yet you wanted to try making something from your own two hands. Kid made it look so easy when you watched him, even when he didn't use his devil fruit. With a hammer, you flattened one of the pieces. It was surprisingly malleable even though it was firm to the touch, sort of like a semi-hard dick. Turning it, you continued to hammer until you ended up with a long, skinny cylinder. It was about the length of a finger, a classic first sculpture: worm. You decided to make it more of a snake, giving it a tapered tail and using a chisel to make eyes and some rudimentary scales.

"Are ya having fun, fucking around with my shit?"

You jumped, and dropped the hammer and chisel. "No."

"Lemme see whatcha made."

"NO." You covered it with your hand.

Kid easily slipped it away from you with his devil fruit, smirking at your clear embarrassment of being caught. He rolled it over in his hand.

"What is it? A turd?"

"IT'S A SNAKE, JACKASS." You muttered, "Turds don't stare back."

"Maybe yers don't."

"You're disgusting."

Kid cackled and put your creation into his pocket. "What are ya doing in here? I see ya found yer bracer."

"Nothing. Was lookin for you... I guess." You grumbled, unhappy at the admission.

Kid was smug. "Ya want what Killer had this mornin, aye?"

You looked him up and down, not completely against it. "Hm. Actually I wanted to test your newest creation." You pointed to your eye.

"What did ya have in mind, doll? I see that evil glint in yer eye."

The remaining prisoners that could function were brought to stand on the beach, ankles shackled together. The ones that were too far mutilated or transformed were inhumanely put down by your benevolent gun barrel. That left three, including Warthin. You had restored them enough so that they could survive, but they were still starving and dead inside. You walked down the line, resting your eye on the pulse point in their necks to watch their heart rates. It pleased you that it would skyrocket when you walked past them. You could almost smell the fear.

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I've decided to let you all go. You bore me."

Kid's face was puzzled. You didn't tell him exactly what you were doing.

"Captain Kid will release your shackles. If you can make it off this island, congratulations, you've earned your freedom." You added, "Oh yeah, there's a rage-prone boar loose somewhere in the forest. So run fast."

If you had told them you were going to use them for target practice, they may not have bothered trying to run. This way, you gave them a smidge of false hope. They thought maybe there was a chance they could survive this. You nodded to Kid, who used his devil fruit to release the shackles. The prisoners warily eyed you, expecting a trick, before one by one taking off into the trees.

"Care to enlighten me?" Kid said.

"I'll give them a head start and then I'm going to hunt them." You grinned. "I was never going to let them live."

Kid put his arm around your shoulders. "That's my girl."

You begrudgingly let him do it. There weren't that many people around. You could makeout in public, and you could fuck in public, but you drew the line at small gestures of affection. This was like walking on burning coals for you.

"If I need some adjustments, do I need to take the whole eye out?"

"No. Something wrong with it?"

"I think it would be useful to see heat signatures."

"Infrared? Piece of cake." Kid put his hands on either side of your head, facing you. "Ya gotta look at me so I can see what I'm doing."

Forget walking on coals. Staring directly into Kid's eyes made your entire face turn red. You would rather bounce across coals with your bare cunt than be forced to make full, longing eye-contact with your captain's deep, golden, beautiful eyes. Thankfully, your vision flickered off in your right eye while he fixed it, so you were only halfway subjected to this torment. In a matter of minutes, he was done. He seemed to be too engrossed in the actual task to notice your face, which was all the better.

"How do I turn it on?"

"Ya gotta do exactly as I do. Watch closely."

Kid proceeded to put one hand behind his head, which you repeated. Then he put one hand on his hip, which seemed odd but you did it anyway. Then he dropped his hip and did a shimmy whilst making a kissy face. Oh. You were a little mad about falling for the first half.

"Ha ha. You're very funny."

"Don't forget handsome."

You scoffed, but couldn't stop a smile from forming on your face. "You're alright."

"Don't make me take that eye back outta yer pretty head."

"I'll break both your arms before you could even try." You stepped to him.

A third voice entered the conversation, "Are you guys flirting without me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Killer." You fluttered your lashes at him.

Kid saw what you did and copied it.

"Don't do that. She's cute. You look like you're having a stroke," Killer quipped at Kid.

