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lullabyes22-blog · 5 months

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Mal de Mer - A Silco x Mel Piece - Ch: 2 ~ Sealegs

Summary:

A high-seas honeymoon. Two adversaries, bound by matrimony. A future full of peril and possibility. And a word that neither enjoys adding to their lexicon: Compromise.

War was simpler business…

Part of the 'Forward But Never Forget/XOXO' AU. Can be read as a standalone series.

cw: rough sex, rough oral sex, manipulation.

tw: unhealthy parent-child dynamics, abandonment trauma.

Thank you for the graphics @lipsticksandmolotovs<3

Mal de Mer on AO3

Mal de Mer on FFnet

CHAPTER

I - II - III - IV

꧁꧂

Touch if you will my stomach Feel how it trembles inside You've got the butterflies all tied up Don't make me chase you Even doves have pride

~ "When Doves Cry" - Prince

Dawn breaks against a paling sky.

The sun, a fat gold disc, hangs low on the horizon. The wind blows a steady ten knots.

The SS Woe Betide slits through the waves with a sensation not unlike a fingertip dipped down the edge of a rowboat, soft ripples fanning outward. Mel feels the velocity of the turbines in her bones. But the vessel's fine-tuned calibration keeps it perfectly stable. There is only the sleek purr of power; the gliding cut of friction.

And, far beneath, the vast dark unknown.

Her fever has broken. She's still a little languid. But it's a deep, rejuvenated languor. As if the Mal de Mer had drained her body, and sleep has filled it again.

Sleep—or Shimmer.

In small doses, the drug's efficacy is renowned. In large doses: reviled. A Philosopher's Stone, and yet a Devil's bargain—all in one sip.

Mel's never condoned the drug's use. But she's no fool. In Zaun, Shimmer is a necessity. The air, foul. The water, contaminated. The food, inedible. To survive, one needs ironclad immunity. And Shimmer, in moderation, keeps the body's defenses strong.

She's seen Silco, with his bad eye and the wreckage of his scarred face, rely on it daily. A single drop, pierced into the eyeball, the plunger bottomed. Ssssss—his gasp afterwards. A hiss of bitter necessity, not want. His is a pragmatic, utilitarian dependence. Not a millimeter more, and only once per day.

For him, Shimmer is a means to an end. And the end is survival.

And survival, Ambessa always said, is its own justification.

Slowly, Mel sits up. Her breakfast is ready on the sideboard. A pot of steaming green tea paired with a bowl of hot oatmeal. Her husband has come and gone. And she, alone again, with the rising sun.

Not this time, Mel thinks.

This time, I will rise with him.

Last night's thwarted seduction is a splinter. Irksome, in hindsight. She's never had to work so hard for a man's interest. Usually, her smile is enough. But her husband, she's learning, is not a creature to be coaxed or cajoled. He's a man to be met on equal terms.

And if that means she has to fight, to show him the woman she truly is—a woman not afraid of hard truths, or a harder sell—then that's a challenge she will rise to meet.

You are a Medarda, Ambessa always said. You will find your sealegs in the worst storms.

And your footing in the darkest fathoms.

Mel, rising, finds her sealegs. They are, admittedly, precarious. Her balance is off.

Strange how that works. One spell of illness, and the world's axis tilts. Suddenly she's a girl again, stumbling after her mother. Trying, and failing, to walk the path laid out for her.

My path, Mel reminds herself, is my own.

Ignoring the porridge—her appetite, reawakened, cannot be fobbed off by gruel—she slips into her peignoir. Then, barefoot, she pads into the shared bathroom between hers and Silco's berth. The humid air is an olio of him: astringent tea-tree aftershave, the bittersweet tang of bergamot oils, the lingering trace of cigarette.

Inhaling, Mel feels a tug between her thighs. It's a visceral reminder of last night's unfinished business.

But first: the real business of the day.

Beautification.

The clawfoot tub, huge and gleaming, beckons. The past week, she's made do with the washbasin, and a sponge soaked in lavender water. But it's an inferior substitute for the luxury of a proper soak. Twisting the tap, she lets the water run hot, and fetches her favorite scented salts: Kalishma rose petals, jasmine, and a generous dose of vanilla.

Then, shedding her peignoir, she slips in.

Bathing, for Mel, is always a languorous affair. Mornings are her rare moments of solitude before her day takes flight. A chance to meditate and set her plans in order.

A time, too, for self-reflection.

In the water, she can never stop the memories from bubbling to the surface: her mother's tutelage, absorbed both willingly and otherwise. Lessons in warfare and wile; in politics and poise. The many things she'd been taught, and the one thing she'd refused to learn:

To be a Medarda first—and a woman second.

To Ambessa, the two were one and the same. Their lineage was of singular, inviolate importance. The rest was frivolity.

Here, Mel relishes the woman within. And the pleasures of being that woman.

The hot bathwater suffuses her muscles. Her locs, unraveling at the ends, are gently coiled into separate rolls, and pinned up to await later care. She massages a special scrub, scented with Icathian lavender, into her scalp. Then, with lukewarm water, she rinses out the suds. A second lather follows: a heavy moisturizer of honey and coconut oil. With a warm towel, she lets it set into hair. Then, she scours her body from neck to feet: a pumice of sea sponge and a soft, sugary exfoliant of crushed pearls.

Nothing goes without attention. Every part, every inch, is carefully tended.

In her girlhood, she'd never had the luxury. Cleanliness was a necessity, not an indulgence. Mel was expected to be presentable: in mind, and in form. Under Ambessa's exacting scrutiny, she'd dressed as a Noxian noblewoman should. Her curls, pinned back in a simple bun. Her face bare, with mimimal flourishes of jewel and paint. And her body, a mantel for unadorned high-collared gowns of beige, blue, or black.

No frills. No furbelows. Just the austere, unvarnished truth of her person.

It was the style favored by Ambessa, no aficionada of feminine frippery. Not that Ambessa needed frippery to stand out. Her mother could wear bloodstained armor to the grand ball, and turn every head in the room.

Mel, meanwhile, was a late bloomer. Of her family, she'd been the plainest: her mother, the iron lioness, all dark mane and fierce eyes; her father, a Targonian admiral, his sinewy physique weathered by the winds of daring voyages; and her brother, Kino, the best of both worlds, so chiseled he could've been cut from pure bronze, and possessed of such guile he could've outwitted man or monster at the bargaining table.

Whereas she, the spare, was a mere slip of a thing. Delicate in her stance, and saddled with a heart too tender to match her family's martial ambitions. As for her looks: well, she was comely enough, or so Ambessa conceded. But she'd never hold a candle to the great beauties of their dynasty.

She'd tried, as a young woman, to be the mirror of her mother. But the reflection was a pale imitation. She was never as tall. Her shoulders, never as broad. Her nose, her eyes, her chin: all too soft.

Ambessa was a force of nature. Mel was a girl, still finding her feet.

In the end, she'd been relegated to a consolation prize. Mayhaps she'd catch the eye of a warlord's bastard, or the youngest son of a merchant clan. But she'd never be esteemed as a person of consequence. Never be the face that launched a thousand ships, nor the fist that won a thousand wars.

Never, truly, be the heir Ambessa wanted.

In the end, Mel's duty, her only value, was her readiness to play by the rules. Be the docile daughter. The biddable bride. She had no place in the halls of power, where the real bargains were struck. No say in the brokerage of alliances, nor the redistribution of spoils.

And no right, certainly, to her own ambitions.

Ambessa saw only weakness in Mel's softness. Mel, though, knew better. Soft was just a different sort of strength. One that, even in the worst darkness, must endure. Must, in fact, shine brighter.

Because, Mel thinks, real power isn't in the closed fist.

It's in the open palm.

In the end, she'd done exactly that. Chosen mercy instead of the blade. Philanthropy over bloodshed; diplomacy over conquest.

In short, she'd chosen progress.

And paid the price.

By her twenty-first year, Ambessa, despairing of her daughter's idealism, had cast her out. She was not, Mel knew, an unfit heir. She was merely unfit, period.

The banishment—Mel's final lesson—was the cruelest cut of all. Yet, in the aftermath, Mel learnt that cruelty was not, by definition, the absence of love. The opposite: cruelty was the most extreme form of survival. It was a mother, unable to express the full depth of her heart, reduced to the worst of her instincts.

That cruelty—its extremity—was Ambessa's way of protecting Mel, from their world and from herself.

The exile, the rupture of their bond: they were sacrifices.

Sometimes, Mel thinks of how reptiles will sever their own tails, forfeiting a piece of their selves to escape a larger threat. It's a hard and terrible choice. But a necessity if the whole is to survive.

And survive, Mel did.

In exile, she'd found her own worth. She'd found her self. The self that she'd polished to a sheen, slowly and painfully, from the splinters of a broken psyche. The self built, brick by brick, out of a lifetime's loneliness and despair.

She'd never be a force of nature like Ambessa. So, she'd become something else.

A luminary.

In Piltover, she'd undergone a breakthrough into breathtaking beauty. She'd left off her old wardrobe: the gowns with their plain, high collars and the muted palettes. She'd learned how to gild herself like a lily in an elysian garden: dresses in dozens of sun-kissed hues, cut tantalizingly low to trace the shadow of her decolletage, or cut daringly high to showcase the smoothness of her thighs. Jewels that were a symphony in a spectrum: emerald, amethyst, citrine.

And gold, lots and lots of gold: until she'd glittered bright enough to outrival the sun.

As a girl, she'd worn her hair in its natural curl. Simple, stark, unfashionable. Now, she'd let it grow, and grow, and grow. Glossy locs coiled in gold, and styled into a coronet at the crown of her head: a diadem fit for a queen. As for her face: she'd learnt her best features, the way an artist learns the play of light. With philters of plum lip-stain, phials of indigo kohl, and pots of golden dust, she'd highlighted what nature had given, and exaggerated what it had not.

Until the girl was gone, and a goddess remained.

It was a transformation as gradual as the phases of the moon. As shocking as a solar flare.

And when, finally, she'd seen herself in the mirror, she'd felt the strangest sensation. Like the face staring back was a reflection, not of the woman she'd failed to be, but of the woman she'd been all along.

Mel, at last, had seen herself.

Piltover had seen her too. And, once they'd looked, they'd never stopped. She'd entered the elite circles as a mere footnote in the Medarda family-tree. Yet her footfall had stirred a stampede. Men and women vying for her attention; artists clamoring for her likeness; suitors offering themselves on a silver platter.

They didn't know where she'd come from. Only that she was here.

And, in her, they'd seen a rarity worth keeping.

Her beauty had been the key. Her cleverness, the lock. Together, they'd opened doors for her all the way to the Council chambers. In the space of a decade, she'd flourished from a foreign enigma into the Patroness of Progress. Wherever she stepped, she shone. Wherever she looked, they fell in line.

She was the impetus behind Piltover's transformation into a technological juggernaut. She'd bankrolled Jayce Talis, the boy who'd become the Man of Tomorrow. She'd spearheaded the Council's most forward-thinking social reforms, been the architect behind its boldest public works, and the guiding light for its brightest scholastic minds.

Her golden fingerprints were all over the City of Progress. She'd made it, the world swooned, a paradise. Her brand—the Medarda brand—was synonymous with a better tomorrow.

And she'd done it without spilling a drop of blood.

Her mother, Mel thinks, would detest the irony. Her daughter's ideals, once a folly, had given her the impetus to imagine a world where her family's sins were not a burden to carry, but a gift to give.

A brighter world.

In the tub, Mel feels for her wedding ring, twisting it gently on her finger.

And then...

And then, she'd met the Eye of Zaun.

And wanted, in a flash, more than the sum of what she'd built.

Wanting a man, Ambessa always said, is a fool's errand. They're empty vessels. The more you give, the more they need. You can pour your whole life into a man, and he will still be empty.

Better to keep yourself full.

Mel, as a girl, had learned the words. Mel, as a woman, had heeded the lesson. Men were tools. In the boardroom, pieces on her chessboard. In the bedroom, morsels on her tray. She'd made a study of their wants, molding them to suit her ends as a sculptor molds clay.

Each man she'd bedded was, in his own way, the same. Predictable. Easy to seduce; easier to discard. She'd always kept a measure of distance. Kept her heart separate from her head; her self, her own.

Only Jayce—her darling—had breached that divide. Their relationship had been a seamless fit. He was the same person, wherever he went. Always honest; always, forthright. He was the best piece of her, and she'd loved him for it.

Truly—loved him.

But the rest of her was a Medarda. And Medardas were neither honest, nor forthright. Least of all in matters of love. She and Jayce had both suffered for it. And, finally, they'd broken. Jayce, with his ideals, and Mel, with her pride.

Their city had broken too: the rift between Piltover and Zaun spilling blood into their streets.

And in the aftermath, their faith lay in wreckage. Jayce, a disillusioned husk, had left to heal in solitude. And Mel, a woman scorned, had turned to the shadows for succor.

She'd sworn to herself.

No more broken hearts. No more broken cities.

Then she'd met a man with a taste for both.

In Silco, she'd found, first an adversary, then an unlikely ally. Found, in his eyes, the answer to a question she'd never dared ask:

How far will I go to safeguard what's mine?

Theirs was the anti-match for the annals. And yet it proved the perfect antidote. They were so dissimilar at first glance, they threatened to cancel each other out. Like the sum of their parts was null.

And yet, in their duality, they were a force to be reckoned with. He possessed so many traits Noxus esteemed: grit, pragmatism, resolve. Traits extolled by her mother; traits Mel had grown to despise.

Yet, on him, they weren't hollow trappings. They were hard-won byproducts of a hard-lived life.

A Zaunite's life, through and through.

His grit was rooted in privation, not privilege. His pragmatism, a necessity, not a vice. His resolve, fed not by conquest, but the desire to carve out a future. A better life for his child, and his city.

Zaun was the lodestar of his compass. And Jinx, the lodestone of his heart.

It was that blend of ruthlessness and tendresse that had first intrigued Mel, then attracted her. Their courtship was a slippery thing, conducted in stolen glances and double-edged banter. Under the spotlight, they'd traded barbs. In private corners, they'd traded confidences.

They'd circled each other, closer and closer: a slow spiral that led to a low-down smoldering, and finally, after months and months, burst into catastrophic flames.

The fallout had sent shockwaves through both their cities. And yet, after the secrecy was blasted away, and the scandal had burned itself out, the spark between them had kept on fizzing.

And fizzing.

A walk down the aisle, Silco had written in a letter to her, isn't much different than a walk down a corridor. It's a means to an end.

The end being the two of us.

In a room. Alone.

In other words: marriage.

The stone on Mel's ring glints: a green spark. She lifts it to her lips.

Sometimes, it still feels surreal. That Silco, a subterranean predator with no heart in him for trust, no room in him for mercy, had given her his ring. Had pledged himself to her in a simple vow: I do. And she, a sunlit mirage, the chambers of her own heart hidden beneath layers of guile and grace, had repeated the same vow: I do.

A binding oath.

Elora, in her gentle way, had cautioned Mel not to sign on the dotted line. He's a dangerous man, Mel. I've seen the way he looks at you. He'll do anything—anything at all—to get what he wants.

Mel had smiled.

So will I, Elora.

Jayce, predictably, had been less circumspect. He's a crimelord, Mel. Worse, he's a monster. He'll ruin you. He'll ruin our city. Why the hell are you doing this?

Mel had kissed his cheek.

Progress, my darling.

Loyalty had stayed Elora's tongue. Love had stayed Jayce's. But in their eyes, she'd seen the same misgiving. They'd both feared that Mel was blinding herself to the truth. That the Eye of Zaun, with his black heart and blacker past, would tally up her life, and take it for all it was worth.

Take her coin, and her city, and her soul.

Their doubts, Mel knows, have merit. Except she's no doe-eyed naïf. She's a Medarda. And because she's a Medarda, she'd known the truth from the beginning. Known it, and chosen anyway.

Chosen, because it was the truth she'd grown up with. The truth that'd defined her entire life. A mother, who'd culled her children's weaknesses with the same blade she'd cut down her enemies. A childhood, spent first as a spare, then an exile. A womanhood, alone, trying to reconcile her heart with her head. Trying to understand, the difference between power and cruelty; between a fist, and an open palm.

Ambessa's lesson: Power is absolute. Cruelty is the means.

Mel's answer: Power and cruelty are both means.

The end is mercy.

She'd learned, at Silco's side, not to fear power. Not to flinch from the cruelty that came with it. And she'd never feared him, though she had flinched, once.

Because she'd understood that his power, like his cruelty, had a source:

Love.

To safeguard it, he'd resort to the worst of himself. He'd be the monster to end all monsters. He'd hide his open palm in a fist, and close the deal, whatever the cost.

For his city—and his child.

I am not, he'd told Mel once, a good man.

But for my family's survival, I will do what must be done.

Perhaps it was a measure of Mel's own hypocrisy, that she'd recognized in Silco the same monstrosity as her mother's, and yet embraced its paradox. Perhaps it was a measure of her own madness, that she'd seen past the scars, and into the eyes of a kindred spirit. Perhaps it's a measure of her own strength, that she'd taken the monster's hand, and taken him to bed, and in the morning, awoken not only whole, but held.

As if he'd found something, in her, that he'd likewise dared to keep.

Something that could survive the sum of their pasts.

Survival, Mel reminds herself, is its own justification.

Both she and Silco are survivors. They've seen, in each other, two halves of a greater whole. The promise of a future. He's seen Zaun: a city transformed. No longer an industrial blight, but a cutting-edge marvel. She's seen Piltover: the City of Progress. A shining jewel on the cusp of eternity.

She's seen him. And he, her.

And together, their vision can be made real.

They are so close. The game is in hand. The prize, on the hook. All Mel needs to do is reel it in.

But her guests aren't the challenge.

The real challenge sits on the other side of that door.

"Sea legs," Mel whispers.

The bathwater has become a perfumed broth. Her skin is tingling. Her curls gleam like spun-black sugar. Rising, she douses herself with a blast of cold water, then wraps up a thick towel. Padding out is like walking on clouds.

Her mind and body are humming, primed.

Ready.

In her berth, she opens the armoire. Inside, the dresses she'd chosen for the trip are neatly arrayed: each one a study of tasteful luxury. Silk, organza, damask.

Since her wedding, she's favored a number of Zaunite clothiers. Every gown, exquisitely tailored, combines sartorial elegance with political substance. Not a single thread of silk, but an entire industry. Not a single motif, but a manifesto.

Fashion, she knows, can be a handstitched masterclass in diplomacy.

Already, her strategy has borne fruit. At press engagements, her gowns are photographed from every angle. High-end publications, from the Gazette to the Illuminator, feature her wardrobes across their glossies. Each label she patronizes, the jetsetters have followed suit. Zaun's textiles, once derided as subversive trash, are becoming the toast of the town.

Last summer, she'd sponsored an entire exhibition: 'Zenith.' A collection of avant-garde couture, by the most talented Fissure=bred artisans. In a mere week, the exhibition had sold out. Newsreels had praised her 'daring tastes', and the Sun & Tower Newspaper had devoted three full pages to the 'cultural significance' of the collection. In the space of a season, Piltover's fashionistas had begun making pilgrimages to visit their edgier sisters belowground. They'd flocked to the bazaars, gaped at the splendor, and left with a veritable caravan of textiles.

It's the opening, Mel hopes, of a dialogue. An invitation for Zaunites and Piltovans to meet each other halfway.

One fashionplate, Silco often disparages in his wry way, won't fill a dozen empty stomachs.

Perhaps not, Mel concedes.

But a starving artist, with the right benefactor, might become a rich one.

She takes a dress off its hanger: a chiffon day-gown of the palest champagne. It boasts a paneled bodice in a deep V-neck and sheer overlay, and a pleated skirt that cuts away into a slit at the knee. Light and ethereal, with a coy touch of sin.

Retwisting her locs, Mel pins them up into a high sleek bun, baring the swanlike curve of her neck. Then the finishing touches: a dusting of gold powder on her cheekbones, a dab of plum stain to her lips, and a slash of indigo to her eyelids. The green and gold flecks in her irises leap out.

There.

Not quite ready to greet her guests. But not a woozy invalid, either.

She needs to look vibrant. For herself—and her husband. Her pride won't allow otherwise. Three weeks of marriage, and she's already been felled. By Mal de Mer. By a novice's nerves. By a costly error, and her own failure to read the tides.

Now, she must make a show of her vitality.

Sealegs, she thinks.

Mel exits her chamber. No sound comes from the baronial stateroom, just a diffuse light stealing from behind the drawn blinds. The space holds the gloomy masculinity of a bachelor's den: the floral bouquets withering, the basket of exotic fruits competing for space with cut-glass decanters of whiskey, the elegant mantelpiece crowded with papers.

The whole scene, an artist's rendering of old-world baroque, is muddied by a fug of stale smoke.

Mel's lip pinches.

It's Silco's morning routine: shortening a cup of black coffee and a cigarette as he goes over the dispatches from his network. Thousands of miles away from Zaun, and yet his grip is merciless. His lieutenants keep him in a constant loop. A barrage of reports: delivered by radio-wave, or through a series of cyphers embedded in the latest editions of the local newsprints. His orders: a litany of edicts, read by dawn and set into motion by dusk.

The Eye is an all-seeing entity, his system a web of a thousand threads. His informants are everywhere in Zaun: its rooftops, its basements, its ginnels. Nothing goes unnoticed. Nobody is beyond reach. He keeps a tally of all his assets, and moves his pieces accordingly.

Even away, his presence remains: cold, remote, watchful.

But here, Mel thinks, it should be different.

Here, he should relax.

This idyll was meant to be a respite. For both of them, and the duty of their stations. By her own plan of events, they ought to still be in bed. Instead, she's been laid up for a week. And he, of course, has defaulted to a state of hypervigilance.

He's a creature of instinct, her husband. And instinct, in this instance, is to reconnoiter and safeguard his territory.

At land—and at sea.

It's plain he hasn't let a soul enter their cabin since she's fallen ill. He hasn't even let the staff air it out. The dimensions are steeped in neglect. And Mel, despite herself, feels a twinge.

Was he... concerned?

Then: a second twinge, sharper.

He needn't be.

She can look after herself. And the sooner she puts a foot back in the game, the better.

At the table, calling cards spill from a silver tray. Her guests, Mel sees, have paid their respects. And, soundly, been declined. Their messages—fawning, frivolous, full of platitudes—pinch her lip again.

The lot are as predictable as clockwork:

'Pray, accept my sincere well wishes, Mel; your absence has cast a poll over our bridge games' — 'Dearest Mel, I hear the seasickness has laid you low. May I suggest a cure? Better company than the sort you'll find in your berth.' — 'Madam, my heart is a-breaking. My eyes a-aching. When will you come out, and let me feast them on your sweet face?' — 'To the loveliest Melusine on the SS Woe Betide. Please accept this small token of my esteem, and my earnest hope that the sun will shine on me again.'

And etc.

In the margins, the original reader has scrawled notes in his own spiky script. His messages, however, are the antithesis of flattery.

In a few choice strokes, Silco eviscerates every line:

'Poll, you say? How about a grammatically calamitous plague?' — 'Better company than at the bottom of a bottle? That's how much I'd have to drink to stomach yours.' — 'Feast your eyes on this: I have a knife, and it's a-begging to feast on you.' — 'Sunshine is the last thing you deserve. How about a tempest? Better yet, a kraken? Melusine, pray oblige.'

And etc.

Mel smiles. The penmanship is neat as a pin. But each line cuts to the bone. The guest who'd penned the last lovelorn verse is left, rather literally, hanging: his message ends with the phrase, "Darling, dearest—" only to be punctuated by a single, damning word.

Dead.

Mel stifles a laugh. Then, a third twinge. This time, behind her ribs.

Silco, since their departure, has been perched on a knife's edge. Small wonder he's kept to their quarters. For a self-made man, wading night after night into the piranha-infested waters of Zaun's underbelly, the open seas of Piltover's high society must seem a veritable abyss of boredom.

That he's shown his face, each evening, is a credit to his patience. That he's not stabbed anyone—with a fork or a pen or a single sharp word—is a miracle.

And miracles, Mel knows, are not the currency her husband trades in.

Squaring her shoulders, she goes to Silco's berth. A hand lifts to knock.

Then:

"Not there."

Mel turns.

The voice floats from their private saloon. The door is ajar. The sunlight, a cool white-gold, filters through the skylight above. The rays fall upon a veritable feast on the table. Not a lavish Piltovan spread, with its towers of sugar-spun dessert and silver trays laden with exotic fruits and rare cheeses, but a simple, savory repast. Fragrant heels of bread, sausage, scrambled eggs, and spiced congee.

A Zaunite breakfast, born to fill the bellies of miners, factory workers and chem-fiends.

And Silco.

He sits in a louche sprawl across the settee. His lounging robe is charcoal linen, Fissure-woven, the collar trimmed in a subtle gold braid. The color suits him. His scar, usually a lurid slash, is softened by the milky morning light. And his eye, the one without the red, is cut as if from the sea.

He reminds Mel of a creature caught between worlds: a merman, perhaps. Or a sea-monster, half-submerged.

But his double-take is the same as any man's.

"Hell's bells."

Mel purrs, "Good morning to you, too."

His stare—detaching from the letters in his lap—takes its prowling measure of her, head to toe. It lingers on her bare throat. His favorite place to cut a target. Or to bite.

His smile is a bite too: slow and sharp. "Here I thought you'd be another day on the rack."

"I'm a resilient creature, you'll find."

He crooks a brow. "And the Mal de Mer?"

"Gone as the fog."

"In that case, I'm waiting."

"What for?"

"Those three sweet words."

Without missing a beat, she coos, "Schön bist du."

"The other ones."

Sighing, she relents. "You were right. The Shimmer worked. I feel better."

"Not quite yet."

Rising, he pulls out her chair. He's no stickler for etiquette; every act of chivalry is as calculated as the rest of him. His manners, in fact, are the exact opposite of Jayce's: sardonic rather than sincere.

Yet in their focus, the two men are cut from the same cloth. Both give Mel their undivided attention.

Except, where Jayce was sensitive to Mel's whims, Silco is attuned to Mel's wants.

"I gather," he says, as she slides into her seat, "you skipped your porridge."

"I find I've lost my taste for oats."

"Even mine?"

"It's seven o' clock in the morning, husband," she chides sweetly. "Do turn your mind from the gutter."

"I was born in the gutter. Seven o' clock is prime time."

"For what, precisely?"

"Breakfast," he says, all innocence except for that gleam in the bad eye. "It's kept me busy, at any rate."

Mel stops mid-furl on her napkin. "You made this?"

"I've had to. Your chef can't tell a Ripper from a Wreck 'em."

"Which is which, exactly?"

"You prove my point."

Spearing a sausage with his fork, he holds it out to her. It's a smoky morsel, dotted with sprigs of herbs. Mel hesitates, then takes a bite. The flavor is bolder than she's accustomed to. But, chewing, she finds her smile lit with a softer glow than a moment ago.

He is, her husband, a man of many layers. Some, she'll never unravel. Others, reminders of the humanity he's never fully forfeited.

"Well?" he prompts.

"A bit much, perhaps." She takes another bite. "But it grows on you."

The gleam returns, full-force. "It's seven o' clock in the morning, wife. Do turn your mind from the gutter."

"I'm married to you," she rejoins archly. "It's a lost cause."

But she makes no protest as he heaps the rest of her plate. The sausages are piled high; the bread, thick-crusted, is slathered with butter. Even her tea is soused with dollops of honey.

It's a far cry from the delicacies of a Piltovan palate. But Mel, her belly grinding with hunger, finishes every bite. Silco, settling across her in a chair, rests his chin on his knuckles, and watches. It's less a look of appraisal than of absence.

It occurs to Mel—

"Did," she asks, "you used to make this for Jinx?"

"If I hadn't, she'd have grown up eating gummy bears and gobstoppers." The barest grimace. "Just contemplating the inside of my daughter's belly makes me shudder."

"What was her favorite food?"

"Cat's Eyes on a Checkerboard."

"Which is?"

"Waffles with tapioca pudding." The grimace becomes a sly grin. "The ingredients smuggled, naturally."

"From Piltover's larders."

"Your city has plenty to spare."

"As a rule, we do." Mel bites a forkful of egg. "Is that why you're feeding me Fissure fare now? To repay a debt?"

"Not a debt. A favor. Another day of the galley's swill, and you'd have keeled over and left me a widower. Jinx would've composed the perfect eulogy. 'Woe Betide, the best of brides—'till she stuck a spoonful of porridge down her pie-hole.'" His mimicry is eerie. Then again, Mel sometimes thinks he and Jinx share a hivemind. Or, at the very least, a very morbid sense of humor. Refilling his coffee cup, he adds, "She sends her regards, by the way."

"Jinx?"

"A postscript attached to her report." He stirs a fingertip through the pile of letters on the table, and plucks out a glittery pink envelope. Unfolding the sheet, he recites in a droll monotone, "Dear Silly. Hope you're having a whale of a time. Hey, can you get me a whale tooth? I hear they're great for bludgeoning. I'll use it on Sevika—she's been driving me crazy. Why'd you leave her behind? She's already smoked all your cigars, and converted the study into a pool room. Also, Dustin's filched your cigar-box, but he won't admit it. I'm gonna string him up from the ceiling by his ankles till he fesses. Oh, I've just designed a new batch of generators for the mines. If they work, they'll double the output. So, get your butt back here soon. And maybe get me a crate of sun apples? I hear they're super juicy. Tell Step-Mel I liked the dress she sent me, but no lace next time. Lace makes me itch. Also: the new Sheriff is a tool. Get rid of her, will ya? And her hat, too. XOXO."

Mel hides a smile. "Step-Mel, is it?"

"A marked improvement from your moniker before the wedding."

"This, I take it, signifies progress."

"Or a bullseye in motion." He folds the letter, then pockets it. The fond paternal gleam is replaced by the usual half-lidded enigma. "Speaking of: hers and Sevika's report warrants a consultation."

"How so?"

"Noxus is playing at sabotage again. Warmasons are making overtures to the chem-barons. Shimmer-fueled weaponry in exchange for a shot at destroying Piltover's Hex-Gates." He leans back, steepling his fingers. "In my absence, the chem-barons are tempted."

"That's troubling."

"Isn't it just?"

"And your response?"

"I've told Sevika to wait until my honeymoon's done."

His smile is a slow, lethal thing. Mel returns it, sweet as nectar. It's an old game between them: petty one-upmanship played out on the surface, while currents, unseen, run beneath.

They make a game of it because they both know his remark might've been a threat, once, but that now it isn't, and cannot be. It is their way of keeping score. Not of their place in the game, but at each other's side.

Progress.

And yet...

"I trust," Mel says, deceptively light, "you'll make the right choice."

"I figured I'd give you the first shot. After all, they're your brethren."

"They are not," Mel corrects him, with a fixed smile. "Noxus was my nation. Piltover is my home."

"A distinction without difference."

Her smile dims a degree. "Only to an exilee."

There's a moment's silence. Then: a slow clink-clink. Silco's fingers against the rim of his half-empty cup. The gesture is, for him, the equivalent of a sigh. Concession, in the language of their détente.

"If the distinction holds," he says, "then I'll humor the warmasons until the end of our trip."

"Lull them and gull them, as the Zaunite saying goes?"

"Exactly so. By the week's end, my network will have intercepted every last correspondence between them and the chem-barons. The latter, their hands down the cookie jar, will have no choice but to renege their assets. Or their heads. And Topside's Wardens can have the warmasons for themselves. After a fee to Zaun for services rendered." His teeth, a serrated gleam between curving lips, put Mel in mind of a shark's. "No fuss, no muss. Also a Zaunite saying."

Moments like this, Mel marvels queasily, are when she can glimpse her husband's true face. The face she's seen delineated in her mother's visage time and again: a carnivorous hunger that exists only to consume.

It's a face he is adept at concealing. He can wear the mask of the gentleman, or the statesman, or the patriarch. A versatile repertoire: yet each with its infinite capacity for cruelty. A cruelty that is a necessity.

And yet...

Silco's mismatched stare hooks hers. The darkness dissipates.

"You should know," he says.

"Yes?"

"For all that you're an exilee, you've got a home. In Piltover, yes, but more. Zaun is where Topside hides its dirty little secrets. But it's also the place the lost lay their heads. And you, my dear, are the patroness of lost causes. My city will always welcome you into its fold."

There is no tenderness in his tone. And yet, for a man who has never had the luxury of giving away his heart, the matter-of-factness is, perhaps, the best he can offer. A pledge of loyalty, as real as the ring on her finger.

Mel fights down the dizzy dip in her chest.

Monsters, she thinks, know a thing or two about pledges.

"I hope," she returns, softly, "my stay in your city comes with a tour of its best parts."

"The brothels?"

Her foot, beneath the table, nudges his leg. "The breakfast. Because the chef's quite outdone himself."

"Has he now?" he drawls. "Well enough to earn a tip, or a...?"

"If you dare finish that sentence with tup, Silco—"

He smiles, unrepentant. The shadowed mood is dappled with tiny pricks of light. So it always goes between them. He lays a gold nugget of honesty in her palm, and she exchanges it for a fistful of diamonds. They trade in the currency of extremes rather than trust.

The former comes easy; the latter, hard as a heart.

Yet, incrementally, the balance is shifting. Bit by bit. An ounce of feeling, for an ounce of faith. A gleam of promise, for a glimmer of truth.

In time, Mel thinks, they'll learn fair trade.

Maybe, one day, the language of compromise.

"I suggest," Silco says, stretching out his legs, "you thank the chef the proper way, and eat. There's nothing fouler than cold congee."

She complies, taking a spoonful. It's rich and heavy, spiced with cumin, and garnished with fried shallots. Silco, meanwhile, piles the remnants of breakfast on to his own plate. They compete, in their own way, to finish what's left. Each vying for a place of their own: the upper and the underhand.

Though it's a game, Mel can't help but be caught up.

Caught up, but far from caught.

"So," she muses, "what is your agenda for today?"

"Besides fortifying you like a warship?" He tops off his cup, then hers. "Nothing."

"Then why are you in such high spirits?"

"Is your good health not reason enough?"

"You're never in high spirits. Not unless there's wickedness afoot." She hesitates. "And last night, you seemed—cross."

Silco says nothing. From his waistcoat, he withdraws his silver case, and a matchbook. Lighting a slender roll, he taps the spent match. The smoke, a thin grey veil, obscures his features.

Six a day, Mel knows, is his current limit. He's been trying to cut down: for Jinx's sake, and hers.

"What you call 'cross,'" he says, "is my natural state."

"With me?"

"Only now and again." He takes a drag. "But since you're so very curious: we're taking an excursion. Today."

Mel, finishing the last bite of bread, frowns. "You mentioned. But to where?"

"Someplace close."

"How close?"

"A few kilometers. I've had a word with the captain. He'll lay down anchor. We'll take the motor launch there." He blows a rippling smoke ring. "I'm told the scenery's pleasant."

"What?" Mel sets down her slice. "Silco, we can't delay. Our itinerary—"

"—has been adjusted. Our guests will enjoy an afternoon on the water. And a late supper at the villa."

"We were scheduled to arrive by midday on the island. Take a tour of the local sights. I had a meeting with the Wuju chieftain. He and his wife have requested a private reception. There is a dinner, at night, on the High Councilor's flagship. To simply alter our schedule—"

"—will have no consequence. And if it does, so be it."

"We are not freewheelers," Mel objects. "We don't make and break plans at our own convenience."

"We are not cogwheels," he counters. "We are not beholden to the whims of those who wish to use us. And if they are offended, well. The wind changes direction all the time."

