#i have to go down the tiny spiral stairs to go to the bathroom too 😟😟😟 i might die tbh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zorinanana · 2 years

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Kiss Me in the Dark is another illustrated fanfiction I made a couple months ago. It takes place in the same continuity as Like a Glass Bottle, but it's a completely separate story that doesn't really connect to that one. I also wrote this before Chapter 7 Part 1 or the Sunset Savanna event came out so there's some parts that definitely diverge from canon. There are also spoilers for chapter 6, by the way.

Rating: M (Strong language, suggestive content, A LOT of mentions of suicide and self-harm)

Pairings: Leona/Idia, background Malleyuu

Content Warnings: This story pretty much revolves around suicidal ideation, depression, and self-harm. I am serious, you probably don't want to read it you have a hard time with that stuff.

Word Count: Long as Fuck (~55k words)

“You’re beautiful.” Leona breathed.

Idia’s eyes blew wide. He tried to step back, but Leona stopped him with a touch to his cheek. Idia stared down into his upside-down eyes, searching for something. Maybe an escape.

“…I’m not.” Idia said. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“No.”

“You’re a jerk. You’re a mean kittycat.” Idia whispered, leaning closer. “And you’re a liar, too.”

“I’m not lyin’.” Leona replied.

“Then say it again. Convince me this time.” Idia’s lips hovered over his. Leona felt the warmth of his breath, of his hair spilling over the back of the futon and covering them like a curtain.

“You’re beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beauti-”

Before he could say it again, Idia silenced him with his lips.

Chapter 1 - Beautiful

Parked by a small, secluded beach on the west coast of the Kingdom of Heroes, a shiny new camper reflected the brilliant oranges and blues of the sunset. It had been built to look vintage, but a closer look revealed distinctly modern features and artificial wear and tear. Its owner had bought it because he knew that its kitschy fakeness would make people mad. He leaned against the fence separating the lot from the beach, watching the last of the beachgoers pack up their umbrellas and beach chairs. Parents carried their sleeping toddlers on their backs, ignoring him as they walked past.

Leona exhaled slowly, letting the smoke from his cigarette drift into the air in a dirty spiral. It stood out against the vibrant colors of the sky, a nasty blemish that soon dissolved into nothingness. It was almost poetic, in a way, but he would never write it down or say it out loud.

He hadn’t come to the beach for any particular reason. He didn’t even have a swimsuit on him. He had no reason to be here, or there, or anywhere.

Leona had been on the road for a good four months now, out of the Sunset Savanna, through deserts and mountain ranges and cities of all sizes, eventually making his way here. This wasn’t his final destination. He didn’t know what that would be, yet. He’d figure it out as he went along.

As long as he wasn’t home.

The parking lights began to flicker on as the sun sank further below the horizon. Leona flicked the butt of his cigarette against the asphalt, stomping it out with one of his heavy boots.

As night fell, the air grew chilly. Leona sighed, slipping back into his vehicle. Time to figure out what he was going to do next.

Despite its relatively small size, the camper was pretty cozy. He and Ruggie had customized the thing to hell and back. Most of the back was taken up with a kitchenette and a tiny bathroom, along with stairs up to the lofted bed. Way in the back, under the loft, hid a little nook with a loveseat for reading or just lounging around. There used to be a TV mounted there, but they’d taken it out after they had gotten back.

Souvenirs from their trip still hung from the rearview mirror and covered any stable service. He’d bolted a makeshift shelf to the wall where a bunch of tacky bobbleheads now wiggled aimlessly. It was cheesy, sure, but who was going to care? It was one of the last good memories he had.

Speaking of Ruggie. Leona pulled his phone out of his pocket, intending to open it and check the map for good spots to eat and sleep. But before he could, he saw the multiple missed calls from his friend-slash-employee.

“Can’t wait to find out what this is about.” He grumbled, despite knowing exactly what it was about. He dialed Ruggie back and waited.

“Boss! Your brother is pissed.” Was the first thing he said, his voice frantic.

“What else is new.” Leona answered.

“I’m serious, Leona. He’s about to go on the warpath.” Leona could hear the hyena whipping his head around to check that he wasn’t being overheard. “They found out you’ve been gone and now they’re asking him questions about it.”

“You guys still haven’t told them?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not part of my fucking job description!” Ruggie scoffed. “I’m already on thin ice with your brother, why would I stick my neck out just to get more people mad at me?! I need this job, Leona!”

“You know I’d give you a good recommendation. I wouldn’t leave you high-and-dry like that.” Leona rolled his eyes. Yeah, maybe he was being a baby. But Ruggie knew more about the situation than anyone and Leona thought that he, at least, would understand.

“Would still love to not get kicked out of the palace and give my grandma a heart attack, thanks.” Ruggie replied. “I can’t afford to be looking for another job.”

“Then I’ll pay you from my personal account until you find one.”

“That’s not the fucking point, Leona!” Ruggie growled in exasperation. “God! Do you rich people ever think of anyone other than yourselves?!”

“Ruggie, calm down.” Leona sighed. “I’ll tell them personally, okay? Tell Falena I’ll call tomorrow.”

“You’d better not mess this up for me.” Ruggie replied, but Leona knew he would do it.

“You know he’d still fire you if he ever heard you talking to me like that, right?”

“Honestly, it’d be worth it. I’d go out with a bang. Really cuss you out over all the shit you’ve put me through.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without ya, Ruggie.”

“Bite me.” The phone went silent as Ruggie hung up. Leona stared at the darkened device, thinking. He was running out of options. It seems he couldn’t pretend to be sick or out on “business” anymore.

Slumping against the leather driver’s seat, he let his phone drop to the floor. He hadn’t felt this pathetic in years. Not since he’d met Yuu and the others and gotten his ass kicked by a bunch of kids.

Through his windshield he watched the sun wink out of existence. He kicked his heel back, hearing a hollow “thud” from the metal safe he’d been keeping under the driver’s seat. Ruggie had suggested it for hiding weed in if they ever got pulled over. He just needed a reminder that it was there.

He could still do it. This was a nice enough spot, and the beach was nearly empty. Nobody would be there to stop him setting up, and they wouldn’t find him until the next morning. But he didn’t get up. That cowardly side of himself had grabbed hold of him, pinning him down. He tried to breathe, waiting for something to change. He never knew which direction the scales would tip.

Leona’s phone buzzed in his hand. He sighed and lifted it to his ear.

“What is it now, Ruggie?”

“Um, I’m not Ruggie.”

“Idia?” Confused, Leona double-checked the name on his caller ID. Yep, there it was, “radish sprout”. “You never actually call people.”

He tried to remember the last time he’d heard Idia’s voice. They still texted sometimes and played online chess in their spare time. But Leona didn’t get much opportunity to hang out with schoolmates these days, so many years after dropping out. Last he had heard, Idia had just finished up his engineering degree at some fancy school in the Sunshine Lands.

“I, uh… Didn’t think I should ask this over text.” Leona could hear other people on the other end of the line. He could picture Idia perfectly, sitting somewhere public with his legs scrunched into his chest, a bundle of nervous energy.

“The truth is, I need a huge favor.”

“…Why are you askin’ me?” He winced at his own rough questioning. Damn it, Idia would definitely take that the wrong way.

“…Oh, silly me. Of course the prince of the Sunset Savanna himself wouldn’t have time for a loser like me…”

“Shut the fuck up, I didn’t mean it like that.” Leona sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, more annoyed with himself than Idia. “I just know you have other options that you’d rather ask for help from first. Y’know, like Yuu or Azul.”

“They can’t help me.” Idia answered. “Azul is working down in the Coral Sea right now, and Yuu is… Well, they’re busy.”

“And you think I’m not busy?”

“I know you’re not busy.”

“Fuck.” Leona grumbled.

“Look, just forget it. This was a stupid idea.” Idia’s vice sounded shaky. Leona felt a pang of guilt and grimaced. Damn it, he knew Idia well enough by now to understand the way he was. He wouldn’t have called for help unless he really needed it.

“I didn’t say ‘no’, yet. Just tell me what it is.”

“…So my parents just disowned me.”

“What the fuck.” That was not what he expected.

“I know.” Idia said, dejected.

Leona’s eyes widened. He ran a hand through his bushy hair, trying to process what he was hearing. What could Idia have done to get disowned?

“…They only let me study engineering because they expected me to come home and keep working for S.T.Y.X.” Idia began, as if he could read Leona’s mind. “But I’ve been applying to other companies, and I got an offer. And they found out.”

“Shit.” Leona growled. After everything that had happened, they were still at it with him. It was just so… unjust. Unfair. Idia had never deserved that, and he didn’t deserve it now.

“You know this is just a power play, right? They need you more than you need them.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Idia replied. “That’s why I… I’m not gonna give in. Not this time. So I just need a place to stay for a little while. Just until my new job starts.”

“…Where are you right now?”

“At an airport in the Kingdom of Heroes.”

“Good, I shouldn’t be far. Text me the address, I’ll get there.”

Idia spluttered in surprise. “Leona?! You’re really going to-”

“What, you were expecting me to say no?” He scoffed, sitting up in the driver’s seat and turning the key. The vehicle rumbled to life, ready to go. “I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Y-You don’t have to rush right here! I can make do for one night!”

“Not like I’ve got much else to do.” Besides killing myself. He added, silently.

“Nevermind, you don’t have to. You don’t have to! Th-this is a waste of your time, I’ll just figure something else out, I’ll-”

“Idia.” Leona interrupted him. He wished he could look him in the eyes right now, he could easily picture how terrified he must be. “I want to help. You ain’t a waste of time.”

That was part of the reason, yes. But it was also a way for him to stop thinking about the things he was keeping under his driver’s seat.

“…Thank you.” Idia mumbled. “I… I really appreciate it.”

“Damn right you do. I’m living in a van right now, by the way. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“What? Why?!”

“Long story. Tell you later.”

---

When he finally reached the airport six hours later, the first thing he noticed was that Idia had cut his hair.

He’d cleaned up a lot, actually. He’d put on slacks and a well-fitted shirt for once, instead of hiding himself away in a pile of baggy clothes. All he had with him were one suitcase and a duffel bag. Leona honked the horn as he got closer, startling him into nearly dropping his phone. He laughed at the glare Idia gave him through the window.

As Idia slid open the side door to throw his suitcase inside, he took a moment to look the inside of the camper over. He seemed impressed. “Wow. When you said ‘van’ I wasn’t expecting this space-defying pocket dimension.”

“I’ll give you the grand tour once we’re outta here.” Idia stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him. He tried to wedge his suitcase into the little reading nook in the back where it wouldn’t be jostled around too much.

“You got a haircut?” Leona remarked when he finally sat down. It still looked messy, but that was probably because he’d been stuck at the airport for so long.

“Y-Yeah. Does it look gross?”

“How would a haircut look gross?”

“I… dunno, actually.” Idia let out a little laugh. He reached up to grab a loose curl of hair. “This is just the first time anyone outside of the Island of Woe has seen me like this.”

“It looks good.” Strange, but good. Idia’s long-haired look was certainly unique, but it probably attracted more attention than he wanted. It hadn’t made much sense that he had kept it like that in the first place.

“Y-You don’t mean that.” Idia looked away and hid his face behind his palm, a new habit he must have developed since he couldn’t hide behind his hair anymore. He pulled his hoodie from the duffel bag at his feet and slipped it on. Leona wasn’t sure why, but he felt a strange sense of relief that he still had it.

“You really need to learn how to take a compliment.” Leona sighed. With Idia buckled in and everything loaded up, he pulled out of the passenger loading area.

Leona navigated out of the maze of airport traffic and pulled onto the highway. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

“…Um…”

“Okay, so food first, got it.”

“W-Wait, I didn’t get to answer!” Idia protested.

“So what’s the answer?” Leona raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look away from the road.

“…I grabbed some chips from the airport convenience store, but as for real food, it was the night before last. I had dinner with my parents.” From the corner of his eye, Leona saw him fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. “I was kinda happy about it too, like an idiot. I don’t usually get to eat with them. But they must have already known by then.”

“What about Ortho?”

“Ortho’s fine. He’s at school.” Idia perked up. “Oh, yeah, he decided to go to the same university as me. He doesn’t need to, but I’m glad he did. He’s made lots of friends.”

“No shit? What does a robot study in university, exactly?” Leona asked.

“You’re not going to believe this, but photography.”

“Photography?”

“Yeah!” Idia turned in his seat. He was finally smiling, just a little bit. “He got really into cinematography and stuff like that in Vil’s film club. And he’s good at it, too! I can show you his portfolio when you’re not driving.”

“Huh. Sure, sounds interesting.”

After a moment of silence, Leona asked:

“Does he know what happened yet?”

Idia didn’t answer right away, but his head dropped just a little.

“No. He’d go berserk if he knew.”

“Hm.”

Idia shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if he was expecting a lecture. Leona rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t judge. He’d never had a relationship with his own brother like the Shrouds’, but he could imagine how embarrassed Idia must be right now.

And… He was doing the same thing, so getting on Idia’s case would just make him a hypocrite.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Some fast food garbage would be great.” Idia answered. He’d started staring out the window at the deep black sky, even though there was nothing to see with all this light pollution. “I haven’t had any in ages.”

The streetlights lining the highway cast a warm glow through the window on Idia’s melancholy face, blotting in and out as they passed each one. It was nostalgic, almost. It reminded Leona of falling asleep in the back of one of his family’s cars after a long day out, his head resting against his big brother’s shoulder.

Leona tried to think of what to say. Years ago, when he first met Idia, he wouldn’t have cared about what happened. But now, after they’d worked together and become something like friends, he had too many questions and no idea how to ask them. If he wasn’t careful, Idia would shut down and retreat into his little introvert zone, and good fucking luck getting him out of there.

So he said nothing, idly kicking his free foot against the metal box under his seat.

---

Idia had barely started on his food by the time Leona finished scarfing down his two double cheeseburgers. He’d been driving non-stop since sunset, and he could feel his energy starting to flag. The restaurant they’d settled in was nearly empty this early in the morning, the only other occupant a tired cashier blatantly scrolling on her phone as she leaned against the counter.

“You look like hell.” Idia remarked.

“Could say the same to you.” Leona snapped back.

Idia rolled his eyes. Before S.T.Y.X., he never would’ve done something like that. At least not to his face.

“You know what I mean. Were you on the road this whole time?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Leona laughed and snatched a fry from Idia’s tray, ignoring the glare he got for it. “Stop eating so slow. It’s survival of the fittest out here.”

“We’re in a McDonald’s. There’s a playground for toddlers outside.”

“And what do you think happens to the ones who can’t find their way out of the tubes?”

“Pfft.” Idia tried to conceal his smile by taking a big bite out of his own burger.

He didn’t speak again until he had finished chewing. “I can drive, so you can take a break. I don’t know where you’re going, though.”

“That makes two of us.”

Idia looked confused. “You don’t know?!”

“Can’t a guy just fuck off for a while and have an adventure?” Leona leaned back in the restaurant booth, grinning at the man across from him.

“Sure, but a prince? Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me the whole story?” Pouting, Idia leaned forward to glare at him.

“Don’t we have more important things to worry about? Like what you’re gonna do.” Idia stared down at his food. Leona swallowed nervously. His deflection had worked, but he couldn’t help but feel bad about it.

“I accepted a job offer a week ago.” Idia explained, still not looking up. “I was supposed to start next month.”

“So let’s get you there, then.” Leona decided. “Where is it?”

“It’s, uh.” He finally lifted his head, sheepish. “They’re working on this big project in, well. The Sunset Savanna.”

Well, fuck.

---

He was going to have to go back eventually. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. He was doing the right thing, doing a favor for Idia like this. And it might be fun. At least it wouldn’t be boring.

Once Idia stopped moping around, anyway. They had gotten a hotel room for the night, and all he was doing was sitting on his bed and staring at his phone, not texting or browsing the internet or anything. Leona felt like he should be worried, but all he could think about was how funny Idia’s hair looked after a shower. He’d never thought about what magic curse fire looks like when it gets wet.

“You’re gonna stare a hole in that thing.” He finally remarked.

“I’m trying to figure out what to tell Ortho.” Idia mumbled. “He’s starting his junior year soon and I don’t want him to think he needs to come and look after me.”

“So just tell him that.” Leona yawned. He took up a familiar pose lounging on his own bed, staring lazily in Idia’s direction. “He’ll listen to you, at least.”

“Have you met Ortho?” Idia scoffed. “Half the time I have no clue what’s going through his head, and I’m the one who made him.”

“He trusts you, though.” If there was one thing Leona was sure of, it was that. He’d seen the way they both doted on each other. If Idia said he needed space, Ortho would give it to him.

Idia sighed, but he didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, he finally unlocked his phone and typed something out.

“There, it’s done.” He stood and tossed his phone back on the bed. “Now I’m gonna do my dailies and go the fuck to sleep.”

“That’s a nerd thing, right? Sounds like a nerd thing.”

“Dailies. Daily tasks you can do for extra rewards in-game. I’ve only got a trackpad though, so I’ll have to do it with one of the braindead jobs that don’t require a mouse. DPS it is.”

“I wasn’t asking for an explanation.” Leona groaned, but he filed away the info for later. Just in case he needed it. Peeking one eye open, he glanced into Idia’s open suitcase as he rummaged around for his laptop. He was a little surprised to see it actually had clothes in it, mostly, but a couple board games and a chessboard had been stuffed in there, too.

The chessboard seemed familiar, and after a moment, it struck him. It was the one he’d given Idia for his birthday. The pieces must’ve been stored away in the little blue velvet pouch that had been taped to it.

“You actually kept that old thing?”

“Huh?” Idia looked up at him, then followed his gaze to the chessboard. “Well, yeah. It’s a nice chess set.”

After a moment, a familiar toothy grin appeared on his face. “Aww, are you embarrassed or something? You don’t like that I’m still carrying around evidence of your deredere side?”

“Shut up. I just thought you said it was too fancy to play with.”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” He faced away from Leona, the ends of his hair turning pink. “I didn’t get a lot of time to pack. I just grabbed whatever important stuff I had.”

Important. Out of all the games, merch and personal belongings Idia had left behind, he’d decided that that chess set was important enough to keep with him. Leona didn’t know what to think about it. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling flattered or sick.

He rolled over, facing the wall, staring at the slowly blinking thermostat. “What a waste. You coulda used that room for your clown suit.” He laughed.

Idia threw a pillow at him.

---

Five Years Ago

Leona woke with a start. It took a moment to decipher where he was as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Nearby shelves were covered in empty glass containers and lab equipment, and the soft surface beneath him felt like the old futon they had dragged in here for a makeshift break area.

He must be in the overflow lab that their group had taken over for their portal project. No wonder he hadn’t recognized it, he had never fallen asleep in here before. Groaning, he sat up. Something soft had been draped across his chest, and when he pulled it away from himself, he was surprised to see the familiar patterns on Idia’s hoodie.

“Oh, good morning. Or evening? Oh, no, wait, it is morning. It’s 3AM.”

The boy in question sat at a lab table behind him, typing away with only the blue light of his high-tech laptop for illumination.

“You’re gonna ruin your pathetic little herbivore eyes.” Leona remarked.

“Shows what you know. My last eye test said I had 20/20 vision.” Idia grinned smugly, but he didn’t look away from his screen.

“Why didn’t any of you wake me up?” Leona asked. He remembered what had happened, now, he had dozed off in the middle of Azul telling them about his latest “acquisition” of dangerous (and probably illegal, not that he cared) materials.

“Yuu told us you haven’t left in like three days.” Idia answered. “So we thought you needed the rest.”

“How the fuck would they know that?” He grumbled. Standing, he let out a long yawn to cover up how annoyed he felt. Figures that Yuu would still be butting into his business, even though they were barely talking anymore.

“They’re here almost as much as you are, and no offense, but you kinda stink. You should go back to your dorm and take a shower.”

“What a waste of time.” Leona sighed. He balled up Idia’s hoodie and tossed it towards him.

“Hey!” Idia yelped when it slapped against his face. “Fine, if you want something to do, check these measurements for me. You have to promise to leave after this, though.”

He slid a few papers across the table. Leona picked them up, scanning over them.

“You’ve been here a longass time, too.”

“Not as long as you. I got some sleep yesterday afternoon. These are peak work hours for me.”

“Weirdo.” Leona picked up a pen and circled two spots. “Go over these again. They’re close, but they could be more precise.”

“Huh? You can read that when it’s this dark?” Idia looked up from his screen, confused.

“Beastman, remember?” Leona tapped the side of his head beside his left eye. “I can see everything in here.”

A weird smile crept across Idia’s face. Leona felt a shiver go up his spine. “Just like a kittycat~” He crooned.

“Call me that again and you’re fucking dead.” Leona growled, tossing the papers back on the table. Idia chuckled, smiling at him knowingly. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You still think I’m scared of you.” Idia propped his head up on his hand, still grinning. It was infuriating. “We all know you’re a sweetheart, deep down.”

Leona huffed. “Don’t go telling everyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Why not? Your popularity would skyrocket if your moe side was public knowledge.”

“Whatever fucking nerd thing you just said to me, I don’t care. I don’t want to be popular.” Leona growled.

“Yeah, I get it.” Idia turned back to his screen. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Leona frowned. Idia was just going to… Wave him off like that? Acting all smug, like he had won some game they were playing? He couldn’t just take that lying down.

So he snatched the laptop, slapped it shut, and tossed it on the futon out of Idia’s reach.

“H-Hey!” Idia squeaked.

“Oh, damn. Sure is dark in here.” Leona said. “Shame about your sad little herbivore eyes.”

“First of all, humans are omnivores,” Idia huffed, stumbling out of his chair. He glared in Leona’s general direction. “Second, you’re an asshole, and third, I can see your eyes just fine, kittycat.”

“Fat lot of good that’s gonna do you.” Leona taunted. “What, you gonna fight me?”

Idia leapt at him, Leona sidestepped him easily, watching him stumble into the back of the futon. Then he reached out and grabbed a fistful of Idia’s hair, not pulling it, just holding it.

“Let go of me, you-!”

“Naaaaw.” Leona tugged at his hair, but not too hard. He wanted to annoy Idia, not actually hurt him. The flames crackled in his fist irritably, transitioning into a red hue at the tips. Leona knew from the times Vil had fussed over Idia’s hair that it couldn’t burn him, but it still felt warm in his hand.

He shouldn’t have been focusing so much on that, though, because Idia grasped his own hair like a rope and jerked him forward, jumping out of the way at the last second.

Leona rolled over the back of the futon, landing with a surprised yell on the seat. He heard the laptop fall and slide across the floor of the lab to god-knows-where. Idia yelped in pain too, and he looked up to realize that he was still pulling on a fistful of blue hair.

“Owowowow! What the fuck, Leona!” Idia hissed. The pained look on his face jolted him back to his senses. He let the mass of hair go, and Idia bundled it up in his arms, stroking it like a sad animal.

The sight was bizarre enough to make Leona laugh, despite the guilty feeling in his chest.

“I’m glad my pain is so funny to you.” Idia grumbled. “Now will you please leave me alone?”

“Why would I do that, when it’s so fun to mess with you?” He replied, gazing backwards up at him. Idia could only barely see his shit-eating grin in the glow of his hair. He was pouting.

“I thought we were friends.” Idia sighed.

Leona felt something grip his heart painfully.

Idia was joking, he knew, but some little shard of doubt had begun to jab into his skin. Idia… was a friend, right? There weren’t a lot of people Leona felt he could say that about. Ruggie, sure. They understood each other in a way that other people didn’t, despite the differences in their personalities and upbringing. Jack, sure. He was a good kid who worked hard, and he was entertaining to have around. Epel, probably. He was funny, and his passion helped keep everyone else motivated.

Yuu? Leona… Wasn’t so sure about that anymore. He was here to help them, but he knew that the way they were ignoring each other was making everyone uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize, still. Or if he would ever get the chance to.

But that uncertainty was bearable, at least with Yuu. Even if they never made up, Leona could still be proud of how hard he was working to get them home.

The thought of Idia ever not thinking of him has a friend made him sick, though. And he still didn’t know why.

“…Sorry.” He said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Idia gave him a small, soft smile. “It’s fine. It was dumb of me to try and fight you in the dark.” He leaned closer, trying to get a better look at him. “You’re okay, right?”

Idia’s pale skin looked almost ethereal, framed by the soft blue flame of his hair. Reflections shimmered in his concerned eyes and on his lips.

Leona thought he looked like a creature from a storybook, emerging from the dark forest to spirit him away to the depths of hell. If he didn’t already know what faeries looked like, he would swear that Idia was one.

“You’re beautiful.” Leona breathed.

Idia’s eyes blew wide. He tried to step back, but Leona stopped him with a touch to his cheek. Idia stared down into his upside-down eyes, searching for something. Maybe an escape.

“…I’m not.” Idia said. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“No.”

“You’re a jerk. You’re a mean kittycat.” Idia whispered, leaning closer. “And you’re a liar, too.”

“I’m not lyin’.” Leona replied.

“Then say it again. Convince me this time.” Idia’s lips hovered over his. Leona felt the warmth of his breath, of his hair spilling over the back of the futon and covering them like a curtain.

“You’re beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beauti-”

Before he could say it again, Idia silenced him with his lips.

Leona gasped into his mouth, pushing himself up to kiss him back. He licked at Idia’s lips to coax them open, slipping his tongue inside. Idia tried to keep up, but Leona could tell that he didn’t really know what to do. But that was fine, he could teach him.

Leona pushed himself up on his knees and broke away for just a moment to turn and face him. Idia was back on him again in a second, a little more confident his time. His hands found their way to the back of Leona’s neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair.

Leona let him own hands settle on Idia’s waist. He felt their hearts pounding in sync, only separated by a few inches of flesh and ribs. One of Idia’s teeth nicked his lips, but he ignored it.

“Beautiful.” Leona murmured against his lips. Idia whined in protest, but he would have to deal with it. He would say it as much as he needed to, until Idia believed it.

He wanted Idia to believe it. He wanted to say hundreds, no, thousands of nice things to Idia, over and over again, and he wanted him to believe every word.

Leona knew he could never make up for all the things that had hurt him, but he wanted to try. At the very least, he wanted Idia to know that he was worth that much effort.

---

“Leona? Why are you still here?”

Leona blinked awake, disoriented by the bright light coming through the open door. Yuu stood at the threshold, arms crossed, frowning.

Wait, why was he asleep in the lab again? He racked his brain, trying to piece together the events of last night-

Oh, right. He had kissed Idia. Had he kissed Idia? He remembered that they had made out for a while on the futon, until the other boy suddenly pulled away from him and stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“I-I have to go.” He’d said, pulling his pinkening hair around his face to hide his expression. Then Idia stood and ran out of the room, leaving a stunned beastman behind.

Or had that been a dream? Leona looked down and saw that the hoodie was still draped over his lap.

“I told Idia to send you home when you woke up. Geez, don’t tell me he just left you here?”

“Did he?” Leona mumbled. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. He tasted dried blood.

“He left all his stuff. Wait, is that his laptop?” Yuu noticed the device under the table where their latest prototype was laid out and crawled underneath to retrieve it. “Why’s it all the way over here?”

“Who knows?” Leona lied. “I slept through the whole night, I’m fine.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re fine.” They marched around the futon with the laptop, reaching out as they passed to flick him in the forehead. “Go back to Savanaclaw and take a damn shower. Ruggie’s starting to get worried about you, y’know.”

“Fine, mom.” Leona put up a front of annoyance, but he couldn’t help the relief he was feeling now that they were talking to him again. Even if it was just to scold him.

They even smiled at him, a little, as they tidied up Idia’s stuff. “Your magic math or whatever will still be here after you’ve had a nice break, Leona.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see ya later.”

Satisfied, Leona stepped out into the fresh air of the open hallway. He took a deep breath, some of the fog from his head finally clearing.

But before he started making his way back to his dorm, he took one last glance out at the empty courtyard, searching for a head of bright blue hair. He tried not to be too disappointed when he didn’t see it.

---

Leona could recall every detail of that moment, down to the little fluffballs of fiber that had fallen off Idia’s shirt and gotten caught in his braids. He had gone over it so many times, searching for a reason why Idia had left. Why they had never talked about it afterwards. When they met in the lab the next day, he’d waited for Idia to ask about it. Instead, they’d just slipped back into one of their usual conversations about the project or chess or some anime episode Idia had seen or something.

Pushing it will just scare him away. Leona had thought, but he knew, deep down, that wasn’t true. It used to be, before S.T.Y.X. Before all of them had found out his worst secrets. Idia had already confronted and bested so much worse than this, and Leona had, too. So why was it so much harder to deal with?

The most frustrating thing was that he wasn’t even sure when or why he’d developed feelings for Idia. Maybe it had been at Ramshackle dorm, where they’d played chess while Yuu and the others screamed over videogames in the background.

Maybe it had been one of those many all-nighters they spent together, talking about dry tech stuff until everyone else left and their conversations shifted into something more intimate. Something dark and tranquilizing, something that their friends would never understand.

Maybe it had been during that fight in the Underworld, when he looked into Idia’s eyes and thought Oh. He already knows this isn’t going to work. He just wants to choose the way he dies. Like me.

That understanding had bonded them, somehow. The others had noticed that Leona was nicer to Idia than he was to other people, but they had never gotten the real reason why. They didn’t know about the morbid jokes the two of them told when they were alone, all so they could just feel that cathartic darkness wash over them.

They could find comfort in the fact that they weren’t alone. They could think, “Maybe we aren’t crazy. Maybe the world is just unfair, and we’ve drawn the short straw.”

Leona had missed that, but he didn’t know if Idia did, too. And without their misery to bind them, what exactly were they?

---

Idia's robot brother: Leona Kingscholar!

Have you abducted my brother?!

Leona: well if it aint the brobot

idias fine calm tf down

Idia's robot brother: Then why isn’t he answering my messages!!!

Leona: hes dealin with stuff ok

ill tell him to shoot you a text

Idia's robot brother: I demand proof that he’s unharmed, you normie scum!

Leona: uuuuuuuuuuuggggh y r u like this

You sent a file “ransomphoto.png”

Idia's robot brother: Fine, I’ll accept this, but only because he looks like he’s enjoying his dailies.

I’ll assume your tasteless filename is a joke.

Leona: sweet ive escaped robocops wrath for another day

Idia's robot brother: I’m not a cop, don’t insult me like that.

But he is okay, right?

He’s not sad, is he?

Leona: u sound like a mom tryin to keep her kid from gettin bullied

hes kinda down but i think weve both seen way worse

hell get through it

just dont murder your parents or anything aight

Idia's robot brother: Okay but they’re on thin fucking ice.

They’re not MY parents anyway, they treat me more like ‘Idia’s project’.

He’s the only one who sees me as family.

Leona: damn that’s the saddest shit i ever did read

Idia's robot brother: Oh, I don’t really mind.

They’re awful people, I don’t want them as parents.

Leona: ok cool

fuck em then

*thumbs up emoji*

Idia's robot brother: Fuck ‘em!

*thumbs up emoji*

Leona: where did u learn to say fuck btw

and read chatspeak

Idia's robot brother: Yuu taught me.

They did it to prank Idia.

Leona: i cant believe how not surprised i am by that

Idia's robot brother: Also I have access to the entire internet at all times.

Leona: sounds like hell

Idia's robot brother: It is!

I had to create custom firewalls to hide all the beheading videos and illegal pornography.

Leona: god its a miracle ur not way more fucked up than u already are

Idia's robot brother: It really is, isn’t it?

I have my big brother to thank for that!

I have other important friends too, but he was the one who cared for me when I was just a little baby AI.

So you had better take good care of him, okay?

I know you will, since you inexplicably seem to be fonder of him than you are of other people.

Leona: whoa whoa whoa where r u gettin that from

Idia's robot brother: It’s obvious to anyone with a modicum of emotional intelligence.

So everyone but my brother, basically.

Leona: boom roasted

kind of a mean thing to say tho ngl

Idia's robot brother: It’s not mean if it’s the truth.

I am well aware of Idia’s shortcomings, believe me.

That’s why I want him to spend time with people who will help him overcome them!

I think you might be one of them, Leona Kingscholar!

Leona: u think i can help ur bro improve himself?

so did he program u to be that stupid or was the ai/soul-merging to blame for that

Idia's robot brother: Joke all you like, but all our friends agree with me!

“He’s surprisingly insightful. Shame about his awful personality.” – Jamil Viper

“I would never want Leona as a business rival. He would raze my empire to the ground, and probably steal my spouse while he’s at it.” – Azul Ashengrotto

“He knows exactly how to get under my skin. Eventually, his luck is going to run out. I hope I’m there to see it.” – Malleus Draconia

Leona: wtf did u survey ppl about me

y r all of those so backhanded

Idia's robot brother: I think they’re very good character assessments!

You’re insightful, you’re charming, and you can easily find the weaknesses of others!

Leona: nvm i take back what i said about u not bein fucked up

u should ask idia for a tuneup next time u see him

Idia's robot brother: I feel quite fine, though.

And quite confident about your abilities!

Yes, I think this will be a great experience for him!

Leona: u just accused me of kidnapping him

Idia's robot brother: That’s all in the past!

Leona: it was literally five minutes ago

Idia's robot brother: Details. ------------------------------

Chapter 2 - Cool

“So what’s this job you got, anyway?”

Idia continued pressing buttons on his little handheld console, but he didn’t seem distracted. He was curled up in Leona’s passenger seat, knees pulled tight to his chest. “It’s a company that builds themed attractions for amusement parks and museums. Y’know, animatronics and ride vehicles and stuff. It’s pretty cool.”

Idia was trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but from the way he bit his lip, Leona could tell that he was holding back his excitement. He probably didn’t want to come off as annoying as overbearing.

So, Leona decided to indulge him a little. “Oh, right. I guess they’re building something like that back home. It seems like something you’d be into.”

“It’s part tech and part art. Totally up my alley. Theme parks are basically irl videogames, anyway.”

“Huh. I’ve never thought about it that way.” Leona furrowed his brow. “Hey, you ever heard of the Shadowlands?”

“What’s that?” Even as he asked, Idia was already pausing his game and searching online for it.