"Both of ya are so mean! Yer gonna break my dainty heart."

"There's not a single thing about you that I would describe as dainty." You said.

"Damn straight, sweetheart." Kid puffed his chest. How quickly his mood could be changed with compliments.

Killer took notice of the empty shackles. "What's going on here?"

"I was just about to try my hand at hunting."

Killer perked up. "Ooo!" He pulled a list out of his pocket. "Will you see if you could get a rabbit or some game fowl while you're out? I didn't realize how low we were on proteins."

"Of course." You loved how casually he asked, as if he was asking you to grab milk while you were at the store instead of picking up some extra ingredients while you were hunting people.

"How come yer so accomodating for Killer and not for me?"

"She likes me more," Killer egged Kid on.

They bickered with each other and got into a playful shoving match. You watched them and grinned. It made you warm inside to see them like this. They were carefree and happy. Killer had gotten Kid in a headlock and was pulling his goggles out from his face and letting them snap back. You were staring intently when the vision in your right eye abruptly changed to show brightly colored blobs, heat signatures. It was great that it worked. What was less than pleasing, was that it was extremely disorienting since it was only in one eye. You put your hands in front of you to catch yourself if you fell. It was instantly nausea inducing and started a dull ache in your head. You covered your regular eye. That helped but you could still only see blobs and you had no depth perception. Lucky for you, Killer noticed you and caught you right before you fell over.

"You get into the booze early, darlin?"

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried blinking it off. "I wish."

Kid put his finger on your temple and turned off the infrared for you. He had a sheepish look on his face. At least he had the decency to feel some guilt.

"My bad," Kid said. "I'll fix it."

"Stop experimenting on our precious angel," Killer scolded Kid.

"Ew, Killer," you said flatly. Somehow you could sense Killer being smug behind the mask. Great. Was he gonna get off on taunting you with affection, too?

"She asked me to! And she's the one stealing my dick and shit!"

"Mhm. Have fun and be careful, you two."

You quickly replied, "Oh. He's not going with me."

"I think I should in case of a malfunction." Kid folded his arms. He actually seemed serious and not like he was just trying to irritate you.

You pondered it for a minute. "Fine."

"Don't be late for dinner or..." Killer paused. "I can't even threaten either of you properly because you'll just get turned on."

You and Kid both nodded. Killer was correct.

Kid showed you, for real this time, how to operate your eye's new function. Then you set out into the forest, with him right behind you. It became apparent that the element of surprise would not be on your side. Kid's large frame was snapping branches off left and right and his footsteps were heavy. He also wouldn't shut up about the intricacies of fine metalwork and how exactly, in painful detail, your eye worked.

"Kid, captain, do you think you could be a touch lighter on your feet, and maybe shut up a tiny bit."

"HAH?"

"You're too fucking loud!"

"Ya shouldn't yell. Yer gonna give away our position."

You turned on him and held up your hands in a choking gesture before bringing your finger to your lips. "Shh."

To your astonishment, Kid actually did shut up, and even though you could tell he was trying, he still lacked the grace to make his footsteps light. This wasn't going to work. You didn't want to dismiss him though, since he had a good point. If your eye malfunctioned out here and rendered you into that dizzy, disorienting state, it would be difficult to recover on your own without breaking the machinery.

You had an idea. Climbing up one of the trees, you reached the top and looked around for somewhere high. There, you could see a rock outcropping that would serve excellently as a vantage point. You climbed back down, hanging from one of the thicker branches. It was a short distance to drop. Before you did, Kid came from behind you and grabbed your legs, sitting them on his shoulders and plucking you from the branch. You wrapped your arms around his head to keep from falling backwards.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Helpin ya down."

"Yeah? Then put me the rest of the way down."

"Nah, my ears were getting cold. I need yer thighs to keep em warm."

"It's not worth arguing with you, is it?"

"Nope."

An aggravated sigh left you and Kid cackled.

