#was wondering why i felt extra heavy/numb like someone could run me over with a truck and i wouldn't blink

[lvrby-katsuki]

ahhhh. is this why i've been feeling extra depressed

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You join the Shelbys for Christmas Eve dinner.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur, heavy fluff, probably bad retelling of Greek history don’t come at me

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 11: Dazed & Confused

I bet you know just what you’re doing. You’re not the type that’s used to losing. First you build me up, then with just a touch, leave me here in ruins. Something ‘bout your eyes, I can’t even walk in a straight line, under the influence. Oh, I’ve been dazed and confused, from the day I met you. Yeah, I lost my head, and I’d do it again. Either I’ve seen the light, or I’m losing my mind. There’s something ‘bout you, that’s got me dazed and confused.   — Dazed & Confused, Ruel

God you felt so stupid. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to this house — hell, even a stranger to having dinner at this house. But after meeting Tommy, it didn’t feel like just having dinner at a friend’s place anymore. Would this nervous feeling ever go away?

You’d gone all out for this special occasion, with Ada’s help after you’d expressed your nerves. She’d been far too giddy for your liking over your anxiety. But you let her take you shopping that morning and helped you tame your hair and even refrained from fighting her when she shoved a deep red lipstick into your hands after claiming that it was too dark for her to wear. 

Your hair had to be re-managed after your shift at the pub that afternoon. Apparently, Harry closed the place for Christmas Eve night. You thought that was a mistake, surely men were looking for some drunken solace after the children had gone to bed, but you bit your tongue at Harry’s excitement and accepted the extra time off. 

After the age of twelve, Christmases in your house had become a less-than-joyful time of year for you. It felt like a switch — one year you were a happy kid surrounded by excited parents drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Father Christmas — and then the next you were fighting over hanging tree lights, complaining about going out into the crowded malls, sitting in three separate rooms of the house to numb yourself with whatever was on the TV at the time. The littlest things would set off your mother, leaving you either raging with anger or crying in the garage waiting for your father to get home. 

The magic had disappeared along with your childhood. And it only got worse after your father died. You’d been reckless those first couple years, sneaking out any chance you got to run around town with your friends. When you left for college, you selfishly dreaded coming home during the breaks. That’s when your mother’s psychosis started to get worse.

Looking back, you couldn’t help but wonder if your mother hadn’t been alone for all that time, if she’d had someone to confide in or even just to talk to, if her sanity could have been salvaged, even just a little. But deep down you always assumed it was something darker going on inside her that made her act the way she did. By the end, if she wasn’t numb, she was crying, and you just had no idea how to handle her. 

After her death, you simply avoided holidays, always volunteering to work the extra shifts or treat it as if they were any other days of the week. 

Since arriving in 1918, you’d been so preoccupied with surviving, with trying to figure out what was going on, the idea of Christmas or any other holiday had been nonexistent. Which is why you’d been surprised at Tommy’s (or technically Ada’s) invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner. 

Fidgeting with your dress, you stood nervously at the doorstep and knocked. Behind the door, you could hear the sound of voices and pots banging, even a gramophone playing. 

The door swung open to reveal Ada, shouting her hello before pulling you inside for a warm hug. You chuckled at your friend, who clearly had been enjoying some pre-dinner drinks, and walked further into the house. 

The betting shop doors were open, the tables that usually hosted piles of books, papers, and money now cleared and replaced with plates, napkins, and silverware. You took a scan at the guests around, surprised at the number of people here. 

You recognized a few of them — the two men who’d been with Tommy and his brothers last night at the Garrison, Benji, and the man who stood out on the streets preaching. Then there was Martha sitting near the fire with Polly at her side, looking better but still not completely on the mend. Finn ran past you, shouting as the older of John’s kids chased after him. The rest of the men in the room you didn’t recognize. 

“Y/N!” Polly shouted, finally noticing your arrival as she left Martha and pulled you in for a hug. It appeared she’d also been indulging in some pre-dinner drinks, this being the most affection she’d ever shown you. “Let me get you a drink and then introduce you.” 

She shoved a glass of something brown in your hands, a quick sniff indicating it as whiskey, and began to walk you around the room, starting unfortunately with the group of men Benji was with. 

“Lovelock, Scudboat, and Hancock, this is Y/N. A family friend and barmaid at the Garrison. She’s under our protection, so you know what that means.” 

“Aye ma’am,” Scudboat smiled, nodding his head respectfully before lifting his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.” 

You smiled genuinely at the man, already appreciating his vibe. Lovelock didn’t offer any words, but nodded and gave you a smile and handshake as well. 

Hancock, or Benji as he’d introduced himself to you as, gave you a smirk. “We met last night,” he said suggestively, lingering his hand around yours longer than you thought was appropriate. “But it’s good to see you again.” 

You didn’t respond, pulling your hand away and instead offering a polite smile. Luckily, Polly pulled you away to work the room. 

Jeremiah was the name of the preacher, accompanied with his young son, Isaiah. You were curious how he fit in with the group, but saved your questions for another time. 

Charlie and Curly worked at the Yard down by the Cut. You realized this must have been the ‘Uncle Charlie’ that Tommy mentioned the other night. They were both quiet, but nice. Curly was beginning to ask you if you liked horses, but Polly shoo’d him before pulling you along to the next man. 

Danny Owens, or Whizz-Bang as he mentioned everyone called him, said he could only stay for a drink before going home to his wife and kids. He was fidgeting with his hat, muttering something about wishing Freddie or Barney could be there. Obviously you recognized Freddie’s name and wondered if you’d finally get to meet Ada’s mystery man. It wasn’t the case though as you finished the rounds of introductions.

A shout of the men behind you caused you and Polly to turn, seeing Arthur and John enter the room. They welcomed everyone around them with a loud greeting. You kept your eyes on the doorway, waiting for the one family member who had not yet arrived. 

As if on cue with your thoughts, Tommy walked into the room quietly, leaning against the door edge to watch the scene. His eyes scanned the room until they fell to you. The corner of his mouth rose in that familiar resilient smirk, obviously unused to being caught doing his surveillance. He gave a subtle nod over his shoulder before pushing off and turning toward the family room.

Your heart raced a little as you took the bait, excusing yourself and grabbing your drink before walking across the betting shop floor. When you walked through the door into the family room, you heard the gentle shut of the door behind you, but your eyes were transfixed on the tree in front of you. 

You’d noticed it when you first walked in, but now, the simple Christmas tree was lit with candles tied at the end of its branches. 

The last time you saw a Christmas tree lit up, it’d been multicolored and flashed like a bad shop neon sign, glued to the plastic thistle of a fake tree. The sight of it at the time had made you groan at the very idea of the holiday you dreaded, thinking about all the money that was wasted during this time of year on stupid decorations like that one and worthless presents that would just end up in the garbage in a month. 

But this. The real fire dancing on the wicks, sending beautiful shadows across the whole room against the lush pine leaves. It was enough to take your breath away. 

“We lit it just now with the kids.” Tommy’s deep voice behind you brought you out of your trance as you felt him move to your side. “We’ll re-light it again before they go to bed.”

“It’s beautiful.” 

“It is,” he replied as you finally looked over to him, his eyes already on you. The implication of his words and that look made you blush. 

You bit your lip as you shook your head and the possible compliment off.  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” you found yourself admitting. 

Tommy’s brow creased. “Do they not have Christmas trees in America?”

“Um, they do. Just not decorated with real candles,” you replied, not exactly lying but not responding with the whole truth. 

You weren’t entirely sure when electric tree lights would be invented, or common place, even. To avoid further questioning, you asked one of your own, a genuine query you couldn’t help but wonder now that the bewilderment had faded. 

“Does the tree ever catch on fire?” 

He chuckled softly, “Yeah it has. That’s why we only light it for a little while each night, usually before the kids go to bed. This year it hasn’t yet, surprisingly. But the year before we left, Finn was tryin’ to light it for John’s kids and lit the whole bottom row on fire. Luckily Pol was there to put it out before the house caught.”

You were watching him as he told the story before he let a short breath out his nose and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, as if reminding himself of his own memory had been a pleasant surprise. 

He cleared his throat, his smile returning back to his neutral expression as he busied himself with pulling his cigarette box out of his pocket and lifting out a stick. He ran it between his lips before lighting the end, the action causing you to lick your own lips before you remembered something.

“I, um — I got you a gift,” you said, feeling suddenly very embarrassed. 

He paused at your words, his brow creased as he watched you pull a small box out of the handbag you’d been carrying. 

“A gift?” He repeated, turning his body away from the tree and toward you. 

You shrugged, trying to shoo away your nerves. “Yeah, ya’know, it’s Christmas. It’s not anything super fancy, but saw it this morning when Ada took me shopping and I just, I don’t know, I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not wrapped,” you lifted the box and offered it to him. 

Tommy took it tentatively, his brow hooked as he examined the plain cardboard. “You didn’t have to,” he said, not yet opening it. 

“I know. It’s just — it’s a thank you,” you finally spat out, your eyes chancing a look up to meet his, “for everything.” 

His brow was still creased as he looked down, and your embarrassment and stupidity reached it’s peak as you realized how much of a mistake this probably was. 

Did people not get each other gifts in the 1900s? Ada hadn’t said anything when you picked it out and asked if she thought this was something Tommy might like. She had given you a shit eating grin, but hadn’t deterred you or told you you were being weird. 

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, turning away from him to try and hide how red your face was. “You don’t have to use it, you don’t even have to open it, I’ll just take it back and we’ll pretend this never happened—“

“Y/N,” Tommy’s voice said softly, causing you to look back over at him, the box open on the table and the cigarette case now in his hand. 

It was a simple case, minimal decoration around the border, but the minute you saw it, it made you think of Tommy and his damn cigarettes. Part of you wanted to get it engraved, something snarky about killing his lungs — but you could only afford the case, so you got it on a whim. It’d definitely been more than you could afford, but it was the holidays, you reasoned. You’d start saving again next week. 

Tommy tested the case, using his thumb to click the flap open, then closed it again. He did that a couple times before letting out a humored breath out of his nose, the corner of his cheek rising as he pulled out his box and moved a few sticks into the case. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as his eyes found yours, lifting up the case to emphasize before smiling back down at it. “It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years.” 

You swallowed, dropping your head as your cheeks reddened again. The feel of his fingers against your cheek caused you to lift your head again, not realizing he’d gotten so close. Your eyes found his, serious and soulful as he peered down at you, the light from the candles dancing off the glassy orbs. God, he was beautiful. 

A bang on the door caused you to jump before stepping away. Polly shouted from the other side, instructing you both that dinner was ready and to get our asses out there. 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time.” 

Tommy met your laugh with his own softer one as you turned toward the door. Before you could reach it, he grabbed your arm and spun you back toward him, pulling your body against his as his lips crashed against yours. 

He wrapped the hand still holding your gift and his lit cigarette around you to curve your body against his, his other hand raking through the base of your head and neck, nearly lifting you up to meet his hunger. Without a second thought, your own hands found themselves around his shoulders as you clung to him, your kiss matching his eagerness. You tilted your head and opened your mouth just enough for him to dive in deeper, breathing in sharply through his nose as you let out a needy moan.  

Fuck the dinner, screw all the people on the other side of the door. You’d let him take you right here on the couch, on the floor, you didn’t care. All you cared about was his hard body against yours, his hands gripping at you, his mouth and where else it could consume you. 

When you found your feet flat on the ground again, he pulled his lips away just enough before giving you another slow kiss, then another, before pulling away completely. 

He smiled as you caught your breath, still surprised and slightly disoriented from the action. You thought he was going to kiss you again as he brought his hand back to your cheek, but instead he used his thumb to rub what must have been smeared lipstick off your face. A pathetic whimper left your throat at the disappointment. 

“Better not keep Pol waiting,” he said easily, adjusting his suit and sliding his new cigarette case in his jacket pocket before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his own lips. You watched as the white fabric turned red from your lipstick and smirked, thinking of other scenarios where you could leave pieces of you with him throughout the day. 

He noticed your look and rose a brow as you licked your lips, shooing those ideas away for more socially appropriate ones as he opened and held the door open for you.  

Ada and Martha were helping to set the table when you joined them, grabbing two plates from Polly before adding them to the make-shift dinner table. Once every seat was served, Ada pulled you into a chair next to her. You looked at the head of the table, expecting to see Tommy but surprisingly it was Arthur who stood up and rose his glass. To his right sat Tommy, then John and Martha; to his left was Polly, then Ada and you. 

Arthur cleared his throat, causing everyone to quiet and turn their attention to him. 

“Um,” Arthur cleared it again, pulling down at his vest as he fidgeted. “I um, I’m not much for speeches. But um, I wanted to— wanted to thank you. This year— these years, being away, it’s been—“ his voice chocked as he looked toward Tommy. 

Tommy smiled up at his brother and stood, gripping Arthur’s shoulder as he held up his own glass. “It’s been good to be back,” Tommy said simply, finishing Arthur’s prompt, possibly not in the same direction Arthur was heading, but a good detour to keep the moment light. He continued to keep his arm on his brother’s shoulder, as he addressed the rest of the room. “We all know the hardships and blessings we’ve been dealt, this year especially. And soon, it’ll be a new year. A fresh start. This is our opportunity to seize, and we’ll be damned if we’re going to let it slip.” His eyes flicked to you before rising his drink higher. “A toast, a simple toast, ya brotha’?” He pulled Arthur closer as he chuckled, rising his own glass higher with his brothers. “To good fortune, good health, good horses! Happy Christmas!” 

“By order of the Peaking fuckin’ Blinders,” Arthur added, his voice strong again. 

Everyone exploded with cheers as they raised their own glasses and shouted “Happy Christmas!”

The night went on as everyone ate and talked. You were enjoying the dinner, laughing as you watched the family dynamic between the core Shelbys as they enjoyed each others company. Everyone’s inhibitions and guards seemed to be set aside tonight, giving you what you assumed was a rare glimpse at what dinners pre-war must have been like for the group. 

On the other side of you sat Charlie and Curly, and you were grateful that Benji had been placed at the end of the other side of the table, just far enough so that easy conversation wasn’t possible. But you felt his eyes on you, causing you to shift in your seat every now and then when you’d catch his gaze. After the second time it happened, you found yourself sighing, knowing you’d have to have an awkward conversation at some point with him to convince him you weren’t interested. 

The dinner party was winding down, with most of its guests already gone. Even Ada had given you a kiss on the cheek before whispering that she was sneaking out. She wiggled her eye brows, causing you to roll you eyes and shove her away, whispering your own ‘be safe’ back at her. 

Of course, Benji took the opportunity to swoop in to fill the opening. 

“Your first Christmas in Small Heath?”

You nodded, taking a sip to keep your mouth busy. 

“I’ve always liked winter over summer. Sure, it gets bone cold, but there’s less smoke in the air during the winter,” he mused, topping off his own glass and offering to do the same for you. 

“That so?” 

He shrugged, “Dunno, just feels like it, I guess. Maybe it’s more to do with the days being shorter.” 

You nodded, slightly surprised at the insight. “Could be.” 

“Do you have to go back to the Garrison tonight?” 

You coughed at his unexpected turn in subject. “Um, no, Harry closed the pub for Christmas Eve.”

“So you’re free, then? We could go get a drink—“

“We have a drink,” you replied, holding up your glass. “And we’re guests at a party.” 

“Come on, no one would miss us if we left—“

Scudboat appeared behind Benji, dropping a weighted hand to his shoulder. “Gotta go, Hancock.” 

Benji’s brow creased as he scoffed. “Now?” 

“Aye, it’s Russel. Just got the order.”

Benji huffed, “It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we do this after the holiday?” 

“You know the drill. It’ll hurt his family more to see that face Christmas morning. Will make him think twice next time. Tommy’s orders. Now!” 

Scudboat left you both as Benji turned back toward you, blowing a big breath out of his nose as he cursed under his breath. “No rest for a Blinder.” 

No rest for the wicked, you found yourself thinking, your tongue too tied to say the words aloud. Russel — you recognized the name of a copper from the family books. He’d been one of the more recent discrepancies you’d alerted. And now he was going to get beat up, or cut, on Christmas Eve. 

And it was on Tommy’s orders. You swallowed down a big gulp of your drink as Benji said his farewell. 

“Ready?” 

Tommy’s voice behind you caused you to jump startled. You turned to face him, his own expression seemed slightly perturbed as he watched the Peaky boys leave the shop. 

“Ready for what?” Your voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, feeling both caught off guard as well as slightly uneasy about the darker side of Tommy. 

It wasn’t like you were an idiot. You knew this came with the territory. Tommy Shelby was a gangster, as much as he wanted to call himself a businessman. Violence was as much a currency of this business as money. And here you were, contributing to that violence. 

But you knew the world you were now a part of wasn’t that simple. Maybe this copper deserved it, maybe he didn’t. If you were going to be a part of this company, you’d have to trust the people making the calls, even if it went against your own moral code. 

Did you even have a moral code anymore? Were you just making excuses?

“To talk, like I promised,” he replied, his eyes finally moving back to you. “Unless you’d rather join Hancock.” 

His jealousy caused you to chuckle, despite your prior thoughts. “I told you last night I wasn’t interested in him.” 

He hummed, “Maybe you ought to tell that to him then, eh? This way,” he placed his hand to your back as he directed you back toward the house. 

You noticed him exchange a look with Polly before leaving the room. 

“Where are we going?” You asked hesitantly as he directed you toward the stairs. 

He didn’t answer you, instead taking the lead as he brought you to the top of the stairs and opened the door. “My room.” 

The room was small and plain. A bed even smaller than yours in the corner, a nightstand, a chair, a dresser, and a fireplace. The decor was also minimum: a mirror hung at the head of the bed, a lit lamp on the nightstand, a crucifix on the wall by the door, and a few other photos and paintings dispersed between the walls, nightstand, and fireplace, which was also already lit. 

The air smelled different in the room. There was something else, in addition to the outside air, sweat, and cigarettes that you’d grown used to. Your eyes searched for a source, but gave up when Tommy closed the door behind him. 

“You’re not worried someone will hear?” You asked as Tommy chose to sit in the chair by the nightstand, leaving you to either continue standing or sit on the bed. 

“This room is pretty sound proof, long as we don’t do any shouting. The other guests will leave through the betting shop doors. They won’t stay for long, Pol knows that we’re here and will clear them all out soon enough and lock up behind ‘em. I’ll walk you home when we’re done,” he said, pulling out the cigarette case.

He pulled out another stick and ran it across his lips, causing you to lick your own and making you fully aware that you were finally alone in a bedroom. God, your stupid libido. First you were questioning your own morality, and now all you wanted to do was jump his bones. 

“Did you, um — did you drink the tea yet?”

Your eyes flicked back toward him, surprised at his question. “That where you want to start?” 

He shrugged, lifting up the case before setting it gently on the nightstand. “I hadn’t intended, but in the spirit of gift giving, seems as good a place as any.” 

You turned away from him, anxiously avoiding his question by continuing to examine the room and get your mind out of the gutter. The box in question was currently sitting in your dresser drawer, shoved in there after you’d finally unpacked so you wouldn’t have to look at it. 

“And why not?” Tommy followed-up, taking your silence as a no. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before answering, “I have to think about it. I’m convinced it’ll either give me a seizure or just end up being a really bad cup of tea — both of which I believe will happen before it lets me talk with the dead.” 

“Perhaps you should talk to Pol. She’s always been more in tune with that side of things, she could offer you some guidance.” 

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still unconvinced. 

“We’ll revisit that another time, eh. Where is it that you want to start, then?” He asked. 

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to consider your options. Honestly, you’d expected Tommy to take the lead in this debrief, almost demanding answers or explanations. You hadn’t expected him to hand you the reigns, and you found yourself struggling to get a grip. 

He was watching you as you considered his question, refusing to speak first. You took a gulp of your drink before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“My nightmares — the two dreams that I had in the wagon, I’ve never had dreams like those before. I’ve had realistic dreams before. Mundane or stress-induced dreams where I’m living out my normal day and then wake up and can’t believe I have to do it all again. I’ve had dreams of memories, replaying of certain events. Hell, I’ve even lucid dreamed, where I recognized a dream I’d had before and been able to change the dream. But I have never in my life had dreams like the ones I had in that wagon.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward the wall across from him, some recognition in your words. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own recounting, you might have picked up on it, but instead you continued on. 

“It felt so real — more than a memory, like I was actually standing in that garden, feeling the wind against my face. But it wasn’t my memory. It wasn’t me. It was like I was watching and feeling the memory of another.”

“Whose?” 

You swallowed before looking back up at Tommy. “I think I was dreaming about the story of Cassandra and Apollo.” 

You left out the part where in your dreams Apollo just happened to look exactly like Tommy, just with golden eyes. The logical part of you knew that your brain was just inserting what it knew into the dream. Wasn’t it a known fact in your time that people only saw the faces of those they knew in their dreams? That’s all it was, you told yourself. 

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “You goin’ to explain who those people are, or just leave me in the dark?”

“Do you know much about Greek mythology?” you asked, trying to gauge how to approach this. 

Tommy shook his head. You took a moment to collect yourself, your brain ready to jump into explanation and story telling mode. This was one of your favorite subjects, after all. You took a sip of your drink before leaning against the wall, making yourself more comfortable on the bed. 

“Where I’m from—” you started, swallowing as you decided to stop trying to hide the little details of your life — if you were going to do this, you might as well dive in. “I got to learn about it in school, mostly in language arts or social studies. I asked a teacher once why we were taught Greek over other mythologies, like Norse or any Asian religion — she seemed to believe it was because of the influence the Ancient Greek, and then Roman, society had over Europe, which then influenced Western civilization. There’s written records on top of word-of-mouth story telling that has lasted tens of thousands of years. And the influence they still have on philosophy, architecture, military, governance, agriculture, medicine — hell, even the word alphabet is Greek for alpha and beta, the first two letters of the Greek alphabet. Shakespeare wrote plays based on the mythology, Renaissance artists created masterpieces in an attempt to bring it to life. She said it was close to the same reason we learned about Medieval stories even though there’s no historical truth to King Arthur and Camelot. But we all learned them. And it started with literature.”

Tommy blew a puff of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with your pretense. “Ok.”

“Two of the oldest works of literature that’s still widely referenced are Homer’s epic poems — the Iliad and the Odyssey. The stories are pretty significant because of their themes about fate, glory, heroism, pride, wrath. And there’s so many phrases that originated or were inspired by the stories: an Achilles heel, Trojan horse, a face that launched a thousand ships, stuck between a rock and a hard place—”

“You’re losin’ me, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just — I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan war, a ten-year battle between the ancient cities of Troy and Sparta, mostly focusing on the abduction of the Spartan Queen Helen, and the hero Achilles who was recruited to help save her. That’s a crazy oversimplification of the story, and honestly I’ve read so many retellings I’m not even certain on the actual story anymore. But it’s really quite interesting if you want to hear about it some time — I think you would especially find the character of Achilles interesting—”

“Y/N,” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he waved his hand along. “Madam Despoina said you were named after a Trojan princess. That was Cassandra, ya?”

The sound of Tommy saying your middle name out loud for the first time made your chest tighten.

You nodded, avoiding the feeling. “A Trojan prince was the one who stole Helen, the Queen of Sparta, so the Spartans and the Greeks attacked Troy to get her back. Cassandra was a Trojan princess who was also a priestess.”

Tommy hummed, “And you said that God gave her the gift of prophecy, but then He wanted to fuck her and she refused.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his retelling. “Something like that. But the Greeks didn’t believe in just one God, they had a pantheon of gods, goddesses, titans, and other creatures who all had roles they played in the creation and general day-to-day motion of the world and its people. One of those gods was Apollo.”

He leaned back in his chair, “The god Madam Despoina kept going on about.”

“Exactly. He was the god of, well, a lot of things — but he’s mostly tied to references of the Sun and light. He’s also the god of music, the arts, medicine, archery, town building, and prophecy.”

“And that’s where the Delphi come in?”

“Yep. They were priestesses who spoke his word at his temple, where people would travel from all over for a consult with the oracles. The Greeks considered this temple to be the center of the world.”

“So the princess wouldn’t fuck this god Apollo, so he cursed her. Why not just take back the gift?”

“A common myth is that a god couldn’t undo the work of another god, even their own work. So when Cassandra wouldn’t sleep with him, he couldn’t take back his gift of prophecy. He cursed her instead. She had no choice but accurately predict the future, but no one would believe her. Throughout the war, she tried to warn the Trojans, her family, of the dangers of their actions, but they couldn’t believe. Eventually, the visions of disaster and frustrations of being called a liar and madwoman drove her insane.”

“Why didn’t she just lie? Say the opposite and then they’d believe her?”

You shrugged, smiling at hearing the same question you’d asked your own teacher. “I don’t think she could lie. I don’t think she could even stop herself from telling the prophecies, otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t have just shut up early on.”

“What happened to her?”

“She predicted the fall of Troy, and the deaths of her family, we well as her own death. Before that, during the siege, she was raped, and then given away as a concubine to one of the Greek Kings. She and the King were then killed by the Queen and her lover.”

“And what happened to Helen?” he asked, genuinely curious it seemed to the story. 

“In Homer’s story, Paris, the Trojan prince who kidnapped her gets killed along with most of the rest of his family, and she’s reunited with her Spartan husband.”

“Lucky her.”

You scoffed, “Comparatively, I guess.”

“Does the story match up with your dreams?” 

“Kind of. In the stories, it’s always implied that either Cassandra promised that she’d sleep with him in exchange for the gift and then refused when he came to collect, or that she didn’t promise him and he just assumed that she’d give herself to him if he gave her the gift. Madam Despoina seemed to imply that there was another side to the story.” 

“Which is?” 

“In my dreams so far, it seems like maybe they actually both were in love with each other. But then something shifts and he’s cursing me— her. And that’s when I wake up.” 

“That explains why you kept saying you were cursed,” Tommy mused, taking another sip of his own glass before reaching for the bottle that was already on the nightstand and refilling it. He offered to refill your own glass, which you accepted. “And the main question — what does that all have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, taking a big gulp of your drink, the warm liquid burning down your throat. “I think Madam Despoina thinks that my mother named me after the Cassandra from this story. It seemed like she was implying that I’m a descendant of Cassandra, or I don’t know, maybe a reincarnation? Both of which are ridiculous.”

Tommy’s brow creased, “Why?”

You shook your head, flopping down to lay flat on the bed, setting your glass on the nightstand. “Because it’s just a story, it isn’t even real! Homer wrote the Iliad like hundreds, maybe thousands of years after the war would have happened. If it even did at all. There’s some evidence of civilization in the area Troy is thought to have been, and even some evidence of war I think, but still. Now, the odds of Madam Despoina being a descendant of the Greek Delphi may be more likely, since there was more evidence of the temple discovered and records found. I still think it’s highly unlikely, but who am I to question her. Maybe some distant relative passed along the stories and traveled across Europe.”

“That’s the rumor,” he nodded. “Came from Balkan gypsies, they say. Would explain why their clan is so deep and connected.”

“As well as the divinity shtick.”

“And the tattoo, it connects you,” Tommy added as he stood up out of the chair and walked toward the bed, lifting up your legs and sitting at the end of the mattress, pulling your legs back to drape over his lap. 

“I got this tattoo on a whim,” you said with a shrug, as of trying to shake it off your back. “I just drew it one day and decided to get it for my first tattoo.” 

He chuckled, “So, what, after everything you’re just goin’ to chalk that up to a fuckin’ coincidence?” 

You huffed, “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to believe? That I thought of the tattoo because something in my blood or heritage or some mythological corner of my subconscious knew that one day I’d need to meet a Balkan gypsy family of fortune tellers who’s ancestry dates back to my own?”

“Is that harder to believe than the two of us having dreams of each other before we’d ever even met?” He asked, the question feeling like a cold splash of water. 

“No,” you groaned, throwing your hand over your face. “Both are just as ridiculous.”

Tommy rubbed your leg reassuringly. “Just one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject — for now at least.” 

You sat up, realizing you were practically in his lap as you waited for him to continue. 

“When I went to speak with Madam Despoina alone, she told me that our fates were entwined. That I shouldn’t repeat the follies of her god and that if I listened to you, if I didn’t push you, if I trusted you, we would achieve so much more together than apart. That you can predict the future, and I would be a fool to take your advice lightly.”

“Tommy, I can’t—“ 

“Can you predict the future?” He asked softly, running his fingers along your jawline. 

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.“ You looked between his eyes, swallowing before dropping your gaze. “I know things. Not everything, I can’t predict Ada’s future or tell you what Harry’s going to have for dinner a week from now. But I know that the prohibition amendment will pass in America at the beginning of the year. I know the worker strikes will only continue to get worse. I know the Irish will continue to fight against the British government for independence, and eventually between themselves. I know that jazz music is going to be everywhere.”

“You knew when the end of the war was goin’ to be,” he added. 

“And I know other things — things I can’t—“ you swallowed, lifting your eyes back to his and bringing your own hand to his face. 

“Perhaps you are Cassandra,” he said, his eyes moving down to your lips, “and this time, I’m to believe you. I’m to protect you from this bloody curse.” 

Your breath hitched at his words, “You— you believe? Me, all this? How?”

“Talk to Polly. Drink the tea. Who bloody knows if Madam Despoina is telling the truth or if she’s a fuckin’ nutter. But I trust my gut, and my gut has wanted you from the moment I saw you in my dreams.” 

“Really?” You whispered with what little breath you seemed to have. 

He smiled, humming. “And since you yelled at me down by the Cut.”

“I didn’t yell,” you chuckled, feeling the mood lighten again, your face just a breath away from his own. 

He pulled you forward just enough for your lips to meet for the fourth time that night, kissing you softly. You kissed him back, the build up from tonight and two nights before making you needy. 

“Tommy,” you whimpered when his mouth left your own for your neck. You swallowed thickly as an insecure thought crept through your mind. “I’m not a doll though, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said against your skin, his breath causing you to shiver. 

“I don’t know how to help you,” you added, suddenly worried about whatever promises Madam Despoina seemed to be making for you. 

He pulled away from your neck to meet your eyes again, running his hand through your hair. “You’ve already helped me, Y/N. I don’t care if you can tell the future — I don’t care if you can’t. I just know…” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he rest his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/N.” 

>> next chapter

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[introloves]

Aone having a FAT crush on a tiny quiet barista at his new favorite cafe, they’ve memorized his order and even makes sure to keep his favorite seat open every morning for him- maybe they go to his school too but they never really talk? They kinda smile at him and wave in the hallways but never talk?

THIS IS SO CUTEEEE!!!!! nd bc im me i turned it into smut :( sowwy

— first times + big dick aone, embarrassed abt his size + size kink + brief summary of aone x reader’s relationship before we get to the smut + hard smut towards the end + f! reader

he wouldn’t say anything, he couldn’t say anything but you’d know by the way he he’s always mumbling when he gets to the counter, eyes shying away from your own, hands shaky everytime he’d hand you money, 2.25, every morning for his favorite cup of tea.

it’d always take you a couple seconds to put yourself back together, your own shaky hands tenaciously putting together his drink, perhaps making it with extra care.

he’d usually come alone, but on rare days there’d be a couple other faces. one in particular with brown sleek hair, would push him to mumble out words other than, ‘thank you’.

the teasing laughter and bright red coloring to his face was a dead giveaway. you’d only mess with your friends like this if there was crushing involved.

it’d make you burn up at the thought that he had a crush on you, he’s so big and intimidating and at first you’d have your guard up everytime he stepped inside, a looming presence not hard to notice.

but as the days went by, you’d see how much care he’d put into things. he’d take time to clean up his booth, make sure to recycle his cup, and always shyly nod his head towards you in a silent goodbye. on days where he feels especially brave, aone leaves a flower, one that he thinks most closely resembles your beauty.

on those days, when its your turn to clean the tables and you see a single, delicately picked flower, your heart thumps loudly in your chest.

you’d started falling for him before long.

and of course the dating starts shortly after.

you swear you’ve never felt love before him. he’s everything you needed, a nice security in an otherwise tumultuous and very scary world.

he holds you with arms that are twice as thick as yours, could squeeze you tight enough to hurt so very easy, but instead cradles you to sleep with so much care.

hands that work tirelessly, calloused, veiny and wide touch your face with a delicacy that doesn’t come naturally to someone of his size. he works at it, works at making sure he’s careful.

and you appreciate it, you do, but when you see him open jars for you with ease, reach over your head to pluck whatever you need from the top of shelves in stores, pick you up with no groan or strain, it makes your mind wander.

everything with him is so easy, so you don’t know why, when you’re slick between the thighs, throbbing with want for him, he makes it so hard.

he refuses your advances, pulls you off with a sad smile and jumbled words of,

“he’s not ready.” when you can clearly see he’s hard behind his pants.

it makes you cry, wondering if you’re not good enough. was the flustered flirting, kisses, and confession all just a big joke?

your tears break him, he hurriedly explains that it’s him. he won’t hurt you, can’t, refuses to.

“what are you talking about.” you hiccup, whipping away the tears.

“i just...” he sighs, running a palm down his face.