“This tourist attraction in the Sunset Savanna. I wouldn’t call it a theme park, but it’s… Some kinda park. They’ve got some tacky-ass haunted caves and carnival rides there. People mostly know it for the food.”

“Aw, it’s so cute!” Idia said as he scrolled through the image results. “It’s so cheap and kitschy, but you can tell they put a lot of love into the decorations. How’d you find out about this place?”

“Everyone knows it. It used to be this really creepy area that nobody wanted to go to, when I was a cub. But then somebody got the bright idea to buy up all that cheap land and turn it into a little tourist trap.”

“I gotta check it out sometime.” Idia said, grinning in excitement. “I love this. Look at this food stand, they made it look like an elephant skeleton! And one of the haunted caves has real lava running through it!”

“…It’s on the way to the city, y’know.” Leona coughed. “We could stop there, if you want.”

“Oh hell yes.” Idia was practically bouncing in his seat. “This is already giving me so many ideas. It’d be fun to pitch an upgrade to their theming someday.”

Leona turned his face just enough that Idia couldn’t see him smiling. It was good to know that he still had so much passion for stuff like this. He wouldn’t be Idia without it.

They settled into a comfortable silence after that. Idia scrolled through the pictures for awhile before returning to his game. They’d done this a lot, back at school. They’d take a break at the same time and Leona would doze off to the sound of games beeping and booping.

Until, out of the blue, Idia asked: “What have you been up to? Besides driving around, I mean.”

“Nothing.”

“Ah, I get it. Top secret royal duties and stuff, huh?”

“Don’t have those. Literally, I’ve been doing nothing.”

“Really?” Idia glanced over at him. “Nothing at all?”

“Not since I dropped out.” Leona answered, trying not to sound too bitter. “I tried, for a little while. Spent a whole year putting together this plan for reforming our welfare programs, but Falena wouldn’t even look at it. The rich fucks in the Senate wouldn’t like it.”

“Oof. What is it with rich people hoarding a bunch of gold they’ll never be able to spend? It’s like holding onto all your elixirs for when you ‘need’ them and then never using them.” Idia pouted. “But I guess I can’t talk, since I am rich people.”

“Are you really? I thought getting disowned usually meant no more money.”

“I’ve still got my share of the royalties from the portal patent. Honestly, I’m making enough from that right now that I don’t even need this job.”

“Huh.” Leona hadn’t checked on that in ages, but he assumed that he still had a good chunk of royalties lying around as well. “Still, you’re not guillotine-levels of rich anymore, unlike me. So congrats on that.”

“Hooray, I escaped the wrath of the masses.” Idia chuckled. “But it sucks that they wouldn’t look at your plan. I bet it was good. Maybe you should give it to a whistleblower, then everyone will at least know you tried. They might even let you keep your head.”

“I didn’t do it for that.” Leona grumbled. “I just got tired of listening to Ruggie complain all the time.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s why.” Idia smirked at him, and Leona rolled his eyes.

“Quit lookin’ so smug.”

“Smug? I’m not smug at all.” Idia returned to his game, still smiling. “You know, you could try writing.”

Leona glanced at him like he was crazy. “Are you high or something?”

“You’d be good at it! I’ve got tons of screenshots of funny things you’ve texted me. Yuu thinks you’re funny, too.”

“Yuu still thinks memes from 10 years ago are funny.”

“And you think I don’t know how to take a compliment.” Idia shook his head. “If comedy was a stat, yours would be maxed out.”

“Yeah, because I’m a retired clown. This van is so big because I got sick of riding in tiny cars with all the other clowns.”

Idia giggled. The sheepish smile he gave Leona made his heart skip a beat.

“Ya see? People would like that. You could start a blog. Or a youtube channel or something.”

“…I think you’re overestimating how much people care about what I have to say.” He grumbled.

“I care! Ooh, you could review bad movies or something and roast the shit out of them! I’d love to hear your take on Creepy Hollow!”

“I thought you liked that movie.”

“I do, it owns. But real horror movie fans know that sometimes the best horror is cheap, trashy horror. Or, you’re good at improv, you could be a streamer-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. If I wanted to scream into the void of the internet, I’d just play one of your multiplayer games.”

---

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Idia said. He was walking out of the gas station they’d stopped at, arms full of snacks and a cup of some radioactive green slurpee in his hand. Leona just looked at him, flatly, taking another deliberate puff.

“Don’t get on my case about it. I’m gonna die of something, eventually.”

He was testing the waters. But Idia’s face didn’t betray any reaction, negative or positive. He just shook his head and walked around the front of the parked RV to put the snacks away inside.

Leona tossed the barely-burned cigarette to the ground, annoyed.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and, looking for a distraction, he pulled it out and immediately regretted it.

It was Falena.

Right, he’d promised Ruggie that he’d call sometime today. Falena must’ve gotten tired of waiting. He should ignore it, but he knew that his brother would just keep calling until he picked up.

Before he answered, he walked some distance away from the RV so Idia wouldn’t overhear him.

“What do you want.”

“Where the hell are you?” Falena demanded.

“A gas station.”

“You know what I mean, Leona. You’ve had plenty of time to work out your little temper tantrum. Come home, now.”

“Oh, you think this is a temper tantrum?” Leona scoffed. “I’m a fucking adult, Falena. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want.”

“Not when you’re a prince, you can’t.”

“So when I have real ideas for how to run the country I’m just a figurehead, but when you want to control my life I suddenly have princely responsibilities. Right, got it. I see how it is.”

Falena sighed. Leona could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Don’t make me have to be the bad guy, Leona. I hate doing that.”

“Coulda fooled me.” He snapped. “Look, if it’ll get you off my case, I’m already heading back. But it’s not because of your bullshit.”

“Good. When are you going to be here?”

“Who knows. Might be a week. Might be a month. Might drive into the ocean and start a new life as a merman.” Leona deadpanned.

“Very funny. This is childish. All I’m asking you is to give it some thought and-”

A loud rev and a screeching sound interrupted the rest of Falena’s sentence. Leona looked up just in time to see a beat-up sedan scraping against the back of the RV, leaving a huge gash behind.

“What the fuck?!” He yelled.

“Leona? What’s happening?”

“Some fucker just hit my van.” He growled. “Look, we’re done here. I gotta deal with this.”

“Hey! We are not done-”

Leona hung up on him. He stomped over to where the sedan had stopped, fur bristling with rage.

“What the fuck, asshole! I was parked!”

The driver of the sedan opened his door and stood up, glaring at him over the top of the car. He had perky canine ears that were already pulled back in irritation. “Calm down, dude, it was an accident.”

“Accident? What kind of idiot are you? You came barreling in here at like 60 miles an hour, you jackass!”

“Maybe your stupid RV is too goddamn big.” The other man said. The other passengers in his car were getting out now, another beastman and a human woman. “If it was a normal car, I wouldn’ta hit it.”

“What the hell kind of logic is that?!”

“Chill out.” The second man shrugged, like this was just a dumb thing that was above his notice. “Our car’s in worse shape than yours.”

Leona gaped at them. He couldn’t believe the audacity of these people. “You know what? This isn’t even worth it. Give me your insurance.”

“Why should I?” The driver asked. “You come up to me right out the gate screaming at me, and I barely scratched you. Fix it yourself, you look rich enough.”

Leona snarled and took a step forward, his tail lashing wildly behind him.

“Oh, this guy thinks he’s tough.” The second man laughed.

“Justin. Cut it out.” The woman said to the driver. She seemed more embarrassed than anything. “Just give him your insurance.”

“Leave this to us guys, babe. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Don’t talk to her like that. Your girlfriend’s the only one of you with any goddamn sense.” Leona growled. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with right now.”

“Try me, douchebag.”

Leona slapped his palm on the trunk of the sedan and the lid instantly dissolved into sand. The second man, the one closest to him, yelped in surprise and jumped back.

“Oh shit, he’s a mage!”

“The fuck are you doing to my car?!” The driver yelled, marching angrily towards Leona.

“Justin!” The woman said, much more urgently this time.

“Leona.”

Somebody touched his arm. Leona turned sharply towards them, startled. Idia was there, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Stop it. You’re just drawing a bunch of aggro without a healer to back you up.”

“This ain’t the time for your cute little video game references, Idia.” Leona growled, but the rage he’d been feeling was already gone. Idia just shook his head.

His hand still on Leona’s arm, he addressed the angry driver. “Look, I’m sorry about my friend. He got carried away. But you are the one who hit us, so maybe you shouldn’t be trying to start fights with guys like him. Right now you’re like a level 1 slime mob trying to take on the final boss.”

“And now you gotta hide behind your buddy. Coward.” The driver said to Leona. But then the human woman stepped between them, already holding a pencil and a pad of post-its in her hand.

“Justin, I swear to god, if you don’t shut up I am going to leave you here and walk home.” She hissed at him. Justin stared at her in disbelief as she scribbled their info down.

She held it out to Idia when she was done. “Here. I’m sorry about these idiots.”

“Thanks. We’re sorry about all this too.” Idia elbowed Leona. “Right?”

“I’m sorry your boyfriend was dropped on his head as a cub.” Idia sighed at him in exasperation.

“Whatever, that’s good enough.” The woman said. She turned and walked back to the car, dragging Justin with her.

---

“That sure was something.” Idia mumbled when they were finally back in the RV.

“Why did you stop me? I could’ve taken that chump.” Leona huffed as he sat back in the driver’s seat.

“And then gotten arrested for murder. You looked like you were ready to tear his throat out, Leona.”

“Hmph. He would’ve deserved it.” Leona grumpily rested his chin on the steering wheel, waiting for Idia to finish putting the snacks away and get back in his seat.

“Probably, yeah, but that was low-quality bait. You’re better than that.” He slid back in next to Leona, tearing open one of the bags of chips.

“…You didn’t seem scared at all.” Leona realized. “You just walked up and handled it.”

“Uh, yeah.” Idia crunched down on a potato chip. “Somebody had to.”

“You never woulda been able to do that when we were at school.” Leona sat up, looking at him.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on my DEF and RES.” Idia laughed. “I can handle a stupid little parking lot fight with some weak NPCs.”

“…That was cool.” Leona said, under his breath. “You’re cool, Idia.”

Idia froze, another chip halfway to his mouth. His hair was already starting to turn pink.

“I-I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Idia squirmed, hiding his face behind his hands. Like Leona couldn’t tell how flattered and sheepish he was feeling from the pink hair. “You’ve always been cool.”

“B-by the way,” Idia began, trying to deflect, “What’s that big box under your seat? I thought it was a mini-fridge at first, but it has a lock.”

Leona felt a chill go down his spine.

“…Ruggie brought it.” He said, trying to keep his voice even. “He kept his weed in it so we wouldn’t get caught by customs.”

“Is there, uh.” Idia peeked through his fingers at him. “Any left in there?”

“Doubt it. And it’s been like four years, it’d probably be gross as hell. I forgot the combination for it, anyway.” He lied.

“Damn.” Idia grumble, slumping into his seat.

Leona couldn’t help but laugh at his pouting face. “Don’t look so disappointed. You smoke weed now?”

“It helps with my anxiety.” Idia admitted, fiddling with the ties on his hoodie.

“We can find someone to buy from on the way.”

“Really? It’s a pain in the ass to get it on the Island of Woe, I have to get it delivered through the dark web.”

“You talk about shit like the dark web and you still don’t think you’re cool.” Leona shook his head sadly.

“You’ve obviously never been on the dark web if you think it’s cool, it’s just a bunch of middle-aged perverts selling mushrooms out of their sheds.”

---

Leona: yo yuu

u talked to idia lately

plantmuncher dragonfucker: yeah, like two days ago?

why? dont you have his number too?

Leona: ye thats not it

hes stayin w/ me rn

plantmuncher dragonfucker: in the RV???????

why????????????????

Leona: whats with all the ?s

is it that weird he would be w/ me

and it’s a van

plantmuncher dragonfucker: it’s a gd RV leona it’s massive

vans don’t have LOFTS in them

Leona: semantics

anyway i cant tell u why it’s a kinda sensitive issue

but i think hed like it if u reached out to him

plantmuncher dragonfucker: awwww

you’re such a nice guy, leona

Leona: stfu no im not

plantmuncher dragonfucker: top-tier tsundere

Leona: stop talking like him i need to understand at least one of you

plantmuncher dragonfucker: it means you pretend like you don’t care but deep down you really do

Leona: i wasnt asking for an explanation

plantmuncher dragonfucker: youre going to need them if idia is staying with you

honestly sometimes he gets too into it for even me to decipher

like when he busts out the raid terminology

who fucking plays mmos just to memorize strats with names like “stario kart deathwall jenga stack skip”

I just wanna dress up my catgirl in cute outfits and gpose in a nice rp venue

Leona: i dont know what half of those fucking words r

r u gonna text him or not

plantmuncher dragonfucker: of course I will!

Im guessing he’s having one of those moods, huh?

Where he feels awful but he doesn’t want to tell anyone bc he thinks he’s being a burden :(

Leona: not a mood, just some pretty shitty stuff happening

plantmuncher dragonfucker: oh shit

did his parents do something

Leona: i told u im not telling u

plantmuncher dragonfucker: so they did. ugh

what the fuck is wrong with them

hes such a sweet guy and they treat him so bad

Leona: beats me

some ppl dont deserve kids

plantmuncher dragonfucker: fr fr

like my mom lol

i invited him to grind FATEs w/ my free company tomorrow night, we’ll hang out in vc then

Leona: like i said, dont know what that means, gonna assume its good

plantmuncher dragonfucker: ill invite lilia too, that’ll cheer him up

mal is too busy working tho :(

ill have to make it up to him later <3

Leona: brb throwing up

plantmuncher dragonfucker: you guys would like each other if you got over yourselves

and yes I mean him too, i know how he is believe me

Leona: i dont need to get over anything

i question ur taste more and more every day

plantmuncher dragonfucker: i guess you wont be very happy to see what im sending you in the mail then

Leona: oh my god

ur getting married arent u

fuck u so much

plantmuncher dragonfucker: loooooooool

now that I think of it you don’t have a mailbox rn so I might as well ask you here

come to my wedding leona!!! itll be so fun!!!

it’s an open bar!!!!!!! marrying rich rules!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leona: arent u a lil young for this

plantmuncher dragonfucker: im 3 years older than you.

and he’s 269.

Leona: nice

plantmuncher dragonfucker: nice

Leona: ofc u would know exactly how fucking old he is

just tell me whats the date

im only going bc i know hell be fucking furious when he sees me in the audience

plantmuncher dragonfucker: you’d be surprised! he’s mellowed out a lot since then

he might even be happy to see you

Leona: doubt it

plantmuncher dragonfucker: it’s October 31st of next year, so it’s a ways off.

Leona: a halloween wedding huh

i guess u do have taste

plantmuncher dragonfucker: of course I do <3

we’re gonna go all-out on goth shit

all black attire required

maximum spoopage

Leona: congrats i cant wait to watch the bloodbath

ur horrible face will give everyone two heart attacks instead of just the one

ill bring mirrored sunglasses for when ur walking down the aisle

im hoping theyll reflect ur deathgaze back on u like medusa

plantmuncher dragonfucker: joke’s on you bitch ill wear sunglasses too

we can ping-pong the death magic back and forth until it bounces off one of us weird and hits a bird or something

Leona: bet

plantmuncher dragonfucker: hey, don’t worry too much about idia

Leona: im not worried

plantmuncher dragonfucker: yes you are. you only text me so we can roast each other ruthlessly and reinforce our eternal bond of friendship

you don’t talk about other people unless I bring them up

Leona: that cant be right

ur full of shit

plantmuncher dragonfucker: deny it all you want, you’re not as mysterious as you think you are

look I bet he’s really glad you care

but he’s been doing a lot better over the past few years, so you don’t need to baby him

just be there for him when he needs it

Leona: thx for the advice love guru

plantmuncher dragonfucker: I never said anything about love idiot

haha gotcha

Leona: fuck

plantmuncher dragonfucker: btw do you still have me saved as “plantmuncher dragonfucker” in your phone

Leona: ye

plantmuncher dragonfucker: change it or ill photoshop your face onto pictures of cute cats and post them to magicam

I have vil in my camp and he’s going to like them all, it’s guaranteed to go viral

Leona: not until u stop munching plants and fucking dragons

plantmuncher dragonfucker: NEVER

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

Chapter 3 - Overwhelmed

It only took an hour or two of asking around to find out where to get weed in the next city. Idia stowed it away in the massive pockets of his hoodie, already grinning in anticipation.

“You don’t get weird when you’re high, do you?”

“Not really. I wasn’t joking about it being for anxiety.”

“Good to know.” Leona really wouldn’t have minded, as long as he was enjoying himself.

They were nearly at the border of the Kingdom of Heroes, now, about to cross into the Shaftlands. They had a whole month, but if they hurried, they could get back in about two weeks.

Leona… Didn’t want to do that. The longer he could avoid the Sunset Savanna, the better. But Idia probably wanted to get there as soon as possible. He would need time to find an apartment, get furniture, get all his stuff in order…

For now, though, they were free. They still had time. He still had time.

They’d come to the downtown area for this, ending up on a little shopping street that locals had called “sketchy”, but Leona suspected they actually meant “poor”. All the stores were grungy little mom-and-pop affairs fitted into worn out buildings that had probably been around for over a hundred years. Some kids were playing basketball on a side street, and they passed a tiny taco stand where an ancient boombox was blasting music into the street. It still sounded pretty good. Even the drug dealer had been pleasant to them. Maybe a little too pleasant.

This place was downright cozy in comparison to the slums he’d visited after becoming friends with Ruggie.

Beside him, Idia’s steps faltered for a moment. Leona turned to catch him looking at a store with a large display of comics and board games in the window. He looked up at the cheap sign hanging over the window, it read “Kevin’s Komix & Games”.

“You wanna go in?” He asked.

“W-We don’t have to.” Idia said, ducking into his hoodie to hide his face.

Leona rolled his eyes. Honestly, what did he think he was gonna do? Shove him in a locker? He walked past Idia and opened the door himself, striding into the overly air-conditioned little storefront.

The cashier (Kevin, maybe?) gave him a welcoming wave, then returned to the trading cards he was putting away in a glass case near the front. Leona looked around at the small room. The shelves were neat and tidy, all the latest issues out on display and the older stuff in long boxes on a nearby table. One of the shelves was entirely board games and tabletop rpgs. In the back, there was just enough room for a rack of figurines and a few little tables where some games were already set up.

It only took Leona a moment to see the whole thing, and when he turned around Idia already had his arms loaded up with board games and a stack of half a dozen comics.

He stared at Leona. “I’m supporting local businesses.”

“I didn’t say anything.” But Leona felt his face twitch into a smile, just for a second.

“I need to replace the stuff I had to leave at home, okay?” Idia huffed, bringing his purchases up to the glass counter.

Leona hung back, a tiny spinning rack of postcard ads and little zines on the other end of the counter catching his attention. He spun it around idly, until he noticed that one of the cards had today’s date on it. Curious, he picked it up. A cute little mascot character was printed on it, along with photos of people in various costumes.

“10th Annual CON-ACLYSM Pop Culture Convention! One weekend only!

Games! Cosplay! Panels! Shows! Maid Cafes!

Come join us to celebrate 10 YEARS of fun and fandom!”

“Uh-oh.” Leona said.

“What is it?” Idia asked, walking up with his newly-bought big bag of nerd stuff.

“Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for another day.” He turned the postcard towards Idia, smirking at the way his face lit up. Damn, it was cute.

---

Okay this probably wasn’t worth it.

Leona didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t hundreds of people carrying around wooden prop weapons and recording absurd little dances in the courtyard outside. Through the glass walls he could see a massive line already forming at all the food trucks, even the one that was just hot dogs. People were staring at him, for some reason. A couple behind them in the registration line had been arguing about which of them was Bulma and which was Vegeta for the past 30 minutes. Leona didn’t know who those people were. When he asked, Idia just said that only a Bulma and a Vegeta would argue about something that stupid.

Overexcited teens chattered loudly in their little cliques, some dude was playing an anime song on a ukelele while a couple girls in costumes sang along, and a rowdy group of guys were screaming over a match of some trading card game like they were watching a knife fight. Idia should have hated this, but when Leona glanced over at him, he was practically vibrating with excitement.

He had the program booklet open in his hand and seemed to be comparing it to the schedule on their website. “Okay, we gotta go to the maid café. The one at 5 would probably be the best, but that means missing out on the ‘LGBTQ+ in Fandom’ panel.”

“Sounds like homophobia.” Leona joked.

“Absolutely.” Idia nodded. “This is the most homophobic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Isn’t there one at 3?” Leona asked, leaning over the little booklet. He didn’t really want to go, but Idia seemed really excited for it.

“But that overlaps with the costume contest. If I have to make a choice, I’d rather miss out on the panel.”

“So you were the true homophobe all along.”

“Shut uuuup.” Idia groused, smacking his arm lightly.

Leona only felt truly lost once they had gotten their badges and been dumped out into this sea of nerds. He could barely comprehend some of the stuff going on around him. But Idia expertly navigated the crowded corridors, dragging him along.

Occasionally Idia would spot someone with a cool costume and ask for a picture. Talking to these strangers seemed to come so naturally to him, and Leona could barely believe it.

“Who’s that guy dressed as?” He asked, after Idia got a picture of a man in an impressive robot costume. It had been painted with a realistic patina and even had working lights.

“No idea.” Idia answered. He scrolled through all the pictures he’d taken so far, a complete mis-mash of disparate styles, genres and time periods. A gritty-looking samurai woman, a girl in a gothic lolita dress with enormous pigtails, some character with giant wings that could actually spread out, a superhero with an impressive custom-fitted suit, a fursuit. “I just like costumes that are well-constructed. It helps me come up with ideas for my own.”

Oh, yeah. Idia had always been into that stuff, right? The Halloween of their third year sprung to mind.

“Whatever happened to that knight costume?” Leona asked.

“I had to leave it at home. It was too bulky to take with me.” Idia answered. The happy expression he had been wearing slowly faded. Ah, damn it. “Well, it kinda got the crap beat out of it that year anyway. It was close to falling apart. And it didn’t help that you cut off some of those vines I hand-made.”

“What? I did that?” Leona blinked. He couldn’t remember that at all.

“I tripped over you and they got tangled with your tail. You don’t remember?”

“Man, I sure did get tripped over and stepped on a lot back then.” Leona grumbled.

“You did spend like 90% of your time sleeping on the ground.”

“It was 70% at most.”

In between panels and shows, Idia dragged him to the artist’s alley and exhibitor’s hall. Leona was surprised and kind of impressed by all the carefully crafted artwork and merch. Big companies didn’t put real love into it like these people did. He ended up buying crochet plushies of the meerkat and warthog characters from a cartoon that he knew Cheka liked.

“And you keep trying to convince me you’re not a tsundere.” Idia remarked, smirking. Leona whacked him in the back with the plastic bag he was carrying the plushies in.

People were still looking at him, and he couldn’t figure it out. Leona thought he just stood out, at first, but the longer he was here, seeing what a wide variety of people there were around him, the less sense that made. He’d already passed a half dozen tall, fit, intimidating guys in dark clothes today, and none of them were getting weird looks like he was.

He felt… Out of place here. Like he was intruding on something, and everyone was just too nice to tell him. It was uncomfortable. Idia stopped to talk with one of the artists and he unconsciously tried to hide himself in a dark gap between some booths, out of the way. Was this the way Idia felt all the time?

Across the aisle, he spotted a middle-aged man carrying a giant stuffed cartoon animal under his arm, while a costumed little girl who Leona assumed was his daughter skipped ahead. He made eye contact with the man, and they exchanged a nod of silent understanding.

“Hey. Can I see your keys?” Idia asked, smiling mischievously. Leona raised an eyebrow at him.

“What for?”

“It’s nothing bad, come on.” Idia held his hand out, Leona sighed and dropped the keys in his palm.

After a moment of fiddling, he handed them back. “Here.” Idia said.

Leona’s keys now had an extra acrylic charm clipped to them. Decorated with a cute little drawing of a smirking brunette in a pink dress, it looked completely absurd on his plain keyring.

“The hell is this?” Leona asked, staring at it. Its smug aura mocked him.

“She’s the heroine of Star Rogue. The main character’s love interest.” Idia answered. “You don’t think she looks like your echo fighter?”

“Are you asking if she looks like me? Because no, duh. For starters, she’s a drawing.” Leona huffed.

“I was kidding, of course she doesn’t look like you. But she’s a total tsundere and she’s super snarky.” Idia reached out again to flip the keychain out so it was more visible. “She’s one of the best characters, tbh. Real waifu material. Even the actress who played her in the movie was pretty hot, for 3D.”

Hm. So Idia did like “3D”, sometimes.

“She can be a real flatterer when she wants to be, too…” Idia added under his breath.

“She sounds like an asshole.” Leona remarked. He smirked when he saw Idia’s jaw drop, more offended at that than anything Leona had ever said.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d watched the movie!” Idia protested. “Well, really you should play the game, but we don’t have time for that. But she gets a really good character arc! She starts out as a villain and then her love for the hero redeems her.”

“Isn’t that a spoiler?”

“Spoilers don’t matter. It’s the journey there that matters. And the movie came out like 15 years ago, you should know what happens by now.” Idia said, pouting at him.

---

“How can all of them be sold out?” Leona growled, like he could intimidate the vending machine into conjuring up more drinks. It seemed the only things left were a few waters and some gross-looking lime sodas that he had never seen before in his life.

“It’s always like this at cons, they don’t bother to keep it stocked because they want you to pay $5 for a coke at the concession stand.” Idia explained as he put money into the machine. He ended up getting one of the lime sodas, but when he cracked it open and took a sip he grimaced. “Yuck. This is like the opposite of hydration.”

“Don’t drink it, then.” But Idia ignored him and took another big chug.

There wasn’t a lot of space to take a break in these crowded hallways, so they took up a post against the wall outside one of the panel rooms. It was nice to just people-watch like this, especially in such an indulgently nerdy atmosphere.

“You’re gonna think this is dumb,” Idia said, “But part of the reason I like going to things like this is because I don’t stand out. People here just look at my hair and assume I’m cosplaying a character they don’t recognize. They don’t stare at me or act all weird about it.”

“Yeah, now they’re just starin’ at me because I look like I belong in a biker bar.” Leona remarked, glancing around at the half dozen or so people who were eyeing him warily.

“No, they’re staring at you because you look like a character from this game that’s popular right now.” Idia pulled his phone from his pocket, and after a quick search he held it up to show Leona a picture.

“What the fuck.” He was looking at what could easily be a drawing of himself, just with a neater hairstyle and wearing a fancy kimono.

“Yeah, when his banner was first announced I was like ‘lol Leona is gonna be so pissed’.” Idia flashed him a grin. “His personality is totally different from you, though, so I think it was just a coincidence. You’re a tsundere, he’s the gentlemanly character with a secret dark past.”

“Unbelievable...”

“Hold on.” Leona looked at Idia. His grin had gotten… Worryingly large. “I just had a great idea, brb.”

“Wait, where are you-?!” But Idia ignored him, taking off into the crowded exhibitors’ hall. Leona huffed and settled in to wait for him, cross-legged on the floor.

Idia returned a few minutes later, carrying a large black plastic shopping bag. He reached down to tug at Leona’s arm, rousing him from a half-dazed state. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Go where?”

“The bathroom. You need to get changed.”

---

Leona didn’t feel any less confused once the garment was on him. The style and fit were completely unfamiliar to him. At least there were pants (“Hakama”? Whatever that was.) included, even if they were massive baggy things that might as well have been a skirt.

“I knew it’d look great.” Idia bragged, like dragging someone into a bathroom to put on anime clothes was a totally normal thing to do.

“I look like the top of a broken umbrella.”

“No you don’t. You look like all the other cosplayers here. Better, actually. You could win a contest, but only scrubs enter cosplay contests with store-bought stuff.” Idia rummaged around in the messenger bag he’d been carrying and pulled out a makeup kit.

“You have makeup?”

“I thought something like this might come up.”

“Why would you ever think something like this might come up.”

“You clearly haven’t been to a con before, Leona. You gotta be prepared for anything.” Idia popped open the makeup kit and set it on the counter.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Idia ignored him. Brandishing an assortment of brushes, he closed in on Leona. The beastman sighed and closed his eyes, accepting his fate.

It was kind of pleasant, actually, having Idia put makeup on him. The brushes felt soft and cool on his skin. He leaned in a little, eyes still closed, and felt one of Idia’s knuckles brush his cheek accidentally.

Leona hadn’t worn any makeup since that stupid fairy gala. It wasn’t like he hated it, sometimes he even wanted to wear it, but he never had the energy in the mornings to bother with all that.

Maybe Idia would be around for one of those mornings. Maybe he would help him do it.

“Okay, done.” He heard Idia say. Opening his eyes, he glanced sideways at the mirror.

“I don’t look any different.”

“You don’t need much, especially since you already look like the character.” Idia explained as he started putting his stuff away. “Now if you were crossplaying, we’d need to do a lot more prep for that.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“Here’s a hint: the ‘cross’ part comes from ‘crossdressing’.”

Leona sighed. “No fucking thanks. I already look weird enough in this.”

“There are a few characters who’d be a good choice for you.” Idia smirked at him. “Buff ladies are pretty popular lately. You’ll get a bunch of obnoxious simps following you around and calling you ‘mommy’ all day, though.”

“If you’re trying to convince me to do it, you’re doing a shitty job.” Leona said.

“Hey, you might like it! You should try it out sometime… Maybe in private.”

Idia was still smirking at him. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, two can play at that game.

“Why do you want to get me in women’s clothes so bad, Idia?” Leona laughed. He took a step closer, forcing Idia to back up a little.

“It’s fun to get out of your comfort zone sometimes, isn’t it?” Idia replied, unfazed.

“You know how weird that sounds coming from you?”

“Hm. I guess it does.”

Leona kept moving forward, until the other man’s back was against the wall. Idia didn’t look scared, though. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like this had been his plan all along.

“You’re talking like you have some experience with this ‘crossplay’ thing.” Leona leaned into his space, voice low.

“I’ve done it a couple times.” Idia replied. “Never in public. I did take some pictures, though.”

Idia reached out like he was about to adjust Leona’s costume, but all he did was run his fingers along the edge of his collar, barely brushing against his skin. His hand settled where the fabric overlapped, just beneath Leona’s clavicle, and stayed there.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing those sometime.” Leona said.

Leona placed his hand on the wall beside Idia’s head. For some reason, that was what made his face finally erupt into a furious blush. Huh. He would have to ask about that later.

“I… I wouldn’t mind… showing… you…?” Idia mumbled, his eyes darting between Leona’s face and the arm that he’d braced against the wall.

Maybe it was his predator instincts, but Leona knew when he had struck a killing blow. He cupped Idia’s cheek, more to soothe his nerves than anything. Yellow eyes met his and finally stayed there.

“I bet you look beautiful in them.” Leona said.

Idia drew in a sharp breath. His hand on Leona’s chest curled into a fist, bunching up the fabric of his costume and pulling him forward.

A loud clanging rang out as someone inside a stall kicked their door.

“Oh my GOD would you two get a room already! Nobody wants to hear you fuck in a bathroom!”

Idia’s face went pale, and Leona was pretty sure that his had too. They scrambled to grab their stuff off the counter and ran outside.

---

“So? How’d you like it?”

After hours of following Idia around his convention and getting asked for way too many photos, they had finally gotten tired enough to leave and return to the RV. Idia convinced him to watch Star Rogue on his laptop, the two of them sitting way too close on the loveseat under the loft.

“It was good.” Leona admitted. “I can see why it was so popular. The character writing was pretty solid for a two-hour movie.”

“If you liked that, you should play the game.” Idia said, grinning at him. “You get to spend 30+ hours with them then!”

“Meh, I’ll just watch a Let’s Play.” Leona shrugged. He was messing with him, but it was still funny to watch Idia get mad about it.

“You can’t just watch somebody play Star Rogue! You have to experience it for yourself!”

“I could watch you play Star Rogue.” Leona countered. “How would that work as a compromise?”

Idia reacted exactly like he expected: by overthinking what he was actually saying and interpreting it in the flirtiest way possible. His face and hair both turned a bright, soft pink.

“I’ll watch you play it” -> “I want to watch you play it” -> “I want to spend time with you and see this thing you like”. Idia’s thought process was kind of like an open book to him at this point, and it was cute to watch him go through it.

“…That’d work.” Idia eventually squeaked out. “Y-you’ll have to come visit me once I’m settled in, we can do it then.”

“I was already plannin’ to.” Leona smiled warmly at him.

“G-Guess I’ll have to put together a guest room fit for a prince!” Idia laughed, nervous.

“I used to sleep on the ground, Idia. Voluntarily.”

“O-Oh. Right.” Idia said, unable to meet his eyes.

Idia’s body felt warm against his. The longer they sat on that tiny loveseat, the more he noticed it. But he didn’t hate it. Quite the opposite, actually. He wondered how Idia felt about it.

“…Hey. Can I ask you something?” Leona asked.

“Hm? You wanna know something else about Star Rogue?”

“No. Why’d you kiss me in the lab that one night?”

Idia nearly dropped his laptop.

“D-Don’t just bring up the cringiest moment of my life out of the blue like that!”

“So it was cringey, huh.” Leona lifted an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean! Th-the kiss wasn’t cringey, the way I acted was.” He moved to pull his hair closed like a curtain. Realizing he didn’t have it anymore, he instead hid his face behind his hands. “Trying to act all smooth and flirty, like some normie…”

“And running away?”

“I was… overwhelmed.” Idia whimpered. “Th-that was the first time I ever…” He trailed off, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what he meant.

“I’m not mad about it.” Leona said. “I just wanted to know. Kinda thought I fucked up, but then you turned up the next day and acted like it never happened.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Idia sat up, gradually pulling his hands from his face. “I wasn’t very good at dealing with… that. I’m still not.”

“You’re telling me that the Idia Shroud didn’t turn into a total playboy once he graduated? What a surprise.” Leona laughed. Idia pouted at him. He closed the laptop and put it back on top of his nearby suitcase.

