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yawarakaizai · 7 months

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Yan!dazai mindbreaking angel!reader ooo

ⵌ WATCH HER BREAK JUST LIKE A DOLL

SENDER Angel!Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT Yandere!Dazai (BSD) CONTENTS NSFW DARK CONTENT 16+ , obsession/possession, drugging, mind-breaking, reader is a hostage?, unhealthy relationship, dubcon/nc??, abuse (physical implied + mental), slight somnophilia, lowkey angsty, dazai is an asshole!, smut part isn't really detailed (WARNING; This relationship is unhealthy and should not be used as an example. Reader here does not hold Dazai accountable. If you are in an abusive relationship, please seek help from someone you trust or a professional! This fanfic does not idolise nor condone abuse within relationships) NOTE All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed. COMPANY Dolly

A/N combined 2 asks I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ASK BUT IT WAS A YANDERE DAZAI NSFW IDEA im so sorryy ... also any other yan dazai req ! !! srry for the long wait ;; !! reader is an angel !! she was kind of created ,,? kinda like sigma !! the og req had an idea abt aphrodisiacs but ... not sure if i want to write about them just yet :( so sorry!!

Dutiful and pristine, you were a model wife.

Delicate and gorgeous. Just how he liked you to be.

You were brought her to serve as his prize. His reward for years of watching you from afar, stalking you like a lions meal. And you, pure and kind-hearted, not once ever suspected a thing.

Dazai was your co-worker after all. A smart, handsome man with a positive future.

Back before this all, you were nothing but a mere fascination to not only him, but your peers as well. You were never offended or hesitant to answer questions others would have about you. How you came to be, whether you remember anything, and if those feathers of yours regrow.

You coped with everything by dissociating as much as possible. If you could believe hard enough - Dazai was still the Dazai you knew before. The man next to you who'd pout when ordered to finish his report, the one who would turn to you and try to flirt or make you giggle, knowing Kunikida would never dare give out to you.

How could anyone, after all? You only manifested a few years ago. What was it, eleven, or twelve. You can't remember. There was little you remember anyway.

The first few months with Dazai were a blur. You'd have blacked out for the majority of the day until he'd wake you up and force you to eat. If you'd refuse, he'd starve you until you'd beg.

You had tried to protest by going days without food or water but he always got his way in the end. You had to give in at some point.

The biggest obstacle was finding the guts to hate Dazai.

You were afraid to hate him. You were afraid to hate.

He'd treat you so gently and with love. Funnily enough, you blamed yourself for it all. You didn't know why or how, but you felt like if you had done things different, none of this would have happened.

Osamu was sweet. He always did what was right. You respected Kunikida and Fukuzawa immensely. If they trust Dazai, then so did you.

If you knew that you were a lamb handed to a wolf, maybe you would have ran much earlier.

Dazai did not show himself upfront. No. First, it was the mind games. The ghastly figures that would appear outside of your window in the form of blackened shadows, doors you remember closing being wide open when you return home, bangs and creaks around your home when you lived alone, your items disappearing from their usual spot, laundry vanishing completely, and countless mysterious messages from anonymous.

Second, it was you asking for help. You turned to who you admired best. The Armed Detective Agency. Ranpo scanned your phone. He read each message out loud before looking at you, then back down at your screen. He slid it back towards you. " There's nothing suspicious. It's just a prank. "

You felt relief. Ranpo had his ability, after all. The ability to figure out any mystery. He could not be wrong.

How dumb of you to think Ranpo would not be the first person Dazai would go to for his sick joke.

Third was the fever. It hit you like a brick. It was the first time you had been infected with a human illness. Dazai kindly offered to tend to you in his free-time, as everyone else was too busy. You were grateful that Dazai, an important member of the ADA, was sacrificing his time in helping you. He'd stop by almost every day and night to feed you and make sure you're alright. The more you drank that chalky water he'd give you daily before bed, the more you lost your ability to walk.

Fourth, was the inevitable. You waking up in a bed that was harder than yours. Upon observing around you, you realised you weren't in your house. And you don't recall ever sleeping next to Dazai. Naturally, you were afraid. You were in hysterics while he tried to calm you down, telling you stories on how it's safer for you to be here, and that you were an ungrateful bitch for not being grateful enough to him.

You didn't want to hear any of it. So? You were kept in his lovely basement.

There, you were badly treated. Sleeping on cold concrete and eating what scraps he'd leave on the floor for you like some animal - any form of resistance was met with harsh punishment.

You lacked survival instincts. You not once ever felt the need to. Working in the ADA, you were nothing but an accountant. You'd hear about the missions they'd go on, but to you it all seemed like the things you'd see in action films.

But this was real. The way your heart pounded in your ears every time you'd hear steps coming down and the way he'd tug your hair 'till your scalp would burn is something that the actors would never be able to portray properly.

It took you a while to realise you weren't going to make any progress by doing the opposite of what he wanted.

Though, you were admittedly conflicted.

You provided Dazai something interesting. If you let him use you, to spare yourself of his harsh punishments, would he get bored of you? Would he rid of you completely? Would he treat you more terribly to purposely make you act out just so he'd have a reason to strike you?

These were questions that would keep you up.

You couldn't be strong-willed for long. Hope that Kunikida or anyone else would come looking for you dwindled as the days went by and none would come but Dazai.

At some point, you had lost your voice for a while. In that period, Dazai took complete advantage of the fact. When you could do nothing but thrash and cry until you submit underneath him.

He'd pull out, collapse next to you and hold you close to his bandaged chest and apologise until he fell asleep with your hot breath against his skin.

Dazai had been your first time. He took an angel's virginity. You were frozen for the rest of the night. You were almost neutral to what had happened. You even wiped his tears away with your thumb. He apologised. He must surely be remorseful. He promised he wouldn't do it again.

You lost your halo that day.

'' Fetch me some water, I'm thirsty. "

His hand came off your head where it had been caressing.

You looked up at him through long lashes, slowly nodding your head and raising to unstable feet.

Ever since you were allowed to stay out of the basement, he's been helping you regain your ability to walk after the drugs had left your knees shaky.

Your movement was slow but gradual, at least.

If you wished to remain with Dazai, you'd have to obey him. And obey you did.

You fetched him his requested glass of water albeit spilling a tad bit on your way back, you presented him with it.

He peered in, then slouched back into the couch, gaze returning to the television screen. " I said orange juice. "

You were sure he said water.

" But you said water. " Your voice was meek compared to his.

" Are you saying I am lying? "

That shut you up.

You apologised, and travelled back to the kitchen to throw away the water and replace it with orange juice.

You'd bring it back, and he'd look at you with disappointment. " Why are you bringing me orange juice when I asked for apple juice? "

He sounded so convincing that you thought maybe you were mishearing. You held the orange juice in your hand tightly, apologised, and left to get the apple juice.

By the time you returned, you were shaking. The apple juice was dripping from the overfilled glass and onto the floor. You were trembling. " It's- It's apple juice. Because y-ou said.. "

Your gaze was so distant. You were so far away. You were no longer on this Earth. Dazai had to keep you grounded.

" You must be taking me for a fucking idiot. "

He slapped the glass right from your hand, your whole body jolted in shock when the glass shattered against the floor.

You two had just been cuddling on the couch, watching a noir movie like a happy couple would.

Dazai had to keep you grounded. He had to keep you on a leash lest you wander.

" Get over here. " He sighed out after a long pause. Instinctively, you answered, " No. "

It's been so long since you were punished. You didn't want to go back to them.

" I didn't do anything wrong ", your voice croaked out to reason. You should have figured at some point Dazai would get bored of a normal life style.

" I said get over here, Y/N, my patience is already running low. I'm not going to hit you. "

And no matter what you've been through, you'd wake up praying Dazai was kinder. He had overheard your nightly prayers one day and in an act of irony or sympathy - hung a cross over your bed.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt before waddling to between his spread thighs. Hand reaching for your hip and guiding you down to sit on his lap, you avoided eye contact.

You were clearly afraid of being punished for something that was not your fault. You couldn't tell Dazai it wasn't your fault. That would be calling Dazai a liar. And that would get you hit. Good wives don't get hit.

True to his word, he did not raise his hand to you at all.

Once he opened his mouth to speak, you attentively turned to him. His training worked wonders on you. He made himself your God in a matter of months. You no longer worried your pretty little head on whether Kunikida would save you. All you had to do was clean around the house and prepare Dazai's meal - living to serve your husband.

" You've been such a good girl, don't ruin it with this, 'kay? " He didn't sound mad anymore, but you could still pick up on the fact he was not exactly happy with you either.

" Yes, 'samu. " You nod, toying with your fingers nervously.

" You're such a sweet wife. So dumb. So cute. Love seeing you panic. "

You bit your bottom lip at that, chewing on skin.

'' D'ya think It's about time we started our own family? "

You thought at first you didn't hear him properly. You knew you were trying to convince yourself so.

" Ahah.. " You were hesitant. He picked up on it. His dark brown eyes felt like lasers. " I don't think I can. I'd love to, 'samu, but I can't. "

He let go of his soft grasp on your hip to allow you to stand up.

It was 9pm. You should head to bed.

His silence and poker face felt foreboding.

" Goodnight, love. " You tried to remain cheerful.

You went to bed earlier than Dazai. You climbed into your shared bed after having taken your nightly medication.

You fluffed out your wings - once white, now grey - then tossed and turned until you slept.

" Hah.. hah.. "

The burning heat is what hit you first.

Confusion was second.

" Wakin' up, pretty baby? "

Your mouth opened by itself before your eyes did, and when you tried to speak, to ask what is going on, you let out a soft moan.

You feel something sink in deeper in your pussy, the wooden bed frame hitting against a wall. Oh.

" 'Samu! " Your eyes shot open upon realising what was happening. Dazai had not done this for a while. The room was dark. Judging by how dry your mouth was, you had been fast asleep for a while.

Dazai was propped on his knees between your thighs, naked from what you could make out.

You looked further down to realise that he had shoved his dick in you while you were asleep. Your nightgown was pulled up over your stomach and his hands were holding on loosely to your hips.

Your hand reached out to grip onto his wrist, your legs unable to close. " No, you said you were gonna be better, you said no more of this. " Oh, you sweet poor child.

" It's alright. " He responded casually, pulling out just to slam back in. Although your vision was limited, you could feel his piercing stare studying your contorting features. " Just this once, yeah? "

You remembered your conversation with Dazai earlier. The sudden question about having a child.

When you tightened around the base of his shaft, he knew what you were thinking.

" Don't get all scared, baby. You'd make an amazing mom. " He would bend down, his mouth next to your ear as he'd begin thrusting.

You lay unresponsive and silent, staring at the ceiling - your only solace.

His huffs, groans and sighs muffle themselves on your pillow, your body would temporarily jolt in spasms with each orgasm.

Dazai continued for hours.

At some point, your hands were tangled in messy brown hair, your mouth hung and your voice would plead for 'more', 'there', 'deeper'.

Your sweet husband never pulled you back when you drifted off to space with your longing gaze.

He barely even met you in the eye.

Dazai finished his rounds before you noticed. It was a period of him not touching you that made you turn your head sideways to meet him laying next to you, his chest still raising and falling as he'd regain his breath.