"You are being absurd!"

"I'm being a man with a message."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Compromise." He nudges her teacup closer. "Drink up. You'll need your strength."

Mel's mouth sets in a stubborn line. "Will I?"

"The captain's expecting us at the wheelhouse in one hour."

"I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one."

He takes another drag on the cigarette. The tip glows a fiery red. His expression, beneath the smoke, brooks no argument. She can't read the currents. Whatever his diabolical designs, she's going to find herself caught up in them.

She'll either have to fight him, or ride the tide.

Sealegs, she reminds herself.

"Silco," she warns. "If you've some elaborate scheme planned, I'd rather not have to apologize for it later."

"Elaborate?" He grinds out the cigarette in his empty cup. Smoke curls everywhere. "Nonsense. I've no interest in grandstanding. Only a modest spectacle."

"Silco—"

"We needn't linger. But your presence would be appreciated."

"Why?"

"Because," he says, "I want you there."

Mel, stymied, stares. She's lost the thread, somewhere. His mood, too, has changed. It's as if the currents have shifted, and the tide is rising.

The question is whether to dive, or let the flood overtake her.

Silco, taking advantage of her lapse, hooks a finger into her bodice. He gives a playful tug. The space between them closes. His scent is a cool wash: bergamot, tobacco, and a touch of body-warmed musk.

It's the scent of a Morning After. Déjà vu lodges low in Mel's belly.

Last night's near-miss still burns vividly on her skin. Her fever's gone, but another's taking its place. This one: hotter, headier. Nothing to do with Mal de Mer.

Everything to do with him.

Tipping her chin up, Silco holds her eyes.

"I want you there," he says, "because, as my wife, I think you ought to see your husband's world."

"My husband's world," she says, a touch breathless, "is cutthroats, and cons, and chaos."

"Not his whole world. Not the heart of it."

"But—"

He kisses her. His lips, cool, are flecked with spice. Then they part, and she tastes his tongue. The flavor is the same, with a hint of smoke. The kiss itself is a slow, searing thing. The kind of kiss that leads to other, equally slow and searing things.

"We have," he says, a little hoarse, "one hour."

Mel's breath hitches. She wants nothing more than to take him up on his offer.

But she cannot afford to lose sight of the stakes.

"One hour to explain yourself," she says, trying to disentangle. "And this isn't fair. I can't think, when you're—"

"When I'm, what?"

He dips his head. His lips touch the base of her throat. The tip of his tongue tastes the hollow, a hot, slick glide. Mel shudders. Her eyes fall shut. She's lost her appetite. Now, all she wants is his.

"Silco," she tries again. "Our itinerary."

"Damn the itinerary." His lips drift lower. "Tell me."

"Tell you, what?"

"Do I feel like a liar?"

Mel's lashes flutter. Her breath quickens. She shakes her head.

"Good." He flows like a spool of shadow to kneel between her thighs. "I've always told you the truth. Even when you didn't want to hear it." His gaze, dark and steady, rises. "Today's no different."

"But—"

"You want the future. So do I. But I've a different view of what it holds." His hands settle on her knees. "So: compromise. I've seen your world. Now you'll see mine. And we'll both have what we want."

Mel struggles to gather her wits. "The guests—"

"Are our guests. They'll play by our rules." His hands, cool and rough-tipped, coast up her thighs. Her skirts rustle into a crumpled heap. "Ours, Mel. Not theirs."

He's a man with a plan, her husband. The plan is, at present, undoing the buttons holding up her stocking garters. His fingers pick each one. Each, with a faint plink, gives way. The fabric, a whisper-fine silk, is tugged loose.

Then his palms, cupping her knees, tip them higher. Spreading her wide. His breath is a hot susurration across her thighs. And between them: a wet heat gathers in throbbing counterpoint.

"This is how compromise works." His thumbs hooks into her satin drawers. "By giving. By taking."

"This isn't compromise," Mel pants, one last-ditch effort. "It's extortion."

"Is it?" He smiles, a sly little curl. "Here I thought I was taking my due."

"I—"

"Six nights," he muses, the satin slipping down. "Five days. And you've been laid low the entire time." His breath ghosts her bare flesh. "It's robbery. And I aim to rectify."

"I would've happily—"

"In your sorry state? Tch. You needed rest."

"I needed—"

"My attention. My care. My patience." He peels her drawers down, leaving them to dangle from one ankle. "Now I'll give it. All of it. Every drop. But first: a down payment."

"Silco…"

"Ssh." He looks up. "Let me."

The last of Mel's willpower melts. He's too close. Too much. And she, the shrewd stateswoman, the expert negotiator, is a lost cause.

She is, Ambessa would say, a child yet. Too easily distracted. Too eager to forget her lessons. She is, Ambessa would say, a woman yet. With a woman's needs, and a prerogative to seek them.

She is, Ambessa would say, a Medarda yet.

And a Medarda, at heart, is a hungry thing. Hungry, and never, ever full.

He spreads her thighs wide, curling one over his shoulder. His hand splays the small of her back, arching her up. Mel, gasping, grips the chair arms. In the bright clean light, he can see everything. Her naked thighs, the folds of her smooth-shaven labia, the dewy moisture gathering at her entrance.

The display is as obscene as his slowness. Turning his head, he dots kisses along her inner-thighs, first one, then the other, until they quiver. Then, the barest bite. Another, and another. Harder, then harder still.

Reflexively, Mel's legs try to squeeze shut. He doesn't let them. There's iron hidden in his lanky form. When he holds her down, there's no quarter given. With a touch, he strips away decades of pretense. With a kiss, he cuts her to the quick.

And with a look, he rips her last veil to shreds.

Veils, for Mel, were once her armor. The veil of her beauty: worn in the Council chambers, to hide the full scope of her cunning. The veil of her grace: worn in the ballrooms, to disarm the most hardheaded adversaries. The veil of her composure: donned since girlhood, to keep her most raw hurts hidden.

And the veil of the dark: her body bared and her heart barred, while her bedmates groaned and shuddered and finished atop her.

The last is, perhaps, her own fault. For years, she'd made a game of it: playing a part, but withholding the sum. Her affections were an exquisite riddle; her lovers, a revolving door. If they courted her with enough finesse, she'd consider them worthy of her bed.

But the thrill was always brief.

During the act, they'd try too hard. They'd want too much. Quite often, she'd slip from the moment, even as she lay in the heat of it. She'd keep the satisfaction for herself. Afterward, as the men slept, she'd finish with solitary caresses what they'd failed to give her. In the morning, she'd smile into their eyes and bid them adieu.

Their egos were her little trophies. Her heart; their loss.

Only Jayce—sweet Jayce—proved the exception. Jayce, who'd kissed her, and shown her the stars. And in his arms, she'd found a sanctuary she'd never imagined. She'd bloomed as a night-flower does, shy and secret, in the safety of his hands.

After they'd parted, he became the standard by which she measured every paramour. Each one proved a pale imitation; the disappointment barely worth lingering on. And she, in turn, made bitter peace with the loss.

Life, she told herself, was made of a thousand little losses, and a hundred little gains. And sometimes, a heart must lose the one to gain the many. Sometimes, a heart must accept, even as it breaks, that the dream is over, and it's time to wake up.

Silco's kiss hadn't woken her.

It had ripped her wide open.

She still remembers their night, in the depths of Zaun's underbelly. How, in his smoky little bower, the glow from the windowslats had cast a deep-green hue across his silhouette. How the shadows, slow and shifting, had cut dark rills like blood across his scarred skin.

How, bad eye glowing, he'd drawn her to him, and taught her the pleasure of the darkness.

She'd always been a woman who made love beneath the sheets, with the shutters drawn and the lamps low. Her body, her greatest mystery, was only ever hers to reveal. She did so with deliberation: a coy unraveling of garments, a languid unfolding of limbs.

In the dark, her nakedness was an offering. And she, the secret garden in bloom.

With Silco, the dark became something else. A realm of unshackled instinct. Inhibition was a four-letter word to him. His tastes were neither gentle, nor genteel. And that night, she was—as he'd made indelibly plain—all his. Her body, his domain.

And he'd possess every inch, even if he had to carve her open to do it.

Mel hadn't expected her own surrender. But surrender was all she could give. She, who'd always enveloped herself in beguilement, even as she saw through others. She, who'd divined their needs, and kept her own at bay.

And yet...

And yet, there was a side to her. A side she'd never revealed, even to Jayce. A hunger that verged on ravenous. A darkness, deep and desperate, that ached to delve into the unknown.

To be uncaged.

Monsters, Mel thinks, know a thing or two about cages, too.

Silco had understood. Sometimes, Mel thinks, he'd understood before she did. And that night, he'd looked at her, and she's been reflected in his eyes: the want and the woman.

He'd seen her for all she was. All he could take, and give.

Afterward, they'd lain tangled in the sweat-soaked sheets. She, sore and spent and throbbing in every particle, too drained to do anything but breathe. He, with a hand on her bare throat, breathing in turn. He'd fallen asleep that way, still half-buried inside her. His body a little heavy, a little sharp, but solid and grounding.

And Mel had felt, for the first time, completely and utterly unveiled.

Veils, Silco had written, in a final letter delivered with a single, ink-black orchid, a day before their wedding, are a bride's prerogative. Wear one as you will.

But remember: a groom's prerogative is to cut through it. To lay bare what's beneath.

He'd signed the letter: Yours, S.

Then, a postscript, scrawled in his spidery hand:

I promise, whatever is beneath, I'll keep it safe.

Mel, on her wedding, wore no veil. She didn't need one. Silco had already seen through her luminous façade, and glimpsed the starveling beneath. And she, whatever Elora or Jayce believed, had long since pared down the man from the monster.

"Mel," the monster rasps now, his breath hot and close. "Look at me."

She does.

He holds her gaze, as he holds her spread wide. She's pinned head to toe, her skirts a froth, her ankles trapped. She is, in his eyes, bared to the heart of herself. The heart that beats, in her throat, in her breasts, between her thighs. She feels a single droplet of moisture seeping out, tracing its way down. His eyes, rapt, follow its course.

And finally, mercifully, his mouth covers her.

Jolting, Mel cries out. He doesn't relent. Hooking her heel behind his shoulder, he holds her steady. And then his mouth is teasing her open, one slick nudge at a time. His tongue, dipping lower, tasting her: one savoring slurp after another. He's a connoisseur of his craft, her husband. He devours with idle relish, as if sampling a rare oyster. And she, shivering, is the pearl. The very deliberateness is a torment.

She needs more. She needs everything. She needs—

"Silco," she whimpers, the air thickening with musk. "Gods—"

"Patience. Breakfast's not to be rushed."

"Please—"

"Sssh. Let me finish." His chuckle vibrates deep. "And then, petal, I'll finish you."

His teeth close, and suckle. Her vision flashes white. Her nails score the wooden armrests. He's an absolute beast, her husband. The only mercy is his own hunger. His tongue teases her clit until it is taut and throbbing, and she is gusting high-pitched contraltos that are not quite song but nearly prayer. Then his hands shift: two fingers sliding into her. Not prodding, but slyly insinuating, a come-hither curl.

Mel's thighs spasm. Her eyes roll upward. Through the skylight, she sees the sky. Blue, bright, endless. She's at the crest of a wave. She's at the bottom of the sea. She is sobbing, her fingers seizing his hair and her heels kicking at his spine.

His hand, cupping her bottom, hauls her up. Now, her only anchor is the chair, and him. And he's lapping her without pause: tongue liquid, teeth scraping, fingers digging. His growls, low and filthy, reverberate straight to her core.

She feels as though she could be consumed by him. Devoured top to toe. She'd welcome it.

But her husband is nothing if not an opportunist.

Before the climax can claim her, he drags his mouth away. She wails, clawing at him. He wrenches loose. Kneeling between her splayed legs, he is a disheveled mess: his hair wild, his lips glistening, his bad eye spitting fire.

Their shared breaths saw raggedly in the sun-streaked parlor.

"Silco," she moans, her body wracked with tremors. "Silco, Silco—"

"Ssh." His palm stills her hips, a firm press. "That's only the first course."

"What—?"

Her juices gleam on his mouth. He takes his time licking them off.

"A proper breakfast," he says, "proceeds in stages."

"Oh, I hate you," she groans, and falls back. "I absolutely hate you."

"Not quite yet."

With a sinuous stretch, he rises. A moment's work, and his lounging robe is tossed over the chairback. In the stripe of golden sunlight pouring through the skylight, he is a lean, coiled creature: all scarred sinew and jutting bone. No ink on the pale swathe of his bare torso. But his body, like hers, is all history. His wounds, etched, where hers are veiled. His shape, utilitarian where hers is ornamental.

And yet, between the extremes, they find their golden mean.

Compromise.

He undoes the buttons of his trousers. Mel, half-lidded, stretches a leg to stroke his thigh. "Do that quicker."

"If you insist."

The last button, flicked free. His cock, jutting from the peeled-back flies, is hard and wet-tipped.

Ready.

Mel, staring, licks her lips. It's been a week since she's had him, and her appetite is a high flame. She imagines sinking to her knees. Taking him, deep, in her mouth. It's not a service she doles out on whim. But with him, it's nearly a reflex. Her palate pools with saliva. Her tastebuds tingle. She wants the tang of him: smoke, salt, musk. Her throat wants all of him: the fullness, the heft, the ache.

Except it's nothing to the ache between her thighs. Every breath is a sharp-toothed misery.

Silco's fingers thread into her hair.

"Open, petal," he rasps. "Open wide."

Mel, wetting her lips, obeys.

He's not gentle. He shoves himself inside without prelude, a heavy slide across her tongue. Mel's jaw unhinges wetly. Her breath hitches. He's ungodly thick; blunt-tipped and heavy-veined. But the rest is all smooth elegance: silk and velvet.

Her palms starfish his hipbones. Her tongue swirls. Once, the knob past her throat was all she could manage. But he's a patient man, and she's a canny woman. In his own words, she's graduated, From a competent little cocksucker to a downright connoisseuse.

The lascivious praise still sends a thrill through her. It's an act of mutuality, when she pleases him. To give her power away, and yet be given more. To yield, and yet have all her hungers met.

Even the ones so dark, so deep, they threaten to swallow her whole.

Mel suckles, her cheeks hollowing. Silco grits out a curse. One hand fists her hair. The other curls under her jaw, tipping her head back. His cock hits the back of her throat. The pressure makes her world blur. She gags, tears spilling.

He doesn't let up. His eyes, red and black and blue, lock her in place.

Be a good girl, they warn. Finish your breakfast.

So she does.

His first thrust is goading. The second is dizzying. The third is deep. And she takes it all. Every last inch. Her mouth, swollen and wet, works his shaft. The sounds are obscene: slurp, swallow, slurp. Her hands, trembling, cup his testicles. They're heavy with their load. She fondles them, rolling the sac, teasing the base.

Silco's head tips back, the pale smoothness of throat bared. The muscles work as he bites down a guttural groan. Anguish. Agony. He's not a man given to raptures. But in the grip of his own, he's a sight well worth savoring.

"Mel," he grits, "fuck—"

Then he's taking her, filling her, using her. The only thought in her mind is his cock. The only thing she wants is more. Her jaw burns. Her lungs burn. Between her thighs, the throb becomes a clench. Reflexively, Mel's nails score his hips. Her mouth seals around him. Sucking, laving, begging.

"That's it," Silco gasps, voice raw. "Such a greedy little slut."

She keens around his cock.

"Soon," he pants. "Soon, petal."

Then, he's gone. The loss is a shock. The sound her throat makes—a wet, lewd pop—echoes through the parlor. Panting, Mel stares up through watery eyes. His own are a seething void.

She's what's undone him. Her, and her insatiable need. The knowledge makes her drunk.

"Silco," she rasps, "now, now, now—"

He doesn't argue. Seizing her shoulders, he drags her from the chair. The room spins. A moment later, the carpet's a soft landing. The skylight, a blue corona.

And Silco, blotting out everything: the eclipse.

He is upon her, one long continuous line: sharp teeth, sharp elbows, sharp hips. His cock rides against her mons. Mel, spreading herself wide, tries to urge him where she needs. Her hips roll: seeking friction. Her sounds are wordless, wanton, weeping.

"Ssh," he soothes. "Ssh. I've got you."

And then, at last, he's there. A hot slide, and a slow shocking stretch.

A sob tears out of Mel. He's so much, and she's so full. The sensation is almost too much. But her body, her mind, her heart: they are greedy creatures. They will never be satisfied until she is split wide open. Until she is utterly, completely, his.

Until he is hers.

"Harder," she gasps, thighs locking. "More, more, oh—"

Her husband, no less greedy, delivers.

It's not the tender lovemaking she'd dreamt of all her girlhood. Younger, she'd imagined sex as no different than a ballroom dance. Two bodies, one harmony. Each step, a perfect accord. A graceful, inevitable union.

Diplomacy in motion.

Her husband is the antithesis. His body, a taut, sinewy cage, keeps her pinned. His rhythm is the same as his zest for everything else. Merciless. Remorseless. Relentless. It hurts, it hurts so sweet, her whole body a single raw nerve singing in a pitch that verges on pain. The sounds he makes: growls, grunts, harsh-edged curses. The sounds she makes: whimpers, sobs, incoherent pleas.

It's the fever, come back. It's her senses, aflame. It's him, the only cure.

"Mine," he hisses, driving into her. "Mine. Mine. Fucking mine."

"Yours, yes, yours—"

He lifts one of her thighs over his shoulder, their bodies wedged impossibly close. Then he's grinding, grinding, grinding. She's so wet, every motion is a visceral squelch. Every thrust hits where she needs: deep and unerring. She seldom climaxes except in her own time. But here, she's already halfway to the edge.

And then, he takes her over.

His slick thumb finds her clit. Her head falls back, thighs seizing.

"Silco, gods—"

"Let me feel you, Mel. Come for me—"

The crescendo hits in a shockwave. Mel cries out, a shriek torn from her bones. She, who's always held together with threads of glossy gold, is unspooling into wet ribbons. It's no pretty picture. It's sweat, and slick, and spit. It's her, and it's him, and it's theirs.

It's everything.

The aftershocks don't ebb. They crest into another wave: smaller, sharper, sweeter. Keening, she rides out the spasms. Silco, teeth gritted, hitches himself deeper. His thumb is still on her clit. And his cock, gods, his cock, the way he's working her, is a bliss tantamount to torture.

"Again," he growls, "fuck, again—"

She cannot. She's going to. She cannot. She has no choice.

She's not anything, anyone, except his, his, his—

Her third peak is a slow-burning quake. Mel feels it from her heels all the way to her heart. Her spine arcs. Her body locks. She is the sun, and the sea, and the sky. The world is blue. The world is gold. The world is red, and black. She cannot take her eyes from Silco. Needs to see him watching her, her reflection in that monstrous, burning pupil.

He is a monster, her husband. A devil in scarred mortal flesh.

And his mouth, his hands, his cock, are a hell she will gladly suffer.

"Mel." His thrusts, rapidfire, are losing tempo. "Gods, you feel—"

"Come," she begs, her thighs quivering. "Inside, now, please—"

He does, with a hot, pulsing rush. She feels it: each distinct throb. He's buried achingly deep. She is full of him, filled with him. In that moment, she knows nothing else. His face, above her, is a rictus: bared teeth and wild eyes.

All the layers, undone.

"I should," she gasps, "do a painting."

Silco, chuckling raggedly, collapses. His weight, pinning her, is deliciously heavy. Mel cradles him in place. His body is a little angular, a little cutting. But she's filled with such a languorous, liquid warmth, the discomfort doesn't register.

She wants only this: him, and the sun-dappled silence, and the whole day to come. A hundred days of this. A thousand nights.

She can be selfish, and take it all.

Except he's already peeling away.

One cool palm smooths the curve of her skull. Cooler lips touch her temple. Their bodies disengage wetly. The echoes of him throb inside her, a visceral pulse of emptiness.

Mel bites down a whimper. In the aftermath, he seldom lingers.

A shark, she'd once read, must keep swimming, or die. Silco is the same. After the attack, he's gone. A cigarette lit; smoke suffusing the silence. A caress imparted: cool, light, fleeting. An endearment, if he's well-pleased: petal, darling, sweetness.

And then he's off to whatever wickedness his mind's conjured up. To his office, where his Amazonian lieutenant waits. To the clubs, where the chem-barons congregate. To the workshop, where his daughter, his pretty little mirror, sits spinning her own wicked webs.

His is never idle, her husband. His languor is all surface: a silhouette gliding beneath the black.

Always on the prowl.

But here, he's no shark. He's just a man. His body, spilling onto his side, is a study in elegant lines. Long, lean, sated. Sweat cools on his hairline. His breathing evens. His good eye, the one that's all blue sea, holds a gleam she knows.

A little raw, a little real.

All hers.

"A painting," he repeats, his voice a drowsy husk. "Of what?"

"You."

"Ghastly."

"Only when you're scowling. When you're like this—" she lifts a hand, fingertips tracing his scarred torso, "you're almost handsome."

"Almost?"

"Beauty is different from magnetism. The first is best appreciated from afar. The last draws you in. Forces you to look past the surface."

Her palm, roving down his shoulder, finds a knot. She kneads until he hums. Tactile hooks are her little specialty. They keep him close. Keep him from straying away.

"I remember," she whispers, "the first time I spent the night with you." It's not an easy memory to conjure up. So much is layered on top of it: before and after. "In the morning, I saw you in full daylight. You were lazing naked in the patch of sunshine, with your awful cigarettes and your awful musings. And as the sun rose, it dyed your skin to all the colors of an autumn forest. Amber, copper, ash. And I thought: I must have him in the sun again. I must paint the sea in his eyes."

"What sea?"

"It's there, in the right eye. There's a hint of storm in it. A little thunder, a little lightning."

Her palm aligns to his cheekbone. Thumb edging his notched lower-lip. Testing the waters.

"A little darkness, too," she whispers.

His teeth, closing gently around her thumb, make her jump.

"Is that what you'll paint?" he says. "My eye?"

"All of you. The way you move. The way you look at me." Her voice hoarsens. "Everything."

"And the selling price? What'll that be?"

"I'm a Medarda. We don't sell. We stake our claim."

"Hmmm." His tongue laves the pad of her thumb. "So I'm a resource to be hoarded."

"Not hoarded. Admired. Like a rare cut of onyx." Her palm, drifting, finds his belly: a supple stretch of bare, bony muscle. "I'd frame you in gold. For posterity. And my own pleasure. I'd never let a soul see it."

Idly, he rolls over. "A dirty secret, hm?"

"A private delight."

Mel, turning too, curls against him. She is, by default, a cuddler. He, by design, is not. But sometimes, default outstrips design. The trick, she's learnt, is the timing. Sometimes, the tide's high, and he's gone. Other times, it's a low ebb, and he'll let her cling.

Today's her lucky day. His arm encircles her: proprietary. His lips brush the crown of her head: possessive. Their legs entwine: a lazy braid. Nestled against his chest, Mel listens to the cadence of his heart. There's the urge, as the minutes melt together, to slip beneath the surface.

Sleep, and wake, and start the morning all over again.

"I wish," she sighs, "you were a painting."

"Silent, and easy to put away?"

"Easy to hold." Her palm starfishes his chest. "Easy to keep in place."

His hand covers hers. "Is that why you married me?"

"Not the only reason."

"But a factor." His thumb, caressing, is calloused. "A gilded box for a beastly thing."

Mel tips her head up. "What?"

"Beneath the layers of oils, pigment, and gold leaf, that's the only painting of me you'd have." His hand imparts a squeeze. "That's all I'd become. Your caged monster."

"I—"

Before she can marshal her expression, she sees him take it in. His hand drops hers.

"Our hour," he says, peeling himself away, "is nearly up."

"But—"

"Come along."

With a twist, he's unfolded to his feet. His silhouette, a pale-skinned apparition, is framed by the skylight.

Mel, head full of sea and sharks and shadows, rises too. Her legs wobble. Little aftershocks still pulsing from her core. Her updo's unspooled in a halo of loose curls. The rest of her is unmoored. And the tide, without her knowledge, is creeping in.

She has to keep up, or drown.

"Tell me," she says, steadying herself, "what's this surprise of yours?"

"Nothing too grand." His hair curls in silver-threaded vines over his temples. He smooths it back. "Just a small show."

"A show of what?"

"You'll have to see."

"Silco—"

His good eye is a searing blue. "Afterward, Mel."

Mel stares. This, she knows, is no mere excursion. She's caught a whiff of blood.

She could stop him, and demand answers. Demand to know the plan, and the terms. She could threaten, or cajole, or plead. She could throw a fit, and storm out. She could even, as she's done before, try to dissuade him. He'll listen to her. He'll even bend, sometimes.

But not now. His course is set, and those fins are in motion.

And yet…

And yet, there's something. Something in the way his good eye tracks her. Something in the way his hand lingers on the small of her back. Something, behind the fierce, hard lines of his face, that tells her the world won't end.

That, if it does, it's not the end of their world.

"I don't suppose," she says, a touch tart, "you'd tell me why we're rushing."

The corner of his mouth hitches. "To make a grand entrance."

"Without the benefit of a script?"

"You're a better performer when you improvise."

Mel, shaking her head, kneels to scoop up her underthings. One stocking laddered; the other split at the seam. She gives them up for lost. The rest of her is a disheveled wreck. She'll need to wash, and redo her makeup, and re-tame her hair. She'll need a different dress, and a pair of heels that won't wobble.

All before the hour slips away.

"Give me a moment," she says, turning toward the door. "I'll need to—"

Unexpectedly, he enfolds her. His scent is different now: not the usual cool smoke, but a warm, salty musk. Arousal, savoringly spent. The evidence of their coupling is all over him, too. A wet stain, glistening across his abdomen. Her lipstick, smearing his throat. Her scratches, furrowing his shoulders.

Mel, eyes dipping, inhales. She is sated, physically. And yet there remains, always, a residual fascination.

And, like Mal de Mer, it will always, inevitably, return.

Like all else between them.

"I meant it," he says. "I want you to see my world. I want you to understand what I've fought for, and why. Because the alternative is to live the rest of my life a painting in my wife's house."

"Not my house," she corrects him. "Our home. There's a difference."

"Only to an exilee."

"That's who I am, Silco."

"You are not." Cupping her chin, he holds her stare. "If Noxus has cast you off, the last thing you should call yourself is exiled. Exiles are people without a place to go. You've built yours. You've built a city." He tucks a curl behind her ear. "You've made the whole damn place shine."

"And I want to keep it so." Her hands find his chest, smoothing the scratches. "Keep you so."

"You can't keep me, Mel. Not in a portrait. Not on a ring. Not in any gilded cage. I am who I've always been: the man you'd never have met, if he'd not cracked the ground open beneath your complacent feet, and let all his monsters out." His voice is hard. His eyes, harder. "And monsters can't be caged. Only fed."

Stung, she drops her hand. "I'm not trying to cage you."

"You are. Not because you wish it, but because you believe it's best. 'Keep him distracted, and he'll be content. Keep him close, and he won't wander. Keep him in sated, and he won't have his way.'" His mouth, a bare inch from hers, crooks. "It's not a bad plan. Twenty years younger, and I'd be putty in your hands. But a cage, whether it's built of caresses or chains, is still a cage. And I'm not your Golden Boy, Mel. I don't have his heart, or his dreams. I've only ever had my own. And I am can smell the fear on you, whenever I go chasing after them."

"I'm not—"

But she is, and they both know it. The buried horrors of her past, and the hidden hungers of her present. How, with a touch, he resurrects them all, and bares her down to the bone. How, if she missteps in their two-quotient dance, he'll do the same to her city. He'll bleed them both dry, and then he'll be gone. Leaving her to pick up the pieces.

Alone, again.

She whispers, "Why marry me, if that's how you felt?"

"Because the alternative is a war neither of us would win." He exhales, and the heat of it fans her lips. "We understand each other. We want each other. So we'll compromise. We'll take, and we'll give. But not a single thing more. Not for diplomacy, or duty, or anything else." His thumb traces her jaw. "This, between us, is ours."

Mel, blinking hard, is suddenly, absurdly, near tears. "And the rest?"

"The rest is fair game."

"And that's not an act of war?"

"No," he says. "It's a choice."

"I—"

"You chose me," he says. "Why?"

"Because—"

The sunlit air congeals between them. Past dopplers queasily through the present. She sees Jayce, his eyes full of hurt. Jayce, who'd asked her, Why him?

She sees Elora, a hand on her heart. Elora, who'd pleaded, What does he mean to you?

She sees Ambessa, a shadow looming. Ambessa, who'd warned, Where does his loyalty lie?

Where, Mel thinks, does mine?

She knows. She's known for a while. But to breathe it into words is to give it life. It's too dangerous. The undertow is stronger than she'd expected. If the current claims her, the last thing she wants is to go under. The last thing she wants is him cutting her loose.

Except he's not.

He's keeping her close.

"Do you know," he says, "why I chose you?"

"Silco—"

"Let me tell you." His cool palms cradle her hot cheeks. "Because you, with your pretty dresses and painted smiles, have always known the price of survival. You, who've swum in the currents of compromise, even as you watched the ships of war sail in. You, whose eyes see farther than the rest, and yet whose hands are never far from a pen." His thumb caresses her mouth. "You, Mel. Nobody else."

And that, in its simplicity, is her answer. It is also, she thinks, the sum of her truth.

And he, whatever else, has always valued his sums.

"I won't ask why you chose me," Silco says. "I'll ask, instead, for something simpler."

"What?"

His stare is a strange thing. An uncanny glint of dark and light.

"Trust me," he says. "For today, if not tomorrow."

"What makes you think I don't?"

His lips shape a small sly smile. "Because you've no reason to."

Mel falls silent.

"We've a bargain between us. A marriage. But you've never been tied to something you couldn't shape, or bend to your will. You're a Medarda, after all. You stake your claim. And if you'd chosen a different man, a more pliant one, you'd not have any of this—" He strokes a stray curl from her temple, "—Mal de Mer. Now I need to know: is it well and truly gone? Or do you still feel it? That pull. That dread, when I'm elsewhere, that I'll never return. That one day, I'll wake up, and decide to take everything? Because if you do, and if that's where you'll stay, I'll let you go." Wryly, "I'll even help you pack your trunks."

Her lips part. His thumb touches them, silencing.

"If it's not," he finishes, "then a single word will suffice. Yes, or no."

The moment is a knife's edge. His scrutiny is a physical paring-down. It makes her feel—not naked. Transparent. All her veils gone. Herself laid bare, and every secret exposed.

For a heartbeat, she nearly breaks. Nearly blurts her deepest fears. The ones he'd promised, in his last letter, to keep safe. To let her believe, however desperately, that it was all worth the gamble. That he, and she, and they, could be—if not happy, then something close.

But there is no close.

There's only the tide, and her choices.

"Yes," she whispers.

"Say again?"

"Yes." Her palms, flat on his chest, curl. "I trust you."

A pause, so brief she nearly misses it. Then the scarred corner of his mouth lifts. "I will hold you to that."

He leans in, and kisses her. It's not tender, but it is true. She tastes the currents, the tides, the undertow. She feels, she fears, she knows:

If she lets go now, she'll drown.

The danger, strangely, is freeing. It's a leap, not a fall. A choice, not a compromise.

It's her, and him, and the rest be damned.

Breaking off, he whispers, "One thing."

"What is it?"

"Change out of the chiffon." Detaching, he looks her lazily up and down. "It won't survive."

"Survive you?"

"Survive the day." He's already moving toward the bath, stripping his clothes. "You've plainer dresses in the armoire. Choose something durable."

"Durable?"

"Something—" he glances over his shoulder, "—you wouldn't mind never seeing again."

The door swings shut. The roar of running water begins.

Mel, perplexed, stands in the sunlit parlor. It's not yet midday, and she's already jelly-legged. Mal de Mer—or just the man. The aftermath is a slow, sticky, aching throb. Reality takes its time sluicing back.

And when it does, there is nothing to do but meet the tides.

Sealegs, she thinks, aren't enough.

Sometimes, the only choice is to swim.

Fortunately, she's never been afraid of the deep-end.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane mel #mal de mer #arcane mel medarda #mel medarda #melco #silco x mel #mel x silco #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda

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pinktom · 8 months

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hi! for those random character questions, all for LS characters: 5,6,13,16,37 for Tom Sr. and James (whom I both adore wholeheartedly) and just for fun: 23,24,44 for our edgelord queen Delphi and favorite fat lesbian Cedric <3

OMG my DILFs! And my emo gurl! And my fat misshapen lesbian! A pleasant surprise - thank you for asking, Anon. 🐍

PS: I answer these questions with using Ch. 1-10 as the reference, with no additional information or coloring that will come in Ch. 11-15.

Best personality trait

Tom Sr., like his son, is unapologetically himself. He values autonomy and independence above social acceptance or companionship, and he raised his son the same way. I suppose it's his folly as well, but on a human level, I find it sexy.

James is equally unapologetic, but instead he values lawfulness* and goodness. We know he's college educated, so we know he had some breadth of career choices, and he chose to be a cop — a rather unglamorous but, in his own view of the world, a role that keeps the public safe and assures criminals are held accountable for the harm they cause.

(*I would guess this is why James arouses so much frustration in some of the readers who were kind enough to share their reactions with us! Tom is our protagonist, and he's pathologically criminal.)

Worst personality trait

Well, Tom Sr is a snob, and big time. His parenting style very clearly contributed to Tom being an outcast, and yet he just passes the blame off on the "parochial" children who, unlike Tom, were raised by "uncultured" parents. As if the kids didn't want to befriend Tom because he was rich (we see the Weasley twins still extended him an offer), rather than the fact he went around hissing like he could talk to snakes.

James, while not a snob, is similar insofar as he's extremely judgmental. He didn't like Tom Sr for valid reasons, but lbr, he also simply wasn't keen on his weird kid being near his own son. Once James deems someone weird (e.g., Snape, Morfin, Tom), he struggles to relate to them. He gets this sort of pity that can either stay in the realm of discomfort or grow into straight up rage.

Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

For Tom Sr … Agree to go on a television show. (:

For James? Thus far? Personally I'll stand by it being him rejecting Tom Sr.'s playdate suggestion, even if it's more of a hindsight thing. But I think it is dumb, fundamentally, because it demonstrated some of his worst traits - the aforementioned judgmental-ness, as well as his controlling nature and certainty he can make the best choices on his son's behalf, rather than leaving the decision up to him.

Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

They're both pretty delulu.

I tend to think, with having a bit of a persecution complex about Tom, Tom Sr. really wishes someone did something bad to Tom that could excuse his behavior … LMAO. Perhaps a dark part of him hoped to have it revealed that, somehow, Tom was being manipulated by a paedophile or something.

As for James, I think it's pretty obvious by now that he confuses his own fears with this sense of responsibility to protect his son. He's yet to admit to himself that, all this time, he was the one who was afraid, and he just projected it onto his son so he didn't feel like a coward or have to actually address it. (Men, amirite?)

What they really think about themselves

This one is pretty easy to answer, actually. They've both matured fully into who they are, as grown men, and they both stand by their morals, principles, and actions. I think they both really think they are clever, correct, and just. Neither suffer ego-based insecurities that conflict with their self-concept or self-expression.

If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

Delphini would obviously smell like black roses and fresh blood x)

Cedric wears cheap mass-market raglans so he'd have to have some sort of basic scent. I'd go with fresh linen. Sure it's good, but is it really memorable? Debatable.

Most annoying habit

Oh you KNOW she will turn any conversation back on her favorite topic, and if you dare try and get a word in, edgewise, you will likely be cut off.