“i’m too big.”

your jaw nearly drops at that. the heat of embarrassment and lick of something hotter burns at your neck and tummy.

you’ve never heard or seen a man shy away because of his size, usually they boast and brag and have very little to boast and brag about.

you tell him it doesn’t matter, you want him. eyes wide and pleading, hoping he doesn’t shy away because you want him so bad.

his resolution is broken, he’s attracted to you after all. but you’re so small, so cute and plush and curvy in all the places he wants to sink his fingers into.

“i’ll be gentle.” he thinks when he finally grabs you, pulling you onto his lap.

he doesn’t miss the way your mouth shuts closed when you feel him, hips giving a small push against him to make sure you aren’t imagining him like this.

the kissing starts, fevered lips painting eachother in spit, shy moans leave the both of you.

foreplay is skipped, you’ve both held back long enough, and you wouldn’t let him anyways.

“not a good idea.” aone mumbles, but you don’t listen. you want him now.

one again you push at his weak spots, everything he does, he does to please you. but you make it seem that it’s quite the opposite, you want what he wants.

and aone is anything but an aroused man with a cute, soft, tiny girlfriend beneath him.

the first meeting of his cockhead against your leaking, twitching hole has him clench his teeth, hand placed heavy over your tummy to still your hips.

“it’s going to hurt.” he reminds you, but you still don’t care.

“i want you.” you breathe, it makes him hiss.

there were many steps you’d both taken together to get where you were.

from the first time he saw you at the café, bustling around with a smile that tugged at his heart, to a couple minutes ago, when you panted wantonly into his ear about how much you fantasized of him burying himself in you to the hilt, watching your eyes roll back as he pushes in is his favorite so far.

he’s not that expirienced, but knows that the growing wetness dripping onto his thighs with every squelch of your pussy as he sinks in is a good sign.

“g-god. nobu, you’re so big.” you chant.

he knows, he warned you.

but it’s not a bad thing, he thinks, because with just a few pumps in, the stretch he gives you, along with hips brushing against your clit, you’re already creaming around him.

he doesn’t blink the whole time you do, zeroed in on the shake of your thighs, fat squishing him against you, pussy equally trying to milk him of his own.

he thinks the best thing to do is to stay still and wait until you’re okay.

aone knows you are when the talk starts back up.

you can see the sweat glisten against his chest, you know he’s holding back, giving you shy thrusts once more.

it’s good, the same shy, tentative thrusts just made you cum so hard you couldn’t hear for a second, but there’s a hint of raw power he’s holding back.

“takanobu.” you call to him with a shaky voice.

he responds with a worried glance.

“use me.”

he looks at you in disbelief,

“n-no. i’ll hurt you.”

your hips rut, swiveling around the very hard cock of him in absolute desperation.

“i want you to hurt me.” you say. and he sees red.

there’s a tinge of fear at the hardened gaze he gives you, he moves you with an ease, making a show to grab your hips in both hands, lifting you off the bed as he kneels down.

he does as he’s told, moving you how he wants, impaling you down on his big cock over and over, watching the soft parts of you jiggle with the intensity of it, meeting the fat of your ass and thighs with harsh slaps. he digs already darkening splotches the shape of his nails into you.

you can do nothing but scream, trying to hold on to the bed so you don’t slam into the creaking headboard. but you don’t really have to worry, even now he makes sure to keep you from moving away from his pounding.

you can’t feel your legs with the second orgasm that takes you, knees lock and pussy once again creaming all over him while he drills into you.

this is what you wanted, your own pleasure being driven by aone. just like everything else, he makes sure to take care of you so good, your cunt numb and fucked open by the time he’s done.

he pulls out to cum all over your pussy, there’s so much.

he finally comes back to you with a noise that sounds apologetic.

“i’m sor-“ you cut him off before he can say anything, grabbing his face in both hands with shaky arms thanks to him.

“don’t.” you begin, telling him that it’s okay to not be careful, something he’s always been.

you let him know that with you, he doesn’t have to tip toe, that in the safety the two of your shared, he was free to do everything those who didn’t know him whispered about him. he was allowed to be mean, allowed to use those muscles he’s built, allowed to be scary.

finishing with a kiss to his lips,

you’ve loved him since he left you flowers at work, and you’d still love him even after drilling your pussy into submission.

[oikadori]

A/N: No one asked for this but I really wanted to write some angsty fic...so this is the outcome of listening to Callum Scott and Conan Gray for three full days asfkasjk sorry this is the longest thing I’ve written Hope you like it!

Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Summary: He was your best friend and she was perfect, but still you fell for him

Genre: angst, unrequited love 

Warnings: self-doubt, insecurity, swearings 

Now playing: Dancing On My Own, Heather 

WC~2,6K

You should already be used to hear it, but every time Atsumu let out a booming laugh you couldn’t help staring at him with dreamy eyes.

“Oi, Y/N!  Are you even listening to me?” his hazel eyes open, looking at you playfully.

“Yes, I’m hearing you, and no, it wasn’t as funny as you think” he frowns, pushing you from your chair almost making you fall if it wasn’t for his quick grip on your forearm, “You asshole!”

“Why so harsh on me today, sweetheart?”

Yo feel your stomach twist at the nickname, making Atsumu smile at the way your cheeks get a dark red.

“Because you were a total dick with those poor girls” he sighs, tired, stretching his arms behind his head, “You could’ve been nicer, you know?”

Biting your lip, you remember the teary eyes of those girls as they ran away sobbing after they had told him their love confession. Would you have the same luck if- No, no way you had a crush on him.

“They have a crush just on my looks, it’s annoying”, he spits, “Why do you care so much anyways?”

“I…-” he looks at you with curiosity as you carefully think your words, “-I guess I would feel horrible if I were them and confessed”

“Don’t tell me you have a crush on someone Y/N”

“Of course not, all of you ,men, are idiots”, he place his hand on his chest with a wounded look, making your eyes roll, a smile tickling your lips, “Now, hurry with your homework, you’re stealing my lunch time”

He reaches for his bag, taking out his lunch box to hand you the extra Onigiri he had. You smile fondly even if it is not the first time he brings you food during your study sessions.

He was your best friend, yet his gestures never failed to dazzle you.... Maybe you do have a crush on him.

 ///

You enter the gym with a tired look, a yawn slips pass your lips before sitting on the bleachers, you plug your earbuds and take out an unfinished assignment from your bag. The second years wave at you, Atsumu sticking his tongue out, you wave back before locking eyes with him and returning the gesture, making the setter grin.

The next time you lift your eyes from your work, you open them wide before taking off your earbuds to listen to the scene in front of you.

A girl wearing the team’s jacket enter the gym alongside the captain, making it feel as if the time stop. The team look at them in surprise as she bows.

“I’m eager to be your new manager! I used to play but-” she points at her wrist with a shy smile,” I got pretty bad injured so I hope I can be helpful here”, you advert Atsumu’s gaze, making your heart flinch a little.

“I’m Miya Atsumu, setter, I haven’t see ya around before” the girl looks at him with an eager look, leaning closer, a happy smile on her face as Atsumu stands still, the smirk on his face fades as she erases the gap between them. ‘The hell is she doing?’

“Oh, I know you! The star setter, guess what they say about you is truth-”, you wait for the usual compliments girls told him all the time, your lips curve up a little remembering Atsumu’s usual reaction at them, “-your serves are truly monstrous, your technique is impeccable”

His eyes glimmer with curiosity and you notice the light blush on his cheeks as he gives her his best smile. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve seen him flirting with girls, hooking up with one before getting another, but this…this was different.

You stand up before properly thinking what you are doing. You haven’t felt jealous before and you didn’t have the right for it, but an overwhelming despair sets the pace of your feet as they move towards them.

“I used to be a setter myself but-“

“Hey, Tsumu, see you after practice to finish our chemistry homework?” you peek your head between them, making the girl take a few steps back, a surprise look on her face. Atsumu looks at your innocent smile and blinks.

“Y/N, I told you not to call me that in practice-” he whispers to you, hiding it with a few coughs, “Uhmm, sure” the couch calls them and he waves at you before jogging off with the new manager to line up with the rest.

Your eyes linger on them a few more seconds, he laughs with her, making you furrow your eyebrows together, noticing just now, how beautiful she was.

///

“You still look like crap”

“Shut up, Samu!

You stand between the twins near the main door of the cafeteria, watching Atsumu run his hand through his hair multiple times as he stares at his reflection on one of the windows ‘All that… for her?’

A voice that comes from behind you, makes Atsumu look over your shoulder with a nervousness you haven’t seen before.

“Tsum Tsum!”

He gasps at the sight of her, the short dress she is wearing frames her figure perfectly, and you can’t help to look at your own clothes wondering if you couldn’t have dressed more casually.

You remain silent as she reaches for his hair and ruffles it friendly, the display in front of you feels surreal, suddenly your limbs are numb and your eyes can’t seem to drift away from Atsumu’s happy smile as he grabs her wrist to kiss her hand.

“You look stunning”

“What a gentleman – Oh, hey ‘Samu and-“

“Y/N” the words come sharper than you intended, the girl just let out an innocent giggle

“I’m so sorry! I don’t get to see you a lot in school, you’re in the advanced classes, right?”

“Y/N is a genius, they wouldn’t allow me to play if it wasn’t for her”, Atsumu says pointing at you with pride while his other hand rests on the small of her back guiding her to your table. A lump forms on your throat, making it impossible for you to reply, you  manage to pull an empty smile.

On the table you are silent as ever, nodding at all the conversations the second years try to include you in. Your mind is already far away, wondering all the possibilities that could happen if you were brave enough to confess right there, right now, but the sight in front of you snaps you to reality again.

Atsumu lips gets stained by some red sauce and before you can point it out, she licks her thumb before pressing it on his lips. His cheeks turn bright red and his jaw slightly slacks open.

“How is that you aren’t already dating? It’s been almost three months since you are all over each other” Suna casually says

Three months indeed, and she entered more and more in their small circle. But how could you stop it when she was just…so lovely?

 Atsumu stayed until much later in practice but still you chatted together. Late night texts, becoming in late night calls to check up on each other.

‘I want to ask her out. Fuck, I want her so badly, but what if she rejects me, Y/N!’

‘Tsumu, you’re Japan’s top high school setter. Believe me, she won’t reject you’

Now you want to hit your head against the nearest wall, remembering your stupid words.

“Would you say yes if I ask you out?” 

“I would say yes to more than that” the table falls dead silent at her words as if they waited for the next scene of a movie.

 Suddenly Atsumu press his lips against hers with ferocity, she pulls the collar of his shirt, deepening the already heated kiss. You almost choke on your water, earning a concern look from Kita, you find yourself standing up violently before rushing to the restroom.

You close the door behind you before looking at yourself in the mirror, ‘I could have never competed with her’. You bite your lip, and shut your eyes tightly, your hands grasping both sides of the sink, you let your head fall forwards, eyes fixed on the white of the porcelain as they water.

“Y/N, are you okay?” you stiffen at the soft female voice coming from the other side of the door, “Do you need help?”, you let out an humorless laugh. ‘A sweetheart with everyone, huh?’

“I-I don’t feel good, it’ll better if I head home. Please tell the others, I had an emergency or something” your throat feels extremely dry all of sudden and your voice comes out shaky.

“Oh! I can take you home-“

“I’ll rather go alone! I don’t know if I’m sick and I’d hate to…infect you. Thank you, tho”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”

“Okay…text me when you get home!”

When you hear the footsteps fading away, you wait a few more minutes to walk out the restroom, just to find Atsumu talking cheerfully, his eyes filled with adoration for her. He didn’t even look at your direction as you left the cafeteria, and in that very moment you realized he would never look at you that way.

 ///

“Where is Y/N, I haven’t seen her in years?”

“I think she is tutoring some first years”

“Oh” Atsumu finds himself looking at your usual spot on the bleachers, he barely got to see or talk to you in the recent weeks. 

You’ve been missing his calls on purpose. Since that dinner, you had to put all your energy to smile at him when he waved at you in the corridors as he held her hand. It had been almost a month of hearing him talking about how gracious she was and weeks of looking how they made out on the couch in the end of the library or against one of the gym’s walls.

You thought that if you put distance with him, you’ll manage to get over that soreness that felt heavy on your chest each time she made him laugh. But no matter how many extra classes you took or how many first years you tutored, your mind always came back to Inarizaki’s setter.

The sky was dark by the time you finished tutoring the last first year, he bowed at you and you gave him a brief smile before locking the classroom. You handled the keys to your teacher and walked out of the building.

The cold wind hit your face, making you shiver, you search for your jacket in your bag, finding only a scarf. Atsumu gave it to you. You haven’t used it in a while now, but the cold was too much to bear with for your thin uniform. You place the material carefully around your neck, caressing the fabric begore sighing, watching your breath fading into the air and start walking.

“Oi” his voice makes you turn instantly, and you catch him jogging to you, “It’s fucking cold out here!- Uh, you still have it?” he points at your neck with a cheeky grin.

Atsumu looks extremely handsome like this, a little pink on his nose and cheeks and the few lights highlight the hazel of his eyes. It makes you gulp before replying.

“Of course, I do. It was my first two-digit birthday!”, he laughs remembering the chaos you both made by that age, you smile a little before looking at him with concern, “What are you still doing here? Something happened?”

“No! I-I just wanted to walk home with you, like we used to” he looks at the ground and sighs, “I know you’re busy, but I missed ya” the words make your heart warm even when you can’t stop shivering, “You are freezing” he takes his volleyball jacket and place it over your shoulders

“No, I’m fine, really. You should-”

“Stubborn as always. What am I supposed to do with your freeze corpse?”, you huff, putting the jacket on as he starts walking.

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She already left, don’t worry she knows you’re my best friend, she won’t act bitchy at you” you just nod and start walking alongside the setter, not caring about the sting that ypu just felt in your heart.

The walk is long and awkward, Atsumu finally getting hit by the way your friendship had changed. Your brief answers and forced smiles make him more and more annoyed, becoming more silent with each minute.

You didn’t have the energy to keep up with his drollery, each time you looked at him you just felt the urge to be held by him and tell him the painful truth: You didn’t have a crush on him. No.  You loved him.

“What is wrong with you?” he says, suddenly stopping.

“Excuse me- “

“If you don’t want to be friends with me anymore, just say it! Jesus!”, his exasperated tone makes your eyes narrow, “-But don’t have me fooling around, worrying about you for almost a month” your mouth twitches downwards as you realize your indifference had hit a spot on his pride. 

For a solid minute you don’t hear anything, you just stare at him with a flood of thoughts rushing through your head until you manage to pull one of them out into a dry whisper.

“We shouldn’t be friends anymore- “his clenched fists loosen, and he watches your lips carefully, “I can’t do it anymore – thought I could but…is too much”,

The crack of your voice makes you stop for second, giving you time to gain a little bit more of air before feeling again as if you were drowning.

“I can’t be friends with you anymore, because I want you!… The worst part is that she is so FUCKING perfect!” your arms move in the air letting out all the feelings you had bottled up.

“I thought I could brush away the feeling, but I realize – I  love you, Atsumu” his mouth opens slightly not able to produce a sound as your arms fall to your sides, a tear streaming down your cheek.

You take his jacket off, the cold air embracing your body, but you can’t care less. He motions to you, but you lift your hand, stopping him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have changed anything?” his silence tells you all you needed, making your heart clench, “That – That’s what I though…It’s okay, really. I wouldn’t choose me either” your breath becomes irregular and you bite your lip, capturing a sob, “This is my fault, falling in love with you…If being friends makes you happy, I-I will do my best to be your friend, then”

Atsumu was usually selfish with the things he wanted and proud about the things he made but seeing you there, shivering with red eyes and swollen lips, made his heart ache.

And he couldn’t be less proud about the things he was about to say.

“You were right before. We shouldn’t be friends anymore. I do not want to deal with you being in love with me and my girlfriend”, you hiccup, fixing your sore eyes on his, “You made things so fucking complicated, it’s better to end this now”, he hiss, gritting his teeth, waiting for you to storm out.

 But when he feels your cold lips on his cheek, he bites his bottom lip harshly.

“Sorry, I never meant-”, ‘To fall for you’, it takes all his will power to not envelope you in his arms, so he only turns his face away, hearing your sobs. He loved you but not the way you did. “-to mess us up”

You walk away quickly, tears running down your cheeks as you press your hand firmly against your lips, drowning the uncontrollable sobs. Atsumu stands there watching you disappear into the coldness of the night, shutting his eyes tightly, understanding, he had lost his best friend.

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↳ ∴ Master List ∴

[dracosathenaeum]

Soulmates ii

Summary: You could only spend so much time running from the inevitable.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,455

PART 1 | PART 3

Draco sat in his usual spot of the astronomy tower; he found himself spending more time here than he had before, it was the only place in the castle that he could truly be alone. He had spent every evening for the last week locked up in the tower, thinking about what you had said.

From when he was a child, his father had told him to cherish his soulmate, that ‘no matter how dark us Malfoy’s got, no matter what situation we got ourselves into, our soulmates were the backbone of the Malfoy’s, our better halves.’ His mother and father were happy, they found a life with one another, a happy one. Maybe he was delusional to think the same was possible for him.

He didn’t even know you; you’d never even spoken before that quidditch match, how could you hate him already? Was he that hard to love? Did you really despise him that much? Thoughts of why he wasn’t enough of you plagued his thoughts the entire week he avoided you, he just didn’t know how to fix what was never there.

He wasn’t about to give up though, he had spent a lifetime waiting for you, he would change your mind no matter what. That was also part of the reason he had spent all that time alone, he needed a plan, a plan to make you see that he wasn’t the cold-hearted monster you thought he was. He was fine with the rest of the world thinking that of him, but not you. He didn’t even know you, but you were supposed to be the one person who was on his side.

You felt guilty to say the least. Calling someone unlovable, (whether or not they actually were) was cruel, your friends made sure you were well aware of that. Perhaps you had gone a little hard on him but surely everyone could see where you were coming from, there had been bets going on since first year about 2 people’s soulmates. Harry Potter’s would be the luckiest and Draco Malfoy’s would be the unluckiest, so why was it you.

After all of this, no one could blame you for being surprised when he started sending you letters. Well you assumed they were from him, the cursive ‘M’ on the green seal was enough of a clue. If you weren’t feeling shit about yourself before, you definitely were once the letters started arriving. They came at breakfast every few days, but as the weeks drew on, they turned into one each day. You never opened them, shoving them straight into your pockets to stash away in your drawers, too afraid to open them, afraid of what they would say.

Your friends saw you do this each morning, yet no number of disapproving looks would change your mind. You just weren’t ready to be tied to Malfoy for the rest of your life. You didn’t want any part in his life, everyone knew what the Malfoys were like, and how much they valued their precious reputation. You just weren’t suited for it, the morals the old family kept so dear disgusted you.

So why did he keep trying? If you were in his position you would’ve stopped trying weeks ago. You weren’t sure what was keeping you from opening the letters. The guilt over him overhearing you those weeks ago? Or that you’d avoided him for so long that it was just second nature to you. The whole school knew you were soulmates, but everyone knew you were avoiding him like the plague, they gave you looks of pity when they walked past you in hallways, you wondered what kind of looks they gave Draco. Not that you cared.

As you made your way to the library, you heard rapid footsteps approaching; afraid it was Draco, you start to pick up your pace, refusing to turn around for a second. “Gods, Y/N slow down. I’m not a quidditch player like you, this is not fair.” Whoops, it was just Liam. Smiling sheepishly, you turned around to apologise to the sweating boy, maybe you ought to whip him into shape on a broom sometime soon, he was not looking good.

“I’m so sorry! I thought you were Draco! But seriously, you need to work on your stamina, if not for you own sake then for Mina’s…” Liam sent you a glare and a vulgar gesture which you admittedly deserved.

“Y/N listen, I know you don’t want to hear it, but Draco came up to me during study hall and he asked me to pass a message to you, he seemed pretty upset, and yeah I am talking about THE Draco Malfoy. Even I’m starting to take pity on him, just listen to his message?” All your friends were traitors, you decided. You knew they all wanted you to give him a chance, but you thought they would understand that if it ever did happen it would be on your own terms, and many many years in the future.

“Fine, what does he want?” You could never win against your friends; you had learnt that the hard way in second year…

“He says he’ll leave you alone but only if you meet him in the astronomy tower at 7pm tonight. He really seemed desperate, I think you should give him a clear answer at least, instead of just straight out avoiding him. I mean you have been a bit of a dick to him, no matter how bad he may be. Soulmates are supposed to be a support pillar for each other through thick and thin, you need him just as much as he needs you. Consider it please? For you own sake if not his.” Tom gave you a sad smile before turning and walking away. Typical, he had just dumped a heavy burden on you and ran away, some friend he was. Your thoughts were more confused than before, even though you didn’t think that was possible.

Draco was an awful human being, you had seen what he was from first year, you had heard the rumours, everyone had. So why was the universe so keen for you to be with him? Why couldn’t you have had someone ordinary and nice as your soulmate. You had questioned yourself over this a hundred times in the past month yet every day you woke up with his name still on your wrist. Maybe your only option was Draco, every day you woke up with nothing changed, was a day closer to accepting the reality that you really didn’t want.

18:00

Draco was shitting himself, truly shitting himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have said he wouldn’t try again after this, what if it didn’t work? What if you said no? What if he fucked up his last chance and you truly didn’t want him at all? He had imbedded crescent marks into both of his arms at this point, pacing back and forth across the dusty floor, reciting what he would say to you. It would have been a lot easier if you had read your letters, but he understood why you hadn’t, he understood that he needed to change to have you. He’d do anything.

19:00

Draco should’ve guessed you weren’t going to show. Of course, you wouldn’t. You hadn’t responded to any of his letters so why would this time be any different. But he’d gotten used to it by now, sitting and waiting in the tower hoping you would’ve read his letters and would give him a chance. But just like the past 3 weeks, it was just him in the tower.

You on the other hand were sat in your common room with your friends, ready for a night of card games and firewhiskey. Everyone knew exactly what you were doing but no one said anything but still gave you a disappointed look every minute or so. You were used to them at this point, besides, the firewhiskey helped to numb everything.

20:00

He had nowhere else to be, an extra hour or two was nothing, and he would kick himself if you showed and he wasn’t there.

You were too sober to be where you were. You were used to your friends being all coupley with each other, you had been since last year yet right now you would rather be anywhere than right there. You found yourself slipping from your common room, just wanting to take a walk and get away from the disapproving stares aimed at you and affectionate actions they gave each other. This sucked.

20:59

Draco had held onto hope this entire time, hope that you would give him this one chance. God if this is how people felt when they lost all hope, he understood why people hated villains, he didn’t want to feel ever again if this was what it was like to care and to have hope.

Shaking his head at his own patheticness, Draco pulled the door handle, ready to leave and just drown in the prefect’s bath that was waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was for you to be on the other side, pushing the door open as he pulled causing you to fall straight into his arms.

You truly didn’t think you’d end up going to meet Draco, but your legs had ended up taking you up to the astronomy tower after you had spent an hour walking around pretty much everywhere else in the castle. You didn’t think he’s still be there; you were almost 2 hours late after all. You didn’t know what you were doing standing outside the door and not opening it. He wasn’t inside so what was holding you back. You took a deep breath before pushing the door open… and falling straight into someone’s arms.

[#A/N: I really considered ending it here but I was feeling nice ;)]

You scramble out of his arms, running your hands over where his hands had been, but Draco must’ve mistakenly thought you were cold as the next thing you knew, his robes were being draped around your shoulders.

“Thank you but I don’t need it, here take it back.” Your hands moved to remove it from your shoulders, but he brought his hands up to stop you before you could. “You’re just in your pyjamas and I have a jumper on, just wear is please?” You just dopped your arms back down to your sides, a little grateful for the warmth the material brought you, and you really tried not to focus on the scent surrounding you.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.” You broke the heavy silence that fell between you too, the remnants of alcohol in your body leaving you a little more open than usual.

“I didn’t want you to come and for me not to be here, I was serious about that one chance y/n. I promise I’ll stop trying if you just hear me out.”

The guilt that had been subdued from the alcohol was back looking at his solemn expression. This was the first time since the first incident that you had spoken to him, second time overall in your life, yet talking to him didn’t cause you as much anxiety as you had initially imagined. Maybe your friends were right, maybe you owed both Draco and yourself a chance.

“5 minutes.”

“That’s all I need, thank you.” His shoulders practically sagged in relief, tugging on your heart strings more than you would ever admit.

“I know what you think of me, what the whole school thinks of me. We both heard what you said that day but I’m really trying, can’t you see that? I’ve spent my entire life living in one way and it’s hard to suddenly change everything in my life, but I’m more than willing to do it for you. I just want to make you happy; I want to be happy. Whether we like it or not, we’re bound for life, can’t you give me a chance? A clean beginning? I can show you that I can change, that I’m not the unlovable monster you think I am. I might be a Malfoy but let me prove my worth to you.”

“That’s just it Draco, I don’t want you to have to change, because you think I’ll give you a chance for it. It literally has no meaning that way. You are who you are, it’s literally in your blood! You have been despicable these past 6 years, if you’re going to change then change for yourself and not for me. Your attitude towards non-pure bloods, your hatred towards Harry Potter and every other non-Slytherin, your superiority complex; it’s all a part of you don’t you see? That’s not something you can change overnight.” He was biting his lip so hard it started to bleed but neither of you did anything about it, just stood in tense silence as you waited for a response.

“Okay.”

“Okay? This isn’t ‘The Fault in Our Stars Draco’, you’re going to have to give me more.”

“What is ‘The Fault in Our Stars’? Anyways that’s not important, I meant; okay, I’ll change for me. If that’s what will make you happy.” Your jaw dropped, how was everything you were saying going in one ear and coming out the other, wasn’t he supposed to be one of the top students next to Hermione?

“You’ve literally missed the entire point. I don’t want you to change because of me, I want you to change because it’s the right thing to do, I want you to change and actually believe in what you’re changing for. I want you to be a better person for yourself and not for someone or anything else.”

“How- how do I do that?” he looked like a child whose ice cream you had just stolen.

“Figure that out yourself Draco, I’ll give you a chance when you can prove that to me.”

“But you just said this doesn’t happen overnight, how can I make you see that I mean it?”

“I don’t care if it takes you a few months or a few years, I can’t be with you as you are now Draco. And I don’t want you to fake who you are around me. If I’m going to be with you, I want to love you for you, and right now, I just can’t.” With that you turned to leave the room, completely forgetting about the robe draped over your figure until you got back to your room. You balled it up in your hands and shoved it in the same draw you kept his letters in, out of sight out of mind.

PART 3

#A/N: The first part of this got so much love and I just wasn't expecting that, thank you to everyone who’s read these!! I hope the next part will satisfy youu. This was supposed to go up like 2 hours ago but I got distracted playing among us 👀

TAGLIST: @bbeauttyybbx @pipppaaaaalouisee @theslytherinprincessworld @fangirl-3d2y @tttyrus @scriptingslytherin @justmimithings @purpleskymalfoy @minigigglybabi @malfoyquinn @secretaccshh @obbrssession @whatwoulddracodo @thatoneniceslytherin @thehumanistsdiary @mariah-can-dream @futureofanthropology @ccabian @tobarmaidswhodontcount @potatothingsz @xuckduck @dreamyginny

SOULMATES TAGLIST: @landocalrission @sunsetsofanemoia @yucksiedoodles @hey27 @frau-moon @slytherinbaddiee​ @celestialpuff​

[ichorai]

cellmates ; four ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

words ; 5.2k

warnings / includes ; medieval fantasy au, blood and grime and death and everything in between, some curse words, future ateez cameos, future suggestive / mature content, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; surprise !! here you go stop crying >:( kdjffj jk i hope yall enjoy !!! the plot thickens up quite a bit in this one 👀 ,,, there are also a couple surprises sprinkled here and there :DD to make up for what i did to yall last chapter lol

cellmates masterlist.

As a child, a popular tale you often heard was one depicting a man stranded on an island, throat dry with thirst and stomach void of nourishment. He passed out in exhaustion by the beach, just on the brink of death. But before his soul could fade away, the mermaids took pity on the man of skin-and-bones and brought him underwater, breathing life back into his lungs. He contentedly lived the rest of his life as a merperson.

Although stories like those always had happy endings, they could never really make you smile, unlike how all the other children reacted. What about the people the man cared about when he was on land? Had he just completely forgotten about them to selfishly live an easier life underwater?

The same thoughts ran through your pounding head repeatedly as you dully stared out into the gleaming ocean. From where you were, bound tightly against the main mast, you had a clear view of both the ship’s deck and the waters. You couldn’t really remember how long you’d been tied up… if you could recall correctly, they had only thrown Wooyoung overboard just last night. That felt like an eternity ago. 

All thoughts of mermaids and fairy tales and Wooyoung dissipated from your mind once a pirate stepped into your view. In the daylight, they were far less scary than when you had first encountered them. The pirate had bronzed skin verging on being sunburnt, and sharp eyes of molten gold. A red bandana held his hair out of his leering face, and you noticed a dark branding burn of a sword ran through a skull embedded on his chest, partially covered by his loose tunic.

The man tutted, grabbing your chin between two fingers. It was then that you realized just how tired you were; you hadn’t gotten any sleep, instead spending the night struggling against your bonds and crying after Wooyoung.

“Let me go.” Your voice was so hoarse that it didn’t sound like yours anymore.

The pirate merely grinned and shook his head.

You wracked your brain for a second before spitting out, “Isn’t it bad luck to have a woman onboard? Your ship will sink if you keep me here.”

“Why, you must have nothing but worms between your ears,” He cackled in a sinister manner. “That’s just a silly little myth, sweetheart. Women are more than welcome here.” With those words, he ran his eyes over your tense form. A predator surveying its prey.

Much to your relief, the pirate stepped down. That feeling didn’t last very long, however. Just as he slid back, more pirates filtered into your view, clearly just having woken up to start the day. There were so many eyes on you; some curious, some disinterested, and some boldly staring with unsavory expressions.

“I say we make her do the dirty work,” One with golden teeth chimed. “Scrub the decks, clean the chamber pots.”

“We should toss her overboard. We don’t need another mouth to feed.”

“Keep her tied up there! A pretty thing like her should be on display for everyone to see!”

“We can drop her off at the next port and sell her off as a slave. We could use the extra gold.”

“Awh, don’t you think we should keep her? Ain’t half bad to look at.”

Those were only just a few snippets you could make out in the midst of the tumultuous roaring of the pirates as they yelled their suggestions over each other. They grew progressively louder as more ideas came into mind on what they should do with you. Panic brewed within you, but your limbs were tired and your mind was numb. All you could do was stand and watch.

The pirates immediately quietened once a one-eyed man with a peg leg hobbled out of the navigation room. The soft clunk, clunk, clunk of the wooden leg against the planks was not unsimilar to the rapid thundering of your heartbeat.

This is the captain, you thought. It was obvious, what with the way the pirates shut their mouths tightly and bowed their heads down to their chests. Some even trembled on the spot. If Wooyoung were here, he’d laugh at them.

Oh, how you missed him. 

The captain had a voice of pure silk, a stark contrast to his ragged appearance. In a quietly powerful tone, he stated firmly, “We leave her here until we reach Aurecia. Then we sell her off.” After a tense pause, he sternly added on, “Nobody touches her until then. Aurecians pay well for unspoilt women, so if any of you lot come remotely close to her, I’ll have your heads.”

The diminutive consolation you received from the captain’s commands ebbed away slightly when you thought more about what he was saying. They were going to sell you off as a slave in Aurecia. And if you could recall the map correctly, Aurecia was the opposite direction of Virelis, where you were supposed to be going. To top it all off, Cerulea and Aurecia were trusted allies, and that could mean nothing good for you.

“No!” You suddenly interjected in a croaky voice, throat so dry it felt like you had sandpaper in your mouth. “Please, don’t take me there. I need to go to Virelis. Please, you can sell me there!”

Everybody stared at you in complete befuddlement. The captain gaped at you with one narrowed eye and spat out, “Virelis doesn’t take slaves. Don’t play games with me, girl.”

Out of desperation, pleading words frantically poured out of your mouth before you could stop and hesitate, “Then don’t sell me! I’m useful, I swear!”

“Forgive me if I have difficulty believing you,” The captain said in a bored tone, gesturing to your bleeding, tied up form. 

A frustrated huff escaped you as you hissed out, “I’m Y/N L/N! I was the one that stole the princess’ necklace! I’m a valuable asset and you’d be lucky to have me on your crew.”

A stunned silence washed over the pirates. Then, one by one, they started laughing. They snorted and chuckled and slapped their knees as if you had told them the funniest joke in the world. You half-heartedly attempted speaking again, but your voice was drowned out by their howling laughter.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I FEED YOUR SORRY ASSES TO THE SHARKS!” The captain bellowed, his velvety tone long gone. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a scowl pulling at his lips. 

The lot of them snapped their mouths shut so quickly you could hear their teeth clacking against one other. 

“Y/N L/N is nothing but a legend,” The captain stepped closer to you, his one eye narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t know, nor do I care for why you’re lying, but it better not become a problem. I’ve already got one crew to deal with. I don’t need to add a raving lunatic onto the list.”