You hadn't moved your body.

Adjusted to the dark, you couldn't help but stare at the pitiful man who spoke nothing to you.

An emptiness weighed your heart down and the liquid love he had planted in you seeped - unwelcomed.

You still felt bad for him. Surely, definitely, this was not his fault.

" I'd like a girl. "

Your lips trembled, you smiled to hide it.

" Two.. daughters. "

The corners of your lips quivered with your fake expression. He could see your eyes gloss and your shivering body, blinking rapidly until your tears slid down.

You never did want children. Not with Dazai, at least. Not for another few years. Not here, not now, not with him. Not this Dazai.

He left you waiting for a while, until he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling that enamoured you with amazement when he had made love to you.

" Yeah. "

He sounded uncertain, before continuing his response. You had expected it. All these years of feeling inadequate and dumb. You were proud to have grown accustomed to Dazai's routine, even if he had promised you months ago he had changed.

" 'm sorry. "

" I know. "

©yawarakaizai 2023 ﹒﹒ reblogs appreciated! requests open :3

#dazai x reader #yandere dazai #bsd x reader #yandere dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 2 years

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18 | Masterlist

Summary: Billy Hargrove needs a Queen and you need someone to help you get out of the hellhole that you are currently in as you move to Hawkins. It should be an easy and obvious solution, right?

Not, not even close. Because it doesn't matter if Billy keeps dreaming about you or that you think that if the sun and the sea had a love child it would look like Billy, you really hate each other's guts -at least, that's what you keep telling yourselves- until you are caught in a not so great position. literally. Lots of insults flying around, lots of lying to yourself, lots of fighting before ending up against a wall your lips inches away from his because that's what enemies do, right?

billy hargrove masterlist

playlist

updates on monday, wednesday, friday

also, smut:*

author's note: my writing doesn't condone billy's action in the show.

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makeyoumine69 · 10 months

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Guilty Pleasure

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: After you made a mistake in one of yours latest reports, Patrick Bateman — your boss — calls you to the meeting room to teach you a lesson.

— CONTAINS: Smut, Daddy kink, degradation, praising, dry humping, pet names, dirty talk, humiliation, nipple play/sucking, hair hulling, biting, spanking, marking.

— WORDS: 1.2k

— A/N: Sorry, I had to repost this fic due to this situation. More information about my writing challenge you can find here.

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [2k CELEBRATION MASTERLIST]

Your heart was beating like a ticking bomb inside your chest as you made your way to the conference room where your big boss — Patrick Bateman — was waiting for you. You had no other choice but to comply, even though you didn't want to go. Tense, yet annoyed, you turned the last corner and saw a small group of yuppies whose arrogant expressions made you sick. Although you tried to ignore the way one of them looked at you — Timothy Bryce as far as you could remember — something heavy dropped in your gut, you hated that kind of attitude, so you had to bite your tongue and open the door to the meeting room.

As soon as you stepped inside, you noticed Patrick sitting at the large wooden table across from the entrance, wearing his favorite black pinstripe suit with red tie and Oliver Peoples O'Malley glasses.

"You're late." He muttered, not even bothering to look at you as he flipped through a folder of documents.

"No, I'm not! You asked me to come at eleven."

Only then did he deign to glance at you — his piercing gaze instantly sent shivers down your spine. "11 o'clock was 10 minutes ago, darling."

Damn it!

A sharp breath escaped your lips as you checked your watch and realized that he was right. "I'm sorry, sir."

Bateman couldn't help but grin with satisfaction and put the folder aside, tapping his long fingers on the table surface. "Do you know why you're here?"

Embarrassed, you looked down for a second, unable to bear the way he was staring at you. "Actually, no."

His low hum bounced off the walls of the meeting room, and now you could finally admit to yourself that you were so damn nervous and even scared, but you couldn't show it to him. After all, you needed this job, you'd already done so much to get the chance to work at P&P, you couldn't let it all end like this.

"I wanted to talk to you about the last report you did for me," Patrick beckoned you with a soft smile, and you could swear that this jerk was enjoying every second of this situation, almost like having the power over you was his personal kink. "I think I found a mistake that is quite serious."

"That can't be," you gasped, moving toward his seat. "I've double-checked everything so many times and—"

"Hey, it's all right," he cut you off, watching you come closer and shamelessly checking out your legs. "Mmm, this skirt is better than your previous ones, but it's still not short enough."

Scowling, you took a deep breath to not just punch him right in his perfect face and just leave.

"C'mon, have a seat." He playfully motioned to his knee, but you pretended not to understand his gesture and tried to sit on the chair nearby. That annoyed him slightly, so he grabbed you by your hips and forced you to sit on his lap. "Are you testing me, babydoll?"

His large palm was already tracing invisible patterns along your breasts through your silk blouse, not even giving you a chance to protest. Taking advantage of your shock, he nipped at your neck, leaving a few hickeys that made you squeal.

"Mr. Bateman!"

"Shush," he growled in a raspy voice, quickly positioning you in a way that made you face him, and his knee was right between your thighs. "Do you want the whole office to know what a slut you are? If I remember correctly, you care about your job."

Smirking, he watched you close your eyes in embarrassment and pulled up the hem of your skirt to squeeze your ass. The cold metal of his Rolex brushed against your skin, making you gasp, and he used the moment to kiss you hard on the lips. He plugged his warm tongue in and your mouth and you immediately squeaked against his lips.

"Ahh, look at you," Bateman crooned sweetly, drawing a long, wet line across your face. "Such a dirty little whore! You like it when Daddy plays rough with you, huh?"

Panting, you whimpered as he tugged on your hair to make you look at him. "Yes, Daddy...I l-love everything you do to me."

"Ohh, is that so?" He chuckled and unbuttoned your blouse so he could slide his hand inside to play with one of your swollen nipples. "Now be a good girl and prove it to me."

God, everything was too much, his hoarse voice sent shivers down your spine, and not to mention the way his skilled fingers twisted your little tip, pinching it a bit too tightly, but that only spurred your pussy to pulsate even more. You let him pull you into another kiss, his lips moving greedily against yours, and you didn't even notice that you were starting to grind against his thigh, your throbbing clit rubbing against the expensive fabric of his pants, increasing the tingling in your lower abdomen.

"Mmmhm, Daddy," you clang desperately at his strong biceps through his suit, causing him to grunt in response. "Someone can see us."

"Then be quiet," Patrick licked your neck and groped your hips, forcing you to move faster. "I'm going to rip your panties off and fuck you right here if you don't cum soon."

Holy shit.

You wanted to cry at the strength which he held your thighs, pinning you to his lap and twisting your taut nipples one by one until he took one of them into his mouth.

"Aww!" You yelped quietly as he bit your peak with his sharp teeth. "I'm so… I'm s-so close… mhmm…!"

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you surrendered to his power, letting the delightful rapture consume you completely as your soft inner walls began to clench around nothing. When Bateman noticed the way you were twitching, he squeezed your hips even harder, pressing you close to his firm body as you couldn't stop shaking. You thought you would bite your lips so hard till the point of drawing blood, but Bateman stopped you by pushing his thumb inside your warm mouth, and you sucked on it as if your life depended on it.

"Yes. Just like that," he cooed to you, unable to take his eyes off your shivering body. "You make Daddy so proud."

With that, he slapped your ass and stood up, holding you in his arms. Gently, he placed you on the table and spread your legs to admire the view of your soaked pussy. He then roughly pulled down your panties — you didn't have the strength or courage to resist.

"Imagine if someone came in and saw me eating you out," he snickered, giving your cunt a quick slap that made you whimper and flinch from the overstimulation. Smugly, Patrick adjusted his pants and hid your wet underwear in the pocket of his suit. "I bet you want this."

The voices behind the door only grew louder, but you couldn't hear them because your own heartbeat drowned out all sounds. If you ended up losing your job, at least you would know who was to blame, and one day you would take your revenge, one way or another.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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skxllz · 6 months

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warnings; mentions of cancer risk, implications of abuse, implied homophobia

the rattling of steel clanged around, signifying that someone was climbing the rusted ladder of the fire escape. you were burning a cigarette on the side, hanging over the railing and looking down at the passing people that laughed, talked, and just so happened to be drunk.

it was eleven forty on a saturday night after all.

“ hey, y/n! ” mickey's voice caught your attention, causing you to look up and for him to grin — until he saw the wisps of smoke. he followed it, up until his eyes landed on your cigarette.

“ the fuck? ”

a frown instantly pulled at his lips. that's when ian climbed up behind ‘im on the ladder and pulled himself up, only to dust his hands onto his jeans. “ what is it? ” ian questioned, looking at mickey with raised brows — then, his head slowly turned to you.

they both had frowns on their faces after that.

you flicked your cigarette over the railing and to the ground below, ridding it from their sight, and yours, completely. “ I don't see what the big deal is with me smoking. ”

“ you promised you wouldn't anymore. ” ian shot back, face hard with emotion. “ y/n, lung cancer runs in your family and last time you were at the doctors- ”

“ I know. ” you scoffed, looking away. “ I know, they found cells and I was at high risk. i just... ” your eyes were darting back and forth as you thought, debating if you should tell your boyfriends about the trouble that's been going on in your life. it was difficult to decide.

“ you just? ” mickey mocked, waving his hands about, “ you just what? spit it the fuck out. ” he was irritated because someone he loved went behind his back and did something he shouldn't have. of course he'd let his anger get the best of ‘im.

you sigh, “ I've been stressed, alright? and angry.. ” tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let anything fall; holding them back with immense strength. “ m’ mum, she's... not supportive of my sexuality. that's why I never introduced her to you guys. ”

ian's brows knitted together at this new found out information. of course, him and mickey knew you had secrets —they had only known you around eight months—, but they never thought it'd be something like that. something they could relate to, of all things.

of course it was serious, but why wouldn't you go to them about it?

mickey glanced at ian, before approaching you slowly with a softening expression. he himself knew what it was like to have a parent that wasn't accepting. “ y/n... ” you flinched as he put a hand on your forearm, and that made him reel his arm back.

he was nearly offended — but then he glanced down, eyeing the arm that was covered by the thin sleeve of a hoodie. your mother couldn't have... could she?

even if he wanted to ask, he didn't, because he knew he'd kill the bitch. right now, you needed comforted — and as selfish as mickey could be, now wasn't the time.