Where I was raised, old ladies say, "Ahh, bless your heart," when they think you're absolutely dogshit stupid, but are trying to stay nice about it. Cedric defo has that kind of "knowing" smile some people get, that has the same vibe. And he isn't afraid to flash it on you!

Their happiest memory

Delphini's was recently made -- seeing, with her OWN EYES, trueship realized! And she was the FIRST to see it! Take that bitches.

Cedric literally makes me feel the laugh emoji 😂 when I think about him being happy. He'd probably say it was seeing his Gran 👵🏻💖 after such a long time apart !!!

—

If you made it to the end of this, I am astounded, shocked, and honored. Thank you. 🙏

#lover’s spit #q #sorry for sitting so long on this one!

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margotw10 · 1 year

Text

Crashing on Crush. JJK (m)

Pairing : crush!Jungkook x Female Reader

Synopsis : Jungkook confesses his darkest secrets, praying that you won't reject him.

Words : 5k

Warnings : explicit language; mention of drug; fingering; handjob; oral sex (m. receiving); multiple orgams; dom jungkook

A/n : Hi! Finally, we get to see Jungkook's past. Be aware that it refers to drug and addiction (don't hesitate to ask for help if you deal with it) Pls check the previous chapters :) Don't hesitate to comment. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language. Like always, Mathilde fixed a lot of my grammar mistakes <3

Ch. 1---- Ch. 2---- Ch. 3---- Ch. 4---- Ch.5---- Ch. 6---- Ch. 7---- Ch. 8---- Ch. 9----

Jungkook met Mina when they were twelve, in middle school. It didn’t take long for them to become best friends, enjoying spending their after-school time at the bookshop, reading mangas. At first, it was just friendship, the best kind of friendship actually. Back then, everything was simply perfect. But things changed in high school.

Jungkook knew that things at home weren’t great for Mina: her dad just lost his job and started drinking alcohol pretty much everyday. That’s why Mina used to go to Jungkook’s after class, avoiding as much as she could her own home where she didn’t feel safe.

However, gradually, Mina spent less time at Jungkook’s. She even spent less time with Jungkook, period. Jungkook, on the other hand, noticed some changes in Mina: she was less cheerful, she lost weight and she was less happy. It was like she didn’t feel anything at all. She also didn’t go to class anymore. The truth is that Jungkook felt like he was loosing her and that terrified him. So he started hanging with the same people as Mina, not good people.

One day, Jungkook witnessed Mina inhaling a strange white powder. He screamed at her, telling her that she was crazy. Mina would have cried if she wasn’t amorphous but that’s exactly what she wanted: not to feel the pain, not to feel anything. She told her bestfriend that all the darkness around her was too much to bare so what’s wrong to not suffer for a few hours? Jungkook did try to reason her out but she didn’t listen. She ended up telling: ‘rather you’re with me, rather you leave me but you can’t stay in the middle’.

Jungkook didn’t think much. He actually loved Mina and he knew she loved him too. So he started using. How could this white powder be such a big deal? At first, ketamine was good. Really good actually. Jungkook felt like everything around him was far away and he could just stay there, in peace. But then, he begun to feel bad if he wasn’t using. He wasn’t taking K for Mina anymore, but for himself.

He was seventeen, he was too young to depend on some thing, on some drug to live. He knew it was illegal, especially in South Korea where drug using is severely reprimanded. But he kept it safe in his room, not too much, just for him. Well, not exactly… Mina was so afraid that her parents could discover that she was using that she asked Jungkook to keep her dose in his room. And she was using way more than him. The amount of special K in Jungkook’s sockets drawer couldn’t be for personal using.

He doesn’t know who reported him but one day, after class, he ran to his room in a desperate need to inhale ketamine to finally feel good. He didn’t expect to see three police officers in his bedroom. When they asked him questions, he lied and said it was only his. He lied to protect Mina, and she didn’t tell the truth, too afraid of the consequences for herself. She let him take the blame for the both of them even when she knew that if she had said the truth, Jungkook wouldn’t had this much trouble. Nonetheless, Jungkook doesn’t hold a grudge against Mina: he was the one who made the call to lie.

With the amount of drug in his room, the judge didn’t believe it was only for personal using and thought that Jungkook was dealing. But, as a minor, he decided to give him a chance to take change of his life. So the judge convicted Jungkook: he had to spend three years - until his majority - in a juvenile detention facility.

It was more like a mandatory military service but with violent teenagers. But there was also an addiction treatment center. It was so hard to get clean while he didn’t have anyone he loved around him. Mina was afraid of her parent’s reaction if she visited him. And Jungkook’s parents… Well, he doesn’t really remember what happened because one of the main effects of ketamine is memory loss. So he doesn’t know if he told them to back off or if they didn’t want to see him anymore but the result was the same: he was alone, and scared.

He was seventeen and he felt like his whole life was over. He was suffering from the deprivation of drug - it was so fucking painful that he felt like dying - and he was damn aware of how people were looking at him: with disgust. Everyone was judging him, even the persons who were supposed to help him. He was so angry at everyone but even more at himself. He has been so fucking stupid to start using because now it was so hard to stop. He hold on on the thought that he did it for Mina, because he loved her.

But was it enough? Loving Mina didn’t give him anything when he finally stepped out the facility three fucking years later. He had no diploma, no job, no money, no one. Even if he was out of the center, he was not free. People was still despising him every time he applied to a job and ‘juvenile detention facility’ was clearly written on his resume. It didn’t really help that he had his first tattoos on his arm. He wasn’t free because he still had to account to his probation officer.

Before his first meeting with his PO, he was angry, already expecting another person treating him like shit. However, Seokjin was nothing like that. Jungkook was surprised to meet a guy not so much older than him. The first thing Seokjin asked him was ‘Tell me about you’. Jungkook sighed and started telling his drug and prison story for the thousandth time like he was expected to. But Seokjin cut him off and said ‘Not that, tell me about you. As a person’. Jungkook was so taken aback to be finally treated as a human being after all these years that he cried in front of his PO for hours.

After that, Seokjin became like a big brother to him. He helped him so much with his addiction and pretty much everything. Seokjin had to supervise Jungkook for two years and he knew that Jungkook was ready to do things right. That’s why he didn’t hesitate to tell him ‘Start over. In a new city, where nobody knows you. Be the man you want to be. Be confident and for God’s sake, be happy’.

The next day, Jungkook packed the few things he owned and went straight to Seoul. He became a graphic designer as the only skill he had honed in prison was drawing. He met some friends, including Taehyung and he did start over, willing to do things right this time. Not once he was attracted to do drugs, even if some days were harder than others. He wasn’t really happy but he was living without too much pain, until he met you.

————

You cry in Jungkook’s chest while he is telling you about his past. Jungkook doesn’t cry, and he is surprised about that. Maybe he’s already cried too much about his past or maybe he doesn’t to pain more with his own tears. You stay silent for a few minutes, no words confronting enough coming to your mind. So you just head up and kiss him. Your tears drop on Jungkook’s cheeks and he holds you tight.

"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jungkook" You sob

"Please don’t cry. I hate to see you cry" He says gently

Why does he confort you when he is the broken one? He is such a good person, he doesn’t deserve any of what happened to him. And that makes you want to cry harder.

You are kissing Jungkook as if your lips were ointment on his wounds. Your hands on his shoulder and hair, his hands cupping your cheeks, there is no space between your two bodies. The darkness around you is oddly a protection from the outside world. You create your own place where is no past, no future and no pain. Just the two of you. You feel the urge to make sure he knows that he is not defined by his past.

"You’re a good person, Jungkook"

"Thanks" He replies, awkward since he is not used to be praised like that

"Listen to me, you are a good person"

"Thank you" He says again but not really believing it, not with what he has done

"You are a good person. And I’m going to repeat it until you truly believe it. You are a good person"

You look at him in the dark. You can’t see his face but you can hear faint sobbing. You kiss him again and Jungkook can’t understand how you can think he is a good man after everything he’s told you. But you do. Jungkook’s past is rough but it shows one thing: he is truly a good person because, after everything he’s been through, he is still kind and loving and he is still willing to do things right while it would be way easier for him to just give up and start using again.

Through his kisses, Jungkook is making a promise to you and to him. As long as you are willing to have him by your side, he’ll cherish you and protect you. He’ll do anything you want because if you think he’s a good man, Jungkook believes you are a true angel, the best thing that ever happened to him. Maybe he is a little selfish to hold on on you but he doesn’t care since he fucking loves you.

You fall in love with him all over again while you both fall asleep, holding each other tight.

————

Waking up in Jungkook’s arms is the most delightful thing that can happen in the morning. You move your head up carefully and see him sleeping. He is so damn cute like that. Most of the time Jungkook is ridiculously hot and empowering. But right now, in the arms of Morpheus, he looks like a little boy. Somewhat, it warms your heart because he doesn’t seem to suffer anymore.

You move slowly and cautiously, and step out of the bedroom. You hear some noise in the kitchen and find Seokjin already making breakfast.

"Do you need help?" You ask him

He turns around and discovers a still sleepy expression on your face.

"I’m almost done. Coffee?"

You nod, grateful for the cup full of the dark brown salutary beverage. You take a sip and moan in pleasure. You definitely needed it. You feel like you were knocked out by all the deep and intense emotions of Jungkook’s past and that it’ll take a few days to lighten the weight of it.

"I wanted to talk to you" Seokjin tells you gently and you give him an attentive look "Jungkook’s addiction is a life-time fight. He’ll never stop struggling with it. He is a good boy but everything he is dealing with can be… overwhelming. So, if you think you can’t manage it, tell him now. The more you wait, the harder it’ll be for him to deal with it alone again"

You stay silent for a moment. You don’t really know what to say. You know that Seokjin just wants to protect Jungkook and he knows way more about addiction than you. The least thing you want is to hurt Jungkook. So you take the time to think about what Seokjin has said.

"I don’t want him to be alone" You eventually decide to respond and Seokjin gives you a genuine smile

You don’t have time to talk more because Jungkook, with messy hair, steps in, rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning everyone" He mumbles, still half-asleep and a tender smile forms on your face

He pecks the top of your hair before sitting down next to you. Why does it feel so natural? So good? But you do blush a little when you remember that you’re not alone and that Seokjin has witnessed everything.

Jungkook sips on his coffee that Jin has just served him and opens his mouth:

"Hyung, could you check my place?"

"Sure, but it’ll be in two or three days, I have some appointments"

"Thanks"

You look at Jungkook with a questioning face.

"Mina might had hidden some K and I’m not sure how I’d react if I find some. I rather not risk it"

You gently rub his back to erase the sad tone you heard in his voice.

————

Not so long after breakfast, Jungkook and you took the car to go back to Seoul, Jungkook behind the wheel this time. Your heart beats fast and your cheeks blushed when he grabbed your hand. Fortunately, the drive was way lighter than the day before. You also proposed to Jungkook to stay a few days at your place, saying it was a nonsense for him to pay a hotel while waiting for Seokjin to check his apartment and make sure everything is safe. You made a quick stop at Jungkook’s and you stayed close to him while he took some cloths in a bag, being aware of a potential discovery of drug that could affect him.

That’s how you end up like this. You both took a welcoming shower and changed into loungewear clothes. Jungkook is damn hot in his black sweat shorts and big t-shirt. You also chose an oversize - pink - top and some pj mini shorts in the same color. The truth is that you’re hot, and not only because of the Korean summer. You can’t deny that Jungkook’s presence makes you way more sensitive to everything around you. However, you act like nothing’s going on and you both sit on the couch, watching TV. You don’t really pay attention to the screen, especially when Jungkook, almost laying, pulled you closer so your back is leaning on his buff chest and your whole body is surrounded by his.

You suddenly feel Jungkook hot breathe on your neck. Shivers travel all over your body. He doesn’t wait too long before kissing your skin. Why are you so responsive to his touch? You immediately feel your pussy getting wet, and it doesn’t help that his hands begin to explore your body. You feel him everywhere: your chest, your stomach, your bare thighs. A soft moan escapes your lips when his left arm disappears underneath your shirt. Jungkook caresses your boob and pinches your hardening nipple. His touch is so fucking good. You missed it so much. The stimulation of this sensitive part of your body makes your pussy clench.

In a desperate need of friction, you arch your back, throw your head back into his large shoulder - giving him more space to bite your neck - and press your thighs together. Jungkook smirks when he notices how needy you become. You look so hot when you’re horny. And he is willing to push your arousal further.

His tattooed hand travels down to the hem of your shots. Skillfully, his fingers find their way under the fabric. You moan louder when you feel his touch on your wetness. The sight of his inked strong arm into your little pink shorts is hot. It’s definitely a sin but you’re ready to go to Hell just to see it for a second longer.

"No panties, uh?" Jungkook teases you with his raspy voice and it makes you fucking weak, but Jungkook’s discovery also rushes blood directly into his cock

Your throat dries but your pussy dampens. You have no doubt at this point that your pj is completely ruined - not that you care anyway. Jungkook uses his delicate digits to circle your clit. You feel like in heaven. You whine like you haven’t been touched for years. You are so desperate in his arms and Jungkook loves it. He keeps kissing your neck, fighting the urge to mark you. His left hand squeezes your nipple harder, making it deliciously painful. At this point, your pussy is dripping and doesn’t stop clenching around nothing. Jungkook knows it and to be honest, he really wants to enter you with his fingers but he waits for you to say the little word his dominant side loves so much. He is ready to tease you for hours and to push you on the edge for that.

When a weak ‘please’ comes from your open mouth in a moan, he immediately places his hand lower, feeling all your wetness.

"You are so fucking wet" He says in some proud voice while pushing a finger in your pussy

It’s so good that you clench around it. Jungkook’s pace is a torture, purposely slow with his thumb rolling on your sensitive clit. Being behind you allows him to perfectly control his movements, just like you would if you were touching yourself - except that Jungkook’s expertise provides you way more pleasure.

Your hands come up to grab his black and long hair that tickle your throat’s thin skin and the back of his neck. You turn your head as much as you can to kiss him. The hand that used to attack your breasts cups your jaw to kiss you deeper. Your moans are directly swallowed by Jungkook’s mouth. He loves hearing you so much, his hard cock is painful in his pants.

Jungkook enters you with another finger and speeds up the pace. You don’t even know how is it possible but you get wetter. Your whole pussy is a huge pool of arousal. You’re not embarrassed at all because you know that Jungkook loves it. You feel hot under his touch, you feel sexy.

You feel your orgasm building up slowly, your pussy clenching and relaxing around his digits. You are short on breathe but it feels so fucking good.

"Oh my god, Jungkook" You moan against his perfect swollen lips

"Cum on my fingers like a good girl" He whispers in such a seductive tone that you feel like fainting

His words drive you crazy and he finger-bangs you harder. You definitely feel on the edge of your orgasm and you pull on his hair, making him groan. He presses his thumb deeper on your abused clit and it’s the end for you. You reach your climax in a loud moan while a huge wave of delightful pleasure makes your legs shake. But Jungkook doesn’t stop and continues to slide his fingers in your oversensitive cunt at a slow pace but definitely makes you shiver. Your legs close up in reflex and your body spams. Your eyes close and your features torn in an almost painful pleasure. Seeing you like this drives Jungkook crazy. Knowing that you are this shaken up by his touch boosts his ego and possessiveness.

"Come on, babe, give me one more" He murmurs in your ear

He doesn’t really know why he wants to push you further. Obviously, he wants to give you more pleasure but there is something else. Maybe he wants to erase the night you spent with another man, make sure that you feel more pleased by him than by the other guy. His competitive side added to his possessiveness makes him hungry for a second orgasm from you.

"I can’t" You tell him in a breathe, your brain in the frog of pleasure

"I know you can"

You don’t really know what kind of spell he put on you but you nod, giving him the approval to play with your cunt again. And he does. He pulls off of your pussy just to smear your arousal over your whole groin. It’s so dirty to feel your juices messily recovering your skin but this is fucking hot. You never felt so naughty and yet so horny.

"Are so you wet for me?" His possessive side is dying to hear you tell him that

Jungkook wants to give you so much pleasure that you won’t ever find another man attractive. He also knows that it’s not only his dominant and possessive part but also the part that cares about you. Is it weird to say he wants to ruin you to keep you in his arms? He doesn’t really have time to think about it because you open your mouth to speak up:

"Only for you"

Your words make Jungkook’s cock twitch in his pants and he groans in satisfaction. ‘Good fucking girl’ He thinks and he enters you again with two fingers. You jolt in his arms but Jungkook keeps you in place with left forearm. Your mind is above clouds. The pleasure provided by the overstimulation after your orgasm is beyond words. It’s painful and delightful at the same time. You can’t even recall your name. The only thing you can say is Jungkook’s name with a choked voice. You’re a fucking mess.

"Cum again for me, babe’"Jungkook urges you while kissing your neck

The pet name and his fingers in your swollen and sensitive pussy are dangerous for your sanity. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around his digits in a muted groan. Jungkook doesn’t push you further when he notices how you’re shaking in his arms due to the two orgasms he provided you. He hugs you tight and kisses your hair.

You feel exhausted after the two tsunamis of pleasure that rushed over you. Your whole body is flabby but your mind is in a euphoric phase that makes you laugh. It’s like a shot of dopamine. After being this harsh with your body, Jungkook is now very gentle, caressing your arms and your stomach and kissing everywhere he can: the top of your head, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

"I think you should take a shower" He tells you softly, motioning to your messy intimate area.

You blush hard when you realize that you look really dirty - in all kind of ways. You nod shyly and bit your lower lip. You definitely feel unpleasant by your drying juices between your legs but you feel too good in Jungkook’s arms to leave them.

"Do you want to come with me?" You ask, your cheeks reddening

"How could I say no?"

Jungkook’s smile is perfect. His bunny teeth and scrunching nose are the definition of happiness. Right now, you are so close to say the ‘L’ word. To stop thinking about it, you stand up and walk to the bathroom, Jungkook right behind you. It’s only when you have taken off your cloths and you’ve already entered the shower that you notice Jungkook’s hard cock. The sight of his big and thick length shakes your pussy. Your instinct controls your movements and your hand wraps around him.

The soft skin under your fingertips makes you almost moan. Jungkook closes his eyes in delight while you start pumping him. Your mouth waters and you purse your lips, creating some kind of cringe face. Jungkook frowns when he sees your face.

"Is something wrong?" He asks with a worried voice, wondering if you are forcing yourself to touch him

"No, it’s just that…" You wince while you are looking for the right words, embarrassed "I wonder how you taste"

Jungkook’s releases a reassured sigh.

"Take my cock in your mouth if you wanna know" He says, playfully but that doesn’t make you laugh

"I’m not really good at it" You whisper, kind of ashamed

Jungkook’s steps closer to you and cups your face in his big hands, forcing you to look at him. The hot water coming from the shower makes your skins glistening and blankets you in a steam cloud. It’s like a protective shield around your two body.

"I will never force you to do something you don’t want to do. But if you don’t want to do it just because you are afraid of not being good enough, I can guide you. I won’t judge you. Whatever you decide, I’m okay with it" Jungkook’s voice is so soft that your heart is melting

He pecks your nose delicately and somewhat, feeling how much he cares about you gives to some courage.

"I’d like you to guide me then" You say in a murmur

Jungkook nods and helps you get on your knees. You can’t deny being a little intimidating by his size right in front of your face. The red on your cheeks is clearly noticeable. However, as Jungkook is witnessing you kneeled, he gets really horny. He couldn’t be in a more dominant position while he is standing up and you’re on your knees, ready to suck his boner. You look so fucking innocent while his big cock is inches away from your pretty mouth. God, what he’d do to this mouth… The simple thought makes his dick twitch. Why does he like so much the idea of teaching you how to suck his cock?

"You can start by kissing it" He says with a raspy voice

You do as he says, softly kissing the tip. A drop of pre-cum stains your swollen lips and Jungkook has to bit his lower lips to prevent his moan. You’re so hot right now that he is a second to cum. You don’t seem to be aware of his inner state and you start pumping him slowly at the base while you kiss him more.

At some point, driven by your own horniness, you take a fat lick from the base of his cock to the tip. Jungkook moans loudly, giving you more confidence to continue. Your tongue caresses his length everywhere without taking him into your mouth. The stains of saliva make his dick so pretty. You can’t wait any longer and open your mouth wide to take the tip.

More precum settles on your tongue. The salty taste makes you moan, sending vibrations in Jungkook’s length. You slowly take him more, careful that you don’t hurt him with your teeth - and it’s not really easily owing to his size.

"You’re doing good, babe. Open your pretty mouth wide for me"

Jungkook’s voice is shaken because of the pleasure. You look up at him and meet his perfect face with delight painted on it. Jungkook almost looses it when he sees you looking at him. Your eyes are so innocent while you have his cock in your mouth. The duality of the scene is a sin. A moaned ‘fuck’ escapes his pierced lips.

You take him deeper and deeper, almost feeling his cock in your throat. Your hand slides on what you can’t take into your mouth. Your tongue wiggles around his tip and insists on the sensitive spot connecting the tip to his length. Jungkook’s groans grow deeper and he slightly moves his hips. He doesn’t want to push too much but the pleasure you provide him is too unbearable to stay steady.

Seeing that he likes it, you grow bolder and push your head further, almost taking his entire dick in your throat.

"Fuck, babe!" He moans "Your mouth feels so fucking good"

You pull off to breathe and take him again, your nose touching is pubis. You gag on his cock and Jungkook swears he’s in heaven. He feels your tight throat contracting around his dick while you chocked in it and it’s so fucking hot. The bathroom is fulled of Jungkook’s pleased groans and choking sounds from your part - music to his ears if he is being honest. This is so shameless and hot, making your pussy so wet that you don’t know if it’s from your arousal or the shower. It doesn’t help that the praising and the pet name make you clench around nothing. Will you ever stop feeling butterflies in your stomach when he is calling you ‘babe’? You seriously doubt it.

You decide to catch your breathe while sucking him less deep but faster. His length is dripping from your saliva and your pace drives Jungkook crazy.

"Come on babe, suck on my cock like a good girl. Keep going, I’m gonna cum" He manages to say between his clenched teeth

His inked hand grabs your hair, not to push you but to feel you more in someway. He stands tall on front of you, sexier than ever. He is like a god, powerful and maybe a little dangerous for your sanity. It makes him look even more dominant and you can’t deny that it makes you horny. You didn’t even know you liked it so much before meeting Jungkook.

A last glance at you, sinfully hot on your knees while his big cock is fulling your pretty mouth, drives him over the edge.

"Babe, I’m cumming, pull off-" He moans

As he tries to step away, you grab his hips to keep him in your mouth. You don’t move your head but your tongue is still swirling like crazy around his cock and you feel his first shot of hot and thick cum. You moan fromthe sensation, closing your eyes to have a better taste of his spunk. Seeing you loving his cum makes Jungkook releases more in your mouth, until he completely empties his balls in your warm mouth.

Both Jungkook and you are out of breathe. You slowly stand up, grabbing the hand Jungkook provides you to help. Your legs hurt but it’s immediately forgotten when you meet the bliss on Jungkook’s handsome face. He rushes over your lips and kisses you passionately.

"Who is the dickhead that told you you weren’t good at it?" He asks, half-joking half-serious

"My ex, when we broke up" You try to stay neutral but the memory is still painful - he told very mean things the last time you saw him

"Let me tell you something. He lied. It’s the best blowjob I’ve ever had"

You see the sincerity in Jungkook’s eyes and you feel proud. You realize that he helps you overcome your insecurities without even having you feeling like trying to do so. Jungkook just makes you happier.

You hug him tight and he kisses your forehead. You both appreciate the peaceful silence and the warm water, before going to sleep. There is no doubt you’ll sleep tight after those mind-blowing orgasms.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fiction #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #fanfic #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jjk smut #bts smut #smut #fem reader #female reader

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Scandal Ch. 4 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Nothing can stop the wrath of the God of Mischief, when he realizes he had been deceived by the people he trusted more than his beloved wife.

Warnings: Angst, Violence

Words: ~1700

"But what the world fails to realize is a villain is just a victim whose story hasn’t been told.” - Chris Colfer

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @hi-there-x @haloangel391 @misssilencewritewell @babayaga67 @accioremuslupinn @mochimommy2002 @just-someone-who-likes-to-write @damalseer @bethanystan @loser-alert @star017 @nina1800 @queenariesofnarnia @n1fangirlsblog @vengefulsokovian @lunamoonbby @freyagallileaevans

A/N: This is a rather boring chapter, but we’re far from done!

“She already left several moons ago. It was her own wish, we did not force her.”

“Where to?”

“Midgard.”

Loki was long back on Asgardian territory, yet his mind couldn’t find peace. Well, how could he, now knowing what Laufey told him?

His world had already crumbled to dust when he left you behind - but if Laufey spoke the truth, his whole existence had been built on lies from the very start.

Not knowing where to search for answers, the prince sneaked into Odin’s forbidden chambers, walking in the shadows protecting him in the midst of night.

There it was: The Cascet of Ancient Winters - the very relic that doomed the fate of your newborn, revealing it’s shameful blood to all of Asgard.

It just urged him to try and see for himself, even if the truth would shatter his heart.

“STOP!”

Loki wouldn’t even flinch at the Allfather’s words, already tightly holding the cascet in both hands.

“Am I cursed?”

The God of Mischief wouldn’t even dare to turn around and look at the person he always ever thought to be his father - for as soon as he laid fingers on the cascet, he began turning into that same shade of blue your son did.

Panic began to rise in the young god, fearing to be killed by the people he loved so dearly shall they lay eyes upon what he truly was. His chest began to tighten, fastened breath turning into a cold mist.

“No” was Odin’s firm but unsatisfying answer, to which Loki only responded by putting down the cascet.

“What am I?”

“You’re my son.” His words came from the heart, not even faltering as Loki turned around to present his Jotun form to the Allfather.

“What more than that?!” he almost growled in between gritted teeth, appearance slowly returning to his usual self.

At that deepest, darkest day in his life yet, Loki would be too blinded by betrayal and rage to see his father’s true love towards his adoptive son.

“The cascet wasn’t the only thing you took back from Jotunheim that day, was it?” The prince took firm steps towards the man that he had known all his life, but had become a complete stranger towards him through that sole moment.

Again, only a “no.”

Loki’s mind was racing, thinking about what else may have been hidden from himself - and what kind of consequences that revelation had for everything he had done up until now.

“In the aftermath of the battle, I went to the temple -- and I found a baby” the Allfather continued, “Small, for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned, suffering, left to die...”

“...Laufeyson” Loki completed Odin’s sentence. So every word the King of the Jotunns had said was indeed a fact.

“W-W-why?!” he almost whined, voice weak and defeated. “You were knee deep in Jotun blood, why would you take me?”

“You were an innocent child-”

“No.” The God of Lies himself had become so sick of being fed those, starting to snap. “You took me for a purpose. What was it???”

For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence.

The image of that small, blue child in his arms had been painfully burned into his heart back then. But now that he knew the story behind all of this, it held a completely different meaning.

Just like he had been abandoned back on that frozen rock, he had abandoned his own child, as well as the love of his life.

Outcast, abused, left to die...and now, god knows what had happened to you...

That secret had destroyed more than just his own life. It had ruined the only honest happiness he was ever given - you, and his son.

“TELL ME!”

He just needed to know: The reason behind all the pain and suffering he had to endure - and caused to others as well.

“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace...through you.”

That was just too much for Loki to bear. “What?” he reacted with a barely-there voice, every word of his father shooting daggers through his heart.

“But those plans no longer matter.” No matter what Odin might want to explain, Loki wasn’t able to listen to any more, jumping into his own conclusions.

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up inside of here until you might have use for me?!” he croaked, afraid of the answer.

“Do not twist my words.”

“You could told me what I was from the beginning!” he now yelled, furious at how virtuous Odin would still defend his own action. “Why didn’t you?”

“You’re my son” he repeated once again. “I only wanted to protect you from the truth.”

“Why, ‘cause I-I-I-I’m the monster people tell their children about at night?!” Loki clenched his fists, fingernails drawing blood to his palm.

“At least when my son was born, you should’ve dropped the charade!” Pure agony was dripping from every syllable, and for a mere second, his eyes were glistering bright red once again. “You’ve forsaken two innocent lives - the most important beings in my pathetic existence - and now you’ve burdened me with their suffering as well!”

That sure was a miracle - how a person so broken from the beginning wouldn’t collapse under pressure that huge.

“It all makes sense now, why you favoured Thor, all those years! Because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

But who cares about the throne, honestly? Not him. Not anymore. Ever since he knew you.

It all dawned to him now: What he could have, if only he had put his trust in you like so many times before.

All his life, he only ever remembers a shadow. At first, he thought it to be the shadow of his brother, or never being enough for his own father. Maybe the other Asgardians looking down on him, making him feel like he doesn’t belong.

Yet in the end, that very shadow was inside of his own mind.

But you?

You had loved Loki with all of your heart, banishing the darkness from his mind through your bright affection.

It didn’t matter to you what anyone thought of him - or even what he thought himself to be.

Because you saw him for what he really was, and he found peace with that.

And he was certain that it wouldn’t matter to you whether he called himself Odinson or Laufeyson - as had you loved his child dearly, ever since he took his first breath.

He could never make up for that greatest of his sins, Loki knew that much.

Or...?

“Where are you going, my son?”

Reluctantly, Loki made his way past the man he now only considered a stranger. Still, when Odin tried to reach out to him, Loki immediately ducked away, startled and afraid for his true nature to hurt anyone.

More than ever before, the God of Mischief despised himself to the core of his being. He was lost, confused, shocked - and still, determined.

“Creating a Kingdom for my family.”

___

[Earth, 2 months later]

On times like these, you thought your mind was betraying you.

Especially when you catched yourself reminiscing sweet, innocent moments - far back in the past, before everything you ever held dearly got destroyed.

You still felt his touch, feather-light on your skin, as well as his scent haunting your memories. And sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder how life would have been, well...if things were different.

Frantically shaking your head, you clasped the book closed and threw it into a corner of the small one-room-flat SHIELD had provided for you.

Your magical pockets were always almost empty, except for a few necessities - and that book. It held the first flower Loki ever gifted you, and you had dried it in between those pages so it would never lose it’s beauty.

But now, remembering meant pain - because Loki Laufeyson would never come back.

For he is dead.

Fell of the Bifrost, as confirmed by Heimdall, who secretly kept in touch with you all this time. So you knew it all: Of his grief and treason, which slowly led him into madness.

And what did you do in the meantime?! Nothing at all!

You should’ve tried everything, anything to get back and help him go through that time of need, hel!

“Endure it, Y/N...you need to stay strong...for Liam.” After so many times of telling those words to yourself, you doubted them to have any effect on your broken heart at all.

Yet it would never fail to keep you going. For that wonderful child was proof of your love, and now your last memory of him.

Rocking the small Jotun to sleep, tears found their way to your eyes like so many times before, dropping to the baby’s face unnoticed.

So you tried to sing your pain away as you cooed that little wonder to sleep.

“Å eg lengtar så tidt dette landet å sjå, Og det dreg meg så blidt, når eg langt er ifrå. Med den våknande vår vert min saknad so sår, så mest gråta, mest gråta eg kan. Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land. Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land.”

*Translation:

“Oh I long so long to see this land, And it pulls me so gently, when I'm far away. With the waking spring host my missing so sore, so most cry, most cry eg can. Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well. Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well.”

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki Friggason #God of Mischief #Loki x Y/N #Self Insert #Writing #Fanfiction #Jotunn #Jotunheim #Asgard #Frost Giant

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kotos-and-smiles · 3 years

Text

The Parallel between Ch.32 and Ch.103

KoT Spoilers all the way through Chapter 103!

Firstly, thank you all so much for the support on my first post! It means a lot and I’m really happy so many of you enjoyed it!

Secondly,

I’m still not over this parallel from chapters 32 and 103, like at all. Chika and Satowa are both revisiting dark times in their lives through these videos but facing it together this time. Even the simple act of being with each other, lending each other their strength, allows them to face these events that still so strongly affect them. Both of these videos are ones of them hurting people and being in so much pain themselves.

For Satowa playing that song and then her mother telling her that her koto playing is like a weapon is probably her single darkest, lowest moment. Then everything went from bad to worse in her life after that. The video of her playing the song is representative of her relationship with her mother deteriorating and of all that came after it for a while, how she ended up alone and cast out, the hope she had and how it shattered. It’s the song she bet her very self on, that hurt her mother, and that finally broke that already fractured relationship. Her mother’s reaction to that song still affects Satowa, yet she faced this song first with Chika and then with everyone else. Satowa must’ve been really worried about everyone’s reaction to this song, about if it would somehow hurt them too or that they’d judge her failure of a sound, but she’s still able to open up about it and ask Chika about what he heard in the song and listen to what he had to say because they’ve already been through quite a bit together and really trust each other. Despite her fear and apprehension of ever playing this song again, or even listening to it, she was able to perform it and grow because first she faced it with Chika and was earnestly able to see the emotion she put into the song and how much her life had changed. Even just sitting down with Chika and finally listening to the song resolved some of her inner turmoil surrounding that performance.

The video Uzuki posted of Chika is part of a string of similar moments in the darkest time of Chika’s life when he was a person he wasn’t proud of, when he felt alone and was venting all his anger, frustration, and depression into fighting. It was a time Chika was hurting random people, but it was also connected to a parental relationship falling apart, the one with his father. Chika isn’t proud of his actions back then, but he will face them if he has to.

But for Satowa to see him the way he was, as that other person, the one with dead eyes where nothing in life seemed worthwhile, he’s worried about how it may affect her view of him, which is why he tried to stop her from seeing it at first. She’s only gotten to know him after he joined the club, she only knows the person he is now, the person he wants to be, not the one he used to be, and so it makes perfect sense that he’d be worried because he really cares about her and cares about her opinion of him. However, Satowa starts getting really upset only after she sees the comments on the video, which builds up to what she says in ch.104. So while Chika was probably very worried about Satowa seeing the video, it obviously didn’t have the effect he was worried it would have on her. Of course, with the video being newly uploaded it’s bringing Chika’s past into the present, which is something Chika doesn’t want and shouldn’t have to deal with, especially right before nationals, which he and the rest of the club have worked so hard for. But Satowa is willing to face it all with him, just as he was willing to face her darkness with her. Just as long as they’re together, they can face it.

In both of the videos, they’re so alone and each hurting so much, in so much pain themselves that it spreads to others, whether intentionally or not. Both Chika and Satowa are “venting their own pain and suffering” at the time of their lives these videos represent, and now they’re in a place to realize that and have grown past it. Both of these moments led to them losing their homes and their parents in some way. But now, they’ve found a new place that feels like home (the club) and all the people in it, who feel like family, and they’ll protect it, including each other, no matter the cost. They accept each other wholeheartedly. In fact, accepting one another’s pasts and who they are now and how they’ve changed but also never backing away from who they used to be is a theme with both the entire club and Chika and Satowa specifically, which is shown in these 2 moments.

Also in ch.103 when Satowa makes this face and determines to watch the video that was uploaded about Chika, to me it’s expressing “I’m not afraid of who you are or who you used to be. I know you now, and your past won’t change how I see you.”

I could examine these scenes for ages! And, as you can see, already have.

I love how Satowa’s friends react, they’re so great. Honestly, with the video coming out I thought they might be judgmental of Chika and possibly tell Satowa to stay away from him? But I love how supportive and worried they were about both of them, not just Satowa, and immediately asked if the club was okay. I love Tetsuki’s reaction, too, and how he’s trying to be protective over Chika while understanding that Chika needs to face this and can handle it.