“Please!” You wiggled against your bonds slightly, wincing at how the coarse rope fibers scratched at your chafed skin. “Why would I lie?! You’ve got to believe me, I’m Y/N L/N, I’ve been in jail for a long time and I’ve only recently escaped with the man you tossed overboard. Please, we can go bring him back, he can tell you, I - !” 

The words lodged in your throat. It was pointless, trying to convince a haggle of savage pirates to go back for someone they tossed to the sharks. There was a sort of heavy pain deep down in your chest, and you brokenly blew out a sigh. The feeling churned at your insides uncomfortably. It might’ve been the sea sickness, but you knew it was a nasty combination of guilt and panic and regret.

The captain noticed your abrupt change in demeanor, but decided not to comment. Instead, he said stoically, “Y/N L/N is a wonderful character in a legend told to scare children and I would absolutely love to meet her. But unfortunately, I don’t think I’d ever get the pleasure to. She’s not real.” You stared into his one eye, tears welling up in your own. “And about the man we tossed over… he put up a real fight and he wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s probably long gone by now. It’d do you good to forget about him.”

Pirates behind the pair of you started snickering, but were quietened when the captain straightened and just about snarled out, “DON’T YOU HAVE WORK TO DO? GET ON WITH IT, YOU STINKY BASTARDS!” 

They scrambled in a panicked fashion, a few of them running into each other as they dashed in opposite directions, others clumsily slipping on the damp plank wood, and some merely ran like headless chickens with no definite direction in mind. 

“They’ll treat you well in Aurecia, girl,” The captain slipped back into his velvety tone once more. You supposed this was his way of apologizing… or, the closest thing to an apology you’d ever get from a pirate. “Just try to accept it and it won’t seem as bad. This lot here won’t hurt you in the meantime. I’ll make sure of that.” He gestured to the rest of the men who were settling back into their daily routines. You were surprised to see that they were already hard at work; manning the sails, scrubbing the decks, navigating the ship, so on so forth. The life of a pirate definitely wasn't an easy one. 

You said nothing in return, staring blankly at the glinting ocean. The hollow clunk, clunk, clunk of his peg leg fading away was a sure sign that the captain was gone. You couldn’t bring it in yourself to watch him go.

This was most probably the worst possible time to cry. At this point, you were surprised your sore eyes could still manage to produce tears, considering how dehydrated you were. It was obvious that some of the pirates were still watching you, pausing mid-job. You tried to ignore them and hung your head sullenly as dry sobs rumbled in your chest.

You were stuck floating in a gigantic cesspool of saltwater, and yet your body had the audacity to produce even more. It was this very water you were bobbing on that most probably filled Wooyoung’s lungs as he gave up his last breath. The thought did nothing but make you weep harder. 

Pirates really had no designated time to have luncheon and supper, but their stomachs all seemed to revolve around roughly the same hours. By the time the golden of the sun was grazing against the deep green waters and the sky was bleeding a strange shade of amaranthine, they were all shouting out complaints of hunger and trotting to the small kitchens below deck to have supper. 

You were hungry, but also sure that if you had even a morsel of bread, you would heave it right back out. The day was spent with you gazing at the rocking waters, bustling pirates, and the large, tattered flag that hung proudly way above you. On occasion, you tried pleading to the pirates who were passing by, but none of them so much as glanced towards you. It seemed as though they took their captain’s orders to heart. 

And so, after hours and hours of being neglected, imagine your surprise when one particular pirate sheepishly walked up to you, a little after all the others had disappeared below the deck to eat.

At first, you hadn’t noticed the quiet man because you had your stinging eyes shut, trying to block off the last and harshest glares of the sun as it sank under the edge of the world.

He cleared his throat once, and your eyes flew back open, startled.

“You must be starving,” He said. 

The first thing you noticed about him was the strangely soft shade of pink his hair was. It wasn’t unsimilar to the color of Yunho’s hair, and you found yourself wondering how the kind giant of a man would react knowing that you lost Wooyoung. 

“Oh,” He gestured to the brightly-hued strands on his forehead. “I’m half fairy. Everybody looks at me funny when they first see my hair.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you observed the man in front of you suspiciously. You had little to say in reply to the strangely personal fact he told you, and so you bit down on your tongue and let silence further consume you.

He had an angular face and complementing sharp features, but he bore a timid expression in an unexpectedly stark contrast. What was this fairy-man doing on a pirate ship? He didn’t look at all like the rest of the crew. The others were sunburnt and filthy and rugged. He, however, was somewhat well kempt, skin void of burns and scars and dirt. A loose cream-hued tunic was hung over broad shoulders, barely slung over his hardened chest, a leather belt tightened around the small of his waist and tucked into black trousers. It was quite a dignifying outfit in comparison to the rest of the crew clad in dirty rags and stolen clothes that didn’t match in the slightest. But for that, you could understand. Seeing the pirates randomly throw on haphazard articles of clothing, you thought back to when you were on the run with Wooyoung, stealing clothes off of drying lines and changing into whatever would fit.

The only thing that pushed the strange pink-haired man more towards the ‘rugged pirate’ side was a silver lip ring glinting with the late sunlight from the side of his bottom lip. In his eyes you saw gentle kindness, but you knew better than to trust him just yet. 

“Are you hungry? I can sneak something up for you while everyone’s busy stuffing their face full.” He had a voice of honey and silk, tempting you to accept his generous offer. But you kept your mouth shut.

“I understand,” A sad, empathetic look crossed his face. “Sea sickness is the worst the first couple of days. From there, it’ll gradually get better once you get used to it. But please, drink some water.”

From out of nowhere, he brandished a pretty silver chalice and held it up to you, the metal stingingly cool against your lips. You would’ve been stupid to turn down the water, so you leaned forward slightly and slurped at the drink so quickly that some sloshed down your chin and dripped onto your chest. 

“I can get you some more later,” He said, pulling the cup away as you gasped for air. “But I have to tell you something important first. My name is San, by the way.”

He had a name that roughly translated to ‘mountain’ in Old Cerulean. You thought it was a rather pretty name… fitting for such a pretty man.

“I just wanted to say this while no one was around,” San sucked in a deep breath, steeling his quaking nerves. “I believe you.”

The water had certainly drowned away the scratchy burn in your throat, so you were free to painlessly stutter out, “W-What?”

“I believe you,” He repeated. “It’s like you said… why would you lie?”

“You believe that I’m Y/N?” Your voice raised an octave or two higher, to which San shot you a warning look and glanced behind him as a precaution. If anybody heard or saw either of you, the captain would have his head. “Why?”

Hope was a dangerous thing. It muddled your brain and clouded your consciousness, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. So you looked upon the pink-haired pirate dubiously, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I might be the most gullible man out there,” San snorted, raising a hand to rub against the back of his neck. “You kinda fit the description in all the stories and legends. And you don’t look like you’re lying… I don’t know… it must be the fairy blood in me. My mother always knew when I was lying or telling the truth. She used to tell me that good people only truly lie when they want to protect others. But… you don’t have anybody here to protect. Not anymore, anyways.” There was a guilty, remorseful sort of look that flooded his face. 

You were so relieved that you could’ve burst into tears right then and there. 

“And… that man the others threw overboard… he kept saying your name. You might’ve had reason to lie to us, but he didn’t. Especially not then.” San spoke gently in a low tone, as if he were speaking to a frightened child. Something painful twisted in your stomach at his words. “So… yes, Y/N, I believe you.”

Then he leaned forward and quickly swiped his cool thumb over your damp cheek. You only then realized that you were crying again, flinching away from his touch at first, before relaxing your tensed muscles. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing you could properly croak out. There were so many things you wanted to tell him. Help me. Let me out. Bring Wooyoung back. Take me away from here. Why are you helping me? What are you doing here?

Although none of your erratic thoughts were heard, you sagged in relief when he said, “I’ll try to talk to the captain about making a stop in Virelis.” As a tentative afterthought, he added, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“I loved him,” You croaked out, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t know that I did.”

San flashed you a sad smile, “Some people never realize. You’re lucky that you did.” Then, he murmured after gesturing to your bloody hands and wrists, “I’m also sorry about them hurting you. I have a special coconut extract lotion that treats wounds and burns very well. I’ll try to sneak up something for you to eat, as well. We’ll have to wait until it’s completely dark, though.”

You had so much to tell him, so much to ask, so much to thank him for. The fairy-man rotated on the stub of his heel to walk away, and you whispered out, “San!” He glanced back at you with a curious expression, and you nodded your head, sincerely grateful, “Thank you.” The questions could wait, you supposed.

A smile so wide spread across his lips that his eyes almost disappeared. Around savage pirates practically all his life, he rarely ever heard those two strangely comforting words. He dipped his head politely and walked away, leaving you to your own overwhelming thoughts.

Sleep had taken you under its dark wing a little while after San left, however fitful and sporadic. Your head pounded as your swollen and aching eyes fluttered open, somewhat surprised to see that it was still dark. Where was San?

Then, as your consciousness shook away the foggy webs of sleep, your brain registered a faint singing voice. However, it wasn’t just any rotten pirates’ singing voice; it sounded as if a woman was wailing, but in the most beautiful way possible. The trembling vocal chords pierced through the night sky, high-pitched and ringing in your ears melodically. It was a song in a language you couldn’t understand, but the warbled words molded together sounded pure and whole, just about placing you under a trance. But of course, you were still quite dazed and confused from slumber, unable to clearly hear the singing voices. On top of that, the water seemed to be extra loud, splashes and waves thundering against the boat almost every five seconds.

Tired, you rolled your stiff neck. Strangely, you noticed that the deck in front of you was void of any pirates. Glancing to the side, there was not a single soul to be seen manning the navigational wheel. Your neck ached as you craned it to look upwards, squinting at the crows’ nest, just to see that it was equally empty. Where are they? you thought absent-mindedly.

The singing was getting louder, and you had to physically shake your head to get your mind out of the gutters. The ropes strained against the skin of your raw wrists even more when you shifted to look behind you.

The sight that you were met with had you reeling against the mast in panic. 

Sirens. Dozens of them, sitting on moldy rocky ledges jutting out of the ocean waters. They were beautiful creatures, smooth skins tainted a faint green and shimmery silver hair just long enough to drape wetly over their breasts. They bore seductive expressions and parted their full lips to croon out the mesmerizing song in unison.

And the splashing against the boat? With a choked gasp of horror, the undisputed mystery of where all the pirates had gone was answered. One by one, they were marching off the planks, plummeting into the salty ocean waters, swimming as if their life depended on it, closer and closer to the beckoning sirens. They all held entranced expressions, some with gaping mouths and others with fully blown pupils of adoration and lust.

The sirens were far enough where you weren’t fully under influence, but much too close to be clear of mind. You had to count yourself lucky for being female; it was known that sirens had stronger effects on men. But you didn’t have much time to spare.

You suddenly became short of breath in panic. Where was San? Had he already jumped off? Blowing out a shuddering sigh, your neck trembled with great effort as you angled yourself to look back again. It was easy to spot his brightly-colored mane, the pink starkly bright in the moonlight.

“SAN!” You screamed to the best of your abilities, voice scratchy from your previous slumber. For a second, the fairy-man seemed to twitch slightly into your direction. A particularly high-pitched note echoed across the waters, just about slicing through any hesitation San might’ve held. Just like that, he turned completely away from you with a stupefied look, before hopping off the ship and plunging into the ocean.

A scream of protest ripped through your throat. There was no time to think… you could already feel their lulling voices numb the corners of your mind…

No. No, I have to get out of this. 

With a quick glance back, a flare of hope ignited somewhere within your chest when you spotted a dagger just behind you, buried in the fraying wood of a grog barrel. Its handle was jutting out in your direction, the crooked blade void of rust and gleaming with reflected moonlight. Excruciating pain shot through your right arm as you twisted your wrist about, desperate to be freed of the knot. The hardest part was getting your hand through the tight loophole, groaning at the throbbing sensation.

After frantically yanking yourself upwards, you managed to wrench your right wrist free, covered with blood and scratches and blisters. Then, with no time to spare, you reached as far as you could behind you, towards the barrel. Your bones ached and cracked under the strain, but you pushed through with gritted teeth. Tears ran down your twisted features from the pain. With a final shriek, you lunged and wrapped your blood-slicken fingers around the hilt. The sick sound of your left shoulder popping had you screaming in pained misery, but there was no time to lament. You’d fix it up later.

It took little effort to extract the blade out of the rotting wood. You prayed not to drop the dagger as your hand trembled ruthlessly. Swallowing dryly, you raised the blade to your left wrist, and began hacking away at the ropes.

They were tough, coarse things, but gave way eventually, unraveling with each strand. You didn’t even have to cut through the whole thing until it was weak enough to break on its own. 

You were free. 

The sirens’ song grew louder and louder, and frantically, you wobbled away from the mast and to the side of the ship, steadying your shaking legs against the rail. Every fibre of your being screamed at you to stop and jump into the water, swim to the beautiful melody that came from just over there…

“No!” You managed to moan out. Your left arm was completely useless; you weren’t able to move the limb at all. The tearing of your shirt as you somehow managed to rip off the sleeve rang in your muddled head alongside the foreign words quavering through the air. You used the dagger to slice the cloth in half, and shoved each piece into your ears. It was disgusting and uncomfortable, but it would have to suffice. The sirens’ voices sounded little other than muffled hums, and though you had to stay cautious, you could already feel your mind clear tremendously.

The last of the pirates had just clambered off the side. You would’ve heard the large splash he made as he cannon-balled into the waters if it weren’t for your make-shift ear plugs.

You were tired. You were thirsty, aching, sleepy, and just about every other bad feeling one could possibly have. Unfortunately, the ship was still heading right towards the sirens, no doubt turned off-course by a crewmate heavily under their influence.

And so, you dragged your heavy limbs over to the navigational wheel, letting out a soft tormented wince when the small act of curling your quaking fingers around the wooden spokes were enough to send what felt like great electric shocks of pain up your spine. Then, you spun the wheel one-handed, over and over and over again until the massive beauty of a ship leaned away from the sirens (who were clearly enraged, hissing and baring their sharp teeth), silkily gliding over the waters. Warm ocean air billowed into your face and tousled your hair, and for the first time since you’ve gotten onto the ship, you didn’t feel like throwing up. 

A part of you felt bad for leaving San, the only pirate to show you even just a morsel of empathy. Who knows, maybe he’d survive. He was half fairy, after all. You muttered out a soft soft wish of good luck for the pink-haired man, though you doubted that would do much.

Your mind was quick to leap from the fate of San to a man who’s been in your life for much longer. Where would you be if it weren’t for him?

Wooyoung wasn’t one to just… give up like that. He couldn’t be dead. Perhaps you were being a fool for holding onto hope, but you would gladly welcome that title if there was even the slightest chance that he was still out there, alive and breathing.

And so, you steeled your nerves by drawing in a grand breath. Your lips settled in a firm, determined line.

You were going to go find Wooyoung.

Where were you to start?

Dozens and dozens of maps and scrolls were tossed about as you pillaged through the papers, in search of a chart that would actually be of use to you. Much to your dismay, there weren’t any maps whatsoever that held the directions to Virelis. There goes that plan down the drain. Where else was there to go?

The sling that held up your left arm was procured hastily from the medbay after you popped your dislocated shoulder back into its socket with a quailing shriek. The pain had faded into a dull ache, but at least now you could wiggle your fingers. That was a good sign, you supposed. Your stomach was full with what you could find in their kitchen pantries (which was mostly just stale biscuits and half-cooked fish), and to be honest, you felt better than you have in a long, long time, despite the circumstances.

There was still the problem of finding him, though. If you could recall correctly, you were only around a days’ sail away from where they had kicked Wooyoung off.

But that would mean turning back to Cerulea. And that… definitely didn’t sound smart. You rubbed your fingers against your throbbing temple, taking a long swig of refreshing water from a pitcher. Gentle light was filtering in through the small circular window, illuminating the yellowed maps in such a way to make them look golden. There was no time to appreciate the simple beauty of this, however, because a stupid, moronishly foolish, plan was forming in your head.

What if you went back to Cerulea? Would Wooyoung be waiting for you there? Maybe he was staying with Yunho while he got back on his feet. After all, it’s not like he could swim all the way to Virelis, especially with how injured he was. Cerulea was a much closer, safer plan. It was the only place he could go, right?

Unease twisted your stomach at the thought of going back to the country that locked you in a dark dungeon for moons upon moons upon moons. Deep down inside, you knew that no part of Wooyoung would ever willingly go back to Cerulea. Not after all he went through trying to get out. But what else were you to do? And even if he weren’t there, at least you’d be able to inform Yunho on what happened. Then the sweet giant of a man could help you find him.

You stood up, compasses and maps slipping off your lap, respectively clanging and fluttering towards the ground noisily. With large, determined strides, you exited the navigational room and to the main deck, where the steering wheel was situated. Warm, salty breeze whispered against your ears, calm and encouraging.

“I’ll find you, Wooyoung,” Your words were swiftly stolen by the wind. You hoped that gale would be kind enough to carry the message over to him, however impossible it was.

Halfway across the world, laid an unconscious dark-haired man, clad in nothing save for his smallclothes and bandages tightly wrapped around his skull. He was situated stiffly atop a narrow bed, scars and bruises still quite fresh and clearly visible against his paler-than-usual skin.

Wooyoung awoke with a startled choke of a gasp, sore eyes flying wide open. There was a searing pain in his abdomen as he sat up, wheezing and hissing in agony. He took in his surroundings with a panicked demeanor, gaze landing on the mildly surprised fair-headed figure with striking green eyes standing by the doorway, fresh bandages in his palms. He’s an elf, Wooyoung realized after a long moment of gaping, noticing the ever-so-slightly pointed ears poking out beneath silvery locks and the infamous nature-woven clothes only elves wore.

“Took you long enough,” He said in a thick Elvish accent, followed by a beguiling snort. “I thought you would stay asleep forever. I’m Yeosang.”

Wooyoung blinked sluggishly once, twice, and a third and fourth time for good measure. He knew very well that he should probably answer. After all, elves were widely known to be an easily offended kind. But for the love of everything he held dear, he just couldn’t seem to crack his lips open. 

The two stared at each other awkwardly for a second more. Then promptly, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as his upper half crumpled onto the bed, instantaneously returning into the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

[jishyucks]

And They Were Roommates ‣ ldh

‣ genre: fluff, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn (?)

‣ wc: 10.7k

‣ summary: “It was unbearable living beneath you and now living with you? No thanks.” ; alternatively where Donghyuck needs a place to stay and you’re the only option left

‣ tw: mentions of a fire happening and its aftermath (nothing drastic and super detailed)

requested by anonymous

a/n: I’m not the best at writing slow burn type of fics so pls forgive me if it seems rushed! Enjoy!

i.

You would have never thought you’d be wishing for some expensive sound proof headphones at four in the morning.  Not when you remembered the building owner saying that the place was peaceful and perfect for a university student like you. But because of your upstairs neighbour, Lee Donghyuck, it was bluntly known to those who lived around him that this detail no longer exists with him around.

You suddenly remembered the first night after he had moved in. You were ecstatic to have someone your age in the building. It was a good change from the small families and aging elderly. The idea of making a new friend that lived so close to you brought a deep sense of excitement. But all those thoughts were cleared from your head once you had realized that Donghyuck was going to be that type of neighbour.

He seemed to save graveyard hours for his gaming, not being shy to shout out strings of profanities and shouts of victory with his entire chest. The floors were nearly as thin as paper and everything that spewed from his mouth had gone dead straight into your ears. It was if he was sitting in your living room.

Groaning deeply, you push yourself off of your bed and run your fingers roughly through your hair, preparing yourself to face the devil himself. You slammed a fist into one of your many pillows and stood up, sliding your feet into your slippers in the process. All this energy wasted and sleep lost for one irritating boy that didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

“No,” Donghyuck smirked, “I’m not going to kindly shut the fuck up.” He leaned against the doorframe and scoffed, “Especially since you asked me.” You could barely see his eyes as his bangs covered them like drapes. In his hand he held his headphones, one of those fancy ones that lit up.

“Don’t make me tape your mouth shut,” you threatened and rolled your eyes, “When are you going to learn?”

The smirk on his face deepened as he leaned closer to you, “Oh I did. But I choose not to apply that knowledge.” He returned to his previous pose, tapping his foot impatiently.

Breathing fire, you scowled and let an angry sound erupt from your chest. You knew it wasn’t going to do anything yet you let it out out of pure frustration.

“Are you done now? I need to get back to gaming,”  he stuck a lip out as if he were begging you to leave, but it made you cringe so hard that that alone would have had you willingly fleeing from his floor and back to yours without question.

“No, I’m not done,” you retorted through gritted teeth, “Can you do your fucking–”

“Can you two please keep it down?” Donghyuck’s neighbour had poked her head out her own door, eyes unable to keep open. She was wrapped tightly in a robe and was probably half asleep. You felt bad. You knew how she felt. It was unfortunate that she lived next to a human air horn.

“Yeah, keep it down,” Donghyuck sniggered, directing all fault to you, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo but Y/N here is being quite an irritating little rat. Goodnight, Mrs. Seo.” Without a second thought nor glance, Donghyuck closed the door in your face, making sure to laugh out loud in the process.

You shot him one last glare at him through the door, hoping he’d somehow unconsciously feel the heat from your eyes and flipped him off all before turning sharply towards the stairs.

ii.

Donghyuck wasn’t one to have his moods change quickly. Often he’d spend an entire day in a good mood and if not, a terrible mood. And today, after meeting up with his friends across town, he could sense that this day could not go wrong.

It was about mid-afternoon when he arrived back at the building. From the bus’ view, he had spotted a fire truck parked along the fire lane in front of the apartment building. Off to the side, he could see familiar faces anxiously waiting to get back into their building.

“Mrs. Seo?” Donghyuck was puzzled at the scene. It was as if he’d walked into a movie theatre in the middle of its showing. There was no context provided and he was desperately curious.

“Donghyuck, it’s your room,” she hadn’t held back any information, “I heard Lisa and the twins arriving home from school and they knocked on my door and pointed at smoke leaking from underneath your door… we called the fire department and–“

“Who is the owner of apartment six-jay?” A firefighter slipped through the crowd, voice with great clarity in order for everyone to hear. Donghyuck has raised his hand. Everyone was soon led back into the building, being directed towards the stairs instead of the elevator as they had been shut off.

The firefighters led Donghyuck to his room once everyone had finally gotten to their own apartments. Donghyuck hadn’t completely processed the fact that his home was almost probably all ash. He needed to see it to believe it.

The door had been kicked to the ground, basically demolished. What used to be his kitchen was nothing but darkened wood and his living room was almost unrecognizable. Donghyuck’s mind runs back to all the previous belongings he had that were probably lost in the fire. He felt his shoulders grow heavy and his posture worsened by the second.

“The fire started from your room and it quickly spread throughout the apartment. It’s a wonder how the fire didn’t spread throughout the entire building, but everyone’s lucky that your neighbour had noticed smoke,” the firefighter explained, “The source of the fire was from all of the wires in your room…”

“Is there anything that wasn’t burned?” Donghyuck had finally processed everything. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. Everything was gone.

“You can see so for yourself,” the man had handed Donghyuck some safety gear and a box, “In these conditions, please be aware that there might not be anything left but it is still good to make sure.”

After rummaging through what looked like dirt, Donghyuck soon had come to the realization that the fireman was right. Not even his bed was in good condition. The fire had consumed nearly every single thing that belonged to him, aside from some clothes encased in his closet.

Before the firemen needed to leave, the last one out turned to Donghyuck, “Do you have any place to stay in for the meantime?”

He shrugged, “I’m not entirely sure, but I’ll figure it out… thank you.”

Nearly losing his entire ability to think straight, he found himself sitting on the rusting bench right outside the building. He only had his wallet, his phone, his charger, and the box of clothes that was safe from the flames.

He dialed Renjun first. He lived the closest and the hustle wouldn’t be as bad as going to Jeno’s or Jaemin’s.

“Hyuck? What’s up?” By the sound of it, Renjun was chewing on something crunchy, words muffled by the food.

“Hey, my… home burnt down…” Donghyuck wasn’t quite sure how he should break the news. He was still numb from the realization that he was basically homeless right now.

Renjun choked on his snack, “Your apartment? Like it’s all gone?” He was as shocked as he was when he got the news, “Is everything fine?”

“Yeah it is… except for the fact that I have nowhere to go while they fix it,” he sighed through the line, “T-that’s why I called you… I was wondering if I could possibly stay with you?” Donghyuck kicked his foot against the deteriorating pavement, feeling a slight bit embarrassed. Renjun was silent at the other end, probably thinking up ways this could happen. As the silence grew longer, Donghyuck started to wonder whether or not it was a good or bad thing. Maybe he was already getting stuff ready, or maybe he was trying to think of an easy way to let him down.

“Hyuck?” The tone was bad.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure I can let you stay here… you know I live with Yangyang and Chenle so it’s a bit crowded?” Renjun explained, “You already know I’d let you if there was free space…I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jun. I still have one option left so it’s not like you’re my last chance,” trying to brighten the mood, he forced out a small chuckle before he decided that ending the call was the best for him and Renjun, “I’ll see you, tomorrow?”

“I will! Good luck. I hope you find a place to stay.”

“Thanks, Junnie.” And the call ended.

Donghyuck scrolled through his contacts and straight to the J’s. He pressed on ‘Jeno/Jaemin’ as it was the landline and listened to it ring once before Jaemin picked up, “Donghyuckie! What’s up?”

He went through the same process as Renjun, only wishing that their answer was at the opposite of Renjun’s.

“It’s not that we don’t want you to stay with us… but it’s just that we don’t have space and it’ll be embarrassing if we let you stay with us… we’d feel bad for you.”

“You guys are my last chance,” he huffed out, “Where else can I go?”

“Maybe they have extra room on campus?” Jeno rang in, “I heard they have extra rooms in case a random student comes in.”

“I’ll try that… thanks guys.”

“We’re sorry!”

“It’s fine… bye.”

Donghyuck slumped in his seat, straightening his legs underneath him. He would rather not want to pay for an over expensive room at the university… but if that was his only choice, then so be it.

You hopped out of the bus, thanking the driver as you did. It caught Donghyuck’s attention almost immediately, head shooting at your direction. You were completely aware of Donghyuck’s glare and presence, firing back your own well planned glare. The hell was his problem? Quickening your pace, you yanked the door open and practically teleported inside and onto the elevator.

A small grin was soon plastered on Donghyuck’s face. An idea had popped into his head. But he wasn’t quite sure if it was a good one.

-

A heavy knock at your door had startled you. You were halfway to sleep, a nap calling you helplessly as you stared blankly at the Netflix screen. Whoever stood on the other side of that door didn’t know how to wait. It sounded like this person had a countless number of hands as the knocking didn’t dare stop until you unlocked your door.

You swung the door open to find Donghyuck standing in front of you. The way he held his body didn’t radiate the energy he usually held. It was actually quite depressing to see. It was like for once, Donghyuck wasn’t the vain and rambunctious boy that lived above you. He had his hands deep in his hoodie pockets and he wore a natural pout on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” It was surprisingly natural how the tone in your voice had sounded irritated. You were just used to speaking to him in such a way.

“I’m not here to piss you off,” he mumbled seriously.

You were thrown off at his reply, “Huh?”

“Can I come in?” If you weren’t looking at him as he spoke, you could probably hear his frown, “Please?” The sincerity in his eyes really proved that he was desperate about something and you weren’t quite sure what.

You wearily shuffled behind your door and let him through. Closing the door behind him, you turn around and see him rocking back and forth in place. It was weird seeing him in your home, “Okay… speak.”

“My entire apartment was burned. There’s basically nothing left,” he explained, “They said it was some type of electrical mishap because of my gaming stuff.”

If it was the right moment, you’d make fun of him for it. But you held yourself back as you sensed that the Donghyuck in front of you was not in the mood for pestering. How did you not know that the apartment directly above you had basically vanished from flames? “Oh… I’m sorry to hear that… and why are you telling me this?”

It took awhile for him to reply. He stared down at your feet, unable to string the right words together. It was a weird type of silence.

“I’m telling you this because I have a proposition.”

You sit down on your couch, “A proposition?”

“You know, like a proposal…”

“I know what a fucking proposition is, dumbass. What is it?” Donghyuck has never failed to provoke you.

“You let me stay here until they fix my place… and once I move back, I won’t make a single peep after one o’clock,” a sheepish expression surfaced on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“Don’t you have friends?” you held back a laugh.

“I do, but none of them can take me in… you’re literally my only hope right now.”

“No. It was unbearable living beneath you and now living with you? No thanks,” you stood up and approached your door. Sure you felt kind of bad for him, but there was no way you were going to let this clown live with you.

He stopped your hand from turning the knob before he fell to his knees. He begged, “Please~ Please, Y/N! I’ll try not to keep you awake, I just need a place to sleep and eat and…” His bottom lip jutted out like a little toddler who was dying to play games on your phone.

You push him lightly out your door and sighed, “Look I’m really not looking for a roommate right now.” And it was true. There was a reason that you were still living alone after months of starting university.

“Please?” He sounded desperate now.

“No, Donghyuck,” you answered, “How about beg one of your friends?”

“I’m going to sit out here until you let me in,” he threatened.

“Do I look like I care? Because I don’t,” you say bluntly. You closed the door and went back to the nap you were ever so craving. If Donghyuck really was going to sit outside of your apartment, then let him. He was going to give up anyway.

The echoing sound of your empty stomach woke you up from your nap. The sunset being framed by your window indicated that it was inching closer to dinner time. A reminder had popped into your head that your kitchen held no groceries for dinner, meaning that you had to eat out and buy groceries. Which was perfectly fine with you.

Opening your apartment door, you feel a somewhat heavy object fall abruptly onto your feet. You shut your eyes tight, afraid that if you looked down you’d see something straight out of a horror film. It took a prolonged moment for you to actually build up the courage to open your eyes and look down.

Once you had reached the minimum amount of courage, you looked to your feet and found Donghyuck holding his head. He continued to curse under his breath, looking up at you, obviously irritated about what had just happened.

“Donghyuck, what the fuck?” You hit him with your purse, mostly because of how frightened you had been, “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I told you. I’m sitting out here until you let me stay with you,” he stood up and dusted off his pants, “I fell asleep.”

You gave him a dead look, not having it with him. This was the most you had conversed with him in one day and you really had to admit that talking to someone like Donghyuck was rather tiresome. Your door locked behind you as you pushed past him, ignoring the way he stood up with the built up energy he had in his body.

“Where are you going?” he followed you willingly. “Dinner. Groceries,” you mumbled. You were praying for the elevator to come faster.

“I’m coming with you,” he stated, standing at your side.

“No you’re not.”

As if the film had cut to the next scene, you found yourself sitting across from Donghyuck at a nearby McDonald’s. He was munching on his nth chicken nugget, cold drink in the other, as he blinked at whatever car drove past the building. The silence was awkward, but you’d rather it be awkward than hear his voice for at least the entirety of your stay at the restaurant. With his backpack sitting next to him, he looked like one of those kids you’d baby sit right after school.

Once you finished, you threw your garbage on the way out and started to walk to the grocery store right across the street. It wasn’t a surprise to you when you hear the nearing footsteps of Donghyuck. He didn’t say anything, he sort of just floated next to you.

Upon entering the store, you were actually relieved to see that Donghyuck had gone his own way. At first you thought about packing your cart with all that you needed and leaving him. But then you realized that there was seriously no use because he knew where you lived. At this realization, you decided that taking time was better on your energy level.

About ten minutes into the shopping trip, you were bent down in the ramen aisle, eyeing down which spice level you should get. Often, you’d get mild, but you found yourself needing more than what the package provided. The only thing holding you back was what if the ultra spicy was too spicy? Then it’d be a waste of ramen.

“Oh there you are,” Donghyuck had slipped into the aisle with his own basket full of goods, “I thought you left me or something.”

You glare at him before giving up and throwing both flavours into your cart, “You better be paying for your own stuff.” You start to roll it down to the front of the store and to self checkout.

“Of course I am,” he dropped his own basket to the checkout next to yours and started doing his own thing.

There was still a bit of hope in you that maybe, hopefully, one of Donghyuck’s friends would offer him a nice place to stay in instead of yours. But when you still felt the boy’s presence behind you as you left your apartment building’s elevator, you knew damn well that he really wasn’t going anywhere.

You groaned and turned around to face him. You noticed that you had startled him by the way his eyes widened and how he jumped back a bit, “You’re really not going to leave me alone, are you?” At this point, your fingers were grazing your door’s handle.

You thought about it on the way up. If you did let Donghyuck stay with you, you could tell him what to do and what not to do. It would be amusing. If he ever refused, you could tell him that he would have to find another place to stay. You could use it to your advantage.

Shaking his head, Donghyuck straightened his back, “Nope. Not at all.” His determination said it all. It was weaved with hints of desperation and you knew how easy it would be to persuade the boy into doing anything.

“Okay then…” you unlocked your door and gently pushed it open, “I’ll let you stay with me.” Before he could rejoice, you stopped him, “But on a few conditions.”

He nodded, “Anything.”

“Keep up your end of the bargain, the one you said earlier,” you started, “You can’t make any noise when I say so. Boundaries are important. No long showers. Remember that you’re a guest under my roof.”