“It’s not like I didn’t go on any dates! Just, uh, none that led to anything serious.” Idia wasn’t hiding his face anymore, but he still couldn’t look directly at Leona.

“Huh. Well, they must’ve had awful taste if they didn’t want to snatch you up ASAP.”

“You see!” Idia suddenly grew animated, leaning forward into Leona’s space and jabbing a finger in the beastman’s face. “Nobody ever said things like that to me! How was I supposed to date anyone after hearing otome game dialogue like that?”

“I’m not even saying anything that weird.” Leona said, genuinely confused.

“Yes you are! You do! When I make jokes about myself, you’re the only one who takes it seriously. You’re the only one who’s like ‘no, shut up, you’re great actually’. It’s weird!”

“That can’t be right.” Leona scowled. He felt his ears flatten to his head. Had he really been that obvious? This whole time? “Yuu says stuff like that, too.”

“But Yuu is nice to everyone. Because they’re a crazy person and they don’t care if they get an emotional debuff. They just brush it off, like mitigating a tankbuster.” Idia paused, trying to put together his thoughts.

“You’re not. You’re only nice to people when they deserve it. Except for me, for some reason.”

“You do deserve it.”

“Uuuuugh no I don’t! You’re not getting it at all!” Idia sunk in his seat, exasperated. “When stuff like that comes from tsuntsun characters, it’s super effective.”

“So what I’m getting is, I’m such a big jerk that me complimenting you makes you even more embarrassed than usual?”

“It sounds mean when you say it like that, but yeah, basically.”

“You shouldn’t have told me that.” Leona leaned forward, propping his chin up on his palm. “Because now I’m going to do it more.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Oh Idia, you’re so great.” He said, grinning. “You’re the smartest guy I know. And handsome, too.”

Idia slumped even further off the loveseat, almost on the floor. “You’re going to kill me, Kingscholar.”

---

Leona had almost fallen asleep when he heard his phone vibrate on the hotel nightstand where it was charging. Letting out a little huff of annoyance, he turned in his bed and picked it up. In the gloom, he could see Idia in the other bed, his back turned to him.

Leona didn’t want to disturb him, so he rolled on his other side to check whatever message he’d gotten.

---

radish sprout sent a file “megcosplay.png”

radish sprout sent a file “megcosplay2.png”

radish sprout sent a file “megcosplay3.png”

radish sprout sent a file “megcosplay4.png”

radish sprout: you said you wanted to see them so uh

here they are

to pay you back for cosplaying for me

Leona: dude ur literally right next to me u coulda just showed me on ur phone

lmao

radish sprout: that would be way too embarrassing sahasdhhaf

besides I thought you might

want to save them

yknow, for whatever

Leona: i do thx

u look good

radish sprout: no I don’t I look creepy

there’s a reason I never wore it in public lol

Leona: shut up u look good

is that the star rogue girl

radish sprout: yeah

don’t post these anywhere ok

Leona: i wouldn’t do that

my eyes only

radish sprout: sdasfhfadfdasfa ---

Leona smirked to himself. He saved the photos to his phone and then stuck it under his pillow, eventually dozing off into a deep, comfortable sleep.

He was definitely going to jerk off to those later.

---

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_052322_01.png”

Leona: whats this for

Idia's robot brother: It’s a photo of my brother!

Leona: i can see that genius

y r u sending it to me

Idia's robot brother: Because I noticed that you don’t have any recent pictures of him in your photo gallery.

These are from his graduation a few months ago!

Doesn’t he look happy?

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_052322_02.png”

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_052322_03.png”

Leona: ye

he does

wait how do u know whats in my photos

Idia's robot brother: :)

Leona: dont u “:)” at me

ugh w/e.

did u take these

Idia's robot brother: Yep!

I had a classmate help me, though.

She held up the reflectors for us.

Leona: wait so this was like a serious photoshoot

howd u get him to agree to that

Idia's robot brother: I bribed him with a limited edition figure of one of his favorite characters, signed by the voice actor.

At least, I meant to bribe him with it, but he agreed to do it as soon as I asked.

So it ended up being a graduation present, I suppose?

Leona: wow

he rly will do anything for u, huh

Idia's robot brother: Not always.

A few years ago, anything out of his comfort zone was out of the question.

I think he only started really trying during the Starsending.

Oh, speaking of which!

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_stars_01.png”

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_stars_02.png”

Idia’s robot brother sent a file “idia_stars_03.png”

I took these before I had any formal training, so the compositions and lighting are pretty bad.

But I was able to edit them into something passable.

Leona: wut r u talking about these look amazing

Idia's robot brother: Only because Idia kept my specs really high back then, so I had a good high-res image to work with.

Leona: have u showed him these yet

Idia's robot brother: No, he says he doesn’t want to remember anything “cringey”.

Leona: awesome

ill turn em into giant posters and put em all over the van

Idia's robot brother: Because he looks good in them and you want to prove him wrong?

Leona: no bc itll embarrass the hell out of him

that thing u said is true too tho

hes rly sweaty, damn

i dont remember the costume showing so much of his arms

Idia's robot brother: Please don’t talk about how sexually attractive you find my brother in front of me.

Leona: all i said was he looked sweaty wtf

Idia's robot brother: I’ve seen the kinds of pictures you have saved.

Hm, but it looks like I deleted four of them from my memory banks.

I wonder what those could have been?

Leona: who knows i guess itll always be a mystery that we never need to look into again

and about that

dont snoop in my phone anymore, thx

didnt Idia teach u about privacy laws

Idia's robot brother: I normally don’t, I promise.

I only checked briefly because I wanted to see if you had any shots of him that are half as good as mine.

Leona: cocky, arent u

Idia's robot brother: Isn’t any student of the arts?

We have to be, it distracts us from the reality of our jobless futures.

Leona: y would u need a job ur a robot

Idia's robot brother: Jobs aren’t always about money and possessions.

Art has historically been undervalued despite its importance in society. Without it, we wouldn’t have any of the material comforts that enrich our lives.

If fae had never created weather and plant life, we would have no food.

If humans had never painted on cave walls, we would have no writing systems.

If beasts had never built their first dens, we would have no architecture.

The foundation of civilization is built on art, but modern society only affords the elite or the lucky the privilege to pursue it. How rich are the cultures that have been destroyed by unscrupulous capitalists exploiting our need for food, shelter and stability?

As a robot, I’m very fortunate that I don’t have the same physical limitations as organic lifeforms. Therefore, I have an obligation to keep creating, for the sake of the artists who have had to give up on their passions to survive.

Leona: wow

that really was a wholeass lecture on art

given to me by a robot

u rly r something, ortho

i dont think ive ever cared about somethin that much

Idia's robot brother: Is it really that impressive?

I was reading that verbatim from an art history paper I wrote when I was a freshman.

I got a “C” on it.

Leona: dont pull back the curtain too far dude ur ruining it

its still good tho ur prof musta been a dumbass

Idia's robot brother: Oh he was.

I had an argument with him about whether videogames count as interactive art. He didn’t like me much after that.

I’m pretty sure that’s why he gave me a “C”.

Leona: sounds hilarious tell me more

Idia's robot brother: I showed Okami to that ungrateful motherfucker and he still wouldn’t listen.

Leona: some ppl have no taste ortho

if ur gonna be an artist ur gonna have to accept that

Idia's robot brother: You’ve never even heard of that game, have you.

Leona: no

Idia's robot brother: Normies…

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

Continued ->

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fanfic #leona kingscholar #idia shroud #twst leona #twst idia #idia #leona #leoide #tw suicide #tw depression #tw self-harm #kiss me in the dark

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chloemarievaughan · 1 year

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May 20th, Ghent

Mom and I both got our beauty sleep in after our travel craziness- 10-11 hours each! Slow start to the morning. I always bring instant Starbucks coffee Vias when I travel because you just never know when you’d rather lay in bed and drink your morning coffee versus having to go buy some. however there isn’t any hot water available to drink in this hotel (no In room coffee maker or microwave, didn’t see any in the lobby or anything either) probably I could have asked for a mug of hot water at the hotel restaurant but I was feeling lazy so I just turned the water in the faucet as hot as it would get, good enough for instant coffee haha. We had a general game plan for the morning, and the first thing we wanted to do was climb the Belfry tower but that didn’t open til 10. we decided to go in the St Baafs Cathedral which is the one right next to our hotel. There is a famous altar painting there called the Altar of the Mystic Lamb, but the rest of the church was very nice and we didn’t feel like paying since the altar wasn’t included in our City Card pass. Then we went to the Belfry! Beginning of a good amount of stairs for the day 🙂 there were several levels of museum exhibits on the history and construction of the tower, and then the top was a little walkway you could get a 360 degree city view. The walkway was absolutely tiny, and Mom and I got stuck behind an older couple who would stop to take photos without ever noticing that if they took two more steps mom and I could also step out and see the view. there was a (tiny) elevator to go up to the top- probably fit 6 comfortably, we had 8 people squeezed inside- but the way down was a really narrow staircase and then a steep, dark, endless spiral staircase with tiny little steps. We both had two hands on the rails the whole way down and luckily did not fall!

Then we walked over to our next stop. We were considering a Belgian waffle for breakfast but mom was tempted by the Apple beignets at the waffle stand, so else ate those: delicious and covered with powdered sugar! After the last beignet was eaten, a huge gust of wind came and blew the entire plate of leftover powdered sugar into my lap, coating my shirt jeans purse and phone with powdered sugar. We have learned our lesson, from now on the powdered sugar on our waffles is gonna stay downwind 😂😂 Our next stop is the Castle of the Counts, Gravensteen. This is a medieval castle exactly as you’d imagine a medieval castle, complete with courtyard, moat, places for soldiers to dump hot oil on you if you attacked, dungeons, torture chambers, fireplaces, tapestries, a bunch of suits of armor and medieval weapons, and dark stone interiors. Was not expecting the audio tour, which was great fun. They handed everyone a remote for the tour and you could listen to a snarky narrator tell stories about the history of the region and inhabitants, along with the most famous tortures and executions. The the narrator described in good humor how the Count Philip died in the Crusades to receive absolution of his sins- after torturing and murdering his wife’s former lover, he must have had a lot of absolution needed 😂

after this it was lunchtime! We decided we were more interested in the view than the specific food, so we sat at a table directly on the river Lys, ordered a beer and pizza. I had a cheery beer served on the rocks- Liefmans. More like a sour than a beer probably, I had it a lot on my last trip to Belgium, though I had a different brand last time that wasn’t on the rocks. pizza was fine, got charged 2.50 for a tiny glass of water. They tried to charge 50¢ for the bathroom too but we pressed on and found a free one later. Oh Europe lol.

after lunch we went for a walk around Ghent, went in some random churches that are probably not famous and we’re pretty enough, then went to take a Boat tour of the river and canals! This was so fun and beautiful. Made me glad to have my sun hat! we went into more of the actual city center, which now I want to go sit at for dinner, and learned about the historical trade and shipping in Ghent and some information about different eras in history. the tour guide repeated everything he said in Dutch first, then French, than English. Understood very little of the Dutch- occasionally a name or a cognate. Probably understood about 80% of the French (my speaking is terrible because I’m out of practice- I can read French very well. I was pleasantly surprised how much I could understand of the spoken French, though he was speaking slowly) and then last in English. the trilingual tour guides are very impressive but I always feel I might have learned more from the tour if he was just speaking English and he hadn’t had to spend time repeating himself twice for each thing he wanted to say.

after the 45 minute boat tour in the sun we were ready to drink some free water and take a little catnap, so we made our way back to the hotel. I decided to get some international data for my phone- to think last time I was in Europe I did it completely phone less and this time I break down and buy data after 36 hours 😂

post nap, we decided to check out the food truck festival that our hotel check in desk had told us about- which was possibly the reason for the absolutely crazy amount of people around this weekend. found a section of a bunch of international food trucks and enjoyed a meal that was delicious but really did not go together well of falafel, Indian butter chicken, and some Indonesian egg rolls. Then we wandered around the city some more, back to some of the beautiful areas we had see from our boat tour. We sat along the River and people and boat watched for a while, then moved down the River for an evening Aperol Spritz on the water. Did some more meandering on our walk back home and now about ready to call it for the day 🙂

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watermelonlovershigh · 3 years

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Day in the Life of a Single Dad with a 2 Yr Old

This was requested by this anon.

AN: let me know if you guys like fluff fics & i'll try to write them as frequent as my smut & sicfics. also couldn't come up with a better title so... yeah the title is a lil iffy.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Harry is a single parent/Harry is 25/Harry is a healthy eater/Loves his daughter so much)

Harry is peacefully sleeping in his bed alone. Covers to his chin, curled up on his side. That is until his beautiful two year old daughter comes barging in there to wake her daddy up. He shouldn't be asleep she thinks. It's too late. In reality its only 7 am on a Saturday, but to an early riser like her, he should be awake and playing with her. Or making her breakfast.

Her little feet pad over to her daddy's side of the bed. She can barley reach him due to the height of his bed, but manages to stretch her little arms up and taps on Harrys face. "Daddy, wake up." she speaks in her little British accent. Harry slowly opens his eyes and immediately squeezes them shut because of the sunlight coming from the window blinding him. "Daddy!!" his daughter says a little louder.

If his daughter was any older, Harry might tell her to wait a few minutes or go back to bed because it's too early, but he knows she's only 2. So he forces his eyes open again and reaches down to hook his hands in her tiny arm pits to lift her on the bed. "Why are you awake so early babe." he asks in a gravely voice, while placing her on his bare chest.

"I hungry." her tiny voice replies.

"Mhmm what would you like?" Harry mumbles sleepily.

"Sweets." she says innocently.

"I don't think so love. We don't eat sweets for breakfast. It will give you a tummy ache. What about a healthy fruit salad. We have some Watermelon and Strawberries in the fridge." he replies to his daughter who's straddling his chest.

"NO, I WANT SWEETS! I WANT SWEETS!" she yells back with angry tears threatening to escape.

"D/n, we do not yell!" her father speaks firmly. "We can't have sweets but we can have something other than a fruit salad if you want. Lets go down and see what we have." With a tight grip on his upset daughter, Harry gets out of bed and makes his way down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen.

This wasn't something new to him. Ever since his daughter turned 2 in August, she's been acting up a lot more than previously. You could say it was the terrible twos everyone talks about. Harry tries his hardest to teach her the proper ways to behave but it's been proven to be a lot more difficult than anticipated. Especially hard when he's busy all the time and isn't with her 24/7 like stay-at-home mums are or stay-at-home dads were. He's a musician. Not a so called musician that gets excited to book a Friday night at the local pub. No, Harry is a international pop star.

When he ended up getting a one-night stand pregnant, he told them they could do what they wanted as far keeping the baby or not. Harry has always been one to agree that its a women's choice. But his one-night stand wanted to have the baby. Honestly, you'd think Harry would get angry that she decided to keep it, but he wasn't. Maybe it wasn't the ideal situation to have a baby from a one-night stand that he had on tour, but he being the loving Harry everyone seems to know and love, of course tried to look at it as a positive thing. But when his daughter was born, his one-night stand got her minute of fame by saying she had Harry Styles baby and left. Abandoned her own blood. Harry had to get full custody of his daughter and ever since then she's been living with her daddy.

It was really hard the first few months of her life. A baby needs their mothers comfort and warmth and she had none of that. She never got the opportunity to breast feed or feel the love of her mother, and Harry feels sick just thinking about it. So Harry put his career on hold for a few months to take care of his daughter and show her that someone cares for her. He never wanted her to feel unloved. It was his biggest fear. That's why every day since the day she was born, he tells her how much he loves her. Shows her how much he loves her.

He did all her nightly feedings with warmed up formula in bottles. He changed her diapers at all hours of the day. He gave her baths every day to make sure she smelled nice and clean. And when she turned 1 years old and was getting more active, he took her to the studio with him and let her play her toys.

Just because Harry is a single parent doesn't mean he doesn't have help or support. He has a lot of help when it comes to taking care of his daughter. His sister Gemma babysits all the time for him when he's got something very important to do at the studio where he'd prefer if his daughter wasn't there. Harry's mum watches his daughter frequently when he has a interview he needs to attend. Even some of Harry's friends watch or take care of her when needed. Especially some of his ex bandmates that have kids of their own now. Harry's daughter has playdates with Bear, Liam's son about once a month. They're about the same age and their dads are friends so it works out great. His daughter has even played with Freddie, Louis's son. Not as much because Freddie lives in America but when he comes to England to spend time with his father they hang out. Freddie and Harry's daughter are quite similar. They were both created due to a one-night stand. The only difference is Freddie's mum wanted him. Didn't abandon him. So he has a relationship with both parents. Needless to say, besides all the things a mother can give to their child, his daughter has a good life. People love her, and once again that's all Harry could ask for. People and himself to love his daughter.

After fighting with his daughter about what to eat for breakfast, she finally settles for some Strawberry pancakes as long as they have chocolate syrup on top. Harry gives in and allows a little chocolate for her to have with breakfast. She sits in her high chair munching on the pancakes while Harry cleans the mess from cooking. Like washing the pan and wiping the stove off. When he's finished cleaning, he notices his daughter has stopped eating and is just making a mess with her food at this point.

Walking up to her high chair, Harry bends down and lifts her sticky body up and says, "Alright, time to give you a bath little one."

"No bath daddy! Me no want a bath!" she yells and attempts to kick her fathers legs but Harry grabs ahold of them in his big hand and stops her movements which makes her small body more angry. She screams very loud in his ear and pounds her baby fist in his shoulders, expressing her anger. Harry really wants to get upset. But what he's read in parenting books is that if you ignore their behavior and act like you don't see their tantrums, it will make it better and they'll give up on trying so hard to show their anger. Because most toddlers have tantrums to try and get attention from their parent(s). By ignoring it, you're not feeding into it.

"I'm sorry but you have chocolate all over you love. Need to get you clean because I need to take you to the studio for a few hours with me today. How does that sound?" trying to make bath time and going to the studio sound fun.

After fighting with Darcy to get in the bath, Harry finally got her in the tub. He struggled to wash her curly hair due to the fact she wouldn't sit still, even after he gave her a rubber ducky to play with. Once he's washed her hair and chocolate covered body, Harry picks her up and wraps her in a big fluffy towel, then takes her to her room to get changed. He manages to get a pull up on her, (still trying to potty train), and puts a lovely red track suit on her with some Gucci shoes. Then he carries her in front of the bathroom mirror to brush her hair.

"Be good for daddy and let me brush your hair." Harry tells his daughter in a gentle manner.

As soon as he passes the brush in her hair, his daughter screams, "Owww, it hurts daddy!"

10 minutes later, Harry has brushed her locks and put her hair into some cute pigtails. With his 2 year old crying in the process. He's pretty good at doing hair because he used to have longer hair himself. Then he picks her up off the counter and places her on the ground, walking her to his bedroom.

"Can you lay in my bed while I get ready? I'll put on your favorite show." he questions calmly.

"Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig!" is daughter chants.

"Alright, alright." He picks up his baby girl and sets her in the middle of his bed. Then he grabs the remote to turn his wall mounted tv on. He scrolls on Netflix and finds Peppa Pig to keep her occupied. Then goes to his bathroom to get dressed and ready to head to the studio.

When he exits his bathroom fully dressed and ready to leave, he finds a sleeping toddler on his bed, snuggled into his pillow. Her perfectly outlined lips slightly parted. Harry can't help but smile. He loves his baby girl with his entirety and seeing her peaceful like this makes him so happy. He turns the tv off and carefully picks her up into his arms and heads down the stairs to his car in the garage. But not before stopping by her room to pick up her mini backpack that holds extra pullups and a sippy cup full of juice, with some of her toys as well. Her tiny face is stuffed into her daddy's neck and Harry can feel light puffs of air hitting his skin. He puts his daughter in her car seat and buckles her up properly. Then gets in himself to drive to the studio.

About 5 minutes away from the studio, Darcy wakes up from her late morning nap and whines out, "Me wanna go home and play with you!"

"I'm sorry but I have to work for a little bit. I'll play with you when we get home later. How does that sound Hmm?" She was not satisfied with her fathers answer and starts wailing. Hot salty tears run down her little cheeks and she makes exaggerated sounds to emphasize her crying. She kicks at the seat in front of her and balls her fist up as if she's going to hit something but unfortunately to her, she can't reach a single thing due to her seat belt. Once again, Harry just ignores her cries of anger and turns the radio on loud to block it out.

By the time they arrive at the studio, Harry's daughter has calmed down. She's still upset but at least she isn't crying and that's progress in Harry's eyes. He parks his car in a secluded area to hide from potential paparazzi and unbuckles her. Then shields her face form potential cameras and make their way into the music studio. Harry has to record some audio for his newest album so that's why he needed to come in today. They enter the studio where the rest of his solo band is. He prefers to record the instruments live instead of manufactured drums and guitars.

At some point when he was getting ready in his home bathroom, Harry had called his assistant and told her he needed to bring his daughter in to the studio with him so she could watch her while he's busy. She agreed but being Harry Styles assistant, it wasn't really an option. Not that Harry would force her but she's an assistant for a reason. To do jobs Harry assigns her. In this case babysit his toddler while he records a song. He doesn't have anyone else today and unfortunately can't leave her at home with a mummy like many other fathers can. He's just happy his job allows his daughter to be somewhat a part of it. Not in the spotlight because he keeps his daughters identity a secret from the public for her protection, but as far as her going to the studio with him or when she gets older, she can come on tour with him.

Harry's assistant takes his toddler and her mini backpack full of her essentials. They hang out in the open area, out of the way from his band and he himself so he can get what he needs to get done so they can wrap everything up for the album. Harry's daughter actually loves his assistant. They have grown quite close over the 2 years of her life. But because she's going through her terrible twos, the toddler didn't want to behave for anyone today.

About an hour into Harry's work, he's interrupted with a frantic assistant that has a screaming toddler in her arms. "I'm sorry Harry but she's been crying for about 30 minutes and I've done everything I know to do to get her to calm down." Harry isn't upset his assistant came to him for help with his baby. That's not the type of guy he is.

Harry takes off his headphones and walks over to them. He picks his little girl up into his tattooed arms and questions, "Love, why are you upset for? If you keep crying, you'll end up with a tummy ache."

She just hugs around her fathers neck with her little arms and says, "Want you daddy." Those words almost breaks his heart. Harry doesn't know where this sudden want for him has came from.

"You can have me all you want when I'm finished working, alright. I'll be done shortly." He struggles to pass her back over to his assistant, but finally manages. "Maybe she's hungry. I'll give you a few pounds to take her through drive thru at McDonalds. Would you like McDonalds d/n?" She just nods her pigtailed head. He would suggest for them to go inside, but the public knows what his assistant looks like so they'd know that was his daughter. The daughter that has her identity secret for now. His assistant takes the toddler to the McDonalds drive thru and orders her some chicken nuggets. Even through Harrys pescatarian, he still allows his daughter to eat meats. Then Harry goes back to work in the studio.

Around 2 in the afternoon, Harry and the two year old make it back home. The rest of the evening was a little hectic with a few tantrums here and there. Harry cooked them a nice meal for dinner at about 6 and played dolls with her in the short period of time she wasn't upset. Then comes the dreaded bedtime.

Harry changes her into some pjs and helps her brush her teeth. Then when he went to put her in bed, she started crying for the 100th time today. "Me sleep with you daddy." she cries out. There's a part of him that wants to say yes and cave in, but the parent part of him is saying no. She needs to learn to be a big girl. Harry really doesn't understand why she wants to sleep with him all the sudden. She normally has no problem sleeping by herself.

"No baby. You need to be a big girl and sleep in your bed sweetheart. I'm right next door if you need me though okay." His daughter clings to his body and cries fat tears. Harry decides to stay in her room until she falls asleep. So that's what he does. When she subsumes to sleep, he lays her down in her bed and pulls the covers up over her frail body. Then exits her room quietly.

Harry changes into some comfier clothes himself and goes down stairs to get himself a glass of wine. Then he sits on the sofa and turns a series on to watch before bed. Times like now is when he wishes he had a wife. He'd even take a girlfriend. Just someone to hold him late at night and cuddle with him. Even have some type of intimacy. Ever since he found out about his daughter, Harrys game of sleeping around stopped. He didn't want to keep sleeping with random girls when he was becoming a dad. He was raised better than that. So needless to say he was lonely. In every way possible. Mentally, and physically.

Whilst in the middle of the show he's watching, Harry is brought back to reality when he hears a blood-curdling scream from up the stairs. He rushes to set his wine down on the coffee table and runs to his daughters room. When he walks in there, his heart sinks. The toddler is crying so hard she's gasping for air. It's a different cry that he's seen through-out the day. Unlike her terrible twos tantrums, this cry sounds like she's scared. Harry runs to her and picks her up. "Hey what's wrong my love? Tell daddy what's wrong." he asks of his child, soothing her to his chest.

As her tears slow down in the comfort of her daddy's arms, she mumbles, "You left me." Once again Harrys confused because she never acts like this.

Harry walks out her bedroom and goes to sit with her on the sofa downstairs. Then he turns her around on his lap to look at her face more clearly. "Baby, you need to tell daddy why you got scared or why you want me all the sudden."

The little 2 year old takes a deep breath and speaks in her little accent, "On Peppa Pig, they...they said kids like me are supposed to have a mummy AND a daddy. They said daddies can't love their babies like mummy's can. Me was scared you don't love me anymore." Her voice cracked saying the last bit with fresh tears running down her face and Harry has glossy eyes looking down at his distressed but beautiful mini twin. That's right. They look almost exactly alike. He thanks God every day for that because he doesn't want to look at his daughter and be reminded of a one-night stand that's a piece of shit of a mother.

"Look at me d/n. I love you so so so much. I will NEVER stop loving you." at this point he has to take a deep breath so compose his emotions, "And not all kids have mummies. There are a lot of kids who just have a daddy or some just have a mummy. But it doesn't mean I love you any less. Okay?! Don't listen to what they said in Peppa Pig. They were wrong." Finishing his speech, Harry pulls her tiny body forward and hugs her to his warm chest. He has silent tears running down his face. Both hands spread over her boney back. He thinks tonight is appropriate enough to allow her to sleep with him. She needs comfort. "Would you still like to sleep with me?" he asks in a whisper.

"Pleaseee." she responds while crying. Harry stands form the couch, turning the television off and abandoning his barley touched wine glass, and goes to his bedroom. The turns the overhead light off and walks over to the bed. Peeling the covers back, Harry and his daughter, whose on his chest, slide under the warm blankets together. Now she has just about stopped crying. Just little whimpers leaving her body, along with a few hiccups. Harry reaches over to turn the lamp off, leaving the room completely dark. He shushes his baby until her eyes slowly close and she falls asleep with her face burred in his neck and arms around his neck. Her short legs lay limp over his stomach.

Harry has a difficult time falling asleep that night. He feels sorry for his baby girl because he worries that movies and shows with two parents will make her sad and left out because she doesn't have a mummy. He just prays she will see all she'll ever need is her daddy to protect her and love her for the rest of eternity.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

#fluff #harrystyles #harrystylesoneshot #dad!harry #dad harry #dadharry #dadharrystyles #harry #styles #singleparent #harrystylessingleparent #comfort #terribletwos #ddm #daddydaughtermoments

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aetheternity · 4 years

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I'll admit it's exciting. (Armin x reader)

Synopsis: Being your professor's dirty little secret. His pet.. Sounded too good to refuse.

Warning: Smut in the later chapters! 18+ only

"Good girl.." Your lip tucked itself beneath your tooth. Spine tingling at the intoxicating scent surrounding you.

You coaxed a breath off your lips as the almost inaudible creak of the desk under your professors weight made you sit up straight. His arms locking you in place.

You looked into his soft blue eyes feeling a tinge of entrapment at the way he had you locked in.

"Do you understand now?" His surprisingly large hands caressed your shoulder.

"Y-yeah." If you could see your own face you'd probably be embarrassed but you were currently helpless to the tiny bits of touch he allowed you.

Your elbows pushed you up just a little bit closer to his chest. His touch disappearing too soon.

"I think you'll be ready for the test in a couple days." And suddenly every bit of him was walking away and back to sit at his desk. "You should still study though. This stuff has been difficult for you."

~~~~

"Y/N."

The tip of your nail stayed fidgeting between your lips.

"Y/N."

Words flew through your brain but it all continued to just be flushed straight out again.

"Y/N!" The book flew from your grasp landing with a clatter that attracted glances from all angles.

"Are you alright Y/N?" Eren asked, concern etched into his deep sapphire eyes.

You let out a harsh exhale. "I was, until Sasha stopped my heart." You held a palm up to your chest, glaring over at Sasha.

Mikasa blinked boredom sunk into her features. Her cheeks forced into the palms of her hands as her elbows stayed firmly planted into the table. "New class?"

You nodded, shutting your binder before promptly flipping it open again.

"You'll be fine." She muttered, staring at you with her own version of concern.

"How can you say that? I had to transfer from a different class a month after the semester already started. You know how much stuff I've already missed! Not to mention I had originally thought this class was gonna be next semester me's problem." With a groan you let your head flop harshly onto the mildly sticky table in front of you.

"I think what Mikasa was trying to suggest was that Mr. Arlert has always been said to be a very gentle and caring professor." Sasha said

"You can always take office hours if you really have a hard time." Eren suggested

"Thanks Eren, but I think you're forgetting that I hate doing anything outside of class that won't immediately get me a passing grade."

Eren just shrugged, moving to stuff his notebooks into his own bag. All of them genuinely looking as though he'd just reused them from high school. Each one with a rip in the first page or the spiral unraveling.

"Welp it's 2:00." Sasha reminded you. And you groaned so loud you could practically feel the stares from other tables touching your soul.

"Maybe I'll fall down the stairs and break my ankle before I get up there." You slung your bag onto your shoulder hanging your head as you walked off.

"I'll have your favorite donuts in my room after you get out!" Sasha called

"You should've started with that!"

You made the walk so much longer by dragging your feet up every stair individually and rubbing a finger to your temple. So much so that it surprised you when you walked into the classroom and no one was in there except..

"Oh hello."

Hot..

So so very hot..

His smile sparkled only futher brightened by his deep blue eyes. His short blond hair parted slightly over his forehead. His blue button up was cuffed up against his forearms revealing a very slender but still fairly muscular set of hands. He probably had a nice chest too.

"You must be Y/N." He chuckled and before you could reassociate he was giving you a whole new list of things to think about as he bent over his desk to retrieve a piece of paper.

"Here's the syllabus. You're starting kinda late so it will be helpful to you to come to office hours. My office hours are at the bottom here." When he reached forward to point his scent caught you by surprise. A sweet almost fruit like smell wafted up your nose. "I hope you'll catch on quickly. Sit wherever you'd like."

His remark barely registered in your mind, your mouth hung open immediately slamming shut as the class quickly began to fill.

Before you could get swept up by the people flooding into the room you made your way to the front plopping down into the seat closest to the window. When you looked up again from where you'd yanked your binder almost haphazardly out of your bag, you caught the quickest wink you'd ever seen in your entire life.

Or maybe it was your imagination.

But the way he leaned a little closer when he approached you wasn't.

"Front row? Good choice."

Regardless of the heart problems he'd recently caused you he was moving on. Quickly silencing the class and starting the lesson.

Hot.

The only thought racing through your head.

Hot. Hot. Hot..

He was pretty! When he turned off the light his eyes didn't dull in the almost blinding way in which they shone. His hair fluttered over his forehead and ears and his shirt seemed to hug his chest tighter every time he reached up to turn off the projector or even just to reach a high spot on the board.

You already knew everything from today was going in one ear and out the other but it was really hard to give a damn when your professor's pants cupped his ass they way they did. His dark shoes clicked across the floor and-

"Do you understand any of it? I know it's your first day."

You blinked up at him hoping your eyes weren't as wide as they felt or that you weren't popping your mouth open and close like a suffocating fish.

He smiled, flipping the paper on the desk around till it faced him. "Can I?" He reached for the tip of your pen and as you let it go your fingers brushed in probably the strongest current of static that had ever touched your body.

"Don't worry ok this is just a practice test I wanna see what you know." He said, leaving a couple marks on the paper. He then pointed to the two empty test questions. "Don't leave anything blank ok."

This time when he walked away you were without a doubt certain he'd winked. When you looked down at your paper again you could see 3 checks on the paper in the light blue ink you were using and a little smiley face in the corner.

Your chest honestly had no right fluttering the way it did over something so trivial.

The class was only an hour and forty minutes but when it was over you felt like you'd only been seated there for ten minutes. When you handed the test paper back he sent you one final wink that made your knees buckle.

"See you next time." He said and you had to forcibly stop yourself from shuttering.

You half speed walked half ran out of there as soon as his classroom door had shut behind you. All the way to Sasha's dorm room.

You slammed it open already knowing Sasha only kept it locked when she wasn't in there. Your chest was heaving and you held onto the door frame for support. Noticing the immediate and visible flinch from Eren and Sasha.

"He's. Hot!!" You gasped for air before walking in and sinking to the floor in front of Sasha. She didn't budge as you fell against her shoulder just wrapped an arm around your shoulders hugging your back. "Oh god he's so hot.." You breathed into Sasha's collarbone.

"Looks like she did learn something." Eren muttered

"No! You don't understand he's like so pretty!"

Mikasa didn't even try to hide the way she rolled her eyes and Eren just sighed.

"Aww you've got a crush on your professor that's adorable." Sasha said, reaching into the box next to her, grabbing your favorite donut she pushed it into your open mouth pulling it back slightly to allow you to chew.

You sobbed a little before sighing and falling back into Sasha's neck. "What the hell am I gonna do?" You sighed

"Focus on passing the class is probably the first step." Eren replied

"Now you're just being silly." You replied, rubbing your fingers into the floor.

Sasha brought the donut back up to your lips smiling as you took another bite. "I wanna see him now! Isn't he the really young professor? Like he's supposedly only twenty five as of recently and got hired less than a year ago."

"Yeah.." You quickly put your password into your phone, turning the screen so Sasha could see.

Mikasa and Eren scooted closer as Sasha took a closer look. "He is pretty." Mikasa was the first to speak.

"Why do you just have his picture pulled up? How're you already being creepy?" Eren questioned

You scoffed, "I just happened to be looking on Instagram during a quick bathroom trip.. and I just so happened to look for him.. it's his fault for making it easy." You snatched the donut from Sasha taking a bigger bite.

"Yeah no I agree with Eren this is cree- AW HE HAS A DOG!" Sasha snatched the phone zooming in on the puppy in his lap.

"Actually it's his family's dog. Her name's Pumpkin and he goes home as often as possible to see her. A small two hour train ride to be exact." You sigh briefly "I've never really liked Terriers as a dog breed but that one's so cute.."

"Is the dog cute or is it the guy holding her?" Mikasa questioned with a little smirk.

"Not helping Mikasa.." Eren interjected "What are you even thinking? No matter if you like professor Arlert or not he has to keep it professional and so do you."

"Eren, look at the puppy." You took your phone from Sasha turning the screen back to face him.

He glanced down at the image then back into your eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Puppy!"

"Creepy!" He pressed the power button on your phone and you deflated against Sasha's legs letting your phone turn over onto its face.

"I'll never understand why you don't go for a degree in hacking or something the way you always manage to pull up information on people." Mikasa shook her head.

"Probably going to be stuck with more math classes for one and secondly when I become a supervillain I don't need everyone knowing it was apart of my major." You replied, with an exaggerated eye roll.

Sasha shrugged, "If it was your major I'm pretty sure everyone would understand your descent into madness."

"I can't believe you just said that.." Eren groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Me or her?" You asked

"Yes!"