In conclusion, stab me through the heart, I bet it’d hurt less. I love Chika and Satowa so much and they are so in love I can’t handle it!

I’m hoping to post more frequently, especially as I have some things I’m hoping to post before the new chapter, but posting might stay kind of sporadic. First fanfic coming on Chika’s birthday, so yeah.

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rosyk · 3 years

Text

Deja vu

pairing: bang chan x reader, (a bit of han jisung x reader)

genre: heavy angst, passion, romance, one-sided love, bestfriends, long distance relationship

warnings: light curses, death, depression, mentions of alcohol and drugs, family problems, mentions of forced sexual activity, insecurities, anxiety, etc. (Its quite detailed in the first part and could trigger some people in these type and if you are one of them, I advice you not to read. It can really be uncomfortable on the first part)

word count: 11.5k

inspiration: Before We Knew It ch. 36-38 (webtoon), White Flowers- Olivia Rodrigo (unreleased song)

a/n: This is the least fic I loved but I had to continue it to start a new one and i won’t ever write things as long as this (it’s hard) lol. I don’t know who’ll ever read this long and cringey story but I hope it’s worth your time (?)

If I were to describe a man I’d love to marry someday, it would be someone tall, doesn’t openly show their true feelings towards me, and leads me in life. However, you were the exact opposite of it.

I didn’t even know when and why I fell in love with you. Was it at first sight? No. Was it because someone told me about my indistinguishable feelings for you? No. It was like how love was portrayed in novels and books. I just knew it. Instead of leading my life, you made me, myself, want to lead and search for my future. After you happily talked about your passion for music, you made me feel as if you were the right one. It made me think, “Maybe I do want to be with him until the end of life”. I believe something great would occur and I want to be there when that happens. When the music he produces, raps he created, genres he invented, and when his voice reaches the world, I want to be on his side and be proud I was able to witness all of that. You were everything in times I was the “nothing”.

I truly wished to be a singer right from the start. My dream was unaccepted by my family because the job isn’t as stable as it seems. I had to study medicine since then. Therefore seeing you was like seeing how I could’ve been. I stopped my passion but you made me pursue the unpursued, break off the imaginary limits I had created in my mind. I developed a fear of having to try again. I never sang after years and tried to let go of my past. But you? You lifted me away from the cage of darkness I trapped myself in. My anxiety was too deep to the point I was afraid of people, nightmares, thoughts, happiness, living, being alone, home, and simply just everything.

Even I was scared of myself.

Then I knew this is the worst a person could be. It isn’t when someone takes drugs, drinks alcohol, or flees away from home. It is when he or she no longer wants to take a step forward. I was frightened by the idea of love but also the idea of being alone. I was terrified to open up when the people closest to me never understood but was scared when I keep everything to myself too much up until I’m tired. I feared death the most, how much more if I was living? I remember cutting myself in bed when I overheard my parents fighting because of my presence. I was shaking, desperately trying to suppress my weeping. Was I sad because I didn’t have good childhood memories I could reminisce? Or was I happy for myself because that was the bravest thing I did? I was too young to understand what I truly felt but I didn’t regret a single thing.

I know the difference between wrong and right but why can’t I tell when it comes to situations that involve me? Is it wrong to think it would’ve been best if I was sleeping forever, in a depth of endless time even though I know I should live for a purpose I couldn’t find or for people who don’t care? But is it also right to live and hope miserably someone out there would find and help me even though it means staying and coping with the pain? Whenever I make a decision, I could hear trapped voices rambling in my head, time ticking as fast as my heartbeat, my soul pressuring me, and my mind that creates negative scenarios which cause me to step back before even having the chance to run. In general, I’ve had to overthink my overthinking.

I also have the habit of blaming myself. As deeper as it goes, it became my lifestyle then. I blamed myself for playing the victim as if I was the only one hurting amidst the world. I blamed myself for crying when I had no right because I gave people terrible occurrences. I blamed myself for the inability to be brave and commit what I feared the most. I also blamed myself for silently not crying loud enough to the point that my facade turned out stronger.

Looking back, I was a total mess in which I couldn’t even call myself human. My only best friends were the mirror and my own shadow. I was 10 so I appreciated how the mirror felt the same feelings as mine. It doesn’t laugh when I cry even though the creatures surrounding me do. But for the same reason, I hated it. It reflects my despair, how horrible I looked causing me to despise it the most. My shadow on the other hand makes me feel I’m not alone at the end of the day. But I also despised it the moment my mom locked me up in my room, isolating me in darkness to forget all the traumas I had given her. Because even the shadow disappears in my darkest hours. And just like friends, it all just ended. I no longer want to feel love if love was meant to hurt.

Years of living in hell passed by, until you came.

“You okay?”

I was crying at the staircase in the nearest tunnel found at school. I was a 16-year-old who tried to break away from my dad’s drunken behavior. Running away was another brave thing I did but it was because the thought of him doing me was scary enough.

It was embarrassing to let you see me like this but surprise was the first reaction I had. No one ever dared to approach me because of my low status and the suspicious silence that I give. Questions filled my head as to why you bothered talking to me. Were the rumors unbelievable enough?

“I am new here but I haven’t seen you a lot in school. Are you the same as I am?”

So he’s a transferee. Honestly speaking, I was discouraged. It’s clear that he would slowly stop approaching me as soon as he knew the rumors. You introduced yourself and asked for my name. I gave you a silent treatment causing you to face my direction. We stared at each other for minutes. You finally gave up and sat beside me as I turned my gaze back at the people playing in the park, sighing heavily.

“Would you like to hear my life?” You look at me, expecting something. I turned back at you, both eyebrows raised. You showed your smile, with those little cute dimples on each side to get away from the awkward atmosphere. Trust me when I tell you that was the brightest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Maybe you did show me the colors I didn’t know I needed in my life.

“Oh… I guess you don’t then? I mean why would you be interested right?” You laughed yourself off but as usual, expected some remarks from me. My eyes panicked as I shook my head quickly from side to side. My eyebrows creased as I bit my lip, hoping you understood what I meant.

“So you do want to hear it?” I shook my head up and down as an approval of your question. Unnoticeably, it was the first time I felt eager especially when it comes to humans.

“Isn’t it annoying though?” I got the hint you wanted to tease me considering your giggles but I was too caught up in assumptions that you wouldn’t continue your storytelling. Thus, I did the same thing, turning my head from side to side, trying to convince you that I desperately want to know what happens in the lives of some.

“Cute” you mumbled to yourself but I was able to hear the word that came out from you. You patted my head casually as you started to talk about your life. I grew slightly embarrassed, curling myself, holding my knees, and acted as if I didn’t hear anything.

You were transparently open in talking to the point that I finally knew what “precious” actually meant. Although it was for a moment I knew it would stop soon, you definitely saved me from all I felt.

There I knew how our lives were exact opposites. If I felt everything, the happiness, and sadness, contrasting feelings I couldn’t comprehend, you on the other hand felt nothing. As soon as your dearest brother got into an accident, you didn’t know what to do. If I had abusive and malicious parents, you had no one to be with. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen If I lived your life.

I knew I was bad for thinking of such a way but I took advantage of your life. It made me feel relieved that there were people who faced the worst monsters than I have inside me. It made me look at the positive side of mines.

Much especially when I didn’t expect it would be you. My first impression of you was this carefree pure guy who had no problems in living his life. Little did I know, you were waking up feeling nothing, smiling with no joy, cries without letting out the pain, and laughs despite the numbness and burden that weighs in your heart. I guess we can’t judge people by the way they appear. We never know how much tears they’ve shed every night.

You summarized and wrapped things up. You asked for my name one last time before leaving. But there I was, hung my head low and sniffles could be heard. You looked in confusion as I tried to cover my face. A surprise was evident in your reaction and it was obvious due to your stuttering. You tried to ask what happened but instead hugged me unconsciously.

That was the first time I’ve ever felt warmth. I was born a mistake so even my parents couldn’t give me this kind of comfort. I cried worse as I had thought of it. The idea of a stranger giving me a better meaning of how home felt like than a family does, who wouldn’t tear up after that?

I don’t want to be ahead of time. But hope filled my mind. Maybe I could find more people like him. Maybe someone out there could notice my emotions. Maybe someone could act as my light. Maybe someone does care about my wellbeing. Out of a huge percentage of people living on Earth, there should be one who could at least meet and save me right? I know I settled in all “maybes” but it was much better than having none.

Recalling the series of events, I was a total problem. Yet you were always there for me no matter how heavy of a burden I am. You were the one who believed in me when I couldn’t, picked me up when I was drowning in a wave of traumas and worries, and lightened my deep void. You were my first and swore you’ll be my last, who broke my past and created my unknown beginning. I hated risks but whenever you are involved, I for sure know it is worth it no matter how many needles it may pain me. It had been years before noticing how much you mean to me I may be late, but would never get tired of this. I will listen and enjoy our memories until the end. You will, for eternal love, be my last song in my only playlist.

Although it’s true we never believed in love since the beginning. But all we do know is that we’d like to spend our whole lives together. It’s as if we were bound by the heavens to meet and help one another. With all that’s happening, I would like to assume that this is love people were talking about. Who knew it could be this powerful to change someone?

[CHAN’S POV]

And what happened to the “messy innocent girl who was stained by reality?” She became an unrecognizable teen, as pure as ever. In the past, I wasn’t able to feel the emotions most do but look at me now, smiling every time I see you do. Even though I’ve never felt heavy feelings, these light ones are taking a toll on me whenever you call my name.

We had arguments but never had any misunderstandings. This is all because no matter what I say, you are always by my side. I could tell you day by day how much you mean the world to me, my downfalls, and everything unnecessary but you’d still listen to it with no regrets.

Right now, we’re meeting up for a “little date” as you mentioned. I was going to decline because there had been many requirements in class but you seemed too interested that I didn’t want to break it to you.

I was wearing my usual hoodie sweater with baggy pants and ordered for both of us. After all, you would always choose chocolate whipped shakes over anything. You seemed to take too long so I decided to work on some demands given. I turned on my laptop and opened the application as I placed the headphones on my ear, silencing the noise in my surroundings.

Now all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding and swallowing as my throat started to dry. The loading symbol appeared on my screen and I hoped it would stay like that forever. I hoped it would crash and tried to find more excuses for me not to use it.

I was consistently looking at the time shown on the panel below the main screen. The blue circular sign still turns and turns as I see it from my peripheral vision. 3:31, 3:32, 3:33, the minutes kept moving and hands that are now shaking because I assumed this would be the worst nightmare that could happen. But no, cause “worst nightmare” is an understatement when we are referring to this. It would’ve been better as a nightmare because I could wake up from this traumatic moment. I was focused on my screen that I hadn’t noticed the calling in my front.

“Channie?... Chris?.... Christopher?... Mr.Bang Chan?.. Chan!”

[Y/N’S POV]

He finally noticed me as soon as I tapped on his shoulders. He flinched and looked at me in horror. It creeped me out but it took seconds before he could pull his eyes away from mine. He bit his lips and I noticed him covering his hands. The staff called out a number which I believe was from our table considering the way he closed his laptop.

“I’m getting that” You forced a little smile as you made way to the counter

I smiled at the thought of our “date” but seeing you sweating and nervously fidgeting your fingers to avoid them from shaking bothers me. Did something happen before you came? Why was he that nervous? Thoughts bombarded my mind, but you coming back with my favorite drink and snacks, looking all-smiley, tells me as if you noticed my discomfort so you tried cheering me up. You sat down in front of me and got rid of your problems. As usual, this guy notices even the littlest gestures I make.

“Did you wait too long?” I asked you with enthusiasm because our little date has now started. The idea non-stop makes my whole day

“No, I just arrived before you did.” You respond with a genuine smile despite the clear lie you just gave. You stroked my hair as you looked at me lovingly

“Oh, I just passed by that bakery we talked about a year ago…..” I started chatting about our fond memories that remain vivid in my head.

It took several hours of talking and enjoying our time together. We also watched that Philippine movie starring two exes who broke up and lived in one house, but being an emotional wreck, it took 30 mins of you trying to comfort me as I cry ugly. Of course, you didn’t miss an opportunity to laugh at me and even took a video. Teasing me and showing my picture as your wallpaper, made me playfully angry.

We also enjoyed visiting the same tunnel where we met. The nostalgia is present. The moon is shining and I can’t help but smile looking at you.

[CHANS POV]

You look beautiful under the moon if I must say. I wanted to show the magnificent view because it reminds me of you whenever I see it up above. You were my only light when my days in the past were too dark.

We continued strolling around, counting the streetlights that passed by and talked about a lot of things. Until you decided to speak up-

“About…. the thing that happened earlier?” You looked up to me, but your eyes soon started moving away from mines. You were held on with the anxiety of trying to speak up whenever it had come to my personal life. I don’t know whether it was the trauma you’ve stumbled upon when you asked about my father or it’s just due to your manners. Nonetheless, if it was indeed your trauma, I’ve felt guilty about it and wanted to reassure you I won’t hurt you ever again. “But if you don’t want to talk about it-“ I cut your sentence off.

“My father was a musician..” your eyes shined with glee in my response

“That’s cool!” You exclaimed but it soon faded into a frown after hearing me sigh. Tilting your head, you tried to calculate everything that’s wrong with it. I nervously fidgeted with my hands and knuckles, contemplating a decision that could change and even affect both of us.

“Everything’s wrong... He was into it, music took his mindset and life” I faced my head sideways and gulped without looking at your eye. The trauma, I’m finally telling my pent-up feelings after a lifetime keeping it to myself.

“He was so into composing music and started to forget about the reason he had started to do it. And by that-“ you cut off my sentence and started to nod a few times, pressing your lips together. You pointed your shaky finger at me and spoke softly.

“I think I know where this is going.” You looked at me in disbelief but all I could do is look at you with concern and guilt, asking for forgiveness. “Is this why you didn’t want to love again even after all these years?” Your eyes that shined stars a moment ago, turned into sun at night. It wasn’t raging darkness, but plain agony.

“Can you blame me? I know I love music, I’ve told you that on repeat for years. Is love what I need when that was the cause of everything?”

You didn’t take one glance at me and started walking faster. You were trying to leave me behind but I was quick to grab your hand.

“Please, let’s not act like this. It’s starting to get..” I was trying to think of a less harsh word because things get complicated day by day. And here I thought this date would be an exception. “Childish. Okay? I don’t get why you’re so out of place and it’s like-“

“So now I’m the one getting childish here?” You turned around and faced me, finally. Though it wasn’t any relieving as I expected. You were having tears stuck in your eyes, ready to fall at anytime yet you don’t want to cry in front of me. Are we going to keep this up? I was about to talk but no words came out of me. Until you decided to continue your sentence.

“You knew about this all the time, right? You knew how I was starting to fall for you and yet you continued our relationship without feeling love?” You bit your lips as your eyebrows creased. Trying to push me away, but all I could do was hold you tighter. “I know how trauma feels like. I’ve been there, we’ve been there. But you could’ve told me sooner at least so I’m not the only one looking like a whole fucking fool here, Christopher.” You tried to get away from my hold and yes, you did. Though as I tried to grab your hand once again, you took a step backward and placed your hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. “Call me sensitive but for God’s sake! How could you get me all wrapped up in your finger for the past years and call it something that isn’t attachment nor love? What was I to you then?” It took seconds for me to get the gist of what you’re trying to say and I did understand but I couldn’t answer that simple question.

Because now that I think of it, was I awful to hesitate who you were in my life? Was those years nothing for me then? I want to protect you until the end and I wanted to see you happy but I’m pretty sure I felt this for some of my friends as well. Did I just get into a relationship whilst thinking of my significant other as a friend? Is it called using someone? Taking advantage to make my life better? I know what’s right and what’s wrong. But I don’t know which is which. Getting into a relationship is a risky choice and I don’t want to hurt anybody in between. Because I know that’s what’s wrong. Using others for my need of affection and love is wrong as well. But is this exactly what I’m doing? I don’t know...As things grow, it just gets complicated to the point that I couldn’t even comprehend situations.

“I thought so” you continued, and those words crushed my heart. I didn’t notice the time we’ve been arguing, though technically it’s just you who was able to speak, that we’ve already reached your house. You opened the tiny gate in front of your house and I know what’s going to happen sooner later.

“Maybe, you need time to think about it alright? I don’t think I can keep up with a relationship like this if it’s too one-sided. But don’t worry I’ll wait. Even though what I want may not come,” you chuckled but the sigh was still evident. “I’ll wait for you.” You smiled, but it isn’t the one you’ve always shown me. I was the reason for your happiness but also the reason for your pain. How tragic must have been that sound.

You went your way to the door and closed it. I knew you were crying as I heard little sniffles but never looked my way. Closing the door, that was the last time I had ever seen you. With no goodbye kisses and hugs, you left feeling the ache you didn’t deserve.

[YOUR POV]

It was supposed to be “taking a break”, but considering this, I should’ve accepted it as a break-up. You never took time texting me after the whole 4 months. I guess I was no one in your life. But even though I was still hurt, I regretted spatting out things as if it was your fault. You always get guilty over things and I know it was all just because you had a hard time reciprocating your feelings because of the lack of love you’ve felt. I should’ve understood that part but being the sensitive me, I was unmindful. I’ve also never seen you walk past the corridors nowadays, so it’s basically been also the same 4 months of actually not seeing you as well. You really bothered trying to get out of my life.

I groaned as I sat up in the bed. It was around 8:30 and I’m like 1 hour and 30 mins late? Not that I’m bothered by it since I’ve gotten used to it. It’s not like our teacher is there by the time I arrive.

-SCHOOL-

“Outside, now” was the first and last thing I’ve heard as I entered my classroom. And here I thought the teacher wasn’t present. Not only did I embarrass myself in front of my classmates, but I’d also have to stand holding a chair, outside the classroom for lower and higher-ups students to see. Awful, and my reputation is broken. Well, not that I had any significant reputation in the first place but come on, you know how hard it was to see students bickering while looking at you.

I heard the door click open and I hoped it was the teacher who finally would let me in. It turned out to be another classmate of mines which I thought was unnecessary. But as I looked back up and noticed his eyes, a sense of familiarity came unto me.

“Han?” My eyes widened at the sight in front of me. I’m not expecting people to be perfect but our class president was the last person I expected to be scolded by our teacher. “Weren’t you inside the classroom way before me?”

“I cursed.” The guy spoke shortly and lifted the chair just like the same punishment I’ve been doing. I blinked my eyes twice but understood nothing.

“Pardon?” I replied in a high tone as if I was questioning what he was trying to say. Cursed? Is he out of his mind, trying to curse in front of the teacher? Besides, he had always been this quiet kid, but girls still tend to simp over. The latter though is out of my knowledge.

“What did you say?” I leaned in as you jolted quite a bit. Reacting to the sudden flinch, I assumed it was bold of me to do so and it scared you. But looking straight at you, pink tints were found on the side of the cheeks. It was light and definitely cute.

“F-fuck” he faced me with eyebrows creased and hesitated in replying. It was so short and awkward whenever he’d say it or maybe it’s also due to his stuttering. The thought was so out of the place and even I, who is quite free doesn’t curse in front of the teacher for no reason so why would someone who tries to stay low, would curse? But the way you told me the “forbidden” word made me laugh out loud.

“You’re funny, Mr. class president” I replied after a silent 2 minutes and laughed while hitting him lightly. Little amounts of liquids were falling down my deep brown eyes as I tried to regain my breathing. He’s awkward and that’s what makes it funny. I like him.

I wiped off my tears and stared at you. My laughs slowly died down after seeing your confusing expression. I don’t know whether your eyes held a safe haven or a place I was indulged in and forgot about the point that everything was complicated in between. Whether staring at you was comfortable or confusing. All I know is that I was distracted by the genuine smile you gave. It was little but I knew it was a smile after seeing cute dimples on the side of your lips. Now that I think of it, I haven’t ever seen the president smile.

You noticed my pause and coughed, trying to clear out the tension. The usual demeanor was back. Was everything just an illusion then?

“Anyways, I don’t know about you but I’m gonna have to go. Don’t want stay here standing when time’s already up” you lazily said as you pressed your lips together, leaving me speechless all alone. Raising your hand, you waved back at me while walking away and didn’t even take time to look back.

That was weird. Or was I the only one weird? True, I’ve never seen him around that much but I’ve painted the guy as someone responsible considering the works he finished even after given such a small time. He was indeed open-minded but wasn’t out-spoken or friendly. Work is work and he has to make sure he aces his tests for his reputation to not tarnish even one bit, that’s all that matters to him. He was never used to smiling so he doesn’t do it as much, at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’m guessing it must be my imagination.

/LUNCHTIME/

Guess what? It’s already lunchtime and I haven’t learned a single bit of information from my teacher’s discussion. Shrugging all my homework, projects, quizzes, oral recitations, and performances that are all due this afternoon, I walked out of the classroom.

But before I did so, I found a familiar guy in my peripheral vision. Trying to confirm whether it was him, I turned and called his name out.

“Mr. president?”

The same awkward and serious guy turned around, raising his right brow. You were confused at first about who would call you with no respect, but hummed in surprise as a response.

“It’s Han for you... and for everyone” trying to continue the work you’ve been doing for our school camp which is totally several months later. What’s the rush?

“Drop the formalities! Besides, I like Mr. president way better.” I smiled and tilted my head then flipped my hair. I was a whole smug for thinking my naming sense was the best thing about me.

“Like, like?”

The same vibe always comes up whenever I’m talking to you and I don’t know why. How is it so hard to interact with smart ones? I feel like their language is different and I couldn’t even comprehend what this guy is trying to say.

“like?”

“You like mr. president. That’s what you said”

And that’s how it struck me. Looking back on everything, it seems pretty weird. (I like Mr. President way better) rings all throughout my head. I know he’s been surrounded by girls who have a crush on him but surely he doesn’t think of this as a low-key confession, right?

Please, I didn’t deserve any of this awkward tension. I did walk up to him first but blame my curiosity for wondering what he’s doing in his free time, does he always go to the library whenever, or what do the lifestyle elites like him actually have? Maybe, I did just want a friend but who knew it would be this complicated. Wrong choice.

“The names you provide for people are so dull” you faked a yawn to show how uninterested you are.

I laughed out and tried to hide the embarrassment I’ve felt inside. He meant the name of course! What was I thinking? He quickly got up and proceeded to leave the classroom as if he understood what I wanted to do. He catches up with things fast if I must say. But the feeling didn’t subside in me and I tried to cover up my face with my hands as soon as he left. Heaving a deep sigh, I reassured myself and followed him.

-CAFETERIA-

“This is all they’ve got?”

It’s been a second we’ve entered the school cafeteria and yet this elite beside me was already complaining. We sat down on the white benches and I was also relieved the cafeteria doesn’t have many students since our class ended earlier than the desired time.

“You’ll get used to it. Besides, what do you commonly eat for lunch? This is good.” I replied and waited for a response that never came back. I’m thinking it was a wall I’m talking to. You ate the soup and showed a face of disgust. Of course, I don’t give up.

“Do you have different cafeterias?” “Or do you eat in your respective rooms?” “Do you actually eat? cause you looked really busy with the requirements.” “Being a class president is that hard huh? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as hard-working as you even if they have high titles.” “You know if I was the class-“

“Why do you ask so many questions? Geez” you swept your hair and sighed. You felt tired talking to someone as chatty as me but all I could do is playfully pout and raise both my eyebrows up. Shrugging, I respond.

“Why not?”

You glared at me but I wasn’t taken aback by it so you decided to reply, finally. “The real question is, why?” you tried to peacefully eat and finished it quickly so you could go to the library, I suppose. It was going smoothly until my small brain with low grammar or structure skills decided to pop up the least moment I wanted it to.

“Because I’m interested in you.”

Choking was all I could hear after I simply stated. Panicking, I gave you my water unknowingly and you drank it. I patted your back and stroked it gently.

“You okay?” I tried to calm you down but your face seemed to ask me whether you were okay even after everything was obvious.

“You mean you’d like to know about my lifestyle?” You analyzed my reaction as I tilted my head. I mean isn’t that clear? Your eyes seemed like you got the hang of me again and scoffed, rolling your eyes. Wow! Now, what’s up with this attitude?

“It’s common. Just some random New York steak.” My eyes widened and my ears couldn’t believe what they’re hearing. That’s common? Gosh, even my monthly allowance couldn’t afford to buy a whole steak, what more if it was specifically in New York? And the way he didn’t bother to flex about his lunchtime food and acts as if it’s unimportant.

“Enough about me, how about you?” I believe you were trying to ask for the sake of the conversation but it excites me anyway. I mean, an elite asking me about my life? It boosts my pride, internally laughing as I thought of the idea.

“What do you want to know about me?” Grinning, I eagerly waited for the question. How blessed I am to have an upper-class student to not just interact, but ask about me as well.

“What happened between you and Bang Chan?”

I’m taking it all back. I don’t want to hear any questions. I was wrong. By Bang Chan, I knew straight away he was referring to Chris. The mentioned ex became an elite, or so I heard. I don’t know how, why, or when but that’s the only reason possible for him to know there was a thing between us. But unlike me, Mr. President wants to make sure of everything and not just the rumors he had heard.

“No.” I simply stated and continued to eat.

“Why not?”

“I should be the one asking you why”

“Because I’m interested in you”

I paused and was slightly surprised by the sudden declaration. Okay, my way of telling him made me look crazy. I looked up to him and saw a pair of teasing eyes. This is who mr. president is? Now it was my time to roll my eyes and I knew at that moment I had no escape.

“Exes. We’re exes.” I expected a startled expression from you but your lips curled downwards as if you expected it. How was it hard to read this guy’s mind though he immediately catches up on everything I’m feeling?

Days passed by and as usual, I was the one annoying you. At that very time, we became close because I knew you were a comfortable place for me to be in. You don’t judge unlike what others do each time I open up my problems especially when it comes to my relationship with an elite and Christopher, out of all. For sure, you were the right choice of friend I never knew I needed to rely on.

[YOUR JOURNAL]

Just a few days passed by and I hear lots of students whispering. What’s the occasion? I don’t even know myself yet I’ve brought a ring that matches mine. I’m naive but I always trust my instincts no matter what. As I try to recall the date and puts everything together in one piece from all the clues I’ve gotten.

A familiar man appeared in my sight. But he wasn’t mr. president. He was looking at me and I continued to look at those deep brown eyes I’ve longed to see after a long time. Was I prepared? No. Did I want to see him? I’m not sure so myself. But did I actually like that view? Indeed. My very first heartbreak or hiatus came back after months and to see he felt the same way I did. Did the moment I waited for all of my life would finally happen?

Each step you take, the more my anxiety rushes through me. I felt the shivers either because I was scared or it was the tears I’ve forced to stop from rolling down my cheeks. Or simply both, ignoring the fact that I was hurt yet I did want to see you after all. I wanted to walk away, but if I did then I’m making the same mistake twice. Therefore I stood still silent and only my heartbeat is the loudest out of all.

Closing my eyes, I expected strong grips around my wrist which marks it deep red because anger was the only thing present in the space between us. I didn’t take consideration of the things you’ve gone through but instead became selfish just because I’ve moved on from the past. I did tell you I would wait for you forever but all I gave you was the pressure of making you choose decisions at times you were having a hard time. Just because you made me learn the definition of love, doesn’t mean I could anticipate that you felt the same thing.

Quite on the contrary, I’ve felt warmth and comfort. The grip was truly strong, strong enough to hurt me emotionally and not physically unlike what I expected. The grip I’ve felt was hanging around me, a hug was given to me even when I didn’t deserve this.

“I’m sorry” that was what I’ve heard in the muffled and low volume of voice the man had spoken because he was on the verge of tears. I was supposed to be the one asking for an apology, yet this guy took it to heart once again. Typical Christopher.

“I missed you. I’ve realized I can’t do things without you. It’s been hard..” Your sentence cut the uncertainty I’ve felt. It came, he came. I cried my heart out after not breathing for a second. It would finally work out, after months of trying to ask for support from other people, you entered my life once again. And better? You loved me.

It was your graduation, and I’m glad to be there just like what we dreamed it to be. You may have left, but our romance never stopped.

Cliché right? Of course, that never happens in reality. What happens, is the point that we argue every day because of the long-distance relationship that serves as an obstacle in us. We don’t even know whose mistake it is but considering you, you’ve always been the one who let your pride down and ask for forgiveness. There are times it’s also been me because I realized that this guy doesn’t deserve more burdens in his life. Support is everything I could give.

“Everything working out?” I was astounded by the call Hanji decided to initiate first. He’s always been there for me when I had it rough. He cares for me though he doesn’t show it as much.

“I don’t know. I’ve rarely been receiving texts but he made sure to call me anytime soon. We’ve both been fighting against this. Thanks by the way” You sighed after I finished my sentence. I hoped my exhaustion wasn’t able to reach you but you knew straight away.

“What do you see in him? He is talented and ideal but do you think you both match up?“

It was good he called but hitting it directly at me and doubts our relationship? That’s what triggered and ticked me off. “I told you not to talk about this.” I firmly uttered.

“He doesn’t get the way you act, talk or even feel”

“I’m sorry? What do you mean by that?” It’s rare to see us quarrel because you didn’t want to reach that point and yet it’s you trying to get all complicated once again. Here I thought I got the hang of how you think. “He understands me more than anyone.”

“If he does then why didn’t he call by then?”

“He was busy. I repeated that to you more than thrice throughout the whole call. But if he wasn’t busy then he’d take a grasp of everything.”

“Was he? Because the last time I knew you had a rough day, crying all alone, he didn’t. The time I knew I had to cheer you up, he didn’t. The time I knew I needed to reassure you that no one’s ever going to leave you but stay by your side, even though you didn’t realize about it, he didn’t.”

3 seconds passed by before my voice was heard in the line.

“What does that have to do with all these?”

“I understand you but the guy you wanted to be with, doesn’t”

That was it, the final blow. Both were concerning, the whole sentence is. Starting from the conclusion you understood me up until the thought of me wanting a guy who doesn’t pick me up the way I assume couples needed. We had a relationship with Chris, but was it called a relationship with lots of things in between?

“I’m sorry. Slipped out. I was just irritated.” It was a first for you to apologize but my mind wandered to the part where you compared yourself to Christopher.

“What do you mean by you understanding me when he doesn’t?”

“I mean... If I did understand you, then I’m pretty sure a lot more boys out there would be a better match and would recognize your desire. They would be able to take care of you. You know I’m just.. worried.”

If it was the usual vibe, I would’ve laughed at that lame excuse. But thinking back, it’s hard for me to perceive the way you feel about me. I’ve heard rumors but ended up being nonchalant about it because mr. president having feelings? I chose to believe it wasn’t real especially when I’m already facing a hard time.

“good night.” You continued after the short silence. It was now you who was starting to get exhausted. You cut off the line quickly before I could even reply. Was the relationship between me and Chris wasn’t able to follow up fate? How innocent of me to think that true love comes so easily.

Days turned to months and I lost count of the weeks Chris has been gone by my side. He had never failed to text compared in the past, but I still yearned for his affection.

He seemed excited on the phone today and unknowingly called me 5 times and now a 6-

“Christopher, aren’t you busy?” I giggled as I heard him laugh. It made my day and filled up the void in me that was created because of the thought he isn’t able to be with me on my graduation day.

“I have duties... as your boyfriend” I playfully rolled my eyes without expecting a turn of events.

It was my final day in school and to think that I have to spend it alone because I had no friends, awful. Chris made my day though, so I wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. But the feeling of not seeing Hanji anymore still lingered in my mind. It was harsh but I had to accept it. We didn’t talk that much but undoubtedly, he was a good friend in times I need him.

Whilst looking around the stalls in the halls, I found him. He was talking to a guy seemingly the same age as ours and he looked so happy. But as his eyes met mines, was it just me, or did it die down? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me after all? His eyes traveled back to the sushi he ordered but sighed as I ran up to him.

“Mr. president?” The happy and annoying tone of calling him wasn’t present anymore. It was gloomy, hesitating if I should bother his hours or time. “Did I do something?” What happened to our closure? it flees away.

I saw you in the process of trying to smile a little and just hummed to let me know nothing’s wrong. But everything is. You ignored me and walked up to the classroom. I followed you, as I always do. I decided to speak up but you cut me off.

“I’m sorry if I did-“

“Are you still interested in me?”

You turned around and confronted my small figure. It hurts the way you try to smile in front of me but failed to do so. Usually, you always made me believe what you wanted me to. You’d say you’re fine, you’re happy, you’re not exhausted, but right now? I’m not buying it. I may not be able to read you that much, but you seemed too tired to the point that your magic of convincing me didn’t work.

“Interested..?”

“You said you were interested in how elite ones live. Now that you got the answer and your boyfriend is one, what am I there for?”

“You were there for me-“

“when he couldn’t be there”

You were being on and off, getting more complicated as time passes by. You don’t go straight to the point but instead, run circles until I have a hard time contemplating whether I’m the wrong one.

“What are you trying to imply?” I questioned

“I don’t need a quote that says don’t expect something in return”

“Return? After everything, we’ve been through? Our friendship? Was it all just nothing? How doesn’t that benefit you?”

“Because the more I give you your need, why do I have to receive pain instead?” Your voice was shaky and I can see you biting your lip, trying to suppress yourself from falling and breaking. “You wanted to know me because you were curious about my life. Now that you know of it, what do you want from me?”

“What do you mean what do I want? I want nothing from you. The bond that we’re tied in is enough for “

“Then who am I to you?”

“I told you, a friend.”

“My purpose in your life?”

“Lifting me up whenever I feel....down”

“So did you recognize how that sound like to you?”

Among both of us, I broke down first. Why am I being the one treated like the villain in this story taking advantage of people around me? Why am I the perceived the evil being in our friendship? Why does he want to make me feel guilty? I didn’t even know what the problem is yet, but I was already the bad one here. Call me clueless, but I couldn’t be blamed for something I don’t even know about. Quiet sobs filled in the silence and I could feel your sympathy filling the empty room.

“If ever..” in a low volume, you decided to speak “Why do you want to spend more time with me?” I looked up to you and wiped away all my tears if that’s possible.

A reason, that’s all I need to prove but no suggestions came up to my mind. Recollecting tragedies, was I the one who didn’t bother calling you when you didn’t do the same to me? Why didn’t I? You didn’t even pass my mind one single time in the past days. So why didn’t that happen? I appreciated him but when did things gradually just..stop?

Tears fell down yours as well but you didn’t want me to look at you in the eye. “You were supposed to say for more memories, you know? Like because I actually made you happy so you wanted me to appreciate our moments. Believe it or not, that’s what they say” you laughed to lift the air but I was still left dumbfounded after everything. How terrible of me, that thought echoes repeatedly.

Hours passed by and I wasn’t feeling it. The sun turned gloomy, the loud cheer of students turned to noise, the sky turned monochrome and the atmosphere turned dull. All I could do was ask Chris regarding it. All he could say is that he appreciated how Hanji backed off and didn’t want to complicate things more by telling me. Understanding none of it, what does he mean by didn’t want to complicate things more when our quarrel was? Wow, I really am this hopeless. Slow and unaware.

I was lost in thought that I late realized how I could hear vehicles in Chris as he was on call. Was he lying then? He mentioned he was staying in but why are there noises and people chattering? I was baffled hearing one of the familiar voices behind. One seemed to be the same as my classmate.

“Where are you? I thought you said you were in your home?”

“I am home.”

Clichè as it seemed, It all felt like a slow-motion in a fast-paced sequence of events. Firstly you were just talking to me but at the next second, you were personally doing it.