“As long as I have a place to stay, then I’ll follow your rules,” he stated seriously. You weren’t sure if you could trust him or not. After all, it was Donghyuck. Not even 24 hours ago, his noise had woken you up from your sleep.

You motioned for him to enter first since you still needed to take your home key out. As he approached the interior end of your apartment, he beamed brightly at you. Donghyuck, who has lost control of himself due to the wave of relief he was feeling, brought himself to give you a short hug of gratitude. His arms had wrapped tightly over your shoulders. You froze at the contact.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered. He took a few steps back and smiled sheepishly at you, “W-where should I put my stuff?”

Still in shock from contact with Donghyuck, you couldn’t answer or think straight. You waddled to your kitchen counter and dropped your bags after you had closed and locked the door, “There’s a room down the… hall and to the right. That’s the extra room.”

“Thanks.” He smiled again and you were genuinely taken aback by how this boy, who was usually obnoxious and annoying, was acting. You blinked back at him and watched as he disappeared the deeper he had gone down the hall.

His duality was scary. It was unpredictable. It was the reason why you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.

iii.

When Donghyuck said he’d follow your rules, you didn’t have any hopes in him actually following them. You knew how Donghyuck was. He’d lie to someone in order to get something he’d want in return. And this is one of those occasions.

Donghyuck gladly followed your ‘boundaries’ rule which at first seemed a bit rude as he didn’t even greet you in the mornings or evenings. You were letting him stay with you and you figured that that was probably better than nothing. After a bit of thinking, avoiding convos with Donghyuck would probably be a lot better than bickering that would probably wear you out over the period of his stay.

The only time these said ‘avoided’ convos would happen would be when Donghyuck couldn’t find the appropriate time to make noise and he would not listen when you told him to shut up. It was like you were practically babysitting a toddler, maybe even six of them, and they all would not listen to you.

It wasn’t often that you would physically go to the guest bedroom to tell him to shut up. Usually, you’d be the bigger person and try to mind your own business, but when you remembered that this was your home and not his, you decided to actually put a stop to it before you lost it.

You knocked twice on the door, hearing Donghyuck’s reply not even a moment after, “Come in!” He goes back to yelling at whoever he was playing with on the phone. When you had actually entered, you found him slumped against the headboard, headphones sitting ungracefully on his head.

“Can you… quiet down?” You put on a customer service-esque voice, “Please.”

Donghyuck didn’t let his eyes leave his screen, fingers going crazy on it’s touchscreen, “Nope.” You scowled at him, brows furrowing at the audacity this boy had.

“It’s almost one in the morning,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t know you were some kind of human clock,” he mumbled. The majority of his attention was still pinned on the screen, eyes darting towards you to see if you had gone and left the room.

You feel the expression on your face intensify. Walking up to the side of the bed, you grabbed his phone.

“What the hell?” He sat up and grabbed his phone back from you, “I’m not even that loud, quit being sensitive.” He quickly finished his game and shut his phone off, focusing on this situation with you.

“How about I kick you out by tomorrow morning?” you say as if you were bargaining. You knew that this was one way to get Donghyuck to shut the fuck up. Judging by how desperate he was before, you knew he had no other choice but to listen to you.

At this mention, he shut his mouth and frowned, “The fuck? Just because this once?”

“Quit being sensitive,” you mocked, “If you wanna stay in this room until your apartment is finished, you really need to watch how loud you’re being.” Seeing how much Donghyuck’s mood changed, you smirked. It worked.

“Fine…” He retorted, “Whatever.”

You huffed and turned to leave, the smirk reappearing on your face.

Y/N: 1

Donghyuck: 0

-

Leaving the apartment to Donghyuck for a weekend wasn’t something that you were quite in favour of. You, along with Yeji and Lia, had planned an entire weekend trip for the long weekend, and of course you were excited for it, but that was when Donghyuck’s apartment was still intact. Now that you knew we were leaving your beloved haven with Donghyuck, you were hesitant to actually go on said trip. But (no) thanks to Lia, she convinced you to come after hours of persuasion.

Upon returning, your heart dropped at the idea that Donghyuck might’ve burnt down your own apartment as well. But seeing that the door was still standing, you feel a slight wave of relief wash over.

“Thank goodness,” you mumbled.

Slowly, you unlocked your door and nudged it open. That was when you knew you had spoken too soon. What once was your nice and cozy, neat home had turned into some kind of new rat’s hole. It wasn’t too messy, but it just wasn’t something you were used to nor expecting. The coffee was filled with used dishes, the carpet had bits of crumbs everywhere, wrappers scattered on your previous couch, and the kitchen was littered with groceries that weren’t put back in its place. What made everything else worse was that you could hear Donghyuck yelling in the back, playing games instead of cleaning up his mess.

“Son of a bitch.”

You dropped your bags and made a beeline to the guest room, opening it without knocking, “The fucking audacity you have, Lee Donghyuck.”

“There’s something called knocking,” he scoffed.

“Clean my apartment,” you ordered, “I left this place clean.” You were fuming. This was the main reason why you didn’t want to leave, “I’m letting you stay here, as a guest, and you choose to treat it like it’s your own house. At least clean up after yourself.”

“I was, I just thought you were coming back tomorrow, not today,” he shrugged. Donghyuck redirected his focus to his phone, corner of his mouth angling up.

“Lee Donghyuck I swear if you’re starting another game, I’m kicking you out,” you warned. It was the same reason as before, only this time you were dead serious. This time you weren’t treating it as some sort of way to control him.

“If that’s what you want,” he stands up and bows, “Madame.” Donghyuck walks around you, hands in his pockets as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He knows he’s pissing you off and he’s enjoying it. What the hell is wrong with him?

You leave his room and grab your bags before dragging yourself into your room. Two strikes… three and he’s out.

-

You believed that home cooked meals were a lot more healthier than most of the affordable food you could get when you eat out. Which is why you opted to cook your own meals for half or possibly more than half of the week. Though they were often just simple recipes either your mom had taught you or ones you’ve seen on tv or youtube, you still took a lot of pride in those meals.

Trekking into the kitchen, you scrolled through the many possible recipes you could complete on your phone, mentally noting the ingredients. You pulled open the fridge, rummaging through its contents trying to find the specific items, which you clearly remembered you bought not even a week ago. Muttering underneath your breath, your mind wanders over to the other living being in your home. There was no way that those groceries could have magically disappeared, not in this universe at least.

Closing the fridge, you make your way to the pantry, still puzzled on the missing groceries, “I swear I bought a whole pack just last weekend.” But after scavenging the pantry, none of the ingredients you needed were sitting there waiting to be used.

“Lee Donghyuck!” you called.

Said boy appeared in the kitchen moments later, posture reflecting the fact that he did not want to be there, “What do you want now?” It was like you were living with a teenager.

“Did you eat all the food I bought?” usually you wouldn’t just accuse one of something, but knowing you hadn’t touched those groceries, Donghyuck was the only possible culprit for the missing food.

“Yes, and?”

“You do know those groceries were for our meals, right?” You walked past him and crouched down to the snack cabinet, opening it, “This is literally empty! Those were all my snacks! Who said you could eat whatever was in there?”

“I was hungry? I’m a guest, I should be able to do so.”

You wonder why Donghyuck would even be acting like he was if he knew that a place to stay was at stake, “You’re a guest, but not like that…” Again you change locations, “Where the hell are your manners? You sure as hell know that I hesitated letting you live with me and you choose to test me almost every other day! A one year old toddler knows better than you! Dumb shit, why did I even agree to you staying here?”

“One year olds can’t even complete an entire sentence,” he jokingly argued, “Isn’t that a bit too far?”

“Me? Too far? You’re taking it too far! You have no idea when to stop being immature!” The volume in your voice was increasing, “You’re twenty fucking years old, Donghyuck. You should be able to know when it’s good and when it’s bad to mess around.”

Simultaneously, he stands up and gives you an expression of hurt and anger, all in one. You could tell that you’ve actually, for once, offended him just by the look in his eyes. He muttered something underneath his breath before he started walking towards your door. Swiftly, he unlocked it, slipping out and shutting it without another peep.

Stunned, you blinked at the door, confused as to what had just happened. The silence that replaced the prior argument seemed to be louder than the argument itself… and you didn’t like that.

You leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed. Where would he go? He didn’t have another place to stay and he left basically all his stuff in his room. Where would he go?

You dismissed the feelings of worry and guilt, shaking it all off before you locked the door and made your way to your room. You lost your appetite. You’ll just eat later.

In between your songs, the banging at your door caused your heart rate to escalate. You rolled over in your bed, almost falling off and straight onto your face, and ran to the door, not even thinking of looking through the peephole. Right as you threw the door open, Donghyuck pushed past you and straight to the kitchen.

“Donghyuck?” It was then you noticed he was holding bags of groceries, both of his hands white from the weight. He put them down softly beside the kitchen counter, stretching his back from relief.

“Fuck the grocery store and not letting me take the cart home,” he rested his upper body on the counter and took a quick breather, as if he had ran a 12k marathon.

“What is all this?” It was obviously clear to you what it was; bags filled with groceries, most of which were the ones he used up. The question was more specifically directed towards him and his sudden act of kindness.

“Groceries,” he replied. Even when exhausted, Donghyuck’s wit outshone.

“Well no shit…” you say, “I mean why.”

“I… thought about what you said,” he exhaled deeply. Donghyuck was irritated at how he was letting you win, “And you’re right. I’ve been acting like a dumbass. Especially since you’re letting me stay here.” To avoid the awkward eye contact, he decided to start sorting out the groceries, “I’m… really sorry. It didn’t occur to me how I was acting. From now on, I’ll actually act my age to make it up to you. I’ll act like a proper guest.”

You feel a small smile creep up onto your lips, “Donghyuck?” He hummed. “I forgive you.” You paused for a moment, “And I’m sorry for earlier… my emotions took control of me. I couldn’t hold myself back.” He chuckles lightly, turning to you, “It’s okay, it’s understandable…” He hears his own stomach growl. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you make dinner now? I’m starving.”

iv.

You glared at Donghyuck at the corner of your eyes as it sounded like he was purposely turning up the volume of his game. The background music, character voices, weapons slashing, and shooting, they all started to drown out the show you decided to put on the tv. You decided not to point it out at first because of a goal you had made to not seem like such a buzzkill all the time.

“This is the best weapon in the game,” he grinned proudly, “It’s my baby. My pride and joy.” The tv screen in front of you was suddenly blocked by Donghyuck’s phone screen. At the same time, the couch had dipped down slightly as he shifted over to you. He held the device there for longer than you cared, hand shaking as seconds passed. It almost made you laugh.

“Mmhmm,” you hum monotony, trying your best to keep your eyes on the screen, “That’s really cool.”

Donghyuck sat back in his spot, “You know I’m not stupid enough to not hear the sarcasm in your voice.” He tapped a few buttons to join the queue of the game.

“I know… I just don’t care,” you finally turned to face him, “Why don’t you just play that in your room? I’m trying to watch and all I hear are shooting sounds.” And at that you turned the volume up by two.

“It’s… quiet in my room,” he says quietly, “I’ll just turn my volume down.” Staying with you had caused Donghyuck to realize how lonely it actually was just staying in a single room the entire night with his eyes not leaving the screen. He figured that maybe, when you were planted on the couch, he’d hang around you for a nice change.

Keeping your gaze forward. Though it was hopefully not obvious on the outside, you were thrown off by  Donghyuck’s compliance. Turning ever-so-slightly, you peered at the boy. His head was bowed in order to look at his phone screen but, even so, you could see the tip of his tongue peek out between his lips. He looked so focused that you almost laughed out loud. Never did you think that a boy as garish as Hyuck would ever reach a state like that. He looked… cute.

You forced your eyes back to the television and knocked the thought out of your head like with a mental baseball bat. There’s no way you just thought that Donghyuck was cute. No way.

-

It hadn’t occurred to Donghyuck that you weren’t awake to leave in time for the bus until he already turned the front door’s knob halfway and his eyes had fallen on the only pair of shoes you would wear. He let go of the doorknob and kicked his own sneakers off of his feet, letting out a low groan only for him to hear. He knows that you probably worked on school work until late, which he found stupid since you could not, for the life of you, wake up later on to go to school.

Donghyuck knocked twice and waited for a reply, letting himself in when he hadn’t heard one. He snuck his head through the gap he made and set his eyes on your bed. He snorted at the sight of your passed out figure, leg sticking out from underneath the blanket and hanging off of your bed. Your mouth was wide open, freely giving flies a good place to hang out. Your textbooks and notes were scattered at the foot of your bed, your other foot leaving creases in them.

“Y/N, wake up you’re late,” he shook your shoulder, bending down a tad bit closer, “Wake up!”

Groaning, you shifted and grabbed his hand from your shoulder to push it away, “Donghyuck, can you please shut the fuck up?” You were unable to open your eyelids and your throat was still dry. Donghyuck continued to force his hand to your shoulder to shake you again, but you countered it with your own elbow strength.

“Hey the bus comes in a few minutes and you’re barely awake,” Donghyuck noted, “Hey wake up.”

For some reason, you hadn’t processed what he was saying. You genuinely believed he was only in there to irritate you at such an early hour. Refusing to retract his elbow, he applied a bit more pressure down onto you.

“Stop it!” you blindly swung an arm at his inner elbow which caused it to bend at contact. Donghyuck fell forward and onto you, all of it happening so fast that he couldn’t save himself. His face was only inches from yours, though you hadn’t noticed until your eyes had shot open from the sudden realization of the collision. The both of you laid there for a brief moment, staring at each other with wide eyes. It was all purely out of shock, like deer in headlights.

When you had processed it all, you rolled over, “Get out of my room!” It was then that you were suddenly aware of the situation. Classes started in less than an hour, the bus leaves in two minutes, and you were still not dressed. Curse the psychology homework you left until last minute.

Donghyuck pushes himself up, “I’m only here to help you!” He argued, “You know what? Why did I even try? I should’ve just left you here and let you miss your classes.” And at that, Donghyuck turned and exited your room, leaving your door open.

He jogged out of the apartment, slipping his nikes on as if they were crocs, creasing them carelessly. If you were the reason why he could be late, he wouldn’t know how he’d react. He just knew that he wouldn’t want that.

Donghyuck was just in time for the bus, greeting the driver quickly before finding a place to sit on the bus. He placed himself near the back at a window seat, leaning his head against the glass after he finally took the time to tuck his heels properly into his shoes. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His heart was beating faster than normal, adrenaline running through his body, only he wasn’t sure if it was from the thought of being late to class or because of what just happened between him and you.

-

You always set aside Friday nights for self care and movie nights. You’d put on a cheap drugstore face mask, dump a whole bag of your favourite chips into a bowl, pour yourself a cold drink, and pick out whatever movie that looked appealing. It was rather an ordinary routine, but you liked to think of it as something special.

Resting against the couch, you decided to pull up To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, hoping to watch the first and second movie even though you already watched both when they were initially released.

“Hey Y/N, have you– oh hey, it’s that Noah dude that’s in every Netflix movie,” Donghyuck has emerged from his room, the first time since you both arrived from school. He leaned over the back of the couch and took in whatever scene was playing on the screen, “What are you watching?”

You turn around, face covered in an unnatural shade of purple, making Donghyuck jump a bit, “To all the boys I’ve loved before.”

“That sounds really dumb,” he snorted, but nonetheless he sits down on the cushion next to you.

You questioned his actions, glaring at him, “If you think it’s stupid, why does it look like you’re here to watch it.”

“I have nothing better to do. None of my friends are online,” he shrugged. Reaching over, he grabs a can of pop from the coffee table, snapping it open before taking a purposefully loud sip, “So why not?”

“I’ll only let you watch if you shut up,” you turn the volume up by one, “Okay?” He nods understandingly as he mirrors your resting figure on the couch. After what seemed like five minutes, he stretches his arm out to grab a handful of chips before throwing them all into his mouth at once.

“So… he’s only pretending to date her to make the blonde girl jealous?” It was astonishing to you how you actually understood everything he said through his mouth full of chips. He didn’t even try speaking loudly either.

“Basically,” you hummed in response.

“Does it work though?” He questioned after swallowing.

“Shhh, Donghyuck, just watch,” you flick his knee, directing an unamused look at his direction, “You’ll see.”

For a good portion of the movie, Donghyuck chose to keep comments to himself. Every time he would want to say something, he’d hold himself back, silently reacting to the rather dramatic parts of the film. It was admittedly a cute movie. He hadn’t seen anything like it in a while.

“Wait! It’s just a misunderstanding!” Donghyuck gasped. His legs were crossed underneath him, eyes planted semi-permanently on the screen, “She took that scrunched from him! He didn’t give it to her! Just when everything seemed fine.” You snickered at how into the movie he was. You didn’t react like he was when you first watched the movie.

“It’s so obvious that Gen did it,” He muttered, “Who the hell else would do it? She’s jealous as hell. Can she stop please?” From the corner of your eye, you could see that Donghyuck was close to throwing one of your throw pillows.

“I mean, at least Peter’s plan worked,” you responded quietly, sinking back into the couch, “It’s just that now it doesn’t really matter if it worked or not.”

“She’s acting like they’re still a thing,” Donghyuck scoffed, “They’re not.” He was one hundred percent for Lara Jean and Peter and it was actually pretty amusing in a cute way. But you weren’t saying that out loud, you’ll gladly keep it to yourself.

The movie slowly came to the end, wrapping up like it did in the books. “Why does she walk like that though,” he laughed, “Who walks like that normally?” He lays back against the couch and grins, “That was actually a good film…”

He was so immersed in the film that he hadn’t noticed that you had fallen asleep by the end, head falling in a strange way against the armrest of the couch. The way your chest had risen and fallen in such a calm and constant rhythm indicated to Donghyuck that you were having a good slumber. He didn’t want to wake you up. Not when you seemed so peaceful.

His eyes shifted to the thin blanket you already brought with you, clutched in your hand, then back to your face. He couldn’t help but trace your features with his eyes. There was no other time that he would be able to do this. When you were awake, you were too aware about everything he did, or what went on around you, but in this state, you were the complete opposite. He smiled softly at your serene figure, quickly shaking his head at the sudden change in image you had created in his head for that brief moment. As if it was something he’d do often, he easily laid your blanket over you, making sure it covered you chest down. I just need sleep, he thought, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

v.

Mutualistic (symbiotic) relationships in nature worked as so: both organisms in the relationship would both completely benefit from the other. It was funny to think that such relationships were always so dynamic. Who would have thought that an animal as large as a crocodile would benefit from a bird as tiny as the plover. It was interesting how it worked like that.

As weeks had passed with Donghyuck still living in your guest room, the both of you had noticed that having each other as temporary roommates actually wasn’t that bad. A parasitic relationship had slowly evolved into a mutual one and you wondered if something like this could actually happen out in nature.

You noted this shift when Donghyuck had arrived home from a study group with bags filled with groceries. Sure it wasn’t the first time he’d taken the action to do so, knowing how much you struggled with carrying bags home, but this time was different.

It was nothing drastic or overly significant, but it was something that caught your eye immediately and you couldn’t help feel your chest warm up a bit. Donghyuck had bought all of your favourite snacks and candies. Even the ones you couldn’t usually find in the grocery store you’d usually shop at. They were all bunched into one separate bag, indicating that this was in no case a coincidence. And at that thought you smiled and looked up at him, only he didn’t catch you looking. He was far too busy sorting the rest of the groceries into their respective spots.

“Thanks Donghyuck,” you say, quietly. Though it sounded like you were thanking him for doing another round of grocery shopping, this time, it was directed more towards his little deed.

“It’s no problem,” he offered a tight lipped smile before scrunching the bags into messy balls, stuffing them into a small bin with others. He turned back to the counter, realizing that he hadn’t unpacked the bag filled with your favourites, “You can do those right?” It wasn’t like he couldn’t do them himself. It was just that those were all meant for you.

You nodded, “Did you do this on purpose?” You started to take the snacks out of the bag, “These are my favourites.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widened out of panic of being exposed but you weren’t aware of his mood change as he quickly fixed his composure, “No? I mean… they just looked good so I got them.”

He was lying and you knew, “Mmhmm… that grocery store I shop at doesn’t even sell these.” You held up a flavourful bag of gummy bears.

“I passed by a corner store and got them.” Lying again. But this time you just hummed.

“Whatever you say, Hyuck.” The nickname had slipped out of your mouth so naturally that you didn’t catch yourself saying it. Donghyuck was obviously thrown off by the name, feeling his heart skip a beat for the second time in five minutes, “Thank you.”

He scoffed, trying to tap back into his usual self, “For buying food for me? Ah, you’re welcome.” Before you could say anything else, he rushed to his room, making up some lame excuse just to get out of the conversation.

It was funny because that wasn’t the last time he bought your favourites.

Donghyuck noticed this shift himself when he came home one day with his clothes neatly folded on his bed. The last time he’s seen his clothes, they were all piled at the corner of the room, dirty with sweat or generally smelling like it’s been soaking up the sun.

He dropped his bag by the room’s door, curiosity taking hold of him as he walked up to the folded clothes. They were clean. He smiled, sorting them out so they were organized the way he wanted them to be.

He could recall how he had told you he had no time to do laundry. From school and extra shifts at work, he was growing frustrated with everything that’s been piling up, finding no time to take care of himself at home. He had been re-wearing the clothes that seemed clean enough just to get through his day.

Leaving his room with a bit of pep in his step, he enters the kitchen where you had been working on some assignment. You didn’t look up, even with the hint of his presence, too indulged in your work.

“Y/N,” He strayed towards the dishwasher, grabbing a cup as if he was only there to grab water. Glancing at you from the corner of his eyes, waiting for your reply.

“What, Donghyuck?” you muttered. You weren’t trying to come off as rude but you didn’t want to lose the focus you had built up in the last 30 minutes. You typed away, ears perked up in order to hear the nonsense that could be coming out his mouth any second now.

“Thanks for doing my laundry,” he says sincerely. He chugged down the water that he poured into his glass and quickly washed the cup, “It doesn’t seem like a lot but it truly is.”

You finally look up at him, fingers pausing abruptly. Your eyebrows were raised, shocked at the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, “It’s no problem. I know that you’ve been busy. And you still buy groceries even when you’re running low on time.” And it was true. In a way it was your only way of giving back aside from letting him stay at your place.

Donghyuck couldn’t do anything but smile. He bowed his head slightly to reply wordlessly to you before retreating back slowly to his room.

-

Your thumb switched between the right arrow button and the down arrow button, scrolling through the selection of movies shown on the screen. The past half an hour, you had been trying to settle with a film that suited your mood, but since the movies seem quite uninteresting, time was being wasted.

Mentally, you kept a list of movies that stood out more than others, only not finally deciding because you opted to choose more options. The third Harry Potter film was among those, and honestly, looking at the rest of the movies, you really were leaning towards rewatching it instead of taking a risk and watching a one star film.

Double checking if you had everything you needed, you pressed a button to start it, the warner bros logo appearing after a dark screen. There was a hint of background music playing and a house appears after the logo. Then, you hear a door open and close, followed by light footsteps. You sit unbothered, already knowing what was about to happen.

“Oh, a movie?” Donghyuck’s voice bounced around the room and over the movie’s soundtrack, “I didn’t know you were watching a movie.” His footsteps grew softer indicating that he was on his way to the kitchen just a few feet from the couch. You stifle a laugh and shake your head slightly. Of course. It wasn’t the first time Donghyuck had coincidentally walked in right when you started a movie. It happened last week and the night ended up with him sleeping with the lights on. You knew that he started to like these unspoken movie nights. And you did too.

You keep quiet as you preferred to listen to the film than reply to the curious boy, already knowing he was getting ready to take his usual seat next to you.

“Is this Harry Potter?” And as you predicted, the right side of the couch dips down slightly under Donghyuck’s weight. He sets down his own cup of pop and a movie snack in front of him.

“Yeah, the third one,” you blinked at the screen, “It’s probably my favourite one.”

“I’ve only seen the first one,” he states, “So you have to catch me up a bit.”

You sighed, “It’s okay, it’s easy to understand.”

Donghyuck takes a slight glance in your direction. You were slumped, cross legged, underneath your blanket, bag of chips sitting on your lap and a can of pop in your left hand. You looked cuddly. You didn’t know it. And Donghyuck didn’t know this until he had the sudden urge to scoot over to your side in order to feel completely comfortable.

Subtly, Donghyuck shifts his weight from one side to the other, crossing his legs. His knee sat rather closely to yours. A part of him did it on purpose, leaving the rest stunned at the close interaction. You didn’t move away, mostly because your knee was covered with your blanket. You couldn’t tell the difference between the blanket and Donghyuck’s knee.

Again he took a peek at you unconsciously, brain and muscle control seemingly working separately. He admitted it to himself he liked these movie nights. Even if you both unspokenly only had three. It was different from how he’d usually spend nights alone. It was a good different.

His phone buzzed, Jeno’s name popping up on the screen: Sick again? Feel better :)

Quickly unlocking his phone, he had texted back a ‘thanks Jeno’ before setting it back down in the crack of the couch. He had declined an invite from Jeno to go see a movie in the theatres in an hour, but the idea of spending the night just on the couch seemed much more appealing than having to go out and get ready to do the same thing.

One more time, in the corner of his eye he took in your figure. Whether he stayed home because he was too lazy to get ready or because he secretly wanted to spend time with you… we’ll never know.

vi.

“Thank you so much for the update.”

You had walked in after an energy draining shift to Donghyuck getting off the phone. The way he smiled caused him to embody happiness, radiating sunshine as he beamed at you.

“You look fucking stupid,” you say to break the silence creeping up on both of you. In reality he didn’t look stupid, he looked like a cute little kid being told news he was going on a fun family trip.

“My apartment’s done in a week!” He did a small dance to express what he was feeling, his smile not faltering one bit.

Your heart dropped a bit, the feeling of disappointment overtaking it. You brushed it aside, “That’s great to hear! Now I can kick you out for good.” You let out a small laugh to indicate it was a harmless joke before you make your way to your room, this conversation being something you want to avoid.

You had grown used to Donghyuck. His noise, his presence on the Friday movie nights, the never-empty fridge and pantry due to his constant visits to the grocery store. It was weird thinking that that’d be all gone by next week. You would have never thought you’d want him to stay…?

The hell? I want him to stay?

You flicked your own forehead before shaking it as if water had gone into your ear. You shake it to get rid of those thoughts you were ever so scared of confronting.

You sat down on your bed and sighed. Funny how over a month ago you strongly yearned for Donghyuck to leave. You wanted nothing to do with him, threatening to kick him out everytime he ever so slightly crossed the line. But now, you wouldn’t think twice seeing the boy passed out on the couch. You wouldn’t mind him taking up time in the washroom or yelling at ungodly hours at night. It was clear that he had grown on you. And instead of being thrilled that you’d get your apartment back to yourself, you were secretly hoping that time would move a bit slower just so Donghyuck wouldn’t move back any sooner.

Donghyuck made his way back to the guest room, a bittersweet feeling lingering in his chest. The news he had just gotten was great. It was information he had been waiting for for the past few weeks. But he had such a good time staying with you… he wondered if your guys’ relationship would be the same as it is now when he does move back. It’s not like he was leaving the city. He was literally only moving a floor up. If you both stood directly in the same spot in your apartments, you would be closer to each other than you would be staying in the same apartment and different rooms.

Would it be weird to ask you if you would still be friends? Maybe a little bit. But if Donghyuck had to do it, to ensure the growing worry in himself, then he’d do it.

-

Symbiotic relationships were easy to understand. It was grade seven level science after all. But something that wasn’t as simple to understand was the fact that you were actually going to miss Lee Donghyuck once he moved back to his apartment.

There was still that little voice inside of you that was telling you to quit it. That he was moving back tomorrow and after he does move, you probably won’t even have the same relationship as now. It was better to cut those arising feelings short before they actually endure.

Donghyuck has been spending a bit less time in your apartment and in his, making sure everything was good to go once he returned to his man hole. You could hear his voice through the ceiling. It honestly sucked because you wanted to spend the last week just spending time with him.

“How’s everything going?” You questioned as he appeared through the front door. You were on your way to your room, notebook and laptop sitting snugly in your arms. The time was drawing close to eleven and you could feel the residence of the apartment building all going to sleep. You figured it was time for you to go to bed too.

“Almost set,” he replied quietly, “I can finish them tomorrow.” A silence hung in the air as you tapped your fingertips against the edge of your laptop.

“That’s good.” Though it wasn’t obvious to Donghyuck, you had tried to force the content tone blanketing over the mixed emotions, “Well goodnight… will I still you tomorrow?”

You remembered Donghyuck saying he was moving back early morning, but knowing him and his habits, it would probably be postponed till midday.

“Maybe,” he laughed softly, “Maybe not.”

You let a laugh similar to his before backing into your room and shutting the door. Sighing heavily, you dragged yourself to your desk and set your things down. Maybe you should wake up early just to say goodbye.

Donghyuck smiles at your door, before calling it a night himself. Tomorrow he was moving back and tomorrow he wanted to tell you something. Maybe.

-

Surprisingly, Donghyuck had woken up before his alarm which was set to go off at nine in the morning. He sighs and blinks at his door a couple of times before getting up and making the bed, wanting it to look presentable for when you come in to clean it.

After he had followed his usual routine, changing into day clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his face, and fixing his hair, he set his backpack down beside the door beside his shoes. He stood there for a moment, resting his hands on his hips and huffed. Within his chest he could feel that same bittersweet feeling he felt about a week ago when he was told his apartment was finished.

Unconsciously, he turned back towards the hallway and stood in front of your room. Is Y/N sleeping? He questioned himself. Probably, he countered. Though his head was telling him to not bother you, his body had decided that it was a great idea to knock, not once but twice.

“Come in.” Unexpectedly, you had replied, voice sounding like you had been awake for a while. And the truth was, you had been awake since eight, unable to go out and face Donghyuck.

“Can I talk to you?” Donghyuck’s head was barely pushed through the crack he had made, door hiding anything below his eyes.

You were partly laying down in your bed, phone in hand. Sitting up, you nodded, “Yeah of course, what’s up?” You watched Donghyuck swing the door so that his entire body was visible. He had a sheepish smile on his face, eyes unable to sit on you as he glanced around your room.

“I just wanted to say thank you for letting me stay here,” he says seriously, finally bringing himself to look at you, “I really do owe you shit… I owe you so much. So if you need me, then I’ll do anything.”

You couldn’t help but feel the inside of your chest warm up to your temporary roommate. A smile crept up onto your face and you nodded, “I got to be honest, you already know this, but I really didn’t want you staying with me… but I guess it wasn’t that bad at the end. No problem.”

He bows his head gently and turns to leave, only stopping to turn around again, “Oh by the way, I don’t think you’ll hear me causing a ruckus for a bit because I still need to save up for new equipment.”

You laughed and joked, “Sounds good to me.”

“Bye Y/N.” Donghyuck licks his eyes with yours for a prolonged moment, sparkling in yours. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, feeling yourself squeal internally at this type of contact.

“Bye Hyuck.” And at that he leaves.

You were engulfed with a heavy feeling that you weren’t usually familiar with when it came to Donghyuck. Often you’d know if it were hate or annoyance or amusement. But this was different. The flame in your chest was growing stronger and this time you really couldn’t ignore it. You cringe at the butterflies in your stomach that were alive than never before.

Once you heard the door to your apartment close, that was when you finally gave in to that feeling that started to grow slowly and subtly without your knowledge.

You liked Donghyuck… you really liked Donghyuck and there obviously was no running from it now.

Donghyuck enters his apartment and is immediately greeted with silence. Though he’s only stayed at your apartment for about a month, he without a doubt had grown to get used to your presence greeting him at the door. It was just weird now. He should’ve asked you to help him sort his new furniture. Then he could be around you longer for a good reason and that could give him a chance to actually ask you if you guys could still be friends.

He loved your presence. He loved the movie nights you both had and the short yet amusing banters. You two actually complimented each other well despite the fact that at first you two seemed to be polar opposites… but that was it, you guys were opposites but that was why you both went well together. He loved the friendship that you guys had managed to muster up within a month.

Involuntarily, Donghyuck shakes his head at the thought of being just friends. A friendship was far different from what he wanted. And at that conclusion, he made up his mind. He liked you, maybe closer to love than like. He wanted more, and it took him this long to finally admit it.

At that second, someone knocked on his door twice, his head snapping towards that direction. He feels the beat of his heart quicken in pace as he approaches it slowly. Answering it, he remembers when you were there about aa month ago just to tell him off. Donghyuck laughs, “Y/N? Missed me already?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Shut up Hyuck… you know how you owe me?” He nods, unable to predict  what was coming up next.

“Well how about you take me out to dinner…” You cringed at how you worded that. It sounded like you were demanding it. This mistake caused you to back up a bit sheepishly.

Donghyuck smiles at your cute behaviour, stepping forward to keep the distance the same, “Like a date?”  It was your turn to nod.

“Then I would love to.”

[whumblr]

Wednesday

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1 - Continued from Part 28

Tagging: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully  @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @snuffhimout @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @undertheburrow @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpinggoodtime @starnight-whump @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky 

-

A wave of annoyance hit Jay when he came home to Zayne waiting in his chair.