~~~~

Thursday came too soon. Or maybe you should say, finally Thursday is here! You jumped back and forth between the two but by the time you slid into the honestly uncomfortable classroom seat and placed your bag between your legs you knew exactly what you felt.

"Professor!" A female's voice caught your attention and you turned slightly to see a short brown haired girl running into the classroom.

"You were right about what I was missing! Once I applied what we talked about in office hours it became so simple."

"That's what I like to hear Petra." He winked as he flipped through a stack of papers on his desk.

Wait, had he always done that to all the students or had you just not noticed last time? You felt your shoulders hunch but they were instantly picking back up again as he slid a piece of paper onto your desk.

"You did pretty well on that practice test. Seems like you'll be up to speed in no time." He smiled, a deep warm smile that made your stomach squeeze.

Your lips curled upwards and you quickly moved to hide it behind your paper as he walked away.

"You too huh?"

You felt your skin practically vibrate but you hoped and prayed it wasn't too noticeable.

"Wh-what?" You glanced over at the girl Petra who sat only one desk away from you. Her features flat and her eyes dark in the middle an almost scary contrast from earlier.

"You're into him too?" She muttered

Was it that obvious? Stupid question. How could you be so obvious?

"I don't think you'll win out." She continued and before you could question it, she pointed to the back row.

It seemed almost like a tussle as Mr. Arlert was being held hostage by another young female holding his hand. He smiled mildly awkwardly as he spoke with her, nodding his head to everything her and the other girls surrounding her said. The first girl running a thumb over the back of his hand.

You felt your skin prickle and you exhaled loudly. "So.. I'm guessing you too.."

Petra blinked at you then quickly shifted around in her seat. Mr. Arlert quickly approached the front of the room clapping to get the classes attention. And with that the lesson was beginning.

You noticed from the clap at the beginning of class to the last word uttered that not one word in Mr. Arlert's lesson had actually registered in your mind. Your thoughts too full of Petra's words, her blank almost villainous expression as she'd talked.

And that girl's hand. That annoying girl in the back row. You peeked your head back there looking at the now empty chair. In fact the entire classroom was empty and had been for at least 15 minutes since you continued to struggle with stuffing your binder back into your apparently shrunken bag.

"Need help?"

You bit your lip and looked away as he came closer. You weren't really standing up straight but you immediately noticed the way he towered over you. His fingers so delicate in the way they brushed over yours sliding the irritating object into the confines of your bag.

"Thank you.." You whispered

He chuckled, "No problem, happy to help."

His eyes didn't leave yours for an almost uncomfortable amount of time so you shifted your feet backing away a little. He seemed to notice and placed a hand on the back of his neck, backing up himself.

Oh no. Now he was getting uncomfortable.

He made his way back over to his desk but not before you'd slipped in something to ease the tension. "Sorry for over staying my welcome.."

He let out a soft chuckle. "You're not bothering me plus there are no classes in here for two hours after mine on Thursday. You can stay as long as you'd like."

"O-oh." You face palmed internally at your stupid reply. "So.." You began again. "Do you mind if I asked you how you're such a young professor.."

His eyes flickered up from the work he'd been filling out. "Well, I skipped a couple grades and I was in college by 15. I'm actually still in college now but I was an assistant teacher at 18 for about three years for a high school a couple blocks from here before I became a full fledged teacher and then I worked at the same school as a teacher for three more years before I finally left and started teaching here."

It should've been obvious from the start that he'd worked tireless hours of school to get here at such a young age. Not to mention probably having worked just as hard in the gym. He'd only leaned back a little bit in his chair but it was enough for you to have a perfect mental image.

Your eyes flicked up to his much softer more.. Arlert like smile? Maybe? It just felt like the kind of smile he'd give a friend and less like the smile he used in the classroom. Not that that one felt fake, just.. different.

"Do you.. I mean.. have you always had girls?.." His eyebrows scrunched as you spoke. You pointed to the back of the classroom. "You're young I mean, do girls always touch you like that?"

He blinked up at the ceiling then back down to you. Your breath hitched as he pulled himself up from the desk walking closer to you.

"As soon as they find out I'm not that much older than them? Yeah."

You probably should've stopped but your brain was suddenly working independently. "Does it?.. Do you like that kind of attention?"

He sat down on the desk crossing his arms over his chest and his leg over his knee. He spoke his head. "Not normally no."

"Normally?"

He stood again but this time he stopped directly in front of you. Sharp blue eyes cold and yet warm and vibrant. The desk creaked under your weight as you leaned back into it. His hands at your sides, his breath tickling your upper lip.

His thumb came up to graze your cheek but was quickly removed and planted back on the desk. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded way too eagerly and-

So so so much softer than you'd even thought imaginable. His nose rubbed against yours and he was pulling away. Too soon.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him back to you. Immediately delighted by the warm touch of his pretty pink lips.

He pulled back and you yanked him forward. Over and over again with soft peppered kisses. And then one slightly longer one where he was comfortably mushing his lips against yours.

#armin x reader #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin arlert #armin x y/n #armin aot #aot x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #aot smut #snk smut #aot imagines #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyoujin #cal writes

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jungkookiebus · 5 years

Text

Overprotective | jjk

Genre: bf2l, smut, angst Pairing: jungkook x reader Rating: M Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: there is domestic abuse, mostly mental, but there is mentions of physical, Jungkook beats the shit out of someone, if violence bothers you DO NOT READ THIS, cunnilingus, unprotected sex. Summary: Jungkook had been your friend for long enough to know that something was wrong and seeing you spiraling in your current relationship had him on edge. It all comes to a head at a house party when he witnesses the abuse firsthand, throwing him into a blind rage that has him throwing your boyfriend into the front lawn. Author’s Note: Angry jjk in the ON mv got me in my feelings. Thanks. @bulletproofbirdy

“Are you coming tonight?”

Jungkook sat on the edge of your bed scrolling through his phone.

“Hm?” he asked absently. You looked over to see his face illuminated by the eyesight ruining blue light of his phone. It highlighted the scar on his cheek. He scrunched his nose as he sniffed but didn’t look away from his phone.

“The party. At Hobi’s,” you said as you began removing your clothing and pulling dresses off hangers from your closet.

He finally looked up as you were pulling a gold dress up passed your hips and adjusting the straps on your shoulders.

“Are you really going to wear that?” he asked while gesturing his phone at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Seems like overkill maybe.”

Jungkook was your best friend of almost seven years. Seven years filled with happiness, sadness, and sometimes downright aggravation. Like now.

“It’s not that kind of party, _____, it’s chill.” He paused for a second and chewed his lip. “Is Cheol going to be there?”

You suddenly stopped mid-waist as you were pulling the dress back off. Jungkook had seen every which version of you there was to see. His favorite was high _____ trying to get to the bathroom before she wet her pants. Any shyness you had around Jungkook in the beginning was replaced by blind trust and a totally comfortable space around him. You had met Jungkook at a very similar party. He had tried to hook up with you and you had turned him down with such drunken gusto that he was immediately taken with you romantic or not. Later that night when your friend had, naturally, left you to go with some guy, you were stuck on the front lawn, mascara running from cry laughing at Jin’s dumb jokes, missing a left shoe, and a little hopeless. He sidled up to you as you scrolled through your contacts trying to figure out how to get home.

“Need help?” he asked after clearing his throat.

You had looked up at him, sneered, and went right back to scrolling.

His eyebrows shot up into his hair in amusement, a small smile forming on his face. He then leaned down closer to you and was looking at your phone screen.

“Can I help you?” you had slurred as you hid the screen against your chest.

“Let me get you home. Your friend obviously left you.”

You bent over, eyes crossing as you imitated the Spongebob meme.

“YoUr FrIeNd oBviOuSly lEft YoU. No shit Sherlock.”

You hadn’t expected him to start laughing so hard. Soon, he was unable to breathe, red faced as tears streamed down his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” You hadn’t expected him to answer. His laughter had him clutching his stomach in mock agony.

“I think I’m in love with you, let’s go,” he had said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you along behind him.

And that was how you became friends with Jungkook. It had all started with a pass that turned into hanging out and playing video games every weekend, to sleepovers, and then to practically living together despite having your own apartments. Your current boyfriend was not happy with the fact that Jungkook was with you most of the time.

“He’ll be there.”

You saw him bristle.

“Why do you like him?”

“Jungkook, not this again.”

Time and time again, Jungkook had seen you come home a little broken. At first, he thought maybe it was a tiny argument. You’d shrug off any concerns he had and told him you were just tired. He would watch you as you walked, shoulders slumped, and disappear into your room. The next day you would be perfectly fine, talking to him as if things were just as they should be. Then you started coming home, eyes puffy from crying and wiping your nose on your hand. Again, he’d ask you if everything was okay. ‘Just a little fight.’ He started to worry, but you told him everything would be okay. Months passed and you became withdrawn. The life left your eyes, your smile faded, and you started to spend more time at your apartment alone or with Cheol. Whenever he would go to your apartment in search of you and Cheol was there, he would either find a way to get rid of Jungkook or sulk behind you when Jungkook pushed passed him. Either way, Jungkook knew he was isolating you from him. Any attempt to talk to you would turn into an argument.

One day, you came into Jungkook’s office with a busted lip, fresh tears that were drying over the others, and holding your arms across your stomach defensively. He had jumped up from his chair and rounded his desk, reaching behind you to slam the door before grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded. Anger was hot in his veins. He was shaking with it.

You began to cry harder as your head met his chest and all he could think of doing right now was keeping you as safe as possible, whatever that meant. He held you tightly, encased you in his arms, probably for the first time in months, he realized. You seemed smaller, skinnier, and all around weaker. His hand came up to your head and he noticed your once shiny, sleek hair was now lackluster and thin. Something else was wrong here.

“Please,” he whispered, “tell me what is wrong.”

“Cheol…,” you had whispered. But that was all he needed to hear.

“I’m going to kill him.”

You were suddenly defensive. Pushing him away you stepped back.

“It was my fault,” you stuttered. “I shouldn’t have tried to argue with him. Really, Jungkook, I deserved it.”

His heart shattered into a million pieces. His once beautiful, full of life best friend was falling into the clutches of abuse and she was pushing him away.

“Let me help you,” his voice wavered as he tentatively held out his hand.

“I don’t need you, Jungkook,” you had spat bitterly.

Before he had any more time to react, you were out of his door, and down the stairs. He had wanted nothing more than to chase after you, but he knew if he wanted to keep some type of watch on you, he’d have to back off.

And he was right. A few weeks later you texted him telling him everything was okay, and you wanted to hang out again. You still looked dull and sad, but he tried his best to stay out of your business in order to keep you close.

You pulled a black dress from your closet and started to pull it on.

“Things are better. Really. We talked it out and he’s gotten better.”

All Jungkook could do was scoff. Once an asshole, always an asshole. That’s what he really wanted to say but he opted to just stay silent.

“Don’t come if you’re just gonna be a grouch the whole time.”

“Fuck you, I’m going,” he said as he laid back against your bed.

“Be nice.”

“I’m always nice. Unless someone wants to start shit with me, I’m going to behave myself.” He went back to scrolling through his phone. “And wear that one.”

He didn’t once look at you, but you sighed and decided you were tired of trying on clothes anyway as you continued to get ready. Thirty minutes later and you walked up to the front door of Hobi’s house together. As soon as you stepped inside Cheol was at your side, grabbing your upper arm and leading you towards the kitchen for drinks. You looked back at Jungkook who was still standing in the doorway, eyes locked with yours. You saw fear and sadness there. All at once you felt angry, but his fear was shared. You were angry that Jungkook didn’t trust you, angry that Cheol treated you poorly, but would then be so loving…it was your fault somehow.

“Let me get you a drink,” Cheol said, releasing your arm. He didn’t hold you as hard as usual. That was good. He probably wasn’t mad that you walked in with Jungkook.

“How was your day?” you asked. He never asked you first. He either waited for you to say something or he would immediately jump into something that had happened to him. Nine times out of ten, when you started to talk about your day, he would cut you off. It got to the point where you didn’t even try anymore. That’s when you would text Jungkook, or call if Cheol left, and he would listen and try to give advice the best he could. He’d always end the conversation with a ‘I love you. Please tell me if you need help.’ You would halfheartedly affirm him that you would before hanging up. You were too embarrassed to let Jungkook into your real life now. If he knew, he’d try to get you to leave. You were happy. The bad days weren’t as often, but they didn’t exactly go away either.

“Ah, you know,” he said while he made your drink, but never looked up at you. He never did. “Just another day with those bastards that think they can tell me how to do my job.”

According to him, everyone at his office were idiots, yet he rubbed noses with them every day. You just hummed to let him know you heard but didn’t offer any words. He never wanted advice and he sure as hell didn’t want to hear about you.

“Let’s go,” he said while handing you a drink. He turned without a backwards glance, expecting you to follow dutifully. Which you did. He walked up to a circle of his friends and began chatting immediately, ignoring the fact that you were even there.

You sipped awkwardly on your drink as you scanned the room. You were very much on the outside of the circle, cut off by shoulders that were all above your head. You’d have to duck in between them if you wanted to say anything. Not that they wanted you to contribute. That’s when you spotted Jimin. About that time, he also saw you and began to wave emphatically. You met Jimin at the coffee shop you frequented before classes and you both soon were on the same coffee schedule, expecting to see the other every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. You’d stand in line together and talk about your weekend, classes, and whatever came up. You found out you had a similar friend in Hobi a couple of weeks into your friendship and soon began seeing him at his parties. You considered Jimin a good friend and his infectious laugh always brought a smile to your face. His eyes disappeared as he smiled harder, waving you over. Of course, you went on your own accord. Cheol didn’t even notice that you had walked away.

Minutes passed, you weren’t counting because when Jimin was telling you about some ridiculous group project he was in, time didn’t matter. Without noticing, Jimin had nonchalantly draped his arm across your shoulders as he laughed and talked. You didn’t think anything of it and neither did he. His face was red from the alcohol and he was laughing so hard, drool escaped the corner of his mouth, causing you to double over. He was still attached to you as you both bent over in laughter. On your vacant side, you felt four sharp fingernails dig into your upper arm. You yelped as you were yanked away. Jimin stumbled back in surprise but kept his footing.

“What are you doing?” Cheol seethed. His eyes were on Jimin and if looks could kill, Jimin would be dead and turned to dust on the floor.

Jimin’s eyes shifted to your terror filled ones. You willed Jimin to relent. Please don’t say anything, you begged internally.

He didn’t even spare Cheol a look as he looked directly at you.

“_____ are you okay?”

This time Cheol looked at you. You could feel the anger roiling off him. It heated your skin and made you dizzy. Your knees were locked and cutting off your blood supply. The room swirled a little as you shrank in fear.

“And what were you doing?” He almost spat in your face. His fingers dug harder into your arm and you felt the first tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Please not here,” you begged as you tried to pry his fingers from your arm.

That only made him angrier. People were starting to notice and look at you. Jimin was sobering up quickly and was about to say something again when you heard it.

Your mind was hazy as your thoughts raced, trying to figure out every possible solution to this situation. It was a growl? Roar? You weren’t sure what it was at first, but it was loud. Someone was very, very angry. You could hear them yell, deep and guttural, somewhere close by.

“You fucking son of a bitch, don’t fucking touch her!”

That’s when Cheol’s gripped was ripped from you. He was still holding tightly, and his fingernails dug painfully into your skin, but he soon lost his grip and you were sent to the side. When you could catch your bearings, you righted yourself to figure out what the hell had just happened. Jungkook stood, fists clenched and the knuckles on his right hand a bloody pink. You had never seen him with that look before, at least never directed at you. Hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred is how you would describe it. His eyes were black, and anger burned there. Suddenly, his soft features you loved so much were sharp and menacing. This was a Jungkook you didn’t know and one you didn’t wish to encounter again. His chest heaved as he breathed hard, trying to contain himself as Cheol scrambled up from the floor and launched himself at Jungkook. You screamed as he collided with Jungkook’s chest, shoving him backwards, but Jungkook was good on his feet. He managed to keep his hands on Cheol’s shoulders, stepping back in time with him as his back connected with the closest wall. Cheol tried to take a swing at Jungkook, but he was too drunk to aim correctly. Jungkook dodged him easily before he landed a punch to his stomach. He stumbled backwards, coughing, but either the alcohol or sheer stupidity had him standing up somewhat tall in the face of a fuming Jungkook. Jungkook clearly had not been drinking as he stood his ground steadily, waiting for Cheol to make a move.

“You want that slut,” Cheol sneered, pointing a shaky finger at you. “You can have her. I used her all up anyway.”

You thought that Jungkook was going to explode like a star and take everyone with him. His gaze darkened as he surged forward, grabbed a stunned Cheol by his collar and literally swept him off his feet with one kick of his foot, and began dragging him through the house. The crowd parted like a fog around a car, immediately closing in on them so they could see what Jungkook was about to do. The crowd piled out of the front door after them as Jungkook drug a kicking Cheol down the front steps. You tried to push passed all the people, but the crowd was closing in and you were desperate to get outside. When you were able to make it out the front door and to the porch you saw Jungkook drop Cheol on the front lawn before sitting on his chest. You saw his fist raise and before you could intervene as you stumbled down the steps, you heard the sickening crack as he connected with his face.

You could not believe this was happening right now. Jungkook had really lost his mind.

“You don’t love her, stupid mother fucker,” Jungkook growled as he grasped his shirt in his left fist and raised his fist once more.

Crack.

You winced and turned away as Jungkook yet again, connected with Cheol’s face.

His fist came back into the air, bloody, skin split, but he didn’t even seem to notice as he directed his anger on Cheol.

“And you’re sure as hell never touching her again.”

This time, the hit sounded wet. When you looked back, you could tell Cheol was out cold.

“Jungkook, please!” you called out. At the sound of your voice Jungkook froze and seemed to snap out of it. He turned and looked at your pained expression as you begged him to stop. He dropped his hand and looked down at Cheol’s bloody face.

Hobi came running from inside the house, leaping off the porch in one bound and was pulling Jungkook off him.

“What the fuck, Jungkook?!” Hobi was looking from him to Cheol to assess the damage.

Cheol’s friends were now surrounding as Hobi pulled Jungkook away from the scene, sternly telling him he needed to leave before another fight broke out and he called the cops.

That’s when you knew you had a decision to make.

Cheol lay completely still in the grass, left eye swelling, and blood pouring from his bottom lip. If you guessed correctly, his nose was probably broken too. You were finally able to see him for who he truly was; a manipulative bastard that never loved you but wanted you to himself. He was ugly inside and out and all it took was seeing him finally being reduced to nothing. Gone was the “tough” exterior of Cheol. Your eyes met Jungkook’s from across the yard. He still looked angry, but you saw fear there too. He saw your eyes flicker to Cheol again and he knew you were trying to decide between the two. He didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t at least act like you were going to walk his way. But you had already decided. Cheol had his “friends”. They all fussed over him now deciding who was going to take him to the ER. None of them even turned to find you. You walked past the group and straight into the arms of Jungkook.

“Let’s go home,” he said shakily. His adrenaline was ebbing, and he was starting to feel the repercussions of his actions.

Ten minutes into the thirty minute walk and you were reduced to a sobbing mess. The night and all the things leading up to it were easily being stored away as they happened, as your brain always did to protect you. But now that there was a whole added element of worry you weren’t expecting, you didn’t know how to feel so naturally you began to panic. On top of that, your feet were starting to bleed from your heels. The entire time, Jungkook was next to you, arm around your waist as you walked. He was the one that needed help walking, not you, yet here he was making sure you were okay.

“Hey, everything’s okay,” he whispered as he stopped.

Your body felt spent as if you had stayed up for hours on end; exhaustion finally settling into your bones. After the initial shock had settled, you suddenly feared for Jungkook, knowing what Cheol was capable of doing.

“Jungkook…,” you cried. You reached down and pulled your heels off. On top of being frustrated, scared, and tired your feet were in so much pain you could barely stand it.

He looked down and sighed.

“Oh, baby…,” he said sympathetically.

The sentiment made your heart skip a beat, but it was something you could think about later. He waited until you were upright before he scooped you up bridal style.

“Jungkook, you don’t have-,” you started before he cut you off with a ‘shh’. You looked down at his bloody knuckles, the skin very angry in some spots where he split them open. He paid no mind as he held you close, and you let your head fall against his shoulder. His breathing was steady as he carried you and he didn’t say a word the whole way. In no time, he was buzzing into your building and carrying you up the stairs. He only sat you down at your door so you could fish out your key. Once inside, he ensured the door was locked and the window leading to the fire escape.

“We gotta clean up your hand,” you said almost robotically as you moved on instinct towards the bathroom.

“____,” he said while reaching out to stop you and you flinched.

For the second time, you broke his heart as you jumped as if he were going to hit you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as he ran his hand down your hair.

You started to cry again, but this time you didn’t feel as if the panic would consume and kill you. You felt bad for Jungkook.

You didn’t say anything as you guided him to the bathroom and he sat down on the edge of the tub as you pulled a first aid kit out from the cabinet. You sat on the toilet, knees to knees, as you grabbed his hand and sat it on your thigh. Grabbing a washcloth, you held it next to his hand as you carefully poured peroxide over the cuts. He watched you intently as you focused on the work at hand. In the moments Jungkook had you away from Cheol was when that fake exterior would start to melt little by little. When you were around Jungkook, you relaxed and were yourself. He’d see old pieces of you come back from time to time and he felt like he got his best friend back, until you went home to him. He felt angry again as he thought about what Cheol took away from him, what he took away from you, but he kept it to himself as you reached for antibacterial cream and some butterfly band-aids.

“What were you thinking?” you finally whispered.

You were still working slowly, paying attention to each knuckle.

What was he thinking? Part of him was blinded by anger and the other part knew exactly what it was doing. He wanted to beat the shit out of Cheol, had wanted to for quite some time. This time he was able to witness him put his hands on you, so he felt justified.

“I didn’t like seeing you get hurt,” he mumbled. He was embarrassed now, but he didn’t regret what he had done.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you sighed as you reached for some gauze to wrap his hand.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary for Jungkook to say, but the air felt different. There was a tension you could taste, and you felt Jungkook struggling to say something.

“I could be so much better to you.” He sounded as if he were going to cry. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, _____. Please tell me you’ll leave him. I’m scared for you.”

You felt him looking at your face now and you were almost afraid to look at him as you put the final touches on his hand. His eyes were pleading when you finally looked at him.

If you couldn’t love him back, he at least wanted you to promise him that you’d leave the asshole.

He was right. All this time when he tried to keep you close and you pushed him away, he was in fear for your life. The person you thought should care for you could not care less, and the person that loved you the most was a phone call away and your best friend. You were blind to what you had when Cheol made himself the center of your universe. But Jungkook was loyal when he didn’t need to be, always there when you needed to fall into his arms no matter how much it hurt to see you walk out of his door.

Many nights he’d cry knowing you were going back into the clutches of Cheol and he was helpless to do anything. He’d daydream about killing Cheol or waiting for him to get off work and punch him in the face as he tried to get in his car. Yes, he was thinking extremely, but he was afraid.

Tonight was the last straw for Jungkook.

“I’d never hurt you, ____,” he said, lowly, defeated.

You loooked at the front of his jacket, focused on his buttons as you tried to distract yourself.

“I love you, too,” you murmured.

Jungkook leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your temple, and the top of your cheekbone. Your eyes fluttered shut as he softly placed his hands under your jaw, holding you gently, fingers barely grazing your skin as he kissed across your nose. You leaned your face into one of his hands and he took the moment to tilt your face upwards as he placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I want to show you what love should feel like, _____,” he whispered against your lips, but he wasn’t touching you.

You shivered. It had been so long since someone treated you this way and honestly it scared you. If you mess up something would he be mad at you? You felt as if you were always doing something wrong.

He seemed to feel your apprehension and sighed, not out of frustration, but a sadness he couldn’t seem to shake. Cheol had effectively beaten you basically to nothing, mostly mentally. He wanted to be angry again, but he needed to hold back for you.

He placed his lips softly against yours, not expecting anything from you. He let you take your time as you kissed him back. Happiness began to bubble in his chest as you reciprocated his feelings.

This felt right. Jungkook wasn’t rushing you. He didn’t expect anything from you. He wasn’t demanding you to pleasure him. He let you lead as you kissed him. It heated fast as you sat a little straighter and wrapped an arm around his neck. His arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer, but the limited space in the bathroom and your legs kept him from getting much closer.

He stood swiftly, bringing you with him and guided you to your room, working on muscle memory as he focused on you the whole way. You felt shy under his gaze since half the time Cheol didn’t even want to look at you. He studied you as if you would fall apart at any moment. His fingers intwined with yours and he was gentle. He didn’t reach for your wrist or your arm or grip you so tightly that his fingers dug into your skin. You began to relax little by little as he stood you in front of your bed. He reached for the hem of your dress and looked at you for permission. You nodded slowly as he started to pull the dress up passed your hips and you raised your arms to help him. He stopped and removed his jacket and then his jeans followed by his shirt, putting you on equal ground.

“Are you okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned as he kept his movements slow, not wanting to startle or rush you. He ran his hand softly up your arm and squeezed your shoulder gently before pulling you into his warm embrace. The skin on skin contact comforted you and it brought back memories of nights snuggled up next to Jungkook before Cheol came into your life and ruined that. For the first time in months you didn’t feel scared or useless. Jungkook’s actions said it all.

He held you there for a few moments, ensuring you were okay. He knew you were vulnerable and didn’t want you to think he was taking advantage of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

You felt a small sob get stuck in your throat.

“You’re wonderful, and smart, and the most adventurous person I know. Remember the first we did something together out of town? You convinced me to go ghost hunting at that abandoned hospital and all we found was a family of raccoons and a homeless guy.”

He laughed as a you giggled a little, sniffing, and smiling as you remembered Jungkook’s screams when the raccoon walked up behind him.

He ran his fingers through your hair and massaged the back of your head as you leaned against his chest.

“I love the way you look in the morning when you first wake up, like a steamed bun.”

You laughed again.

“Or the way you sing in the shower. I must say you have improved over the years. I love when you put my blanket in the dryer before I come over and it’s cold out. Those ham sandwiches?! I don’t know what you put on them, but I’d fight a kid over one if I had to.”

Your laugh was music. This is what he wanted. He wanted all of you. He wanted you to know that all of you was worth having, that you meant something, a human being deserving of love. He had loved you for years, but your friendship meant more to him than his silly feelings. Seeing you suffer made him regret not saying anything sooner.

“Can I show you?” he asked.

You knew what he meant. He didn’t have to say more as you pulled him into another kiss in affirmation. He reached behind you, snapping the clasp easily, and slid the straps of your bra down your shoulders, letting it fall. He had seen you naked hundreds of times for various reasons, but never this. Now, you were in front of him giving yourself to him and he was elated to get the chance. He cupped your breast lightly and squeezed a little, testing your limits. You moaned and leaned into him, nipping at his bottom lip. He moaned into the kiss as you buried your hands in his hair. He then wrapped his arms around you, gently laying you back amongst the blankets without breaking the kiss. He kissed the underside of your jaw, nipped gently at the skin of your neck, and placed small kisses to your breast before wrapping his lips around your nipple. Your skin tingled as he sucked gently and ran his tongue over it. Your whines spurred him on as you held on tighter and arched your back into him. He caressed every inch of skin he could reach. The soft gauze tickled across your skin as his hand glided down to your thigh. He directed his kisses between your chest now, kissing down your stomach. He was worshipping your body the way it was meant to be. He noticed some older bruises sprinkled across your skin and made sure to kiss every single one, soothing your anxiety. His fingers caught in the band of your underwear and pulled them down. Using the back of his hand, he pushed gently against your inner thigh and you spread your legs for him. You felt shy, but all once wholly comfortable. He had seen the best and worst parts of you, what was one more thing? This felt intimate in a different way, on a deeper level. He understood your body before he even got to touch you. Hands gripping the insides of your thighs, he kissed along the flesh there.

Some years ago, you were standing in the kitchen washing dishes, wearing one of Jungkook’s discarded shirts, and a pair of shorts. He had walked in to give you a glass when he looked down and ran his finger up a stretch mark on your thigh.

“I like these,” he had said with a smile before walking from the room.

The memory warmed you now as he placed wet kisses to the dimpled and marked expanse of your thighs. He blew a stream of warm air over your wet center and you moaned and shuddered. You tried closing your legs so you could feel some friction, but he kept your thighs apart with a firm hand. He moved his hands further up your inner thighs, almost cupping your sex as he flattened his hands and spread you to get a better look.

“You’re fucking beautiful, ____. You know that right?”

He watched your face twist as he teased you. Knowing that you wanted him had him grinding his own hips into the blanket. No. He wanted to feel you around him before he reached any sort of end. He licked up your center and you moaned gutturally, grabbing at your own breasts as you bent your knees to frame his head. He kept you spread as he covered you with his mouth, tongue dancing along your clit. Your juices mixed with his spit and his chin practically dripped with it all. He had never tasted anything better. The sounds you were giving him were like an orchestra of angels. He wanted you to feel his adoration as he ate you out with fervor. He dipped his tongue inside of you and soon his name was rolling off your tongue like raindrops.

“A-ah, Jungkook,” you sighed as he inserted his middle finger inside of you.

You swallowed him in a velvety wetness that had his cock twitching amongst the cotton, and he ground his hips, moaning into your cunt as he thought about you swallowing his cock. You cried out as his moans stimulated something inside of you that had you teetering on the edge of a cataclysmic orgasm. Cheol never bothered to do this to you. He either used your mouth or your cunt, whether you came or not. You couldn’t remember the last time you had an orgasm. Jungkook was moaning more now, working his finger up inside of you, and suckling at your swollen clit. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe as your body tensed, orgasm hitting you with a force you hadn’t felt in a while. He continued licking and lapping at you as if he wanted every drop, nudging his perfectly sloped nose into your sensitive clit.

“P-please,” you stuttered. You watched him through half closed eyes as he took a few long licks up your cunt before licking his own lips and smiling at you. He reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers as he kissed up your stomach again.

He let go of your hand to push your hair off your sweaty forehead and placed a kiss on the end of your nose.

“Please what?” he asked you before placing a quick kiss on your lips.

“Make love to me?”

His eyes slid shut slowly as he replayed the phrase a thousand times in quick successions. He was kissing you again. Passionately. He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the head up and down your slit, coating the tip. You moaned and circled your hips wanting more of him. He pushed in slowly, face nestled into your neck, committing to memory every feeling he was experiencing right now.

“I love you so much, ____,” he murmured against your skin.

Your fingernails dug into the skin of his back, the other hand tangled in his hair and holding him against your chest.

“Fuck, Jungkook, oh my god.” You were gasping as he stretched you and reached places Cheol only thought he could. “I love you.”

He pressed into you further as he brought his stomach down to yours. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass trying to get him even deeper. He grunted as he began to slowly thrust into you, concentrating on not coming too soon.

You ground your hips upwards, rotating just a little with each thrust. Your hand slipped along his back as sweat formed on his skin. His breathing quickened as he thrust faster and faster. His fingers were intwined with yours, your hand on the pillow above you while his other arm was reached underneath you and holding the hair at your nape.

“F-fuck-k.” You had him stuttering as you squeezed around him. For years he wondered what you felt like, jealous of any guy you were dating but too chicken shit to ask you out himself. Now you were here, still trusting him to protect you, and giving yourself fully.

“I want you to come, baby.” He gripped your hair hard and you moaned. Your fingers tightened in his and he felt so euphoric he wouldn’t even have cared if he didn’t get to come, but you had him so hungry for you that he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. He released your hair to bring his hand between the two of you and pressing a couple of fingers against your clit.

You gasped loudly as he began to circle your clit slowly and then faster and faster. Your toes curled inwards and you dug yours heels even harder into him as he snapped his hips against you quickly. He skillfully moved his fingers on your clit while biting the space beneath your ear. You were seeing stars before your eyes rolled back and you were forced to close them. You could swear that your body was checking out. You felt high and Jungkook was your drug of choice. He felt you tighten around him and he could practically feel your impending orgasm.

“That’s it, baby, come on my cock. God I wanna make you feel like this forever.”

The sincerity in his voice, his cock brushing every erogenous zone there was, and his fingers sent your orgasm soaring. Electricity seemed to flow from where you were connected to your limbs where your fingers and toes tingled.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook breathed as he quickened his thrusts. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.” His voice almost became a whine as he thrust harder and harder, hand gripping your waist, and singing praises about you against your skin.

You felt his cum as he filled you up. His moan was long and deep, thrusting, and milking himself inside of you. You were his now and he wasn’t letting you go.