Holding your phone, I finally found the guy I’ve seen and lost on the same day in the past. But now? He’s here. Promising me that he won’t leave ever again. I knew I could trust these words no matter how repetitive they're going to be. Once you tell me it, I just know you’d be by my side no matter what until the end of the world.

You were looking the same as I remembered in the past and it’s played out like deja vu. You walking up to me and giving me a whole hug of comfort, as I cried in your arms.

“How about your-“

“I don’t want you to worry about it. I’ve chosen myself, with no additional pressure, to live with you.” You stroked my hair and patted my back.

“Live with me?”

“Don’t you want to?” I was delighted and surprised by the sudden decision. I wasn’t given enough time to think about it, not that I needed time anyway. I would always choose you over anything else.

It was the event and yes, I graduated with my boyfriend cheering me on and allowed me to soar high and fly, to start a new beginning.

[HAN POV]

It was good seeing you happy. Even if it was Bang Chan, I’m sure he is the only man that can make you smile like that.

But indeed, I was hurt. I was a book you wanted to read but as soon as you got ahold of the main idea, everything starts to get boring. Usually, you would never fail to not make me annoyed each day because as you always say, I cross your mind every time. When you were indulged in your relationship, I was forgotten.

It was all my mistake and you don’t have to feel guilty about it. I may not have any expectations of you loving me, but I had hopes and that’s what made me receive pain. If I hadn’t hoped you would be with me, hoping you forgot about him, hoped you could see I am just here waiting, hoped you could realize I can treat you better, then both of us wouldn’t get hurt. It’s my fault and I’m held accountable to live in regrets.

But even for a split second, I am happy that I am capable of distracting your worries and making your day better. I wasn’t thinking well in the argument a while ago but I did get the benefit. Seeing you happy, makes me happy. So letting you go is the best choice for both of us to receive joy. Scratch that, I don’t have the right to tell you I would let you go.

Because I never stood a chance did I?

[YOUR JOURNAL]

After graduating, I moved in with Christopher. He let me listen to some of the tracks he had created to stop me from bothering him all day.

The music he had composed was nothing personal and was based on people from different perspectives. I had never felt the same experience as well but something about the way he writes and produces brought me to tears. The pain and emptiness inside were well shown in the midst of harmonies. He was also a genius writer with well-structured sentences and livens up feelings in the words to make the listener feel as if he or she was the one narrating it. His father is a musician, but to think he would be able to express that much in songs just shows how deeply connected he is with music. He wasn’t motivated because he tries to stop himself from being like his father but it was a pity for him to stop something he is incredibly good at.

“You’re really something Christopher! Do you know that?” I hugged him from behind and heard his little laughs. “I think I’ve fallen for you all over again. But honestly, I knew you’d write and produce this good” I wore on a smug look as he asked while giggling because of the face I’m giving.

“How?”

“How about calling it an intuition from an expert music lover?” You playfully rolled your eyes in my response because you expected something more detailed. You urged me to explain it to you so you’d knew my opinion about the music and so I did.

“Your words are beautiful that it makes me believe anything you’ll say, Christopher” I smiled and kissed your cheek. I rested my head near your neck as we were sat on the bed, facing each other.

It was true. You made me feel different feelings and opened up a new perspective to move on from my past. You influenced me a variety of changing thoughts. I don’t like the idea of losing myself to someone because it forgets the real me. I don’t like the concept of being crazy in love with people because it doesn’t feel sweet somehow whenever the risk of it being one-sided and unable to move on is present. Not realizing that whenever the talk comes about you, it feels heavenly. I don’t know who I would be if I wasn’t yours but it all feels enchanting. Although you made me insecure, at the same time you made me laugh throughout the day. You were a gold rush. Perfect and gentle, to think that someone like me got you is like winning once in my entire life. Luck is rare but fate was there. By fate, it turned out you were destined to meet me and get me out of the hell hole, no one tried to do. By fate, it means I will love you and will forever do. By fate, we’ll stand strong and fight the cracks alongside our journey.

[CHRIS POV]

You wouldn’t take a no for an answer when I was asked to create more songs. A single shed of tear from listening to my music encouraged you to push more song requests unto me. Make-me-a-song was all I could remember hearing from you.

I remember you publishing one of my songs and I was accepted by it. You were jumping up and down as I was worried about its outcome. I was starting to get known, that was also the beginning of how the unforgivable musician started to forget about the important ones in his life. It was as if the result would be dragging my only light into my darkness. I don’t want to be a musician and yet, here I am composing more songs even if I knew what was coming soon.

I’ve started with light romance that I think you’ll enjoy but seeing you look so happy with just a simple work of mine, gave me that motivation I least wanted to have. And like a recorded cd, everything was played the exact same way in different men. I hated it but it was truly like father, like son.

I continued to write songs with deeper ones but as I got the recognition all the more, I produced as if I was possessed. I was indulged in the way words can be conveyed differently and ideas, stories, and theories were constantly overflowing my mind. I was wrapped up in music and I hated myself for it. Even though I despised the process, I couldn’t help but continuously write. All of my pent-up feelings in the past years were expressed in my songs, making me create heavy tracks and don’t run out of stories to tell. The man I’ve been hiding and was traumatized from came back and it’s as if he mocks me that we are on the same page after all. I felt myself sinking and sinking despite you telling me that I am not like my father because I made you feel the definition of love. I was trapped in a room with no escape that relates whenever I had started making music, I couldn’t get out of it. I wasn’t forced but this drive is what makes me continue because I feel like I’m creating a new genre that makes people deeply appreciate and maybe understand what I’ve been going through.

4 years came by but it felt like days in my studio.

“Chris, are you sure you’re fine? Get enough rest okay?” the young girl called me but I was busy finalizing the song.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied shortly after your question. I wasn’t paying much attention so I didn’t know the accurate response for it.

“Anyways, what’s that ab-“

“I’m working on music that’s going to be showcased and submitted to the famous JYP company later. It is really important so I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me by asking so many questions. Come by later, we’ll talk about it then.” I looked at my watch on my right arm and noticed how I still got a few hours left before attending the ceremony. The albums will be released soon after but I have to submit another title track.

I was busy with all the scheduled dates and songs that I hadn’t realized

she wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” hours came by and truly the CEO came. We have a friendly bond and he gives me advice so it’s casual for him to call on me. I hurried up to the door and went to the car.

“Why didn’t you invite her to the big event?” The CEO of the company asked me to start up a conversation. He crossed his hands and tapped his fingers as if he thought of something so deep and significant because he was getting impatient.

“It’s a big hassle. She isn’t good and comfortable in interacting with people she doesn’t know” I simply stated and smiled for respect.

“I don’t interfere or meddle in the personal affairs or lives of others but I hope you aren’t neglecting her because of this, are you?”

“She will understand” I looked up to the car window and stared at the illuminating lights from buildings. I know you took a lot of time waiting for me, but please don’t give up and let me finish this song about you. By then, our Disney-like dreams would finally come true and I swear I’ll make you even happier.

I held a box of ring in my pocket. I’ll make you happy, just hang a bit in there okay?

[YOUR POV]

The CEO told me about the new album he’s been working on. It was about his first love. It would be no other than me, right?

I went up to his room and read the paper scattered alongside his desk. There were lots but I decided to read the one that I assumed was already done. It was near the porch and I understood how he wanted to compose in front of the moon.

The moon shone brightly that night

but I realized that wasn’t my source of light

You look lovely

as the smiles you beamed lasted an eternity

I was persuaded and lost in thought

unknowingly, my heart was caught

Because even under the moon, you’ve shone the brightest

and cleared my problems at most

Even under where light lies,

I was indulged deep in your eyes

Even when it illuminates through the void,

a different view is what I’ve enjoyed

Because even if their minds were fixated on the scene,

looking at you felt more serene

I stopped reading the paper and placed it back on the desk.

“That can’t be me..” I thought.

Starting from the mentioned smiles, how could that be me? You stated you enjoyed looking at me, but I felt like I was invisible whenever you compose songs. Did you make songs while thinking of me? I don’t think so. You should’ve known that you were dragging me along with your darkest nights. I wasn’t even your light anymore, it died down. I was overshadowed by your passion or the one you’re talking about in this script. Can I still make you happy? No. Am I still happy? No. The whole lyrics proves how you didn’t even take a single glance at me right now. Because if you did care, you would've known I changed because you did. I changed because the person I was relying upon, didn’t find motivation in me. We started together but it lost while it progresses just like how you started music because of me but lost my figure in your sight along the way. It was reality, I was being forgotten. When I was alone crying, where were you? I know you don’t understand me quite well but I was the whole climate. I changed for seasons unlike in the past where it was mild swings. Because you know what hurts the most? Not the fact that I waited and kept waiting as I am already used to that and no matter how many years it may take, I’ll always wait for you. But it’s all because everything went back. You picked me up from the trauma and showed how love is but it’s as if my past resurfaced from the waters and told me how tragedies would always stay the same. That I would always end up this way no matter who I’m faced to. I felt guilty for slightly regretting that I praised your songs. Indeed you were meant to be connected with music and it’s your passion. I’m happy that I was able to show it to you but wouldn’t these happen if I didn’t start it all? I was wrong. I thought it made you happy but no. None of these made us happy. Your pieces of music weren’t to blame, I shouldn’t be blamed and neither were you. Where did everything go wrong? I don’t know, it just started to fall off. These lyrics were deeply engraved in my mind. You seemed so in love when I wasn’t able to show you what love is. If it was a person, she must’ve been so kind and understanding. She must’ve been someone who understood your secrets and feelings. And me? I couldn’t still get to you. I’m confused about what’s best for you or what you wanted all along. I don’t recognize the woman you’re writing about. Either it was the past me or someone new. Chris,

who is it that you’re in love with?

Cold air rushed through my skin as I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of calm air. It wasn’t possible but it was enough to make me feel calm. I still appreciated our moments but I feel like I can’t wait anymore, Chris. It’s not because I’m tired but because I feel like you’ll be better without me. I hate the idea of me regretting I showed you your passion. I’ll be nothing but a whole burden. You’ll meet someone better who recognizes your life and by then she’ll be a brave one who can communicate with you. You’ll find someone new, or you already did. If anything, happiness is all I need in the end, at least at the ends of the world. It did happen. I was happy because the next thing I’ll do will be the bravest thing I had ever done after all my cowardly decisions in life, and it’s all because of you.

I stood up at the top of the porch and imagined a vivid scenery. It was you kneeling down to someone new. She did accept it and you were celebrating. Tears ran down my cheeks but was I smiling? Yes, it was indeed happiness seeing you take a break from the pressure and realize you needed to receive joy. I wasn’t able to give it to you but to think someone else would, contrasted the happiness and pain. “It’s time to let go” I opened my eyes slowly as I thought and saw the moonlight. I snapped out of my thoughts and cleared out my head. Because no matter what happened in between us, you crossed my mind in a second. And that’s when I knew, I still loved you despite the bittersweet rain.

[CHRIS POV]

I heard sirens in front of the place that doesn’t feel like home anymore. Why? I heard how young and innocent the girl was and it was a pity to see her leave. It was a shock for me to the point that I hadn’t shed a single tear. Empty, hollow. It was all I could feel at the moment. Was she gone? Did she conclude to leave her out of my life?

Paper. That’s all I’ve seen on the desk. It’s prohibited to enter but I couldn’t believe what I’m seeing. The paper was crumpled and I believed you took the time to read this. Was my perspective wrong about you? Wasn’t this about you? I read the paper without further thinking and realized how I painted her as an angel. She is human, she was a human. Yet I’ve acted as if she was happy all the time, trying to save me from being a mess. Did I take a look back at her? No, instead I assumed too quickly. But what could that change? I was late and you’ve already given up. I was this close to preventing this but because I was so into writing a song made for you, I had forgotten the purpose to the point that it doesn’t seem like you anymore. Can I turn back time? If only I could. I needed to feel your warmth, I needed to see you one last time. I need you.

“Excuse me, do you know the victim?” A man from the authorities asked.

“Yes.”

Mixed emotions were vivid. I felt guilty but hoped you were happy in your last breath. The context of mines was complicated and I didn’t even notice it before. I abandoned to treat, as what I comprehend. Miscommunication rode the tides but it was undoubtedly true when I started to ignore people that surround me. I want to focus on you without realizing I left you. Is that even possible? It is now that I’ve seen it. Just like CDs, everything was played out in deja vu. People were different but things were just the same. It was how I became just like the person I despised all my life. But I did it for a reason, it’s not like I forgot about you. I just didn’t think how your feelings are right now but pursuing this song, is how I still remembered every bit of you. Would the ring I held on be given if I arrived earlier? No, I should’ve realized. I should’ve loved and made you feel how important you were to me in the days back then. In times you felt a hole in your chest, I should’ve been there to feel it up with love. I should’ve been there when you felt insecure. I should’ve been there when you felt all alone. But no matter how much I hurt myself, tear myself apart, it all ends with “I should’ve.” I’m sorry I couldn’t show you what I wanted to. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you until the very end.

I continued explaining to the man,

“She was my fiancée”

would you love me if I let go?

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vesuvian-american-fics · 3 years

Text

better with time. Ch 5

everything stays.

Everything stays, even the trauma you experienced 107 years ago. Battling pneumonia brought those memories back. The very beginning of the story. (AO3)

(PTSD[?] and needle/syringe mention)

Words: 1,577

You were jolted back to wakefulness as your head dropped onto the plush pillow of the infirmary bed rougher than Erwin had intended. You could tell not much time had passed since Hange was rushing frantically around the room in search of supplies and medicine.

Your breathing was shallow, hot panting breathes wheezed out of your throat painfully. The taste of iron fresh on your tongue. A sickening flavor you had hoped to never taste again after becoming human. You were afraid, after everything, were you really about to die over fever? Is it really just a fever, what is going on?!

Levi stood at the foot of the bed ordering Hange to calm down. Erwin checked your pulse; it was beating a mile a minute. You strained to slow your breathing and calm yourself, afraid of fainting again and not knowing what was going to happen next. Hange crouched beside you, petting your hair and comforting you. They were guiding your breathing to slow your pulse as Levi tied a string tightly around your arm, your veins appearing ready to be pricked underneath the skin.

That’s when you saw it. Hange raised a large needle into your field of vision. Your eyes bulged and you gasped loudly, shaking your head in protest so hard Levi worried you’d break your neck in the process.

“Relax,” Hange cooed, they explained it was just penicillin to help you get better. For whatever reason you had a deep, primal fear of needles. Flashes of your deepest darkest memories flashed. The very last memories you had as a human.

Your wrists were tied tightly behind your back but you fought against them relentlessly tearing your skin raw. You screamed and cried as a man walked behind you with a criminally large syringe filled with a cloudy liquid. You’d seen what it did. It was turning people into titans. You fought the best you could given your circumstances but you knew you weren’t making it out alive .

You begged and wept for forgiveness, you thrashed and kicked but, in the end, you felt that familiar prick in your shoulder. He just injected you with whatever that liquid was. Next was a harsh kick to your back and you were falling to the sandy dunes below. The last thing you saw was the late afternoon sun, birds flying, fluffy clouds painted orange. Men in military clothes laughing, others in rags crying as they feared that they would soon share your same fate.

A jarring crescendo and a firm calloused grip on your forearm brought you back to the present. Hange was mere inches away from sticking you with the needle. However, on instinct and pure animalistic fear you screamed and thrashed. A new wave of tears streamed down your face, you rippedyourself from their grip but before you could get away Erwin’s much stronger hands were weighing you down.

You continued to kick, scream, and howl, Hange couldn’t get the needle in your arm as Erwin couldn't hold you still enough. Suddenly, there was a swift swat at the back of your neck and you were engulfed in darkness again.

Your body went limp in Erwin’s hands, light bruising already apparent on your arms. He sighed, calming his fried nerves before frowning at Levi.

“Knocking her out won’t make her trust us.” He said, stepping out of the way so Hange could quickly administer the medicine.

“She would have given herself a heart attack if I didn’t.” Levi stated plainly, crossing his arms over his chest. Erwin could tell, by the way Levi’s brows were knitted together her was quite shaken up by what just happened. Levi’s eyes were glued to your closed ones, watching as your face twitched and frowned in your sleep. He sighed before stepping into the hallway, thoroughly ignoring the barrage of concerned questions from the young scouts.

“What the hell was that?!”

“What happened?”

“Is she alright?”

Levi continued his trek down the hall before shutting himself away in his office for well needed quiet time. He needed it for just a moment before going back there to keep an eye on you, who knows what state of mind you’ll be in when you wake up. He’ll need any rest he can get right now.

Hange collapsed into a chair in the corner of the infirmary, wiping sweat from their brow and letting their head fall back. They heaved a heavy sigh before wiping their eyes free of any of their own anxious tears. Breathing shakily, they stood to wet a rag with some cool water and lay it across your forehead.

Erwin placed a heavy hand on their shoulder, it did well to immediately comfort and reassure Hange.

“You did well. None of that was your fault.” He said, giving a knowing smile. Hange sighed patting their own hand over his before covering you with a thin sheet.

“Thank you.” Was all Hange replied with. Their mind was racing, true, but for now it's best to just breathe. You’re okay, and Hange is vowing to themself to do as much as they can while you’re out so that they can avoid triggering you any further.

Just before the sun rose the next morning you opened your eyes. Your whole body was sore like you had just ran a marathon. You groaned a bit before silencing yourself, sitting next to you was Captain Levi. Of course, he’d be the one to watch you, but right now he looked to be sound asleep.

Your eyes scanned over his relaxed face, lips slightly parted and looking soft. His breathing was slow and hushed, raven black hair fell haphazardly over his forehead but still looking perfect and tamed as usual. He had long black lashes that dusted over his cheekbones, you were so distracted at taking in the details you hadn’t noticed his eyes opened.

“It’s rude to stare brat.” Levi scolded smugly. You huffed before wincing at the pain in your neck. You reached back to massage there, noticing out of the corner of your eye how Levi’s features softened just a bit. So little you almost worried you imagined it.

“Turns out you had pneumonia.” He said, his dark eyes raking over your chart. He listed off your symptoms and any medicines Hange administered. That’s when the memory hit you like a ton of bricks.

You were screaming and fighting, the memory mortified you but you didn’t blame yourself or anyone for your reaction. No one else but that man who’s face you can't remember from over a century ago.

You sighed, rolling over and placing your face into the pillow and letting out a low moan. Levi chuckled silently.

“Drink this, its medicinal tea.” He said, holding a cup towards you in that odd way he does. You nodded and hummed as the warmth spread through you. You both sat there in a comfortable silence before a light knock sounded against the heavy wooden door.

Hange stepped through and their eyes glossed over seeing you awake. The two of you smiled at each other, and that smile of yours grounded Hange. So, you weren’t upset, thank goodness.

Hange pet your head, before apologizing for the syringe incident but you shook your head to stop them. You gave their hand a squeeze and there was mutual understanding. It was no one's fault. No one could have known that would happen. Again, your reassurance made any tension melt away from Hange’s shoulders and they released a trembling breath before clearing their throat and getting down to business.

“So, we’re dealing with pneumonia. Seems your immune system is weaker than normal probably since you’ve been a titan all these years. That damp moldy cellar did a number on your lungs.” They stated, you placed a hand over your chest, the familiar prickling of building anxiety present there.

You nodded for Hange to continue and they explained what your healing process would look like. It can take anywhere from a week to a month, but they’re predicting a slower recovery due to your compromised immune system. You sighed in defeat, but you expected this, at least you were alive.

“I’ll be watching so don’t try anything funny when you can walk again.” Levi said, feigning intimidation, but you could tell this was his way of trying to assure you’d feel better soon enough. You shook your head at him before returning you attention to Hange who had a pair of small white pills for you to swallow.

“Just a pain reliever.” They said with a smile. You chuckled, slightly embarrassed for being so skeptical but dutifully you swallowed and chased the medicine down with your hot tea.

“Erwin will be back with a special book for you to read, but for now rest up!” Hange exclaimed and with that, they were back out the door. You could hear them shooing away the scouts and answering any questions they could. Just as the door was closing, again you got a glimpse of those bright emerald eyes and the way they lit up when they saw you. It was nice hearing their concerns, you smiled to yourself before laying your head back down on your pillow.

Levi’s bored eyes locked on yours a moment before he turned away to drink a cup of his own steaming tea. And with that, you drifted off yet again. Resting well into the early afternoon .

#levi ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi #better with time.#aot #attack on titan #snk #ptsd #needle mention

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rosiehunterwolf · 3 years

Text

For the Romping and the Roaring- Part 3

My submission for Day 3 of @serpentfever's Inhuman Event!

Link to read on ffn.net (Recommended if you are on mobile or haven't read the previous parts yet)

Preview:

Dammit, this was all his fault! He was so pathetic, how had he let this happen?

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and he glanced up and caught sight of Borg standing outside his cell, staring at him.

“You almost messed up everything, you brat. I’m not going to forget that.”

The pain increased again, and Kai screamed, feeling his eyes roll back in his head as blackness swamped at the edges of his vision.

“Turn it down, I don’t want him passing out.”

The pain dropped suddenly, and Kai gasped in relief, tears streaming down his face. It wasn’t gone completely, though- there was still a faint buzzing emitting from the collar- not enough to be painful, but enough to put him on edge.

Enough to remind him that he wasn’t the one in control here.

(Full chapter under the cut)

Prompts Used: Chase, Dehumanized

Word Count: 9,206 (welp we're back to browser-crashing length again)

Rating: Definitely T, maybe like T+

Trigger Warnings: Dehumanization (obviously), Imprisonment, Torture, Attempted Murder, Drugs, Blood, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts (yeah… this one’s pretty heavy, guys. Probably the darkest thing i've ever written...)

Consciousness came slowly, as if the air around him was thick and sticky. A metallic tang filled his mouth, and his limbs felt weighted and heavy. Everything hurt, and Kai wanted nothing more than to just fall back into the comfort of sleep, but his head was throbbing too much to do so. Breathing slowly, he opened his eyes.

At first, he just saw more darkness, and he wondered if he had even opened his eyes at all. After a few minutes of just staring at the ceiling, though, enough light made its way to his eyes that he could make out the long, steel bars that made up the far wall. Shackles dug into his wrists, the chain only giving him enough room to move his hands up to a foot apart, and another restraint, around his right ankle, was attached to a chain a couple yards long that tied him to where it was bolted to the floor in the corner. His muzzle was gone, although there was a leather band strapped around his throat, almost like some sort of collar. The cell was completely empty except for a toilet in the corner, and a sorry excuse for a mattress against the back wall.

Groaning, he raised his hands and rubbed his face, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. Immediately, fluid rushed into his throat, and he choked, spitting and sending blood splattering all over the concrete. Running his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he felt the puncture wounds and realized that he must’ve bit down on it sometime when he had been unconscious. Coughing up the rest of the blood, he forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to ignore his stinging tongue.

When he had gotten his bearings a little better, he squinted, peering through the bars. In the cell across from him, Nya laid sprawled out on the floor, her chest rising and falling steadily as she slept. There was a nasty cut across her forehead, blood dripping into her eyes. Kai tasted the air, trying to catch the scent of any other injuries she might’ve had, but the scent of his own blood flooded his nostrils, blocking out anything else.

Against the back wall of the room, between their two cells, was the other occupied cell, where Lloyd was curled up on his mattress, the ashy gray color stained red beneath where his injured leg was stretched out. His chains were similar to the ones Kai and Nya had, although a significant amount shorter, so he could hardly even move around the cell.

Forcing himself to jerk his gaze away, he looked in the other direction. A few more cells stretched down the hallway, but they were all empty.

They were utterly alone.

The only sign of life in the place was the thin crack of light from underneath the door at the end of the hallway. Apart from that, though, the room was pitch black.

Kai leaned back against the wall with a huff. He had really done it now, hadn’t he? Gotten them all thrown in prison- they were likely either going to die or be kept here for the rest of their lives. There was no way that Borg would ever give them any freedom again, now that they knew too much.

There really was no escaping this one, was there?

Augh, if only him and Nya hadn’t had that stupid argument, they would be safe, back with the others right now.

Kai wondered how long they had been here. Had the others noticed their absence yet? Would they try to come after them?

As much as he wanted to be saved, wanted Nya and Lloyd to be safe, he really hoped they didn’t. The last thing he needed right now was the others being thrown in here with them. He hoped they ran far, far, away and never came back.

Kai wished for nothing more than to be back with them now, to feel one of Cole’s strong hugs, or Zane’s comforting presence, or even to hear one of Jay’s horrible jokes.

Kai buried his face in his knees and cried.

He just wanted to go home.

A soft moan sounded from across the room. “...Kai?”

Kai lifted his head briefly, meeting Nya’s tired, scared expression. “What?”

“What happened? Where are we?”

“Borg found us. He’s keeping us prisoner.” He lowered his face back into his knees, not even having the strength to hold his neck up anymore.

“Have you seen him yet? Borg?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to anyone yet? Has anyone come down here?”

“No.”

Sensing the frustration in his tone, Nya fell silent. He heard the rattle of chains as she paced around the cell. For a long time, that was the only sound he heard, and after a while, he laid, face up, on his mattress, the sound of the chains the only thing reminding him that he wasn’t alone down here.

It could’ve been minutes or hours later when a noise sounded from the other side of the room. Kai sat up, glaring.

The door on the far end swung open, and light washed into the room. Kai threw his arms over his face, hissing at the brightness of it. After only a moment, though, the light faded, and Kai lowered his arms to see the door had been shut again. Flashlights clicked on, shining down the hall, and Kai squinted, catching sight of two trainers, and a vet, none of whose names Kai could remember.

With them, was Borg.

Nya growled at him, gripping the bars of her cell. “What do you want with us?”

“What I wanted was for you to do as you were told,” Borg told her, shining the light in her eyes, “but you just had to go and mess that up, didn’t you.”

Nya blinked furiously at the harsh light, but didn’t back down. “You wanted us to stand by and do nothing as you killed Lloyd?”

“Certain words are not meant for certain ears, dear. You two shouldn’t have been there that night. You really did make things much, much more complicated than they needed to be.”

“Why did you do it,” Kai snapped. “Why did you ever shelter us in the first place if all you were going to do was kill us?”

“Not you,” Borg corrected. “Only the boy. He messed everything up. The rest of you were supposed to be incredibly useful.”

“Stop dodging the question.”

“Boy, I am not dodging anything.” He turned his flashlight’s beam on Kai, his face suddenly looking a lot more threatening than Kai had ever seen it. “You are the one avoiding the truth here. I didn’t ‘take you in’ from anywhere. I made you. You and your mutant friends are nothing more than a lab experiment.”

Kai fell back from the bars, breathing out heavily. He heard Nya gasp, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anything, just at the ground.

“The truth stings, doesn’t it? You aren’t anything special, you aren’t unique. You were merely a trial for what is to come.”

“A trial for what?” Nya growled.

“You and your friends have been plenty useful. You have been resources to study, to sample DNA from, a test to see if we could contain you before we started making the others.”

Kai blinked. “Others?”

“Of course. You and your friends obviously didn’t work out- and you’re all too far gone now.”

“I don’t understand,” Kai asked. “Why do you want more… more people like us? You obviously don’t care about us.”

“I care about what you can do. Imagine the potential- a legion of seemingly normal people, such as yourself- who can, in the blink of an eye, transform into an army of great beasts! People who could fly, who could cross great distances in the blink of an eye, those who could hear our enemies coming from a mile away, or who could wield the strength of ten men. I’d be unstoppable!”

Kai and Nya exchanged horrified glances. “You’re building an army? What for?”

“Kai, my dear boy. Borg Industries is powerful, but we cannot do whatever we please. We still have so many regulations, limitations, and surveillance. Biotechnology, such as what we have developed, could change the world. But the world is deeply rooted in tradition, afraid of change. They would shun us, sue us for our groundbreaking discoveries, when we deserved to be praised and cheered for. What we need is more power. And power never comes for free. True power is only won through brute force.”

“You’ll never get anyone to comply with that,” Kai hissed. “We’re not objects, we’re living, breathing beings. You can’t just bend that to your will.”

“Oh, but we will. In time, anything can be controlled. We just need to make a few altercations to our future experiments. Something you and your friends have made incredibly easy by being our test subjects over the last couple decades. Your kind is really quite fascinating, you know.”

Kai bared his teeth and roared at him, but Borg merely laughed. “See, the problem with you is that we made you too human. Too sentient. There needs to be some balance, of course- a wild animal is untamed, it has no master- but a human being has too many weaknesses, too many thoughts of rebellion and betrayal.” Narrowing his eyes at Kai, he added, “Something we found out the hard way.

“We got closer with the child- his instincts appeared to be less humane, and he didn’t cause so much of a fuss.” He paused, frowning. “That is, until a few weeks ago.

“I think where we went wrong with him was the species. An oni and a dragon- two of the most powerful creatures known to man- we thought he would have unspeakable power. And he did- but it was too much, too much to be contained.

“But he has been a valuable resource- we shall use what we have learned with him to create a somewhat less powerful species. This time, we will get it right.”

Nya hissed at him, and he scowled, leaning over and spitting on her.

“The child has been very useful, indeed, but he has served his purpose, now. We no longer have a use for him.” Gesturing to the vet with one hand, she stepped forward, the carefully wrapped parcel in her hands now visible as she, Borg, and the trainers walked towards Lloyd’s cage.

“No!” Kai roared, jolting to his feet and racing to the bars. “Get away from him!”

“It’s for your own good. This child could off you in your sleep, if he so wished.”

Time was moving in slow motion. The door of Lloyd’s cage swung open with an eerie creak, and they filed inside. The vet unwrapped the parcel, revealing a syringe filled with a blue liquid, and a long, pointed needle on the end.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch him!” Kai screamed, shaking at the bars of the cell. “You’re a deranged, psychotic, murdering bi-”

“Please, Dr. Borg, reconsider,” Nya whined, cutting off Kai’s violent string of curses. “We’ll be good, we’ll do what you want, just don’t kill him, please-”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Borg snapped. “We’re trying to work here. Nya, stop your sniveling, we know you’re not on our side. You’re no use to us anymore- Kai, stop trying to break through the bars, don’t you think we thought of that? Why do you think these cells are here in the first place? I had them made a while ago, as a precaution. They’re specifically tailored to counteract your special abilities. Nothing you do is going to break them.”

“I’ll kill you, I’ll find a way out of here and I’ll murder you-”

Borg sighed. “He’s losing it.” Turning to a trainer, he asked, “Turn it on, will you?”

The trainer pulled a small remote from his pocket, and turned a little dial.

Sharp, stinging pain shot through Kai’s neck, and he yelped, falling back from the bars and gripping at his neck- which was when he remembered the leather band there.

“I’m not-” he reached out, gasping as he wrapped a hand around one of the bars. “You’re not making me-”

The pain increased, and Kai doubled over, wheezing, his eyes watering. “Ahhh!”

“Kai!” Nya yelped. “Stop it, what are you doing to him?”

“Handy little device your trainers whipped up for you. Human shock collar. You like it? Except these things can deliver a lot more voltage than the kind people put on their dogs.”

“Stop it, please-” he moaned. Pins and needles were stabbing into his neck, the zinging reverberating down his spine.

“Do it, while he’s distracted.”

Kai pushed back against the pain, rolling his eyes up so that he could see Lloyd. The boy was still sleeping soundly on the mattress, although one ear was twitching slightly. Or maybe that was just the collar, vibrating him.

“Lloyd!” He screamed, the collar making his voice tremble. “Wake up, wake up, they’re going to-”

The pain increased tenfold, and Kai choked, falling to his knees. He gritted his teeth, and they chattered from the vibrations. He wasn’t giving up, he couldn’t-

“Lloyd!”

The roar ripped through the room, echoing off the walls and causing everyone in the room to flinch. Lloyd jerked awake, squealing as he caught sight of Borg and the needle. Leaping off of the mattress, he darted across the cell in a flash-

He stumbled with a squeak of pain as he tripped over his injured leg, tumbling to the floor. The trainers and Borg surrounded him, boxing him in as the vet approached slowly with the needle.

“Lloyd, fight! Fight back!”

Lloyd hissed in the vet’s face, fire shooting from his throat. The vet cried out, stumbling back. One of the trainers grabbed at him, and Lloyd whipped around, chomping down on her hand.

“He bit me,” she shrieked, pulling back. “The brat bit me, I’m probably going to get like, rabies or something!”

“You’ll be fine,” Borg snapped, “just stop him!”

Lloyd hissed in his face, jumping from the man’s hand as he reached for him-

Just as the vet stabbed the needle into his thigh.

Kai, Nya, and Lloyd screamed.

The pain from the shock collar barely registered anymore, the burning in his chest so much stronger. Kai gripped the bars of the cell, rage and fear and despair wracking his body so he didn’t even know how to function.

Borg had done it, he had killed him, he was gone-

Kai’s stomach heaved, and he turned away, throwing up across the concrete. How could this be happening, what had he done to deserve this, what had Lloyd done?

He hugged his knees to his chest, sobs shuddering through him, teeth rattling. He hadn’t even been able to save one person, he had failed everyone, Zane and Cole and Jay were going to hate him when they found out their baby brother was dead and Kai had done nothing to stop it-

Not that it mattered, it wasn’t like he was going to ever see them again.

Dammit, this was all his fault! He was so pathetic, how had he let this happen?

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and he glanced up and caught sight of Borg standing outside his cell, staring at him.

“You almost messed up everything, you brat. I’m not going to forget that.”

The pain increased again, and Kai screamed, feeling his eyes roll back in his head as blackness swamped at the edges of his vision.

“Turn it down, I don’t want him passing out.”

The pain dropped suddenly, and Kai gasped in relief, tears streaming down his eyes. It wasn’t gone completely, though- there was still a faint buzzing emitting from the collar- not enough to be painful, but enough to put him on edge.

Enough to remind him that he wasn’t the one in control here.

Not that Kai really cared anymore. Lloyd was dead. Nothing mattered.

Kai wanted to die.

---

Over the next few hours- days? minutes? he didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care- weariness dragged at Kai, but sleep wouldn’t come. No, sleep would be too easy, too peaceful. Instead, he laid awake, staring at the ceiling as darkness sapped at his limbs. He didn’t move to the mattress, just stayed on the floor. Maybe the coolness of the concrete could alleviate some of the raging heat storming inside of him.

Every once in a while, he mustered the strength to crawl over the toilet so he could throw up. He didn’t know why he bothered. Being hygienic didn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing mattered.

After the third time, though, he had thrown up everything his stomach had to give, and when his insides kept churning, he just rested his head on the side of the toilet and dry heaved.

“Kai,” Nya whispered after a minute of this. “Stop, you’re just going to make yourself sick again.”

“I don’t care,” he rasped, his throat dry and raw.

“Damn that, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“We’re all going to die down here eventually.”

She fell silent at that. She knew he was right.

“You’re scaring Lloyd, Kai. Don’t let him see you like this.”

“Are you delusional, Nya? Lloyd’s gone.”

“Not yet,” she whimpered. “It… it hasn’t kicked in yet. I guess it must take a while until… anyway, see for yourself.”

“I don’t want to. I’m scared.”

“He’s here, I promise you.”

“What if it’s too painful? I don’t want to see him if I’m just going to lose him in a few minutes.”

“What if you miss out on your only chance to see him one more time?”

Kai was quiet for a moment. Mustering all the strength he had left, he slowly turned over.

Lloyd was sitting at the edge of his cell, staring at him. He was smiling softly at Kai, but his eyes were fearful. Kai tried to ignore how his ears were drooping, how his tail hung limp, and his eyelids heavy with sleep, one he would never wake up from-

Kai broke into tears, and Lloyd churred softly, leaning against the bars as he reached his fingers through. Kai did the same, although there was still a gaping distance between them.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Kai choked through the tears. “I’m sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“‘s not your fault,”

“It’s not yours, either,” Nya told him. “None of this happened because of you. I want you to remember that, okay? Don’t… don’t think about that, now.”