“ baby, ” mickey's voice came out quieter, “ why didn't you come to us — to me? you know we wouldn't judge you.. ” he huffed a laugh of irony. “ hell, terry hates my fucking guts cause ‘m gay, man. ”

you wouldn't meet his gaze, but you nodded in acknowledgement to his words, letting out a shaky breath. “ I.. I know. I just didn't want to bother you guys with my problems. ”

“ bother us? ” this time ian scoffed, approaching the both of you until he was standing directly next to mickey. “ if you bothered us, we would've told you to beat it awhile ago y/n. ”

“ yeah, ” mickey eyed you, blue eyes taking in the sight of your own shifty ones. of course you were nervous. “ but you're not botherin’ us. so stop beatin’ around the bush about shit from now on, alright? ”

you were silent for a moment, thinking over mickey and ian's words — taking in the fact that yeah, they were telling the truth. these two don't keep people around, especially mickey, if they didn't like them. so in a way, you guess you were lucky.

that's when you lifted your head to smile slightly at the two, “ y’know I love you guys, right? ”

mickey smirked. “ enough to suck my d- ”

ian smacked him in the back of the head. mickey scowled in reply, rubbing at his head, but said nothing.

the red head turned to look at you with a sweet smile, “ what he meant to say, was he enough to stop smoking, right? ”

you were grinning widely, cheeks rosey from mickey's earlier comment. god you loved them. “ yeah... yeah, enough to stop smoking. ”

#ian gallagher x reader #mickey milkovich x reader #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #mickey and ian #gallavich fanfic #gallavich x reader #male reader

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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The Aftermath || LN4 {2}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: Lando's new role of taking care of you is one he takes very seriously. Warnings: 18+ only, grief and loss, depression WC: 2.6k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

Lando felt useless as he watched you cry in your sleep, the quiet whimpers making him hate himself even more. He should have come by and checked in on you, he should have been a better friend. He had foolishly convinced himself that you were better off without his interference since all he did was remind you of what you lost.

He remembered how hard it had been to get back into his race car for the first time after the funeral and not see René in the McLaren next to him. It had been a gut punch that was more shocking to his system than the weight of the casket he had carried on his shoulder. Whatever loss he was feeling could only be tenfold for you and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Now he wished he could go back in time and save you from yourself, but all he could do was plan to help you move forward.

He grabbed a blanket from inside the ottoman and draped it over you, the very same one he used countless times when it got too late and he would crash on the couch after a movie night or BBQ. It was like a mausoleum of memories and he could feel himself tearing up as he walked around the room opening the curtains and windows for some much needed fresh air.

Stepping out onto the terrace he found the pool you had loved to swim in daily was ruddy brown and the once pristine garden that you had tended to was overgrown with vines creeping up the stonework of the house. Anger flooded him and he pulled his phone out.

“Why the hell did no one invite Y/N?” he growled when his team principal answered the phone. “She didn’t even know about René's memorial.”

“Look, take a breath, I know it’s upsetting but the FIA didn’t feel comfortable having her there after her accusations last year.”

Lando laughed humorlessly as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Uncomfortable? Fucking unbelievable. Of course they are uncomfortable, they pretty much killed him.”

“Lando…” Andrea started to warn him.

“I know, I know.” Lando took a deep breath. “Is there really a ‘surviving spouse’ clause in our contracts?”

“It’s not exactly easy to get life insurance for you guys, too much risk,” Andrea confirmed. “Look, I’m not going to say stay away from her, but be discreet, we don’t need to be pissing off the FIA right now. Pictures of your car at her house is not discreet.”

Lando frowned as the call ended and he opened instagram to see he had been tagged in a photo.

Only moments later did his phone vibrate with a What’s App message from his old teammate, Daniel Riccardo.

It was still daytime when you woke up on the couch to find all the curtains and windows open wide. Your neck protested the movement of getting up but it was quickly overpowered by the pain shooting down your legs and you remembered why you drank so much in the first place.

“Lando?” you called out, wondering where he was as you stood up on shaky legs.

You searched the house and found the carpet in your bedroom covered in foam cleaner to try get the bloodstains out and all the glass had been vacuumed up too. Other than that, there was no sign of Lando at all so you walked outside and followed the sounds of quiet cursing in the backyard.

“Is that a good idea?” you asked as you sheltered your eyes from the harsh sun and looked up at a shirtless Lando scaling an unstable ladder.

“Probably not,” he shot back, leaning out with a pair of clippers to cut the vines climbing the house. “Will it stop me? No.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped into the garden bed and grabbed hold of the ladder to try stabilise while you looked around and saw he had already mowed the lawn.

“You must still be single then I take it,” you said with a shake of your head. “You never had this much time to waste when you had a girlfriend.”

“First of all, it’s not a waste of my time. And secondly, well, yeah, okay, I am single. But that’s not the point and not why I’m doing this.” He nearly lost his balance as he hacked at a stubborn vine and scrambled to cling to the ladder. “Maybe I’ll call an arborist. And someone to clean the pool too.”

“Stop, please, you don’t need to do any of that.”

“I know,” he said as he jumped down and used his discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I want to.” He nodded his head back to the house. “Food’s ready, I was waiting on a sleeping beauty to wake up.”

You self consciously touched your hair at the comment and stepped away before he followed but he easily caught your hand.

“Don’t do that,” he said with a shake of his head. “Don’t shy away. You still look beautiful, and I am almost decent at untangling curls so we will tackle that whole situation after you have eaten something.”

“Lando, Lan, La-”

He shoved the spoon into your mouth with a laugh before dunking it back into the soup bowl and starting the aeroplane sounds again. “Here comes another one.”

“I’m going to shove that spoon up your ars-” He took the opportunity to get it past your lips again and you thumped him on the arm. “I can fucking feed myself. Give me that.”

You swiped the spoon out his hand as he doubled over laughing and before you knew it a foreign sound bubbled from your chest and your cheeks ached as a smile tugged at the forgotten muscles. Lando froze at the sound before a slow smile broke over his face as he sat back in his seat like he had witnessed a miracle.

“Stop staring, you’re making it weird,” you murmured as you took another mouthful of the surprisingly good soup.

“For a while I didn’t think I would hear that again.” He smiled to himself as he stirred his soup. “You couldn’t go a minute without laughing and joking over something stupid.”

“That’s because you and René were always doing something stupid.” His name slipped past without a thought but the moment it filled the room you felt the air leave and the spoon trembled in your fingers.

Your chair clattered backwards as you rose swiftly and covered your lips as if you could take it back.

You spun on your heel almost tripping over the chair as you rushed down the hallway. The back door you passed offered an escape from the suffocating weight on your chest but instead you ran deeper into the house, your feet flying as you spiralled down the stairs to the converted basement. You slammed into the door and it flung open as you burst into the space you hadn’t dared open in a year.

This place wasn’t just his, it was an extension of him. The shelves were lined with his helmets, his team shirts hung on the walls. The trophies in glass cases were dull and dust clung to every surface.

But in the cold, still air you could smell his lingering scent from the hours he spent playing on the sim set up in the corner. You closed your eyes and felt the air shift around you, feeling his presence enveloping you and chasing away the bone-numbing chill you had endured for 365 days.

“It’s finally real, Lando,” you whispered, knowing he was standing in the doorway watching your back. “When the house was silent I could pretend he was down here, playing iRacing or Gran Turismo. I could fucking pretend…that I wasn’t alone. If I didn’t call his name then I could pretend that’s why he doesn't answer me.”

Your vision blurred and when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your body you could pretend one last time that it was him holding you. It was the closest to a goodbye you would have.

“He’s gone.” You sighed and swallowed the lump in your throat knowing what you needed to do but somehow no longer finding the thought as daunting as you once did. “No more pretending.”

“I’ll try be gentle,” Lando promised as he stood behind you, armed with a hairbrush.

He had poured a bottle of conditioner onto the bird's nest on your head and let it absorb for almost an hour before working up the courage to try and detangle it. While the conditioner was hopefully working its magic, he had helped to dust and polish René’s trophies, doing most of the work while you silently mourned the fantasy you had lived in.

“Just do it,” you ordered as you locked eyes with him in the bathroom mirror.

“Here goes nothing.”

Your neck ached and your scalp burned by the end, and there was a huge pile of hair balls he had pulled off the hairbrush, but finally he was able to drag the brush relatively cleanly through your hair.

“See, who’s the man?” he grinned as he flipped the brush confidently in his hand.

You rewarded him with a small smile in the mirror before turning and wrapping your arms around his narrow waist. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he said as his own arms encased you and he pressed a friendly kiss to your hairline. “Ugh, it smells like coconut but doesn’t taste like it.”

You laughed and stepped back with a wave to the door. “Go on, let me wash it out.”

It took far longer than you expected for your hair to finally feel clean but eventually you were satisfied with it and got out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body. Your fingers automatically reached for a shirt of René’s when you opened the closet but something had changed in the basement.

You grabbed a handful of his clothes and pulled them from the closet, coathangers flinging off in all directions, before grabbing another and another.

“Hey, woah!” Lando skidded into the room thinking you were having another meltdown. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“If I keep them,” you panted as the small effort already exhausted you, “it’s all I will wear again, I just know it. I have to get rid of them.”

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

You sent him a peeved glare before opening the drawers next and grabbing the stack of sweatpants he had amassed over the years. “Yes!”

“Look,” he said softly as he raised his hands with the universal sign of peace, “why don’t we go and get some boxes, pack them up, and then you sleep on it before doing anything drastic?”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Lan.”

You did change your mind.

You woke up at 3am and sprinted through the house to the front door, tripping over Lando’s leg that hung off the couch and waking him up with one hell of a fright. He burst onto his feet after pulling himself off the ground and his wild curls swung as he looked around for some threat.

Seeing it was just you looking equally dishevelled, he grabbed your shoulders and bent his knees so he was at the same height. “Are you alright?”

“Tell me you didn’t throw them,” you begged as your rapid breathing sent stars dancing around your vision. “Please, please, please.”

“What? René’s clothes?” he asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes before pointing to the door on the other side of the living room. “Of course not, they’re in the garage.”

The relief was immediate and you sagged against his warm chest only to notice he had taken his shirt off to sleep. Clearing your throat, you straightened up stiffly and frowned. “But I asked you to dump them…”

“I know, and if you still wanted that in the morning I would have done it.” He sighed and took a seat on the makeshift bed he made on the couch despite there being plenty of spare bedrooms in the house. He patted the space beside him and you took a seat, the only warmth coming from his arm touching yours. “It’s going to take time, Y/N. Moving on doesn’t just happen overnight, even when you are ready to.”

“You sound like a shrink.”

His shoulders bounced with a small laugh and he fell back into the cushions, pulling you with him. “Mandatory counselling sessions, courtesy of Zak. Everyone got them, and I think it helped. Maybe you cou-”

“Don’t push it, just be proud you got me out of bed today.”

“Hmmm, but then I got you drunk.”

You looked up to see he wasn’t happy about that and you didn’t like seeing that look on his face. “But then you brushed my hair.”

A small sleepy smile grew on his face as he looked at your hair that was a little messy after sleeping on it but nothing compared to what it was before. “I always liked your hair.”

“I always liked yours,” you admitted as you eyed the curls that fell over his forehead. “I wondered if they were as soft as they looked.”

He tipped his head down for you and you reached up, running your fingers through them leaving ringlets twirling closed again. Even when you pulled one out straight, the moment you released the strands they bounced back into shape.

“Huh,” you chuckled as you did it again. “I thought you used hairspray to keep them perfectly curled.”

“As if I have time for that kind of maintenance,” he muttered drowsily as he closed his eyes and let you play with his hair. “That feels nice.”

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

He cosied deeper into the couch to get comfortable as he stretched his long legs out in front of him, his head falling onto your shoulder while you continued massaging his head. Just when you thought he was asleep, he let out a quiet, “Meow.”