Wednesday was one of the few days of respite he got. He had training in the evening and after Zayne had intimidated him to get home on time after work, Jay had bargained a fixed day off so he could continue going without raising eyebrows.

It worked well. Except today, clearly. Though maybe he should’ve bargained for Tuesday evenings off. It could be quite hard, not to mention fucking ironic, to push through self-defence courses while the injuries from yesterday’s beating prevented him from standing up straight.

"Are you going senile? It's Wednesday." Jay pretended not to notice the dangerous atmosphere, Zayne leering at him from his chair, as he avoided eye contact and went to the bedroom to grab his bag.

"Thought maybe you were still sick in bed and in need of some distraction,” Zayne said, swivelling  the chair sideways.

"So you were planning on bullying on the sick," Jay called from the bedroom, "nice." He rushed from one end of the room to the next, fishing a t-shirt and shorts from his closet, grabbing his sneakers and stuffing them all in his bag in a hurry. If he could just make a quick exit, he could grab a bite to eat somewhere and kill some time outside. Not here.

Zayne’s gaze followed him as he rushed through his flat, eyes on the bag. “Means you’re well enough for some physical activity?”

Was he ever? “Not the kind you have in mind.”

“Just a little warm-up exercise to get you ready for your class.”

"No need.” Jay finally turned to him, frustrated. “Do you know how much it sucks when someone grabs your arm sparring, right on a day old bruise and-- oh what the hell, of course you do," he muttered as Zayne's grin only grew wider and his eyes lit up with every irritated word Jay spoke.

"No, really, do tell," Zayne got up and followed Jay to the hallway before he could slink off and out the door.

"Like this?" He clamped a hand over Jay's shoulder, right where he knew a large bruise was still healing.

Jay hissed at the sudden pain and twisted free.

Zayne took the moment to slither around him and stood in front of the door. Jay’s only escape.

“Get out the way,” Jay grunted. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t. Still got an hour.”

Zayne casually stretched out an arm, leaning against the doorframe with his forearm like a bolt resting over the top corner of the door. He didn’t fully block the exit and his stance was open, like he actually stood to the side to let Jay pass.

But when Jay tried to scurry out and pull the door open, he looked up in annoyance – somewhat incredulous even - as it stopped against Zayne’s arm.

Come on, it’s a human arm, not some wooden bolt, why can’t I just…! He tried again hoping Zayne would pull back, which of course he didn’t.

Still leaning his full weight against the door, Zayne bent over Jay.

“You’ve had almost a week to heal, in more ways than one,” he cooed down on him, arm still not budging an inch. “Figured I should ease you into our routine again.”

Jay’s eyes widened and his breath caught for a bit. “It’s Wednes—“ he tried again, looked up to meet Zayne’s mischievous eyes.

“I know what day it is.”

“We had a deal.”

“Well, we don’t have to go all the way. Just a warm-up. Remind you what you’re taking those lessons for. How are those going, by the way?”

“Fine.”

“Fight me off, then.”

With Zayne reaching up like that, his torso was unprotected. He was practically inviting – daring – Jay to make a move. Yet Jay resisted the urge to plant an elbow into his stomach and run. All it would do was make sure that Zayne would be waiting for him later that evening to show him what a bad idea that had been, leaving him with a boatload of extra adrenaline and stress during his training hour, only to come home absolutely drained and too exhausted to defend himself.

He scoffed at that. Defend himself? Yeah, right.

Zayne, noticing his hesitation, tsked softly between his teeth. “What use are those lessons if you’re too scared to use ‘em? Stay here. I’ll help you get over that fear.”

“You want to teach me how to kick you out of my own house?”

“Instruct you in the ways of violence, sure, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

“I think I’ve had enough lessons in violence.”

“Tell you what. You can go to your little fight club tonight,” Zayne started and Jay already narrowed his eyes, waiting for the ‘but’.

“And I’ll be waiting for you when you return and we’ll pick up where we left.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Or…”

Jay didn’t like the sound of that. He quickly let go of the door handle, but Zayne’s hand snapped around his wrist in a bruising grip, pulling him back. Caught off-balance, Jay fought to stay upright before he keeled right into Zayne’s chest. The hand over the door lowered and settled against the frame next to Jay’s head as Zayne encroached on his personal space and sidled closer.

“Get on your knees and beg.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Jay growled in return, but the fingers around his wrist only tightened in warning.

“Am I?”

Jay pulled against the grip and to his surprise, Zayne let go. He flexed his fingers to get rid of the numb feeling, the blood now rushing back to his fingertips. Zayne however, pushed himself off the doorway. He tilted himself up to full height and pressed his torso forward as he stepped towards Jay, pushing him away.

Jay instantly fell a step back, only to be followed by Zayne who loomed over him.

The intimidation worked wonders. Jay stumbled back in fear. He dropped his bag, ready to compromise to avoid the looming punishment.

“Okay, fine! But I’m not begging to leave my own flat! We had a d—“

But as he lowered to the floor, hand raised in surrender yet still sputtering his complaints, the sudden force of a boot to the chest caught him off guard. He fell back over the doorstep to the living room. Heard heavy thumping footsteps get closer and before he could scuttle away on his elbows, a groan was forced from him as Zayne stomped on his chest and pinned him to the ground.

The leather toe of Zayne’s heavy motor cycle boot nudged against his chin. Jay glanced up, eyes wide, and caught Zayne’s grin before the man let his weight fall down.

Jay grunted, his ribcage protesting against the sudden force.

His back arched against the wooden floor and he let his head fall back as he grit his teeth against the pain. Big mistake. Zayne took full advantage and slipped his boot down over Jay’s now exposed throat.

Carefully and very slowly, he shifted his weight again and Jay let out a cut off soft gasp as the pressure on his windpipe increased until he couldn’t breathe.

Hands roamed up, clawed into fists and pounded uselessly against Zayne’s ankles and shinbone that were protected by more rigid, sturdy leather. Jay kicked and struggled, his own shoes squeaking against the wooden floor.

He reached up, feeling for the edges of Zayne’s boot, fingers clawing into the fabric of the black jeans. While it seemed he was just scrambling desperately at Zayne’s leg, he had a plan. He found the weak spot, just behind the knee, and his fingers squeezed hard.

“Whoa!” Zayne yelped and pulled back in alarm when he felt the soft pinch break through his jeans before Jay could fully twist his fingers into the tendon. “That is nasty, Jay! What the hell, did your training actually teach you something useful?”

Jay didn’t answer. He scrambled up and pressed himself up against the side of the couch. He sat on his hunches, one arm over the armrest the other hand massaging his throat, panting and wheezing trying to catch his breath with his eyes still warily on Zayne.

Zayne let out a scoff as he saw him like that, a cat backed into a corner, but started to laugh. He rubbed the back of his leg. “I still feel that. Well, okay. Go learn some more tricks, I guess.”

He stepped aside, clearing the way out. “The extra adrenaline might give you a bit of an edge, tonight.”

-

Continued here

[chironshorseass]

idk if you’re still taking prompts but 7 angst for percabeth after BoTL but before tlo, thank you so much!!

idk what this is, but hopefully, it’s not too horrible bc I can’t bring myself to read it again lol.

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

tw: blood

read on ao3

Plans don’t always go well. Annabeth should know; she’s a daughter of Athena. But one holds on to hope like it’s the last thing they have, even when accidents happen.

It was a frequent thing nowadays, for demigods to leave on missions as a desperate attempt to thwart off the titan forces. Annabeth understood the risks.

Percy did too, but he’d insisted that it was fine, that he needed to go.

He’d left with some Hephaestus and Hermes kids, intending to raid one of Kronos’ troops that had camped close to New York.

They hadn’t counted on the empousai, though. And because of this, most of the boys—including Percy—had nearly died.

But what else was new?

The thing was that...he didn't have to go. But he and Beckendorf had grown closer over the past year, so nothing could stop him from tagging along with the son of Hephaestus and the rest of the group. Maybe because he also felt bad that he’d missed out on most of the missions; he’d been absent for so long, lost in the streets of New York City.

Whatever the stupid reason was, he’d refused to listen to Annabeth, disappearing into the horizon with Blackjack and the rest of the pegasi.

He’ll survive, she’d told herself. If he really was the child of the prophecy, then…

This mission wouldn’t be the last thing he did. Or his last day on Earth. That title would likely belong to his birthday.

Gods, he’s going to die anyway.

But for now, he wouldn’t, at least not according to what she’d heard.

Thanatos would bide his time, hooded and standing at the doors between life and death, not yet ready to welcome Percy with his chilled breath.

Soon, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t like she’d been worried sick and then nearly threw up her lunch once the crew had arrived, a few yards away from the infirmary, bloodstained and battle-torn.

By all the extra load on the pegasi that she could make out from the distance, she supposed that at least they’d been successful.

Percy, however, was leaking blood down his neck, furtively trying to clamp it down with a bandana.

Soon, but not today.

He leaned against Beckendorf, his eyes baring clouds, fogged and lost. The son of Hephaestus helped him off of Blackjack, but still, he would’ve crumpled to the ground had it not been for Annabeth running to him like a madwoman. The grass crunched behind her; the others were right on her heels.

“What happened?” she cried, grabbing hold of Percy’s shoulders as his head slumped against her chest. She staggered back from his sudden weight, then righted herself.

“Hey, ‘Beth,” Percy said weakly, the words jumbling together against his lips and her shirt.

She looked at Beckendorf helplessly.

“Empousai,” he gasped, then made a hissing sound, pressing a hand to his back. It came back crimson red.

“You’re hurt!” she said as if it weren’t obvious.

Other demigods, Apollo kids mostly, rushed past her with medical supplies. But Will stopped next to them, breathing hard. He handed out ambrosia to Beckendorf and Annabeth’s waiting hands.

His eyes blazed, focused on something past her head. He waved frantically at someone, signaling them to come, and quickly. She whirled around and caught sight of Chiron trotting toward them.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed, giving them a nod as though they’d argued with him against it. He retreated a few steps, legs reacting to sudden howls of pain that echoed further back. “Just, just wait here. I’ll just…”

He dashed away, lost in the mass of pegasi and bodies that moved in all directions, shouting. In the chaos, Will was their only help at organizing it all—but she’d still tasted bile in her throat, not quite used to the way he ignored Percy and his mortal wound to the neck.

In a swift, mastered movement, Annabeth had made him chew on the Ambrosia. She’d been about to say something else—some words of encouragement—when a blur of curly brown hair nearly tripped her and Percy over. She readjusted him in her arms; Percy mumbled something incomprehensible, making her heart tighten.

“Charlie!” Silena called, flinging herself into Beckendorf’s arms.

He grunted in response but smiled through his obvious pain.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

She kissed him, but only for a second because Beckendorf had already pulled away faster than her sudden arrival.

Silena scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

His concerned gaze leached into Percy, whom Annabeth could barely hold now.

Has he always been this heavy?

She followed her boyfriend’s line of vision and saw her friend standing in front of her for the first time. Her face morphed into shock, eyes widening. In a flash, Silena was there, hauling one of Percy’s arms over her shoulder. He was no longer conscious.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words tumbling into the pool that was now Annabeth’s fevered heart. “I didn’t...”

Annabeth could only shake her head. She had to get Percy some actual help. She pressed the cloth harder into his neck. It had to be the fucking neck.

“Will!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Chiron!”

Panting, Beckendorf closed the distance, limping over to Annabeth. “I’m going to help the others. We weren’t so lucky on our mission, and...” He glanced somewhere past them. “Chiron’s coming our way. We have to—”

Silena inhaled sharply. “You’re bleeding, too? Why didn’t—”

“No time, ‘Lena.”

In an instant, Chiron was there, extending his arms out.

“Give him to me.” His voice was firm and urgent.

After all, the neck was a highly vulnerable place. A slit to the throat could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds. Percy was a demigod, and likely the cut hadn’t been too deep, or else he’d be dead by now. But still, she didn't know how much longer he could hold up.

Already she’d felt the tell-tale warmth of blood trickling into her skin, already she’d envisioned the life draining out of him. The sand of an hourglass raining, spilling down to the bottom.

;

They’d told her that he’d lost too much blood, that the claw wound had just barely hit an artery. But above all else, he was lucky. He’d survive.

She’d been there, hands washed clean from the rusted blood, sitting on his bedside in the infirmary and watching him sleep while her mind was wide awake. Will came and went, wrapping bandages and giving him fresh doses of ambrosia; Chiron did, too—as if none of this was his fault and he could pretend to care for injured demigods.

But she stayed. Stayed and watched.

Annabeth had forgotten how long she’d been there, staring at the blank walls, eyes unfocused. Will had poked his head inside for the final time and insisted for her to get some sleep; it was late. She’d shaken her head and refused.

Her eyes closed for a second, though it must’ve been longer than that, because, when she opened them again, golden light had already streamed through the window. It cast delicate shadows across the room. In her daze, she hadn’t realized that someone was calling her name, light as a butterfly.

Percy.

“Annabeth,” he repeated.

She blinked the sleep away to find a pair of green eyes watching her.

Though his hair was twisted and knotted, and his complexion was a worrying shade lighter, Annabeth thought that she’d never seen a more inviting sight.

“You asshole!” she gasped, lunging forwards with desperate fingers, hugging Percy tighter than she’d ever had in her life.

After a while, his head dropped back to the pillow to get a better look at her.

“Hey.” He grinned lazily.

There was a sweet wonder to his face—like he couldn’t believe she was here, waiting for him to wake up.

But her mind flashed to when his heartbeat had weakened, when scarlet red covered her shaking hands and she’d seen him slump into Chiron as their teacher dropped him here, in the infirmary.

“D’you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

His brows knit in confusion. “What do you…” A hand flew to his neck, to his bandages. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Her voice felt like rough sandpaper. “That.”

Percy winced. “Okay, okay. I can explain; that demon came out of nowhere, right? And I slashed and shit, but she still got me, and—”

“You could’ve died, Percy. You get that?”

“I know, I know! But I didn’t!”

She took a rattling breath and looked away. She suddenly felt faint; her lungs didn’t seem to gather enough oxygen. Everything was too overwhelming, too big and small all at the same time.

She was dimly aware of Percy saying something. Then, she felt the warmth of her hand in his. It helped bring her back, but barely.

“Hey. Hey, look at me, Annabeth. Look at me.” Reluctantly, she did as he said. “Breathe with me. C'mon—in two three four, out two three four...”

Annabeth didn’t know how long they stayed that way, anchored to the surety of Percy’s grip on her hand and breathing along to his rhythm, until she’d found a way back to her bearings.

“You’re okay. I’m okay,” he said, repeatedly.

She nodded.

“Talk to me.”

Here he was, the boy who had nearly died, consoling the girl who’d watched the whole thing.

She nodded again, and this time, she closed her eyes, taking in some of this new peace of mind Percy had offered.

He was safe, and they were alright.

Finally, she exhaled.

“How’re you feeling?” She bit her lip, remembering something, and then muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t really ask you that first.”

“S’okay.” Now that she noticed him, truly noticed him, she could tell how tired he was. “I’m fine. Just feel like mush.”

“Your neck doesn’t hurt? Will gave you some morphine.”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s kinda numb, I guess. Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“Hmm. Probably why I feel like mush.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat. Not for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t—Gods, Perce,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.  “If you’d only seen it…”

“I know. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

Annabeth didn’t realize that she was crying until Percy softly flicked his thumb across her cheek. He reluctantly moved it down to her lips, swiping at the tears that had already pooled there.

It wasn’t really something she planned to do, and in any other case would’ve embarrassed her, but she found herself resting her forehead against his. Maybe to steady herself. Maybe to feel his presence more, a spare hand combing through his locks.

She wasn’t so sure.

But still, she let herself close her eyes, enjoying this moment of quiet. Percy did too, sighing softly, rubbing her back idly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, when they separated. “M’here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, just by how tender his touch had been, taking care of her when he was the injured one. How close they were at that moment. How her tears tasted like that time she’d kissed him, all salt and sweat and fervor.

Now, she was able to see the little flecks of blue in his irises, drink in all of his details like she was dying of thirst. They were so close that she was able to feel exactly when his breath hitched like hers had done just milliseconds before, how it smelled like medicine and chocolate cookies all in one.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, not taking his gaze from her. “I didn’t listen to you.”

At least he acknowledged it. Again.

“No. You didn’t.”

His thumb still lingered on her face, a ray of sunlight that she greedily took only for herself, leaning into him. It ghosted around her skin, that trailing touch of his. And despite its warmth, it sent shivers down her spine.

His eyes never left hers. Roving, feeling down to her very soul.

He’d always been the one to break her walls, destroy the dam she’d carefully built for as long as she could remember. Poseidon wasn’t his father for nothing.

And as he grasped a stray curl that fell across her left eye, tucking it ever so gently behind her ear, she felt that water roaring all over her mind. The flood happened too fast, consuming every last restraint and denial that crossed its path.

Annabeth didn’t catch it until she risked a glance to his lips.

Gods, he’s so close. Too close.

In the blink of an eye, she was leaning in, intoxicated by everything about him. Percy caught the back of her jaw with his hand, guiding her closer.

Their breaths mingled together.

Her lips parted. Closer…

“Hey, how’s—oh shit, sorry!”

She repelled from him, electrified, and whipped her head to the screeching of the curtain rod.

Cheeks flushed, Will yanked at the curtains, closing them once again.

“Wait!” Annabeth glanced at Percy, whose eyes were wide. “Will, this isn’t—”

The latter hollered from the other side, “I can come later! To, um, change bandages! Be good!”

So close.

She wanted to slap herself.

No.

This wasn’t right. For a second, she’d forgotten what was at stake. Let herself be swept away.

Have you ever considered that he’s going to die?

He’ll leave you just like everyone else.

This was dangerous, letting herself taste what wasn’t meant to be.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped, standing up, an unknown force pushing her back.

Percy blinked, slower than usual. Probably from all the ambrosia and nectar and mortal medicine.

“Annabeth—”

He reached for her, but she was already backing away into the wall, stumbling over her wooden chair.

“No, I shouldn’t have…” She felt herself blush. “I don’t know, I...I should go.”

She scrambled towards the curtains, ignoring Percy’s expression awashed in hurt and shock.

Brushing past his bedside, he grabbed her arm.

“Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

Blinking away her tears, Annabeth forced herself to look at him.

If I stay, you’ll leave me first.

But she didn’t say that, only shook her head and watched as those beautiful eyes of his creased around the corners with anguish. A part of her died a little at witnessing this. His was a heart worn on a sleeve that would soon fade away. She pulled her arm away, burned from his grip.

“‘Beth—”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, already tugging the curtain aside. “I’ll call Will.”

And she left him there in his injury, allowing it to be.

He didn’t deserve this, she knew. Not when she could enjoy the last moments with him, admitting what was in the open air between them. But they’d be one step into their ruined fate if that ever happened. If she didn’t stop.

Because she was like Tantalus, that lone fruit forever out of her reach.

He didn’t deserve this, but she didn’t deserve to have him, either.

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 10)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8100 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! again, used for updates too. sue me

DISCLAIMER! PART ONE of the finale! READ THE WARNINGS... especially the last one... Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ The next few days became a blur. Tobirama cycled between the laboratory, your room, and the interrogation and information headquarters - just like he had been the last few days. Sleep was scarce, if he allowed himself any at all. 

The pace was dictated by your condition pretty much, which did not fare any better. Quite the opposite. 

Every passing turn, the interval by which they could stretch the administration of what remained of the leash diminished. You, on the other hand were paying a price that was nothing less than your sheer life force, it seemed. The amount of support they had to provide via the seals increased constantly. As time passed, they couldn’t lessen it anymore during your lucid phases, even - rather, only increase it further, step by step. A couple of seals were added when your chakra overload allowed it - as they had not been tending to your injuries from the torture anymore, they gained a little manuverability in that regard. It was not much, but you dearly needed any edge you could get. Both of your legs, arms, your abdomen, your chest were painted with medical seals that each supported your cardiovascular system, retained organs' functions, everything. There was little of your skin left unused. 

It was painful to see. 

“I surmise this is why the Stone did not use the withdrawal as an accessory means to put a victim under more duress,” Tobirama stated utterly caustic tone once. You’d been sedated after they had administered they leash again and both he and his brother were monitoring you while the war inside your body came to a well-known break. “Putting someone under the physical and mental strain of torture while also dealing with the effects of the withdrawal could easily kill a prisoner.” His bluntness hurt him - thinking about how you might be the one dying - but what was the point in sugar-coating anything?

Tobirama's mood was dismal, though his resolve still zealous.

“Indeed,” Hashirama agreed, slightly strained by the focus he’d been keeping up. “Frankly I’m wondering how they managed to not overload the amount of what foreign chakra Y/n could take with how they… injured her and the poor quality at which they kept healing her.” In the end, there was sorrow in his voice.

Tobirama instead felt anger overshadowing his ache. “I don’t think that ever was a concern of theirs, anjia.” In fact, Tobirama could hazard a guess as to what fate would've awaited you had they finished torturing you - had he not found you in time.

They shouldn't call it the Leash - the Noose seemed to be a better fit.

Still, chakra overload was unpleasant - uncomfortable, and to a point medically concerning, too, but lethal? Hardly. That is, if a patient was not in such a grievous state you found yourself in.

Yet the worst was your loss of vitality overall. It manifested in more agonising ways - it wasn’t as though you were becoming more haggard than you had been since the rescue - it was the way your hair lost its shine, the paleness of your skin, the tired gaze of sunken in eyes, the rasp of your voice as wheezing coughs wrecked you. 

Numerous of your organs had begun to show signs of failure more and more rapidly as soon as the withdrawal settled in. Soon, they barely had enough time to recover during the times you weren’t under the effects of the withdrawal - a vicious circle Hashirama monitored closely and one Tobirama dreaded like little else in life. If the balance tilted - if your body couldn’t recuperate enough any more - then your life was all the more on the line. 

Those hours - they felt the longest. He’d pace anxiously in your room, demand updates until Hashirama allowed him to join in his efforts. Or until he did politely tell him to wait. Politely.

Tobirama couldn’t remember when last he had felt so miserable in his life. He was watching you wither away in his hands, in the safest place he could think of in the entire world, due to a decision he had ultimately agreed to. Whenever he was with you the pain in his heart froze his entire being, his breathing was felt as laboured as yours and all of the world was numb besides the plight you were suffering. And he - he had allowed it. And if he hadn’t - if he hadn't… he didn't want to finish the thought, ever.

Worse yet, your consciousness began to wither more and more during the precious phases of lucidity, when the leash spared you from the hellish withdrawal. You simply were too weak to stay awake for long. But you tried. How you tried - and he knew why. For him. Your fierce spirit would keep fighting.

“How… is it going, Tobi?” you’d ask him always, your voice no more but a broken whisper.

He nearly collapsed by your side, the guilt corroding him inside out for not having accomplished his task yet. Every time his hand was under your head to stabilise it some as you looked at him; wanted to look at him - while the other held yours to his chest, stroking it tenderly. “I’m getting there, Y/n. Rest, please,” he implored you brokenly, each time, “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here.”

His heart broke when you didn’t find the strength to quip back at him like you usually would. 

You just smiled bravely.

For all the agony this put him in - all the torment you went through - it only fuelled his resolve to recreate the leash. The extra time you were giving at such great expense he put to good use - and there barely was a time there weren’t some shadow clones working on refining his copy of the leash. The price he paid for this was staggering. Each time he released them, the exhaustion almost floored him. Their experience and memories were invaluable for speeding up the process infinitely - to even give him a sliver of hope to make it in time - but a few days in and Tobirama was forced to sit down before he let go of the very jutsu he devised. Practical, it was. But the toll it took on one’s body was hellish - his vision would blacken, his knees shake and he was sure he fainted a couple of times, too, for the sheer amount of concentration each of his clones had poured into the task at hand. 

Yet every time Tobirama felt he was teetering on the brink of a collapse, he simply reminded himself of what was at stake here.

Hellish became a relative term, then. He paid the small price, he figured. 

And there were ways and means to keep going beyond any physical signs of exhaustion. Tobirama turned to them quickly when the usage of his shadow clone technique became too taxing - various medications starting with simple caffeine to more sinister substances if taken for too long a time. He didn’t care for that risk. Sleep simply was lost time. Needed, surely. He’d catch up, eventually. Because ultimately - ultimately, this whole game would be over very soon, way too soon. Cynically he did wonder sometimes when he’d start to see white mice running up the walls, hear voices whisper or other hallucinations - but his thoughts never strayed from either creating the leash or your current condition. There was no room for anything else. And he was nothing if not focused on his task.

Kimi’s blood samples had been valuable leads in the whole process of making this damned drug. They demonstrated how his alternative had affected her - which wasn’t far off the shot when it came to the muting component of the leash. The disruption only rudimentarily resembled the real leash. Nonetheless, he felt confident with enough shadow clones - he’d continue down this path and start to weave his chakra in better and better to get where it had to be. After all, the result had been promising. Lucky for him, because it did strongly suggest no jutsu was involved in creating the leash as such. It really boiled down to the weaving process and its complexity. He wondered how long it had taken Zenji to master creating the leash.

Weaving - as such it seemed to be a process that couldn’t just create a leash but any other kind of chakra infused drug.

Interesting.

His experiments on the prisoners supported his theory about the weaving further. Progress was exponentially accelerated due to his shadow clones, and as such the intricacy of his own weaving pattern made for better results. More and more, the immediate effects of the leash were becoming comparable to the actual leash - with no small amount of satisfaction, he observed how their chakra became just as muted and sluggish as yours, longer and longer. And with the same satisfaction he meticulously examined every second of their quite painful withdrawal to compare it to your symptoms and sufferings to ensure it’d be exactly the same - the fact the prisoners didn’t just harbor the same dislike for him they did for everyone at the headquarters but rather flat out hated him was entirely beyond him. He didn’t care. They were means to achieving a goal, nothing more. 

Especially Zenji used every opportunity to count down the time to what he believed would be your demise. His perception of such must be entirely broken, as he missed the mark he prophesied would be your end - much to Tobirama’s smug glee. Though he knew better than to let anything on. Bickering with this man - with any of them - was just more waste of time. He simply went in with Ikuro, sometimes one of his subordinates, to brutally administer the leash and start to observe the prisoners and take blood samples. If any of them acted up in whatever ways they could - which wasn’t much, given their restraints - they were punished, harshly. He couldn’t risk spilling these experimental drugs, either. As Tobirama’s patience wore down alongside the remaining supply of the leash - and ultimately, your life force - more jaws were broken.

Naturally, his cold, almost brutal demeanour wasn’t noticed by the prisoners only. More than once Ikuro had to call him off for pushing the limit on what a subject could take - or disagree on continuing interrogation. Things Tobirama mentally rolled his eyes at but never spoke up against save for curt affirmations past his clenched teeth. Ikuro would be well within his rights to stop his proceedings altogether - or worse, report to Hashirama. It was a silent understanding that if the experiments became too dangerous, Tobirama had to stop and provide medical aid to the stone shinobi. As much as he hated it. He had to make better progress. You were paying the worst price.

Unfortunately the leash’s creation proved to be about the best guarded secret of Zenji’s mind - and with how he was biding his time, he was extremely determined to last longer than Tobirama, or rather, you. They gleaned all kinds of information not just from him, but also the other prisoners - the better Tobirama became at replicating the leash, the more effective the interrogation was. He surmised there may be even more complex machinations at work in how this drug worked in a person’s mind, but he had no proof of this, only theories. Not that he cared - it didn’t matter right now. Still, Zenji remained the toughest fortress; he’d die before cracking. Although Ikuro did appear to be more lax when it came to torturing and experimenting on him; Tobirama was not. 

Just like Zenji, Kimi was refusing to surrender what little she knew of the leash, no matter how extreme the pressure. Two of their compatriots had cracked while under the effects of Tobirama’s leash-copy, a victory he did not celebrate at all. It was useless unless Zenji broke or he perfected the recreation of the leash. Anything else would result in your death. Still, it was one of the rare occasions he allowed himself a moment of smugness in front of Zenji.

No more than a sneer did Tobirama give him.

Zenji was fuming. “You think you’re so fucking clever-” he spat.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow and cut him off coolly. “I am. Despite your assertions, I am getting closer to recreating this precious leash of yours every day. And after that, you will be useless, given how your fellow shinobi keep cracking.” The last bit was spoken as darkly as he meant it to be.

Zenji bared his teeth - but not out of anger. He was grinning. “I’m sticking to my word, Senju - I will relish telling you the secret once Y/n died one of the most painful deaths imaginable while you sat by.”

Tobirama knew better than to let the ire that was flooding him show. Zenji’s jaw was barely healing. 

Well, there were other bones to break, though.

“You might get closer to creating the leash, but you won’t succeed, and I’d give my damn life to see the helpless look on your face when Y/n takes her last, tormented breath, whispering your name in sheer agony as life-”

Tobirama’s arm shot forward before he could think. But he knew better than to punch the prisoner again. His vice grip had seized the broken jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to prevent so much as a scream coming out. Only a slow moan of pain. His scarlet gaze was murderous. “Actually, your pathetic life hangs on Y/n’s survival, Zenji. Do you realise that, you very, very clever man?”, Tobirama explained, frightfully calm.

Zenji stilled completely. 

“I care not for something petty like revenge or your fate ultimately,” he continued icily, “but Konoha does not need to feed mouths that are useless to us nor send them back to the enemy to use them against us again. I think you can figure the rest out.” He released him as brutally as he could, turning on his heel. He had to leave before he did more to this man.

Zenji stopped shouting at Tobirama after this.

Even so, Zenji’s words had not rung hollow. As much progress he made when it came to the weaving process, permanence of the effects would not be attained. The more time - really, each passing hour - pressed him, the more desperate he became to solve this riddle - this seemingly last riddle stopping him from creating the perfect copy of the leash.

It was after yet another quite fruitful session of experimentation that he -

“Damn it!”, he shouted, smashing his balled fist on the lab bench after analysing the yield of the day thoroughly. The woven pattern was swirling brightly like it would in the leash, the complexity well fit the real drug and the experiments were showing promising results.

However… “It’s not a damn leash yet-” he breathed through his clenched teeth, swaying back, vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table just in time before he lost his foothold. The exhaustion from releasing his clones before had struck viciously again. 

Hitting inanimate objects out of frustration was one thing. Talking to himself another. He dragged both palms over his face. By his current calculations, they had about sixty hours left.

Sixty hours, then they’d be out of leash and your time was cut very short.

Ice flooded his veins and his vision blackened completely briefly.

It couldn’t be helped. He needed a jutsu - or a seal - to perfect the leash. At this point - with this little time left - his previous evaluation of such a technique being an obstacle he'd scale easily compared to what he had done so far seemed quite daring. In fact, how could he have thought anything about this was going to be easy? Even when he had already guessed he’d need this, sooner or later.

Ultimately he started to divide his shadow clone force between perfecting the weaving process and starting to figure a seal out to make the effects last - rather, the disruption. Since the muting component did wear off at a comparable time in his own creations now, it was a fair assumption no technique sealed this effect in. And the way the disruption almost branded itself into a victim’s blood - that was all the more telltale. But how to create a seal that worked in a liquid? Back when he initially assumed such a seal to be of inferior quality due to a lack of external evidence, he automatically assumed it should be simple to create one himself. Now, it almost felt like starting over again - like when he was weaving the second component in. A seal that did not just ensure permanence of the effects but rather only concern a single effect - ridiculous. Somberly he realised actually back then, he simply had not grasped the complexity of all this fully to make such an assumption in the first place. 

More guilt to burden him, ultimately. 

Just as he feared, initial tests proved to be difficult in the way a seal damaged the delicate weave of his chakra in the base liquid. He quickly discarded the approach in favour of starting from scratch - if only the disruption stuck, then it was quite possible a seal was applied before the second component got woven in. That worked better - slightly, if just for the fact the substance was less intricate like this and a seal was simpler to apply like this. Even so, Tobirama could think of a handful of seals to preserve chakra in some capacity. He’d have to take a logical approach: given there had been no outward sign of a seal being used, it must be a simpler one. Furthermore, he knew from your blood samples the way the drug didn’t just cling but nearly branded itself to you; therefore there must be a way for the seal to interact with the victim’s organism as well. That seemed doable; seals followed the rules the user created. Like a string of orders. He felt confident in his skill to pull it off - if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to place a seal in a liquid substance right now. A seal on a parchment, sure. Medical jutsu that required seals, absolutely. Seals in combat, too - but in a liquid? 

He had no time to dwell on whether or how that was possible. Once more his shadow clones would aid him in trying out different approaches: applying seals to the vial first, weaving the disrupting component in and then trying to seal it off, or even trying to weave in a seal alongside the disruption. The last of the approaches appeared to be more fruitful than the others truth be told, but the more effort he gave it, the less the tender fabric of the drug tore apart for it in either one. The leash really was about patience, a knack for handling very fragile threads of chakra and a lot of concentration. None of which Tobirama could claim he had in great quantity right now. By the end of this session releasing his clones resulted in him losing consciousness for a solid thirty minutes. When he woke, he had a headache as though someone drilled a hole into his skull.