Nya buried her face in her hands, whimpering. Lloyd leaned his face on the bars. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, bud,” Kai whispered. “More than you will ever know.”

---

Sleep found him eventually- that, or lack of fluids caused him to pass out. Either way, some time had passed by the time he drug his eyelids open again.

Squinting, he realized there were people standing in front of Lloyd’s cell. Sounds filtered in slowly, taking a moment to come through clearly.

“-don’t understand, why hasn’t it kicked in yet? He should’ve stopped breathing long ago.”

“I’m not sure. This should have worked. It might have something to do with his lineage, I suppose- perhaps his genes grant him extra immunity to fight back against it.”

“That seems logical. He definitely seems very drowsy and sluggish, so it obviously had some effect on him-”

“But not the one we wanted,” a third voice snapped. As consciousness came fully, he connected the voice to Borg. “Apparently he’s immune to euthenasia drugs, now? What next? This is only more proof of what I’ve been saying- he’s becoming more dangerous. We should’ve killed him right away, that first night, when we had the chance.”

“It’s alright, sir, we still have time. He’s not going anywhere, down here. We can develop a stronger serum.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“With the right blood samples from him, I can be confident of it.”

“How soon can you have it ready?”

“A few days, a week- it’s hard to tell until I start.”

“Fine. But it better work this time. Or you’re fired.”

“You have my word, sir.”

Footsteps echoed past his cell, then down the hall. The sound of the door swinging shut determined they had left. Kai sat up immediately.

“Nya! Did you hear that?”

“It didn’t work,” she breathed. “He’s going to be okay!”

“For now. How long do you think it’s going to take them to make the new drug?”

“If I know Borg, I wouldn’t bet on long. We have to find a way out of here before we actually do lose him.”

“But how?” He breathed out, falling back against the wall. “We’re trapped here. The securative measures aren’t exactly light. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Nya was quiet for a moment. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I sure hope so.”

Nya turned towards Lloyd’s cell, pressing her face against the bars. “How’re you doing, Lloydster?”

Lloyd murmured sleepily at her, and she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it didn’t kill him, but I hope it doesn’t make him sick.”

“Yeah. It seems like he’s just tired, but who knows.”

The door swung open again, and the two shied back from the light. Two people shuffled in, both unfamiliar, and Kai eyed them warily.

They were young, probably not much older than Cole. Kai was surprised that Borg was even letting them know that Kai and the other hybrids existed, not to mention letting them in their cell block alone.

The male stretched out his hand as he passed, letting his knuckles clack against the bars eerily.

“What do you want,” Kai snapped.

“Chill out, mutant boy, I’m here to feed you.”

Just at the mention of food, Kai’s stomach rumbled. His mouth watered, and against his will, he found himself leaning towards the man. He hadn’t eaten- or drank- anything since the morning of their capture- which, although he had no idea how much time had passed, felt like forever ago. He had even considered drinking out of the toilet at one point, but had decided he wasn’t that desperate.

Yet.

The man laughed at his expression. “Check it out, Em. They really are like animals.”

Kai clenched his teeth, surging up to the bars. “Listen, you punk, you don’t know-”

He was interrupted as his shock collar went off, screaming with pain as he rolled to his knees, frothing at the mouth. He heard shrieks from Nya and Lloyd too, but he was in too much pain to move. The rusty hinges of his cell door screeched as the man entered, laying two metal bowls by the wall. He felt his arms get tugged back, metal cuffs clicking around them. He wanted to kick and hiss at the man, hurt him while he was still within distance, but the pain from the collar stopped him.

There was a dry, rattling sound as the man filled his bowls, then exited the cell, locking the door firmly. Then, finally, the pain dropped away.

“What was that for,” he rasped, his voice still raw from the sudden shock.

“Couldn’t have you fighting back, could we?”

Kai grimaced. He glanced over at Nya and Lloyd and saw they had been cuffed too. “Why do we need handcuffs to eat? Isn’t that sort of counterintuitive?”

“Borg says you’re feisty. Doesn’t want to take the chance of you using anything that’s not bolted down to your advantage. Or to try and kill yourself. He wants to keep you around for a while yet, in case he needs to do any more testing.”

“You think I could escape- or kill myself- with a bowl?”

“You’d be surprised what people can do when they’re desperate. Now, eat up- unless you want to be handcuffed the rest of the night.”

Kai turned to the bowls, squinting at them. One was filled with a gritty-looking water that didn’t seem much more appealing than the toilet water. The other was filled with small, hard, brown pellets.

“What is this, dog food?” Nya scoffed.

The woman smiled. “That’s exactly what it is, sweetheart. What, you weren’t expecting a five-course meal, were you?”

“You can’t seriously expect us to eat this!”

“Would you rather have no food?” The woman asked sweetly. “I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Nya went quiet, but her nose wrinkled as she stared down at the food.

Kai sighed. As unappetizing as it was, it beat the horrible hunger pangs, or passing out from dehydration. He went to reach for the bowl-

Then he remembered the handcuffs.

“How the hell are we supposed to eat with our hands tied behind our backs?”

The guy smiled wickedly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, kitty.”

Kai felt his face turn bright red. They wanted them to eat from the bowl like dogs. This was humiliating.

But he was so hungry. He didn’t know when the next opportunity for food would come.

Leaning down, he scooped up a mouthful of the pellets. They were gritty and sour, one of the worst things Kai had ever tasted in his life, but at this point he didn’t care. He could hear the man and woman who had brought the food laughing and jeering behind him, and he tried to ignore it. It was this, or starve.

After he had finished the food, he burped at the awful taste, trying to suppress the urge to throw it all up. But he forced himself to lick the sides of the bowl, getting every bit of food he could scrounge.

The dry, salty taste of the dog food had only worsened his thirst now, and by this point he didn’t care how dirty the water looked, setting upon it with frantic laps of his tongue. He immediately found it to be much harder than eating. Water dribbled down his chin, so by the time the bowl was empty, his front side was soaked and only about half of the liquid had actually been swallowed. The man and woman got a kick out of that, joking that he had wet himself. Kai had never felt worse than this in his life. He would rather take the pain from the shock collar. He had wanted to go hide behind the toilet for the rest of the night, but knew that would only make the teasing worse.

After what seemed like forever, Nya and Lloyd finally finished their meals and the man and woman turned their attention away from Kai. The shock collars were turned on again, and Kai was once again helplessly paralyzed with pain as the man came in and removed his handcuffs, put the more flexible shackles back on, and took away the bowls. When the cell doors were locked, the shock collars were turned off. Kai forced himself to stay still until the man and woman were gone, but as soon as the room’s door was shut, he collapsed into a ball, hugging himself and shivering.

No one spoke for a long time after that, letting him know that he wasn’t the only one deeply disturbed by their experience.

Kai’s sleep was broken and feverish that night, filled with dreams of him, Lloyd, and Nya locked up in a giant kennel. Children kept peering in, poking their fingers at them and barking at them. They dressed him up in bows and made him do tricks, laughing and giving him dog treats when he complied, and zapping him with the shock collar when he didn’t.

He burst awake in a cold sweat, crying with relief when he realized it had just been a dream.

He didn’t fall asleep again after that, even though his whole body felt heavy with exhaustion.

The next time the door opened, he scrambled back from the light, hissing. His head was aching, and the darkness offered the only sort of comfort right now.

But he was ignored, four trainers walking past his and Nya’s cages and towards the one on the end. Instantly, Kai was at the bars, watching them carefully with bared teeth. If they tried to pull something again-

Well, what was he going to do? He was helpless in here.

Glancing over, he saw a pair of yellow-green eyes glowing in the darkness and knew that Nya was watching, too.

The door of Lloyd’s cage slowly creaked open, and a pair of trainers slipped in. Lloyd hissed at them as they approached, and they stopped. Slowly, one of the trainers reached out, and Lloyd snapped at his hand, and he yanked it away, barely escaping unscathed.

The other trainer grabbed an object from his pocket that Kai recognized as the remote to the shock collars, and Kai immediately shied back, trembling as he remembered the pain.

“Behave, mutant,” the trainer with the remote snapped. “Or we will not hesitate to turn this on.”

Lloyd looked at the remote with wide eyes, his ears pressed flat against his head. Kai had been in some of the worst pain of his life the previous night- or whenever it had been, his internal clock had been all thrown off by the dark dungeon- and Lloyd was less than half his size. He didn’t want to think about how hard it must’ve been on his little body.

Reaching down, the other trainer in the cell clipped something onto his collar, then unfurled it. It was a blue, leather leash.

The trainer with the remote pulled a key out of his pocket and crouched down next to Lloyd. He hesitated, giving him a pointed glare. “Remember, no funny business.” Swiftly, he unlocked the chain around his leg.

Lloyd bolted, immediately falling to the floor as the trainer switched on the collar. Lloyd whimpered, writhing, and Kai growled, “Stop!”

A trainer outside of the cage whipped around. “Be quiet, or we won’t hesitate to turn yours on, too.”

“Turn it off,” another one said. “He needs to have strength to walk.”

Lloyd fell still, chest heaving as the collar deactivated. “You’re not going anywhere, pet,” the trainer with the leash scoffed, giving the leash a sharp tug for emphasis. “So don’t even try.”

The trainers filed out of the cage, tugging Lloyd none-to-genly behind them.

“What are you going to do to him?” Kai growled. “Where are you taking him?”

“Your little mutant has proven to be quite stubborn,” one of the trainers scowled. “But our vets are some of the best out there. With only a few blood samples, we’ll have a strong enough drug, don’t you worry.”

“He’s lost too much blood already,” Kai hissed. “You can’t do that.”

“What does it matter to us if he passes out? The creature is of no value to us- in fact, that would only make our job easier.”

Kai roared at her, and a sharp jolt zapped through him. He glared at the trainers. “It’s going to take more than that to quiet me.”

“Careful. If you cause too much trouble, we might zap the little guy, too.”

Kai snapped his jaws shut, his gaze drifting to Lloyd, who was struggling to his feet as the collar tugged tightly at his neck.

“Come on, pet,” the trainer holding Lloyd’s leash demanded. “We don’t have all day.”

Lloyd stumbled after him, but after only a few steps, his bad leg gave out and he tumbled to the floor, crying out.

“Get up!” The trainer yanked on the leash, jolting Lloyd towards him.

“Stop it, he can’t walk on that leg!” Nya cried. ��It’s still injured!”

“Then crawl,” the trainer snapped, kicking him forward, and Lloyd jerked onto his hands and knees, shuffling after the trainers slowly.

Kai watched him pass, his ears flattened and his tail tucked between his legs as he was yanked along by the leash, and felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach. This wasn’t right, it was humiliating and a blatant disregard of dignity.

He didn’t understand how he had gone so long in Borg Tower without realizing the signs. How they had always been viewed as lesser, as objects for Borg’s use. No one had ever cared about them. All the toys, the trinkets, the gadgets, the outings- had been nothing but a trick to make them feel like they were worth something.

Nya had been right. As soon as they got out of here, Kai was gonna let Lloyd be whoever he wanted to be, and not make him change for anybody.

If they got out of here.

Kai crawled into the corner of his cage and curled up in a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the depressing thoughts raging around in his head. He couldn’t afford to listen to them right now, right now he was just trying to focus on not throwing up. He didn’t know how long it would be until they next got food or water.

He was faintly aware of the shivers wracking his body, and wondered if he was coming down with something. He wouldn’t be surprised- he hadn’t consumed anything but dog food and stale water since they had been here, and had been wearing the same crusty clothes the whole time, too. There hadn’t even been a sink provided in the cage, not that it would do much to help him without soap, anyway.

Just another problem to add the list, he supposed.

It was funny how, before they had been captured, he had been so resentful and stressed about their situation, thinking it was one of the worst times of his life.

He would give pretty much anything to have those problems back, now.

---

“It’s been twelve hours since they were supposed to be back,” Jay yelped, pacing back and forth, his footsteps echoing sharply with an unusual agitation. “Even if something had happened, they would’ve come back by now, or at least called us.”

“They could’ve ran out of minutes,” Cole rationalized. “These damn prepaids don’t last very long.”

“But why wouldn’t they come back? Kai and Nya would never worry us like this, not unless they didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I know.” Cole ran his fingers through his hair. “But maybe they escaped. Maybe they ran and didn’t want to risk leading anyone back here.”

“I hope you’re right. If anything’s happened to them-” his lip quivered, and he looked away as tears pricked his eyes.

“Jay, it’s going to be okay.” Cole reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to find them.”

“You can’t promise that,” Jay barked, flinching away.

“No. But I’m going to do everything in my power to try. They’re our family, Jay. Family doesn’t give up on family.”

“I know,” Jay sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “I’m just scared.”

Cole wrapped his hands around him, letting Jay bury his face in his shoulder. “Me too, bud. Me too.”

Jay and Cole jumped nearly a foot in the air as the door swung open, and Cole let out a breath of relief as he realized it was only Zane.

“Did you find anything?”

Zane shook his head. “No sign of them anywhere. I even asked a few of the shopkeepers- as many as I could without raising suspicion, anyway- by showing them a photo I had. A few of them thought they looked familiar, but no one was able to tell me where they went or if they had seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“We have to do something,” Jay insisted. “If they’re being held hostage somewhere, who knows what they’ll do to them.”

“What can we do?” Cole asked. “I want to do something as much as you do, but we don’t have anywhere to start. We don’t even know where they are.”

“Maybe not,” Zane admitted, “but we can make an educated guess. The most likely reason that Kai and Nya have not gotten back to us is that they were captured. There are two main parties most likely responsible. Borg Industries- and the Ninjago City Police.”

Jay frowned. “How do we know the police are against us?”

“We don’t. But we can’t entirely clear them yet, either. If they found out Kai, Nya, and Lloyd’s secret, they could possibly see them as a threat and lock them up.”

“But if hybrids like us are such a rare thing, the news would be all over this if the police had discovered them,” Cole pointed out. “We’re basically living under a rock in here, but you would’ve seen something, like on TV or somewhere, when you went out, wouldn’t you have?”

“Fair point. So we can most likely conclude that it was Borg that found them.”

Jay put his head in his hands. “Last time we saw Borg, he wanted to kill Lloyd. If we’re going to do something, we better hurry.”

“Where do you think he’s keeping them?” Cole asked. “Borg Tower?” “That feels too simple,” Jay muttered. “He knows that’s the first place we’d look. But at the same time, I have no idea where else they would be.”

“We can’t just storm the building,” Zane argued. “There’s only three of us. Even with our enhanced abilities, it would never be enough to get through Borg’s headquarters. If we even knew where to begin looking for them, that is. Borg Tower isn’t exactly small.”

“What options do we have?” Jay whined. “We can’t afford to waste any time. We have no idea what Borg could be doing to them right now. And, besides, even if we could wait a while, it’s not like we’re magically going to gain more allies or anything.”

“We need to come up with some sort of plan,” Zane insisted, “Otherwise we’re going to end up getting captured too, which won’t help anyone.”

“You’re both right. We can’t go in without a plan, but we can’t afford to wait, either. And no one’s going to have an epiphany just sitting around here thinking. If we’re going to make a plan that’ll work, we need more information.”

“How do you suggest we get it?” Zane frowned.

“We sneak down and scope out Borg Tower. We don’t breach it, just observe what we can from afar.”

Jay glanced at him skeptically. “You really think we’ll be able to find out much like that?”

“Does anyone else have any better ideas?”

No one said anything.

“Then it’s settled. That’s what we’re doing.”

“When do we set out?” Jay asked.

“I would like to leave as soon as possible, but it’s just too risky. If we don’t want to get caught, we should wait until the cover of dusk is on our side. I also don’t think we should risk taking the bus at all, and it’s a few hours walk to Borg Tower. We’ll leave here late afternoon.”

Zane and Jay exchanged glances, nodding. “Do you want us to do anything, Cole?”

“I dunno. Grab something to eat, get some rest if you can. I have no idea how long this is going to take. Pack up the bare essentials, just in case we’re not able to come back.

“Come this afternoon, be ready. We’re going to get our family back.”

---

Cole stared up at the looming skyscraper in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest.

This was it. They were here.

“Keep walking, Cole,” Zane whispered from behind him. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

Cole picked up the pace, falling into step behind Jay, and melting into the crowd of passersby around them.

“What do we do now?” Jay whispered back to him.

“Just keep an eye out for-” Cole stopped, his gaze drifting towards the front doors of Borg Tower.

“What is it?”

“Over there,” he hissed, nodding sideways in the direction. Two people, emerging from the doors of Borg Tower, whom Cole didn’t recognize, but noticed the familiar outfits of the caretakers, had slung garbage bags over their shoulders, and were heading towards the back to toss them out.

“It might not be much, but it’s as good a place as any to start,” he whispered. “Let’s go!”

Subtly slipping past the citizens, he darted around the side of Borg Tower, Zane and Jay on his heels.

He froze in place as the muffled voices of the caretakers came into view. They were close. But not close enough. He needed to get closer if he wanted to be able to listen in.

If only Kai were here. Where was the guy with superhearing when you needed him?

If only they were all here. Cole just wanted them to be safe. He didn’t know what he would do if they found them and one or more of them were already gone.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, he had a job to do.

“Transform,” he whispered to the others. “You’ll be smaller, and easier to hide that way.”

With a flash, the three boys were gone, and a badger, a labrador, and a falcon stood in their place.

Crouching low to the ground, Cole edged around the corner.

The caretakers were hauling the trash bags into a dumpster a little ways down. Jay dropped down onto his belly and wriggled under the dumpster in front of them, Cole and Zane squeezing under after him, with considerable more difficulty.

“-giving us a lot of trouble,” the voices filtered in as they got within earshot. “I can’t wait until this whole thing is over and done with.”

“Have they gotten any closer with the drug yet?” the male voice asked.

“Somewhat, I think.” A second voice, the female. “They’re gathering a lot of blood from the kid, which seems to be helping, but it still could take up to a week.”

“What about the older ones? What’s he going to do with them?”

“Borg wants to keep them alive, for now, to see if they can give him any clues to where the rest of them are. I’m not so sure, though- they’re both very stubborn. I think they’d rather die than give up any information. Especially the lion one- he doesn’t seem like he’s gonna last much longer. We can hardly get him to eat anything.”

Cole clenched his teeth, biting back the shuddering breath. So they had been right. Borg did have their friends.

And, from the sounds of it, they were running out of time to save them.

“Do you have the key?” The female snapped. “We can’t have anyone breaking in here.”

“Here.” There was a jangle of metal as the padlock was locked, and then footsteps came sharply towards them. Cole shrunk back, watching their feet cautiously as they passed.

“Why would they need to lock a dumpster?” Jay whispered.

Zane’s eyes glinted. “The only logical solution is that there’s something in there they don’t want anyone to see. They must be hiding evidence. We need to see what’s in those garbage bags.”

“Zane, wait-” Cole hissed, but the falcon was already slipping out from under the dumpster where they were hiding, and over to the one the caretakers had put the bags in.

Jay let out a whine, and Cole crept forward, so he could peer out at Zane. The falcon was perched on top of the dumpster, sticking a talon into the lock as he jiggled it. The clanking of metal echoed threateningly through the air.

“Zane, stop,” he begged. “We can’t let them catch us, we have to wait until we know for sure they’re-”

“What the- I knew I heard something back here!”

Cole cringed back, and Jay yelped beside him as the man’s feet came into view. Cole quickly shushed him. The man had only seen Zane. Revealing themselves as well would only make it easier for him to connect the dots about who they were.

“Shoo, pest, shoo!” The man cried, running towards Zane but still keeping a respectable distance from the large bird of prey. Zane squawked, and Cole heard a flutter of feathers that he hoped was Zane flying away.

“What’s going on, Jake-” the woman called, her footsteps hurrying over and halting abruptly. “Holy shit! Is that a falcon?”

Cole cringed. It didn’t take a genius to know that falcons weren’t native to Ninjago City.

“It’s him!” she cried. “The falcon. It has to be! Quick, catch him!”

Cole shuffled forward as the two scuffled after Zane, who was shrieking and squawking as he flapped just above their heads.

C’mon, Zane, get them out of here-

The woman jumped up, catching his wing in her grasp, and yanked, sending a handful of tawny feathers flying. Zane screeched in pain, falling to the ground.

Jay yelped behind him, and before Cole could stop himself, he shot out from under the dumpster, and latched his jaws around the woman’s shoe.

She screamed, attempting to shake him off. “The other one’s here too! It’s got me, it’s got me, get it off!” She kicked, hard, and Cole went tumbling off her foot, right in front of the man, who raised his foot to deliver a kick-

The man stumbled backwards as something jerked at his leg. A yellow lab was sinking his teeth into his pant leg, holding him back. Releasing it, he barked loudly, running circles around the man as he tried to land a hit on the small dog. But Jay was too fast.

On his other side, Zane was struggling to his feet, oblivious of the woman running up behind him. Dashing past the falcon, there was a flash, and suddenly Cole was five feet taller, and punching the woman in the face with very human knuckles. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The man cried out as he tripped over Jay, and before he could blink, the dog was gone, and Jay was pinning him to the ground with a foot.

The man’s face dissolved into panic as Cole approached him. “Please, don’t hurt me, I won’t tell them about you, I promise.”

Cole paused, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Don’t do it, Cole,” Zane urged, now no longer a bird, and sitting on the floor. “He’s lying. He’ll run right back to them and we’ll be captured before the day is up.”

“I swear, I won’t!” the man begged. “I needed this job! I was told it was such a great opportunity, I had no idea what I was getting into! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Rich that you’re having a change of heart now,” Jay snorted. “You didn’t seem too concerned about us a minute ago.”

“Please, let me go, if they find me here and figure out I let you escape, they’ll kill me! I have a family!”

Cole glanced at the others. Jay looked uncertain. Zane looked angry. “I still say he’s bluffing.”

Cole glanced down at the man. The terror in his eyes was real, that was for sure. Relenting, he breathed out, taking a step back. “That may be so, but we’re not like them. Jay, let him go.”

Jay looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Slowly, Jay moved his foot, and the man bolted to his feet. Cole reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before he could slip away. Pulling him close, Cole gave him the hardest glare he could muster.

“If I let you go, you’re gonna run. Run as far away from here as you possibly can, and never come back. If you rat us out to anyone- anyone, Borg worker or otherwise- I will personally track you down and find you. And I’ve got the best tracker in the whole city on my side, so I won’t fail. Is that clear?”

The man nodded frantically, his eyes wide. His voice came out a squeak. “I swear on my life, I won’t tell a soul.”

“You better not.” And, with barely a beat of hesitation, Cole released him.

The man was gone in the blink of an eye.

“I hope I didn’t just blow it,” he breathed.

“I can’t tell you if that was the right decision or not,” Jay said, “but you were right about one thing. We’re not like them. If he tells anyone, he’s the scum, not you.”

“I know this sounds dumb, but I don’t think he will. I just had… a feeling.”

“Feelings and survival don’t mix,” Zane snapped.

Cole turned to him, where he still sat on the ground. “I’m sorry, buddy, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“I’m not blaming you, I just don’t trust him,” he muttered, pulling his leg closer to his body with a wince.

Debate forgotten, Cole started forward. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“Just pulled out a few feathers, nothing serious. But I think I landed badly on my ankle.”

Cole crouched down, tracing his fingers along his ankle. Zane flinched back, grimacing.

“Sorry. Does it hurt bad?”

“Yeah. I think it might be sprained.”

“Hey, guys?”

“Not now, Jay. Do you think we could-”

“Guys!” Jay cried. “This isn’t really something that can wait!” Cole glared back at him. “What?”

Jay held up a small, black device. Cole squinted at it, adjusting his glasses. “What’s so important about that?”

“It’s a pager, Cole. It fell out of the caretaker’s pocket. If she used it, there’s probably Borg employees on their way here right now!”

“Shit,” he muttered. “We gotta get out of here.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say!”

“Cole, I don’t think I can walk,” Zane admitted. “You two should go without me.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Cole fumed. “We’re family, we don’t leave each other behind!”

“I’ll only slow you down.”

Muffled shouts and harried footsteps came from somewhere nearby. Jay whipped towards them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hurry, guys, they’re coming!”

“Get on my back,” Cole demanded. “Now.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m going to carry you. Now, hurry!”

Jay helped Zane to his feet, and his friend slipped his hands around Cole’s neck, wrapping his legs around his waist. He had only just about gotten into place when Cole took off running, Jay on his heels.

The lab hybrid quickly overtook him, sniffing the air and leading them down a maze of alleys and backroads. He glanced back at them, his gaze nervously darting to something behind him. Cole didn’t even dare look back.

“Hurry, Cole! They’re getting closer!” “I’m running as fast as I can,” he huffed, although he forced himself to put on a burst of speed.

“Cole…”

“I swear, Zane, if you ask me to leave you behind one more time, I will punch you in the face.”

Zane fell quiet after that, but Cole could still feel his reluctance.

“Cole, watch out, they’ve got-” Jay’s warning was cut off with a yelp as a net came hurling through the air towards them, snagging Jay’s leg.

“-net launchers!” he finished.

“Jay!” “Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’ll be out in a second-”

Cole gritted his teeth, and kept running, even as he passed him.

“Jay, hurry!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jay called a moment later, already at his side again. “But they’re getting closer! This isn’t working!”

“Stop running!” A voice called from behind them, over a megaphone. “You will not evade capture. You are only making the consequences worse for yourself. Give up now, and you will be shown mercy!” “Sorry, but last time Borg showed us ‘mercy,’ we barely escaped with our lives,” Cole retorted.

“They’re right, though,” Jay murmured. “We’re never going to be able to outrun them! We need a new plan.”

“Well, we don’t have another plan.”

“I might have one. Keep running, stick to the left roads, that’ll take you out of town.”

Cole snatched his wrist before he could dart away. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m gonna distract them. Lead them somewhere else so you guys can get away.”

“Will you two stop trying to sacrifice yourself,” Cole growled, “For five minutes?”

“I’m not sacrificing myself! I know these streets. I’m faster and more cunning than either of you. I can get away, if I’m on my own. I have no intention of getting caught, trust me.”

“It’s too risky. We’re not splitting up.”

“But-”

“Cole’s right, Jay. We already are down three members, and it’s going to be a whole lot harder to save them if there’s only two of us left.”

“I told you, I won’t get caught!”

“You can’t promise that,” Cole argued. “You’re staying with us, end of discussion.”

“Then what other plans you got, badger boy?”

Cole didn’t look at him.

“Over there!” Zane pointed. “Down that alley, about one hundred feet down, there’s a path hidden behind those vines.”

“What?” Jay snapped. “No there isn’t!”

“Are you forgetting who has falcon-vision here?” Zane retaliated.

“Just do it,” Cole hissed. “It’s not like we have a wide range of options, here!”

They darted down the alley Zane had pointed them down, and Cole scanned the wall for anything unusual. “Where is it?”

“Keep going,” Jay pressed, “We need to get through it before they round the corner or they’ll just follow us in!”

“Right there!” Zane pointed.

Following his finger, Cole caught sight of a patch of vines, the brick crumbling away behind it.

“Jackpot, Zane!” Cole cheered.

Jay scrambled through first, holding back the vines as Cole maneuvered through more carefully, trying to account for Zane. As soon as they were through, Jay yelped, “Go, go, go!” Cole’s lungs were killing him by this point, but he didn’t hesitate to race after him. He would be stupid to belive they were safe now. Already, he could hear the angry shouts of the Borg security officers behind them, and knew it wouldn’t be long before they found the broken wall.

But it had given them a moment. And, right now, they needed every moment they could get.

“What are… what are we going to do now?” Cole wheezed.

“We can’t keep this up,” Zane frowned, watching him with concern. “You can’t keep running forever. Not even Jay.”

“We need help,” Jay panted. “We can’t do this on our own.”

“Who’s going to help us?” Cole huffed. “We’re alone. Nobody has our backs in this.”

“I don’t know, maybe we can go ask someone. Those are houses over there, right? Maybe someone will agree to hide us.”

“They’ll probably think we’re escaped criminals, bozo. No one’s gonna agree to hide some random fugitive.”

“Well, what other choice do we have?”

“I… may have an idea,” Zane said quietly.

They looked at him expectantly, but he hesitated. “Well?” Jay yipped. “Are you going to tell us, or not?”

“You’re not going to like it… but there is somewhere we could go.”

Jay threw up his hands. “We don’t have time for this Zane, they’re gonna find us any minute! Just get to the point!”

“We could go… to the police.”

#ninjago #NinjagoInhumanAuWeek #For the Romping and the Roaring #R&R #Part 3 #oof yeah i definitely cried writing this #hopefully it wasn't too angsty for y'all #it wasn't originally going to be this bad i swear #it just kind of... got away from me 😅#rosie writes #my fic

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atrwriting · 2 years

Text

Strategy // Draco x oc -- Ch. 34

Click here for the AO3 reading layout.

Click here for the series masterlist.

xxxiv. portus

portus (POR-tus): turns an object into a portkey

* * *

OH GODS.

Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods.

What the fuck was Alexandra going to do?

What in the actual fuck could we do to remedy the situation at hand?

Not only had she returned his kiss, she had gotten in his bloody lap and only Gods know how far she would've actually gone with her client, of all bloody people, depending on where his fingers traveled to.

Unfortunately, Draco was right. Draco, his mother, and Alexandra had all received an owl from the Ministry expecting their attendance before the clock had struck midday. They had all apparated separately to the Ministry and had met each other in the reception room outside of the Minister's office.

While Alexandra's anxiety weighed heavily on her, she pushed it aside in order to perform what little duties she had left as the representative of the Malfoy's before she sullied her entire privilege to be an officer of the Wizengamot.

And, Gods, Draco looked more than presentable that morning. He appeared for their meeting a dark black suit with his white hair styled up. Scabs had formed over, already giving the inkling that they would scar, but they did not upset the chiseled angles that were his cheekbones or jawline.

Chiseled? She spat in her head. I should bloody Avada myself right now.

"Narcissa," Alexandra began softly. "I fear that today is the day that they will escort you to Azkaban."

The older woman nodded with a sad smile playing at her lips. "I believe you are right, Alexandra. A deal is a deal, wouldn't you say?"

Alexandra returned the nod. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, dear," Narcissa rasped, forcing a smile with tears beginning to well in her eyes. "You helped my son, that is enough."

Alexandra swallowed and refused to look at her other client. "Let us join the Minister."

Alexandra had lead their way through the doors to his office and came face to face with Minister Weasley, Harry, and Ron already at the boardroom table. Their eyes looked up with a new found relief that Alexandra guessed that Draco had provided, but heaviness still weighed in their gazes.

"Please, sit," Minister Weasley spoke.

The three of them took their seats on the right side of the Minister with Harry and Ron across from them on the other side. Minister Weasley ceased flipping through papers, tucked the file away, and turned to look at Draco.

"I am very impressed with your work, Mr. Malfoy," Minister Weasley stated with an unwavering stare.

Draco swallowed. "Thank you, Minister Weasley."

"You are welcome, Draco," Minister Weasley spoke. "While I would have you begin your training early, I believe, as per the agreement we made, I am going to have to ask for your wand at this moment."

Draco clenched his jaw twice as he stared back at the Minister before reaching into his pocket and pulling the magic instrument from concealment. Draco gazed longingly at his wand, the wand that had caused so much evil months prior, with its newest success being the detainment of the people that had once been his friends but now were his enemies. The wand was better than he was, so with a sigh, he extended it towards Minister Weasley to take.

"Is Rodolphus still at large?" Draco suddenly asked, letting his wand fall into Minister Weasley's grasp.

Minister Weasley pressed his lips into a firm line. "I'm afraid so, unfortunately."

Draco nodded.

Minister Weasley then turned to Narcissa. Narcissa had opted for her darkest and plainest robes that day, not wanting to let any of her other robes sit in a shoebox in any Ministry file room. She wore her trademark red lipstick with her hair twisted back and returned the heavy stare that her old classmate had given her.

"I believe it is my turn to hold up my end of the bargain," Narcissa stated, standing up from her seat and placing her wand on the table.

The two Aurors followed in suit with a look of wariness with the slightest bit of regret. Narcissa kept her gaze trained forward on the parallel wall as Harry and Ron walked around the table. Facing Narcissa's back, Harry pulled Magical Handcuffs from his pocket and clasped them around her wrists.

Narcissa Malfoy, strong as ever, did not let her gaze falter. She refused to look at the ground, but allowed herself to clench her jaw and keep her painted lips tightly shut. She rolled her shoulders back as Harry and Ron began to lead her out of the boardroom.

And she had fully planned on leaving that way, too, but she couldn't help herself before she cast her eyes over the face of her son. Her son, who had come home last night intoxicated and with marks on his face, rambling about how he couldn't protect Alexa, and eventually engulfing his mother in a tight hug when he realized it was their last night together. His eyes, while masking most of his emotion, looked as in despair as they were last night. Narcissa wanted to stay there in that moment forever, just staring at her son. She thought about what potential he had... and if he would be able to do anything with it without either parent.

A chance, was all Narcissa thought.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Narcissa immediately turned her head when she passed Alexandra and rasped, "take care of my son, please, Alexandra."

Draco and Narcissa did not say a word to each other, but both Draco and Alexandra had matching looks of surprise before Narcissa had left the room for good.

Once Draco had signed other paperwork pertaining to his agreement to be under house arrest for a year's time and not perform magic with a wand until the end of both of his parents' trials. Alexandra had signed as a witness to the documents, notarizing them, and Minister Weasley tucked the papers into his briefcase before shaking both of their hands.

Alexandra muttered something about needing Draco to come to the firm to sign a few more documents, given that she was no longer his attorney. They left the Ministry and found themselves in the firm. He was almost a free man and it almost pained her to think that he didn't need her anymore.

Passing a few papers and a quill towards him, Alexandra spoke as he turned his gaze to the signature lines. "I want to apologize for my behavior... last night. I lost all sort of professionalism and I shouldn't have."

Draco finished scribbling his signature on one of the documents before he raised his stare to rest on the flushed face of his old attorney. She had her hands nervously clasped on the top of her desk, knuckles almost pure white, as her lips were still slightly swollen from the night prior.

Draco gulped. "As I recall, I was the one to... initiate... what occurred between us. I should be offering my apologies and... regret to you, not the other way around."

Upon hearing his words, specifically the word "regret" hanging over her head, her eyebrows shot up before she forced them back down. She didn't want to think too much about what he had said, but it weighed heavily on her mind and she knew it would trouble her for sometime.

"Don't," Alexandra gushed. "It's not necessary."

Draco nodded before swallowing. "I believe it is the appropriate time to discuss payment, yes?"

Alexandra's nose scrunched in disgust. "I'm not taking a bloody sickle from you, Malfoy."

It was Draco's turn to be disgusted. "You think I would allow you to not accept payment from me?"

"Allow?" Alexandra scoffed with wide eyes. "If there is one thing you should have learned by now is that very few people and things control me, and I work to make that list smaller and smaller each day. I won't be accepting anything from you or your family, and there is no changing my mind on that."

Draco rolled his eyes gripping the arms to his chair. "And there is no changing my mind on compensating you for your services in some way."

Those words hit her harder than his last statement, causing her face to fall. Services? Compensation? He talked as if he hadn't pulled her into his lap a mere twelve hours ago, both of their faces still partly flushed from the events that had taken place between them.