Laughter filled the still air of the night and he peeked an eye open to watch you find joy for the second time in one day, a proud grin written on his face. “I missed your laugh.”

“Me too,” you admitted after feeling how light it made your pain, if only for a moment.

“I would go to the zoo and visit the hyenas when I really missed the sound.”

More laughter grew in your belly and you punched him repeatedly on the arm as the loud bursts escaped. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he gasped between his own fit of laughter before catching your hands and holding them above his head to stop your pitiful attack. “I just wanted to hear it again.”

You froze as you realised how close you were to him, your face only inches from his and his full lips so close to yours. Your heart stammered as his tongue peeked out as he licked his lips and you cleared your throat as you pulled away, shattering the strange moment.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go back to bed,” you muttered weakly as you stumbled off the couch.

He looked like he was going to say something as he sat up straight but his lips closed again and he nodded, settling for a polite, “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Lando. And thank you again, for being here.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said as he settled back into the blankets and covered his very distracting body. “I should have been here sooner.”

You could have sworn you heard him whisper something more as you walked back down the hall.

“And I’m not leaving you again.”

Click here for part three.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

1K notes · View notes

ilguna · 6 months

Note

From expired medicine number 66 with sejanus pls 😌

☼ forget-me-nots (Sejanus Plinth) ☼

warnings; swearing, bombs, blood, ehh gore, death, death mention, starvation mention.

wc; 11.1k

prompt; 66. amnesia au

notes; slow burn, all they get to do is hold hands. also coryo slander.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?” One of the other tributes asks, eyes on a blonde Capitol boy dressed in bright red. He’s standing at the back of the truck, hand reached up to hold onto a bar to keep from falling over.

You let out a breath through your nose, giving a look to Marcus, who seems just as unimpressed as you are. Leave it to someone from the Capitol to think it’s a good idea to jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of teenagers that hate his guts. He might be untouchable anywhere else, but here it’s fair game.

“No, this is exactly the cage I was waiting for.” The blonde boy tells him.

The tribute jumps to his feet, hands encircling the Capitol’s boys throat, proving your point. He slams the boy back, forearms pinning him against the bars. The Capitol boy is quick though, bringing his knee up to the tribute boy’s crotch. You watch as he doubles over, releasing him.

“He might kill you now.” The girl from the same district coughed, wafting straight into the Capitol boy’s face. “He killed a Peacekeeper back in Eleven. They never found out who did it.”

“Shut it, Dill.” The boy from Eleven growls.

“Who cares now?” Dill asks.

“Let’s all kill him.” A tiny boy grins. “Can’t do nothing worse to us.”

A few of the other tributes murmur in agreement, taking a step forward to close in on the Capitol boy. The truck hits a bump, the heels of your feet rise, and then fall flat when it comes down harshly. You sway into Marcus, and he uses his free hand to steady you.

“Not to us, maybe. You got family back home? Someone they could punish there?” A girl from the corner asks. She’s wearing a colorful dress, which has since been turned dirty from the cattle car they kept you in on the way here. She crosses the small space, wiggling herself between the tributes and the Capitol boy. “Besides, he’s my mentor. Supposed to help me. I might need him.”

“How come you get a mender?” Dill asks.

“Mentor. You each get one.” The Capitol boy says.

“Where are they, then?” Dill challenges. “Why didn’t they come?”

“Just not inspired, I guess.” The colorful girl says, turning her back to the rest of you.

The truck turns into a narrow street, where the cement must not be completely flat, because it hits a bump every second. It makes a wide turn, before you’re jostled back, as the car begins to move backward into a dimly lit building.

Your face twists, as a new smell invades your nose: a mix of rotten fish and old hay. Your hand tightens on the bars, unable to see through the darkness. The sound of two metal doors opening fills the air. You think you can see a Peacekeeper opening the back door of the truck, and then the ground beneath you turns into a slope.

You’re able to hang on for the first couple of seconds, watching as the tributes in front of you tumble out. Your fingers slip when you try to adjust to hold on better, afraid of where they’re sending you. You hit wet cement, and continue to slide, until you hit a drop.

A scream rises up your chest, clogging in your throat as you hold your breath. You fall for what feels like forever, and land hard at the bottom. The heap breaks your landing, but a shooting pain flies up your back. You hiss, face twisted as you reach back to grab your lower back.

A pair of hands grabs you beneath your arms, pulling you out of the way of another tribute coming down. Marcus places you on your feet, where you hunch while the pain subsides. When you can’t feel it anymore, you stand up fully, looking around to see where they’ve dumped you.

It’s another cage, only bigger. There’s a stretch of sand, with rock formations in the middle that twist high in the air. A shallow, dry moat separates the island and the row of metal bars on the far side. And beyond them are the faces of small Capitol children, their eyes wide at the sight of the group of you.

You begin to wander away from the pile of teenagers and hay, as they pull themselves out to be on their feet. Marcus moves with you, letting you decide how far you want to go. The faces on the other side of the bars begin to multiply quickly, filling with adults, too.

They begin to shout, pointing at the Capitol boy, attention shifting from the rest of you, to him. You glance over, finding that he’s standing taller now, expressionless as he stares where he should be. In no time, the audience begins to call out to him, asking him why he’s in here with you. One of them must recognize him, because the crowd grows thicker.

“It’s the Snow boy!’

“Who’s that again?”

“You know, the ones with roses on their roof!”

A smirk creeps to the corner of your lip, a laugh making its way out of you. You begin to walk again, around the Capitol boy, like a wild animal pacing their lunch. “Snow, huh?”

His eyes snap to you, slightly wide.

“Do you like to play games, Snow?” Your words have an edge as they leave your mouth. You stop when your back is partly turned to the Capitol people. “Because it looks like you do.”

The other tributes have caught on, beginning to surround him. The two tributes from Eleven, the boy that suggested you should kill him, and a few more, coming to build a circle around him. He notices this almost immediately, eyes darting between each of you, like he can’t decide which one of you is more dangerous.

His breathing is picking up, chest growing and shrinking. He really didn’t think this through, did he? He thought he’d be able to come in here and do whatever he wanted. A dribble of sweat begins to run down the side of his face, heading for his jaw. He’ll be so fun to tear apart.

“Own it.” A soft voice says.

It’s his girl tribute, sitting on a rock. Snow takes in a deep breath and turns to see her, where she’s fixing a white rose behind her ear. The same one that he’d brought to the train station for her.

He holds his hand out for her, she smiles slightly, taking his hand. You watch as he bows, and she gets up like a lady. When he raises his head, he asks, “Would you care to meet a few of my neighbors?”

“I would be delighted.” She says, as they begin to walk off together.

He leads her up to the bars, where the people are gawking. You roll your eyes, taking several steps back as you pivot to take a look around the area. There’s not many places to hide if you wanted to. Which means that the cameras will reach you at almost any point in here.

Snow and his girl tribute—Lucy Gray—introduce themselves, going around the crowd, talking to the children. You manage to find a nice spot behind a rock that’ll block their view, which Marcus joins you behind.

“What’s the plan here?” You murmur, eyeing the other tributes, who are scoping out the land, themselves.

“Survive.” Marcus has his arms crossed, leaning on the wall across from you. “Wait it out.”

“For how long?” You ask, you wrap a hand around your stomach when it rumbles. “I’m starving here, Marcus.”

He tilts his head, “What do you want to do? Eat one of the other tributes?”

“That’s not funny.” You tell him.

“They won’t give us food, (Y/n), I told you this.”

“I didn’t think that they’d keep it from us completely.” You hiss.

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. It’s been three days since the last time you’ve eaten. A small portion of bread and oatmeal, which was on the morning of Reaping Day. If you’d known that your name was going to be pulled, you would’ve eaten more.

You sigh, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault.” You push your hair back. “And you’re hungry, too.”

You peek out from behind the rock to see that the pair have moved over to the cameras, having an exchange with the reporter, you presume. You watch them through squinted eyes.

“So, do you know my mentor? Says his name is Coriolanus Snow. He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ‘cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”

“Well, he gave us all a surprise. Did your teachers tell you to be here, Coriolanus?”

Snow steps forward. “They didn’t tell me not to.” The crowd laughs. “But I do remember them saying that I was to introduce Lucy Gray to the Capitol, and I take that job seriously.”

“So you didn’t have a second thought about diving into a cage of tributes?” The reporter asks.

“A second, a third, and I imagine the fourth and fifth will be hitting me sometime soon.” Snow says. “But if she’s brave enough to be here, shouldn’t I be?”

You scoff, Snow turns his head slightly to find where the noise came from. Brave, as if you all didn’t end up here by chance. By their hands.

“Oh, for the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray says.

“For the record, neither did I.” Snow says. “After I heard you sing, I couldn’t keep away. I confess, I’m a fan.”

Lucy Gray moves her skirt to show off the color, as the audience erupts into applause.

“Well, I hope for your sake the Academy agrees with you, Coriolanus.” The reporter says. “I think you’re about to find out.”

As if on cue, the metal doors nearby squeal against the concrete, as if there’s not enough space to allow them to move. A group of four Peacekeepers march out, heading straight for the Capitol boy.

Snow turns back to the camera. “Thank you for joining us. Remember, it’s Lucy Gray Baird, representing District Twelve. Drop by the zoo if you have a minute and say hello. I promise she’s well worth the effort.”

Lucy Gray holds out the back of her hand to him, which he takes and presses a kiss to. After that, he waves to the audience once, before joining the Peacekeepers and leaving the exhibit. The doors shut tightly behind them.

They dumped you in a fucking zoo.

Lucy Gray mingles around the bars for a few more minutes, before she comes down the moat to join her tribute partner. The crowd thins out considerably, now that they don’t have a source of entertainment. You disappear behind the rock, lowering yourself to the ground. Marcus doesn’t move from where he stands, looking down at you.

You pull your knees up. “Do you think our mentors will show up?”

“It won’t matter.” Marcus says. “They can’t do anything for us. All they’ll do is bring more people to stare.”

You rest your head back. “Right.” For the first time in days, you feel at peace enough to relax, the drowsiness coming in waves. You sigh, letting your legs down. “Will you wake me if something happens?”

“I will.” Marcus nods.

His confirmation is good enough for you. You settle on the cement, shoulders square with the rock. It’s uncomfortable, but your body doesn’t seem to care, focused on the idea of being able to sleep. The moment you shut your eyes, you’re practically done for, as the chatter of the Capitol people acts as perfect background noise for you to doze off to.

When you wake, it’s on your own accord. There’s a pain in the side of your neck, due to sleeping with your head at an angle. You squeeze your eyes, face twisting as you reach up to massage the area. When you look around, you find Marcus standing nearby, face hard.

You stretch, letting out a groan. It must be getting dark out because the artificial lights on the other side of the rock have been turned on. There’s no telling how late it is. You wonder if they’ll even bother to turn them off when the zoo does close.

You push to get to your feet, swallowing the nausea that rises with the movement. It’s due to hunger, but it’ll pass soon if you take it easy. Marcus looks over when he sees that you’re on your feet, his face smoothing out briefly.

“Anything big happen?” You ask, arms above your head. You can hear your upper back pop, relieving the pressure.