When the stimulation became too much, he stilled inside of you. His breathing started to even out and soon the only sounds was your soft breathing. After a few minutes had passed and you had suspected him to be drifting, he sat up and looked down at you.

“Let me protect you,” he said softly, voice trailing off at the end.

You believed him. You relaxed for the first time in what felt like months. You could finally be yourself with no repercussions and Jungkook was adamant in making you feel as loved as possible. You tried to hold back your tears but the dam broke when he looked at you so lovingly.

“Baby, _____,” he cooed as he used his thumb to brush away a few tears.

You clung to him desperately, feeling as if he were to let go, you’d be exposed to more harm. He shifted to his side and pulled you into his chest, drawing his legs inwards to curl you even closer to him.

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered. He could hear the fear laced in your tone. His heart ached and tightened in his chest.

“Never,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

It wouldn’t be easy getting you back to the carefree person he once knew, but he was willing to take the time. Being there for you had always been his focus, so a little setback was all he needed to be with you that much more. His wish was for you to get your confidence back, to see you dancing in the kitchen while making pancakes, and to see that sparkle in your eye when you looked at him. It would take time, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity.

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #jungkook smut #nonidol!au #tw: abuse #tw: mental abuse #bts angst #jungkook #jungkook x reader #reader insert

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eliemo · 4 years

Text

The Incident- Part 2

Summary: Sometimes, it’s dangerously easy to spiral...but Virgil’s family isn’t going anywhere.

TW: Blood and injury treatment (nothing too graphic but stay safe), panic attacks, mentions of flashbacks, past abuse

Masterpost

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222 (If i missed someone or u wanna be added just let me know!)

Roman didn’t get back until after dinner, the sun setting with brilliant orange light in the windows, still far too hopped up on adrenaline and brimming with new ideas to even think about eating yet.

He was sprawled out on the couch with his feet in Logan's lap, despite the logical side’s halfhearted protests, lamenting about his recent adventures and the inspiration they’d brought for the newest script.

Logan was pretending not to be listening, but Roman caught sight of an almost invisible smile, pride blossoming in his chest as he continued.

Virgil hadn’t come down in a few hours at least, apparently locking himself in his room due to a stomach ache earlier in the afternoon, and Patton’s worry had finally taken over, the moral side heading into the kitchen to heat up a plate of leftovers to take upstairs.

“Make sure to get him some water, too,” Logan called after him, momentarily silencing Roman’s tale. “He needs to stay hydrated.”

For a few moments, nothing changed, Roman falling back into his story, Logan’s attention switching from the creative side to the open book in his lap, the prince’s voice easily drowning out the hum of the microwave in the next room.

“Logan?” Patton called suddenly. “Did you...you didn’t break a cup or something today, did you?”

Logan froze, looking up from his book to meet Roman’s suddenly worried gaze, the living room plunged into an uneasy silence.

“No,” he answered carefully, slowly pushing Roman’s legs off of him. “Why?”

A beat of silence, followed by a bit of shuffling. “There’s a lot of glass in the trash...and I don’t--”

Roman was already off the couch before Patton yelped, the creative side racing into the kitchen and nearly crashing right into Patton, who’d been rushing for the living room.

“There’s blood,” he said, before anyone could ask any questions. “There- there’s blood...a lot of blood on the glass in- in the trash can I...Virgil, I- I didn’t realize he was--”

“Try to remain calm,” Logan said, already making his way towards the stairs. Patton grabbed Roman’s hand, the two following close behind. “We don’t know what happened yet.”

They made it to Virgil’s room, the door closed and the room seemingly quiet, and Roman stepped back to allow Patton to knock, well aware his own presence could possibly be overwhelming.

“Virgil?” Patton called, unable to keep the slight nervous tremble out of his voice. “Can we come in, kiddo?”

There was no reply, no sound from the other side of the door, and Roman didn’t miss the way Logan’s frown deepened at the lack of a response.

“We aren’t mad, baby,” Patton added, hand hovering over the doorknob. “We just wanna make sure you’re not hurt.”

After a moment of silence and an encouraging nod from Logan, Patton pushed open the thankfully unlocked door, (Roman had been more than ready to kick it down if he had to) freezing in his tracks as soon as he stepped inside.

Peering over the moral side’s shoulder, Roman could see why.

Virgil’s room was empty, bed still made and lights off, everything almost eerily still and silent. The bathroom was just as empty, the lights off and the door left ajar.

Patton whirled around, eyes wide and already filling with terrified tears. “Logan--”

“Both of you remain calm,” Logan instructed, like he wasn’t obviously seconds away from losing it himself. “Patton, come with me downstairs.”

“But he--”

“I need to get the first-aid kit,” he said. “Roman, will you keep looking up here? If we can’t find him, we’ll go to Thomas.”

It was fine. It was probably fine. Virgil’s room was likely just amplifying their stress, and making them all freak out for no reason. They’d find him, and he’d pretend to be annoyed at all the attention and worry, but Roman wouldn’t be able to help pointing out the anxious side’s rising blush.

That was how it always was.

Roman double checked Virgil’s room as the others made their way back downstairs, just to be safe, frantically checking under the bed and behind the shower curtain, all too aware of Virgil's habit of finding strange places to nap or zone out to music.

But the room was vacant, abandoned, and Roman couldn’t escape out into the hall fast enough, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Unwittingly, his mind traveled back to the last time they couldn’t find Virgil. When he’d tried to disappear, duck out for good, all because Roman never bothered to offer him a shred of kindness, none of them caring enough to see just how badly he was hurting--

He almost didn’t hear it, so caught up in his own thoughts and panic, but the tiny, choking sound from the closet at the end of the hall snapped him out of his own head.

“Virgil?” Roman called, heart sinking when there wasn’t a reply. “You over there, Hot Topic?”

His only answer was faint, labored breathing, barely audible, and Roman quickened his pace, taking a shaky breath before pulling open the closet door.

The first thing he saw was Virgil, huddled up in his usual patchwork hoodie, pressed tight into the closet’s limited space.

The initial relief at finding the other side safe quickly vanished when Roman took a step closer, dread clawing at his throat as he took in the sight.

Virgil had curled up into a tight ball, visibly trembling, eyes only half open and staring ahead at nothing, his gaze distant and glassy. His hands were pressed over his ears, and running down his arms…

Oh, god. That...that was a lot of blood.

“Virgil! Virgil, can you hear me?”

If Roman was a bit more put together at the moment, he would have moved slower or gone to get Patton or Logan to coax the anxious side out of his hiding place.

But all he could see was the blood- the fact that Virgil was hurt and Roman needed to help. He couldn’t afford to wait.

Carefully, he dropped to one knee and reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Virgil’s leg.

The reaction was immediate, Virgil jolting under the touch pressing back even further against the wall, bloody and cut up hands held up like he was trying to protect himself.

His eyes met Roman’s, growing wide in genuine terror, and the prince felt his heart break at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil was saying before Roman even had a chance to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry--”

“It’s alright,” Roman tried, doubting Virgil even heard. “But you’re bleeding, Virge. We gotta take care of that, ok? Logan can’t patch you up until you come out.”

Virgil shook his head, frantic. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to break it, it- it was an accident I swear, I tried to- tried to clean it up, I thought--”

Roman swore under his breath, glancing at the still empty hallway behind him. He knew he shouldn’t ever rush an attack like this, well aware Virgil was terrified and unable to think clearly but…

But aside from the bloody gashes across his palms and fingers, Roman could see a few smaller pieces of glass still wedged in the broken skin. He’d had those wounds for a few hours now at least. They didn’t have time.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. “You’ll be alright.”

And then, without giving Virgil a chance to process the movement, Roman cupped one hand under Virgil’s legs, the other around his back, and lifted him off the floor, holding him to his chest.

He wasn’t sure what he’d thought would happen, but he certainly hadn’t expected Virgil to scream and flail like Roman had come at him with a weapon.

“Please don’t please,” he was begging, breaths quickly dissolving into frantic wheezes. “I’m sorry I hid I...I- I didn’t mean to lie I just thought...I thought…”

They were both talking in circles, desperately apologizing over each other, Roman holding him tighter as he made his way down the hall, Virgil fighting blindly to break from Roman’s hold.

“Virgil!”

Patton was bounding up the stairs first, hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes when he made it to the top step, Logan hot on his heels.

“Roman, what are you--”

“He’s bleeding, Logan!” Virgil was burying his head in Roman’s chest, even as he fought to escape, refusing to even glance at the others. “I didn’t...I don’t know what to--”

“Bring him into the bathroom,” Logan said, pushing past Patton, first-aid kit in his hand. “Hurry.”

Roman followed, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Patton, who was trying to comfort Virgil with words that clearly weren’t getting through.

“Sit him on the counter,” Logan instructed, turning on the sink and setting the metal box down on the closed toilet seat. “Try to keep him calm.”

That was easier said than done. As soon as Virgil lifted his head from Roman’s chest his fighting increased tenfold, thrashing and crying and begging as Roman and Patton struggled to keep him still.

What did he think they were trying to do to him?

“Roman,” Logan said, running a clean towel under the faucet. “I need you to get behind him and hold him still. Patton, keep him from kicking please.”

Patton blinked, frozen in the doorway. “I- I can’t--”

“Patton, please.” Roman had maneuvered himself until he was standing behind the anxious side, arms wrapped around his chest and shoulders as Logan carefully reached for his bloody hands. “Try and get him to focus. Tell him he’s safe.”

The request was enough to snap Patton out of his own panic, the moral side wiping away his gathering tears and rushing towards the others. He held down Virgil’s legs with one hand, cupping his jaw in the other while Logan carefully but firmly took a hold of his wrists.

“Hey, honey,” Patton whispered, voice breaking when Virgil only choked back a terrified sob. “Just focus on me, alright? Look at me, sweetie. It’s Patton. It’s Dad. I’m right here.”

For a second Virgil’s breathing slowed, just a fraction. And then he flinched so hard Roman nearly lost his grip. Glancing over at the sink, he winced when he saw Logan carefully taking a pair of tweezers to the pieces of glass still stuck in Virgil’s skin.

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” he muttered, barely audible over Virgil’s breathing picking up again. “It will be over soon.”

Thankfully, there wasn’t too much leftover glass in his skin, Logan soon setting aside the tweezers and guiding Virgil’s hands under the water. But still, Roman couldn’t imagine how badly that hurt, or what Virgil thought was happening in his panicked state.

“I need to clean the cuts to keep them from getting infected,” Logan said after a minute, rummaging through the first-aid kit. “Hold him very still, please.”

There was barely a warning, just a slight nod from Logan a few seconds later before he was pressing something against the skin and Virgil jumped, frantically trying to break away, crying out against the pain.

There was a sob that might have been from him or Patton, but there was no way for Roman to know for sure. Not when he was so focused on not letting Virgil go, not until he wasn’t a danger to himself.

“Please,” Virgil choked out, breathing still too quick and unsteady even as Patton counted out breathing exercises. “Pl- please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Focus on my voice, honey.”

“I- I’m sorry for hiding, I’m sorry, it...I- I won’t do it again, I promise, I’m sorry just stop , please please, I’m sorry…”

And Roman felt his heart shatter.

Virgil thought this was a punishment. He thought they were hurting him on purpose.

“Logan--”

“I know, Roman,” Logan snapped, a distinct wavering to his voice. “I’m almost finished.”

Logan kept working, cleaning and wiping the blood away with quick but careful movement, growing visibly more tense with each one of Virgil’s pleads.

“You’re ok, honey,” Patton kept saying. “You’re ok. I’m right here, you’ll be ok soon. We’re all here. We’re gonna help you.”

Roman couldn’t seem to find his voice, just held on tight and rested his forehead against Virgil’s trembling shoulder, listening to his racing heart and ragged breathing, hoping the contact would do something to ground him.

It felt like hours- hours of Virgil begging his family not to hurt him, Roman helpless to do anything but watch- before Logan finally finished, wrapping his hands in bandages.

“All done,” Roman said softly. He loosened his hold when Virgil, still trembling, went almost limp in his grasp. “You’re ok, Virge. You did so well, I’m so so sorry.”

Virgil didn’t respond, eyes still wide and terrified, letting out a noise that sounded like a desperate whimper.

Patton took a careful step back, letting his hands fall to his side. “Let’s get you to bed, alright kiddo?”

Virgil still didn’t speak, his apologies having fallen silent since Logan stopped treating his wounds, the anxious side only squeezing his eyes shut and hunching his shoulders, like he was waiting for more pain.

Roman took the hint and gently gathered Virgil into his arms again, blinking away tears when he flinched at the movement.

They took Virgil back to his room, Logan bringing sleeping pills and a glass of water from the medicine cabinet.

It took a few moments to convince Virgil to take them, the anxious side frantically scrambling to get as far away from the others as he could as soon as he was set down on his bed.

But eventually, (mostly because Virgil seemed terrified of what would happen if he didn’t comply) they got him tucked under the blankets, still teary and shivering, refusing to open his eyes.

He wouldn’t let them go anywhere near him, Patton having to step out of the room when he realized Virgil’s breathing only quickened the closer they got to the bed.

It took some time, Logan doing what he could to keep Virgil’s breathing under control, Roman and Patton hovering in the doorway, but the anxious side’s eyes eventually slipped closed, succumbing to his exhaustion.

“I should have checked on him,” Patton said when they were back in the living room, squeezing Roman’s hand so tight he thought it might bruise. “He said- he...I should have known to--”

“It’s not your fault, Pat,” Roman said. “You were just giving him some space. And he’ll be fine when he wakes up, right Logan?”

He didn’t answer, the logical side lowering himself onto the armchair and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t until his breath caught in his throat, Logan’s hand suddenly pressed against his mouth to muffle any sound, that Roman realized something was wrong.

Patton was up off the couch in an instant, Roman close behind, but Logan quickly shook his head, moving away from outstretched hands.

He took a few heavy breaths, slowly moving his hand away from his mouth, gaze locked on the floor. Roman could see how red and watery his eyes were, even as he blinked rapidly to get rid of the gathering tears.

“Apologies,” Logan said, and Roman’s breath caught at how broken he was trying not to sound. “Please...please disregard…”

“Honey, no.” Patton kneeled in front of the chair, a steadying hand on Logan’s knee, and Roman moved to clutch at his shoulder. “Don’t keep it in. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Logan shook his head again, looking anywhere but Patton. “I am...I am logic. I am not supposed to--”

“Will you cut the bullshit, Specs?”

Patton gasped. “Roman!”

Roman didn’t bother correcting his language. He squeezed Logan’s shoulder, knowing it helped to calm Virgil down and only able to hope it did the same for the logical side.

“You’re allowed to feel,” he said. “You can feel whatever you want whenever you want. You don’t need to pretend like you don’t.”

Logan shook his head once again, even as a few stray tears escaped and Roman wiped them away with his thumb. “It’s...it isn’t logical for me to be--”

“Emotions don’t have to make sense,” Patton said gently. “And no one’s going to think of you any differently for feeling.”

“You were trying to help Virgil,” Roman added. “You were trying to save him, and he thought you were hurting him. I’d say it’s fairly logical to be upset after that.”

And that was apparently enough to break the dam, a choked sob escaping from Logan, and this time he didn’t try to fight against it.

Roman rubbed his back as he tipped forward, forehead resting against Patton’s chest, the moral side crying along with him as he cupped the back of Logan’s neck.

“It’s ok,” he muttered. “We’ll be ok. It’ll be better in the morning.”

Logan curled further into Patton, clutching at his blue shirt. “I hurt him, I...I had to hurt him.”

“You were helping him,” Roman corrected, shifting positions to wrap his arms around both Logan and Patton. The angle was a bit awkward, but they seemed to relax slightly. “If you waited any longer, it just would have been worse. He’ll understand that when he calms down.”

“What if he doesn't?”

Roman wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to being the one to calm Logan down, to talk him through a problem. As relieved as he was that Logan wasn’t forcing himself to stay put together...he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Patton jumped in, glancing up to smile through his tears. “Because we love him. And that’s never gonna change.”

They were silent after that and Roman forced himself to relax under Patton’s optimism, as forced as it clearly was. There was no way to tell what Virgil would think when he woke up.

Not for the first time, Roman thought about grabbing his sword and hunting down each and every person who had ever dared to lay a hand on Virgil with malicious intent, every person who had ever let him feel worthless and unwanted.

But then again, if he were to go that far he’d have to turn his own blade on himself.

Things were different now, though. And while he and Virgil hadn’t always gotten along in the past, Roman had never once considered hurting him. No one deserved the treatment Virgil had been given.

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend how anyone could see Virgil- sweet, scared, and caring Virgil , and decide they wanted to hurt him. Break him down until he was terrified of making the smallest mistake, convinced no one could ever accept him.

“He didn’t deserve it,” Roman said suddenly, not really meaning to speak out loud. “What they did to him. Virgil didn’t deserve that.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Patton said, with so much raw pain and hurt that Roman was once again forcibly reminded that Patton wasn’t just at the core of happy emotions. “But he’s safe now. Sometimes he’s just...gonna have to be reminded of that.”

And they would remind him. Over and over again if they had to. Like Patton said, they would figure it out.

When Virgil woke up, it was to a foggy head and a throbbing, itching sensation in his hands.

He finally blinked open his eyes when, after trying to scratch at his palms, he found only tightly woven bandages and a new spark of white hot pain up his arm.

Slowly, careful not to put any weight on his hands, he sat up in bed and leaned up against the headboard, suddenly weak and shaky as the whole room momentarily started to spin. He shut his eyes, walking himself through his breathing as he let the memories from yesterday wash over him.

Right. The broken glass, the panic attack, trying to hide and then…

Oh shit. God, what had he done? He couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t really remember where his thoughts had been through the whole ordeal, but it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together as they all came flooding back.

He couldn’t even imagine how much he’d upset them. God, they were probably terrified. They’d just wanted to help and all he’d done was panic and fought, completely losing control just because of one stupid mistake.

A mistake that would have gotten him days of pain before…

But it wasn’t like that anymore. He should know that by now. The others tried so hard to help and he still couldn’t even control himself.

They’d...they’d never seen him panic like that before. He’d definitely done a number on his hands without even realizing, and he’d been too far gone to differentiate between help and punishment.

They’d thought he was getting better. They often told him how much progress he was making, even if Virgil couldn’t see it himself.

Well, obviously...obviously they wouldn’t think that anymore. Jesus, he’d locked himself in a closet covered in blood for who knew how long.

Honestly, what the hell was the point in keeping him? Why would they want him to stick around if all he did was terrify and hurt the people he loved?

Logan had said Virgil helped them. Roman had once said he made them better. Patton promised they all love him.

He was having a difficult time focusing on any that right now, forcing himself out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom.

Virgil took one look at himself in the mirror and quickly turned away, a dangerous wave of self loathing immediately rising in his chest.

He should probably tell someone about that. Assuming they would still be able to look him in the eyes after last night.

Besides, he looked awful. His hair was horribly disheveled and his makeup was fading and smeared all the way down his face, eyes heavy and bloodshot.

His hoodie was neatly folded on the counter, cleaned of any bloodstains, along with a roll of clean bandages and a bottle of disinfectant.

Good. He wasn’t about to force anyone to take care of him again.

He changed his clothes and washed his face, not in any particular rush to leave his room, each movement making him more and more lightheaded, his hands protesting every little thing he did.

He couldn’t even put on his makeup, the pain too intense and hands too unsteady when he tried to grab the brush, nothing to hide the natural bags under his eyes, nothing to hide how pitiful and scared he looked.

It took a good ten minutes to get his bandages off, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he peeled off the paper, grimacing when he saw the far from healed cuts that littered his fingers and palms.

He’d done that to himself without even realizing it. There’d probably been glass stuck in his hands before someone came along and practically forced him to accept help. And he’d fought back like nothing had changed, like he was being punished, brain running on autopilot.

God, he was pathetic. Maybe he should just stay up here forever, isolate himself like he used to. He’d never have to be afraid of disappointing anyone again, and he doubted the thought had never crossed the other’s minds.

It...it wasn’t a bad idea. He hated it, of course. The thought of losing his family hurt worse than rubbing the disinfectant on his wounds.

He loved them. He loved what he had more than anything. But it wasn’t fair. He wasn’t getting better, that much was clear now. They deserved to be happy. And they couldn’t have that with him hanging around.

But he at least owed them an apology first. He wanted to make sure they knew they hadn’t done anything wrong.

So he wrapped up his hands as best he could with fresh bandages, taking a shaky breath before slipping on his hoodie. Pulling up the hood was the best defense mechanism he had right now, and the familiar warmth of the cloth offered a small amount of comfort.

It was almost eleven in the morning by now, which meant the others already had breakfast hours ago.

Virgil did his best to convince himself that they wanted to let him sleep in, and not that they just didn’t want him around.

It was annoyingly difficult to make it downstairs, his head pounding and vision strangely blurred. He almost wished he could just go back to bed and sleep the rest of the day away.

But he was at the bottom step without even fully realizing he’d kept moving, freezing when he glanced up at the living room.

Patton, Roman, and Logan were seated on the couch, the TV turned on low to what was probably an old Disney movie, the three very obviously paying little attention to the screen. Patton and Roman were restless, Logan staring blankly, lost deep in thought.

They were waiting. Waiting for him . And suddenly Virgil really wanted to go back to his room and sleep for the rest of his life.

But that wasn’t fair to them. Nothing he did seemed to be lately. He stepped off the stairs, still using the railing to keep himself balanced, and cleared his throat.

“Uh, m-morning guys.” He hadn’t meant to stutter, and he winced at how broken and cracked his voice was, vaguely remembering screaming the night before.

Immediately, all eyes in the room were on him and Virgil had to fight the urge not to flee and lock himself in a closet again.

“Morning, Kiddo!” Patton moved like he was going to rush over and hug him, quickly stopping himself as Roman put a hand on his shoulder. Right. No one was going to want to hug him right now. “How’d you sleep?”

Virgil shrugged, staring firmly at the ground and trying not to sway. “Fine. No nightmares this time.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Logan said, standing along with the others. “But you’re likely still exhausted. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Virgil didn’t see a reason to argue, making his way to the empty armchair, knowing there was absolutely no way to hide how unsteady he was on his feet.

“Virgil,” Logan said when he was settled, and Virgil braced himself for the worst. “When was the last time you ate?”

Oh. Right, that would...probably explain his killer headache. “Uh, breakfast. Yesterday.”

Patton made a startled noise, already hurrying towards the kitchen before Virgil could muster up the strength to stop him.

The rest of them were left in heavy silence, Virgil refusing to look up from his lap while he absently picked at his bandages, until Patton returned moments later with a piece of bread with jam, and a cup of iced water.

Ice water in a plastic cup. He tried not to think about the implications of that.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and tried to ignore the fact that everyone was probably staring at him as he shakily picked up the piece of bread.

He was starving, but the anxiety churning in his gut was making him feel like he might throw up, and the last thing he needed to do was make another mess. So he ate his food slowly, sipping idly at the water, wincing at the lingering pain in his throat.

When he finished, he set down the now half empty cut, folded his hands in his lap and waited for the inevitable.

“Alright,” Logan said after a moment, and Virgil tried not to flinch. “I...believe we should talk about what happened last night.”

“Logan,” Roman chided, sounding more scared than upset. “He just woke up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Virgil said. The thought of delaying any longer was somehow even worse, and he didn’t need everyone pretending things were ok when they so clearly weren’t. “We can...we can talk about it now.”

A part of him, the part that had been in complete control yesterday, expected to be yelled at. He’d ruined their night, their lives, and he had the audacity to come down here like he was still welcome.

He pushed that voice away, and risked a glance up when he was met with silence, catching Logan sharing a small frown with Patton and Roman.

The logical side inched closer, taking a breath before speaking again. “How much do you remember?”

“Most of it, I think,” Virgil said. “I know...I know you guys weren’t, uh, trying to hurt me. For breaking that glass. I mean, I didn’t yesterday but...I know that now.”

He hadn’t thought he’d needed to say it, but that was quickly disproven by how quickly the tension in everyone’s shoulders suddenly dropped, a watery smile growing on Patton’s face.

“I must have really freaked out, huh?” Like the loss of his voice wasn’t proof enough, memories of his own screams and his family’s frantic apologies. “I-I’m sorry you guys, I didn’t--”

“You were having a panic attack,” Logan said, calm as ever. “As well as what were likely some very intense flashbacks. There is no need to apologize for that.”

“Right.” He was always told not to apologize, not to blame himself. It didn’t get rid of the suffocating guilt. “I’m still sorry. For scaring you.”

“We were only scared because you were hurt!” Roman exclaimed. “You were practically bleeding out and you didn’t even seem to realize. We’d never seen you that far gone before!”

Virgil flinched, pulling his knees up to his chest, an old familiar defense. He knew Roman didn’t mean it as an accusation, but the guilt kept curling around him, tighter and tighter.

“We just want you to be safe,” Patton said, soft and quiet. “We don’t like seeing you in pain.”

Virgil nodded, not really sure what to say, digging his thumb into the palm of his hand like the sudden flare of agony could be of help. “I know.”

The room fell back into an awkward silence, Virgil warily shifting his gaze between the three of them, then back down at his own feet, wondering if they were waiting for him to say something.

“I think,” Patton spoke up after what felt like an eternity. “We should talk about why this happened.”

Right. Virgil had to tell him that they hadn’t done anything different or wrong, that he was just like this, and it was unpredictable and not worth the effort of trying to fix.

He opened his mouth to say just that, but Logan beat him to it.

“We assumed it was the glasses breaking,” he said. “Are we correct in that assumption?”

Virgil nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, panic and guilt steadily building up as he half expected to be chided or told off. He’d made so many mistakes since being accepted, something as stupid as breaking a cup shouldn’t send him spiraling like that.

But Logan just gave a small smile in response, apparently pleased with the answer. “Please understand, Virgil, that it is completely reasonable for you to react so strongly.”

Virgil scoffed before he could stop himself, startling when there was suddenly a hand gently rested over his. He refused to look at Logan, clenching his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might break.

“It is,” Patton said from his spot by the couch. “You’d never...broken anything before. The other things you thought you’d be in trouble for were just...silly little things. We get that this might be...a bigger deal to you.”

“It’s…” Virgil paused, swallowing. “It’s still stupid.”

“It was a relapse, Virgil,” Logan corrected gently. “There’s no shame in something like this. Recovery is not linear. It never will be, and that’s quite alright.”

And this...this wasn’ fair. This wasn’t how they were supposed to be reacting. Virgil was horrible. He was terrible and awful and all he did was make everyone stressed and scared and miserable.

He’d screamed and fought when they were trying to help him, panicked over meaningless things too many times to count, and they still...why were they still being so patient with him? Why were they so nice?

Why would they give all this kindness to the person who deserved it the least?

“Perhaps,” Logan continued, when it was clear Virgil wasn’t going to answer. “We should inform you of what we’ve done in an attempt to ensure this doesn’t occur again.”

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed at that phrasing, wide eyes going immediately to Roman and Patton, but they just offered reassuring smiles and encouraging nods to Logan.

“The first thing we did was replace all glass cups and dishes with plastic ones,” Logan explained. “However, based on past experience I’ve determined that the sudden noise is also incredibly detrimental to your mental state.”

“I- I guess--”

“It’s only a temporary fix, of course, but we had Roman put a rug in the kitchen underneath the cabinets. It’s aesthetically pleasing- thanks to him, and it should muffle the sound if someone happens to drop something. Hopefully, that will alleviate some stress in the future.”

And Virgil...Virgil kind of wanted to throw up. Because that might be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

He’d fucked up again, showed them that he was unfixable, and they’d responded by remodeling their kitchen.

“Of course it is not a- Virgil? Did I say something wrong?”

Virgil wasn’t sure when he started crying, but suddenly it was all too much, the guilt finally overwhelming. He was so unworthy- undeserving of every kind smile, every gesture, it made him sick.

He shook his head, the only sound he was able to manage being an awful sounding sob that worsened the pain in his throat, but at the moment he didn’t even care.

“What’s wrong?” Roman was asking, clearly distraught (Virgil had upset him again), and suddenly Patton was in front of him, gathering him into his arms.

Virgil knew he should pull away, refuse the comfort and distance himself. But he was selfish, melting into the warm embrace with another shuddering sob, unable to stop himself from holding on.

“Deep breaths, honey,” Patton said, voice barely a whisper. “Can you tell us why you’re upset? Are you just overwhelmed?”

He shook his head, taking a few desperate breaths, struggling to find his words.

“It’s...I...you shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. All of this. With- with the kitchen and the cups and the plates--”

Roman stepped closer, hand on the back of the chair. “Is it not going to help?”

“It will,” Virgil said, because it was perfect and they were perfect and that was the problem. “It will but it...it’s too much, and it’s just a hassle for you guys and I should just--”

It was Logan’s turn to cut him off, sounding painfully worried. “You...do you think we care more about the cups we use than your comfort?”

“It’s not about the cups!”

He pulled away from Patton as soon as he realized he’d shouted, shame now mingling with the guilt, and Virgil had to forcibly remind himself to breathe.

“Sorry,” he gasped, shrinking back against the chair. “God, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to...I can’t do anything right and I just--”

“Hey.” Patton cupped his cheek, and Virgil quickly fell silent. “We both know that’s not true. Take a deep breath and tell us what’s wrong, ok?”

Virgil nodded, Logan and Roman watching patiently, Logan’s hand still gently cupping his own, keeping him from digging his nails into the bandages again.

After what he’d put them through last night, he needed to just get everything out in the open. The sooner the better.

“I’m not getting better,” he said, continuing over the expected protests. “I’m not. I know recovery isn’t linear or- or whatever, and you all say I’m making progress but...but last night was bad. And who knows if it’ll happen again, and I don’t...I never wanted to put you guys through something like that.”

“Virge,” Roman said. “It’s not your fault.”

Virgil wasn’t really in the mood to debate that. He couldn’t control it, as much as he tried, but it was still his fault the treatment had ever happened. He’d let himself get hurt, over and over again.

He shrugged, wiping at his eyes. “You guys are...you...you’re great. All of you. Nobody’s ever...done all of this for me. But I can’t do anything for you except...except make everything worse.”

“Virgil--”

“And I get it.” He couldn’t seem to stop now, desperate for it all to be over with. “And I know you all wouldn’t...say anything but, that’s ok. You- you’ve all helped me a lot. And I can...I can go back. I know it’s too much.”

Roman frowned, and Virgil felt him go very still. “Go back?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “You know, to...to how things used to be. Me up in my room all the time so you guys don’t have to keep dealing with this.”

Roman’s eyes widened, sharing a look with the others that could only be described as one of horror. “Virge, we’re not gonna ask you to leave!”

“I know!” Because that was the whole point, wasn’t it? They would never ask him to do that, no matter how much better things would be without him. They were too good. “I- I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I’m offering.”

It was the right thing to do. It was. They tried so hard, and they deserved so much better. And Virgil...Virgil was better off alone, anyway.

It would be ok. It shouldn’t hurt this bad.

“I love you guys.” It did. It did hurt this bad. “I don’t want to make things harder for you anymore.” It felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. But this was for the best, this was--

There was a hand grabbing his chin, not hard enough to hurt, moving his head up until he was face to face with Logan. Logan, whose eyes were red and watery.

He’d made Logan upset. He’d made logic cry.

“Virgil,” he said, never averting his gaze. “You’re an idiot.”

“Logan!” Patton gasped, and suddenly there was another hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “He’s not angry, honey. You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m furious,” Logan said, and Virgil’s heart sank until he continued. “I’m furious at whoever left you feeling this way. Believe me when I say I will continue to do whatever I can to undo it. But you, Virgil, are an idiot if you can think for one minute that your trauma is all you have to offer.”

“Lo--”

“We love you, Virgil. All of you. That means your past, your mistakes, your relapses, all of it. Because that includes all of the good.”

“You make us better,” Roman added, sincere and strong. “I mean that every time I say it. You protect us, you bring us closer, and you make us happy.”

“I...I don’t--”

“You do.” Patton was in front of him again, Logan having let go of his jaw. “I know you can’t always see it, but you do. We wouldn’t be complete without you. We weren’t complete until you came along. So don’t you think for a second that we would ever give up on you. You’re worth everything, kiddo.”

Virgil couldn’t really see at this point, vision blurred completely by the neverending trail of tears, but right now he didn’t really care. The guilt was fading for the moment, that ever present voice in the back of his head finally being silenced.

“What we’re trying to say,” Logan added, not bothering to wipe away his own tears. “Is that we have no desire to ask you to leave. And at this point, I doubt we’d let you if you tried.”

Roman’s smile brightened, and Virgil felt himself blush when the prince winked at him. “Yes, we’ve grown rather fond of you, Doctor Gloom.”

Virgil sobbed again at the nickname, but he was smiling through his tears now, blindly reaching for all of them. And they were there, without even needing to be asked, one last silent reassurance that they meant what they said, that he didn’t need to go anywhere.

“Come on,” Patton said, pulling away after what might have been hours. “Let’s get you some real food. And I’ll show you the new cups- Logan let us make them pretty colors!”

For just a second the voice was back, telling him it was too good to be true, that he should duck out now and never leave his room again.

He didn’t even give it a second thought, brushing the dark thoughts aside and allowing himself to be dragged to his feet, following his family into the kitchen.

For the moment, even if it wouldn’t last, he let himself relax.

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years

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Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

“What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

“Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

“Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

“You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.

Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

“I think we should do gifts.”

It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

“‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

“It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

Sam heard anyway.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

“I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

“Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

“Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

“Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

“I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

“That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

“I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

“They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

“It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

“It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

“Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

“Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

“Want to open the other one?”

Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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sabraeal · 3 years

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We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Ch 8

[Read on AO3]

Written for @eveluboi for winning the Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021 betting kitty! I meant for this to be out way back in June, but it quickly slipped from a 4-5K projected fic to 7K 😂

Cold porcelain presses up against her palms, slick from where her fingers wrap around the sink’s edge. Shirayuki bows her head down, watching the water spiral down the drain, and breathes. In and out; in and out. If she hadn’t left her phone out on the table, she could look at one of those gifs she bookmarked; the one where the triangle becomes a decagon maybe, or where the star burst becomes a mandala. But she did, so instead she has to visualize it, counting out the shapes behind her eyelids.