"Well, you're just going to have to deal with it then," Alexandra spat in a polite tone. She abruptly stood before collecting the papers Draco had already signed and tucked away the ones that were still required. "I have to run, so you will have to sign the rest of these papers at another time."

Draco did not answer, just slightly scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion as he remained sat in his chair. Alexandra reached into her pocket and pulled out three coins and placed them in front of Draco.

"In light of your wand being taken, I took the liberty of having three portkeys made for your use," Alexandra spoke in a flat tone. "The bronze brings you to the Ministry in the event of an emergency. The silver one brings you here, to the firm, and if you find you are in need of something after business hours, or one of my grandmother's biscottis, the gold coin allows you entry into my estate."

Again, Draco did not answer. He only stared at his attorney.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Draco," Alexandra rasped, growing more nervous by the second. "Don't hesitate to use those. Now, I must be-"

"You said you had experience with estate planning?" Draco suddenly asked.

It was Alexandra's turn to scrunch her eyebrows. "I do, yes."

"Then I expect I will need your services in the future."

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco fanfic #draco x oc #draco fic rec #dramione #harry potter #Battle of Hogwarts #post battle of hogwarts #draco post battle au #draco au #draco angst #draco fluff #draco imagine

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winryofresembool · 3 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 32

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation (again) and a bit elsewhere too

A/N: We're (finally) getting closer to the end of the 'Waystation arc'. I don't think I have that much to say about this chapter, but I'd like to dedicate it to Cecid as a late birthday present, because she has really kicked my butt to continue this story!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!! It's super important (<- Lizzie Bennet Diaries reference)

(Ps. Fellow Europeans, vote for Finland in ESC!!!)

Words: 2950

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

The silence that fell into the room after Leo stormed out got more and more overwhelming until finally, Calypso couldn’t take it anymore. She could feel the two women and their daughter stare at her, but they were too astounded to say anything.

“I… I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Calypso mumbled eventually. “They were just matches. I didn’t mean that he should use them immediately; it was just my way of trying to tell him that I believe he can get over his fear one day.”

The women exchanged dark looks.

“Georgie, could you play with Festus outside for a moment? He looked like he needed to burn some energy,” Emmie suggested, wanting to get the girl out of the hearing distance.

“Ugh, fine,” Georgie pouted because she would have preferred admiring her gifts, but left anyway.

Once she was gone, Jo sighed. “About what just happened… you did nothing wrong, Calypso. It’s just…” She stopped to contemplate her next words. “Christmas is always a hard time for Leo. He tries his best to participate and make his jokes and all that, but his eyes betray him. He’s just… not there.”

“I want to understand…” Calypso stepped closer to Leo’s mothers. “Did something happen to him on some Christmas?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Emmie replied sadly. “Leo’s mother died on Christmas day several years ago.”

Calypso’s eyes widened as she understood what Emmie was trying to say.

“Oh gods… And she died in a fire, right? He did mention it once… No wonder he didn’t want to touch the matches, especially today.”

“Yes,” Emmie confirmed. “She did die in a fire. But there’s more to it. Leo probably wouldn’t want me to tell you this but in this situation it might be better that you know: he blames himself for the fire.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but… why?” Calypso asked, feeling more sickened every moment as she pictured a young boy mourning his mother and his home. “What happened?”

“We have only gotten some bits and pieces from here and there, but it seems the fire most likely started from some papers he had left near a fireplace. Accidentally, of course, but he doesn’t see it that way,” Jo sniffed. Suddenly Calypso realized that Leo’s pain must have hurt his family more than he probably even realized. They really cared about him a lot… She couldn’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous because at least Leo had people supporting him. But she quickly pushed that unnecessary thought aside.

“That’s awful… I guess he’s afraid that he might accidentally make something like that happen again and that’s why he doesn’t want fire near him.” Calypso knew the fear of hurting someone she cared about and the guilt all too well. She would never forget the flashing lights and the loud crash that followed. Her nightmares made sure of that.

“Yes, it’s likely he feels that way. Since he moved here, he’s been seeing a therapist every once in a while but it’s clear he’s still a work in progress. He doesn’t talk about his mother a lot to us either. Just when we ask something general, and even then the answers are usually quite short.”

Bitterly, Calypso thought that was how she acted when someone brought up her family.

“I realize now that the matches were a big mistake,” she finally said. “I wish there was something I could do… I hate just watching helplessly when someone I… um...” She stopped mid sentence when she realized what she was about to reveal too much.

“Just be there for him,” Emmie suggested, luckily ignoring Calypso’s stuttering. “Despite everything, I think he’s still shown good progress the past few months. Sometimes time and patience and care can do amazing things.”

“Yeah. I think you are right there.” Calypso agreed. She herself had asked her friends, including Leo, to be patient with her as well. It was only fair she’d do the same with him.

“And Calypso?” Emmie eyed her worriedly. “Remember to take care of yourself as well.”

Calypso didn’t understand how the woman had seen through her that well. There was no way she could know what was going on in her mind because she hadn’t told even Leo everything. And Emmie and she had only known each other for a couple of days so far.

“I… sure. I will try my best!” she promised, instead of questioning Emmie’s comment.

“Good. I can’t say I know you all that well yet but know that people who are important to Leo are important to us.”

For a moment Calypso imagined what it would be like to have a mother like that. For some reason the thought made her emotional. “Thank you. You are so kind.”

“No, just doing what’s necessary. Now, I suggest you go and get dressed for the day and do what else you need to do; we might need some help with lunch soon. Besides, Georgie might need some supervision because she gets hyper when she eats too much chocolate. Funny how she and Leo are not biologically related but they still have a lot in common,” Emmie ended with a slightly amused remark.

Calypso did notice that she didn’t say anything about trying to find Leo, but she understood. He probably wanted to be on his own for a moment, and she’d respect that. Hopefully she’d get to talk to him eventually, but until then it was better to try to do something helpful rather than spend the whole day worrying. But even while she was doing her morning chores, she could still see Leo’s angry eyes when he saw her gift in her mind.

…

Leo didn’t know where he should go so he just followed his instinct. He didn’t want to hide inside; the pictures from his nightmare were still too fresh in his mind and he needed to be somewhere where he could breathe fresh air. As he was crossing the yard, Festus tried to follow him, and he wagged his tail cheerfully to make his favorite human happier, but this one time Leo didn’t want his company. He apologized to the dog and told him that he’d take him for a walk after getting his thoughts cleared.

He kept walking until finally, he reached a certain park where he and Jason used to jog often. Seeing a log bench on the side, he decided to sit down for a moment. Someone had made a campfire nearby earlier and Leo glared at the remaining ashes like they were the reason for all his troubles. He could feel the panic rise up his throat as he was reminded of the fire again, but he challenged himself to stay there for at least a moment. Finally, he sighed.

He knew he had totally overreacted to Calypso’s gift. Surely she had meant good but she didn’t know why fire and Christmas were not a good combination when it came to Leo. If he had just ignored the matches, nothing would have happened. Now he’d have to explain to her why he had freaked out like that and that wouldn’t be easy.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring into nothing when he suddenly felt a knock on his shoulder. Having not heard anyone arrive, he startled at the touch, but quickly recovered when he recognized the newcomer.

“Pipes! What brings you here?” he exclaimed, briefly noticing that her brown hair was now shorter than it had used to be and somehow her whole demeanor seemed a bit different. He attempted to put on a smile for her but he knew he was probably failing.

“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question,” Piper noted, sitting down next to Leo. “I thought you would be at Waystation with your family. It’s Christmas day, after all.”

“Oh, yeah, I was there.” Piper raised her eyebrow so he quickly added: “You know me; this holiday and I don’t exactly walk hand in hand so I needed to get out for a moment.” Leo hoped that would be a sufficient explanation. She did know what had happened to his mother, even if not to the full extent.

“But Calypso was there with you. I thought that would cheer you up,” Piper pointed out.

“Funny you should say that,” Leo chuckled, although there was nothing amusing about the situation. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m kind of trying to escape from her right now.”

“You’re trying to escape…” Piper repeated with confusion. “Why? What happened? I thought things were going fine between you two. Especially after what happened after the party…”

“Not everything is how it looks to outsiders, Pipes,” Leo stopped her. “Things haven’t been amazing lately. I mean, in many ways. Yeah, I like her and somehow she also likes me, apparently. Yeah, I know, pretty unbelievable.”

Piper gave him her best ‘wow, you’re really breaking the news there, Leo’ look. He didn’t get disheartened, though, instead continuing: “But we have, um, decided that we shouldn’t get together for various reasons so we’ve been trying to find some kind of a golden mean where we can still continue being friends but it hasn’t been working out that well. One sec we are at each other's' throats for whatever stupid reason, and the next we’re acting all flirty and ignoring the rules we set. I was hoping that this Waystation visit would give us a chance to get to know each other better in an environment where we have others around us… And I think it was actually working for a while. I feel more comfortable there, and I think she was feeling more comfortable too… But today I went and messed things up again.”

“What did you do?” Piper sighed disapprovingly.

“I may or may not have gotten mad about her Christmas present,” Leo confessed finally, cringing because he realized how bad it sounded.

“Oh, Leo…” Piper shook her head. “Why would you get mad about something like that? You’re not usually someone who’d get mad that easily.”

“Yeah… I know I’m not, but… I had a pretty rough day to begin with. Not that that’s anything new to me, but…”

“But what?” Piper inquired.

“I saw a nightmare about my mom’s death right before I woke up. I was still kinda on the edge when we were opening the presents so when I saw the matches…”

“She gave you matches?” Piper tilted her head slightly as she was trying to figure out what Leo was saying.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “To be clear, though, they were only a part of the present. She had made me a real nice tool belt, probably way better than any of those that they sell in some stores. The matches were in one of the pockets. And now I can see you’re gonna say: ‘well, maybe she just wanted you to try to get over your fear’, and maybe you’re right, but the timing…”

“You have not told her about the anniversary,” Piper concluded. “I’m sure you have figured out by now that you can’t blame her for something she didn’t know about. That’s not fair.”

“I know that!” Leo exclaimed. “I’m not really blaming her; I just overreacted! But how will I explain that to her? ‘Sorry I yelled at you; I just happened to burn my entire house 11 years ago today so I’m not exactly fond of fire right now?’”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Piper interrupted Leo’s unhealthy thought process. He didn’t answer. “I think you two have some serious communication issues. I know that Calypso isn’t good at opening about her past, and she has also admitted to me she has a tendency to push people back if she’s afraid they’re getting too close to her. But guess what, Leo? You’re the same. I’ve noticed that even though you’re kind of loud sometimes and you like to tell bad jokes…”

“Hey!” Leo protested.

“Shh, let me finish. My point is, you don’t often tell us what you’re really thinking. When you’re having one of your rougher periods, you withdraw into your workshop for days. All I’m trying to say here is that please talk to us. Specifically, talk to her. When she notices that you trust her enough to talk about something that personal, she might open up to you more as well. If she really likes you, she’ll understand.”

“Beauty Queen, I hate it when you see through me that well,” Leo muttered. “I dunno. I guess I’ll have to talk to her when I go back. If my moms don’t murder me first.”

“Nah. They wouldn’t. I mean, you may not get any presents next Christmas but that’s a small price to pay when you stormed out like that,” Piper teased him.

“You sure know how to make a man regret his bad deeds.” Leo rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we’ve established why I’m here right now but what about you? Shouldn’t you be with Jason or something?” Suddenly Piper didn’t seem as determined to scold Leo anymore.

“I… Jason and I are having a break.”

“A break? As in…?” Leo asked with confusion.

“As in a break,” Piper repeated more firmly. “What part of it you don’t understand? He and I are seeing if we are happier apart.”

Leo spent a moment taking the information in. “But I don’t get it. You guys have always been the most stable couple I’ve known. Why this kind of a decision all of a sudden?” He couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised by this piece of news after his talk with Jason before Christmas, but it still felt different to hear it from Piper. More final.

“I don’t think it’s all of a sudden. It’s been coming for a while now,” Piper confessed.

“Really? And you’re telling me only now?” Leo raised his eyebrow.

“It was something I needed to figure out on my own. Now, please don’t think I’ve just been playing with him, or something. I do love Jason. He’s my best friend. But… I’m starting to feel we’ve progressed too fast. That there’s a whole world out there for me to see that I missed because I was so busy getting together with Jason. I want to get to know who I am and where I really belong.”

“But… you have a house and everything together…” Leo said, suddenly feeling like a child whose parents were telling him they were breaking up, forgetting his own problems for a moment. “How are you gonna deal with that?”

“The plan is for now that we both keep living in our house until we make our final decision. I don’t want to go back to my dad and Jason would want to live with his dad even less. Of course it’s possible that we decide to continue our relationship, but if not, then we’re going to sell the house. But we are not rushing that. For now, we’re just trying to be friends, and not… exclusive.”

Leo was slightly relieved to hear that at least his best friends were still on speaking terms.

“Alright… if that’s what both of you want, then I’ll support it,” he said. “It’d suck to lose touch with either of you because of this.”

“Don’t worry,” Piper reassured him. “You won’t.” She ruffled his hair a little as if he was her little brother. “Everyone needs a Super-sized McShizzle in their lives, don’t they? It’d be pretty empty otherwise.”

Leo gave her a lopsided smile. “Glad you admitted that.”

“Anyway, enough about my boring relationship issues!” Piper decided to change the topic. “So, you told me Cal got you a tool belt and matches, but what did you give to her? It’s important, Leo.”

“You really think I’m gonna reveal it to you, Beauty Queen? I’m smarter than that,” Leo pointed out.

“I know what you did at our uni’s freshman party and I’m not afraid to tell it to Cal if I need to.” Piper winked at him in response.

Leo rolled his eyes. “Pshhh, that was freshman year. That excuses everything.”

“Alright, don’t tell me then.” Piper turned to leave.

“If you really must know,” Leo said before Piper got too far, “it was a jewelry box. With a bracelet in it. But it was not new so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Piper asked with amusement. “You know things get serious when you give a girl a piece of jewelry.”

“Wait, what? For real?” Leo was shocked for a moment until he noticed Piper had a hard time not bursting into laughter. She was just messing with him. “OK, remind me to never tell you anything serious ever again.”

“You know you can’t resist my charm,” Piper chuckled. “Once you have forgotten what you just said, please tell me what really has happened at Waystation recently.”

Leo couldn’t help but shake his head at Piper’s enthusiasm but eventually started to tell her the whole story. He noticed that it helped him to forget about the negative thoughts for a moment so he didn’t really mind even though Piper had a tendency to be a bit pushy when it came to his feelings towards Calypso. And he assumed that Piper welcomed the distraction happily as well, because she must have felt conflicted about the whole Jason situation. When did things get so complicated, he wondered briefly before chuckling at his thoughts ironically. His life had never been simple. But even so, he would keep fighting. Because that’s what his mom would want, and that's what his family and friends would want.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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killiansprincss · 3 years

Text

Never Forget You ch.16

Season 6A Canon Divergence.

Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule.

Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Just a huge thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this fic, it means the world and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

PSA this chapter is heavily anti Neal and anti Regina, so if that’s not your thing please read on and don’t give me hate

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re okay honey?” Snow asks, concerned about her daughter's current state. She’s barely said anything the past day after hearing what the fairy told her about Hook.

“I’m fine. Mom. Really. I don’t know why everyone thinks something is wrong, when everything is just fine.” Emma exploded back. It was a lot harsher than she had intended, but she was so sick of her family constantly asking how she was when she just needed to be left alone with her thoughts.

Hook had slept with Cecelia.

And he had the audacity to lie about it.

He didn’t deny that he’d slept with her, but claimed he hadn’t slept with her since she was cursed. Bullshit.

She couldn’t trust him. He told them all that he knew how to defeat Cecelia, but was this a plan to double cross them and make sure he can stay on the Island forever?

“Emma, I know I keep asking, but are you sure Hook was lying about Cecelia?” Her mother asks again, “After everything you’ve been through, he is your True Love. I can’t imagine David ever doing something like that, I can feel that he wouldn’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s the difference mom, Hook and I are not you and Dad.”

Snow nods. “You're right I’m sorry, bad analogy. But he loves you, you love him. I saw how it tortured him when you were cursed, he wouldn’t take no for an answer about bringing you back. I wish I could show you the look on his face when he realised there was no way of bringing you back.”

Emma wants it to be true that he didn’t sleep with her. More than anything, she wants to believe he is innocent, she wasn’t really listening to her superpower much so she can’t remember if it was going crazy or not.

“We should go get Henry, see what he knows about Cecelia and if he knows any way to stop her.” Emma changed the subject, she can’t think about Killian too much or she will go insane and she just wants to get Henry and escape Never fucking Land.

She knows her dad went to find Hook. Her mother tells her he went to get water and food, but she’s a terrible liar. Her father surprisingly loves Hook, and wants the best for them. She just needs Henry and then she can think about Killian again.

_____

The three Charmings make their way to Henry’s and it’s surprisingly quiet. Maybe he’s in his concentrating author mode Emma thinks.

“Henry? Are you here?” She calls out as she knocks on the door at the top of the stairs and gets no response.

She looks at her mom and brother worried and opens the latch into his treehouse. He’s not there. Henry isn’t there.

“Well he can’t have gone far. You said yourself he’s a smart kid,” Neal says as they look around trying to search for clues as to where he is.

Their mother nods in agreement. “Neals right, he’s a smart kid he wouldn’t run off this Island is as awful as it was for Killian. He could be with Killian, it’s the only place he would willingly go to if not us.”

“Wait, what's this?” Neal hands a note to his sister, it’s different from the paper filled with Henry’s author.

“To get your boy home

A secret you must loan

The darker the better

And he will be released from his chamber “

“A secret you must loan?” The three charmings read the riddle over and over until Emma comes to the dark realisation.

“She’s taken him to the Echo Caves.”

“The what?” Whatever the echo caves were, Neal did not like the sound of it.

The colour from Snow's already pale face quickly fades. “The Echo Caves. We faced it the last time we were here. You need to reveal your darkest secret, something you would never admit out loud, or to yourself even.”

Neal didn’t seem to quite understand the severity, or how dark the secret truly had to be until he stepped inside the Echo Caves that were all too familiar for his mother and sister. It was dark, and Neal felt like any bit of happiness left inside him was gone.

Snow did not take comfort in the fact that the last time she was here, she confessed to wanting another baby, and while that wish turned into having Neal, it happened to be where David admitted to having been poisoned by dreamshade and couldn’t leave the Island. It was not an experience that she wanted to repeat.

Emma sees Henry in a cage at the far end of the cave. No way to get there other than revealing a secret. Her heart is beating like crazy and she feels like she could throw up at any second. The last time she was here, Hook revealed to everyone that he could finally see a future with her, his first declaration of love. She'd been too stubborn at that point to admit she had feelings for him too at that point.

The Echo Caves was also where she told Neal she wished he were dead. Looking back, she thought she loved him, but she understands now that wasn’t love. If he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left her in jail and wouldn’t have run off. Killian showed her what love was, they went to the ends of the earth for one another and nothing would stop them from being together. That was love. Or at least it was, once upon a time. She wished Killian were here to reveal a secret, she needed to know what was really true about Cecelia.

“So now does this work?” Neal asks, seeing his nephew trapped in a cage 100 feet in front of him.

“It’s simple really.” Snow takes a deep breath. “You reveal your innermost secret. Something that is painful to admit, something so dark you feel wrong for admitting it out loud. I’ll go first, I wish Emma had never broken her curse.”

“What?” Emma looks at her mother who has tears already rolling down her face.

“A part of me wishes you had never broken your curse. It’s not that I do not love the woman you became despite us not raising you, because I do love you-did love you back then. Despite all the hurt and heartbreak you experienced, despite that all you came out strong, you had walls that were so hard to break and I get that I know why you had those walls, but these past 25 years getting to raise you the way we always wanted was amazing. I was there when you got sick and fed you soup and kissed your grazed knees when you fell off your bike. I talked to your father about not telling you on your birthday. He told me it was selfish, and I agree that would be selfish, but I look at the woman you’ve become and what you’ve accomplished, the relationships you built because you didn't have all these walls . I’m sorry but you being cursed was the best thing that's happened to me. I got what I always wanted, raising 2 kids with my husband in a world without someone trying to kill us.”

The ground starts to rumble and rocks start to form part of the pathway leading to Henry.

Emma doesn’t say a thing.

“I’ll go next I guess.” Neal says stepping forward, he doesn’t really know how this works but he hopes his secret is big enough. “I love Thalia and I’m gonna marry her.”

“That’s not a secret little bro, you’ve been together for almost 10 years.” Emma says, rolling her eyes.

Neal looks at his sister, “I know. The secret part is that we were thinking of eloping and running away to the Enchanted Forest.”

“Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry what?”

Snow and Emma do not take well to this sudden revelation.

He turns around to look at them. “I have grown up on stories of you and dad meeting in the Enchanted Forest and going on crazy adventures to find one another because things kept getting in your way. I got As on all my History of the Enchanted Forest lessons because I was so interested in it, about the land and how different it is to Storybrooke. I’m a Charming and I feel like I have this legacy, everyone always talked to me at school about how cool it is to have Prince Charming and Snow White as my parents and I always felt like I could never live up to the two of you, no matter how many sword fighting lessons I took. I love you guys, but I also love Thalia and we talked about eloping and leaving Storybrooke to get away from her dad, and then we talked about getting a magic bean and going to the Enchanted Forest and having an adventure of our own for once. And now, now I know you continued to have those adventures after you were cursed, with Emma too, it only made me want it more. Now, I'm not so sure because I’m afraid of the future, I just don’t want to live a boring life.”

The ground shakes once again and the stone path that grew from his mother’s secret grows again, and almost leads to Henry. It’s just Emma left now.

Emma runs over to the path that's formed, but it doesn’t quite reach Henry. She considers jumping, but she knows the only way she will get to him is by revealing a dark secret.

“My secret.” Emma doesn’t want to reveal it, especially in front of Henry, but she has to. “My secret is that. I don’t regret being cursed, I quite enjoyed it.” Tears begin to form as she reveals her darkest secret. “Until a week ago I was Emma Nolan, raised in Storybrooke who was loved by her parents and had amazing friends. Waking up on my birthday, realising I also lived a life as an orphan and with a life filled with abandonment, that hurt. It made me wish I had never woken up. I thought I was happy before when I had found my family, but I was lonely. Of course I had Henry and my family but my parents were the same age as me and that was hard to process, especially when my mother turned out to be my roommate who I considered to be the first friend I had in a very long time.”

She doesn’t quite know who she’s telling this to, the echo caves she guesses, she’s not facing or looking at anyone in the eyes directly.

“I was missing friends, Regina was not my friend even though I thought for a long time that she was. I know she was your other mom Henry but she was a horrible person, she made me doubt my magic and my actions and seemed to blame me for all of her problems. The first friend I made after I broke the curse was Elsa, she understood me and I finally felt like I had someone I could talk to about my relationships and my powers. Then she left and I didn’t get to see her again. When I was cursed, I grew up surrounded by friends, Alex was my best friend-who I always was told was my friend since birth but now I know otherwise-she was there for me and we shared secrets and did everything a best friend should do, I missed her when either one of us was grounded and that girl stuck by me. The same with Phillip, the three of us were inseparable growing up at school; they were never afraid of my magic. I think what I'm trying to say is, being cursed gave me what I had longed for my entire life.”

For the third time the ground shakes and rumbles as the bridge extends once more and Emma is able to get to Henry in his cage.

“Mom!” Henry says as she reaches his cage with tears in both their eyes.

Emma tries to break open the cage, but its no use. Everyone has told a secret, except the one trapped.

“I need to tell a secret don't I?” Henry asks, fearing his confession.

Emma just nods, not wanting to cry anymore than she already has.

He grabs his mother’s hands through the small gap the cage allows. “I don’t want to go home if we aren’t going home without Killian.”

“I think you need to say more than that kid.” Emma half laughs, not wanting to cry anymore than she has.

“I thought coming to Neverland would make me learn more about my dad, and I did learn a few things like where he lived. But the longer I stayed here, the more I realised he wasn’t ever my dad. I know he’s my biological dad and all, but he was my dad for like 2 weeks and then we were cursed and I lost all my memories of him. I wanted to know who my dad was so badly, what he was like and if I was like him but I’ve realised I don’t really care. Killian has been more of a father to me than Neal. He taught me sword fighting, with a real sword! He took me away to Neverland so I wouldn’t have to watch you grow up not knowing who I was, he stayed with me when the Island tried to drain me of my blood. And yeah he tried to keep me away from the Jolly, but it’s because he was scared and afraid, not because he stopped caring. He would look out for me, when I was shook up over a lost boy, Killian was there for me. I came to Neverland, thinking I’d find out more about my father, but I ended up finding a father in Killian, and I don’t know if he feels the same about me, but all I know is I’m not leaving here without him.”

Tears were flowing from Emma’s eyes, she had no idea Henry felt so strongly about Killian. Killian had always been wary with him, not trying to impose or replace Neal. But Henry never thought that, he saw Killian as a part of their family. The family they had a long time ago.

The bars that were keeping mother and son apart come away and Emma is able to hug her son.

“Henry. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about Killian.”

Henry gives his mother a coy smile, and his cheeks flash red. “I was embarrassed to say. I didn’t want you to think I was disrespecting my dad.”

Emma shakes her head. “Don’t ever be embarrassed about how you feel. And it’s like you said kid, he was your dad for a few weeks, Killian has clearly cared for you the way a father should.”

One day, when he’s ready, Emma will tell him why she never contacted Neal when she got out, even if she didn’t keep Henry. He deserved to know the truth; his dad was not the hero he died as.

#Never Forget You #Captain Swan #Emma swan #killian jones #my writing #cs fanfic #cs fic rec #cs ff #neverland au #ouat ff

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munamania · 4 years

Text

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt: “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.”

read on ao3

No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

At least it got easier with time.

All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

But boy, was he a lot of fun.

Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

It stings like a bitch.

His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

“I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

“Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

“You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

Right.

But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

But he stands up.

And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

“Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

“Richie—“

Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

“Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

“Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

“Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

It takes a lot of work, as always.

Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

But he can’t do it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!

The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

“Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

“Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

“Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

“Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

“You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

(Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

“Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

“Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

“A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

“Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for fun at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

In a way, it’s heaven.

“I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

“I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

A ghost of a smile.

“Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

“Please, just stay still!

“It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

“Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

“In the way?”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

“Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

“Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

“Night, toots.”

“Goodnight, Richie.

Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

“Eddie.”

A muffled, “Mmph?”

“Eds, wake up.”

The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

“Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

And, sure, that’s terrifying.

He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

Until it wasn’t

You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

Just as quickly, he loses it.

In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

“Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

“Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

“Some deals are made to be broken.”

Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

“Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

“Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

“Stop, please, fucking stop!”

“Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

“I don’t wanna die - ”

Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

“Fuck the arcade!”

Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

“Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

That’s when it all goes downhill

Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

“Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

“Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

“Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

“You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

“How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

“You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

“Fuck you, Maggie!”

She follows him down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

“Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too.”

For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

And he’s perfect.

His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Mrs. K knocks at the door.

“Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

“Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

“Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

“You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

It sucks when Beverly leaves.

It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

But it’s nothing.

The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

At least his friends are smart.

Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

“C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

“Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

“As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

Oh.

Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

Richie feels sick.

But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

“Bev would love this.”

Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

But it remains with them.

It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #fanfiction #fluff #angst #sharing a bed #pining #new years #summer #mine #gosh i hope this isnt too dorky sfhdgjhsdfg

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classysassy9791 · 4 years

Text

Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3

Chapter 4 Word Count: 7,000 Can also be found here Thank you @akitokihojo for making this mess legible <3

“Do you believe in fate? I mean, if you’re meant to be with someone, fate will bring you together no matter what.”

A shrill cry ripped from her throat as Sango woke with a start, sitting upright and clutching her chest in panic. The sound of crashing waves filled her ears as a deep ache ravaged her back, the pain nearly blinding her, before slowly fading to a dull throb the longer she was awake. Sweat dripped down her brow with each shuddered breath. Her gaze lifted, brown eyes studying the interior of the building she was all too familiar with.

There were notches in the wood near the bamboo door, measuring the heights of children as they grew. A small fire pit was left cold and empty save for the remains of burnt wood from dinner the night before. When Sango took a deep breath, she could pick up on the damp and musty smell of the home, evidence that it had rained not long ago.

Footsteps approached, and reflexively she reached for a sheathed blade within her robes. “Sango?” a man’s voice called, and the familiarity of it caused tears to spring into her eyes.

“F-Father?” she murmured, her lips trembling.

A man pushed open the door, his concerned gaze falling on his daughter who still laid curled up in the bedding. Sango dropped her hand to her side, the weapon sliding out of her grasp, as she drank in the sight of the man who raised her.

“Are you all right?” his soothing voice rolled over her as he quickly surveyed the hut before studying her again. “I heard you scream.”

Sango swallowed the hard lump at the back of her throat and shook her head. She stood and wrapped her arms around her father, the smell of sun-warmed cloth and wood smoke enveloping her - indication that her father had been with the weapon forgers that morning. His hands were covered in a sprinkling of white powder left over from crafting sickles made of demon bones, and he held her tightly in return, a sign of affection her soul had dearly missed.

“Sango?” he questioned again, the baritone of his voice reverberating through her. The low rumble of his voice was comforting as it wrapped around her, bringing back memories of her childhood - laughter in the village streets, training at a young age, stories of old that made her eyes light up in wonder. Her father’s voice had a way of carrying her off to a world where sound was a power that could decimate even the darkest clouds.

Pushing a palm to her cheek to wipe away a lone tear, Sango pulled from her father’s grasp and looked up at him sheepishly. “Sorry, Father. I suppose I just had a nightmare. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His shoulders relaxed at her words as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, more than likely caused by the hot summer sun versus panic of her wellbeing. He smiled easily, a fine net of wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Well, you do know how to keep an old man on his toes,” he said with a chuckle. “Come now, Sango. It’s nearly midday. Perhaps you should make haste, as there’s still much work that needs to be done.”

“Of course.” Sango bowed low at the waist, and he swiftly exited the home, leaving her alone to dress.

While changing into her village clothes, Sango pondered what had occurred that morning to awaken her with such a start. She felt as if she had slept in darkness for a hundred years, in a place where no dreams dared to touch. It unnerved her, the black void that she had succumbed to so completely.

The silence of her home felt deafening as she surveyed the wooden structure, taking note of the pile of demon bones in the corner. She had trouble remembering when, exactly, she had fallen asleep, but her thoughts were cut short by the breeze wafting into the hut, carrying the lively chatter of the village.

Sango pulled open the bamboo door and gazed out at the hustle and bustle of the demon slayer village, just as clear as she always remembered it to be. “I’m home,” she whispered, the concept a bittersweet taste on her tongue. She knitted her brows, the bewilderment becoming more pronounced the longer she stood there. It was a strange feeling, to be in a place she had known her entire life and yet feel like an intruder.

She began walking unusually slowly, almost robotically, as if her brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. Village women bowed in greeting as she passed, the men throwing a glance her way over their shoulders. These acknowledgements were not new to her. Being a female slayer was not only unheard of but frowned upon. She couldn’t count how many times the village women would come to her at the river or after she had finished training for the day, pestering her about when she was going to wed and have children. Sango always questioned as to why that had to be her only goal in life? She was meant to do more than just bear children.

Which, perhaps, was the main reason as to why she never received any romantic advances from the boys in the village. No man wanted to court a woman who could beat him in a fight. Sango only wished they could see her as an equal rather than an oddity.

It didn’t take long for Sango to find her brother near the center of the village, sitting on a friendly, old lady’s porch, playing with their two-tailed demon feline, Kirara.

“Good morning, Kohaku!” she called out with a wave.

Kohaku’s gentle, brown eyes met hers as he gave her a smile, one that seemed so genuinely sweet with just a touch of shyness, causing unexpected warmth to rush through her. His innocence displayed candidly in his expression, a boy who knew nothing of the harsh world outside their walls. “Good morning, Sister!”

“Help me, Sango. I’m so afraid…”

His voice, usually timid in nature and filled with lighthearted tones, suddenly resonated with terror. Sango froze in her tracks, her breath catching. The middle of her back began to throb again, fleeting images of a nightmare that had woken her so abruptly flashed through her mind - images of a dying Kohaku. Her body felt hot and sweat started trickling down her neck, her eyes watering and her hands shaking. Sango felt sick.

Her brother was a kind-natured soul. He didn’t like the training the slayers endured, or the idea of killing demons someday. He loathed fighting, and Sango couldn’t rightfully blame him, which caused him to remain safe inside the village while the more experienced fighters exterminated demons in the surrounding lands. Having a fear that Kohaku would die was… realistic, but not as he was now. The timid boy who didn’t have a hateful bone in his body wouldn’t be venturing out on demon exterminations anytime soon.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

“Sango?”

Kohaku’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts, and she immediately reached for him and wrapped him in her arms. His muffled protests fell on deaf ears as she tried to slow the erratic beating of her heart and the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. Her deepest and truest fear had come to life in a nightmare without prompt, and she needed to remind herself that that was all it was - a nightmare.

Finally, Sango allowed him to pull away from her. Kohaku’s expression had twisted into one of bemusement with a pink coloring of his cheeks. She smiled at him, wiping away tears brimming in her eyes. “Sorry,” she murmured, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “It’s time to start your training for today.”

Regardless of how timid Kohaku usually was, there was a questionable doubt in his eyes, and Sango knew he had been perplexed by her reaction that morning. But he, instead, allowed it to be, and replied with, “I don’t want to train.”

Sango watched him begin to sulk, as per usual, when she encouraged him to train. Although, she knew this time her instruction of him would be different. Something deep inside her wanted to push him harder, because one day he would need to know how to defend himself or kill a demon. The skills she taught him could be what tipped the balance between life and death.

“I know you don’t like fighting, but someday you may need these skills to defend yourself or others,” she persuaded.

Kohaku nodded his head, ultimately knowing she had a point, before he stood up to fetch his kusarigama. As Sango waited, Kirara jumped on her shoulder and purred affectionately, as if knowing something troubled her. Brown eyes lifted to the midday sun and she thanked the gods for today. She knew tomorrow wasn’t promised.

...

“I don’t like him,” Sango argued with her arms folded over her chest. “He’s an outsider.”

Her father didn’t look up from where he was stirring a pot of stew. “Sango, I understand your concerns, but the man would have died if we had not helped him.”

“Then so be it,” she snapped, causing her father to pause and finally meet her gaze, his lips set in a thin line. She ignored his obvious disapproval of her outburst. “Our priority is our people and keeping this village safe. Who’s to say that fox demon accompanying him won’t tell the rest of his clan and bring the breath of hell upon us?”

“That fox demon is just a child. I don’t believe he poses any real danger. Besides, Kirara has never pursued harm against us, demonstrating that not all demons are malevolent toward humans,” he reasoned. “And Miroku is a man of the cloth; surely he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our lifestyle.”

Sango’s frown deepened, her hand wrapping tightly around the cloth of her sleeve. “Please, tell me he’ll be leaving as soon as he can.”

“I promise.” Her father stood, towering over Sango’s athletic frame. “Now, the women have brought him to the medical house. I would like you to tend to his wounds.”

She gaped, her eyebrows arched toward the sky. “Me?! Why must I be the one? Surely there are far more capable healers that can care for him!”

“Sango.” This time his voice was stern, powerful enough to make her bones feel like they were vibrating. His eyes had lost all frivolity he felt only moments before, and his posture had changed to being upright and rigid. Even though Sango was his daughter, he was the headman, and thus his orders were not to be questioned. More often than not, Sango’s independent nature would slip and she would disobey him.