“No, but we have a familiar face in the crowd.” Marcus says.

“Like who? Snow?” You sneer, coming out from behind the rock.

You squint through the white light, holding a hand up to shield your eyes. The tributes that you’re in here with have spread out to keep from getting in each other’s space. You look up to the bars to see that the crowd has grown again, peering down at the group of you.

To humor Marcus, you search for the blonde boy that belongs to Lucy Gray, yet you come up blank. A joke begins to form on your tongue, as you turn your head to tell it, you hear your name being shouted from the other side of the bars. You glance back at the crowd, eyebrows together, wandering away from your partner to find who it is that knows your name.

You make it all the way to the moat before you see who it is. He’s crouched, hands wrapped around the bars, forehead pressed to them. His brown hair and brown eyes are unmistakable. You used to stare into them everyday when you were friends, before he moved away to live in the Capitol.

Sejanus Plinth is dressed in the same bright red uniform that Snow was wearing when he came into the truck. He looks just like he did when you went to school together, only older now because it’s been ten years. He still wears that innocent look on his face, which is unsurprising. His heart is big enough to house dozens of people.

“(Y/n).” Sejanus shifts on his feet, leaning away from the bars as he turns to a black backpack at his side. He opens it up, reaches inside, and pulls out something that’s wrapped. It’s reflecting the light. “Please, take it. Marcus won’t.”

“Sejanus.” His name is foreign on your tongue. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a meatloaf sandwich.” He says, holding it out between the bars. “Please, I know you’re hungry.”

He’s right, your stomach begins to hurt at the thought of the sandwich, but you don’t move from where your feet are planted. You glance behind you, to Marcus, who’s still standing against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s determined to stay there.

He was Marcus’s friend, too. The three of you were very close during grade school. If there was one of you, the other two would be following close by. That is, until the Plinths upgraded from District Two to the Capitol, due to their loyalty during the Dark Days. In many people’s eyes, the Plinths are a bunch of traitors.

Including Marcus’s.

You would think the same, if he weren’t a child at the time. And especially not now, with you being stuck in this situation. With Sejanus being on the other side of the bars, maybe he can help, beyond just giving you sandwiches. If all the tribute mentors are wearing these red uniforms, that means he might be one, himself.

So, you move forward, crossing the moat and climbing the hill that’ll lead you to the bars. You don’t lower yourself to his height right away, looking between the faces behind him. With your presence, they all seem to shuffle a step back, unsure if you’re one of the hostile tributes or not.

You breathe through your nose, amused. You grab onto the bar with one hand, using it as support as you get down. Sejanus is still holding out the sandwich for you to take, which you do so carefully, setting it on your knee.

Sejanus nods, happy that you’re trusting him. “I tried to get any of the other tributes to come over but they won’t.”

“Can’t blame them.” You say, not being able to focus on his face when the people behind him peer over his shoulder. “I wasn’t going to, either.”

You jerk forward, a threat to the Capitol people. A few of them let out gasps as they return to where they’d been standing, hiding behind Sejanus. When your eyes make their way back to his face, you find his face screwed.

“Marcus doesn’t want to see me, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“But he knows that I’m sorry? You know I’m sorry, right?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s angry. Or that we’re both here in a zoo cage.”

Sejanus swallows.

You’re tired of this conversation already. “I hear that we get mentors. Where’s mine?”

“I am.” He says. “I’m your mentor, and Marcus has Florus.”

“Oh, how fortunate.” You shake your head. “Did you ask for me?”

“No, I was assigned.” Sejanus says, glancing behind him. His face lights up as he raises a hand to wave someone over. Your eyes shift in that direction, finding the Snow boy coming your way. He weaves through the crowd, and stops two feet away from the bars.

“Trouble?” He asks, paying no attention to you.

You scoff, “Great, you’re friends with Snow.” You grab the sandwich with one hand, pulling yourself to your feet with the other. By then, the blonde boy has his eyes on you.

Sejanus looks between you two. “Do you know each other?”

“Of course not.” Snow says first, face twisting, seemingly disgusted by the idea.

You laugh, it’s venomous, “You know, I think I do pride myself in not hanging around Capitol scum.” You spit, holding out your hand that has the sandwich. “Give me another, Sejanus. I’ll see that Marcus gets it.”

Sejanus doesn’t need you to tell him twice, grabbing another. You don’t break the eye contact you have with Snow, which is growing tense by the second.

“Capitol scum?” He repeats, smiling. “That’s funny.”

“Is it now?” You steal the second sandwich from Sejanus’s hand before it’s fully through the bars. You look over Snow, taking in how big he is. “For a Capitol boy, you look pretty starved. You belong more in here than you do out there.” You take a couple steps over so that you’re directly in front of him. “Except, you wouldn’t last ten seconds before getting ripped apart.”

You look at Sejanus to find that he’s holding out two plums. You pluck them from his hands, giving a nasty look to Snow before you go back down the hill with your winnings. There are several pairs of eyes that watch you return to the rock that you and Marcus have claimed. You return their stares with pressed lips.

You step behind the stone, Marcus following you. When you hold out the two sandwiches and plums, he shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”

“If we want to win, we need to be strong.” You tell him. “Take one.”

He sighs, irritated, but grabs one of each. You sink back to the ground, unwrapping your sandwich, resting the plum in your lap. The moment that you sink your teeth into the soft bread, every ounce of self control leaves your body. It’s perfect, delicious, and gone within a minute. The plum, too.

Once Marcus has finished his sandwich, he wipes his mouth, sucking the ketchup off of his finger. “Who’s your mentor?”

“Sejanus.” You tell him, “You have someone named Florus.”

“As long as I don’t have him—I don’t care who I have. They won’t make a difference.”

“That’s what you think.”

—

“Get up!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes pop open as you fly into an upward position, looking around to see where the danger is. Your eyes land on Peacekeepers, dressed in grey uniforms, standing next to the steel doors that are swung wide open.

The other tributes are shuffling toward the Peacekeepers, hardly awake. You rustle in the hay to look at Marcus, who’s already getting to his feet. A yawn escapes you, holding out your hand. Marcus takes it to pull you to your feet, steadying you when you stumble a step.

“What’s happening?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“No idea.” Marcus says, walking away. You follow him, briefly looking at the bars to see if there’s an audience, finding it empty. The zoo must not be open yet.

On the other side of the building is a truck, similar to the one you rode here on. Marcus steps inside first, and then turns to give you a hand, pulling you inside. The two of you choose a spot in the middle, where you grab a rod and try not to touch anyone if you can help it.

Once you’re packed inside, they slam the doors shut. The car jolts forward a moment later, and then they begin to take you through the streets. You sigh, watching the blur of buildings and people on the sidewalk. Occasionally, you glance at the people around you, taking in details in increments to avoid setting them off. The last thing you’d want is to cause a fight in here.

Your eyes linger on the boy from Eleven and the way he hovers over Dill, feeling a need to protect her. It’s the same for Lucy Gray and her tribute partner, who she seems to be close with. Last night, you weren’t the only one to take a sandwich, soon after, Lucy Gray went to have one too. When she decided that it was good, she told her friend… Jessup, that’s his name. She told Jessup to grab one too, which then prompted the rest of the tributes to follow.

For now, you can’t find anyone else that sticks out in your mind. You’re sure that they’ll reveal themselves as time goes on, all you have to do is wait until then. You know that you should keep a distance from Four and Eight, at the very least. They have previous experience with weapons, much like you.

The truck comes to a hard stop. A Peacekeeper comes out to stand on your side of the truck. You look down at him, finding a pair of handcuffs that he has gripped in his gloves.

“We will take one district at a time. When you step out of the truck, hold your hands out in front of you, palms up.” He instructs. “District One.”

The boy and girl get up from where they’re sitting. The doors open, allowing them to step out. They don’t bother shutting the doors again, letting you take in the amount of Peacekeepers they have on standby in case something goes wrong. The tributes get handcuffed, and then led inside of the building by four Peacekeepers that have a tight hand on them.

“District Two.”

Marcus moves first, stepping out of the truck. He turns to help you, which you accept when you jump off the ledge. On the ground, the two of you turn to the Peacekeeper, holding out your hands as you were told to. The steel is cold against your wrists, he squeezes the cuff, tightening it as much as he can. He repeats the process for Marcus.

With that, he instructs you to move forward, heading inside of the building. The floors are polished, reflecting the dull sunlight, and with how big and empty the hall is, the sounds of your shoes echo. You move down several hallways, until you spot the open wooden doors with a Peacekeeper standing post outside of the room.

When you step inside, you can see that the boy and girl from One have each been sat at their own table. There’s a cement slab on top of it with a metal loop, where the handcuffs are fed through to keep them in place. You grind your teeth, looking at Marcus to see that his face has hardened.

“Girl, sit down.” The Peacekeeper tells you.

Biting your tongue, you decide not to tell him your name, just listen to the directions. You sit in the folding chair, scooting it up slightly to close the gap between you and the table. You hold up your wrists, he unlocks the one side of the cuffs, guides the open side through the loop, and then closes the cuff on your wrist again.

He crouches down, reaching for your feet. Your face twists, feeling him pull up the bottom of your skirt just high enough, before the coldness encases your right ankle. When you give it a pull, you can hear the rattling of chains on the cement. You look over at Marcus, raising your eyebrows. The Peacekeeper secures your left ankle before getting to his feet.

If anyone had any plans of escaping this afternoon, they’re going to have to rethink it.

Marcus sits at his table unprompted. Right as his shackles are being double-checked, the pair of tributes from Three come through the door. It goes on like this, all the way around the circle, up to Lucy Gray and her tribute friend.

While this is happening, you take the time to look around the room you’re in. It’s classically wealthy, with the columns, the arched windows and the tall ceilings. The best you can compare this building to is the Justice Building at home in Two, but even that’s lacking in several departments.

Halfway up the wall, you find a balcony. You sit back in your chair, forearms resting on the edge of the table. There are faces up there, staring down at you. From what you can see, they’re all wearing the red uniform that Snow and Sejanus were wearing yesterday.

“Eyes up.” You murmur to Marcus.

Out of your peripheral, you’re able to watch him tilt his head back to see what you mean. He straightens up in his seat, hands curling in to form fists.

A door slams, the people on the balcony jump and turn to see where the noise is coming from. “Stop eyeballing your tributes and get down there.” A feminine voice orders. “You only have fifteen minutes, so use them wisely. And remember, complete the paperwork for our records as best you can.”

The first person to come down the spiral staircase is none other than Snow, heading straight for Lucy Gray. When he passes in front of you, a laugh leaves you at the sight of his determined face. He’s quickly forgotten when you see Sejanus bouncing your way, a smile spread across his lips.

“Hey, Marcus.” He says, but he doesn’t get a response. Sejanu takes a seat in the chair across from you. “(Y/n), they’re just having us do interviews today.”

“I’m sure that’ll be easy.” You say. “Considering you know everything about me already.”

He swings his bag into his lap. “I still have to go down the list.” He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen, setting it on the table. His hand dips inside again, and when it surfaces, he has a pair of sandwiches. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I am, you think. All you do is give him a smile. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

“One more thing.” He says, bringing out a clear container. He opens the lid, revealing a slice of brown cake with a fork inside. “Ma made it. Help yourself.”