Naturally that didn’t stop him. All three of his experiments were tested right away and despite Ikuro’s concerns to not divide Tobirama’s attention between three prisoners, the man enforced his will by ultimately reminding everyone of the ticking clock. Each passing second made him more desperate and the life of a Stone shinobi less valuable. Even if he lost all three. He still had three more.

“They still hold information we have not yet cracked,” Ikuro warned sternly.

“Testing each of these one after the other is going to cost hours that Y/n doesn’t have,” Tobirama spat back, unfazed. “I’m here, I can use a shadow clone to divide my attention if need be,” he elaborately nonchalantly.

Ikuro crossed his arms. “That’s not the same.”

Tobirama growled exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to explain his own damn jutsu to Ikuro now. “I assure you, it is. Let’s use the broken prisoners, they’ve lost value, if that eases your concern.” The coldness of his tone made clear what he was implying.

Unsurprisingly, Ikuro wasn’t taken aback by his lack of regard for human life. His job demanded a certain detachment from just that, Tobirama figured. “Alright.” Even though Ikuro still didn’t seem quite sold on Tobirama’s plan. The life of a Konoha shinobi still bore greater weight than that of Stone prisoners.

At the end of that day, Tobirama realised his intuition had been right: the test subject with the third method showed a prolonged phase of withdrawal, serious symptoms - serious enough to warrant medical observation that Tobirama left to the unit with clear instructions. He didn’t have time now. Sadly the seal’s permanence was not on par with the leash’s yet - the withdrawal had been fading, too. 

But this - all this, it was the right direction. He knew it. If he gave his all into his and worked with the time he had left, he felt he could reach this insane goal of recreating this drug. 

Following the experiments, he sat by your side that evening while you were allowed a short moment of simple sleep. No withdrawal, no terrors under the effects of the leash. He dared to feel a sliver of hope. No more. Gently, his hand stroked your forearm as his heart ached from watching you. You’d open your eyes briefly and recognition flashed in your gaze - he simply let his chakra coat your network in a warm embrace. Stiffness eased out from his shoulders as his eyes prickled again.

“I’m getting there, Y/n,” he simply whispered, tenderly. 

You gave no reply or notion of having gotten the message. His heart hurt more for it.

Of course he already had a handful of clones working on the approach before he left for your side to join them in the endeavour. 

The final race began after that. Using as many clones as he possibly could, he started to create the leash - really create it, not just parts of it, practicing weaving or trying seals out. This was it - he would need to perfect this procedure until an immaculate result in a prisoner was achieved. Once he tethered one of them to the leash, he knew he had succeeded and could make more for you. The proverbial light at the end of this hellish tunnel kicked his system more into overdrive than any substance he could take to keep himself on track. It was a real high, almost.

Hashirama tried to get him to rest once he caught wind of the fervor with which he worked.

“You’re doing what?!”, his brother near shouted, horrified. 

Tobirama rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “Get out of here and back to Y/n,” he ordered sternly, not even looking back at his brother, standing in the door of the makeshift laboratory.

Hashirama’s footsteps drew closer, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder had him whip around with unconcealed fury. “What.” Tobirama’s voice was an infuriated growl through clenched teeth. A warning everyone heeded. Except his brother, of course.

Hashirama didn’t pull his figurative punches now. “You’re using way too many shadow clones, you’re not sleeping and is-” he pointed on the lab bench, eyes wide now as he recognized the substances Tobirama had been taking, “-is that-”

“You worry about your work, and leave me to mine, anija!” Tobirama shouted back with unbridled ire, seizing his brother by the shoulders to start shoving him out. 

Sadly, he was determined to stand his ground, swatting the hands away. “Sure, destroy yourself so the first thing Y/n can do after recovering is mourn you!” His dark eyes were ablaze now. Even for a non-sensor shinobi, the magnificent aura of his riled up chakra was easy to pick up on. For Tobirama’s senses, it was suffocating, like staring into the sun. The overload just fueled his anger more.

“Get. Out.” The heat was gone from his voice. It was a threat now.

Hashirama held Tobirama’s scarlet gaze for far longer than anyone else did. Wordlessly, he summoned a wood clone. “I’ll watch you. You’re not going to kill yourself, brother.” Then, he turned on his heels to leave the laboratory.

Tobirama was floored for a moment. How dare he. Then, he proverbially exploded as the fury burned so bright inside of him, it was painful. “You will do no such thing!” He yelled after his brother, following with swift stomps. “Take your damn babysitter with you, I don’t need one!”

Hashirama all but ignored him and simply kept on walking down the corridor. Tobirama rushed back to the laboratory where his clones were still at work to eye his brother’s wood clone with sheer antipathy. Briefly, he contemplated destroying it - but ultimately decided against that just for the fact that might break anything precious in the laboratory.

That meant he just had to conceal his exhaustion better now. And no more help from additional medication. 

The rush to the finish line of the gruelling race was just as Tobirama had expected it. He didn’t measure time in days anymore but hours you had left. Your condition kept on worsening and ultimately, Hashirama decided they no longer could risk you going into withdrawal at all. That cut back the time slightly, but not much. Enough for Tobirama to not even feel the slightest bit of exhaustion anymore. Frankly during his work he was nothing but sharply focused. It was when he was by your side the emotions boiled up - the ache that teared at his heart, the suffocating sensation of sorrow, guilt. Overburdening protection paired with crushing worry. Your sheer will had bought them necessary time, he’d just make it work now. It was all he could do.

But now, even in what should be your rest - the precious hours in which you may wake - you barely opened your eyes anymore. They were forced to amp the seals up to a maximum of support to deal with the backlash of all the times you had suffered from the withdrawal, and either Hashirama or Tobirama constantly found themselves at your side to ensure your condition didn’t worsen. Every bit of additional chakra your strained system could take went into stabilizing you further from the inside. It was an extremely fragile balance they upheld - but the truth was, in the Stone shinobi’s hands your body had suffered grievous, outward wounds and now your inside was just as impacted by everything it had gone through. 

Your path to recovery would be an arduous one. One Tobirama did not doubt one second you’d walk strongly and gracefully, one on which he’d not leave your side, at all. He still felt tremendous guilt for everything they - he - had been forced to do to you, everything you went through under his watch. Even now, what little time he spent monitoring you, examining your condition, he never let the warm connection fade - hoping you might at least feel that.

That you weren't alone.

Progress on the leash was as exponential as expected. His shadow clones and his own vigour ensured as much. Over and over he perfected the results he produced. Time would not allow for lengthier tests anymore as the better his craft became, the longer a test subject suffered from the effects of his leash. He had to cycle through the prisoners who barely caught a break now, not that he cared, of course. But every experiment needed to start from a fresh slate, otherwise the result might be muddled. What he could do in the laboratory was to compare his own substance with the actual leash - which he did with unmatched diligence. Once a confusing swirl of chakra, intricate and impossible to pick apart easily, he now saw structure in it. With the experience of not just himself but many copies of himself, he now was sure: learning to create the leash might take months, if not years. 

When your hours were down to a single digit, he was unable to find a difference between his version of the leash and the actual drug.

An eerie kind of excitement gripped him. His head spun dizzily from it. Had he done it? Was this it?

Only one way to find out. And no time to waste. They had just a single dose of the leash left to give to you. 

Tobirama turned to what he sarcastically dubbed his babysitter. “Tell my brother with luck, I’m off to the interrogation headquarters for the last time.”

The last time he slept was forty-one hours ago. Involuntarily, at that. Overwhelmed by releasing the shadow clone jutsu, as it was.

The wood clone nodded and turned to leave.

Tobirama used his hiraishin seal to teleport to the interrogation headquarters after slipping the vial into his pocket - he had placed a branded piece of parchment there days ago. Another way to save time.

He headed straight for Ikuro’s office. By now the members of the interrogation unit knew when not to stand in his way - it was the kind of thoughtfulness he appreciated, even though he never uttered a word to that regard. Given the time of the day, early morning, Ikuro was behind the desk. Tobirama didn’t even knock but tore the door open. 

“We need to start another test now.” 

Ikuro glanced up from the document he was reading. By now he knew not to expect ‘good morning’ from him anymore or other pleasantries. Still, this was quite straightforward even for Tobirama’s standards. “You’ve been here last night,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve made progress since then. I have reason to believe I’ve done it.” Finally.

That elicited a whistle of surprise even from Ikuro, who seldom did more than smile slightly at whatever was tossed in his direction. But a frown followed. “I don’t need to tell you that-”

Tobirama slammed his palm on the table a huffed through clenched teeth. “I know and we don’t have any time left,” he hissed, borderline desperate now. The fact this would be his last shot before you - he refused to finish the thought.

Ikuro’s mien was stony, but he rose to his feet. “Kimi should be most recovered.”

He followed silently down into the holding block. Whatever gazes he might have felt upon him he either was accustomed to or forgotten. Except for Zenji’s stare. The damn, knowing stare. He never looked more than a spare second into his eyes.

Upon unlocking Kimi’s door, the woman’s head raised up slowly to muster her new company with contempt. The last days had left traces on all the prisoners. Like her compatriots, even the mental bulwark of seeming sheer insanity was showing cracks. Kimi had dark rings under her eyes and the proverbial paint was flaking off. “Is Y/n not fucking dead yet?”, she commented lazily, gaze settling on the vial in Tobirama’s grasp. They had long passed the stage of feigned pleasantries, inquiries about your wellbeing, or even Ikuro behaving like a friend towards her.

All of this had become a well practiced ritual the prisoners knew better than to resist. In a way, they had broken them all in that regard.

Ikuro seized the back of her head already and gave Tobirama a nod.

Kimi’s nostrils flared. “Can’t be much longer now. Y’still gonna keep trying to make the leash after she’s dead, by the way?”, she spat, fighting against the vice hold of the interrogation master.

Tobirama walked closer slowly, expression steely. As cold as he felt inside. He always did when he was down here - these people were barely human to him, anymore. Threats like Kimi’s were their favourite to make. He knew better than to react. His hand shot forward to grasp her jaw - her resistance was notably weaker than it had been a few days ago. 

Good.

Easily, his hand could coax her jaw forward to open her mouth and pour only a small portion of the vial in. Ikuro shot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.” Tobirama answered gruffly as he secured her throat to prevent her from spitting anything back at them. She gagged briefly, prompting Tobirama to up the pressure until she swallowed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, but her pupils dilated already. 

Ikuro closed his eyes to get to work. Tobirama monitored the effect of his leash unfolding briefly and with no small amount of satisfaction. The muting component hammered Kimi’s chakra network just like yours had been. His heart beat faster. Swiftly he withdrew to take a first blood sample of the initial effect and continued to monitor Kimi, who had surrendered to the torture silently by now. Unusual. Most of the time, she found ways to spew colorful insults at either him or Ikuro.

Interesting.

The rest of the experiment proceeded just as perfectly. Tobirama felt near dizzy from the nervousness that gripped him and he was surprised to find he wasn’t shaking from excitement when the withdrawal began to hit the stone shinobi as the muting component wore off - sooner than usual, thanks to the smaller dosage, but it still took quite a while. Ikuro wasn’t finished with the mental interrogation yet, but a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“She’s becoming weaker,” he noted.

“I know. Keep on going.” Hell, they might even crack her now with the added pressure. After all, Tobirama was painfully well-versed in dealing with withdrawal effects, and Kimi’s body was not suffering from chakra overloading at all. 

The shift in the dynamic hadn’t escaped Kimi, either. Restlessness was gripping her. “This doesn’t change anything,” she pressed out, breathing laboured. Her forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. It wouldn’t be long now until the withdrawal will become painful.

Tobirama ignored her and gripped her throat tighter as he examined more closely. If the disruption didn’t fade he -

“It doesn’t change-,” Kimi choked out again, against the vice grip he held her in. “-fucking anything!” Her voice had become a fine sneer in the end.

Tobirama opened his eyes to find the prisoner grinning, staring at the ceiling with a hollow glance. That didn’t sit well with him. Kimi knew more about the leash - knowledge they hadn’t yet gotten out of her. 

They’d still proceed now. No turning back.

More time passed. She shouted out again a couple times, more slurred than the other before a tremor gripped her body and the words became gargled moans of pain. Inflammation began to kindle inside of her in an awfully familiar way. The disruption was starting to wreak havoc inside of her. Time for the next blood sample, which Tobirama took swiftly.

“Her mind is becoming fragmented, Tobirama,” Ikuro warned, pale eyes opening. That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t continue like this.

“I’ll stabilise her. I need to know if this fades or not,” he answered tersely, blood rushing in his ears. If it didn’t fade - then he’d -

One step after the other. Carefully he let his chakra strengthen each of Kimi’s organs somewhat, only enough to keep her going. The tormented groans subsided if just slightly, and Ikuro closed his eyes again as the haze that surrounded Kimi’s mind became thicker again. So close. They were so close.

Relief did not last long for her. Very soon, the prisoner was deteriorating again.

Tobirama almost shouted from the utter relief he felt. It could only mean one thing. His heart beat so frantically it might as well jump out of his chest at this point.

Ikuro gave him a stern reminder to watch for Kimi again, but Tobirama’s hand had seized the spasming jaw of the prisoner already. Silently, Ikuro watched as he poured the rest of the vial in only to directly continue monitoring her again.

The disruption subsided swiftly as her chakra network became near mute again. Kimi stilled completely, raising her head slowly to let out a drawn-out groan. Her gaze fixated Tobirama, pupils blown wide. There was recognition in it, but in a deranged, wild way - akin to an animal rather than a human person.

Tobirama's scarlet gaze was ablaze, his eyes widened. A low, utterly satisfied growl resounded through the cell - "Yes," he muttered, entirely absorbed in his examination.

Her reply hit like a kick to the gut.

“The leash is tied to a person… and the hand that holds it.”

Right after, her body went limp again as she surrendered to the psychotropic effects of the drug.

Tobirama took a step back, reeling. The blood still rushed in his ears and the elation had cracked like glass that had been put under too much strain. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was it now? What else did he possibly have to think of? The experiment's result was perfect. 

By all means, this woman was tied to the leash now, the leash Tobirama had created.

He just had to make more of it now - you’d be safe and he could work on a cure. But why was he feeling like his breath had been stolen from him? As though he had run the mile, won the race and yet still had to keep running, or else? His hands trembled slightly as he kept staring down the limp prisoner.

Ikuro cleared his throat. “That’s enough for today. Follow me, Tobirama.” His voice sounded urgent. Startled, Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly, he nodded only.

As they passed Zenji’s cell, the man stirred. “So,” he called out, chains clinking as he threw his body against them. “You made it? Tied Kimi to the leash?” His tone was about as icy as one might get.

Tobirama stopped in front of the cell to give him a lethal glare, all nervousness subsiding in favour of sheer fury. Ikuro stopped as well, giving Tobirama a warning glance.

“I won,” he sneered back, eyes narrow. “As I said, I recreated that little tool of yours.” His voice was dripping with caustic arrogance.

Zenji attempted a grin that looked crooked by how swollen his face still was. “I wonder about that.”

Icy dread was pooling inside of Tobirama faster than he could control it. His mien turned stony as he tried to just not rush in and break Zenji’s jaw again for his insolence. And yet the words were haunting him. Just like Kimi’s had. “You had better start thinking about another way to appear useful to us.”

Without allowing another word from the prisoner, he walked towards Ikuro, heading for the office. Surprisingly, Ikuro shut the door as soon as they were inside.

The burly man cut straight to the chase. “Kimi’s mental defenses were extremely low today,” he began. Tobirama’s heartbeat picked up again. Ikuro frowned. “I was able to glance at her knowledge about the leash. Perhaps she wanted me to, I don’t know.”

“What did you learn?”, Tobirama snapped back before he even realised what words his brain had chosen. His tone wasn’t just stern - it was commanding.

“The Stone’s interrogators use the leash frequently.” Nothing new there, Tobirama figured. With how much effort that went into this drug. He was ready to ask for more information, but Ikuro beat him to it. “However, it seems once the leash is administered to a prisoner, they always receive it from the same creator, or one of his students.” Ikuro’s frown deepened.

The realisation hit Tobirama before he could coherently process the words. The dread that had formed earlier spiralled out into every vein of his body, an ice cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he had not come this far to learn this - all this-

“What does that mean?”, Ikuro inquired when Tobirama gave no answer.

He turned around slowly to put his hands against the doorframe, taking deep breaths now. His head was swimming. This information - all he knew about the leash - it was already pooling into his mind to form a muddied mess that wouldn’t produce a coherent thought.

His breaths were raspy and short. Finally, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to speak about this. He had to return to the lab. Now.

“It means Zenji might be the only one able to create the leash for Y/n,” he answered, voice dead.

 _______

 He had precious little time left until you needed the last dose of the leash. After that, your lifespan was down to a mere few hours. Tobirama’s heartbeat never slowed down as he arrived in the laboratory, his shaking hands placing Kimi’s recent blood samples in the rack containing a great variety of vials now. His vision was tunneling. 

Only one shot.

Kimi’s statement - Zenji’s following it - and Ikuro’s information pointed towards one thing: the creation of the leash and the following interaction with the victim’s body was such a complex reaction that it didn’t allow for a different torturer’s leash to be administered to the same victim. Why was that? Tobirama could easily guess. With how much time he had spent weaving this damned drug all the little intricacies, the finicky process, it was easy to think there might be different ways to create it. Different patterns. The leash demanded repeated doses of the same drug for the disruption to be muted by the muting component - they were woven together like threads of fabric. A different pattern would not fit. That much his experiments had ascertained, too. 

Lucky for him - for you - he had stuck closely to Zenji’s sample and while primarily trying to imitate the effects of the drug, he had unintentionally copied the weaving pattern of the man himself. That much he was sure of - he had analysed his version and Zenji’s, finding no difference.

Did that mean Kimi and Zenji just thought Tobirama had - somehow - found out how to weave the leash differently? It was a possibility.

He grabbed the blood sample that contained Kimi’s blood right after administration of Tobirama’s leash. Closing his eyes, he began to examine it in great detail. The drug had spread through it hazily, coating it thickly - clogging and fuzzy. Just like it had been in you. No, exactly like it had been in you.

A first wave of relief washed through him. There was no doubt about it - had someone placed a vial of your blood under the initial effect of the leash in front of him and that of a prisoner under his own, he could only tell the difference by the innate chakra signature every body part carried, available to his fine sensor skills only. Otherwise, this was the same.

His body vibrated with tense energy, teetering on the fine edge between nervousness and sheer panic. Things he’d never show to anyone. But in the privacy of this lab - his hand shook, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

Now to the second sample.

He clasped Kimi’s blood sample tightly and shut his eyes again. Examining closer and closer, the disruptive component became obvious - the sharp edges of the chakra that had coated the blood’s cells, scathing as they went, damaging, scratching. Just like in Zenji’s leash. That, also was to be expected - after all, he had tailored the effect as per the example he had been given. 

Then why did he feel on edge? Why was time still running out? Something - something -

He took an even closer look.

And almost dropped the vial when it struck him.

“It’s the seal,” he muttered, shock and frustration fighting inside him as he felt as though he was bursting inside. The way his leash had near branded itself to Kimi’s blood - it was different, in such insignificant and tiny ways, Tobirama would’ve overlooked it. Were it not for the damned comment the lunatic witch had made, the information Ikuro had gleaned - there was no question about it. Zenji must use a slightly different sealing technique in his own version of the leash. 

What would happen if he administered his own leash to you now?

Tobirama groaned painfully, rubbing a palm over his face.

This is a nightmare. It can’t be. You only had little time left until the next - the last dose of the leash. And he had no idea how to even figure out how Zenji sealed the disrupting component of his leash.

His breaths were coming faster now and the tightness in his chest became painful - so painful he clutched the black fabric of his shirt, wheezing. Closing his eyes, his other hand reached for the edge of the laboratory bench for support as his knees shook. Distantly, he realised what the panic attack for what it was, now. Logically, he recognized it. While all the same he figured he did not have time for this.

He had to work now. He had to try - to try and do - do something-

“Damn it,” he panted. His breaths were coming in abruptly, rashly.

His vision tunneled.

He had no time- He had to work- This wasn’t-

Darkness crept from his peripheral reception into the center and Tobirama closed his eyes to force his breaths to slow down. Weakness. This was nothing but temporary weakness he had to overcome swiftly. 

By sheer willforce only quite possibly, he was riding the anguishing sensations out slowly before his body would obey him again.

Then, he grabbed the precious tiny sample of Zenji’s leash and did the only thing that came to mind: to try and dissect it for any clues. Anything at all that might tell him how Zenji sealed off his leash - anything for Tobirama to guess at the process to copy it. He began the procedure much like he’d perform an autopsy on a cadaver: from the outside to the inside. Peeling off layer after layer, removing bits and then cutting them apart into tinier pieces to examine them more closely. Systematically - thanks to his extended knowledge about the leash, there was some of that to his approach here. Of course the leash didn’t have organs like a body did, however since he knew how it was woven, he was able to trace it back this way, sort of.

Zenji’s seal was woven into the disruptive component like Tobirama’s was, intertwined in an intricate fashion he frantically sought to unravel. 

But try as he might - it was impossible. Since there was no ink work - no physical trace of the seal left save for the chakra threads alongside the disruptive component - there just was no telling just how his sealing technique might be working. Tobirama knew this.

He knew - he knew it simply was not possible.

Yet he kept on looking, searching for any clue - until the last bit of the tiny sample was entirely dissected.

And he was left empty handed.

His heart stopped for a moment and ice-cold shock burst in his chest.

Was this it, now? Had he come this far to surrender to this damn detail? He closed his eyes slowly as breaths came in faster and faster again, more ragged each time. The world was frozen. Time stood still for a moment as his mind raced faster into nowhere, while his heart, his heart knew well enough there was nothing left.

Crushing sorrow followed the shock, his lip quivered. Wetness formed under his lids and quelled down his cheeks.

“Fuck!”, he shouted - no, roared as he smashed the vial containing the useless sample of the leash against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, -” he kept yelling the profanity over and over as if that brought any relief, his hands in his white hair, pulling. He didn’t feel any physical pain - he felt nothing except for overwhelming despair that filled every crack of his mind and emotional pain too great to put into words yet his heart was being torn into two.

He’d lose you - you, the only person he’d ever entrust that silly organ to. 

He had promised you -

After all he’d done -

Limply, he sunk down with his back against a wall of the laboratory, having no idea how he had gotten there. Tears were streaming down his face freely now, he didn’t even make any effort to wipe them off or reign in any feeling anymore. It was all too much. Wheezing and sobbing he sat there for who knows how long - letting desperation and grief crush him like metal between hammer and anvil. Jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, eyes hidden under his palm - he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

He had failed you.

And now you’d die. ______ the story isn’t over yet! but i reckon I should be hanged for this cliffhanger. STAY WITH ME THOUGH OKAY!!

[uniasus]

Ice Above The Clouds

It’s day on of Summer of Whump! Today’s prompt is freezing, filled for you with Percy Jackson, Blackjack, and a Nico so ready to tell Percy “I told you so”.

Read here, or on Ao3.

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

“Are you sure about this?”

Percy shot Nico a bland look, making a show of lifting his backpack higher. “Am I sure about surprising my girlfriend for the holidays? Yes.”

“No, that I get-“

“Giving Will a surprise, eh?”

“Shut up, Percy! No, I just mean. You have your license. Why not just…drive?”

“And miss out on the chance to bond with my best bud Blackjack?” Percy gasped.

Blackjack, in the stall behind them, threw back his head and neighed. I’m offended. Does he doubt me?

“Blackjack also resents the fact that you’re implying he can’t take me there,” Percy shared.

“What, no! Blackjack, you’re a very strong flier. It’s just, have you seen the weather? It’s gonna be a cold flight.”

Percy pointed to his wool hat, double-wrapped scarf, and poofy jacket. “Also got warmers in my shoes and look! Gloves!” He wiggled his fingers. “I’m sweating right now, but I’ll be great in the air.”

Nico still looked unsure.

“It’s always cold when you fly,” Percy continued. “Winter or not. And I did look at the weather – it’ll be sunny. No storms between here and California.”

“Fine,” Nico huffed. “But if you lose a finger to frost bite-“

“You can tell me ‘I told you so’”. Percy unlatched the stall door. “Ready, Blackjack?”

You bet, boss. I’m eager to stretch my wings. The pegasus stretched out his black wings, then shook his body before trotting outside. California, here we come!

Nico watched him mount up. “Tell Annabeth hi. And IM when you get there.”

“Yes, mom.” Percy rolled his eyes and mounted Blackjack. With a whinny, the pegasus took three running steps before lifting into the air. Percy whooped with joy.

###

Percy wasn’t stupid. He had checked the weather and put on all the layers he thought he’d needed. It’s not like he’d be up in the air long – Blackjack was fast and estimated one long day of flying to get to San Francisco. Percy had had long days before. And honestly, after the events of the Giant War and all that quest encompassed, he preferred the cold to heat anyway.

That said, he might have underestimated how cold the trip would be. They’d left camp at dawn to maximize the light, and on-the-ground temperatures had been 35F. Cold, but not too cold. Especially with the right gear. Things would get warmer as they traveled west.

Unfortunately, he had underestimated the drop in temperature at the heights Blackjack flew. The pegasus had gone slightly higher than normal to start, avoiding a slew of small planes flying over New York state, and stayed there. Faster winds up here, boss. We could get there faster, maybe.

“Let’s do it!” Percy could barely hear his own shout over the wind, but Blackjack’s more sensitive hearing had picked it up. Still, at that height, with the winds sending cold air down his throat, Percy couldn’t talk much. Instead, he listened to Blackjack ramble in his head and responded with leg and arms taps. It was a system they’d worked out before.

Percy had brought along sunglasses, the sun might be rising behind them but it was still bright in the sky, but he was wishing he brought other things too. A pair of stretch gloves, to wear under his current ones. Extra toe warmers to put all over his body, like each shoulder. He wished he had a balaclava to protect his face – the wind they flew into was harsh. He kept his eyes closed for stretches at a time to prevent them from drying out.

He wondered how cold it was, ignoring Blackjack’s declaration of a personal quest to sample the grass from every San Francisco park. Below freezing, that’s for sure. What about the windchill? Had they hit negative numbers?

-35F was when they closed schools for fear of kids getting frostbite while waiting for the bus in Minnesota, he heard. Certainly it couldn’t be that cold. He could move all his fingers. He clutched at Blackjack’s mane tighter, trying to focus on his friend’s chatter. He didn’t want to think about the pull of the wind on his coat and backpack, the increasingly numb parts of his skin where the wind found gaps in his clothes, his scarf stiff with his frozen breath and the ice cube on his nose. The wind was loud, his eyelids heavy. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, the sharp peppermint bit of the icy wind with each inhale keeping him awake. But really, it would be so much better if he could just fall asleep. Sleep through the cold and wake up when Blackjack flew at lower heights into the warmer west…

An impact against his sternum jerked him away. He felt groggy, slow, and uncertain of his limbs.

Boss! Boss!  

“ ’ackjack?”

Are you okay? You fell! Why didn’t you tell me you needed a break?

Percy might have made a noise. He wasn’t sure. His lips felt too numb to move right. Gods, he was cold. He wanted to sleep, to bury himself in a blanket and bake in a bed oven. He tried to grab something, but only succeeded at swinging his dead weight of an arm through air. The warmth against his stomach slipped, someone shouted Boss! but he didn’t care who.

The wind in his ears sounded like a lullaby.

###

Percy woke, shivering and hungry and cocooned in a black hole that he slowly identified as a tight pocket created by Blackjack’s body. The pegasus was curled as tight as he could be around Percy, wing extended to surround Percy. As Percy shifted against Blackjack’s side, the pegasus woke up.

Boss?

“Blackjack?” A shudder ran through Percy’s body and he huddled deeper into his coat. “What happened?”

Blackjack lipped at Percy’s knees, head halfway into the wing-cavern. You fell asleep and fell off. Twice. I caught you.

Percy rubbed his chest. No wonder it hurt, if he slammed into Blackjack’s back at the speed of gravity. Probably not worth nibbling on the emergency ambrosia he always carried though. “I’m getting you a whole box of donuts when we get there. Where are we?”

Not sure. But we haven’t hit the Rockies yet.

Iowa or Nebraska then. Unless the cold had gotten to him really early and they landed in rural Illinois.

“Nico’s gonna tell me ‘told you so’.”

Why didn’t you tell me you were cold? I could have flown lower.

“Didn’t think we’d be up that higher. Or that it would be that cold.” Percy stroked the part of Blackjack’s neck he could reach. “Don’t think I was thinking right for awhile. How long have we been here?”

An hour?

“I don’t have the supplies to stay here. I didn’t pack food. We’ll need to get going again.”

Once you stop shivering.

“I can handle a little cold.”

Blackjack shifted his wing so Percy could feel the full force of his stink eye. It wasn’t the best stink eye Percy had ever seen, but with the removal of the wing came full exposure to the outside air. They were in an empty field, didn’t help pinpoint where they were sadly, and the wind that cut across the ground had Percy instinctively pull back into Blackjack’s warmth.

Blackjack replaced his wing.

“It’s winter, I won’t not be cold,” Percy pouted.

Once you stop shivering under my wing, we’ll go.

Percy sighed, but he knew Blackjack was right. He nestled into Blackjack’s side, bringing his knees up close. Part of the reason for the trip was guy time anyway. “Do you think the grass at Land’s End will tasty salty?”

I hope so!

Smiling, Percy dived into a conversation way too deeply about a food he would never eat. He’d get to surprise Annabeth eventually.

[vivinightingale]

Request: Yandere Pharaoh Atem x reader, Yandere Yugi Muto x reader, and Yander Yami Yugi x reader when would they force their sexual advances on their darling and how they would they react to their darling escaping and never seeing them again.

~I tried to make this gn as possible but Atem wasn't easy :/~

WARNING: THIS FICTION CONTAINS SEXUAL THEMES IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THAT PLEASE LEAVE NOW.

~Pharaoh Atem:

Atem isn't sexually driven. Don't get him wrong every part of you is like a goddess to him, but you just started coming around to his ways he didn't want to break that.

However when the council starts pushing him to marry someone for an heir he jumps to action.

He will start of with bring this up to you. "They really want my legacy to carry on...but I don't want just anyone to bear my children"

He will wait for reaction, but if you still wont respond is when he starts pushing harder.

At this point his flower isn't two states. 1. They are so numb to everything whatever he says they will agree to or 2. With all their might they will fight with all their might. Neither matter to him however.

No matter your state of mind he will then tie you to the bed, and begin the long process of breeding you till you pregnant with his child. 

Once you its confirmed by a trusted physician that you are indeed pregnant with the Pharaoh's child he will then start making wedding plans, to make you his true queen.

What the poor lovesick Yandere didn't account for was an attack on the palace during the wedding by the Theif King himself. 

During the attack you would be locked in his bedroom hearing the discord on the other side. You place and hand on your stomachs wondering if you should really leave.

The decision was made for you when the Theif King barged in himself. Wicked grin plastered on his as he ripped you from the bed and into the main chamber.

When Atem sees you in Bakura's grasp he feels his blood run cold l, he tries to reach you but Bakura's minions blocked his path.

The last thing he saw was you on the back of Bakura's horse. "If you ever want to see your little play thing again Pharaoh then I would advise you bringing me the mallinum items."

He wanted to stop Bakura, he wanted to stop him from taking his child and lover, but he didn't make it in time.

Stories say the Pharaoh never found his flower and in final years he became erratic, angry at everything and everyone. He even went as far as to kill anyone who displeased him. He never gave up his search for his flower and child, but the fruits of his labor were never reaped.

~Yugi Muto

Yugi always had a sexual attraction to you, as well as mental attraction. He didn't act on this until he knew it was the right time.

It was a slow process at first. Getting you use to your new home enviroment, showing you that no one would love you but him.

When you started coming around even going as far as calling him your boyfriend, he was ecstatic.

 His will begin to roam more, until eventually he will pin to your mattress with a lustful look in his eyes.

"I want to show you how much I love you Angel"

Something in you screams to not let him do things to you and your body, but your mindset was fixed on that he was boyfriend and you trusted him that you couldn't fight back.

His little fantasy didn't last long I'm afraid. When he was gone fighting another duell his grandfather went to the basement to store extra packs of cards he received when he found you.  

Mr. Muto remembered seeing you all over the news and panicked slightly. Could his sweet grandchild Yugi really do this? Why? What purpose? 

When you woke calling for Yugi, Mr. Muto knew couldn't leave you like this but he could let Yugi go to jail either...he was his own family left.

Against Mr.Muto's better judgment he took your near collapsed form and took you to the police, he explained to them that you were found near his gameshop, but he didn't know where you came from.You were then taken to the hospital, put under extreme care.

When yugi found out her panicked and furious. How did this all come to be? He thought he was being cautious. 

He tried to get into your room but was told only family was aloud to visit you, this made him angrier. Didn't they know he was everything to you?! Didn't you tell them?!  

No matter how hard he fought they wouldn't allow him in. So he had to sit in wait. When you were released he tried to get in contact with you but all leads led him nowhere. 

He continued to look for you any sign would do, but he always came up empty. Over time he secluded himself from his friends and family slowly going crazy. He used his title "King of games" to find you, but he never did. The kidnapping of you lived and died with Yugi Muto.