This time, she decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting over. “As you wish,” she grumbled, making it known that she was not happy about his command, as she pushed her way out of their home and toward where the stranger had been brought.

When Sango arrived, the fox kit was pacing outside, appearing rather distressed. His small stature and obvious nervous character made her ponder her father’s words about how all demons weren’t as monstrous as she thought. “Shippou, right?”

Green eyes peered up at her ambivalently, and she was sure he was questioning whether or not to escape while he had the chance. “Y-Yes?”

She studied him for a moment longer, realizing her father may be right, and that the fox kit posed no real threat. A sigh slipped from her lips.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Not waiting for a response, she pushed her way into the hut.

Upon her entrance, the other village women took their leave. Sango knelt down beside the man who had fallen unconscious as soon as the guards interrogated them. Miroku’s forehead was slick with sweat, cool and clammy, and blood had soaked into the fabric of his robes. Moving quickly, the slayer undressed his chest and went to work on cleaning and bandaging the wound, taking special care not to allow her eyes to linger on the man’s handsome features. She couldn’t readily determine if he had been poisoned or not, although Shippou had mentioned upon their arrival that it was a good chance he had, so Sango administered their most potent antidote in the hopes it would combat whichever toxin he suffered from.

Once she was finished, Sango moved to leave, but paused. Although she was a slayer, and a distinguished one at that, she was still a woman, and couldn’t help but gaze down at her charge. Miroku’s dark hair had been pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck, and his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamed. His pale lips, a perfect cupid’s bow, were relaxed in slumber, but she dared to hope to see his smile one day. Something familiar drew her to the man, yet she was sure she had never crossed paths with him before.

“Somehow it’s different with us. You see, Sango. I’ve never had such strong feelings for a woman as I do you.”

Sango drew in a sharp breath, a man’s silky voice whispering into her ear. The voice was unexpected. It was low, with a trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than Miroku’s frail body would suggest. She had a brief flashing memory of a man; his face was shadowed, and yet, she knew this man had been a close companion, one she trusted with her life. And… perhaps, more than that. Her heart beat rapidly beneath her breast, and she fought down the deep longing just to brush a hand over Miroku’s cheek. Before she could even understand what she was doing, she knelt down beside him again. Her fingers reached out, tentatively gliding through his bangs, slick with sweat, and quelling the strange emotions inside her briefly. She wanted to embrace him. Kiss him. Love him.

Miroku began to stir, and Sango shot to her feet, a heated blush working its way up her neck to flush her cheeks. Within seconds, she had pushed her way outside of the house and passed Shippou’s quizzical expression.

How could she, a woman of such strength and pride, be turned into a puddle simply by being in Miroku’s presence? Her bizarre emotions he had somehow pulled to the surface only solidified her feelings.

She didn’t like him at all.

...

There were many things Sango had learned about Miroku during their journey together. The most prominent one was that he was completely and irrevocably a flirt. After they had become close traveling companions, she couldn’t count how many times she had to slap his hand away from her rear, or leave a mark on his face, or even pummel him with Hirakotsu when he went after the women during their short stays in various villages. She had even grown impressed with his inability to give up on his advances. In the demon slayer village, she had very little romantic experiences, especially since she was different from the other village girls. Most times, she would beat the men when sparring, which was probably the reason why most of the village boys didn’t find her very attractive.

Who would want to wed a woman stronger and more athletic than he? Already she had been reprimanded by her teachers and friends for being so deviant. She ignored them, deciding her passion to fight and protect was worth more than a few choice words. Her father had always given her his full support, so most gossiping remained out of ear shot.

But traveling with Miroku - it was strange. Initially, she had kept him at arm's length, still too apprehensive about the unwarranted emotions she continued trying to make sense of. When she first had gazed unabashedly into his violet eyes, there had been something about him that she knew she’d never find in another man, as if in that moment their souls had made a bridge. And she was finally able to see his smile as he made a corny joke that made her roll her eyes. There was something about the way he grinned though; the way it made her feel as if butterflies seemed to escape from the pit of her stomach. It transformed him from someone threatening to someone she wished she knew. Even so, it took a long time for her to return that smile.

When Sango finally began letting her guard down, the conversations they shared came easily, and he made her laugh in ways other boys never could. And though she swatted his hand away on more than one occasion, a small part of her waited for him to reach out again.

“I think I see it!” Shippou announced from where he sat upon Miroku’s shoulder.

Trusting his heightened senses, Sango quickened her pace to the top of the hill and looked down at the small village nestled in the valley. It was a quaint little settlement with shallow rivers and woods surrounding the otherside. It didn’t appear uninviting, but still, Sango remained alert. Although she was neither for nor against the existence of half-demons, it made her wonder what other demons may be lurking in the village below.

As if sensing her unease, Miroku placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let us see if they can offer us a room for the night.”

Sango gifted him a strained smile as the trio began their trek into town. The main village seemed normal enough - townsfolk repairing houses, buying goods, or traveling in from the fields for the day. What struck her as odd were the cautious glares they received from the villagers. A woman pushed a child behind her, while another one hurried inside. Men seemed to hold their tools tighter, their body language tense and rigid. It was obvious that the village was not accustomed to outsiders. Although Sango, Miroku, and Shippou didn’t appear threatening, the small village appeared quick to be on the defensive.

“Well, isn’t this a warm greeting?” Shippou murmured, green eyes watching the townsfolk exchange whispers behind covered hands.

The trio didn’t venture far before an elderly woman approached them, flanked by several village men who were up in arms with spears and bows. Sango stiffened and her hand found its habitual place snug in Hirakotsu’s handle. Miroku took a small step in front of her, a gesture of protection that irked her and was certainly unnecessary. Sango had quarreled with him in the past regarding it during their battles, but he had simply waved off her concerns with something along the lines of, “What kind of man would I be if I left a woman to fend for herself?”

She still detested his action, but it was not a time to be bickering.

“What business do ye have with our village?” the old woman questioned. An eye patch covered her right eye, but her good eye looked mystified at their arrival.

“Pardon the intrusion. We don’t mean to startle you,” Miroku began, ever kind in his well-mannered way. “We’ve recently been in battle and we’re looking for a place to rest.”

The old woman, who must have been some sort of headman by the way the other villagers looked to her, studied them closely. “I suppose one night won’t do any harm. My name is Kaede. I offer ye a night in my home if ye so choose.”

“Lady Kaede!” one of the village men cried out in alarm, for what reason Sango still didn’t understand.

“Hush, now,” she quieted him with a stern glare. “We cannot allow our lives to be led in fear, lest we cower in the face of our enemies. These people do not seem to have ill-will toward us.”

“You are too kind,” Sango lamented with a bow at the waist. “We accept your humble offering.”

Kaede nodded curtly, motioning with her hand to follow them. As they walked, Sango studied the eldlerly woman. She was stout and dressed in the robes of a priestess, her gray hair pulled into a tight samurai bun. A bow was strung over her shoulder accompanied by a quiver of arrows, and even with only one eye to see, Sango had a feeling the old woman rarely missed her mark.

“It may be a little early, yet, to give up on your brother.”

Sango startled, stopping in her tracks. “E-Excuse me?”

The old priestess paused and looked over her shoulder with a quizzical expression. “I said t’was still early, so I may prepare a broth for the meal.”

She gave a strained smile. “R-Right.”

In the very brief moment before Kaede had spoken, the world had felt frigid cold. The overwhelming anguish nearly crumpled her. But, Sango had no sense as to where those emotions had come from. Just like her nightmares - now a faded memory - the emotions came without cause and disappeared just as quickly as a breath.

There was a lot that left Sango unsettled, perplexed and wondering why her emotions were so precarious. Though she was sure one thing to be true: whatever despair had brought these strange emotions, she hoped she would never come to face the source head on.

...

The springs Kaede had guided her to were just what the slayer’s aching muscles longed for. Although Sango was no stranger to battle, they had taken part in a far greater amount of near-death encounters than she had been accustomed to. She dressed in fresh village clothes that Kaede had supplied her with so she may wash her own in the river that flowed just outside of the old priestess’s hut. The grass on the bank was sun-warmed beneath her feet, and Sango paused for just a moment to relish the singing cicadas in the trees. It had been a while since she had taken a moment to reflect.

When Sango had first heard the rumors that there was a village inhabited by half-demons, she had been just as surprised as Miroku and Shippou. Her father hadn’t offered any further details on the matter and had simply shrugged off her curiosity. She had almost forgotten about it until today. It wasn’t often she traveled this far for demon exterminations.

As she began wandering the village now, though, the slayer had a hard time fitting the rumors to what she saw. The children playing in the streets appeared like normal children, although she thought it odd the way some of them dressed. A few had wool caps on, which was strange considering the heat of the afternoon sun, and others were dressed head-to-toe in cloth that revealed little skin. Parents watched on cautiously, and Sango felt uneasy with the studious eyes glaring at her. Kaede had welcomed them in for the night, but Sango knew the feeling wasn’t the same in the village streets.

She couldn’t readily determine if there were, in fact, any half-demons living amongst them, as their demonic auras were much more muted compared to their full counterparts. Unless one was a very powerful spiritual being, it was hard to tell their aura’s apart. The scent of their blood was what really made them stick out. She would have to question Shippou later to see if he could tell the difference.

Sango soon wandered away from the village and the glares of onlookers, instead venturing toward the forest bordering the town. Even at home, Sango was a solitary person and spent most of her time alone. She didn’t have many friends, as her interest in slaying often off-put any relations she was able to build. So for the first time in a while, she was able to enjoy her own company. Kaede was kind enough, but cautious, and Miroku’s antics were often something left to the birds. Instead, she relished the sounds of chirping birds the further she wandered into the trees as her thoughts dwelled on her family back home. She missed her father and brother dearly and wondered how they were fairing without her. The hoard of demons they had been tracking had fled, but their numbers had been nearly cut in half thanks to Sango and Miroku’s efforts. Even so, there was still work to be done, and Sango feared it would still be some time before she was able to return home and see her family again.

While walking, Sango passed by a lone well and peeked her head inside. It was dry and empty save for the bones of demons far below and the vines that clung to the wooden walls. It was curious that it would be so far away from the rest of the village. She peered around the area and her attention was caught by the sight of a tall tree not far away, and curiously she wandered toward it.

Sango entered a small clearing in which the tall tree resided. Brown eyes gazed up into the magnificent branches, its leaves swaying in the gentle, midday breeze. Her feet moved on their own accord, bringing her closer to the sprawling roots, and the tips of her fingers pressing against the trunk. The bark was cool beneath her fingers, but it pulsed with an energy she had not felt before.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s tend to your wounds”, a compassionate voice spoke, a gentle hand upon her aching back.

“But, why would you still help me?” she asked, her voice cracking with tears threatening to spill.

A sharp retort. “Will you stop whining, Sango? We want you to stick with us because you’re not a half-bad fighter, and that’s all there is to it!”

Murmured words of conversation, her heart overwhelmed with relief and comfort.

“Sango, don’t you like us anymore?”

“...but…” she spoke, no longer able to hold her tears back.

A warm embrace, fingers skimming through her hair, a gentle smile.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sango. I promise.”

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Sango’s neck stood at attention, pulling her from what felt like a memory, a long forgotten moment, and back to the present. She remained perfectly still, her heartbeat quickening against her ribcage as her senses heightened on the muted demonic aura that remained nearly imperceptible.

“Show yourself,” she demanded of the cluster of forest trees surrounding her. Whoever lurked in the shadows wanted their presence known, whether to scare her or inflict another emotion she wasn’t quite sure. Her eyes slid to peer over her shoulder, watching the clearing intently.

A man clothed in red landed quietly from the trees, golden eyes glaring at her apprehensively, as he cracked his knuckles in a threatening manner. Immediately she knew he wasn’t human by the unusual amber color of his eyes, the fangs he snarled with, and the ears alert upon his head.

“Keh. You’re no ordinary human.” His rough voice held a touch of familiarity to it she couldn’t quite place, like it would forever be perched on the tip of her tongue.

Sango raised a brow and turned to fully face him, her interest peaked but her guard up. “And, you’re no ordinary demon,” she fired back.

He narrowed his eyes. “I heard you tell the old hag you’re a demon slayer.”

“Is that a problem?”

“What’s your true purpose here?” he demanded, his throat letting loose a low, guttural sound.

“Just as we told Lady Kaede. To rest after battle.”

“Keh. Well, the old hag ain’t great when it comes to the judgement of strangers.”

Sango tilted her head. “Well, we won’t be staying long, I assure.”

“I can promise you that,” he spat out, hands clenched into fists, his defensive stance ready to pounce should he need to.

As she opened her mouth to respond, Sango’s retort was cut short as another, more potent demonic aura overcame the clearing, and both her and the half-demon’s attention was torn in the direction where the dry well stood. Her reaction quick, Sango sprinted in the direction of Kaede’s hut where her Hirakotsu was, ignoring the shouted, “Hey!” from the not-so-nice half-demon she left behind.

“Hey, Sango,” Shippou called out upon seeing her arrive in a flurry, her breath quick, and her cheeks flushed. “What’s-”

“Demons,” she simply shouted, her hand finding Hirakotsu’s handle as Kirara immediately transformed. At her word, Shippou’s eyes widened, his young nose finally picking up on the scent of demon blood in the distance.

Sango didn’t wait for Miroku or Shippou to follow. She ran beside Kirara, leaping on her demon feline’s back, and riding toward the old well. When she breached the tree line, she found the soured half-demon jumping through the air to avoid an attack from the mass of demons she and Miroku had been tracking during their adventure together. The half-demon didn’t seem to be faring well against them and had already suffered injuries if his blood-stained haori spoke of anything.

A snake-like demon managed to grab the half-demon’s arm in its fangs, pinning him to the ground. The half-demon shouted out in pain, before quickly digging his claws into his own blood, and shouting, “Blades of Blood!” Several red, crescent-shaped blades flew out toward the demons, severing a few of their heads, rendering him freed. He leapt away from the enemies and landed softly on the grass with a wince, his painful expression revealing that he had more than likely been poisoned.

Sango clenched her jaw, her hand tightening around Hiraikotsu. She watched as the hoard of demons once again went on the offensive, immediately seeking out the half-demon, who looked worse for wear. She wasn’t sure if he could handle himself in battle, although his arrogant attitude she had encountered earlier implied that he could, but she wasn’t involving herself in a fight for his life.

She was fighting for the lives of her comrades, and all the villages these demons had slaughtered.

“Hiraikotsu!”

Her large weapon flew through the air and skimmed just short of where the half-demon stood, his silver hair whipping in the wind caused by the boomerang, as it sliced through the demons and caused blood to rain down. The demons screeched out in pain as Hiraikotsu made another pass before easily returning to its master’s hand. Once secured, Sango leapt from Kirara’s back and took a protective stance in front of the half-demon.

“If you’re going to just get in my way, I suggest you make haste and leave,” she demanded of him, not wanting to worry about a weakling who couldn’t handle his own.

The half-demon was stunned for a moment before climbing to his feet. “Keh. I can take care of myself. It’s you who should flee. You’re just a human!”

She glared back at him, her eyes fierce. “Don’t underestimate me. I am a demon slayer!”

A midnight sky. Soft glow of a fire. A conversation of heartfelt understanding.

The half-demon’s eyes glowed with a sharp intensity, and Sango frowned, not willing to recognize the emotion shown in them of one she had experienced on her own.

“What are you trying to prove?” he growled back at her, hand clenched tightly over the wound in his arm.

Images began flooding her mind, of a comrade dressed in red, a shining light during battle, someone who she trusted with her life. His face remained shadowed, but his amber eyes glowed, a familiar sense of trust radiating from within them.

“Watch out!”

The half-demon’s shout shook Sango from the hazy, confusing, and beguiling visions overtaking her thoughts, bringing her back to the present battle at hand. She leapt out of the way of a demon’s attack, before shouting and throwing Hiraikotsu again, watching as it whipped through the hoard of demons and leaving carnage in its wake. Her attack must have been enough to cause unease among them, for as soon as Hiraikotsu returned to her hand, the demons began their escape.

So unsettled was Sango by the flash of hallucinations that she couldn’t move herself to follow after the demons. Her breath came heavily, as if she had just run cross-country, yet she knew her stamina couldn’t have burnt out so easily. Sweat dripped from her brow, her limbs shook, and a lump formed in her stomach.

“Sango!” Miroku called as he and Shippou arrived in the clearing.

Brown eyes glanced at them briefly before turning her gaze onto the half-demon beside her. He stood up, rolling his shoulder as if he had simply pulled a muscle, and began walking away from them.

“Are you all right?” Shippou questioned, looking up at her with fretful, green eyes.

And, Sango couldn’t find the words to answer him.

...

Sango watched the stream, lost in the rhythmic pace of water flowing past the shore. Her eyes were steady to the horizon; rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, and crimsons. The beauty of the sunset only intensified Sango’s perplexion. Her encounter with the half-demon earlier that day had left her stunned, the emotions within her running rampant, and even though she could brandish a cool exterior even in the warmest of rays, this time she had trouble hiding the fervor that half-demon’s presence had riled within her.

“Sango?”

She turned to see Miroku had met her at the river bank, his brows knitted with concern. The sound of birds drew her attention skyward, and she watched as a flock flew overhead. The birds were silhouettes against the orange-kissed heavens, flying home for the night in which they could roost until dawn came again.

“I thought I knew what it meant to be a slayer,” Sango said quietly, folding her arms around herself as if to hide her vulnerability from the man beside her.

Miroku watched her carefully. “Did something happen to make you question that?”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “Actually, you did. Shippou did. That half-demon I encountered today…”

“What is it that troubles you?”

“There’s something stirring within me. Something I can’t quite place my finger on, but it’s been a constant tug on my thoughts since you stumbled into the slayer village.”

Miroku pursed his lips. “Have I done something to upset you?”

She shook her head. Perhaps his presence was part of it, but there was something more hovering just beneath the surface. “My father had explained to me that not all demons are malevolent toward us. Do you believe that to be true?”

He smiled genuinely at her, setting a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Do you believe Kirara to be an enemy? What about young Shippou? Surely you’ve seen it with your own eyes that not all demonic creatures are malicious.”

Sango nodded slowly. “That half-demon today…”

“Inuyasha?” Miroku clarified. Her eyes widened. He chuckled. “He does have a name. Lady Kaede divulged it to me.”

“I see. Then… Inuyasha. He reminds me so much of…” She let her sentence trail, not sure exactly what he reminded her of and found putting her feelings into words had become much more difficult than she had thought.

“There ye are.” Their conversation was interrupted as the old priestess found them. Kaede smiled openly at them, a much different greeting than they had originally received when they had first arrived. “I wish for ye to accompany me.”

Miroku and Sango exchanged a puzzled glance before abiding by Kaede’s wishes and following after her. She led them past the hut that she called home and toward a stone staircase that led them up a large hill overlooking the village.

“Where are you leading us, Lady Kaede?” Miroku asked as they followed after her.

“So, you’ve met Inuyasha,” she said, ignoring his question. “He’s quite the character, is he not?”

She glanced back over her shoulder with her good eye, watching Sango carefully and indicating her question was directed toward her. Sango blushed under her gaze, not sure how to answer the elder’s question.

Kaede chuckled, her raspy voice rolling over them. “If ye look beyond the grouchy exterior, ye shall see what I mean. Tis’ why I’ve allowed him to stick around for so long. He’s not like that around people he’s grown fond of.”

“What do you mean?” Sango questioned, recalling the sharp tongue Inuyasha had first greeted her with, the guarded gaze that greeted her from the trees. Surely a hot-tempered half-demon such as he couldn’t possibly be kind. Could he?

“He had sensed the battle between ye and the demons ye spoke of long before ye wandered into this village,” Kaede continued, once again not quite answering the question aimed toward her. “He has been watching ye since ye arrived.”

“That isn’t surprising, with him being a half-demon and all,” Miroku countered. “I’m sure he has heightened demonic senses, does he not?”

“Aye. That he does. They come in handy quite often within the village.”

Sango pondered over the priestess’s words. With Inuyasha having heightened senses compared to that of a full-fledged demon, why was it that he hesitated in attacking her in the clearing? Surely he could have caught her unaware and have attempted to end her life. So what stopped him?

They reached the top of the stairs and gazed upon what appeared to be a sacred shrine. It had an otherworldly appearance to it, with the surrounding trees allowing streams of sunset to dance upon the tomb which bore a beautiful name. Delicate blue bellflowers rested on the ground before it, a homage to the stunning soul that used to walk the earth.

“This is the resting place of my sister, Kikyou,” Kaede explained, wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes as she looked on fondly.

“Your sister?” Miroku questioned, a single hand in prayer as he bowed his head, murmuring a few words from the Buddha text.

“She was a priestess like you?” Sango asked, taking note of the shrine maiden attributes decorating the grave.

“That she was,” Kaede confirmed. “Although, my sister was a far more powerful and benevolent priestess than I.”

“How so?” Miroku questioned.

“My sister Kikyou was once the protector of the Jewel of Four Souls.”

Sango’s breath caught. Her father’s words of wisdom came rushing back, the fabled teachings of the Shikon Jewel being engrained in her memory - of an incredibly powerful priestess who battled demons for seven days and nights, eventually reaching into her own body for strength, and forcing out what was to be known as the Sacred Jewel; a powerful, marble-sized jewel which could grant immense power to whoever possessed it, and in which the battle between the priestess and demon continued to wage within.

But…

“The Sacred Jewel is said to have disappeared fifty years ago,” Sango argued, knowing that no such powerful object existed in modern times.

“Aye, that it did.” Kaede sighed deeply, her eye turning skyward. “‘Twas my sister who made it so, and ‘twas my sister who Inuyasha fell in love with.”

Her last sentiment caught Sango off guard. She didn’t know much about half-demons, but she knew full well the workings of demons. Majority of them were ruthless creatures who knew no bounds when it came to slaughtering innocents. It was only recently that she had come to realize not all demons were malevolent. But, to believe that Inuyasha could fall in love with a human - a priestess, no less - was hard for her to wrap her mind around.

Child-like laughter drew Sango’s attention back to the staircase, and as she peered down to the village below, she saw something that triggered a warmth in her chest. Inuyasha, the proud and arrogant half-demon who only earlier that day threatened her life with his claws, was walking along the riverbank with children. The kids looked up at him, laughing and smiling, while tugging on his haori, and Inuyasha - never seen without a scowl on his face - smiled down at them with a look of content, as if he actually enjoyed their presence.

Taking a closer look, Sango could see the ears from the children’s heads, now free from their wool caps, and the scales that shined upon their skin, free from their restrictive clothing. Tails twitched openly in the air as claws glinted in the waning sunlight. It wasn’t just normal children Inuyasha occupied himself with. It was half-demon children, smiling and looking carefree, like normal village children.

As Sango admired Inuyasha from afar she realized that though she may not know Inuyasha, it seemed to her that a sight such as this was rare. That perhaps, not all demons were bad, that half-demons were just as real as she, and there was so much more to their story than what met her eyes.

#inuyasha #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag #mirsan #kagome #miroku #sango #shippou #tomorrow's destiny #sassy stays classy #my fanfiction

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sopxhiea · 4 years

Text

Blitz

| “I didn’t mean to love you so much.”

Alfie Solomons X Reader

CH 1

The light in the cold room was dim, it didn’t reach the corners of the space nor did it make much difference from the outside. The sky was dark, decorated with different stars as the moon accompanied them. The night itself wasn’t as calm as the sky, there was much noise and chatter going around, mostly due to the fact that it was a saturday night. There were dead flowers around, each put in a vase but long forgotten.

She hadn’t forgotten them, she told herself as she sat in the corner. There wasn’t much she could see, only a scarce shadow around the living room due to the weak lighting. She didn’t mind, she had more lamps around but didn’t turn them on, she enjoyed the low quality of the things she could make out. There was no music playing, no noise other than the sounds of cars passing by from the open window.

Minutes were starting to feel like hours as she sat on the chair, waiting for him to show up. Maybe he never would. Given the way he was so fast to leave her the way he did two months ago, doubts started to gather around the corners of her mind, she couldn’t help. She was becoming paranoid, a part of her was now aware of the possibility of Alfie leaving, he had done it before. She sighed, stopping herself from the spiral as much as she could as the clock hit midnight.

According to her plans she had mapped out on her mind the other day, she wasn’t supposed to be home yet. James, the nice gentleman would take her dancing in the ballroom and they would spend a lovely evening, boring but lovely. She found the man to be mundane, yet so many girls she had met a couple hours ago were telling her how lucky she was to be with him. Those girls clearly knew nothing about her past lover.

She got up, deciding to distract herself from the dreaded waiting hours and read. A part of her mind was always calculating things and it did so when she started reading on her bed. She was sitting on the bed when she started reading, the position turned into a laid out position half an hour later where she was finding it hard to keep up with the main character of the book. There was no breeze in her room, nothing but the sound of her silent yet rushed breathing as she turned pages.

An hour like that passed, no noise or disturbance. She was still reading but her eyes threatened to close, they were getting too heavy for her to carry. She started to get up to wash her face, believing the myth and deciding to stay awake for as long as she could. For all she knew, maybe he’d never show up. She silently hoped that even if he ceased to come to her doorstep, he would send a note with the men he kept around her house. She had realised the problem of communication when Alfie told her that he had been dying for a long time and hadn’t told her.

There was a knock on the door when she got inside the bathroom, a rush coming over her body as she tried to regulate her heartbeats, hence the breathing. She took her time coming down the stairs, not eager to make him wait but also not as fast as she would’ve been if this was the regular schedule. That was different, she missed the old times.

She would run down the stairs right into his arms, take his smell in while Alfie would plant a kiss on her forehead. She wouldn’t let go of him that easily, she would take the view in while he took off his coat, only to plant a kiss on her lips this time. He wouldn’t let go of her that easily when their lips would meet, savouring the moment while her fingers would brush his hair, the perks of missing him taking over her soul even though he would be right next to her.

But she took her time, opening the door slowly as their eyes met under the starry night. The usual butterflies were there, even more so than before but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to go up to her teddy bear and hug him with all she had, not after what he had done. She knew the reasoning behind things now, she knew that there was a cause to his absence.

It hurt her, knowing Alfie was actively dying and hadn’t told her physically hurt Y/N. At first, she felt like she had been left out of something very important, mostly because she was but the feeling of being singled out turned into anger not too long after, then it filled her heart with more sorrow than she could handle and that was why she needed to speak to him. There was a part of her, the part that had betrayed her, that hoped maybe he would still want to come back.

And of course he did. He had been spending last two months on his own, no Cyril or Y/N and it had been excruciatingly painful. Every moment spent was filled with the thought of her: her smile and the feeling of her hands caressing his beard. It was the first time Alfie had felt alone in a long time, she was his rock and having her gone for even a split second had caused him more pain than he had registered for. He sighed, eyes desperately searching for hers under the dark sky.

She took a step back, letting him in the house as quickly as possible into the dimly lit space. Alfie knew her house better than she did, he had been practically living here for the first year of their relationship and there were many times Ollie had brought him here in the middle of the night to patch the man up. There were many happy memories of their laughter filling these walls, Alfie would make her laugh for more than she could take but this time, all there could be seen was tension and nerves taking over Y/N’s features.

He sat down on the familiar sofa, not taking his jacket on. He needed to warm up first and then he would take his jacket off, it was a habit of sorts for him and she knew that. There was tea boiling, ready to be served but she ignored the hot liquid as she sat in front of him. The room wasn’t filled with laughter like it usually was but she still took his image in, a part of her was afraid that he’d leave for good.

She thought to herself, he was still the man she loved oh so dearly. Her would always, and until all eternity, belong to him. She felt a warmth spread inside her chest, this was what love felt like. It was painful and a little uncomfortable but it had been so lovely, to love him. The love she had for him had made her the happiest person on the planet, it had brought sunshine to the darkest corners of her mind and made her a better person.

She wondered whether this was it.

“Shall I turn the light on?” she asked, after seeing him blink more rapidly than usual. She knew the room was unusually dim and he never really had the best sight.

“Yeah, that would be good, right, dove since I can’t even make out one single fucking thing in this room.” he said, chuckling slowly as she turned the lights on, all of them. There he was, even more handsome than before, maybe it was because she had missed him deeply.

A part of her was okay with being his mistake, becoming a non existent part of his life if it meant that she could love him from afar. She was an independent woman, she got what she wanted and worked hard for it, at least twice as any man did around there mostly because she had to and also because she knew what it took to get to success. She had her own ambitions and her own life. She knew, for a fact that she could live without him, but she didn’t want to, it would be painful.

She used to see love as an additional part of life, something that she could have but it wasn’t vital. She was still valuable and important in her life and a part of her was never able to compromise her independence for love, she was keen on keeping herself afloat. She, on her own, was enough and efficient where she needed no one, not even anyone else’s help to keep going.

But then she had met Alfie. He had reassured her that her independent side would not have to compromise because his didn’t either. He showed her that love could be important, up on the priority list and she could still live however she pleased. They had found a common ground in which both of their ways of life worked and that had changed Y/N for the better, she now knew she needed love.

“Dove..” he breathed out, making her feel all sorts of things. “I’m sorry..” he didn’t say much else because he knew she needed time to gather her thoughts, he would wait as long as she needed.

“I don’t have anyone else..” she whispered, his heart clenched. He was all she had and vice versa but why had he gone and left her then? It was painful to love and even more so to be vulnerable.

“You left me!” she sighed, voice a little louder this time as he watched her shift uncomfortably in her own home. Her nightgown was loose on her shoulders, he could see how she shivered and not because it was cold but because her heart was at unease.

“I didn’t mean to, yeah, I had to protect you..” Alfie spoke softly, not wanting to hurt her even more. Her anger was rising in her chest, unable to form coherent sentences because of how selfish he sounded.

“You thought that leaving me all alone, breaking my heart would be protecting me?”she stood up, she was shouting now. She never shouted, this was her heart’s way of telling him how much he had hurt her.

“I was fucking dying, Y/N, right. What the fuck was I supposed to do?!” it was his turn to get angry now, they were both right in their own way.

“You were supposed to tell me, Alfie. I care about you more than I care about myself...” she breathed out, unable to see his side of the coin while walking up and down the room. He was being too careless, too cruel to her but she needed to get the feeling out of her chest, otherwise she thought her heart might give up.

His eyes had a spark in them the moment she said her last words. She was his whole world, all he ever wanted and cared about. He wanted to take her into her arms but she was too angry. A part of him thought that she was an image of beauty when she was angry, this was the first time he had seen her so riled up and all he wanted to do was pepper her with kisses until she could not breathe anymore.

But that was for later.

“You didn’t miss me at all?” she asked, calmly this time after some time had passed. She didn’t care anymore, about how he had left, he was dying, It really didn’t matter.

“‘Course I did, love..” he said, sitting next to her on the table she was sat on. It felt like her heart was going to give out, she didn’t want to fight with him. “You were all I fucking dreamed of ,yeah, when I was gone.” he slowly took her hand in his, knowing she was calm now.

Alfie was not the type to life, if anything he was more blunt when he needed to get his point across. Y/N trusted him, more than anyone and knew that he would never lie. Times when he’d confess something out of the blue came into her mind: sometimes it was about his mother and other times it could either be business or how Alfie thought three pillows were enough for their bed.

Y/N wondered what would happen. This could go many ways, it could easily be a disaster which would cause their relationship to cease, that scared her. She wanted to keep him close for now and always. She didn’t believe in soulmates, they had talked about it but the love she had for him was something out of a book she’d read and she didn’t want to lose it so easily. Even if it was all lost in the end, she wanted to at least make an effort to keep this love and him around.

“I didn’t mean to love you so much...” her thoughts slipped through her tongue, she was as honest as she could be.

He stared at her, hair a little messy from his hat but his perfume was still detectable. He was close, not as close as she’d like him to be, she wanted him to be closer. She had missed his presence, as simple as that was. When he hadn’t been around for the past months, she realised just how important he had became for her and a part of her wanted to deny the love but she was unable to, there was too much of it.

She remembered the first time she had realised she’d fallen for him when Alfie’s eyes met hers under the lit room. She had been scared, panicked even because she had never felt this strong feeling before, it consumed her thoughts and body and the moment she connected the dots, she thought it was impossible that she was able to love someone just this much. She didn’t regret a moment of anything when it came to Alfie but seeing the way he vanished a couple months ago only to appear again, she thought that maybe he had regrets.

“Dove...I didn’t mean to hurt you this much..” he said, speaking from the heart as his voice broke. He was so close to crying, just becoming aware of how much sorrow this had caused her.

Alfie thought she would get mad but upon hearing the news of him actively dying, he thought she would move on. She was as beautiful as they came, she was kind and responsible. She could hold her own, he knew that much and after seeing her with a man in the wedding, he had also realised that she was a precious jewel but not only in his eyes. She was quite the catch if one was able to bring her heart to ease.

That person was Alfie and would always be, he ceased to see that. He had his own doubts and scares when it came to Y/N. She was better off without him in Alfie’s eyes, she deserved better and obviously could do way better than him so this led to him thinking that she’d be free now, free to reach the perfectly polished husband and lover she was meant for.

But Alfie was all she asked for. She didn’t care about his business or that his hands were covered in blood, hers were too a little bit. She paid no mind to religion or money because after falling for him, she quickly came to realise that she fell in love with the man for who he was, not for what made him the person he was. She sighed, seeing small tears make their way into Alfie’s eyes.

She had seen him cry before but that was out of surprise, not pain or agony.

“I....I can’t deny what I feel, Alfie. My heart belongs with you...” she whispered, wanting him to know just how desperate she felt and his heart was full of sorrow. He wasn’t leaving again, ever.

He got on his knees so that Y/N could see his face a little more clearer, she was once again reminded of his sharp looks. Her hands found his cheeks, caressing it and savouring every ounce of the moment she was able to get. Alfie had made up his mind but he needed his girl to know because he was stupid enough to let her feel lonely when all he wanted was her.

He wasn’t going to leave, the only departure would be of death and he was getting better so that wasn’t happening anytime soon. The feelings he had caused her to feel would take time to heal, there was much time and space needed for her to feel the same way again but he was more than willing to do anything it took. She was his girl, he was more than sure she’d be his wife one day, that was only if she wished for that, too.

Alfie had become so fragile over the course of healing from his wounds, both mentally and physically. He had stopped thinking rationally and knew this, but kept going either way. He now came to realise how reckless and careless he had been towards her, the only person who mattered to him. He was going to make things okay, the way they were before or even better, no matter what it took.

“Y/N, love..listen, yeah?...” he breathed and she nodded, she was ready to be his again. “You are the first thing on my mind, the last thought before sleep, and my truest love..” he breathed out this time, he saw tears leave her eyes but they were of happiness more than anything else.

“Just look at me..” he looked deep into her eyes, she saw her Alfie again.

He was still her Alfie. The Alfie who would check up on her countless times a day and the man who decided to adopt dogs before he told her that he wanted kids. This was still the man who she tried to teach knitting to, he would try as many times it took to make her happy. This was the goofy man who would do impressions when she had a hard day until she found herself on the floor from laughing too much.

She was still very much his and she had no intention of letting go again, neither of them did. When two people love each other, they work hard at it to make things work and that was what they intended to do as their bodies morphed into each other, her lips meeting his for a long awaited kiss when Cyril showed up on the kitchen door, watching his loving parents.

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Some of the dialogue is taken from @yourlocalwriterblog‘s prompt/reference list if you’re interested and I sincerely hope you liked it!Let me know if there’s any requests for another prompt or the continuation of this one, I would love to do it!

Tag list: @fandom--0verdose @parkbearum

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