You nod, “What’s on the paper?”

“Just the basics so the Capitol can get to know you better.” He says, reaching for the pencil.

You manage to grab one of the sandwiches, unwrapping the paper. With the limited mobility your hands have, you have to lean forward to take a bite. The bread crunches under your teeth, meaning it must’ve been toasted. The roast beef inside is cold, and it must be freshly bought. You hum, closing your eyes.

“I can fill it out, just correct me if I come across something wrong.” Sejanus says.

You listen as he reads out the list and his answer to them. Your name, district address, your date of birth, hair and eye color, height and weight, and any disabilities you may have. You give him the answers when he pauses to look up at you, for the most part, he nails them.

“Family makeup. If I remember right, you’ve got your mom and dad and two sisters, right?” He asks.

“Mom’s dead.” You tell him, balling up the paper when you finish your sandwich. “One of my sisters is sick, she probably won’t last much longer.”

Sejanus’s hand stops, face twisting as he looks up at you. “(Y/n), I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You tell him, pressing your lips together. “Do you need their names or is that it?”

“That’s it.” He says, voice quieter. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Not legally.” You sit back in the chair. “I help out in the warehouse and earn money for it, but I’m not supposed to be in there.”

He nods. “I’ll put you down as no.”

“Thanks.” You murmur, looking at the paper. “That’s the last question?”

“It is.” He says.

“Five minutes.” A woman announces, she’s wandering around the room.

“You should give the other sandwich to Marcus.” You tell him.

“He won’t take it from me, only you.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“I don’t have pockets, so I can’t give it to him later.” Your eyes wander away, finding his mentor, Florus. “Why don’t you hand it to Florus?”

“He’s not having very good luck with Marcus, either.”

You sigh, “All I’m hearing are excuses.” You roll your eyes, looking over. “Marcus, there’s an extra sandwich. You should take it.”

“Excuse me.” Florus says, eyebrows drawing in. “I’m trying to interview him.”

“Looks like you’re havin’ a lot of luck.” You smile at his blank paper. “I can’t smuggle it out of here, and you’re the only one that has pockets between us.”

Marcus looks at you, but nods. Sejanus seems pleased with this, handing the sandwich over to Florus, who begrudgingly stuffs it into one of Marcus’s pockets. You turn to the cake, digging out the fork.

“It’s carrot cake.” Sejanus says.

“I’m sure it’s good either way.” You stick the fork into the icing. “Your mom always made the best sweets.”

“She’s gotten better.” He says. “I’ll tell her about your ma, I’m sure she’ll be apologetic.”

“Don’t make her feel too bad.” You place the bite into your mouth. The sweetness explodes across your tongue. You can’t remember the last time you were treated to something so good. All your money goes to your sister’s medicine, you can’t get sweets like this anymore. “It’s not her fault.”

“I wish we hadn’t moved away.” Sejanus swipes some of the icing off the corner of the container. “It’s harder to make friends here than it is there, but I have Coriolanus.”

“Snow?” You ask, looking to your right. He’s three tables over with Lucy Gray, leaned forward to talk. “He doesn’t look like much company.”

“He is.” Sejanus sighs. “How is it in Two?”

“Worse.” You shrug. “Or the same, depending how you look at it.”

“You said you work in the warehouse, at least you have the job lined up.”

“It’s district work, it’s always going to be available. It’d be a different story if I was a blacksmith but they won’t take me until I’m eighteen.” You say. “Or rather, they wouldn’t.”

He frowns, “I’m really sorry you’re here, (Y/n).”

“I know.” You murmur. “Nothing that we can do about it now.”

A whistle suddenly blows, making you turn your head to the woman by the door. She drops it, allowing it to hang over her chest. “Time.”

You look back at Sejanus. “When’s the next time I see you?”

“I can visit tonight.” He says.

“That would be great.” You drop the fork into the container. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

—

The Capitol people standing on the other side of the bars is an irritating sight, especially since they’re holding food with seemingly no intention to give it to any of you. It’s gotten to the point where the tributes around you don’t bother to go up anymore, knowing that they’re all going to take a collective step back.

They don’t really matter to you, anyway. You have Sejanus, and as long as he’s feeding you and trying to keep you company, you don’t need them. You’ll suffice just fine with one of your old friends. As for Marcus, he wants to be left alone, but you won’t let that happen.

He’s currently laying on his bed of hay. Last night, the Capitol had released a couple of bales into the enclosure. While the tributes fought over them, you and Marcus sat back and watched, slightly amused. When he decided that he had enough, he went and grabbed the last bale from two tributes, throwing them away.

He split the hay with you, but you wanted enough to act as a pillow to rest your head on. You’re fine with sleeping on the cement, because it feels like your bed back home. Except, that one is a little more broken in, and you don’t wake up several times throughout the night.

Marcus ate the roast beef sandwich from Sejanus, and even admitted that he was glad you had Florus give it to him. He doesn’t want to forgive Sejanus for what he’s done, even though you’ve tried to explain the fact that it’s not necessarily his fault. He was only a child at the time they moved, and he has no choice but to mentor tributes now. It’s just bad luck that it’s the two of you and not anyone else.

You push to get to your feet, kicking the hay into a pile once you’re upright. You wander out from behind the rock, curious to see where the tributes have moved and what the bars look like. The crowd has surely tripled in size since the last time you looked. They’re still up there, holding food.

There was a pair of twins in the corner earlier, a boy and a girl. They’d brought lunch for their tributes, but they’re gone now; replaced by Snow and Lucy Gray. You wander, arms crossed over your chest, looking for Sejanus. He must be coming through the crowd now, because you find his dark hair a second later, when you’re doing another sweep.

You immediately start for him, crossing the moat and climbing up the hill. Your arms fall, as you crouch to join. “Hello.”

“Hey.” He murmurs. “Did Marcus eat?”

“Yes he did. He says that the sandwich was good.”

“Ma sends her regards. She’s been upset since I told her.” Sejanus pulls out two eggs and a couple wedges of bread. “For an egg sandwich.”

“I told you not to make her feel guilty.” You tell him, holding out your hand. He places them inside. “Are the eggs raw?”

“No, hard boiled. I just didn’t peel them.” He says. “And I couldn’t help it. I told her what happened to your ma and she asked about the rest of your family.”

You nod. “I see.”

“(Y/n), they might be implementing new rules.” He laces his fingers. “They’re thinking about letting the Capitol citizens sponsor tributes. Which means that you’ll need to gain their favor somehow.”

“I’m not a circus animal.” You tell him. “Unlike Lucy Gray, over there.”

“I know, but if you could come up with something with Marcus, then Florus and I might be able to pool together. We could feed you and give you water, at least.” Sejanus says.

You shake your head. “These Games never go on longer than a few days.”

“That’s because they didn’t have food to eat in the past.” He reasons. “Now we’re able to feed you and they’re taking suggestions for different ideas.”

You sigh, looking at the sandwich components in your hands. “I’ll try to brainstorm with Marcus, but he’s pretty set on not participating. It’s a fight just to get him to eat food, Sejanus.”

He reaches through the bars, placing one of his hands over yours. You look down at it, and then up at him. With his other hand, he grabs onto the bars, leaning forward. “I want you to live, (Y/n).”

“I do too, Sejanus. It’s just not that easy.” You tell him.

“Well, they’re going to have you do an interview on television. That’ll be your chance.”

Laughter erupts around you, making you break eye contact. You follow the gaze of the crowd, and find a mentor a few feet away. She’s sitting on a towel or blanket, a picnic displayed in front of her. On the other side is a tribute, you think the girl from Ten. The mentor holds out the sandwich, the tribute reaches for it, and the mentor pulls away.

She turns to give the crowd a smile before taking a bite out of the sandwich. You roll your eyes, sighing. The tribute’s face drops, no longer hopeful, as her hand slips between the bars. You watch as she grabs the knife on the blanket, leaning forward to grab the front of the mentor’s shirt, and then slitting her throat.

The crowd screams in shock, the sandwich is dropped from the mentor’s hand as she reaches up to her throat, pawing at her neck. The tribute lets go of her, giving her a shove for good measure.

You get to your feet this instant, Sejanus’s hand falling from yours. You clutch the food to your chest as you turn to the hill, wanting to put distance between you and the scene. Sejanus grabs you, pulling you back down to the ground.

“Help her!” A voice shouts. “Medic!”

“Sejanus—”

“Put your head down.” He tells you, you lower to your knees.

“Is there a doctor? Please, someone help!” The voice belongs to Snow, who’s holding the girl mentor in his lap. She reaches up to grab his shirt, choking on the blood. Snow turns to the crowd. “Come on!”

The Ten tribute leans through the bars, snatching the cheese sandwich into her hands, raising it to her mouth. The sound of metal slamming into concrete fills the air, as the Peacekeepers burst through the far side of the enclosure, raising their runs, presumably aiming for the district girl.

She manages to take a bite of the sandwich, before the bullets are fired, piercing her body. You duck your head, squeezing your eyes shut, as Sejanus presses down on your back to keep you down. Another round of screaming, no more shots fired.

You sit up, Sejanus’s hand retreating. He opens up his bag, showing you the bread and eggs that he has inside, all meant for the tributes you’re trapped with. You know what he’s asking, so you lift the bottom of your skirt to create a bowl, letting him dump the food inside so it doesn’t go to waste.

The people have begun to flee the area, Sejanus rising to his feet. He leaves his backpack behind, holding a single wedge of bread. You get to your feet with shaky legs, turning to look at the Peacekeepers, where they have the others lined up against the wall, hands on their heads.

You carefully step down the hill, breathing slowly to keep from panicking. You glance over your shoulder at Sejanus, to find him sprinkling the bread over the Ten girl. His lips are moving, whispering the prayer, before a Peacekeeper grabs him by the back of his shirt, yanking him away.

You make it all the way to the wall. When they take notice of you, they grab the underside of your arm, pulling you to stand next to Marcus. They don’t tell you to put your hands on your head, letting you tremble.

They wait for the zoo to clear out, and as soon as the last person has left, they begin to search each one of you thoroughly. When it’s clear that you’re not hiding any weapons, they brandish the shackles. They go down the line, slapping the metal on your wrists, tightening the cuffs, and then moving on to the next person.

And when the last restraint is secured, they leave. The doors scraping on the cement before slamming shut.

—

The Peacekeepers work silently as they direct the truck to back in as far as it possibly can into the alleyway without damaging the bricks. When it comes close enough to the doors, they hold up a hand, making it stop. A few of the Peacekeepers gather together briefly to speak, before turning to the line of you.

They bring you up to the long truck bed, where they make you get down so they lock you to it. You start by crouching, but as the minutes tick on with no sign of movement, you tuck the skirt beneath you as best as possible so that you can sit. The heat from the metal burns through the fabric, and it feels like there’s nothing under you at all.

Marcus is placed a few feet away, where he shifts on his feet, opting not to sit. The two of you share a long look, where you raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head. Neither of you have a clue what’s happening. The Peacekeepers haven’t said so much as a word to any of you.