~Yami Yugi

The more time he spent with you the more his feelings began to grow. He eventually dreamed of having children with you.

Yami knew you needed more time before he pushed that sort of thing on you, but he was starting to get impatient. You knew he loved you right? And he loved you. So why cant this love create a beautiful life together?!

When first tried he was face with heavy resistance and your part, so he had to punishments in order to remind you of your place.

When he tried a second time he tried will less force and more compassion.

"My beloved I only wish for lives to be intertwined like our hearts already are."

Still bruised and weak from his last try you reluctantly agree. When you did he was ecstatic. He would finally have the family he dreamed of 5,000 years ago, and this time no one will stop him.

Or so he believed time has a funny way of repeating itself, but this time the beginning of his end started with Seto Kiba.

Seto came to Yami's demanding a duel not knowing Yami wasnt home. So when Seto came across the room with you in it he didn't know what to think. This wasn't Yami's doing right?

When you woke seeing Seto in front of you, you scrambled to him or at least as far as the chains allowed. You begged for his help wanting out of this hell.

Kiba knew he should have taken you to the police you were the missing person that seemed to disappear with a trace, but he didnt want yami to be thrown in jail. That's not how he wanted to get the title of the best duelist.

So instead he offered to set you free on three conditions. You would eevee talk about this experience with anyone, you will allow him to not only change your identity, but he would move you out of Japan and to some where far far away from here. Not seeing any other way out you agreed.

When yami was on his way home he saw you get into kiba's limo. Fear, and adrenalin pulsed through his veins. He tried to catch up to car but he wasn't fast enough.

He tried to get Seto to tell him the details of your disappearance, but kiba stayed silent knowing this what was best for both duelists.

Yami felt defeated he grew angry, and craized. He attacked anyone he felt was holding out information on your whereabouts effectively sending them to the shadow realm. He never did find you, but on his death bed he swore that he will find you one way or another. You two were fated to be together afterall.

💕Requests are open 💕

[allthingsfangirl101]

More Than Business Partners–Phillip Carlyle

Request by @joyfullyswimmingface​

The day Phillip came to me with a business proposition, I was excited to go down that road with my best friend. That is until he told me his business proposition was a circus of misfits. As crazy as it sounded, I sat and let him explain his and P.T. Barnum's plan.

While Barnum ran the show and Phillip was the money man, we struggled to decide where I fit in. They weren't sure at first, but they both promised they would find a spot for me. As the show went on, I did random things backstage. I helped Lottie get dressed, ensured that Anne and W.D. lines were secure and helped organize the supplies. I couldn't help but feel useless. Even with all the times Phillip assured me I wasn't.

"You seem extra quiet tonight."

I jumped, finally looking away from Phillip in the crowd and turned around to see Anne walking towards me. I cleared my throat as I walked over and helped her with her hand bandages.

"Y/N?" Anne said my name, trying to get me to respond. I looked up to see her already looking at me knowingly.

"I'm fine," I said, not even convincing myself.

"Y/N," she sighed, grabbing my hand and stopping me before I could walk away from her. "I know what's going on. I've seen the way you look at Phillip."

"I don't look at him any sort of way," I stuttered, hoping my cheeks weren't as red as I felt like they were. She finally let me go and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Y/N," she sighed.

"What's going on?" W.D. asked as he walked over to his sister and me.

"Y/N is still refusing to accept her feelings," Anne said, not looking away from me.

"Oh," W.D. nodded like he knew what she was insinuating. "You mean her feelings for Phillip."

"I don't have. . ." I stopped talking and looked over at Phillip, instantly lowering my voice as I glanced back at the smirking siblings. "I don't have feelings for him," I whispered. "We've been best friends for ages."

"How did you guys meet?" Lottie asked as she walked over.

"Seriously?" I sighed, running my hands through my hair. "Everyone thinks. . . Phillip and I met when we were children. He and his parents were driving into town when their carriage almost hit me. Phillip jumped out and helped me. He had just barely introduced himself to me before his father got out of their carriage and pulled him back like I was going to give them a disease."

My voice got caught in my throat as I remembered the look on Phillip's father's face. "He was disgusted his son was talking to street trash."

"Y/N," Lottie sighed. "You aren't street trash, honey."

"Then what am I?" I asked, pulling away from them. I took a step away from them, not aware that Phillip was now behind me.

"I don't have an act. I don't add anything to the show. I don't even help finance everything. I walk around back here mindlessly, hoping I find something to do. All I am is taking up space. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I just left."

Phillip's POV

I watched, my heart heavy as Y/N left. As she left, Anne, W.D., and Lottie all looked at me. Anne stepped forward, her eyes soft.

"Phillip, go after her. We can't let her think that. She isn't just. . ."

Before she could finish begging me to go after Y/N, I started jogging the same way Y/N had gone. When I finally caught up to her, she had just walked outside.

"Y/N," I called out to her. I could tell she heard me but chose to ignore me and picked up her pace. I sighed before jogging after her. She gasped as I grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice getting caught in my throat when I saw the tears in her eyes.

"I can't. . . I can't do this anymore," she stuttered as she took a step away from me, my hand dropping back to my side.

"Can't do what?" I asked, my voice getting caught in my throat.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Y/N glanced back at the circus. "That I don't," she whispered. "I don't belong there, Phillip. I never have. I don't belong with. . ."

My heart dropped when I realized she wasn't talking about the circus. She was talking about me.

"Y/N," I stuttered, trying to find the right words.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she looked at her shoes. "Face it, Phillip. Your father was right the day we met." She finally looked up at me, the tears gone. "You weren't meant to be around street trash. You were meant for great and wonderful things. And those things, don't include me."

"Y/N, please." My voice got caught in my throat as I took a step towards her, but she took a step back.

"I'm sorry, Phillip," she said, her tears returning. "But this friendship was never meant to last longer than the day your parent's carriage almost ran me over."

                            * * * * *

Reader's POV

After I ran away from Phillip for the second time, I made up my mind that I didn't belong in this world. In his world.

I didn't go back to the circus the next day. I couldn't. It would be too painful seeing him again. Especially when I knew the truth; Phillip and I aren't in the same class. He deserved a woman who was.

"I still don't understand why you won't just come back," Anne sighed as she watched me make us a cup of tea.

"I already told you," I mumbled. "I can't, Anne. Seeing him again, knowing we could never. . . You're right."

Her eyes widened as I turned towards her. "You were right, Anne. I don't just have feelings for Phillip. I'm in love with him."

Anne smiled as she took a step towards me. "Then why do you look so sad?" She asked, laughing slightly.

"Because," I said, my voice getting stuck in my throat. "We could never be together, Anne. Phillip and I. . . We are from completely different worlds. He's upper class and I'm. . ."

I looked around my crappy apartment and my rags, my breath getting caught in my throat. I struggled to hold in my sob as Phillip's father's words echoed in my head.

"You do not associate yourself with anyone other than those in your social class, Phillip. It's not appropriate to associate yourself with them. Especially not people like this."

"I'm not."

"So?" She shrugged. "Y/N, Phillip doesn't care about wealth or social status. He loves you. He's always loved you."

"What are you talking about?" I asked with a small scoff. "Anne, he doesn't love me. We're just. . . Friends."

I looked up at her, confused when she laughed and shook her head. "You are completely blind," she giggled.

"Blind?"

"To Phillip," she explained like it was obvious. "To his feelings for you. Everyone else can see how he looks at you and how he would do anything for you. Everyone except you."

"He doesn't. . ." I stuttered.

"Yes, he does."

My eyes widened as she stood in front of me, her smile never faltering. "Y/N," she whispered. "I've known since the day I first met the two of you that you both love each other but neither one of you is willing to admit it to the other."

"Really?" I asked, happy tears replacing the defeated ones. Anne smiled as she let out a small chuckle.

"One of you just has to take that leap first."

                            * * * * *

I ran through the streets, heading straight towards the circus. Now that I knew Phillip's feelings for me, I had no reason to hide mine anymore. When I got to the building, my heart jumped into my throat as I saw him helping Tom onto his horse.

I smiled ready to walk over to him but stopped when I heard shouting outside. Before I could call out to him, he ran to the alley. In a matter of minutes, one of the rioters had set the entire place on fire.

I ran outside, instantly running towards Anne and her brother. "Y/N!" She said, letting out a sigh of relief as we hugged. I smiled, still shaking as I felt W.D. join the hug.

I pulled away, instantly scanning the crowd. "Where's Phillip?" I stuttered. When I looked back at them, my breath got caught in my throat. They looked at each other, hesitating something.

"What?" I asked, looking between the two. "Anne? Where is he?"

She looked at her brother before her gaze shifted to the building engulfed in flames. Anne's face dropped as she slowly looked back at me and whispered, "He thought you were still inside."

"No," I said, my voice getting caught in my throat. They grabbed me before I could run inside.

"Y/N, don't," W.D. said as he held my close to his chest. "You can't go in there."

"But he's. . . Phillip's still in there!" I screamed, a sob getting stuck in my throat.

I sobbed as my legs collapsed, W.D. catching me and leading me to the ground. My whole body shook as I ignored the yells and the fire truck arriving. I didn't come out of my shocked stake until I heard Anne.

"Y/N," she gasped. "Look!"

I looked up, my sob getting stuck in my throat when I saw Barnum carrying someone out of the fire.

"It's Phillip," Lottie said. No one could stop me as I jumped up and ran over to them as Barnum gently put Phillip down.

"No," I sobbed. "No, please. Phillip. . . Please. . . Come back to me."

I reached up with shaking hands as I cupped his smoke-covered face. I felt numb as Anne pulled me away so people could help Barnum and Phillip. Barnum held his wife and daughters while Anne and W.D. held onto me as Phillip was lifted and carried into the ambulance.

My sob returned as the ambulance doors slammed shut and Phillip was taken to the hospital.

"Come on, sweetie," Lottie whispered as she walked over to us.

"No," I said, pulling out of their hold. "I can't. . . I was just about to. . . I can't let him sit in the hospital alone."

"But you have no idea when he will wake up," W.D. tried to add.

"I don't care." I shook my head and turned around. "I have to be there when he wakes up."

"And what will you do when he wakes up?" Anne asked, looking like she already knew what I was going to do.

"Finally take that leap both of us have been avoiding," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm finally going to tell Phillip how much I love him."

                             * * * * *

When they allowed me to see him, I didn't hesitate to walk into the room his father was paying for. But the second I saw him, my breath got caught in my throat. I chocked on a sob as I slowly walked across the empty room towards him.

"Phillip?" I whispered as I sat on a stool at the side of his bed.

I hesitated before reaching forward and moving the bangs out of his face. Tears started streaming down my cheeks as I leaned forward, laying my head on his chest. The only comfort I got was the feeling of Phillip's chest moving up and down with each breath he took.

I sat by his side, not moving, as I waited for him to wake up. During the week I waited, Anne and the others visited. Anne and her brother tried to get to me to go home but I couldn't risk leaving Phillip alone.

I was starting to fall asleep when I felt his hand tighten around mine. My head shot up as I looked at his face, watching for any sign of him waking up. My breath got caught in my throat when Phillip's eyes fluttered open.

"Phillip?"

His name got stuck in my throat as he slowly turned his head towards me.

"Y/N," he smiled weakly.

His shaking hand reached up and cupped my cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. I smiled, tears still streaming down my cheeks as I reached up and grabbed his hand. I slowly pulled his hand away from my face as I stared deeply into his eyes.

I gathered as much courage as I could before quickly bringing my lips down to his. I felt him gasp before he slowly started to kiss me back. I slowly pulled away, leaning my forehead against his.

"Y/N," he whispered. I leaned back, looking down at him. He studied my face, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

"Phillip," I said before he could continue. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?" He asked with a weak smile on his face. I took a shaky breath as I gathered the last little bit of courage I needed.

"I love you, Phillip."

My heart was beating against my chest as I finally said it. I quickly began to ramble, not giving him the opportunity to respond.

"And I've been in love with you since we were kids, since you helped me off the street after your carriage almost hit me. Every day we've been friends I've fallen more and more, deeper and deeper, in love with you, Phillip. I never told you because I didn't think you could ever love someone like me. Someone who wasn't in the same social. . ."

I gasped as Phillip grabbed my cheeks and pulled me down to him, instantly pressing his lips to mine. I smiled into the kiss, happy tears streaming down my cheeks as our lips moved in sync.

Phillip pulled away, smiling up at me as he used his thumbs and caught the tears on my face.

"If you stopped talking," he smirked playfully at me, "I could finally tell you that I've been in love with you too."

"Really?" I asked, my voice breaking as happy tears continued to stream down my cheeks.

"Really," he chuckled.

He laughed as he saw the surprise on my face. With my face still in his hands, Phillip gently pulled me down until my lips touched his again. We instantly started moving our lips in sync, happy tears still streaming down my cheeks.

I broke the kiss, instantly staring into Phillip's eyes.

"I don't care that we aren't in the same social class, Y/N," he whispered as he reached up and caught a tear with his thumb, his hand lingering on my cheek. "I've loved you since we were kids and I will love you until we are old."

"I love you, Phillip Carlyle."

"And I love you, Y/F/N Y/L/N."

[thompsborn]

“you’re the grizzled old mechanic i’m kinda scared of who’s been keeping my car running and you found out i’m living in my car and oh shit you offered me the couch at your place? and you made me breakfast? how do i even pay you back, can i work for you?” au

happy fathers day, here’s some irondad with his lil mechanic son becoming a lil family (and, because i wanted to, some parksborner, too)

—

“So, what happened this time?”

Harley puffs out a breath, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders bunching up to his ears in a half assed kind of shrug. “Honestly? Not sure. I checked under the hood last night and couldn’t see any issues, but I must have been tired or somethin’ ‘cause she barely made it here in one piece. Thank Christ you’re on call or I’d be totally fucked right now.”

Tony hums, leaning forward with slightly furrowed brows and squinted eyes, taking in the engine slowly and precisely to spot anything wrong. “Don’t need an oil change, right?”

Instinctively, Harley rolls his eyes—despite what Tony seems to think, he’s more than capable of fixing up his car and changing the oil himself. It’s more a money issue than a knowledge issue, and Tony, for whatever reason, never charges Harley when he brings his banged up Mustang to his shop after closing hours. So, it’s easier, really, on his wallet and on his physical health to just bring her in and have Tony fix her up. He doesn’t bring any of this up, though, because Tony... Tony is a quiet sort of man, doesn’t like the small talk or the chitter chatter. He’s brooding in the way only a man in his fifties can be, shoulders hunched with the weight of a long life, bags under his eyes and a healthy bit of salt and pepper to his hair. Harley tried making a sarcastic comment his second time he came in and Tony didn’t respond in the slightest, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence until Harley was good to go.

He’d rather have the stupid questions that he always responds with the same answers to than the silence from before.

“No oil change needed,” Harley replies. “Just changed it last week. That’s not the problem.”

Tony quirks a brow and looks at Harley over his shoulder, something unsure and almost condescending on his features. “Just checking,” he says. “Lots of people come here thinking their car is at ends meet, just to be in complete awe when I change their oil and it runs without a hitch.”

“I’m not gonna be one of those people,” Harley tells him. “I know enough to know that.”

“And yet you’re here, asking for my help with your shitmobile, nearly once a week.”

Harley shrugs again and looks away.

“Alright,” Tony murmurs, hands in the air in some sign of surrender. “I’ll take a look and fix her up in time for curfew, kid. No worries.”

Without thinking, Harley says, “I don’t have a curfew,” and only panics for a second before casually adding, “College,” after it in explanation. A false explanation, but—still.

Tony seems unbothered, turning back to look at the engine. “Fine. Then she’ll be ready in time for you to go home and get a full night’s rest before your classes tomorrow. Sound good?”

There are no classes, and there is no full night of rest—Harley will find a vacant lot in the shadow of a building where his car will blend in, and he will sleep in the backseat long enough to be able to function through a shift at work with only a minor crick in his back to deal with.

It’s routine, at this point—park, sleep, work. On a good day, make enough to splurge on a hot meal. Usually, just cheap, greasy fast food.

“Sure,” Harley says anyway. “Sounds good.”

-

Looking back on it, Harley’s not entirely sure how this happened.

Like—he knows how, he lived it, each and every agonizing moment of it, but, sometimes, when he reminisces on the timeline of events, it doesn’t really feel real. It doesn’t feel like something he really experienced.

It is, though. First, with his dad, leaving in broad daylight and never coming back. Harley, seven years old and—and so sad, wondering why daddy left, wondering if daddy ever loved him. Mama pet his hair when he cried and promised him that they didn’t need David Keener to be happy, but there was a lot less happiness in that house when he left. Darcy Keener started to look heavier and heavier with each passing day, until it seemed as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. As much as Harley tried to get his little sister to smile, Emilee, far too smart for someone so young, would only start to cry with anguish. She missed their father. Harley did, too.

Then, for a few years, slowly lifting themselves up, building a new foundation without David’s help, until it was stable enough for the three of them, until they weren’t really—happy, no, but—content, maybe. Something close to it.

Until Emilee got sick.

Harley got his first job to try and pay the hospital bills and buy the medicine she needed when they inevitably couldn’t afford to keep her in the hospital anymore. He got his second job while still working his first, dropped out of high school because his mother was too stressed to even notice when he stopped going, managed to start fixing up neighbor’s cars and broken lamps and mowing lawns during the little free time he had just to get that little bit of extra cash. He got the right foods that the doctors said Emilee’s body was capable of processing, he added his money to his mother’s stash set aside to buy her meds, he sat with her every night until she fell asleep before climbing out of his window to work the night shift at his second job. He did everything he possibly could.

He was seventeen when Emilee passed away in her sleep. Peaceful, the doctor’s assured them—she felt no pain, and now she’ll be able to rest. In Heaven, they assured, where she could be happy again.

Harley stopped believing in Heaven the day his dad abandoned them. He didn’t say that, though—just hugged his mother and let her sob into his shoulder.

Darcy lost herself, a little bit at first, and then entirely. She slept in and would be late for her shifts, drank more coffee than was healthy and then made it worse by adding liquor to it at seven in the morning. She looked at Harley with glazed over eyes and never seemed to hear the way he cried at night. One day, she didn’t come home from work, and Harley waited up for her all night, the panic slowly rising in his throat until it felt like he was choking on it, thinking that she might never come back. Thinking that Darcy and David might start to go hand in hand—but she did come home, dead on her feet and looking bruised. She went straight to her room and never responded when Harley asked where she went.

On his eighteenth birthday, Darcy didn’t remember. He bought himself some cupcakes and he sat on the floor of Emilee’s room and he drank the liquor he stole from his mother’s cabinet until he felt numb to it all. Slept like that, curled up atop the carpet, bottle curled up against his chest and arms hugging himself.

She drove to work one day, a little too far away from sober. They said her eyes were probably struggling to focus and her head might have been spinning and she didn’t realize the light was red until it was too late to stop.

He left the night that she died.

New York, of all places—and he still isn’t sure why he chose to run to the city, hours and hours away. The distance, maybe, to separate himself from his past and allow his chest to expand easier. Breathing, sometimes, feels like a task, or a chore. Too much work, but still he does it. Doesn’t have a choice, really.

The drive from Rose Hill to New York was made in his mother’s car, somehow not totaled despite the accident. There were stains that he didn’t want to look at, didn’t want to think about. The first thing he did was trade his piece of shit car for someone else’s piece of shit car just to get rid of the memories, just to free himself from the knowledge that he was driving the thing his mother died in.

That’s what he drives now, the crappy Oldsmobile that he traded with someone on Craigslist. It’s old, run down, in need of a lot of love, but he can’t afford a new car, so he does his best to take care of her. Names her Em, doesn’t think of why.

It’s her and him against the world, though. They have to make it out alive.

-

Someone slash’s his tires while he’s sleeping.

He doesn’t notice it when he first wakes up, just sits up, tries his best to stretch his limbs in the limited space, and reaches for his shitty pre-paid phone that he only bought so that his work can get in contact with him. There’s no missed calls, no unopened texts, and he’s not scheduled for today.

Climbing out of his car to properly shake out his sleep heavy limbs, he looks around the alley that he parked his car in last night—was too tired to drive to the lot he usually parks in at night. That’s his mistake, really, because the lot is vacant and hidden in the shadows and no one ever bothers him there. Alleyways, though, are often visited by other homeless people and the people who make drug deals in the dead of night and, occasionally, random, harmless kids just going on a walk, apparently used to and unafraid of the danger.

There’s no telling who slashes his tires or why the hell they did it, but it’s the first time he’s had to call Tony’s shop during working hours, in need of a tow truck, four new tires, and—well. Harley could do with a hug.

He won’t ask for that, though. It’s been a few years since he had one, anyway.

-

It takes five words for Harley to almost have a panic attack.

“This is pretty pricey, kid,” Tony tells him, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns at the Oldsmobile with furrowed brows. Harley thinks the air is immediately sucked out of his lungs because—well, of course it’s pricey. Of course he shouldn’t have assumed that Tony wouldn’t make him pay just because he’s let Harley get light work done for free before. Of course.

“Yeah,” Harley says, feelings a bit—breathless? He fumbles for his wallet, sinks his teeth into his lower lip so hard that he thinks he tastes copper. There’s a small stack of bills that he pulls out with unsteady fingers. “I, uh—I have—how much is it? I can—I mean, I can try to—or just, just leave, or—or—”

Tony holds out his hands, no longer looking at the car and instead trying to hold Harley’s gaze with his brows raised. “Calm down, kid. It’s fine.”

Harley shakes his head. “No, I—I can’t afford it, so I’ll just—“

“I’m not making you pay,” Tony interrupts, looking confused. “I haven’t made you pay yet, why would I start now? College discount, kid. Most college students can’t afford this shit, and you clearly need to have a working car. You’re fine.”

“But—”

Before Harley can try to argue this, the door leading from the office of the shop is pushed open and a—a teenager?—comes walking out, looking down at his phone with a frown. “Uh, Mr. Stark? I know I was supposed to be helping you out today, but Dr. Banner just texted me saying he was looking at my project and knocked something over and now the lab is—“ the guy squints at his phone, looks bewildered, “—engulfed in blue flames. His words. I think I gotta—“

Tony laughs—laughs, something that Harley hasn’t heard in the months he’s been coming to this shop—and waves his hand. “Go ahead, Pete.”

The guy—Pete—looks up with a sheepish smile, falters when he sees Harley, and only looks conflicted for a few seconds before he spins around and goes back into the office, emerging a few quick moments later with a bag slung over his shoulder and a pep in his step. “See you later, Mr. Stark!” he calls, before making his way out of the shop without looking back.

“He seems...” Harley trails off, effectively distracted from the clawing panic that had been climbing up his throat before. “Happy?”

“Yeah, usually is,” Tony says, sounding fond, lighter than Harley’s ever heard before. “He works with my husband, but he goes to ESU, which is closer to here than to the lab. Doesn’t have a car or anything, so he usually just hangs out here and gives me a hand after his classes until I can give him a ride. But, sometimes, shit happens and he has to take the subway instead.” He turns back to the car, already on the jack and raised up enough to deal with the tires, no longer seems inclined to talk about price or anything as he gets to work on the front driver’s side tire. Instead, he asks, “What school do you go to?”

Harley falters. “Uh, what?”

Tony glances over at him, quirking a brow. “School, kid. Which one?”

“Right. I, uh—“ Harley stops, tries to wrack his brain for a quick, easy answer. After a moment that’s definitely too long, he replies with, “NYU.”

Tony frowns at him. “Really?”

Harley looks away, clears his throat. “Yeah. NYU.”

“Alright,” Tony murmurs, turning back to the tire. “Let’s say I believe you. I don’t, ‘cause that was the most obvious lying I’ve ever seen, but let’s say I do. What do you study? What classes are you taking right now?”

“Why do you care?” Harley fires back, a harsh bite in his tone.

Tony huffs a laugh. “You’re a kid, that’s why. Lying can’t mean anything good.”

“I’m nineteen,” Harley tells him. “Legally, an adult.”

“Still a teenager,” Tony says. “You gonna try to answer the questions, or are you gonna tell me the truth?”

Harley clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth. “It’s not your business.”

Tony falters, hands pressed against the tire that he’s already gotten off. Eventually, he turns around. “Alright,” he says. “Not my business. That’s fine. How about we talk cost instead, hm? Tires aren’t cheap, kiddo.”

And that panic from before comes crawling back, sneaking its way up Harley’s spine as he tightens his fingers around the bills still clutched in his hand. He holds it out and pretends he isn’t visibly shaking. “This is all I have.”

“I’m not taking your money,” Tony tells him.

Harley thinks there are tears burning the backs of his eyes. “Then why the fuck did you bring up cost? Just, take it, and I’ll—I’ll head out, and—“

“I have a feeling,” Tony cuts in, “that, whatever it is you’re lying about, it’s not safe. I have a feeling that you’re not safe. Am I right to assume that?”

Harley blinks at him, wide and misty in the eyes.

Tony hums. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, let’s sit down and chat.”

-

There are walls that you build up—a foundation of bricks placed at seven years old when you’re abandoned by a father you thought loved you. Walls that become higher, more reinforced, as years upon years of shit goes by. Harley has a fortress built around him, to keep people out, to keep himself in.

It takes thirty seven minutes for Tony to carefully pick at those walls until they crumble, and it leaves Harley sobbing in a way that he hasn’t let himself do since Emilee died, heaving for breaths that ache and burn his lungs and make his head spin, tears pooling in his eyes and streaming down his face in rivers. Tony looks heartbroken as Harley chokes it all out, tells him everything, admits that he’s been sleeping in his car for over a year now and has nobody left.

Pulls him into a hug, a soft and warm kind that Harley would never assume the brooding mechanic was capable of, and tells him, “It’s gonna be fine, kid,” and brushes callused fingers through Harley’s hair like his mama used to do. When he’s done and exhausted, Tony offers him a place to stay for the night, and Harley is too emotionally drained to refuse, allows himself to be guided to Tony’s car and given a ride to a house that’s only five minutes from the shop.

Dr. Banner—Bruce, apparently—doesn’t seem all that surprised when he gets home, just smiles kindly at Harley and puts on a movie while Tony makes something to eat. When Harley, with his knees curled to his chest and a blanket draped over his shoulders, hoarsely asks why they’re being so nice to him, Bruce softly tells him, “Tony and I had pretty rough childhoods, too. When we see kids that need support, or a home, or even just a hot meal, we do what we can to help. Did it for Peter, and now he’s top of his class at ESU and on track to graduate early. Helped out Harry, too, and that kid is gonna change the world.”

Harley is still confused.

“Sometimes,” Bruce goes on, “all you need is someone to tell you that you’re gonna make it to the other side. That’s what we try to do.”

He eats—more than he’s had to eat in a long, long time. Sleeps on the couch because he refuses to take their guest room, and he has breakfast with them, too. When he goes to leave, though, Tony frowns. “Where are you gonna go?���

“Back to my car, I guess,” Harley says, shrugging.

“That isn’t safe,” Tony says.

Harley shrugs again. “I don’t really have a choice.”

Bruce looks at Tony, at Harley, and tells him, “We have the space. If you need somewhere to stay until you can get your own place, you can stay here.”

He says no. Of course he says no, but when he starts to leave again, he remembers that his car is still in the shop, remembers that his phone is dead and he was supposed to work today and his boss told him that if he was late again then he would be fired. Remembers that he got a hug for the first time in years last night and it made him feel safe in a way he can’t ever remember feeling before, and he turns on his heel with his jaw clenched and his head held high, makes his way back to the kitchen and says, “I have one condition.”

-

On Harley’s second day working at the shop with Tony, the door opens and two guys walks in, in the middle of a conversation that seems energetic and lively. One of them, Harley recognizes at Peter, the guy from before. The other, he doesn’t know. They both stop when they see him, exchange quick glances before making their way over. “Hi,” Peter says.

Harley has motor oil up to his elbows and smeared on his cheek and he doesn’t think he looks very presentable for meeting someone new, but he was raised to be polite. “Hi,” he replies, using a rag to try and wipe the oil from his skin.

“I’m Peter. This—” he gestures to the other guy, “—is Harry. You’re Harley, right?” At Harley’s slow blink, Peter assures, “Dr. Banner mentioned you yesterday, and I remember seeing you, last week, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Harley says. “I’m Harley. Harley Keener.”

Peter grins, and Harry shifts a bit awkwardly from foot to foot but still manages a friendly sort of smile. “Cool,” Peter says. “Do you need any help?”

Harley looks down at the engine he’s been fixing up, knows that he doesn’t need help, no, but probably wouldn’t mind the company since Tony had to take a call and ran off to run an errand right after. “Not really,” he says. “But, you can... sit down, or something, I guess? I’m almost done with this, anyway.”

Harry cocks his head slightly, looks at the engine for a moment and then at Harley again, before looking at Peter with a slightly bigger smile. “We can sit,” Harry says, taking Peter by the wrist and leading him over to the nearest bench.

Turning back to the engine, Harley tries not to notice the weird sort of silence that’s hovering over them. He’s not good at conversation starters, really, and he feels oddly nervous, like he wants to impress them. Can’t really place why.

“So,” Peter starts, breaking the little bought of nothing. “Where’re you from?”

It’s a simple question. It’s a loaded answer.

Harley stops and considers it for a moment.

“Tennessee,” he eventually responds. “But... I think I like it better here.”

When he looks, there’s somewhat knowing smiles pulling on both Peter’s and Harry’s lips, like they can see through his answer, read it for what it really is. He doesn’t mind, he realizes. His walls were already broken through, and he doesn’t want to go back to hiding himself behind the rubble that remains. Rather, he wants to use that rubble and build himself a bridge.

Maybe, that way, he can make it to the other side.

[unfortunatemoth]

The Fox and The Hare

CHAPTER 1 - The Fox - Filicide

Read on AO3

TWs: Abuse, physical abuse, breaking bones, body horror, descriptions of violence, blood and gore, injuries, death, homophobia and use of slurs, hallucinations, bullying, mentions of prosthetics. Please tell me if I missed anything! Notes: Bonnie is nonbinary! Reynard/Rey = Foxy Maggie = Mangle Cher = Toy Chica

His mind felt numb. It always went blank when this happened. The smell of blood was too familiar at this point. It still stung at his eyes and clogged his senses, but it wasn’t new anymore. He felt like a shell, laying in his bed with his pillow over his ears to block out the cries coming from the next room. He knew it was painful to be the one in that chair. To take the beating while the blinking light recorded every second of it. Every hit, stab, slash, tear… It was all recorded for sick people to see. Scars littered his small body, broken bones left to mend on their own without ever going to a doctor, and he looked overall pitiful. His older sister was worse, though. Maggie had always been the one to take his punishments. Yes, he’d still get punished, but she’d take the worst of it for him. That added with her separate punishments led to her looking… like how she does. It didn’t help that she was so rebellious, always promising him that when she turns 18 she’ll break them out. Stealing them food, water, and extra clothes. She got in trouble, not just with Father. She was so skinny. She’d been denied food for a week now, her legs could barely keep her standing anymore. She could still have water, but her growling stomach never stopped. Her hand was broken when she tried to steal food for herself. He knew that soon enough she’d be fed, fed more than she can handle, as another punishment. The house smelled. Maggie’s hair was going grey early from all of the stress. Her once pretty red-brown hair had prominent grey streaks, and she had such dark bags under her eyes. Her left arm was completely useless and her eye was patched up, she had so many scars. Her broken bones weren’t like Reynard’s. His could actually be.. “Healed”. While her bones were broken so out of place, no way for them to mend themselves. She had missing teeth and a crooked nose. Her body wasn’t what it used to be. She used to be so pretty.

Father stopped bringing home victims to torture in favor of using Maggie as his personal punching bag. Reynard was always forced to watch, and listen to her suffering. He’s not sure why he’s so angry today. All he knew is that he wanted to throw up. His older sister’s blood was on his feet, and she laid twitching on the floor, slowly getting back up on her hands and knees. He doesn’t know how she could always get back up. She was strong. Despite her injuries, her useless arm, and her swollen legs, she still got up, albeit heaving and drooling. She was hit one last time with a metal bat to the side before Father left. As the door closes, he immediately rushes to his sister’s side. He was only a child, though, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to even start with healing her. A bandaid couldn’t help this. His hands were shaking as he helps her sit against the wall. Her breathing was heavy, bruises forming on her quickly. He moves across the room, grabbing her shirt and skirt for her. She was left in her underwear. It was never anything sexual, it was more so for humiliation. Or for being able to harm her better. He struggles helping her into her clothing, her flinching every time she bends her limbs. Her dead arm was stiff from the beating it got. He noticed her torn ear, the blood matting her hair and staining her neck. She wasn’t as skinny, but he could still see her bones through her skin. Her neck was badly bruised, she’d been strangled. Her clothes did little to hide her injuries. She was breathing, but limp against the wall, eye glazed and unfocused. He holds her hand gently. He’s afraid he could break her with the slightest movement. He couldn’t shed tears, he’s so dehydrated. He’s so thirsty. Instead, he let out quiet sobs, trying to desperately contain them so Father doesn’t hear.