With your direction, you led Kid towards the outcropping you had seen from the treetop. You heard some rustling in the brush ahead and motioned for Kid to stop. There was a silence that followed. Listening carefully, the sound of a small branch breaking in the distance caught your attention. You turned on the infrared. Kid had adjusted it so that it was overlayed with the background. It helped you distinguish what you were seeing. Along with that, it helped greatly to close your other eye. Sure enough, the form of a human heat signature was crouched some distance ahead. You removed the gunblade from its holster and pointed at your target. Numbers appeared in your vision: 34m. You leaned on Kid's head, resting the forearm that stabilized your shooting arm against it.

You whispered, "Don't move." You lined him up in your sights. "Hold your breath for a 5 count."

When you were sure your shot would be true to its mark, you pulled the trigger. A loud crack rang out and the figure in your sight flopped to the ground.

"Did ya get him?"

"Of course I did."

Sure enough, when you came upon the marine, the entry wound was right through the temple. You left him to rot into the earth, continuing on your way to the outcropping. Kid only got you stuck in branches a few times on the way. Kid finally let you down once you got there. You perched on the very edge, making sure you could see a good portion of the island. Lying flat on your stomach, you got comfortable. It was possible you would be here for a while. Sniping would take longer than actively hunting.

Your gun was also not made for sniping. The barrel was too short. A longer barrel would make your shot more accurate so you extended the barrel with your fruit. It was tugged out of your hands briefly. Kid inspected it and tweaked it before giving it back. Apparently your metalworking skills weren't up to snuff. Kid didn't even say anything snarky, which shocked you. Holding back was not in his nature.

Turning back to the forest below, you scoured it for movement. You heard Kid behind you plop down onto the dirt. A few seconds later you felt large hands clap down on the sides of your ass and a face plant itself in the middle. Kid placed his body between your legs and turned his head to rest on your cheeks.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"M'gonna take a nap." Kid patted your butt. "Ya got a nice set of pillows."

"Whatever just try to stay still and don't fuck around back there."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess." There was a sarcastic lilt to his tone.

For the next hour or so, your eyes were hyper-focused on combing through trees. Kid's soft snoring was background noise, though not as nice to listen to as the island birds. The infrared picked up animals moving through the forest, even Mini at one point. She seemed to be having a grand time digging up roots and bugs. Movement caught your eye. Something was darting from tree to tree. It wasn't moving like an animal. You watched it closely. It was definitely a human. Your finger tensed on the trigger and then relaxed. What if it was a crew member and not a prisoner? You observed a while longer. The figure appeared skinny and weak. They were coming closer. You pressed yourself flat against the ground. They got close enough that you could recognize them as one of the prisoners and didn't hesitate to shoot. You didn't shoot to kill, however. You toyed with him, shooting the ground around him, watching him dance. Then you moved inward, shooting him in the arms and legs. You couldn't honestly help yourself. You loved torturing these scumbags. You eventually ended him with a shot through the head when he had fallen to the ground in a pool of his own blood, unable to move. Kid didn't so much as stir, deep in sleep.

After that excitement, it was dull for another long drag of time. You looked back at Kid, still sound asleep and snoring. Slowly and gently, you pulled yourself out from under him, replacing his "pillow" with your newly mended jacket. He was such a deep sleeper, he probably wouldn't have woken up anyway. You were impatient. Your eye was doing fine. You decided to do what you originally planned. With a glance at Kid, you hiked down, back into the forest. He would be fine by himself. There was only one more victim to go and you hoped it was Warthin so you could kill him one last time.

It didn't take long to come upon footprints. You followed them and came upon the most recently deceased prisoners. It wasn't Warthin. He was the one still out there, as you hoped. The bushes rustled near you and you tensed for a moment before you saw familiar red-brown ears poke through. Minerva trotted over to you, stepping on the deceased. The boar's snout was dyed blue, no doubt the carnage of a berry bush assault. You scratched her head.

"Let's go find this fucker."

Minerva pawed at the ground and dipped her body so you could mount her. For her size, the boar was agile as she tore through the trees. It was like she lived her whole life here, the way she avoided upturned trees, roots, and low branches. Mini had never forgotten Warthin's scent. Not once did she need to pause to sniff the air. She was locked on instantly with how much she hated this smell. Mini was a lot like yourself in many ways.