They just gathered you up, they sent someone to retrieve the body of the Ten girl, who had been slumped against the bars all night. Since the incident yesterday, no one has been allowed to visit the zoo. Except for Snow, where he briefly spoke to Lucy Gray before leaving.

There’s a large metal structure attached to the truck bed in front of you. You have to tilt your head all the way back to see what it is. It’s a crane, it seems. A metal hook hangs off a chain, swaying in the air from the small breeze. It’s so hot out that it isn’t that much of a relief. You’ve been baking in the cage all night. Forget the food that Sejanus has been giving you, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for a cup of water.

Machinery begins to whirr, the hook slowly coming down at you. You look over your shoulder, curious to see why they could possibly need the hook. You can’t find the Peacekeepers, only the faces of the tributes behind you, who are avoiding eye contact, or staring at the ground.

The chains and hook begin to curl on the ground, when suddenly it stops. A Peacekeeper grunts, there’s a hard stomp on the truck, making it vibrate. It’s quiet for a second, as the sound of something dragging across the uneven surface is all you can hear, until there’s a violent gag, followed by desperate coughing.

As you turn to see, a closed fits smacks the side of your face, causing you to jerk away. You lean as far as the shackles will allow, looking up at the Peacekeeper. You realize quickly that it wasn’t done on purpose, because he’s clutching a pair of handcuffs between his gloves. They’re attached to a pair of wrists, and furthermore, a body.

The rancid smell of a decomposing body hits your nose, making you sick. You bury your nose in the cloth on your shoulder, deeply inhaling to rid the assault. Tears pop into your eyes, which you struggle to blink away. The Peacekeeper reaches down to grab the hook, sliding it between one of the chain links.

He lifts a hand, indicating to lift the hook. A moment later, it does. The Peacekeeper keeps a hold on the body, setting it straight, making sure that it won’t come loose. It isn’t until he twists the body to get a look, do you see that it’s the dead girl from Ten. In the open air, you’re able to see the bitemarks along her skin, a few chunks missing from the rats that were nibbling on her all night.

A gag rises, you turn your head to the other side of the truck, teeth grit tightly together while you try to calm your stomach. It isn’t a full minute before they’ve decided that she’s up high enough in the air, which is when the Peacekeeper leaves the truck, jumping down.

They wrap up the area, closing the door to the enclosure, getting in the vehicle. They drive out of the alleyway and down the streets, where a few pedestrians stop where they stand to stare. You drop your head, lips pressed together.

The car comes to a stop a few short minutes later. When you peer around the front of the truck, you can see the grey uniform of Peacekeepers. There’s hundreds of them too, perfectly in place. Your eyebrows twitch, lips parting. This can’t possibly be for the twenty-three of you, can it?

You look back at Marcus, who’s on the inner side of the row, making it impossible for him to see. “Peacekeepers, hundreds of ‘em.”

A few heads rise, eyes landing on you. Marcus’s face contorts, “Why?”

“No idea.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then the beginning notes of the Capitol anthem cuts through the silence. The Peacekeepers straighten, finding their places.

“Gem of Panem,” A male voice starts. “Mighty city, through the ages, you shine anew.”

The next three minutes are filled with the lyrics to the anthem. They’re vaguely familiar, you haven’t heard them in a couple of months, at least. They used to have you chant it every morning at school, but it fizzled out because it took up precious learning time. Now, they play the instrumental to allow the teachers to talk over it.

The applause that follows after the final note is thunderous, coming from far down the street. You can’t see anyone, though. Only the Peacekeepers, standing still as they wait for their cue to move. A heavy feeling weighs in your stomach, as the thoughts of what may be waiting for you begin to claw.

“Two days ago, Arachne Crane’s young and precious life was ended, and so we mourn another victim of the criminal rebellion that yet besieges us.” A powerful voice says. “Her death was as valiant as any on the battlefield, her loss more profound as we claim to be at peace. But no peace will exist while this disease eats away at all that is good and noble in our country. Today we honor her sacrifice with a reminder that while evil exists, it does not prevail. And once again, we bear witness as our great Capitol brings justice to Panem.”

There’s a slow, deep drumming that starts. The Peacekeepers move forward, as if drawn to the sound. The truck doesn’t move until they’re a good fifteen feet ahead, it jolts, you catch yourself by placing your hands on the metal bed. The scorching heat licks your palms so aggressively that you jerk back, chains rattling, cuffs digging into your wrists.

For a good stretch, you can’t see anything, it looks like any other road. And then, you spot the stands, the people dressed in black on the left, mourning. On the right, it’s the same, but there’s also a choir of the mentors in red, standing together. You search quickly for Sejanus, yet you’re unable to find him.

Behind the truck is another army of Peacekeepers, marching in sync. The car continues down the avenue until you’re out of sight completely. And instead of stopping at the end of the street, like the Peacekeepers, it continues moving. You expect it to bring you back to the zoo, but you’re going in a different direction.

The wind caresses your skin from the car picking up speed. It temporarily cools the burning on your shoulders, but not by much. The group of you are brought across the river, where an amphitheater stands. The truck comes to a stop out front, and it stays here for the next thirty minutes, until the brigade of Peacekeepers show up.

After that, you’re brought off the truck, one by one, with two Peacekeepers flanking one tribute. With you being so far up, it takes them fifteen minutes before it’s your turn to get freed. They line you up numerically, in girl-boy order, and make you wait an additional half hour while the mentors get here.

They step off the bus, instructed to stand next to their tribute. Sejanus comes out with a grave look on his face, eyes on the ground. He lets out a sigh when he squeezes between you and the boy from One.

“I’ve got nothing for you, I’m sorry.” Sejanus murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You whisper back. “They fed us last night and this morning.”

When all tributes and mentors are counted for, the Peacekeepers remove the bars from the entrance, swinging open the large doors to reveal a grand lobby. Inside, there are boarded-up booths and old curling posters from wartime. The Peacekeepers lead the way through the lobby, to the turnstiles.

Two soldiers stand at turnstiles on opposite ends, feeding coins into the machine to allow you to pass through at the same time as Sejanus. As soon as you step through, a cheerful voice says, “Enjoy the show!”

There’s a long cement hallway leading to where you’re going, lit up by only the red emergency lights. It’s too dark for you to walk with sure steps, so you reach over to Sejanus, chains rattling as your hands wrap around his elbow. He briefly glances over, where you give him a small smile.

He places his free hand over yours, squeezing your fingers. He doesn’t let go, either, not until you’ve made it to the end, where you walk into the sunlight and onto a giant field. Your pace slows considerably, eyes sweeping the area, wondering why this is so familiar.

“Where are we?” You ask.

“The arena.” Sejanus tells you.

You stop, wanting a moment to take in just how large it is. What should be a healthy and green field is now dead and dried up. There’s a scoreboard hanging over the opening you just came through, with thousands of seats circling the arena behind it.

If this is where you’re going to come to fight in a couple short days, then you’ll have no issue hiding, at least. No matter where you go on Game day, you’ll be safe as long as you’re careful.

The Peacekeepers move off to the side, letting you spread out. Sejanus begins to lead you away immediately. “Did you come up with anything for the interview?”

“No, not with Marcus.” You sigh. “He’s dead-set on figuring it out on his own. I figure that I can play the sick sister card, maybe earn some sympathy.”

“That could work, but they’re looking for talent.”

“I don’t have much of that.” Your feet come to a halt, you pull away from Sejanus’s arm. Your fingers are warm from where he’d been holding them. “You don’t need to worry about the interview, I’ll have that covered. It’s not a half-bad idea. People like to help the poor, and that’s all the districts are, right?”

Sejanus’s mouth turns downward, but he doesn’t object. “Right. I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re already doing enough, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” You say, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Arachne? I could hardly call her that. She was closer with Coriolanus than me.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“Still, it’s hard losing someone in your class.” Your eyes land on a stray eyelash laying on his cheek. “Don’t move.”

You reach over, hand resting on the side of his face just long enough for your thumb to swipe away the eyelash. You hold it out for him to see, before brushing it away.

“Thank you.” He says.

“You have to keep up your appearance.” You laugh. “Mine doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“That’s not—”

An explosion shakes the arena, the fiery blast throwing you to the ground, head cracking against the cement. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to make out Sejanus in the smoke, hovering over you, before the black blotches eat away at your vision completely.

—

“Follow the light.” The woman tells you, clicking on the flashlight.

As you adjust the pack of ice against the side of your head, you listen to her directions, eyes flickering to keep track of the light. When she’s satisfied, she clicks it off, dropping it into a pocket on her lab coat. There’s a badge hanging from her neck with an old picture of her and her name.

Magnolia Peacescape. Her occupation is a veterinarian.

Your eyes land on her again, squinting suspiciously. The Capitol couldn’t even afford to give you a real doctor? They had to insist on someone who works on animals?

“What’s your name?” She asks, grabbing a clipboard.

“(Y/n) (L/n).” You murmur, attention shifting to the Peacekeepers who are dragging tributes into the zoo cage.

“How old are you?” She asks.

You open your mouth to speak, the number on the tip of your tongue before it slips away. Your face twists as you search the open air as if it’ll have some answer. All you come up with are blanks, you resort to staring at Magnolia.

She looks up from the paper. “How old are you?” She repeats.

“I’m not sure.” You admit.

Her face contorts, she reluctantly looks away to write something on the paper. “District?”

“Two.”

“Who’s your mentor?” Her pen pauses.

Once again you have nothing, so you shake your head at her. “Am I supposed to know?”

The wrinkles on her face are deepening with every passing second. She licks her lips, looking over at the Peacekeepers briefly, before turning back to you. “Honey, what’s the name of the boy you came here with?”

Your eyes fall to the cement as you try to picture his face, or any features that may belong to the boy that she’s referring to. When that doesn’t work, you try to conjure up details about him, like his name, his age, his height. All of which she’s withholding.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, trailing off.

She sighs, “Wait here.”

Magnolia Peacescape lowers the clipboard, pulling it against her chest. She walks over to one of the Peacekeepers standing by the metal doors, beginning to speak very quickly, none of it that you can hear over the moans of pain. The tributes are spread out through the enclosure, varying in how hurt they are from the bombing.

Most are covered in soot and smell like smoke from the fire. Their clothes are ripped or burned at the edges, exposing their skin. From what the Peacekeepers were saying, a good number of tributes were injured, but not as severely as the pair from District Nine, who were caught in the fire for an extended period of time.

And of course, a few of them died in the attack. Like the tributes from Six, who got caught by shrapnel, and the two from One, who had tried to escape the arena but got shot before they made it out of the entrance. There was one tribute that managed to escape, though, and that’s the boy you came here with.

As for the mentors, they don’t say much about them. You heard in passing that a pair of twins had died and three mentors got hospitalized. You couldn’t get any more than that, because they pushed you inside of the zoo.

“She needs to go to the hospital!” Magnolia’s high voice suddenly cuts through the noises. “She has a concussion.”

“We aren’t authorized to take them out of the exhibit.” The Peacekeeper drones. “If you have a request, you need to submit it to Dr. Gaul, she’s overseeing the mentoring program and the treatment of the tributes.”