Then the fateful night happened. He was 13 and Maggie was 17, about to turn 18 in 4 weeks.

It was a mostly quiet night, the cicadas chirping being whitenoise in the background. He’d always been a light sleeper, coming in and out of consciousness. His sister had been gone for 3 days. He was worried, obviously. It plagued his mind, but he already spent two nights worrying himself to death, and he desperately needed to sleep. He had dark eye bags under his eyes, and bloodshot eyes. He was so tired. He would flinch awake whenever he heard a creak or a noise. But in the end, sleep overtook his body. He felt heavy. His sleep didn’t last long, though. He jolts awake when he hears a noise in the hallway. Father usually isn’t awake this late. And if he is, he’s outside. He sits up with bated breath, staring wide eyed at his bedroom door. His throat felt tight.

When the doorknob started moving, he felt as though it was moving in slow motion, but it was probably just in his tired mind. But relief washed over him, almost overwhelmingly so when he saw his sister poking her head in with a crooked smile. She walks in, followed by a girl she’s never seen before with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was really pretty. They shut the door as quietly as possible. “Rey, I need you… I need you to grab, uh, grab your things, okay? Gra- grab what you need, we can’t have t-too much that’ll slow us down, al-alright? I’ll be sure to get you.. I’ll be sure to get you, uh, get you new things.” She says, her voice croaky and slow from all of the abuse done to her throat. She clears her throat, muffling the sound with her sleeve. Reynard nods slowly, looking at the other woman who had a comforting hand on Maggie’s shoulder. She notices this and gives a pretty smile. “I’m Cher.” She says quietly, kneeling down next to him. “I’m your sister’s partner. I’m helping you get out of here, okay?” He didn’t completely understand what was happening, but he nodded silently once again. “G-Good.” Maggie smiles. “Get, get your things, Rey-rey.” He obeys her, getting up and grabbing a change of clothes, his water bottle, and other things he deemed important. Maggie kept guard at the door, and Cher was peeking out the window for anything. He puts everything into his beat up school backpack. They both look at him, soft smiles on their faces. It made his worry dispel, at least a little.

He grabs onto her useless hand, noticing how it’s been bandaged up. He wonders if a doctor did it or if someone else did. “Should be clear.” She whispers, slowly opening his bedroom door and looking around. His tension was high once again, and he grips a little tighter onto her hand, even though she can’t feel it. He gulps, anxiety buzzing inside of him. They walk slowly, making their way towards the front door. They all moved so slowly to not make any noise. His head was hurting from the amount of concentration it took just to not put too much weight on his feet. The tension was so high that it stressed him to no end. It was all going well, they were almost to the front door. His heart was racing, and his throat felt tight.

Then, he slipped. His stupid socks slipping on the polished wood floor, it was too dark to see where he was putting his feet. It felt like it was going in slow motion, Cher reaching to catch him and Maggie nearly falling with him. He hit the floor hard, and it was as if a gunshot went off. They all stare, wide eyed and pain bloomed in his arm. Cher quickly gets him to his feet and they race for the front door, stealth now out the window as Maggie works on the locks. She curses under her breath as loud, stomping footsteps come from down the hall. Then, Father turns the corner, seeing the three of them at the door. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He asks, voice low and rumbling. He was absolutely seething at what he was looking at. Reynard felt all of the color drain from his face. He felt cold, seeing the man before them. “I-I’m… I’m fucking taking R-Rey!” Maggie yells, voice hoarse. “No, you fucking wont!” He yells, walking forward and grabbing Reynard, forcefully stealing him from Cher’s grip. “Rey!” Maggie runs at him, but gets punched in the jaw, hitting the wall hard with a thump. “Babe!” Cher cries, looking between the door and Maggie. But she stands back up like she always does. “So first you try to take my son, and next you’re a fucking dyke?!” He screams, throwing Reynard aside like he was nothing but a doll. He slams into the floor, and he can feel his shoulder disconnect. He swallows his scream, tears prickling in his eyes as he breathes heavily, scooting back.

“Cher, go!” Maggie yells. Cher looks reluctant but quickly grabs Reynard and runs out the door, carrying him as if he were her own child. But, she doesn’t run far, setting him in the bushes and standing up. Her cheeks were stained with black tears from her makeup. “Stay here, please. I’m going back in there, just stay here and hide, okay?” She says, grabbing his smaller hand, practically pleading. He simply nods, and she gives a smile, running back into the house. Of course, though, he wasn’t going to just wait here. He peeks in through the window, getting a view of the living room where it was happening. In the living room, Father was beating her harder than he’s ever seen before. He throws her onto the floor, stomping and kicking her head. Cher runs in, pulling out a gun from her purse, pointing it at him with shaky hands. All of them are frozen in place, and Cher says something he can’t hear. Father steps back a bit, and Cher lowers her guard. He takes this opportunity to push her into the wall, the gun falling to the floor and sliding away. Cher groans, nose bleeding. Maggie tries to get back up but he kicks her again, stomping on her throat. He stops, breathing heavily as Cher once again tries to wrestle him, but he flicks her away like a bug. He grabs the metal bat from the corner, swinging it at the girl’s head and she falls over, unconscious on the floor now. Maggie scrambles to get on her feet, but is swiftly cut off by the bat hitting her knee. She screams in pain, her broken knee giving out as she tries to scoot away from him. Reynard is frozen. His muscles refuse to move and his eyes can’t look away. Dread builds inside of him. Father brings the bat down on her, not holding back at all. Her arm gets beaten, breaking and the bones splintering and sticking out through her skin in a way that makes him want to vomit. But he doesn’t stop, continuing to bring the bat down onto her already limp, weak body. Both of her kneecaps were shattered, her skin red and purple all over. She was heaving out blood, it pouring from her lips like vomit. He swings at her head again, and he sees her jaw dislocate, but he doesn’t stop. Smashing, hitting, and destroying her head. She didn’t even look alive anymore, her head somewhat caved in and clear fluids coming from her mouth and nose along with the blood. Her eye was wide open, glazed over, no light in them. But, Father still leans down and twists her neck, snapping it until it's in the complete wrong direction. He wants to vomit. He didn’t even notice Cher. She had inched towards the gun while Maggie was taking the beating, she probably hasn’t seen just how bad it is yet. She lifts up the gun, shooting him in the leg and he yells, dropping his bat and holding his leg. This gives her a clear view of Maggie. Her eyes land on her mangled lover. Shock spreads over her face. There was a beat of silence, and then she screams, such a primal, gut wrenching scream that he’s never heard before. She drops the gun, completely forgetting about what they were here for and goes for Maggie’s body. But Father turns around, grabbing her and wrapping his hands around her neck. She yells, kicks, screams, tries to fight back, but the fighting starts to stop and her yells get quieter until her hand drops limply to her side.

After that there was a chilling silence. The only sound being Father’s shuffling as he stands up, putting away the bat and lighting a cigarette as if it were any other day. Reynard finally feels time unpause, and he practically collapses, legs giving out on him and he heaves, vomiting onto the ground, only his stomach fluids coming from him. He hasn’t eaten in a while. He knows he needs to run. He needs to run as quickly as possible and get the fuck out of here. He needs to go, but he feels limp, just like his dead sister. Dead. That realization sinks in, hitting him like a train. He wants to scream. He wants to scream and cry and bash his head into a wall. Why is he alive?

And it’s his fault. His fault they got caught. That hurts more than any injury he’s ever received. He breathes quickly, gasping and shaking. It’s his fault. It’s his fault they both died. He killed them. He killed them and they’re gone forever and now he’s going to be a slave to his Father and their hard work and deaths would be for nothing. His head is pounding, and he wants to scream, but his throat feels swollen and his muscles are stiff. He doesn’t remember when or how he fainted.

The next day, he woke up in Father’s car. He felt so drowsy, his vision blurry as he slowly regained his consciousness. He smelled cigarette smoke, and heard the radio on. He blinks slowly, looking up at Father, who was staring ahead. “Finally awake, brat?” He asks, flicking his cigarette and turning to him. He frowns, looking around. In the back seat were two bodies. Cher and Maggie. Cher looked otherwise fine, though she was only wearing her underwear, he’s not sure why. But Maggie… Her poor body was practically mangled, none of her limbs were twisted the right way. Her head was almost completely backwards, and her body was laid awkwardly, her bones not really holding a human shape anymore from the amount of damage. Her mouth hung open from her broken jaw, her nose broken beyond repair and her neck splotchy and red. She looked so pale. He felt sick staring at her, so he looked away. “What… What’re we doing?” He asks, looking at Father with fearful eyes. He huffs, blowing out smoke slowly and putting out the cigarette on the dashboard. “We’re getting rid of the bodies.” He says simply. He then opens his door, getting out and going to the trunk, holding two large white sheets. He opens the back door, setting the sheets on top of the bodies. He then grabs filled trash bags, placing them on top, probably to make it look less suspicious. He then gets back in the car, buckling up. “But we’re not disposing them here. That dyke’s got a family that’ll be looking for her. If we go to a different state or county, the body won't be so easily identified.” He explains this, turning the car on. He glances at his child. “And this will also be an example to you if you ever think about misbehaving.” Reynard gulps, feeling a chill go down his spine at the icy tone. He simply nods, buckling his seatbelt and staring ahead out the window.

Everything seemed to start fading away after that. Nothing felt like it existed anymore. The music sounded like static to his ears. His entire body felt numb, light but at the same time so heavy. His eyes were unfocused. He just… shuts down. This tended to happen, usually when Father brought people home. His brain turning off to avoid the emotional meltdown he’d have to eventually face. Just bottle it up for a little longer. He’s not sure how long they’ve been in the car, his mental clock just stopping for him. They could’ve been here for hours, minutes, or maybe just a breath. He might’ve fallen asleep at one point, but he doesn’t really know. All of it was foggy. The time on the road all blended together. But, then they come to a stop. The road they were on was completely barren, and it’s now nighttime, but he’s not sure the exact time, it was just dark out. He pulls in, stopping the car and unbuckling his seatbelt. He gets out, the car chiming, lights blinking. “Get out, kid.” He says. Reynard follows suit, getting out of the car slowly. He feels his tension rising, his back feels stiff, almost, and his throat tight. He grips onto his shirt, biting his lip. Slowly, Father begins taking out the trash bags. They all drop onto the concrete, and the covered bodies become more visible. He adjusts his gloves, wetting his lips and grabbing a body, wrapping it up some more with the sheet. It was harder to wrap Maggie’s body. He huffs, pulling the bodies out, and chucking them into the shallow ditch. Rey felt a bit sick. Father goes to the trunk, pulling out two containers of gasoline. And, without a word, he dumps all of it onto the bodies. “This is what happens…” He throws the empty canisters out of the way, lighting a match, “To brats that misbehave.” And he throws the match into the ditch. It lit so much easier than he had expected. The smell made him want to vomit. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to not seem as distressed as he actually is. The fire grew huge, he could see the sheets burning and holes forming, showing the now darkened, dry dead skin. They stand there, watching for a moment. The smoke made his eyes water. Or maybe it was his emotions. If his Father sees, he’ll just say it’s from the smoke either way. “Okay, get in the fucking car, we’re leaving.” He turns, going back to the driver’s seat. Reynard takes a second. This was the last time he’d ever see his sister. He bites his lip, tearing his eyes away and running back to the car.

That was the last time he ever saw his older sister.

The next day on the news, two unidentified female bodies were found. No one came forward to the police. They were marked as Jane Does, and the case went cold.

Skipping ahead, he was in school again. He’s not sure why Father allowed him to go back to school, but he appreciated it. Even if the people there were mean and made fun of him. They called him names, or were generally creeped out by him. He had a lazy eye now, which in itself caused a lot of bullying on top of the problems he already has with it. Then he’d get bullied for his name, too, being called Rey-tard by his peers. They seemed to think it was the funniest shit, for some reason. He wasn’t all that attractive, either. He had crooked teeth and an ugly scar on his nose. Most of his scars were covered, at least. His lazy eye would dry out a lot easier, he’s not sure why, but it’d look all red and gross. None of the bullying got physical, really. He suspects it's because he’s already got a prosthetic. Oh yeah, he has a prosthetic leg now. It was real ugly looking, and he covered it with pants all the time. So the bullying never extended to anything physical. Funny though how they still made fun of him. Some of them backed down when they learned about it, probably pity, but there were still people who picked on him. If they got especially rude, he’d detach his leg and it’d usually freak them out. So he was known as a weirdo, too. It wasn’t all bad, though. He had some.. Friends? Or, at least people who pitied him. It was better than being taunted. He wasn’t a great student, either. He had bad grades from always zoning out, he’d hear things that weren’t there and see stuff out of the corner of his eyes. They were mostly auditory. Once, when they were watching a documentary for class, all he could hear was the background music. It was much louder than anything else, and it sounded like it was coming from the floor rather than the speakers. He’d hear people say his name, or sometimes feel taps on his shoulder when people weren’t actually touching him. This would cause him to say things out loud in the middle of class, and get laughed at or scolded. On especially bad days, he’d hear his sister. But not just that. Whenever he’d see a bat, he’d hear her grunting and groaning coming from behind him. He’d also hear her panting and breathing right beside him in class sometimes, or her croaky voice whispering things that he can’t make out. And on the worst days, he’ll see her. Her mangled body. He’s never had a hallucination of her in her normal state. Always her mangled, disfigured dead body. Once the room started to get covered in blood. The first time he saw her, he began screaming in class, falling out of his chair. He was sent to the nurse and it took them an hour to snap him back to reality, and another 30 minutes to calm him down. He can’t get any medicine prescribed to him because his Father isn’t going to spend money on any sort of therapy or psychiatrist. But his hallucinations were getting worse. He doesn’t really remember when they started, but they’ve been getting worse and worse. His “bad days” were becoming more frequent and his grades were dropping tremendously. He’s been trying to ignore these hallucinations, though it was really hard when he could hear and feel it all. Even if others couldn’t experience them, it all felt real to him. He knows they’re not real, but they feel so real. He even smells things sometimes. He’ll smell blood a lot of the time. Sometimes, the noise around him gets turned down, sounding like he’s underwater, and he’ll see his arm detached on his desk. No one else sees it, no one else is even looking at him, but his arm is on the table, and he can’t feel anything. He feels like he’s going insane. Maybe he is. He knows next to nothing about mental health. Who knows what the fuck is going on in his brain? He sure doesn’t.

He wishes he could tell someone, anyone, about what happened to his sister and her girlfriend. But to everyone, he’s an only child. He’s not sure how Father was able to completely wipe his sister’s identity. But only they knew about the two Jane Doe cold cases. Not many other students really keep up with the news. Plus, at this point it's been a few years. He’s about 16 years old. The case was still being investigated, but at this point many officers have moved onto active cases. The Jane Doe cases faded into the background for everyone. Just another murder. It makes him feel sick. If he tells anyone, they’d contact Father and then he’d get beaten. Or maybe killed. He doesn’t know what punishment he’d get if he ever said anything about that murder. The thought alone scared him. He wants to scream it to the world. Maybe when he can leave his father he can safely go to the police. Just maybe. He just needs to wait a few more years.

When he became 19, he had enough money from his part time job to get an apartment in a completely different state. It was still close by, the next state over, but it was a long drive and he hoped that his Father wouldn’t be that dedicated to kill him. It was really hard, getting all the money without Father stealing any of it, and most of all finding a place he could afford and finding the time to be able to move. He didn’t tell his Father about it, either. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there. He used a bus instead of his car, and he planned to replace all of his electronics, just so he couldn’t be easily tracked. Maybe he was paranoid, but he doesn’t want to risk anything. Moving into his apartment was exhausting, but he made sure to only pack some suitcases and only two boxes of his things, just so it wouldn’t slow him down. It was still such an annoyance. He only had a couch, some chairs, and a mattress for now. It wasn’t a life of luxury, that’s for sure. In his new home, he works 2 different part time jobs. One as a cook, and another as a janitor. He’s not really allowed to be a cashier or anything that shows him much. He’s not exactly the most comforting presence to be around, that’s for sure. Nor was he really welcoming. He’s no good at talking, and his appearance was a little sketchy. He worked hard, though. Mostly because he needs money to actually live, and not so much out of passion.

After two months of living on his own, he decides to finally go to the police station. He was incredibly anxious, and he was surely looking suspicious just walking into the police station while acting this paranoid. He probably looks like a druggie or something, but he came to file a report, so that’s why he’s here. It took some time, but he’s eventually sat down with an officer, one who seemed tired and disinterested. He gulps, shifting in his seat. “Okay, Reynard…” She writes something down, looking at him. “What is it you’re reporting today?” “T.. The Jane Doe cases from… 6 years ago.” He begins, and the woman looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Uh, I know who did it. M-My father.. He, uh… he killed them.” She hums, chewing on her pen as she types on her computer. It’s quiet for a few minutes. She then looks back at him. “We don’t have any unsolved Jane Doe cases here.” She says simply. “N-No the.. The case in California. Uh… Shasta County.” He gulps. She hums. “We can’t really do anything other than contact the police department over there.” She explains. She doesn’t seem to be taking his statement very seriously. He bites his lip, nodding. She writes something down. “We’ll contact the sheriff there, and inform him of your statement. Then you can call their police department, alright?” He frowns but nods. “Alright… Thank you.”

First try wasn’t great, but hopefully the next try will go well.

Calling the Shasta County Police Department was a little strange. He paced in his living room, trying to calm his nerves. “Y-Yes, I’d like to file a report.” He says, clearing his throat. “It’s about the Jane Doe cases from 6 years ago. The, uh, unsolved one.” There’s some typing on the other line. “Yes, what do you have to report?” He gulps, trying to calm his nerves. “Uh, my Father. He killed them.” “Your Father?” “Yes.”

There’s a bit of silence on the other line, before she begins speaking again. “Alright, what details do you know about the case, sir?” This was it. He gives a shaky breath. “Uh, all of it. I was, uh, there. One of them was, uh, my sister. We were heavily, a-abused as kids.” He says, voice beginning to shake. “He, uh, was always violent. Not just with us, h-he’d kidnap and torture and kill people o-on camera. U-Uh, he’d hit us with.. Ba… bats.” He’s starting to shake a little. “H-He uh, killed her and her girlfriend a-after she tried to, uh… escape with me. He killed them and… burned them in a ditch…” There’s typing on the other line, some occasional hums. When he finishes, she speaks again. “What’s your name again? And the victim's names?” He gives their names, but he can’t remember the girlfriend’s name, no matter how hard he tries.. Again, there’s a long silence. “Sorry, sir, there isn’t a ‘Maggie’ in our system. We can’t find any birth records, either… And we can’t do much about the other victim if you can’t remember her name.” She speaks slowly. “N-No, I swear she’s the one who died!” He sounds desperate now, gripping the phone tightly. “Sir, please calm down. I suggest… you see a therapist or psychiatrist, sir. I think you’re just imagining things… And to begin with, the victim’s injuries are more in line with a car crash than a bat.” She speaks slowly and carefully, as if she’s talking to a child. “She was killed by a bat! A-A metal one!” He’s breathing heavily now, one hand clutching his stomach. The woman sighs. “Sir, I’ll get you on line with a psychiatrist.” “No-!” The phone cuts off.

He didn’t have any luck after that. He's not sure why no one would believe him. He’s telling the honest truth. Is his story really that unbelievable? He feels sick. He’s on medication now, at least. That’s one plus. His hallucinations aren’t as frequent or bad as they used to be, but it still bugged him to no end that his story keeps getting disregarded. He wants to pull his hair out, it’s so frustrating. Talking to a therapist helps, but they just… don’t believe him. It doesn’t help that he has some gaps in his memory. It was so frustrating. He just… wants to give up. He doesn’t want his Father to get away with it, obviously, but he’s so… tired.

And there’s not a lot he can do when he’s not even in California anymore. He feels so helpless. He’s tried making many reports, but none of them went through. He wishes people would believe him, and he wishes he could remember more. He doesn’t know why his memory is so foggy… He needs to remember, but he just can’t.

So, for a while… He gives up. He gets a stable job as a mechanic, and continues seeing his therapist. That should be the end of his story, right? Well, not quite… It’s not over yet.

[laylacooke]

The Cat’s Meow (Pt. 2) || Regan & Layla

timing: Mid August (before Cabin Trip) [continued from here.]  parties: @kadavernagh​ & @laylacooke summary: Meow?

Layla’s heart was beating fiercely in her small compacted chest. Orange fur heaved up and down as she finally stopped running and had made her escape from Luna and Indy. But confusion still hung heavy over her mind, along with no immediate ideas of how she was going to get out of the situation she was in.

She hadn’t been able to catch a mirror on the way out, but when she had tried to speak Ariana’s name the only thing that came out was a pitiful meow. A meow that had alerted her to more than she had wanted to know in the moment.

It had to be a dream, right? No, more like a nightmare. God, was she stuck inside another nightmare? She had just escaped that reality. But then it hit her like a double headed dildo to the face...Cordy. It was the only possibility, right? She had just seen the woman the day before and pissed her off. Maybe she could go see her and this would all go away. Maybe she would be Layla again. Maybe just maybe - Screeeeeeech! “Watch it you stupid cat!” Eyes wide, the small ginger cat hunkered down in fear realizing she had almost gotten hit by a car. Focus, Layla. Or the next time you’re going to look like Binx from Hocus Pocus.

Quickly escaping from the street, before another car came, Layla realized she needed help.

Remmy? Moose might eat me.

Kaden? Uh-uh. He’s an animal catcher and a hunter for fucks sake.

I’ve got it!

Picking up one paw after the other, the small, furry animal made her way through town as she tried to avoid the temptations that were starting to overwhelm her. Fresh fish. Blagh. A large juicy rat! Oh fuck no. Chasing a bird? Maybe. No, Layla. No. Mind on the mission. Mind. On. The. Mission. It was the small child that was now chasing her screaming ‘kitty’ that put a little extra pep in her step. Stop! No! Bad child! Bad! She let out a horrific meow as the toddler grabbed onto her tail pulling her backwards, and with no choice, she released her claws and swatted at the child. Seeing him tear up broke Layla’s heart, but she couldn’t stop, especially now when his mother was chasing after her and trying to kick her away. I’m sorry!

With a huff, she continued moving forward; little legs growing tired with the occasional breaks scattered throughout, but when she looked up, she realized she had made it.

Waiting for the right moment, Layla weaved her way through the legs of the person entering the building. Maneuvering up the stairs with stealth, she finally arrived. Regan’s apartment. She had saved the medical examiner when the woman was only five inches tall, and now, it was Regan’s turn to save her.

It had become a ritual. Coming home, spreading out the case files from “The Collector’s” victims, and scrutinizing the images and autopsy reports until her eyes felt numb. Regan was thumbing through them again when she heard an insistent meow outside of her door. For a moment, she wondered if it had been a hallucination. She wasn’t sure she’d ever hallucinated a cat before, though. Maybe it was best to check. Reluctantly, she shuffled over to the door, opening it to see -- “How did you get in here?” Regan frowned down at the animal. Did Nadia get another cat? Or did Ms. Carmody? The old woman always seemed a little pleased when there were cat carcasses on the lawn; maybe she had a soft spot for them. Before she could close the door on the cat, it slid past her legs into the apartment. “Hey! Stop! Sit!” She tried to command it like she would Abel, but the animal seemed determined to stay inside. Her wings rustled in annoyance. She shut the door, at least for now, lest anyone who wasn’t Nadia walk by. It was just her and the cat, now. She studied its orange fur and bright eyes. The animal looked relatively healthy, as far as she could tell, though she wasn’t exactly a veterinarian. “Fortunately for you, cat, I’m dating someone in Animal Control. He’ll find you a good home. One that isn’t here.”

Regan had taken the bait, and Layla was in. The world, including the M.E’s apartment was so much bigger as a cat. Everything seemed to be duller and her field of vision seemed limited to a degree and made the already drab apartment seem even less exciting. However, that didn’t matter. Trotting over to Regan, the small cat rubbed across her leg continuously, until she mentioned Animal Control. Fucking Kaden. He was going to be the foil in her plot. Hissing at the idea, she left the woman’s side and ran to the nearby couch. Jumping up onto it, she started to pace back and forth, rubbing on the cushions trying to be loving. If she thinks I’m cute, maybe she won’t let Grandpa haul me away. She meowed softly; her big yellow eyes making contact with Regan’s hoping to win her over.

The cat yowled as Regan mentioned Animal Control, like the animal had some idea of what that meant. That wasn’t possible, was it? She didn’t know very much about cats, but dogs could recognize their name and some commands. Did this one actually know what that meant? Kaden surely wouldn’t euthanize the cat; it would be brought to the shelter and adopted out into a home that would be at least adequate. The cat flung itself around the apartment and ended up on the couch, coating it in fur as it rolled around. Regan frowned at it, then looked down at her slacks. Fur clung to her shins where the cat had rubbed. Great. She brushed it off, then took a cautious step toward the animal. She wasn’t keen on touching it. What if it had rabies or something else? It could have been exposed to anything outside. “Cat,” Regan announced, unsure how to address it, “this isn’t going to work. There’s too much screaming and not enough tuna here for you. I don’t know how to take care of a cat! I’ve never had any animal before and half the time I don’t even know if Abel is afraid of me and-- and this is ridiculous. I’m talking to a cat that turned up in my apartment.” She pulled out her Nokia to shoot Kaden a message: How do you catch a cat?

When Regan addressed Layla as Cat, she meowed in response, Yes? However, what the woman had to say wasn’t exactly what Layla wanted to hear. Please don’t let Kaden take me away. Please! Her eyes grew wider as she paced back and forth nervously. Maybe if I lay down and be a good cat, she won’t send me away with Captain Putain. Circling in one spot, Layla found a place to settle into and laid down. Her tail swished back and forth on its own accord as she continued to look at Regan. Meow. It was soft and welcoming. Inviting Regan over to pet her. She could be a good cat. Layla could exist peacefully with Regan, until she could figure out a way to get the woman to help her, so long as Kaden didn’t come with a cage and pole to snag her with.

Was the cat pacing? Was that normal cat behavior, or did it indicate some neurological concern? Regan really needed to get Kaden over here to catch this animal. It probably needed extensive veterinary care. Was it a stray? It stopped walking across the living room after a minute, planting itself in front of her, and all she could do was stare down at those bright eyes. “Do you want something?” She asked it. “Food? Do you want food?” It probably wanted food. What did cats eat? Tuna, of course. Right? She hadn’t purchased any since she realized she couldn’t tolerate fish anymore. Regan walked past the cat into the kitchen to see what she could find. Peanut butter, yogurt, granola, lettuce, sprouts… nothing a cat would be interested in. “Uh, I might need to ask Kaden what cats eat, and then go shopping. Not that you’re staying here. I mean, for long.” She aimed a glance at the animal. “Really, it’s a bad idea. An extremely bad idea.” Was she trying to convince herself, or the cat? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to dwell on it. Sighing, Regan knelt down on the floor to get a closer look at the animal, nearly tripping over her wings. It had healthy, orange fur and seemed bright. For a stray, it was in good condition. She wondered if the cat was microchipped. The vet would be able to figure that out. “Do you have any owner?”

Food had briefly crossed Layla’s mind on the way over, but it was more temptations than anything. However, she was getting hungry. Listening to Regan, she wanted to speak to her badly. Say something other than a variation on the ever so popular meow, but it was useless. Instead, she watched the woman walk to the kitchen and listened as she rambled on about food and why she shouldn’t keep Layla the Cat and what Kaden would suggest. However, what she hadn’t expected was for Regan to come back and kneel down just to further inspect her. With the M.E that close to her face, Layla was at least able to respond to the ‘owner’ question with a swift shake of her head, no, indicating she didn’t have an owner. Did cats shake their head yes and no? Probably not, but she was no ordinary cat and not being able to communicate with words was driving her bananas. When she got out of this, she was going to have some strong words with Cordy...well, if she got out of this.

Did the cat just… did it just shake its head? Regan gawked down at the animal. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way the cat understood the question, right? Which, sure, she felt more than a little ridiculous for asking it in the first place, given that. And she was only going to feel more ridiculous now that she was continuing to verbally engage with a cat. “You don’t have an owner?” She asked cautiously, standing up again. Her wings gave a disgruntled flit and she brought her hand to her forehead. “I’m going insane,” she said simply, “that’s the explanation. And you’re going to get checked for a microchip once I get you to Kaden. But that’s… something I’ll have to do tomorrow.” She looked out the blurry window, noting that the sun was setting. “You can stay here for now, but no sleeping on the bed, and no swatting at me. Understood?”

Layla had found Regan’s reactions amusing to say the least. Erm...meow the least. Letting her golden round hues follow the woman, the cat meowed. You’re not going insane, because if you are then that means I should wake up from this nightmare any moment, but I haven’t yet, so you have to help me find my way out of this situation since Ariana couldn’t! The mews were continuous and full of inflection but resulted in nothing. Well, not what she had wanted, but Regan had given her permission to stay, so at least that was something. Hearing the stipulations, she nodded her head yes. I think I can handle that. No swats, and, fine. No bed, but I bet you’ll come around. If my little cat body is any reflection of my human cuteness, I’m going to win you over like a bettin’ man gettin’ lucky for once. Challenge accepted. She narrowed her eyes for a moment before hopping off the couch and going back over to Regan. Chirping sweetly, she rubbed against her leg hoping to be picked up.

Why was it meowing like that? Was something wrong? Was it supposed to do that? Regan grimaced down at the cat like it was a light she’d just shattered. It wasn’t broken, right? But then it stopped meowing, and-- she jumped as it leapt from the couch, wings taking her a few inches off the floor. That sent another wave of panic through her and she fluttered back away from the animal, dropping back down to the ground. It seemed intent on following her, though, and rubbed against her shin again. Why did it keep doing that? Regan reached down and gave it a quick, cautious stroke on the top of its head, then tore her arm back away from it like it might seize her. “What? I’ll get you food tomorrow. I don’t have anything that I can-- is it water? You want water?” She brought a small bowl full of water from the kitchen and set it down on the floor, hoping to retreat into the bedroom while it was distracted.

Oh, if a cat could laugh! Layla watched as Regan proceeded to freak out. If you could only see the way you’re acting, Dr. B. While getting picked up didn’t work out quite like she planned, the water now sitting in front of her was well appreciated. Moving in, she slowly leaned forward. Seeing her reflection in the water startled Layla, but once she had accepted it, she leaned closer towards the bowl of liquid. Okay, just...you can do this, Layla. Just like...Her tongue easily began lapping up the cool water from the bowl. It was refreshing, to say the least, and while she stood there consumed by the taste of the water in her parched mouth, she hadn’t noticed Regan slip away into the bedroom. By the time she looked up, it was too late. Eyes scanning the room, she let her nose lead her to the door. I hear you in there. Meows rang out sounding closely like the word ‘hello’. Hello? Helloooooo. Hello?

Regan had just brushed her teeth and wiggled into her nightshirt when she heard meowing from the other side of the bedroom door. Her arms sagged with exhaustion and she felt a little bit like screaming. Hadn’t she told the animal she wasn’t allowed on the bed? So much for it being able to understand. Maybe it just wanted to be near her. Domestic animals evolved to be in human proximity, right? She sat down on her bed for a moment, debating. Would it keep meowing out there if she didn’t let it in? Would she be able to get any sleep if she did let it in? Regan groaned, standing up. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She opened the door, standing back as she watched the cat to see what it might do. “Remember, no bed. You can sleep on the floor. And no. Swatting.” Abel had stuck his nose in her wings plenty of times, and she could only imagine what damage a cat might do. Just thinking about the claws made her wince. Regan waggled a finger at the animal before falling back on the bed with a long, drawn out sigh. “Goodnight, cat. Tomorrow, you’re going to the vet.” 

Layla continued to say the one word she could as a cat, “hello”, until she heard the door open. With wide innocent eyes, she looked up at Regan. She listened as the woman spouted off the rules again, before she trotted into the bedroom, tail swishing back and forth. There had been nowhere to lay on the floor. And Regan would be warmer than curling up trying to rely on her own body heat for warmth. It had been a long day, and all she wanted was to sleep peacefully, especially knowing she was going to the vet tomorrow; which had caused her anxiety to spike. What would going to a vet be like? She already hated going to the doctor. She would deal with that issue in the morning, but for now, she just wanted to not feel so lonely, and completely ignoring the ‘sleeping on the bed’ rule, the small, orange tabby launched herself up onto the edge of the mattress. Slowly and cautiously walking over the covers, once she reached Regan, she curled up in a ball next to the woman. Snuggled in closely, before the fae could object, she began purring softly and closed her eyes. 

Regan flicked off the light and settled in. It was always a struggle trying to get comfortable these days, given the unwelcome wings, but somehow, it was starting to get a little bit easier. She gave the cat one final expectant look that said stay on the floor, then she closed her eyes. Regan didn’t even feel the animal soundlessly jump on the bed, not at first-- but something soft and burning hot curled up next to her, and Regan didn’t have the energy to argue with a cat. Besides… it was like having a tiny campfire right next to her, and was the purring really so bad? She’d wash the sheets tomorrow. Regan draped an arm over the animal, allowing herself to hope, just for a moment, that its presence would lead to a nightmare-less slumber.