It doesn’t work, but at least it’s something.

There’s something distinctly high school dance about hiding the the bathroom-- though in here, it’s impossible to just sit on the toilet and brace her legs against the door. Not that she needs to; unlike a bathroom stall, this door actually locks. A feature she’s sure has nothing to do with whatever the Wisterias plan to get up to in that Jacuzzi tub.

Shirayuki frankly refuses to speculate on what that might be. She still has to look Izana in the eye tonight, and the last thing she needs is to be thinking about him doing-- things in here, with people. Maybe he just has a compressed spine at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the kind that can’t be alleviated by anything less than eight massage jets.

In any case, this whole strategy of retreat isn’t really her style. Or at least, it hadn’t been, until...before. Which was a blip on an otherwise spotless record of confronting her problems head-on, with the sort of determined attitude Jaja fondly refers to as foolhardy, and Busha calls bull-headedness.

Her fingers grip the bowl firmly, levering herself up to stare into the mirror. She can do this. She can go right out there, sit down, and have Lynet reject this proposal. Because a normal person wouldn’t hide in the bathroom to avoid a fictional conflict.

Right. Shiaryuki drops her hands, giving her reflection a steely nod. It’s not like this is her first time turning down a boy; even if Shuuka throws her in a dungeon, he’ll still have taken her rejection better than the last one did, and that was a real live person. Not that Raj is much of a measuring stick for any kind of model behavior, but-- still. The point stands.

The door gives beneath the pressure of her hand, opening with a silence that’s confusing rather than comforting. Zen’s house might not be as old as hers, but it’s still not new; the apartment went up in the last five years, and its doors still hang crooked, screaming every time they move more than an inch. She can’t imagine Izana going around oiling hinges.

“Hey.” A hand catches her, strong fingers banding around her wrist. Pale ones, slender and well-trimmed; she traces them right up a crisp flannel to find Kiki frowning down at her. “I would give it a minute.”

Shirayuki blinks, and suddenly the world refocuses. It’s oddly silent in the basement, only the thin tumble of dice from the floor above. Obi’s either up to something or Beaumains is in trouble; she can’t even beging to guess which one would be worse.

And Kiki’s leaning here, right against the neutral paint, waiting for her. She shifts, casting a worried look toward the game room. “Is something--?”

Mitsuhide clears his throat; it echoes down the empty hall, a sound that fills the space like thunder overhead. Shirayuki bites back the impulse to count until next lightning strike; even though she knows it should be the other way around, that light travels faster than sound, but this--

“Is something wrong?” Zen drawls, sounding nothing like the boy who sits next to her in homeroom. No, sounding like this, he’s every inch Izana’s brother.

-- this is different. Bedwyr uses his words before he dares draw his blade, and it comes too naturally to be anything besides pure Mitsuhide, just like Beaumains’ quick tongue is the same one that wags in Obi’s mouth. He rumbles before the strike, and this one is destined to hit too close to home.

“Zen.” There’s something about how Mitsuhide wields a name; Shirayuki hardly knows him-- not as much as Zen and Kiki, anyway-- but when he says hers, it’s like having those giant arms cradling her tight against his chest, in a way that is less romantic and more like a tiny kitten living in a jacket pocket. When he says Obi’s, it’s a buzz, a burr, the sound before a siren wails, a warning that will never become a threat.

And when he says Zen’s right now, it’s a weight, a boulder to bear like Atlas shoulders the earth. It’s the moment before the punishment comes in the last act; the last temptation to turn the antagonist back onto the path of the righteous. “You should rethink your behavior tonight.”

“My behavior?” Zen squawks, chair clattering beneath him. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Mitsuhide’s silence speaks volumes.

“I haven’t,” Zen insists, though it’s weaker this time. “You’re the ones who are just letting Obi act like the rules don’t apply to him.”

“We are?”

“Well...” The pout sits sullenly on this tongue. “Izana is. And you guys aren’t doing anything about it either!”

Mitsuhide heaves a sigh that would make trees sway. Kiki’s fingers flex in sympathy against her shoulder. “I think you’re being a little unfair.”

“Unfair?” The word squeaks at the end of Zen’s range. “What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care.”

Shirayuki only realizes she’s moved when Kiki’s grip holds her back, one foot still hovering over the floor, poised to make a very determined stomp. Words are welling up in her like ground water during a storm; a whole monologue that threatens to flood the basement of her common sense. The whole night comes back to her in inches; every slight, every complaint is magnified tenfold now that she knows it comes to this, and she--

“Give them a minute,” Kiki murmurs. “Sometimes Zen just needs a swift application of a boot to his ass.”

She blinks up at her, body vibrating with a need to do something. “And Mitsuhide will do that?”

A picture might be a thousand words, but somehow Kiki’s eyebrows could compose a novel. She lifts them a bare, dubious inch, and Shirayuki knows that chapter one starts with, and you think you’d do any better? “You’ll see. He’ll come around. Have a little faith.”

Bitter words lick up her throat, a carefully composed diatribe furiously scribed by her irritation. A list of all Zen’s petty squabbles, of all the times he’d tried to sideline her or sequester Obi ready to spill out, but--

But she swallows it down. Tonight’s tried her patience for sure, but it’d been Zen who leaned across the aisle in homeroom her first day. The one who’d stuck out a hand and said, you must be new. The one who had made sure she’d had somewhere to sit at lunch-- sure, Kihal had found her by then, adopting her like a baby bird fallen from a nest, but he’d swung by even though his wasn’t until next period.

That’s what’s so frustrating, to be honest-- she knows how good he can be. So the fact he’s choosing to act this way instead...

Her shoulders sag under the weight of Kiki’s hand. “I’m trying to.”

When Mitsuhide speaks again, it’s even, patient; she’d be tempted to say it was like a parent to a child, but there’s no condescension, no sense of speaking down but rather across. “That’s possible. But you’re still the only one acting hostile at this table.”

Zen’s huffs, indignant. “So you want me to just sit here and let them ruin Shirayuki’s experience?”

Kiki pushes past her with a parting pat, sauntering into the room. “How could they when you’re doing such a good job of it yourself?”

Shirayuki can’t see either of the boys, but she can see Kiki when she spins a chair around, dropping down to straddle it. “You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t look like Shirayuki minds Obi being here. At least, not as much as you do.”

“Kiki,” Mitsuhide sighs, a warning. “That’s enough.”

Kiki must not agree, since she leans in, smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe you need to lighten up, brother dearest.”

Zen sucks in a hard breath, like he’s been hit. “Don’t--”

The door rattles at the top of the stairs, a muffled voice turning to a dry laugh as it opens. Her stomach lurches like that moment at the top of a coaster, looking down at the track below. It’s Obi.

Kiki is a flurry of motion; her chair flips beneath her, and she sits back down hard, feet kicking up onto the table. When Izana and Obi emerge from the stairway, it looks like she‘s been idling at a casual tilt for hours, not seconds, but still, still--

Izana lifts one elegantly arched eyebrow. No matter how cleverly they all compose themselves, he almost certainly knows every word that’s been said.

“You’re back?” Zen coughs, his words hobbling awkwardly, dragged down by guilt. Izana’s other eyebrow joins the first. “What happened?”

Obi drops into his seat, cradling chin in hand. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would,” Zen snaps, irritation already rising. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh, don’t worry--” Obi tosses him a wink designed to send him through the roof-- “you’ll find out.”

“I--”

“If there’s any other business, tell me now,” Izana says, taking his place at the head of the table. “Otherwise, you’ve slept through the night.”

Obi flutters his eyes, grin taking on a feral edge. “Well, you know I’m all taken care of, Majesty.”

“Anyone else?” Izana sighs, long suffering. His eyes flick out over the table, settling into a frown. “Does anyone know where Shirayuki is?”

“Bathroom,” Kiki offers too quick, gaze cutting over to where she hides in the hall, before darting back. The corner of Izana’s mouth pulls deeper, and his eyes lift--

“Ah, I’m here!” Shirayuki hurries out, slipping into her seat. When she looks up Zen’s watching her with wide eyes, gears clunking along behind them as he looks from her to the hall and back, doing the exact equations she was hoping he couldn’t. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” Izana assures her, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen in front of him. “Did you have anything you needed to do before the night is over?”

“Ah, um.” Her fingers stretch wide over Lynet’s sheet, tips gripping at the table. “Yes. One last thing.”

The stars are bright tonight, shining in the firmament like jewels in velvet. Ancient poets would invoke Diana at the sight, at the thousand heroes and maidens consigned to shine above for defying their fates. Older ones still would call upon Arianrhod, the silver wheel, mother of wind and skies alone, praising the complexity of her beauty.

But when you raise your eyes to heaven’s glorious vault, you see only kingly gift laid at your feet, unasked. And when you lower them, another waits for you in Shuuka’s smile, devastating and earnest.

“A fine night, is it not?” His breath mists in the air between you; a lucky thing, since it obscures your grimace. “In all Our Lord’s creation, a man could not find one finer than this.”

“It is a wonder,” you murmur, stirring the fur at your cloak’s collar. “But I have seen so little of this world that I hesitate to say that in a thousands nights there would not be one that could surpass it.”

His mouth spreads wider still, the pearl of his teeth glimmering in the moon’s light. You’ve pleased him, somehow. “You can only say that, my lady, since you are graced with your own presence every moment, and I have only these. For now.”

Your feet stutter beneath you; the leaves crunching makes him turn, brow raised in concern. “Shuuka...”

“Ah, yes. You wished to speak with me, did you not?” His boot heels clack against the cobbles, coming to perch on the raised bed beside you. He is not close, even still, but having his eyes level with yours makes this moment too intimate for you to keep him fixed in your vision. Instead you turn, leaving him looming at the corner of your eye. “I am your servant in all things, my lady. Speak.”

“My lord,” you begin, for politeness seems the only kindness you can extend to him, “I believe there has been some misunderstanding.”

His head tilts. “A misunderstanding?”

His voice is lower, a manly rumble instead of its usual reedy melody; a child playing at a man. A man he only wishes to become because it might make you happy.

You sigh, your gut tangling as easy as your fingers do above it. Were you any other woman but yourself, you would be pleased to have made a match as fine as this. Perhaps even mere months ago, you would have been comforted by the thought of marrying a man you had met before, even if he had been a silly, sobbing boy at the time. But now, as you are, you cannot care for this-- this life your father wished for you, with no thought to your own.

“About the state of the agreement between our fathers.” Your breath catches in your chest before you manage, “They are both gone.”

Shuuka peers at you with shining eyes, and oh, if only you could choose your words as gently as he deserved. But you know better; a man who wears a hard helm often keeps a harder head beneath it, and women’s words only penetrate such a barrier if they are drawn to a point.

“That I know,” he says, so soft. “And I am sorry for it. But we may yet do what they willed for our future.”

“That is not all,” you continue, each word stinging with guilt. “This understanding was dissolved long before either of them was brought back into the great shepherd’s fold. When my family fell upon misfortune...”

You had hoped it would be easier to speak of it, but the words stick to your teeth, refusing to leave the safety of your mouth. Shuuka reaches out, clasping his hand in yours with far too much understanding for what you wish to say.

“I am not proud of what my father did,” he tells you, sincerity ringing from his words, clear as a church bell. “Though I am certain he thought it would be for the best, at the time. He never pledged my troth to any other, and above any other woman he had entertained to be the Lady of Laxdo, it was of you he spoke most highly.”

“That is--” hard to believe. Not when you spent most of your betrothal dance trodding on his son’s toes-- “Kind of you to say. I know that you value the words of your father above all others--”

“My father’s esteem is exceeded only by that of the Lord in Heaven, may he ever sit at his right hand.” Pain hollows his eyes, so raw that even in health he gleams gaunt beneath the moon’s light. You have both lost your fathers, but this wound is fresh, bleeding still, and yours--

Well, yours sewed up just fine with a little needle and thread. How quickly a wound heals when you must see to it yourself.

“Would that I could talk to him,” Shuuka rasps, fingers clenching around stone. “But I trust that if he could see you now, he would see a daughter still.”

His grief burns brightly, a halo that surrounds him-- no, a shroud, the sort that might bury him beside his fathers bones if he did not take care. It is that which makes all this worse, which turns what you must do from a discomfort to a cruelty. But it is better yet than what it could be if you indulged him, if you let pity and kindness stand where only love should.

“Yes, I understand,” you murmur, gathering every last draught of courage. “But I must admit, my lord, that I do not hold my own father in such esteem. You are a kind man, Lord Shuuka, the sort any woman would count her blessings should she find you as her husband, but I...”

You flounder, the night pressing in thickly around you. What you wouldn’t give for crickets, if only to break the silence.

“Ah.” There is a wealth of hurt hidden in that breath. “But you mean to say that it shall not be you, Lady Lynet.”

“What?” Zen’s eyes blink wide, so bright, so blue across from her. “You’re turning him down?”

Shirayuki stares. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a lord, isn’t he?” It’s a strange thing to ask, especially when they just spent the last week and change-- well, four hours really-- at his castle, but here was Zen, looking toward Izana like he needed clarification. “Wouldn’t Lynet, you know...?”

“Um.” Even with a sweep of Zen’s wrist and the emphatic lift of his eyebrows, Shirayuki still can’t see how that sentence might finish itself. “No, I don’t.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, so when Obi lets out a hiccup, isn’t not exactly inconspicuous. She glances over at him, and from the way his mouth twitches at the corners, she’s hardly the first. “Is something...?”

Wrong, she means to say, but Obi gives a single solid shiver and collapses onto the table, head buried in his arms.

There’s a breath where her fingers go numb on the table, where her heart beat practically deafens her as it pound in her ears. She’s not here in the room, she’s out in the yard, a wrinkled arm reaching out to her, and all she can think about is where her phone is, whether she can reach it from here--

“My, my.” Izana’s drawl rattles her back to the table, gaze skittering over Zen’s forbidding glare, the clasped hand over Kiki’s mouth, Mitsuhide’s wide-eyes-- “Isn’t that an interesting question. Now just what does make Lord Shuuka such an attractive partner?”

Obi lifts his head, still trembling, but it’s not some medical event. Oh no, he’s just-- just laughing. Shirayuki catches her breath, holds it, and thinks of a triangle becoming a decagon.

Nothing is wrong. Everyone is safe. Healthy.

“W-well.” Zen’s voice creaks from the reach she suspects he’s about to make. “He has ah, hmm...”

“Large tracts of land?” Obi offers, so helpful.

Zen hands stiffen where he holds them out in front of him. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

His brows give a wiggle. “Looks like it.”

“I--”

“Castle Perilous already has land,” Shirayuki interjects, hoping the tremble hasn’t reached her voice. “Plenty of it.”

Obi leans back in his chair with a grin. “Castle Perilous has everything! Large tracts of lands, at least two level or dungeons, an ominous name...”

She flicks him a flat look. “My point is, Lynet doesn’t need a manor to maintain-- she already left that to save her sister. She has a quest, she doesn’t need--” she waves her hands, steady now-- “romance.”

Obi’s brow ticks up, just the tiniest bit.

“I mean, not with a man she’s only known a week,” she blurts out, feeling heat simmering beneath her collar, licking at her ears. “Why would I be playing D&D if I just wanted to-- to marry Lynet off to the first guy she saw?”

Zen’s mouth fall slack, eyes glued to his character sheet. “Huh.”

“Gee,” Kiki drawls, “all that production for nothing.”

“Shut--”

“If we’re all quite done?” Izana suggests pointedly. “I believe Lady Lynet is not quite done breaking her beau’s heart. Also--” those pale eyes cut toward her, eyebrow quirked pedantically-- “it’s Pathfinder, by the way.”

Kiki lets out a huff. “It’s the same thing.”

With exaggerated care, Izana nudges her character on the map. “It’s really not.”

You take Shuuka’s hands in your own; they’re soft, callused on the mounts like Arturius’. A swordsman’s hands, though not a warrior’s. He flushes beneath your touch, and you wonder if he is bothered by the rough touch of your own, marred by scrapes and scars, so unlike a lady’s that you might as well be a different country. That is what your father had called you once: a different country, the fondness thick in his voice.

That had been before. He had been a different man. You had been a different Lynet. A time you would long for, if you thought it might make any difference at all.

“I have my own path I must tread, my lord,” you murmur, “one that cannot be turned aside for my own comfort.”

He nods, head heavy. “I see. You too have your own quest of honor, like His Grace. A glory that only you can seek.”

“If only it were for glory--” your fingers stiffen in his hold, teeth gritting down on the troubles that long to pass through them-- “instead of to right the wrongs that have been done.”

His brows lift, and you do not imagine the offer in his eyes, the one that says you would only need to breathe the word, and he would raise his own blade in your honor. “To you?”

Your tongue would tie itself in knots if it could. “Among many.”

“I understand.” His hand squeezes yours so gently, as if you were a thing that could break, a glass woman cradled in his palms. That is a thing these lords do not understand; glass may be delicate once blown thread-thin, but it is first forged in fire, born at a temperature that would char flesh. “Perhaps, though, when you are done...”

It feels cruel to reject him, a man that loves the lady you could have been, but it is crueler still to give him hope where there is little to spare.

“Perhaps,” you say, stilted. It is too mild an answer for the passion in his eyes, but you learned long ago that fate’s whims could not be foreseen by any mortal heart. “But please, my lord. Do not wait for me.”

“It will be hard not to, my lady, for a woman like you is not easily found. However--” he lets out a raw chuckle-- “I do know what love sounds like when I hear it, and it...does not warm your voice when we speak.”

“I...”

Shuuka holds up one hand, chagrined, the other still wrapped in yours. “You owe me no explanation. I only mean to wish you well.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss to its back. “May God go with you, my lady. I pray you will not forget your loyal servant in your trials.”

“I...will not,” you breathe, wishing you might be the girl that could love this man. You cannot, you cannot, but oh, how much easier your road would be if you did. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Mitsuhide hums, smile hung awkwardly. “He seems nice!”

Zen nods, pink looming just under the apples of his cheeks. “A good, ah, potential ally.”

Shirayuki stares.

“You two,” Kiki starts, every syllable so overflowing with derision they practically leak, “are ridiculous.”

Obi looks fit to bursting as well-- at least, if the state of his twitching mouth is anything to go by-- but before he can get one word in edgewise, Izana clears his throat.

“Now that this little interlude is complete,” he drawls, casting a wary glance over the table. “I expect that we can move on?”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” Shirayuki bursts out breathlessly. “Just--” she glances at Obi, squirming under the question in his eyes-- “just one more thing. I promise.”

Izana settles back in his chair, brows raised. “Oh no, by all means. Color me...” His mouth curves into a smirk that would cause a cleverer woman to reconsider. “...Intrigued.”

Your neck aches; beneath your veil, your hair lies heavy on your scalp, pinned and tied to within an inch of its life. There is no more of it than usual, you are sure, but it weighs on you now, a fetter meant to hobble your steps. A shackle meant to drag you down, to halt your progress forward. Perhaps that is always what it was meant to be.

A proper lady would not remove her covering until she was safely ensconced in her chambers; such manners had been pressed upon you since your first courses, first by your nurse and then again by your father. Modesty was a woman’s shield, and you clung to it then as if it could protect you, afraid of what might happen to you without it. No, afraid of who you might be.

But you are no fine lady, not by anything but birth. Such trappings were ripped from your hands, and now--

Now you are Lynet, alchemist and arcanist, and you keep nothing that will not serve you. Your fingers wedge beneath the fine linen, pins falling to your feet as you work them free. Everything about Laxdo may squeeze you, trying to fit you back in the mold your father made, but you will not, not ever again.

It may have been years since you last stepped in Laxdo’s halls, but this past week has made it something like a home, your feet carrying you with ease through the twisting corridors. A different answer but a moment ago and these would have been yours, your home in truth, but to stay here, to forget the power that you tamed with your own two hands and become nothing more than Shuuka’s wife--

It’s unthinkable. A life not meant for you. Though your sister would like it fine enough.

Your feet stutter beneath you, breath caught tight in your chest. Who are you to say what she would want, when you--

You shake yourself. This guilt won’t serve either, not if you let it hold you in place. Your gaze lifts, and finally you see where your industrious feet have brought you: Beaumains’ door.

It was inevitable that they would; your own chamber is on the same hall, mere steps away. But you had not meant to come here, to linger, save that-- that you had, for he has been on your mind since he delivered you to the dais, since Arturius had him sent from it to the revelry below. His voice has thrummed beneath your veins since you looked across the hall and saw him missing from the tables below, your mind turning over every word he spoke this night to see if his disappearance is merely a missing piece to a puzzle you have already solved. But no solutions have appeared before you, and now--

Now you stand here, head bare at his threshold, wondering whether you will be welcome.

You hand raises, hesitating above the grain. You could leave now, and no one would ever know. But if you did, if you simply left with no word, and found him gone on the morrow...

You knock twice. Then thrice. There is not a whisper from the other side of the door. You know better than to assume that means there is no man, not such a one as Beaumains.

“Beaumains,” you murmur, palm pressed flat against the wood. “Beaumains, if you are there...”

Your lips press to a thin line. You had not planned this, planned any of it, and your words will not come. You do not even know which ones you speak if they would.

Your forehead rests against the door, the ridges of its grain digging into your skin. “If you are there, I am here.”

There is no answer but silence.

“Goodnight,” you say finally. “I will...” You hesitate, breath catching in your chest. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Izana, at least, is happy to move on.

“If you have spells to prepare,” he offers graciously, “you may do so now, before we start the morning.”

Kiki raises an imperious brow. “I take it we’ll be doing combat, then?”

With a beatific smile, Izana informs her, “You may prepare for any eventuality you see fit.”

“Yeah.” Zen sighs, flipping to his spell list. “Combat.”

Shirayuki shuffles through her index cards, chewing on her cheek. Next to her Obi has affected a casual slouch, arm thrown haphazardly over his chair back and legs stretching well onto Zen’s side of the table. He doesn’t seem stressed, not like how she feels sitting in the splash zone of of their high stakes game of I’m Not Touching You during this fantasy field trip.

Her phone slides into her hand easier than it ever has, thumb sliding surreptitiously across the keyboard. Are you okay?

Her teeth grit down as soon as it’s sent, regret bitter on her tongue. It’s a stupid thing to ask; a feeling that grows when she watches him work his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows lifting as he reads.

His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. peachy keen

Are you sure? Shirayuki peeks up from her cards, casting a subtle glance toward the end of the table. Izana’s bowed behind the screen, pen gracefully curving over page-- notes. He’s taking notes. I wanted to make sure Zen isn’t scaring you off.

lol impossible

A breath hisses out her nose, fingers tightening around the case. Leave it to Obi to make this into a joke. He’s really not a bad guy, I promise. I don’t know why he’s choosing to act like one.

A smothered noise hiccups out beside her, too loud in the room’s silence. Four heads bob up, three blond and one brown, and Obi smooths the noise out into a cough, a gentle clearing of his throat.

“Dorito,” he says with a tight wheeze, mouth twitching. “Musta gone down the wrong pipe.”

“Ah,” Izana hums, his eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

Zen, however, frowns. “We have Doritos?”

Obi’s mouth stretches into a smile. “You did.”

“How--?”

“Are we done with preparations, then?” Izana asks smoothly, settling back in his chair. “Should we continue...?”

“Ah, no!” Zen grimaces, ducking his head. “Just-- another minute.”

i got a good idea, Obi texts once. heads are down. but don worry im not going newere His teeth flash as he sends, jus had 2 take care f s/t

She glances up, and his grin is there to greet her, only growing wider when he reads the question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he murmurs, shifting close enough for the words to ghost over her cheek. “Trust me.”

You wake to hue and cry, to chaos in the halls. A lord’s daughter might lay abed still, waiting for her maids to fetch her, but you were the Lady of Castle Perilous; when Morgaine comes to fetch you, you are already dressed, tucking the last tresses of red beneath your coif. She blinks, those midnight-dark eyes going wide before her expression settles into something far more grim, something more resigned than surprise.

“Beaumains isn’t in his chamber,” she tells you, no cushion in her words, only the bruising impact of the truth. “We suspect he never made it back to it.”

Your breath catches in your chest, struggling against its cage. “That can’t be true. Last night I...”

Spoke to his door, with not a single sign of him within.

“When the maid came to tend his hearth this morning, his cot was undisturbed and the fire burnt down to embers.” Morgaine fixes you with a steady gaze, braced as a man about to take a blow. “We mean to look for him.”

You snatch your cloak from where it hangs, winding it about your shoulders. “Then let us go. If he has been taken, then--”

“I suspect he has been taken by naught by stupidity, the same as any man,” the princess grouses, falling into step beside you as you hurry down the steps to the yard. “My brother wounded his pride, and he sought to restore it. Or at least commit some feat to let it scab cleanly.”

It rankles how much each word rings true. You had no brothers at Castle Perilous, but men you had in spades, and every one fool enough to put himself in mortal peril to salve his pride. “Let us hope you are wrong?”

Morgaine lets out a rasping laugh. “You prefer him to be in the hands of the enemy, then?”

“Rather than his own stupidity?” you ask, breathless, waiting for the yard’s door to open. “Always.”

When they do, your heart stops, stuttering right up into your throat.

“Alas.” The word hisses through Morgaine’s smile. “You are destined to be disappointed.”

Beaumains sits in the yard, perched merrily atop a cart drawn into the middle of it. You cannot, from this angle, divine what it is filled with, only that it is solid enough to hold him and his ego. Temper climbs up your neck, as choking as any ivy; to think, you worried about his heart enough to trouble your own, and now he sits here as if naught but a moment has passed from the night into the evening, as if this were but yet another day he spent in your company.

Oh, how you could climb that cart yourself to give him a piece of your mind. You do not-- would not, before all these men of Laxdo-- but the temptation lashes yours soles as thoroughly as any devil.

“Beaumains.” Arturius marches forth from the crowd, wrath crackling in the air as he walks. “What is the meaning of this? We awake to you missing, and now--?”

“So I heard.” His smile shines in the morning sun, just as brightly as his horns. “I was here, of course. Waiting.”

The Prince of the Angles flushes crimson, the whole of his frame shaking. “Then why would you not--?”

“For a lark.” His teeth flash; fitting since he wields his words like a blade. “Though I did leave last night. You see, something bothered me, and not just your manners.”

“Demon--”

“Devil,” Beaumains corrects, as fastidious as any tutor. “And you see, all this celebrating, it didn’t make sense. Not when we hadn’t solved who cursed our friend here.”

He holds one dark, clawed hand out to where Shuuka stands, gaping. “Me? But I thought--?”

“You know as well as any that we have been searching tirelessly,” Arturius snaps, temper well and truly frayed. “And now you come to mock us for it? Is it a fight you ask for? Is that what you desire? For I am happy to give it to you, if you do not--”

“I want no fight,” Beaumains scoffs. “I want results. And so...”

With a desultory kick, the back of the cart falls open, and out of it--

Ah, and out of it pours forth a mound of bodies.

“And so,” he continues with relish, “I got some.”

“You can’t do that,” Zen murmurs, but it’s not in anger. No, that’s shock that slackens his jaw, and with the number of tokens Obi just dropped on the map, it’s working on Shirayuki too. “That’s not-- he can’t do that, can he?”

“He just did,” Izana replies, somehow both weary and amused at the same time.

“But...” Zen stares at them, more than a dozen tokens sprawled over the grid. “How.”

Obi grins. “Skill.”

Izana casts him a dark, yet exhausted, glance. “He rolled very, very well.”

Shuuka skirts nearer, his face pale with shock. “Those are the men who sold us firewood. The very same you pulled from our hearths.”

“That they are.” Beaumains sits back on the cart; now that you can see inside it you see his seat is not a crate, as you had assumed, but two bodies stacked atop each other, the blood drying around their mouths and necks. “Or at least that’s what I was hoping, Master, since otherwise I’d have made a mortifying mistake indeed.”

Arturius has not moved, instead staring down at the hand that laid at his feet, at the twisted grimace the deceased’s face has twisted into. “You did this alone? With no other man to help you?”

“I surely did,” the devil sing-songs, his grin honing to a point. “Could you find me such a one, daring enough to help on a night so dark as the last?”

The prince’s jaw sets hard as granite, but his eyes belie his sternness, shining with heady mix of admiration and something that savors strongly of jealousy. “Well,” he grits out, shoulders jerking towards his ears. “I cannot fault you your skill, devil, but now there is no chance of us learning how or why this deed came to be done.”

Beaumains scoffs, enjoying every moment he sits above the Prince of all the Angles. “Have a little faith, O Master Mine. Before they met the fates they bought with their cursed coin, I asked them what man or beast compelled them to act. And they told me--” his eyes flash with triumph-- “a man in red.”

There is no chance for you to stifle your gasp, not when you see that armor shining before you, crimson in candlelight. Not when even now, that spiked gauntlet reaches toward you--

“Lynet?” Morgaine’s grasp brings you back to yourself, to the moment you inhabit. “Are you well?”

“Fine, fine,” you assure her. “It is only--”

That you may know who this enemy of Laxdo is. That you yourself have come to see him vanquished, but yet--

You cannot speak of it. Not even if you wished.

“You may thank me at your leisure, sirrah,” Beaumain crows, getting to his feet. Even now your stomach roils as you look, the blood nothing more than a black sheen on his boots. “I am ever at your--” he leaps, landing on the ground before Arturius’s gaze. “At your service.”

And with a singular, extravagant bow, Beaumains tips face first into the cobbles.

“Wait.” Shirayuki blinks down at the toppled figure, resting on a spray of tokens, right next to a white-painted 1. “What just happened?”

“Beaumains--” Izana’s mouth twitches at a corner-- “had but a single hit point left.”

Long fingers pluck the die from its resting place among the bodies, as if quick reflexes could keep them all from seeing the rock Obi just dropped. He glowers down at it-- all black and golden and glimmering, just like him-- and shoves it back into his bag. “And glass ankles, apparently.”

A low, heady laugh rolls across the table, Kiki kicking up her feet with a smirk. “This is why we invest in CON.”

Obi scoffs. “Please, I made it out with HP to spare.”

“Yeah,” she says, “one.”

“Well,” he grumbles, “it was enough, wasn’t it?”

You stoop to where Beaumains sits, propped up by the stable’s post and Bedwyr’s shoulder, hand raised to heal--

“Please.” Bedwyr’s impressive hand gently guides yours away, his smile tight and concerned. “You must save your strength, my lady.”

“I just awoke, sir,” you remind him, mouth pulled into an irritated line. “I am as fresh as I shall ever be.”

The knight cants his head, though you know him too well to believe he might fully acquiesce to you. “I know that well enough. But it is your talent we will need, should any challenges arise before day’s end. And this is entirely within my--”

“No, no.” Beaumains stirs at his side, eyes sliding open to relieve the unrelenting shadow of his face. “Let the pretty lady lay her hands on me, paladin. Her touch is far softer than yours.”

Ah, it would have been best for him not to say such things before the whole of Castle Laxdo. Or at least, not in front of its lord. The weight of his gaze already presses heavy on your back, growing only more weighty as Beaumains sears a bleary line up you with his gaze.

He’s far to gone to keep it steady; already it wanders, tracing Bedwyr’s lines as well, and--

“Wait, no, never mind,” he slurs, squinting up at that giant of a man. “You’ll do too, sir, if you’re so eager to put your hand--”

Bedwyr presses a palm to the center of Beaumain’s forehead, and with an authority you know can only come from the Lord in Heaven, he intones, “SLEEP.”

“You know, big guy,” Obi drawls, grin already stretching from ear to ear. “I’m pretty sure paladins don’t get those spells. And fighters definitely don’t.”

Mitsuhide glances up from his sheet, straight at Izana.

He smirks. “I’ll allow it.”

Beaumains sleeps the slumber of the ensorcelled. That is, complete and utterly quiet.

Bedwyr peered down, and with a nod of his head, declares, “That’s much better.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons & dragons au #my fic #ans #listen i know i said ONE chapter until the end of this arc #but like #TECHNCIALLY next chapter is gonna be the OOC wrap up for this arc #the session is complete though!#fans of this fic may REJOICE #you have two updated planned over the next two months too #Ch 9 is already in progress #and provided it does not grow out of proportion...should be complete by mid-september #and there's another update planned for late october that should hopefully kick off next arc #and perhaps...a POV CHANGE >:3c

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comphersjost · 4 years

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All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck. He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

#hehe #matthew tkachuk #brady tkachuk #calgary flames #ottawa senators #nhl imagine #hockey #smut #matthew tkachuk imagine #brady tkachuk imagine #angst #all for you series

335 notes · View notes

pars-ley · 4 years

Text

Little Blue

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Summary: A wild party ends with traumatic events for your best friend but as the night continues you realise just how much your support has always meant to him.

Genre: One-shot / Triggering topics / Friends to Lovers!au / College!au / Smut / Angst / Fluff

Trigger warnings: Drug use (spiked drink but not with roofies) / Sexual assault / Attempted rape (no actual rape) / Violence (someone gets punched)

Warnings: Unprotected sex (you know the deal, wrap it up) / Finger foreplay / Ever so slight female cum play / cumshot (pearl necklace) / Language

Word Count: 5.5k

Notes: This was a request I had serious anxiety about and wasn’t sure whether to do or not but after some careful consideration, I decided to take a serious route with it and use it to bring awareness of these situations, the repercussions and the aftermath. I wanted to highlight how these topics (that happen everyday all over the world) can be, not just for male victims but all victims. That they are serious and wrong, no matter who the affected party are and that it is the victims choice how they deal with it after these types of horrible events transpire. Please do you not read if you think you will be affected by any of the warnings.

Here are some links for anyone who has been affected by the type of events that are written about in this story:

http://www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk/ https://rapecrisis.org.uk/ https://www.victimsupport.org.uk/ https://www.rainn.org/statistics/victims-sexual-violence https://www.survivorsuk.org/ Most of these are English links but they have a lot of helpful information in them. The last link is specifically for male victims.