She slowed with her ears flicked forward. Something, a man, burst from the underbrush in front of you, running in the opposite direction. You flung yourself from Mini's back and chased after him. Dodging branches and jumping over roots, you were on Warthin's heels. He was screaming and begging for his life. You were sick of this song. Reaching in front of you, you grabbed Warthin by the hair and threw him down. In one fluid move, you turned, manipulated your bracer into a long, slender blade, and effortlessly plunged it through his eye and into his brain. When you withdrew your blade, his eye came with it. You shook it off, watching him twitch on the ground. He would suffer yet. You stood over Warthin, watching the twitches slowly dwindle. You stepped back and nodded to Mini, who reared up on her back legs and plunged her front hooves into Warthin's skull. It cracked in much the same way a watermelon would, juice spilling out and all.

When you got back to where you left Kid, he was awake and he didn't look happy. He didn't quite look angry either.

"Where were ya?"

"Peeing."

"Is it usually a bloody occasion?"

You wiped your face with your hand, seeing red smears come off. You grinned at him.

"Ya little shit." Kid grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder. "I'll teach ya not to lie to yer captain."

"Yeah?"

Kid spanked you in response, carrying you back towards the castle. He took you straight to his quarters. You caught glimpses of the inside of the castle. You hadn't been inside yet. Kid threw you onto his bed. It was enormous and had a canopy top. This must have been the room of the king that once resided here. Kid got on the bed with you and you were expecting him to be all over you. Instead, he sat cross-legged and pulled you up to rest your head in his lap.

"How did yer eye fair?"

"It was fine. If it's alright, I'd like to make some requests, though."

Kid listened to what you wanted and tilted your head up so that he could see your eye. He went straight into it, tweaking the inner workings to your liking.

"Ya shouldn't go off on yer own ya know."

You rolled your eyes and Kid swatted you.

"Don't move yer eyes while I'm workin, dumbass."

"I was on my own a long while before you came around. Don't forget."

"Aye, but now ya don't have to be." Kid went on, "Ya know Killer would kick my ass if anything happened to ya."

"As he should."

"And ya know it would upset me if ya got hurt on my watch."

If he wasn't holding you hostage with your eye, you would have tried to escape this conversation. "You weren't really that worried, were you?"

Kid's tone changed. "Nah, course not. I know our girl can fight." He pushed your hair out of the way. "Yer somethin else when ya have that murderous intent about ya."

"Wish you weren't sleeping that whole time. You missed some good action."

Kid shrugged. "Nappin on that sweet, bouncy ass of yers was worth it. Even though I do like watching ya be merciless. It's yer best quality."

"Oh stop. You'll make me blush," you joked.

"Like how ya were when I was fixing yer eye the first time?"

"Shut up. No I wasn't."

Kid cackled. "Admit that ya love me."

"Fine." There was a meaningful pause. "I love you."

Kid blinked, dumbfounded. "Oh shit. Ya actually said it."

You smirked. "Only because we're alone and no one will ever believe you if you tell them I did."

Kid's face fell. "Damn... ya really are Rotten."

"To the core." You winked at him.

He tried to look grumpy, but you could tell he was beaming on the inside. You had to admit, it felt good to say out loud. Kid permitted you to close your eyes while he finished up with the upgrades. When he was done, he let you know you could get up, but you had fallen asleep. He didn't know what to do. Before, he wouldn't hesitate to disturb you. The more he stared at the sleeping face he loved so much, the more he couldn't bring himself to move you. He was also a little hesitant to incur your wrath by waking you. You were so beautiful to him, even more so now, when you couldn't talk back. Who was he kidding? He loved when you played at being difficult. Kid sighed, resigning himself to his fate of being trapped under your sleeping form.

"I thought I told you guys not to be late for dinner!" Killer burst into the room with his arms folded, ready to scold you.

"Oh thank fuck, Killer. I have to pee so bad. What do I do?" Kid was still crosslegged with your head in his lap and you were still sound asleep.

Killer stared incredulously. "The fuck do you mean? Wake her ass up!"

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"Look at her! She's so peaceful." Kid added, "And I'm afraid of her." He was joking, sort of.

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin @wgwingguns

#marooned #one piece #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #x reader #eustass kid x reader #massacre soldier killer x reader #kid x reader x killer

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