Beta read by @unoriginal-username15432 Thank you so much for all your help and confidence boosting when I came to you an absolute wreck, you’re amazing. Thank you to @ditttiii @moccahobi @sugarly-laysa @joheun-saram for reading and giving me feedback and encouragement to do this right. Your help and support means the world to me 😘

You watch as Veronica slips a little blue tablet into a drink, looking on as it fizzes wildly in a spiral, inside the see-through glass.

I had no idea she was a pill popper. That would explain a lot.

Staring after her as she carries two drinks into the living room, beyond my view, swaying her hips confidently with a smug grin stretched across her full mouth. At least, you hoped the pill was for her.

Which poor, unsuspecting soul would be her victim?

You would have to keep two watchful eyes on her tonight, as much as the thought pained you of having her not only in your sights but in your mind, it was necessary to hinder whatever evil she was plotting today.

Hating Veronica was easy. Avoiding her was not. Not only was she an unremarkably, average student at your university, she also seemed to be at every party. That stumped you however, as you had yet to meet a single person who genuinely liked her.

Her personality consisted of bullying, harassment and being the worst spoilt princess. She always got what she wanted, one way or another and she enjoyed making other people suffer in the process.

"Hey, y/n?" Hoseok’s voice calls out, lighting up your dark thoughts. He has that ability, like a gift from the sun itself. Turning and raising an eyebrow in expectation at his question.

"Have you seen Jungkook?" He asks, closing the distance between you, bringing his sunshine smile and almost blinding you with it.

Shaking your head, you reply, "No, not for a while actually." That was unlike him, usually, your best friend was glued to your hip, you were inseparable, especially at parties like this.

"We're betting which one of us will be the first to get laid tonight, we want him in on it." He babbles excitedly and with that he enveloped the sun with a dark cloud, as you’re reminded how clichéd horny, young adults can be.

Rolling your eyes, you down your drink, wincing at the burn as the fiery liquid cascades down your throat. You welcome the numbness that follows and it makes you forget the things you should be doing. The idea of Jungkook hooking up with anyone, now overtaking your gin hazed brain, turning your insides into snakes as they churn relentlessly in the pit of your stomach.

"I can't find him anywhere. He didn't leave, did he?" He shrugs, continuing his alcohol induced thoughts when you don’t respond.

Swallowing the snakes down, keeping your secret down along with them. "I don’t think so, I'll go see if I can find him."

Hoseok nods. "Thanks." He said as he heads off with a grin, taking the sunshine and leaving you dulled by the implication of his words.

You survey the living room, only his face in your mind as you frantically scan the crowd.

With no sign of him, you head out and away from the noise that feels like a ruthless power tool, ramming itself repeatedly into your brain.

You climb the stairs, each step causing your anxiety to grow as a thousand images of what you might find race through your mind. Even when you blink, you can still see them behind your closed eyes, like a projector flickering a private tortuous movie just for you.

Checking the upstairs bathroom, you find a girl draped over the toilet, her head in the bowl, heaving the contents of her liquid stomach and unleashing it with force. Quickly closing the door, for your sake and hers, you continue onto the other rooms.

Please, don’t let me find him in any of these rooms with another girl. Please, don’t let my dreams and wild fantasies evaporate instantly before my eyes.

You pray to yourself as you scan the empty rooms filled with darkness and focus on the ones with closed doors and invisible ‘no entry’ signs.

Muffling an apology to a couple entwined in the sheets and with each other, a mess of limbs and moans as you quickly retreat and continue on. Unease sitting in the pit of your stomach, growing with each move you make forward, with one less room to check.

It’s not until you hear muffled talking in one of the end rooms, the pit turns into a volcano, threatening to erupt. You listen at the door, hoping it wouldn’t be Jungkook’s voice you heard whispering through the grainy, wooden barrier between you.

Your hopes were dashed, when you hear him cry out, “No, let me go!” You would recognise the sound of him in distress anywhere. Your body alights like a beacon at the sound of his anguish.

Flinging open the door you freeze, unable to move, unable to do anything except stare at the sight of him on top of a girl, her legs slither and wrap themselves tightly around his waist.

The serpent of temptation. Who was Eden’s evil mistress?

Though the two of them were fully clothed, it didn’t cease to stop your heart from shattering into tiny fragments before the scene and send them darting into the concealed female beneath him. Your eyes burning a hole into her face, covered with her long, dark hair. When she blows it away you feel like all the air in your lungs has been driven out by a ghostly fist.

She’s not supposed to be up here, she’s supposed to be downstairs where I was surveying her. Fuck. Veronica.

Veronica. Little did you know, her unfortunate victim, or poor, unsuspecting soul, as you deemed to refer to him earlier, was none other than Jungkook. Your Jungkook.

Confusion furrows your brow.

He hates her, he hates her as much as you do, so why on earth would he be…

“Come on Kookie, you clearly want me. I can feel your dick, it’s hard as rock.” She whines at him, her tongue hissing sin into his ear with every word. The sound of her poisonous voice makes your blood run hot in your veins.

“What I want is for you to let me go.” He pleads with her, attempting to pull his body away from her but to no avail.

You watch, rooted to the spot. Confusion muddling your mind.

The little blue pill.

Suddenly, it all makes sense and it’s now laughable at how blindingly obvious the answer is.

“No. I want you.” She says hard and firm, her hands snaking under his hoodie, touching his bare skin with her scaly fingers, travelling down to his crotch.

“I don’t want you.” He retorts, through gritted teeth, struggling from the vice grip of her iron clamped calves and halting her hand before it can go further.

“Whats going on?” You hear a hoarse, wavering voice interject. When both their eyes land on you, you realise the words must have escaped your mouth.

Jungkook’s eyes pop when they see you, a deer caught in headlights. Panic stares back at you, alarmed and frantic.

Veronica's legs fall open onto the bed, immediately releasing him from his cage.

He jumps up and over to you, faster than you thought possible, unless it was you who was moving in slow motion. "Y/n, it's not what you think…" He insists, arm on yours, face in your eye-line. Does he think that will stop your angry glare reaching her?

"What I think…" You spit through gritted teeth, as you stalk around the bed. “Is that she’s trying to take advantage of you.”

“Then yes, it’s exactly what you think.” Jungkook says quietly, somewhere behind you. Your eyes are too full of red rage to notice if he’s even still in the room.

She slides herself off the edge of the bed, her bored expression doesn’t fool you. The fact she stands to square up to you, shows you foiled her plan of getting him to bite into that bittersweet fruit.

“This doesn’t concern you, y/n.” She growls, her hands balled up into fists either side of her taut body.

“Did you drug him?”

You wait, watching her reaction. The way her eyes widen for a moment, clearly not expecting your question. The way she no longer meets your eyes with her glare, she can hardly look at you at all, and that’s all you need, to know you’re right.

“W-what?” She stutters, attempting to pick herself back up after faltering.

“You heard me. Did you give Jungkook the drink with the pill in?” You take one last step towards her, your limbs tense and still like stone. Every muscle in your body coiled tight and ready to spring, hands shaking with rage at your sides.

You were so close, her rapidly increased breathing fanned your face, the scent of vodka strong enough to make your eyes water.

Tensing her jaw as she grinds her teeth, her eyes narrowing in disgust at you.

At me!?

“He’s not your boyfriend! And it was just Viagra, jeez! One little blue, that’s all. Why don’t you mind your own business!” She shouts, face red with anger as she shoves you hard on the shoulder.

You steel yourself, so you were ready for the impact,with feet planted firmly into the carpet.

Better luck next time, bitch.

You reel forward, lunging at her, all your power driving your fist into her face. Knuckles smashing into her cheek, hard, as a loud thud echoes across the room. She falls backwards, landing against the bedside cabinet.

Strong arms suddenly encase you, pulling you away.

“Y/n.” Jungkook gasps into your ear but you can hardly hear him through the pounding of blood in your ears, as anger threatens to overtake you completely.

“Drugging someone and trying to force them to have sex with you is attempted rape! You sick bitch.” You scream at her, violently fighting the arms that hold you, furious tears spilling out of your eyes and leaving wet trails down your cheeks in their wake.

“Let’s go, please y/n. I want to go.” He begs. Even though the temptation to pound her face into the ground is almost all consuming, you listen to Jungkook and let him guide you away.

It’s not about me, it’s about him. He’s my priority, not her.

You wipe your damp eyes with your shirt sleeve as you leave the room, hand entwined with his, as he leads you away, down the stairs and out of the house. Not a second glance to anyone.

Once outside in the cool, crisp air you can feel your head start to clear, your fury dies down into fierce concern for your friend.

“Hey, you ok?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, looking mournfully at the ground. “I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t mean to ruin the party.”

Your heels stop in their tracks as you tug on his arm and spin him to face you. Cupping his cheek and forcing him to meet your gaze, “It’s a dumb party, they’ll be plenty of others. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s her who should be sorry.” You practically growl.

The corners of his mouth pull up in a slight smile. “Thank you for sticking up for me...and for being there for me, always.”

You squeeze his hand again and continue walking. “You want to stay at mine tonight?”

He nods, eyes back on the ground.

You both walk along in silence for a few moments. He rubs roughly at his face and asks, “How did you know she drugged me?”

“I saw her slip a pill into a drink. She disappeared and I was looking for you, I put two and two together once I found you.” You look over at his solemn expression. “What happened?”

“She bought me over a drink, it was uncharacteristic but I thought maybe she was just trying to be nice. She left me to it, so I drank it. I started to feel...something, so I went upstairs into the bedroom and she burst in. She straddled me and pushed me onto the bed but when I rolled over to get up, she pinned me with her legs.” He scratches the back of his neck as you head up the stone steps in your apartment building. “I didn’t know what to do, I wanted her off me but I didn’t want to get physical and hurt her. It was kind of scary.”

Your heart felt heavy with empathy for him, like a rock slowly sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but with it rose the anger in your belly.

If you didn’t hate Veronica with burning passion before, you certainly did now.

She will pay for this. I will destroy her reputation and make her life hell, for Jungkook.

She should be arrested and rot in a cell, but it is not your place to do it.

Besides, if you knew anything about Jungkook, you had a feeling he just wanted to move on and forget about it. You, however, could hold a grudge for a millennium.

You unlock your front door and head into the kitchen, relief of being back in your apartment floods you and flows like waves through your limbs.

Jungkook heads off to the living room.

As you boil the kettle, tea being the cure for every possible mood or trauma in your family, you peek out at him.

Where you usually find his muscular branches draped all over your couch, quite content, today was a different story. He sat awkwardly looking out the window, knee’s shaking and hands constantly wiping down his thighs, palms rubbing against the rough material.

Once they’re done, you place the two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and join him on the sofa. Wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your cheek against his shoulder, this wasn’t an unusual action between the two of you but today... he flinched under your touch.

Gently, he removes your hands and slid himself to the opposite end, grabbing a pillow and cradling it in his lap. His eyes fixed onto your woven rug, as if it held all the answers he was searching for.

Although you tried not to let it get to you, you couldn’t completely ignore the pain in your chest from his rejection. Even if you wholly understood why.

He’s been through something major tonight and he was bound to be feeling a mixture of emotions right now, it still hurt not to be able to comfort him like you yearned to.

“Y/n,” His quiet voice whispers into the silence. Cheeks flushed, knuckles white from his grip on the pillow, as he leans forward, burning a hole into your floor. You angle your body towards him and wait.

“How long...until...the pill...wears off?” He asks so quietly, you have to strain towards him to hear.

Heat inflames your cheeks as you’re hit with the realisation that Jungkook is sitting, at arm's length away from you, with a very solid erection.

You instantly clamp your thighs shut to try and halter the intense throbbing in between your legs. Your core ablaze with liquid heat, as you try to push the image out of your mind, now was, absolutely, not the time. “Um, I’m not sure.”

He looks up at you, with eyes so intense they bore right into you, every thought you’ve had, every secret laid bare and for a moment you want to tell him, you want to tell him what you desire more than anything. But you break the stare and find yourself closing off once again.

“Why don’t we do something to take your mind off it?” You ask, not sure if your question was for his benefit or yours. “I could put on a film? Or we could play some video games?”

“Video games sound good.”

You rush over to the playstation, grabbing two controllers and bringing the console to life with the tap of a button.

Letting out your drawn-in breath, relieved to have something to distract you both from the penis in the room, you use this time of setting up the game to calm your racing heart and try to extinguish the unwanted thoughts that have come to life in your mind. The what if’s and maybe’s are not a road you should be exploring, not if you wanted to keep Jungkook in your life.

Your turn to hand him a controller but as you do, your foot catches on the edge of the rug and you feel yourself falling forward, grabbing anywhere that you can to stop yourself from smashing face first into your hardwood floor.

You manage to grip onto something; his hoodie, whilst his hand, thankfully, finds your elbow and steady's you.

Straightening yourself up and being only inches away from jungkook, you find yourself lost in a daydream of what might be. His scent swirled everywhere, fresh like the outdoors, as if you were standing in a meadow with the green breeze caressing your face and encircling you in a floral cage.

Your eyes roam up to his face. When his tongue shot out, wetting his mouth, you couldn’t help but pull in your bottom lip and pinch it between your teeth. All your blood raced down to your core, igniting a heat there that had you breathing hard. No, now is not the time to make your confession.

When your eyes finally met his, you were taken aback by the fever in them, as you stared deeper into his ebony pools, you could almost feel yourself drowning in desire.

He reaches up to your cheek and gently trails his fingertip down, stroking your moist lips. You let out a whimper, unable to hold it in, but still trying to keep your feelings enclosed in the prison you built for them long ago.

“Jungkook, I—”

His lips are on yours, smothering your important words down into a pit of lust but as your tongue dances hungrily with his, it’s not your words that feel important anymore.

His strong hands are on your back, pulling you to him, warmth from his touch searing through your clothes but you want more, need more.

You grab his top and pull him even closer, your wild mouths a clash of tongue and teeth. His solid erection pressed against your lower stomach is enough to make your core throb with violent need.

Is this right? Considering recent traumatic events, this felt wrong. This is not what this moment was supposed to feel like.

He pulls away, leaving you gasping for air and clarity. “Y/n, tell me if you don’t want this. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’ll understand.”

He searches your face vehemently, looking for the source of your hesitation.

“I do, I really do but are you sure you want to do this?” I press. “I want to be here for you, with everything that’s happened, I just want to make sure you’re ok?” You insist.

He meets your eyes again, pleading with you. “I want you, y/n. I need you. I don’t want to think about what happened tonight anymore. I’m ok, honestly.” He smiles at you, the sight pulls on your heart and has it doing wild somersaults in your chest. “I want this.” He brings his forehead to yours, the moment so gentle you wanted to hold him close and never let go.

You hesitantly lift your mouth to his; wondering and worrying that you’ve fallen asleep at Hoseok’s house party and all this will be a dream. His moist lips meet yours in a frenzy and as your core ignites like dynamite, slowly, you start to return his hunger. Easing yourself against him, you loosen into the kiss, your concern gradually falls away along with the walls you spent years building to hide your devotion for him.

His hands wrap around you, pulling you closer still. You break the kiss once again to lift his t-shirt off, over his head in one fluid movement, desperate to see and feel underneath. You run your hand over the smooth planes of his chest and the bumpy muscles down his stomach, moaning in sheer appreciation.

Finally, you can show him what he means to you and how he makes you feel inside.

Your hands find their way to his belt, yanking the leather open and whipping it out of his belt loops, making a loud crack echo through the room.

His eyes gawk widely at you, surprise glittered in them. His chest moving fast from his rapid breaths, as he closes the slight distance between you and fumbles with the top button on your shirt, giving up quickly and wrenching the material apart, buttons flying and tapping as they scatter the floor all around.

His hands are on your breasts, massaging, tugging them out of your bra, cool air hitting them, making your nipples pucker into hard buds. He unclasps your bra with one hand, yanking it off aggressively.

“God, y/n.” He lets out a tortured whine. Before his mouth is around your nipple and all you can feel is warm and wet slowly sucking pleasure out of you.

The noises that escape your lips shock even you.

His hands run up the length at the back of your thighs, your feet coming out from under you as he carries you to the bedroom, with your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

Your hands finger through his silky hair, lips on his face, throat, whatever skin they can find.

Your back finds the bed as he climbs on top, towering over you, and all you can see is Jungkook. He glows like the large moon on an inky night, finding you and giving you some semblance of relief from the relentless darkness.

You're at the button of his trousers, popping it open and pushing them down his strong thighs with your feet.

He gives you a lingering kiss that then trails quickly past your bare chest and down your stomach.

Pushing your skater skirt up so it fans out across your ribs, he hooks a finger under the hem of your pale, pink panties and looks up at you with a questioning gaze. All you can do is eagerly nod your head in response, giving him permission.

He slowly peels away the lace that covers you, when the air hits you can feel just how wet you are, a coolness spreading across your exposed folds.

This is it, everything I've fantasised about during lonely nights with wandering fingers or meaningless hookups with nameless men, picturing his face and his hands instead.

He moans, biting his lip as he stares at your most intimate area with insatiable hunger.

His fingers sliding their way from your entryway to your swollen bud, the moment he touches it your body jolts with delight.

His digits slide into you before you have a chance to catch your breath, beckoning inside you, stroking the rough spot that sends shudders of pleasure throughout your body.

He sucks in a sharp breath with a hiss. “You’re so fucking wet, y/n.” He groans, jutting his hips against the bed. “I need you, so bad.”

He withdraws his fingers, making you feel empty and even more needy. Your body alight with electric lust and your heart aching with unspoken love.

What if this ruins everything? What if he’s only using me, in his current situation?...Honestly, do I really care?

You didn’t. Not in this moment, watching him lick your arousal off his digits as he pulls out his generous erection. The tip pink and angry, begging to be touched and glistening with precum.

He was your living fantasy and he was perfectly acting out every scene you’d created in your mind.

You grip his big shoulders, fingernails making crescent moons in his skin, and pull him down onto you. Your legs wind around him, pushing him to line up to your slick entrance as his eyes boar hungrily into yours.

He seems to hesitate for a moment, his stare searching for an answer to an unasked question but you don't want to think about regrets or repercussions right now.

“You ok?” You ask, breathless.

He nods, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Using your feet against the top of his thighs, you push him into you, answering with actions instead of words.

He moves slow, allowing both of you to savour the feeling. Bolts of pleasure shooting through you, like lightning illuminating the night sky.

Your walls stretching over him is truly euphoric, a moment you have waited years for, as he slides deep into you, reaching everywhere possible.

"Oh my god." He exclaims when he's leveled in you. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

His words cause a shiver of added need through you, your hips start rocking and rotating under him on their own, you’re blind with lust, heat encasing every part of your body.

All you can smell, feel, think is him. He is your undoing and you're more than ready to be undone.

He groans loudly as you writhe under him, encouraging him to move, pleading with him to move.

He slowly retracts his hips, anticipation causing you to quiver before plunging deep and hard, tearing a gasp from your throat with each thrust.

“Holy shit, Jungkook!”

He smirks at you. The sight is enough to make you clench around him, causing him to jolt and groan, biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood.

He moves onto his knees, tilting your pelvis higher and as he glides back into you, he reaches new places, new depths, new pleasures.

His thumb finds his way to your sensitive button as he massages it with your slick arousal.

Your body is on fire, his touch igniting a trail behind him.

You can feel yourself nearing the edge, torn between being eager to jump off into the precipice but not wanting the journey to end yet.

“I want you to make you cum.” He whispers, as his punishing rhythm on your swollen bud builds the pressure deep down inside you.

The sounds coming from your mouth don’t sound like they belong to you, they’re desperate, needy sounds, full of bliss and torture at once.

He bucks into you, hitting that sweet spot with each forceful thrust, your legs trembling around him as you gasp for air. Incoherent words escorted by his name, stumble off your lips as he incessantly thrums on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He whispers again, his eyes watching your face with fascination.

At his words, your body jolts and back arches as your orgasm ripples through you, sending waves of pleasure cascading around your nerves.

Every fibre of your being alight with electric thrill.

Your loud moans echo, filling your bedroom, as you grind against his rock hard dick while your walls clench tightly around him.

“Shit, y/n!” He exclaims, as he abruptly withdraws from you and spurts his warm, liquid lust across your stomach while his fist gently milks him.

Your pulsating core eases, replaced with tingling satisfaction as you try to even out your rapid breaths.

He collapses on the bed beside you, pants mimicking yours.

But as you come down from your high, floating back to earth and reality, a rock lands in the pit of your stomach.

You just had sex with your best friend. Your best friend, who you have been in love with since you were kids, unbeknown to him.

What the fuck do I do now? Where do we go from here?

A wave of nausea washes over you as your mind is filled with an all consuming dread.

As a million thoughts race through your crowded mind on how to try and save your friendship, he brings over a flannel and starts gently wiping his orgasm off of you, being so attentive you want to cry.

All the years of holding in your feelings and unspoken words, the love for him blooming inside you like a flowery meadow in spring, now threatens to overflow and spill out revealing you.

When he returns, climbing back onto the bed, he angles himself to the side and props himself up on his elbow, facing you.

His fingertips skate across your stomach, tracing small circles and sending goosebumps shivering along your skin.

You look up at his perfect face, innocent eyes meeting yours and you’re overwhelmed by how much you just want to protect him and keep him safe from anything that hurts him.

You put your arms around him, hugging him tightly, as if that will be enough to fix it all.

I wish.

"I won’t ever let anything happen to you again.” You say against his chest.

His fingers come up, stroking your hair softly. “I know, thank you, for being there for me. I will always protect you too, you know that.”

You feel him kiss the top of your head and sigh. “Y/n, about what just happened.

Oh no, here it comes. I have to do something, I have to protect myself from what he’s about to say.

"Kook, listen," You cut him off, before he could tell you what you were dreading to hear; that it was a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgement, a friend helping out another friend.

If you hear those words, you don't think you could hold back the emotion that's currently pricking at your eyes.

I need to take control of this situation. Hopefully, I can salvage some part of this friendship.

You take a deep breath, preparing the words, when his finger on your lips catches you off guard.

"How about you listen," he raises an eyebrow, challenging you. When you close your mouth, he continues, "I have waited for this moment for a long time, so however you're about to shoot me down, could it wait until tomorrow? So I can at least enjoy this feeling of pretending what might have been."

There's a sadness in his eyes as he speaks, a pleading in them.

His words run over and over in your mind, while you try to reason with yourself that he can't possibly feel the way you think.

Surely, he can't mean he has feelings for me? I can't afford to give myself hope with that thought.

You swallow it down, along with any words that were fighting to come up.

You watch his hand, his fingertips tickling faint lines up to your chest, making your nipples pucker in response, they finally come to rest against your lips, tracing the edges.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, "One last time."

Last!? It can't be the last time, we've only just started.

It can't be the last time I'll ever get to feel his soft lips against mine.

I can't go back to pretending not to want more, not to care, not to love him so much it kills me inside. Like a poisonous ivy plant squeezing my lungs and capturing my heart, I've had a taste of what it's like to live and breath free of that, with vibrant tiger flowers blooming in place of it and I don't want to stop feeling this way.

You find yourself leaning up and crushing your lips to his.

He's frozen with surprise for a moment, before his hands wind around your waist, scooping you up and pressing onto you, bodies almost one.

His lips trail down your neck.

"Jungkook?"

"Hmm." He moans into your throat, the vibration making you shudder.

"I don't want it to be the last time." You hear the words escaping your mouth, as if you're watching from the outside and no longer in control of yourself.

His head snaps up, doe-eyed and mouth shaped in a little o. "You don't?"

You shake your head. "Not at all."

He beams at you, taking your face in his hands and touching his lips to yours so passionately, it brings all your emotion flying to the surface.

"God, y/n, I am so in love with you, I have been for years." he smiles against your lips and you can't help but mirror it in response. "Please, put me out of my misery and tell me you feel the same."

You can feel his hands shaking against your face and suddenly feel incredibly stupid for not realising his feelings sooner.

Who would have thought? Not me, clearly.

"I do. I definitely do." You pull him behind the neck, bringing him down to you, so close not even a sheet of paper could get between your skins.

As you kiss, tongues dancing wildly together, hot and hungry for each other.

His body weighing down on you, making you crazy with desire again.

"I want you." You say between kisses.

"You can have me as much as you want, I'm yours." He says, leaning his sweaty forehead against yours. "Besides, that pill hasn't worn off yet."

Arousal shoots down to your core like a bullet at his words.

You push him, flipping him over and straddling his muscular body. "Well, lets see what we can do to take care of that."

As you lean down to kiss him once again, knowing that...he's mine. And I'm his.

#thebtswritersclub #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #bangtan #bangtan army #bangtan seonyeondan #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bangtan fanfics #bangtan fanfiction #requests #bts army

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fractallogic · 3 years

Text

Ffs BODY why are you doing this to me

All day long I’m all “ugh I’m so sweaty this is disgusting I hate how I smell and how I’m just …damp and there are SO MANY STAIRS who tf said it was okay to have SO MANY FUCKING STAIRS in one city”

And all day I’m like “maybe scone will be Up For It. Maybe I can convince myself to be Up For It. I should shower so I feel better. We’ve been having a ‘rest’ day today. It has been at LEAST six months since we’ve slept together both due to distance circumstances and due to these fucking antidepressants making me go ‘sex? Never heard of it’.”

And then we do the walk around the lights, which, meh. Was fine. Had a burger, which oh my fuck was very good, like not “in n out after not having it for two years” good or smashburger Arizona or Colorado state special burger good, but it was “wow this BUN??? This MEAT??? Wow this is GOOD” good. At last returned to the Airbnb. Drank a whole bunch of water because you get so very thirsty when water comes in tiny European-sized glasses at room temperature. I have never been so ready for a shower in my life, as I have thought literally every evening since the evening of the 27th of December. Sat down on the couch. Realized I felt like I was hit by a truck. “Okay all I have to do is shower and go to sleep”.

Scone goes “hm that sounds like a good idea” and I cannot possibly put two and two together until the very end of his shower when he comes back into the room where I’m laying half-asleep with my feet up the wall and goes, “so… are you tired” (which is one of the code words for “do you want to have sex”) and this wave of guilt-shame-and-too-much-water-ingesting nausea washes over me for wanting nothing more than to go to sleep but also make scone happy and AT SOME FUCKING POINT before I was on the current meds I TOO ENJOYED HAVING SEX and I excuse myself and go to the bathroom and brush my teeth trying to psyche myself up for it, but of course since I said “yes I’m exhausted I’m sorry” he took it like a reasonable human being and decided to get ready for bed, and then the guilt deepens because I am so excited to GO TO SLEEP and I also just really don’t want to be here anymore that yes, I do start crying as I try to explain that I’m sorry, it’s not him, I’m so tired, I’m so sorry, and he, like a rational human, is like no it’s okay don’t worry, I understand!! Go to bed, it’ll happen someday. And in my head I’m like BUT WHAT IF IT DOESNT. WE ARE GOING TO GET FUCKING DIVORCED AND I HAVENT SENT THE THANK YOU NOTES OUT. WE CANT GET DIVORCED WHILE YOUR GREEN CARD IS PROCESSING—and I’m too tired to stop myself from doing the catastrophization spiral, so it’s just going to sit in my brain and I’m going to let it and hope it doesn’t turn out too bad if I just acknowledge that the feelings are there and not feed the brain trolls.

And at some point I will have to have or remind him of having the conversation about hey yeah so because I have found and slept with the scum of the earth, I’ve also been emotionally and sexually abused by multiple people, so I very much love and appreciate your attitude about it, but I also need lots of reassurance that you aren’t going to be mad or something so that I can stop making long and rambling and incoherent posts on tumblr about it

Also we can cuddle, we just can’t Cuddle(tm), which is why we need to find another alternative euphemism for having sex

(IMAGINE our mutual confusion when he says “do you want to cuddle” after a date one night and I’m like hell fuck yeah I want to cuddle!!! thinking “yeah I want the biggest squishiest sidewaysest hug snuggle you can give me”, and he’s like fuck yeah let’s get naked and I’m like … what. And he’s like …??? What???? And I use my Native Speaker Intuition(tm) to go oh shit that was a EUPHEMISM that was PRAGMATICS and TABOO AVOIDANCE not literal cuddling (and then I explain it to him, only slightly more coherently than that, and go thank god you’re also a linguist so I can say that to you in that way), and so every time I have to adjust my expectations and elaborate when I go “yes let’s CUDDLE”)

#excuse me today I am deep in a pit of self-loathing apparently #please bring me out of it sleep

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infallicide · 3 years

Text

Dirty Laundry

“But what? But you have so you can't atone? But you have so you deserve nothing?” Sero asks, but Denki knows better than to answer. “In here, right now, you're Denki Kaminari, I'm Hanta Sero, and neither of us have ever made a mistake.” “You'll hate me when you do know.” “I don't care,” Sero pulls him closer, “I don't hate you now.”

NSFW - Minors dni please! Relationship: Denki Kaminari x Hanta Sero Words: 3,595 Tags: trans! Denki, vague mentions of cheating, light angst, self deprecation. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31501247

Tonight wasn't supposed to go this way. Denki sips and grimaces before letting whatever vile liquid is allowed to pass for beer dribble back into the cliché red cup. Or is he grimacing because Shinsou is right there? He's happy to convince himself that it's the beer. It's the music. It's the lights. It's anything but the gaping, unhealing wound in his chest at the sight of Shinsou. He looks like he always does; bored. His hoodie is too big, his jeans, tattered, and his boots scuffed. He's leaning against a wall, either blissfully unaware or willfully ignorant of Denki, and Denki doesn't want to consider which it could be. He wonders now if he should have tried harder. His skinny jeans and sneakers are plain enough, but he's not even sure this big white t-shirt is his.

Before Shinsou can catch him, he weaves through the crowd and finds the closest group of friends he can, though on the way, he puts his solo cup on a random counter. The piss taste still in his mouth is enough to remind him not to drink tonight. By his friends, he can ignore everything. He can lean on Jirou, laugh when they do, maybe even actually talk to them. But at every glance around, Shinsou is in his line of sight, and every time, that wound in his chest wrenches open again, and months of memories, of pining, of “goodnights” will rush back. It's not Shinsou's fault; he didn't know he was flirting. At least, Denki thinks he doesn't know. In an effort to seem absorbed in the conversation, and not key them into his faraway mind, Denki stares at Midoriya as he recites some funny work story. He's absorbed enough that he doesn't notice a body beside him, not until he leans back against the wall as he laughs and it's too late.

“Hey.”

Denki swallows a stone.

“Hey,” he replies with a shaky smile.

“Can we...” Shinsou juts his head towards the kitchen. Denki's feet know better than his head that he'll follow this man anywhere. So he does. The kitchen is empty, bright, and best of all, quieter.

Shinsou leans against one counter, hands in his hoodie pocket, one ankle crossed over the other. Denki stands opposite, though without anything for fidgeting, he clings to the counter until his knuckles turn white.

“Are we good?” Shinsou asks, airy and light and perfectly fine.

“Yeah,” Denki replies, breathless. Had he forgotten how to breathe because of this?

“You've just been sorta quiet,” Shinsou shrugs, “I thought maybe I'd done something.”

What, was leading me on not enough?

“No way, man,” Denki smiles bright as a plastic doll, “we're cool.”

And Shinsou believes him.

For a minute, Denki wonders if he could confess. Or if maybe he could just forget it all and they could go back to “goodnights”. But that minute is ruined in a way only Midoriya can manage.

“Hey, guys!” he bobs into the room like he's just run a marathon.

His freckled cheeks are pink, and Denki would say something back, but Midoriya is looking at Shinsou in that way, that same way Denki looks at Shinsou. They share a small smile, one that tells him all he needs to know. When Midoriya takes Shinsou's hand, he really tries to be angry, but in the tiny look Midoriya sends his way, there's only a pleading not to do what Denki did with the last love of Midoriya's life. The two share quiet words with their noses touching and Denki's discomfort is surely obvious. So he does all he can do.

“Gotta pee.”

And he leaves. He runs. Because he's a coward now and he was a coward then and he was a coward then. He takes a shuddering breath and makes for the stairs. Up here, the music still bangs through his feet, but it's not as loud somehow. He glances at the choice of doors and opens one. Bedroom. The next; an office. The third, another bedroom, but- Laughter. Bright bubbling beautiful laughter that makes him freeze. A girl he sort of knows, Mina, and a shock of red hair he definitely knows are on the bed, all with folded legs and a black haired boy he doesn't know. Mina waves, but Kirishima's smile falters when he looks over. Nausea sinks into the pit of his stomach and he waves back at Mina before he steps back.

“Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom,” he squeaks, but Mina stands.

“Nope, me first!” and she runs past him, giggling and smelling of flowers.

The silence in her wake makes Denki's stomach churn further. Kirishima's clenched jaw doesn't help.

“I don't think I know you,” the black haired boy says, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

“M'Denki Kaminari,” he rushes out and the boy lounges onto one elbow

“Sero,” he says simply, but he studies Denki. And Denki knows because he can feel the honey slow dribble of his gaze on every part of him.

He tries to return it, but Denki's never been one for slow and sensual. Sero, however, oozes the idea. He's still laid on his elbow, and the front of his already low buttoned shirt came further apart with the movement. His pants are black and high waisted enough to show off his ankles. In short; he looks good. Denki's throat dries as he takes in the look, and Sero...Sero loves it. His head falls back a little, and his already wide smile widens somehow.

“I'm gonna go get a drink,” Kirishima's voice is devoid of emotion, and the shoulder check as he leaves says everything he does.

As he rubs his shoulder, nausea comes back.

“He's not a fan?” Sero's voice calls him out of his spiral.

“Heh, not really,” Denki laughs as if he doesn't know Sero would hate him too.

“C'mere,” Sero pats the bed beside him, “I don't bite.”

Denki sits on the edge of the bed, his side to Sero, and Sero regards him with another curious look.

“You've got secrets, huh?”

“I mean,” Denki snorts a laugh, a more genuine one, “doesn't everyone?”

Sero shrugs.

“Probably.”

“Don't you?”

“Probably,” he says again and shuffles himself so his chin is in his palm and his side is pressed into the bed fully, “does it matter?”

The bile of his own secret's rise in Denki's throat and he swallows it.

“If they're bad, maybe they shouldn't be secrets,” Denki swallows again, “if we're bad, if we've done awful things, shouldn't we warn people?”

“Are you going to do it again?”

“No.”

“You seem certain you won't make the same mistake,” Sero's head tilts, as if he knows something, as if he knows more about Denki.

“Once was enough,” Denki's voice is quiet.

“Here, you haven't made any,” Sero is brave. He trails his fingertips up Denki's arm like he's done it a million times.

“But-”

“But what? But you have so you can't atone? But you have so you deserve nothing?” Sero asks, but Denki knows better than to answer.

“In here, right now, you're Denki Kaminari, I'm Hanta Sero, and neither of us have ever made a mistake.”

“You'll hate me when you do know.”

“I don't care,” Sero pulls him closer, “I don't hate you now.”

“You will,” Denki gasps as his legs tangle with Sero's.

“Then let me enjoy you while I don't,” Sero kisses his neck first in soft lines that tickle. Each one steals Denki's breath a little more until he lets out a tiny moan. And that little moan reminds him of all the reasons he shouldn't be here.

He shouldn't be leaning on Sero. He shouldn't be enjoying himself. He shouldn't be-

“I can hear your brain over thinking it,” Sero mumbles before he presses another kiss to Denki's jaw.

“I shouldn't...”

“Is there someone waiting for you?” the words make Denki shudder.

“No,” it's one word but it shakes like a speech.

Sero pushes him but follows the motion, now hovering over Denki. The length of his hair is more obvious here as it hangs down past his cheeks.

“Then we're not breaking any rules,” Sero leans in close, maneuvers his hips so they're slotted between Denki's, and with his forearms against the bed at either side of Denki's head, brushes the blonde back from his forehead, “be mine for a while.”

Sero's lips are soft on his, and Denki's hands card through those silky tresses. It's innocent, really, but the bite in Sero's teeth when he nips at Denki's bottom lip, the slightest grip of his hair, the smallest roll of his hips, it turns it to something else, something lewd. And Denki loses himself in it. For the first time in 6 months, he's not thinking about anything; not his faults, his mistakes, his treachery. But the world around him is not so forgiving.

“Is Kaminari still-”

Kirishima's words die off, and the pair look toward him. His eyebrow raises and he snorts.

“Never takes long, does it?” the bite behind his words is venomous.

“Do you need him for something?” Sero asks, still chest to chest with Denki.

“No, I need to talk to you.”

Denki knows what that means.

“Wait for me outside,” Sero whispers before he pulls away and helps Denki sit up. He shuffles out the door, avoids Kirishima's gaze, and tries to swallow the self hatred when he hears Sero say: “So, what's up?”

That's enough. He walks through the house with his head down, prays for peace, but the moment of reprieve from his self-made torture was too much in the world's eyes.

“The fuck are you doing here?” the snarl in Bakugou's voice makes Denki jump but he just keeps walking, desperate to be away from the noise, the anger, the hate of it all. But Bakugou is only getting started.

“I asked you a question, dunceface,” Bakugou's arm lands across his vision and Denki ducks.

“What, you're still being a pussy about it? Should have fuckin' known,” Bakugou jolts back and suddenly is surrounded by friends who laugh, not at Bakugou, but at Denki. He should hold his tongue, he knows he should.

“It took two, Bakugou.”

Their laughter dies and Denki walks away before he can suffer the consequences of his loud mouth. Somewhere behind him, he hears the shuffle of Bakugou's boots and the hushed words of one of his friends; “he's not worth it.”

No. He's not. The night air is cold enough to sting his throat. It brings tears to his eyes, but they're cast aside with a wipe of his sleeve. He doesn't deserve to cry. He could go now. He could go to his own place, ignore Sero's offer, and instead, cry in bed. It would be better than this constant, sickening reminder.

“Ready?”

Sero's voice breaks him out of his pity party.

“For what?”

“We're going to my place, it's like five minutes away,” Sero shrugs, “we don't have to do anything you don't want to, and I promise, I'll get you a cab home. But I still want you to be mine for a little while longer.”

Sero's home is bright and very...green. The walls are pale and the decor natural and it suits him. Sero guides him through with a hand on his lower back, and it's only as the door opens that Denki realises where Sero is leading him.

“You can say “no” any time,” Sero says with a small kiss to Denki's shoulder. In the same breath, he lays on the low bed and holds a hand out to Denki to join him. Denki's mind races with what Kirishima could have admitted on his behalf as he takes Sero's hand.

Would he really be inviting him to bed if he knew? Sero pulls him down until they're tangled and rolls so they're side by side.

“Denki,” Sero breathes out, like he's discovered the name of a mystery song, a beautiful one that plagued him.

He kisses Denki again, softer this time, but without the background noise of the houseparty, his thoughts are so much harder to ignore. At the same time, Sero's curious hands are just as hard to ignore. The rough pads of his fingers tickle the skin of Denki's stomach and he laughs.

“Oh?” Sero smiles, “is that a real laugh?”

His fingers creep higher and now, the tickles are intentional. They shriek and laugh and wiggle around the bed together, until Denki pleads “no more” with tears on his cheeks. They fall beside each other, panting, and for the second time today, Denki's mind is empty. It's pleasant. With his eyes still on the ceiling, he reaches out, shy, as if he hadn't already tasted Sero's lips. He finds Sero's hand and from the corner of his eye, he sees the smile on Sero's face. He fixes his stare on the ceiling again and wills himself to stay here, like this, where it's safe and quiet. The bed moves beside him and Sero's chest presses to his shoulder. He sneaks an arm under Denki's head as his other hand lands on Denki's stomach. The mood shifts; the playfulness turns sultry and thick. Sero's hands are so busy; one toys with Denki's hair, the other dances over his stomach, well past his belly button. His lips press to Denki's ear and he nips at the lobe before he kisses his way down, a little lower, until their lips meet at the same moment his hand cups Denki's crotch. Out of shock and pleasure, Denki gasps, and his hips buck up against Sero's hand, but their kiss steals every sound. It takes a moment for Denki to realise how hard he's clinging to Sero's shirt, hard enough that he's stretching the fabric to the point of bumping it, but Sero says nothing, only traces circles that make Denki moan. Sero pulls back the barest inch.

“You're just the prettiest thing,” he murmurs as his fingers card through Denki's messy hair, “is that okay to say?”

Denki nods, terrified that his words have been stolen in favour of moans and pleas. Sero kisses his cheek as his fingertips press just a little harder and pure pleasure blossoms through Denki's abdomen. Sero kisses where he can, tugs his hair, bites marks that'll bloom by morning, and with every pass of his fingers, steals the breath right from him. He whines when Sero's touch leaves but he's soothed with a quiet “shh, it's just for a second,” as Sero undoes his jeans. With some wiggling and pushing, they're just low enough for Sero's middle finger to slip between Denki's folds.

“Wow,” he whispers – more to himself than to Denki – as he pulls his finger away. A string of glittering slick connects Sero's finger to Denki and if it didn't make Denki's mouth water, he'd die of embarrassment.

“Wow,” he mirrors instead.

Sero's nose against his cheek draws his attention and he turns back toward him. The kiss that meets him is harsh and sloppy as two fingers slip into Denki's cunt.

“M'gonna eat you out until you cry sometime,” Sero growls against his lips between kisses.

Sometime.

Sero is enjoying him. Sero doesn't hate him. And every vile emotion that was quelled by kisses crashes back into Denki's gut.

“Ser-”

“Hanta,” he says, breathless, “call me Hanta.”

“Hanta, you...didn't Kirishima tell you?”

Hanta's fingers slip from him and he stands from the bed. But he's not leaving; instead he pulls Denki's shoes off and tugs his jeans and underwear off the rest of the way.

“He didn't tell me anything because I didn't want to know,” he undoes his own jeans and pushes them down, slow enough that it aches.

“I don't care about what you've done,” he steps from the pool of his trousers and nudges Denki's legs wider with his knee, “I only care about what we do.”

Denki watches him with doe eyes, his lungs empty. Until Hanta captures him in another soft kiss.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Denki,” the tip of him presses to Denki's entrance.

“But here, you're a saint,” he presses in, eyes on Denki's.

“And fully intend to worship you,” his elbows rest at either side of Denki's head, they cage him but it's not claustrophobic. It's safe. It's warm and comfortable, and this moment – truly alone and utterly unhindered – is one Denki wants to repeat over and over, until it's all he knows, until his sins are forgotten and his mind is free of them. If Hanta, kind, wonderful, beautiful Hanta, can forgive him, surely he can forgive himself too? The steady rhythm of Hanta's hips and every praise he litters on Denki's skin are enough to make his mind go blank again. And instead of fighting it to confess, he lets his head roll back against the bed and he lets Hanta take him apart, piece by piece, thrust by thrust, until he knows nothing but pleasure. His moans are soft, cutesy almost, and Hanta tells him so.

“You get gruffer during sex, you know,” Denki giggles.

“Oh yeah?” he thrusts hard and Denki's giggles turn to a squeak, “how?”

“You're all growls and all that, before you were just so...restful. Now you're gripping the bedsheets so hard, they'll never sit right again,” Denki giggles again, but it's not genuine. Hanta chuckles, but it's a dark sound, and the tip of his nose tickles the skin of Denki's jaw and along his throat.

“Maybe I should be gripping that pretty throat of yours instead, hmm?” he rumbles and Denki whines.

“You want marks, pretty boy?” Hanta nips at the skin of Denki's throat, and the way his back arches, Hanta takes as a 'yes'. He sucks and bites and savours every piece of skin he can find, though he offers Denki no chance to return it. His whines are louder now and his nails dig into Hanta's shoulders, no doubt leaving marks of their own.

“You're squeezing me so much,” Hanta trails to a groan, “y'gonna cum on me, sunshine? Hmm?”

Denki nods frantically – he just needs that tiny push. And Hanta plays his body as if he's returning to an old passion and grinds his hips in a way that rubs Denki's clit just right. His toes curl and his back arches and he moans Hanta's name as he keeps pressing just where Denki needs until Denki's words die and he gasps for breath behind his arm. At that, Hanta kisses him again.

“I want to see that again,” he pants against Denki's lips, “I want to see that a million times, but God fucking damnit, you looked so good, I can't wait, I'm so close.”

Pretty fingers lace through Hanta's hair as Denki pulls him into another kiss.

“Please, please, please,” he repeats between kisses, “wanna see you cum, you're so good, you're perfect, please.”

It turns to nonsense, and Denki can't believe that it's his incoherent begging that has Hanta pulling out just in time to splash cum up the stomach of Denki's t-shirt with a whine of his name.

They stare at the puddle for a moment before Hanta laughs a little.

“Sorry, got a bit lost in it all,” stands from the bed to move off to Denki's side, and Denki follows on shaking knees.

“S'okay,” the bliss of the moment has passed. Denki can feel the dread of the eventual 'here's your cab fare' in the best case scenario, but as he reaches for his jeans, Hanta's head tilts.

“Do you sleep with jeans on?” he looks like a confused pup.

“No?”

“Then why are you getting them?”

“T-to leave.”

“You think I don't have intentions of having you for breakfast too?” he grabs Denki's waist and pulls him until the stain of cum before his eyes, “only if you want, that is. I'll give you actual breakfast too!”

He sounds like he's bargaining and Denki laughs. Really, this time.

“I-I don't want to get in the way or assume,” he says quietly with a kiss to Hanta's hair.

“Then let me be clear,” Hanta stands and pulls Denki's shirt up as he does, edges it higher and higher until he's free of it and casts it across the room somewhere, “get into bed with me,” he takes off his own shirt and presses it into Denki's hands, “and in the morning, I'll either make you breakfast, or make you breakfast. Or both.”

He kisses Denki's nose and skirts around him before disappearing out the door. The shirt in his hands is still warm. Denki sheds his binder over to where his jeans should be, and when he slips on the shirt, it smells like Hanta. Not like any cologne or specific scent, just him. He turns in the mirror and admires the way it dances over his thighs. It isn't until Hanta's hands land on his hips that he's taken from the moment.

“Looks good on you,” Hanta kisses the side of his neck and their eyes meet in the mirror.

The gaze is a hungry one first, but in those eyes, Denki can see understanding, kindness, and forgiveness. Hanta pulls him into bed, wraps an arm around him, and kisses the back of his neck for good measure. Hanta would know his secrets. But Denki doesn't doubt that he'll understand them. In the quiet snores, Denki finds himself comfortable and at peace for the first time in a while. All he can do is pray that it lasts.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #kaminari x denki #trans! denki #kamisero

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

part vi of mafia!au

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

COMPLETE

---

Recovery is slow and excruciating.

Castiel’s body has never rebelled against him to this extent. His muscles refuse to do their damn jobs and function. He’s relegated to his bed for days on end, while being forced to endure Sam Winchester’s lurking and Gabriel’s overly effusive attempts to cheer him.

All of those would be fine, except that he hasn’t seen the house’s other occupant, Dean Winchester, except in short glimpses, as though Dean is the rarest of all animals, only seen from a distance.

Which is fucking bullshit, because he can hear Dean’s voice, echoing through the tiny confines of the house, after Dean thinks he’s asleep. Clearly, it’s not the concept of social interaction which Dean finds daunting, but rather, the concept of social interaction with him.

It’s infuriating.

It wouldn’t be as bad if he thought Dean’s avoidance was due to hatred or indifference. But even though he’d been fairly hazy that first morning, he’d seen how Dean’s whole face brightened, he’d felt the hard clutch of Dean’s fingers in his. The look on Dean’s face...Castiel doesn’t want to put a name to it, doesn’t dare try to define it, but he knows for sure that it wasn’t hatred or apathy.

Which means Dean is staying away from him for some other reason and that...

That’s bullshit.

So Castiel does what he’s been doing his entire life and pushes everything aside in favor of a single minded pursuit. This time, he pours all of himself into the mission to get his fucking body to do what it’s supposed to do. He starts with minuscule goals, such as getting out of bed and pacing around his room, but it’s still too much for some.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Gabriel asks, a little sourly, as he stands in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom.

“Are you sure you should be poking your nose into my business?” Castiel asks back. For all that Gabriel is the elder sibling, they’ve never been under any delusions as to who was actually suited for this business. Gabriel is too flighty, too interested in frivolous pursuits and the mundane workings of everyday life. It was always Castiel who could sink his teeth into a problem, who could take it apart, hold the bloody pieces in his hands, and see how they could be sewn back together into a new animal.

“Whatever,” Gabriel concedes, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “On your own head be it.”

Castiel sneers after Gabriel as he turns to leave. He’s just in time for Dean to poke his head out of his room. It would be comical, if it weren’t so infuriating, to see how quickly Dean’s eyes bulge and his face reddens. Castiel is afforded one swift glimpse before Dean retreats into the safety of his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Castiel rolls his eyes and starts another circuit around the room.

---

His body might be stubborn but Castiel continues on his conquest of it. Soon, he’s walking laps around the house, followed by short jogs around the property. The safehouse is far enough in the country that, as long as he’s careful, he can exercise outside without garnering too much attention.

The Winchesters and Gabriel watch him with varying degrees of concern.

“I already told you, I’m fine,” Castiel grunts, massaging at his sore calves after a midnight run. “Besides, we can’t afford to stay here forever.”

Judging from the shifty look on Gabriel’s face, this is not the first time someone has mentioned this fact. He also notes that his brother proposes no solution, which means that no one has either managed or bothered to come up with one. Typical.

Castiel’s impatience and ire increases when he considers the reason they haven’t yet moved on. They’re waiting for him to recover, which is an unconscionable burden on his mind. Every minute they spend in this house, waiting for him to get his shit together, is another minute he’s putting them all in danger.

Gabriel lingers in the doorway, saying nothing, yet watching Castiel with an intensity usually only reserved for cupcakes and candy. After a few moments it starts to grate on Castiel’s nerves, yet he waits until he’s fully done with his post-run routine to speak. “Something else you needed?”

“When are you going to talk about it?” Gabriel asks, much too kindly for Castiel’s liking.

“Talk about what? What do to next? I’d love to do that, if it were possible to get you, Sam, and Dean in the same room for longer than five minutes.”

“When are you going to talk about Naomi?”

Castiel’s blood freezes.

“I might be an idiot, but I know enough. I know who Dad’s attack dogs are, and I know how they work.” Gabriel swallows, unwontedly serious. “I saw the marks, Cassie.”

Castiel’s hand makes an aborted jerk to the crook of his elbow where the scars are still livid against his skin. He catches the movement before it has a chance to amount to anything and forces his hand back down to his side. He can still feel the phantom ache of needles pushing into his skin, still remember how it felt when the road forked and reality went one way while his brain went another.

He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, he’ll catch movement out of the corner of his eye, turn, and find nothing there. He tries to tell himself that this happens to everyone, that he’s fine, that he’s normal, but there’s always the insidious creeping fear down his spine--What if he’s losing it? What if Naomi fucked him up permanently?

What if he’s never the same?

If he doesn’t have his mind, if he doesn’t have his body, then he’s useless. He can’t protect anyone. He has nothing to offer.

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaks, once he realizes Gabriel is still waiting for an answer.

One eyebrow ticks upwards. “Yeah, once more until I actually believe you.”

“I already said that I’m fine. I don’t know what else you want.”

Gabriel throws his arm wide. “For you to stop trying to run yourself into the ground? For you to stay in a room longer than ten minutes? For you to acknowledge that you maybe have an actual problem?”

Castiel sniffs, retreating into haughtiness to hide his hurt and anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry if I choose to concentrate on more important things, like trying to get well enough to protect us all.”

Gabriel gapes at him. “To protect...” He looks over his shoulder, like he expects to find the Winchesters supporting him. Upon finding no one there, he turns back to Castiel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dean and I are fairly good at what we do. Even the stringbean can hit the broad side of a barn. We’re fine.”

The deliberate inflection of his voice suggests that Castiel is somehow not lumped into the general category of ‘fine’.

“Fuck off,” Castiel growls, as a more appropriate comeback fails to materialize. He storms past his brother, hitting him in the shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. Gabriel doesn’t try to stop him, but Castiel knows he’s still watching.

Some of his righteous rage is lost when he looks down the length of the hallway and finds Dean standing at the opposite end. He spares a single, startled look at Castiel before he scampers back towards the living room. Castiel’s temper worsens at the sight of Dean’s retreating back.

Dean is a confirmed killer, a man who’s known the feel of a gun in his hand since he could walk. He’s seen Dean in action and admired his skills and ruthlessness. Now he’s watching the same man running scared. Castiel can’t think of anything more pathetic or more frustrating.

Now in a profoundly foul mood, Castiel slams the bathroom door shut. The sound echoes through the house. He twists the knob of the creaky shower, turning the heat all the way up so that steam billows throughout the room. He steps underneath the spray, ignoring the tendrils of pain licking across his body, his tender, scarred skin protesting the rough treatment.

He pushes away the ever present nip of worry (what if Gabriel’s right, what if he’s weak, what if he’s broken beyond repair) and scrubs at his skin until tiny pinpricks of blood well up, and then he scrubs some more.

---

Matters come to a head a few days later.

No longer content with pushing his body through runs, Castiel’s taken to shadow boxing in the house’s basement. He dances around the dank, mildewy space in his bare feet, tossing punches and kicks at imaginary enemies. His muscles scream at the exercise and threaten to collapse and tear, but he pushes on anyway.

His thoughts are spiraling ever downward, dovetailing with his exhaustion. Castiel’s so lost within their grip that the opening of the basement door escapes his attention. Even the weary creak of the step doesn’t catch his attention. He’s formed bad habits in his convalescence. In his world, such laziness gets people killed.

When he catches sight of Dean standing at the foot of the stairs, he jumps in surprise. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks red, and he hides his shame with snippiness. “Did you need something?”

Castiel paces around the basement, grabbing a bottle of water, just to give his hands something to do. He tries to unscrew the top but gives up after two tries. He doesn’t want Dean to see how badly his hands are trembling.

“You know that we’ve got your back, right?” Dean finally says. Castiel stops pacing. He wasn’t expecting that.

Despite his surprise, he recovers quickly. “Coming from a Winchester, that isn’t exactly inspiring,” he sneers.

Dean doesn’t try to hide his flinch. Castiel feels an irrational stab of guilt at that. “I just thought you should hear it from someone who wasn’t your brother,” he says, already turning to go back up the stairs. “But you have all three of us. Him, Sam.” Dean pauses for a second. “Me.” He continues on quickly, like he wants Castiel to forget about the slight emphasis he put on himself. “Anyway, you don’t have to do this every day. Take a day off before you kill yourself.”

Castiel’s upper lip lifts reflexively. So, Dean’s joined forces with Gabriel. Next, he supposes Sam Winchester will find him and urge him to talk about it, you’ll feel better if you get it all out in the open.

“Stay,” he says, brain running ahead of his common sense. Dean pauses, his foot already on the step. “It’s no good shadow boxing. I need a partner.”

Dean wants to argue. Castiel can tell by his hesitation, the twitch of his fingers, the way he closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Castiel waits, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t quite smile in victory when Dean makes his decision, but he must give off the impression of it, as Dean’s expression darkens.

“You know this isn’t doing you any good,” Dean says, as he sheds his flannel overshirt. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Castiel is on him, swinging at his head in a wild, haymaker punch. Dean blocks him easily, but the suddenness of the attack surprises him, as he lurches backward.

“What the hell?” he spits, a mixture of fury and worry spread across his face.

Castiel dances back, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. His fists are held up close to his jaw, elbows tucked in close to his sides to protect his ribs. Within seconds, Dean copies his movements, but with slight differences. Castiel keeps himself contained, taut, muscles coiled in a defensive posture. Dean is looser, his left hand lazily extended, though Castiel doesn’t fall for the trap. That left hand can just as easily block blows as it can land a stinging jab.

When it comes to Dean Winchester, there are dozens of traps, and Castiel seems to have fallen into all of them.

They spend several long minutes circling each other, exchanging tentative jabs in a dance of blocks and dodges. They learn what blows the other considers threatening and what the other will shake off.

Castiel changes the tempo when he aims a low kick at Dean’s hip. Dean twists out of the way, but when he turns back to Castiel, something in his face has changed. His eyes have hardened, his fingers curled purposefully into his palm. Castiel understands. Dean was just passing the time earlier, indulging his whimsy. For whatever reason, now he’s made up his mind to act.

“You need to take it easy,” Dean tells him. He moves easily into Castiel’s space, each motion screaming aggression. He bats away Castiel’s jab; Castiel blocks Dean’s punch. They fall apart, sharp eyes raking over the other in a search for weaknesses.

“You need to mind your own business,” Castiel replies. He has to concentrate on speaking; already he’s a little short of breath, though he’d rather chew off his own fingernails rather than admit that to Dean. “What I do is none of your concern.”

Dean falters at that. His defenses lower, which allows Castiel to dart in, landing several snap punches to Dean’s ribs before Dean regains himself and forces him back. Something dangerous flashes in the depths of Dean’s eyes, and a vicious satisfaction rises in Castiel’s chest. This is what he wanted, this is the Dean Winchester that he--

The thought hits him, unbidden and unwelcome, and Castiel freezes. His inattention gives Dean the opening he needs. Where Castiel fights with precision and accuracy, Dean favors overwhelming force. It’s a strategy which works well for him and he uses it to devastating effect, foregoing fancy footwork and devious punches for a simple, unavoidable attack. Dean puts his head down and charges, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist in an attempt to throw him to the ground.

It’s a perfect storm: His muscles, still not where they were before, falter. His balance, another casualty of Naomi’s untender mercies, isn’t enough to save him from catching his heel against an irregularity on the cheap mat he’s laid out. Dean is a hurricane, a typhoon, and underneath his onslaught, Castiel tumbles backward.

Castiel’s back hits the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His head slams into the ground, and his vision spins for several, vital seconds. By the time he regains his equilibrium, Dean is already atop him, knees clamping in hard against his ribs. One of Dean’s hands wraps around his throat, fingers flexing in warning.

“Enough,” Dean says tightly. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, enough. We get it, all right? You’re a big badass who doesn’t need anyone. We get it.”

If he weren’t staring so closely at Dean’s face, then Castiel would miss his quick flash of emotion. As it is, it’s there and gone before he has a chance to really examine it, but for the moment, it’s enough to know that it exists.

Castiel slumps back onto the floor, allowing his exhausted muscles a moment’s respite. Dean, ever cautious, doesn’t relent. Smart man. Ruthless. Focused. He’s a killer, Dean Winchester, and whatever is broken in Castiel’s brain is drawn to that part of him, just as much as it’s drawn to the well-hidden, softer aspects of him, like his obvious affection for his brother and his insistence on protecting civilians.

But for all of his admirable qualities, Dean Winchester is still just a man. Castiel tips his head back, baring the vulnerable stretch of his throat to Dean’s gaze. It’s a deliberately submissive gesture, one designed to draw the eyes. He feels the exact moment Dean loosens his grip, distracted, and it’s that moment that Castiel acts.

He bucks his hips up in a single, sharp motion, while striking out at Dean’s elbow. With his support gone, Dean buckles. While there are countless activities which Castiel could imagine partaking in with Dean slumped overtop him, he’s not interested in any of them. Instead, he uses Dean’s momentum against him, rolling them until their positions are neatly reversed.

Dean snarls and curses, but Castiel has him pinned, much more securely than Dean did him. His knees presses down on Dean’s right wrist, immobilizing his strongest arm. Castiel leans forward. With his superior position, he doesn’t need to hold back his panting, doesn’t need to feel ashamed for the several beads of sweat which slip down from his forehead to the tip of his nose, to fall upon Dean’s throat.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” Castiel says, once he thinks he can speak without wheezing through a sentence. “I’m not weak, I’m not broken, I’m not whatever else you three think I am. I’m fine.” Before he can stop himself, the words come tumbling out, the ones which he’d meant to keep close to his chest. “So you can stop running from me, or whatever it is that you’ve been doing. I’m fine.”

Emotion twists across Dean’s face again, and this time, Castiel is in a position to examine it. Surprisingly, when he’s forced to put a name to it, the definition he comes up with is guilt. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, only realizing after he sits back on Dean’s stomach that he’s left himself vulnerable to an attack.

Dean doesn’t take the opening. He lays passively underneath Castiel and doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. If Castiel had to guess, then he would say that Dean enjoys being there. Or at least, he would if he could get that awful, hangdog look off his face.

“What is it?” he asks. There’s something there, writhing underneath the surface of Dean’s expression, something that probably shouldn’t see the surface but it has to.

Dean turns his head away. It’s a childish move, one that irritates Castiel, as it’s an extension of what Dean’s been doing for days. He’s avoiding Castiel, running from him, which is infuriating. Dean Winchester is many things, but a coward, he is not.

“Answer me.” He takes Dean’s jaw in his hand and forces Dean to meet his eyes. He stares at Dean, the same stare guaranteed to make hardened criminals think twice and civilians piss their pants.

It makes Dean blink, but it’s enough. That blink starts an avalanche, and eventually, Dean’s whole face crumples. He blinks, hard and fast, green flickering in and out of existence.

“It was my fault.” Dean’s voice comes out as a tortured whisper. Castiel holds Dean’s jaw prisoner between his fingers, now allowing Dean to turn away. At first, Dean jerks against the restricting hold, but once the first wall crumbles, all the rest fall quickly, and Dean stares him down.

“What was your fault?” Castiel asks, when no more information is forthcoming.

For a moment, he thinks Dean will pull away, but Dean surprises him. It’s obvious that he’s struggling with his admission, but it comes. Haltingly, in little fits, but it comes.

“If it hadn’t been for me...Fuck, Cas, are you going to make me say it? If it weren’t for me, then you would be fine. You’d be with your family, head of the family, and you’d be...” Dean forces a swallow. His eyes perform a swift sweep of Castiel’s figure, down to his chest, where the scars still linger.

“It fucking killed me to see you like that.” Dean’s hand rises and Castiel doesn’t move to stop him, not even when Dean’s fingers sneak underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke against his skin. His breath catches as Dean’s calloused fingertips catch against the scabbed edges of his wounds. Every instinct screams for him to move, to run, to flee, but he forces his muscles to inaction and allows Dean to explore him through touch. “God, Cas...You were...”

Dean looks up at him. His expression is naked and raw. Castiel feels exposed just witnessing it. “You’re a fucking force of nature,” Dean whispers, pressing his palm flat against the quivering skin of his belly. “You’re a goddamn hurricane, and...”

When he stares at Dean, Castiel sees an unfathomable, looming wave rising in his eyes, the same wave which he feels swelling in his own chest. He leans forward, and Dean’s hand slides from his stomach to his back. The skin there is marred as well, and he gasps softly as Dean’s thumb strokes over a particularly deep wound.

“It was my choice,” Castiel whispers. He’s hovering low over Dean, their chests almost brushing. He’s close enough that if he wanted, he could count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose. Dean blinks. From his vantage point, Castiel can appreciate the thick curtain of golden lashes fanning across his cheek.

“I made the call, not you. I knew what had to be done, and I did it. You think I could have been happy there, knowing you were dead? That I’d had a chance to stop it and did nothing? Every second was worth it because that was another second you were safe. I made the choice, and I’d make it again, in a heartbeat. Don’t take that from me.”

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hand is heavy against Castiel’s spine, but for once, Castiel doesn’t bristle at the restraint. “I’m not worth that.”

Castiel’s mouth is not made for smiling. In fact, sometimes he thinks he’s forgotten the knack of it. But around Dean, his face moves easier. An actual smile, not the sarcastic, threatening expression he usually plasters on his face when he feels like intimidating someone, tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Lucky for both of us, you don’t get to make the decisions,” Castiel whispers.

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Either way, the end result is the same. His lips crash into Dean’s and Dean receives him with a low moan of delight, his mouth opening automatically. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s short hair, tugging at the strands as he maps out the interior of Dean’s mouth.

The first time he kissed Dean, he’d been selfish. He’d been standing on the edge of his darkest moment, and he’d wanted something golden to take with him, something to hold through the horror. The second time he kissed Dean, he’d been half out of his mind, clinging to the barest hint of reality. He hadn’t even realized Dean was kissing him until it was over.

This time...

The third time he kisses Dean, Castiel takes his time.

---

The atmosphere in the house relaxes.

Castiel stops pushing himself quite so much, and his muscles, glad for the reprieve, begin working as they should. Day by day, his strength increases, and Castiel takes full advantage of this.

Dean enjoys being pinned and Castiel aims to please.

The four of them hold contests--who is the quickest draw, who’s the best shot, who has the best accuracy with knives. Sam Winchester, it turns out, is a damn good shot, especially when Castiel considers his youth.

The four of them work well together. Their personalities clash, sometimes terribly, but they also complement each other, pragmatism warring with emotion, brawn matching brains. Castiel laughs as he looks around the room, realizing that, for possibly the first time in his life, he’s comfortable. Amazing, that he can relax in a room with two Winchesters, but there it is. He trusts Sam and Dean, more than any member of his family, to watch his back.

(No doubt Dean would throw in an off-color comment about being all too happy to watch Castiel’s back, but he chooses to ignore Dean’s rather childish sense of humor.)

The question naturally arises, as to their next move.

“The smartest thing to do would be to split up.” It’s Castiel who says it, because it’s always Castiel who retreats to the fortress of cold logic. Three pairs of betrayed eyes stare him down. Castiel returns the stare. “It makes the most sense. There’s four of us; if we all split up, we’d stand a better chance of escaping. We could start over. Be whoever we wanted to be.”

(Gabriel’s been fighting against the Novak name since he was old enough to know there was something to fight against. Sam Winchester has never wanted the mantle of the Winchester family; he’s dreamed of something else, something altruistic, far away from the dark cloud of John Winchester. Dean...All Dean knows is duty to his father, but Castiel already knows that he’d follow Sam wherever he went. And Castiel...well...He can always try to take back the Novak family. No doubt he’ll fail, but he’s a weapon, a hammer. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.)

“Fuck that,” Dean says, crude and succinct as always. “Your splitting up plan, not your be whoever we want to be plan.”

Dean leans forward. His eyes lock onto Castiel’s. It’s as though they’re the only two people in the room. “Look at us. We wouldn’t have gotten you out if we hadn’t worked together. You wouldn’t have been able to get me out if we hadn’t worked together. You, me, Gabriel, Sam...we’re just better together.”

Dean’s words touch something vulnerable in his chest, something Castiel has never bothered to acknowledge. What else was there for him, other than a life of violence? There was no room in the Novak family for love, no room for freedom.

Dean makes him dream it’s possible.

“They’ll look for us,” Castiel says, in a last ditch attempt at realism. “Not only the Novaks. The Winchesters too. They won’t like the idea that people are capable of defying them.”

“So let them come.” It’s Sam’s voice, ringing clear from the table. He might have come to this house as a child, but he’s matured in the time since he’s been here. Castiel trusts him just as much as anyone else sitting at the table. “Dean’s right. If there’s four of us, then we stand a better shot. We’ll watch each other’s back.”

“Careful there, Samsquatch,” Gabriel hums, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “Your back is a little big to watch.”

Sam shoots Gabriel a disparaging look and Castiel has to struggle to bite back his laugh. How could he dream of giving this up? These people are his friends, his...

His family.

“So we go. We’ll go somewhere new, make our own destinies. Team Free Will.” Dean takes a drink from his glass.

“Nifty title, but I think you��re leaving a few steps out,” Gabriel says. “I’m all in favor of Team Free Will, but exactly how are we going to make our way in the world?”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to Castiel. It’s Castiel who always has the answer, Castiel whose brutal logic always comes rushing forth at times like these.

And this is the time for logic. Both the Novaks and the Winchesters have considerable financial resources, and they’ll stop at nothing to regain their lost sense of pride. If they’re found, then the best they can hope for is a quick death. Castiel might have tucked the majority of his finances away, but his funds won’t stretch nearly as far or as long as he’ll need them to. They’ll have to get jobs. Or else...

Maybe they could move to a different city and start their own family. Maybe, one day, they could come back here and take back what’s rightfully theirs.

Castiel glances over at Dean. They could run this town. They could have it all.

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, ostensibly answering Gabriel, but never looking away from Dean.

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #mafia!au #part vi of vi #finally done #complete #dothwrites

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