She shakes her head. “So I’m going to have to go through that process for each one of them?” She motions to the cage. “They don’t have time for that.”

“It’s your only option.”

She waves her hand in the air, turning away, coming back in your direction. You move the ice pack the wrong way by accident, making the throbbing come back full force. You wince, pulling it away from your head as you fix your holding.

Magnolia grabs it from you, pats on the ice to make it flat, and then presses it against the dressed cut. “Keep it there until it melts.”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t done much to deserve that.” She says, looking down at the clipboard. “It says here that you have two sisters, what are their names?” When you don’t respond, she takes a deep breath. “And your mother is dead, can you recall from what?”

You blink, “My mom is dead?”

She writes on the paper. “This is information we gathered from the interview that took place with your mentor.”

Your eyes wander away, thinking about your mom.

“Do you remember the interview?”

“No.”

Magnolia sighs. “(Y/n), you’re eighteen years old. Your mentor is Sejanus Plinth, and the boy you came here with is Marcus. He escaped early this afternoon.”

Your face twists.

“I suspect you may have anterograde and retrograde amnesia. It’s caused by head trauma.” She stops long enough to write something on the clipboard, then clicks her pen and slides it into her pocket. “From what Mister Plinth told me at the scene, it would make sense. I’ll make a request for them to admit you to the hospital, but I can’t treat you any further. I don’t have the equipment.”

“Amnesia.” You mutter.

“I’ll be checking in on you as much as Dr. Gaul will allow it.” She presses her lips together. “You need to rest and take it easy. If you have any allies, I would suggest asking them to watch over you.”

With that, she walks away, heading to the next tribute. You stand there for a moment, watching as she begins to assess them. And then you turn away, to two piles of hay behind a rock formation. You wander toward it, lowering the ice pack, blinking away the tears that appear in your eyes.

—

In the three days that… that veterinarian visited, you were never actually taken to the hospital. Despite the numerous requests she made, and the notes stating that your memory is gradually getting worse, the doctor—the one in charge of the Games—never had you admitted.

You weren’t the only one, the tributes from District Nine, who were in much worse shape than you, were neglected. They died sometime during the night, and their bodies were retrieved in the early morning yesterday. A few hours later, the rest of you were packed into two different trucks, separated by gender, with bars, where you were paraded through the streets for what you assume was another funeral.

When they got you together again this afternoon, you were afraid that more people had died, but the Peacekeepers said something about a second interview with your mentors. Which might as well be your first, because you can’t recall a single thing that happened the last time.

The two chairs on either side of you sit empty, their tributes long gone. You know that one of them is dead, but the boy you came here with is still missing. The Peacekeepers have questioned you five times in the past few days, demanding to know where he could’ve possibly gone. Each time they come around, you have to tell them that if he did mention a plan, you don’t remember due to the bombing.

You don’t remember anything.

A group of students dressed in bright red uniforms come down the spiral staircase on the far side of the large room. It really is nice here, with the tall ceilings, the engraved pillars and the arched windows. You haven’t seen anything like it before, the closest building that would come to this in District Two is the Justice Building, but even that’s too worn to compare.

A boy with curly brown hair comes in your direction, with brown eyes so wide that you can see into his soul. He sets his book bag on the ground, settling in the chair across from you. Without saying a single word, he leans forward, placing his hands on top of your shackled ones.

“(Y/n), I’m so glad you’re okay.” He says, face twisted with worry. “When I saw the amount of blood…”

The veterinarian… fuck what was her name? She kept telling you that you needed to be testing your memory, but it’s so hard when you can’t recall the smallest detail. She must’ve told you this boy’s name easily over three dozen times, and how he meant something to you. He’s your mentor of course, you know that much. He’s supposed to be beyond that.

“How are you feeling? Ma made a couple of cold cut sandwiches, you must be hungry.” He says, taking his hands away, opening his bag. “She told me that Doctor Peacescape saw all the tributes.”

Peacescape, that’s the veterinarian’s last name. Whether or not it’ll stick in your mind this time is a complete mystery. Just like the rest of the names, faces and events that should be ringing a bell but don’t.

The boy places a wrapped package on the table, presumably the sandwich. He sits back up in his chair. “It looks like she’s treated you well, the cut on your head is healing nicely.”

You stare at him, face contorted as you struggle to dig through your mind for his name, a significant memory, anything.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, beginning to shake your head.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not your fault. They suspect it was rebels from the districts that placed the bombs.”

“That’s not why I’m apologizing.” You say, “The veterinarian…” You grit your teeth, you just heard her name. “Peacescape, that’s it. Doctor Peacescape diagnosed me with some amnesia disorder due to the concussion. She tried to get me admitted to the hospital but the um… the head doctor for the Games denied her requests.”

The boy has visibly paled. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I mean, I remember some.” Your eyes drift away, to the empty desk to the left, where your tribute partner should be. “There’s a lot of gaps in between.” You look back at him. “I know you’re my mentor, but I don’t know your name. And I know that the boy I came here with ran away in the bombing, but there’s no picture of him in my mind.”

His head has lowered, staring down at the sandwich. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, thinking to himself. You reach as far as the handcuffs will allow you, which isn’t much. Still, you’re able to place a couple fingers on top of one of his hands.

“Peacescape said you mean something to me. I don’t think she was referring to the fact that you’re my mentor.”

He breathes out, defeated. “I used to live in District Two. Me, you and Marcus went to grade school together.”

Your eyebrows draw in, waiting for there to be a hint of a memory. “Marcus?”

“The boy that escaped.” He says.

“And what’s your name?”

“Sejanus Plinth.”

A part of you wishes that the memories would suddenly flood in at the mention of his name. Like the dozens of times before, there is no reaction, nothing magically clicks. It sits there, at the front of your mind, where it’ll stay for the next few hours until its spotlight is gone. Then, it’ll fade like everything else.

“Sejanus, I’m sure we’re great friends.” You tell him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n). You shouldn’t be here.” He’s back to holding on to your fingers, tears appearing in his eyes. “You and Marcus should be at home.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” You shake your head. “How far are we into the process?”

A tear slides down his cheek, he wipes it away. “Dr. Gaul has approved the sponsorship program, so we need to get you support from the Capitol.”

You nod, “That’s vaguely familiar.”

“Well, they’re still doing the interviews for that, it’s on a voluntary basis now, so it’s no longer required.” He sighs. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I feel like I don’t have much of a choice. If that’s a factor that’ll help me win, I should do it.” You press your lips together. “Did I have any ideas?”

“You said you wanted to gain sympathy by telling them about your sick sister.” Sejanus murmurs.

“My sister is sick? Which one?” You ask.

“You didn’t say.” He says.

You tilt your head back, looking at the balcony above. You could honestly scream from how stupid this is. It makes no sense, how could you forget a detail that important? Or the fact that your mom is dead? Why is this happening to you?

“I’ll think of something else.” You tell him, closing your eyes. “I can’t use that anymore because I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n), you don’t have to.” Sejanus says.

A whistle is blown, you jump in the chair, yanking your hands toward your head to cover, but they don’t even make it halfway before the cuffs dig into your skin harshly, halting the movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands begin to tremble.

A hand is placed on your arm, squeezing your shoulder. “You don’t have any pockets, so you need to put the sandwich in your shirt somewhere. I’m out of time.”

You breathe out shakily, leaning into the table to hook a finger around the inside of your shirt. “If you can wedge it there.”

He does, and no matter how hard you jostle, it keeps in place, giving you hope that it’ll make it back to the zoo enclosure. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says, getting to his feet. “Okay?”

You have to force yourself to nod, raising your head. He doesn’t move from where he stands, waiting for your confirmation. “Okay.” You breathe.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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my-clerical-gnomance · 6 days

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choosing rage was as easy for kipperlilly as taking in breath. it felt inevitable.

when she was six, her parents were called into school because she punched a kid on the playground. she tried to tell them that he was being impossible-- that it wasn't fair-- but they wouldn't listen. she could feel her heart beating in her ears.

when she was eleven, her mother found her diary, and she was scolded for writing critical things about her classmates. her face was hot. she wanted to rip it from her hands and tear the pages out.

when she was fourteen, she told the school guidance counselor about her issues, and she watched as he tried to remain neutral. still, she could see the look on his face for what it was. he hated her; he was disgusted by her. he feared her. she hated the twisting feeling in her gut.

she was hesitant to accept this teacher at his word, but he was a barbarian. if anyone understood rage, it was him. he told her she had a fight in her. that she had potential. no one had ever seen her anger as a strength, not even the other members of her party.

they always tried to keep her calm, especially lucy. but kipperlilly didn't want to be calm anymore.

she let this nameless god wash over her like a hot shower, and she waited to feel relief. to finally accept what had been hunting her all her life should have been freeing. and it would have been. if her friends could only have seen things her way.

instead, they had to be forced, and it felt all the more like betrayal. was this... thing inside her really so insidious that not even a god's devotion could sway them? even if this god's domain would soon be taken over by their own teacher, who chose them? who saw something special in them?

and what's worse...

"where's lucy?" ruben said, his voice strangely low.

everyone but porter looked around.

he stood in front of her body, still laying lifeless on the ground.

that thing in her chest curled around her heart as it began to pound. she clenched her still-bloody fist.

"she's not coming back," porter said. "she made her choice."

"why didn't you force her?" the words spilled from her mouth, tears threatening to mirror them. his response was muffled by a static that grew in her mind.

how dare she not come back? doesn't she care at all about them? about her?

it's not fair. it's not fair. it's not fucking fair!

jace reached a hand out, but she swatted it away.

she just stood there, watching tears drip down onto her shoes. it's all she could do, as her rage overwhelmed her system.

after a long pause, ivy spoke up, her voice thick.

"what are we supposed to do without a cleric?"

they all knew porter wouldn't care about the underlying emotion, only the tactical disadvantage. he never liked lucy, anyway.

"without a healer, we're as good as dead."

"there's someone we could bring in," said jace. "he's from highcourt-- a cleric of helio."

of course, kipperlilly thought, those fucking helio freaks are everywhere. in her mind, she pictured someone in tie-dye and a red pony tail.

everyone looked to porter.

he signed, clearly annoyed.

"sure, bring him in. he'll need a party anyway."

the trek back to the school was made in silence, and kipperlilly stewed.

the rat grinders all silently decided they were going to spend the night at ruben's-- no one wanted to pretend to be normal for their families. they just wanted to sleep. or hit something. or scream. but they settled on sleep.

his uncle henry tried to talk, but oisin snapped at him, and he didn't press beyond that.

kipperlilly lay in the dark on the floor of ruben's bedroom, still wearing her bloody, torn up clothes, staring at the ceiling.

of all the thoughts that flew through her mind, one reigned above all-- painted crimson in the light of a raging sun.

you chose wrong.

#d20 fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #d20 fh #fhjy #d20 fantasy high #dimension 20 fantasy high #the rat grinders #lucy frostblade #kipperlilly copperkettle #klck #d20 fanfic #fantasy high d20 #fantasy high dimension 20

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esamastation · 7 months

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Shizuroth, part nineteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

Finally, finally, finally, after the shopping has been done, and his stupid signature leather jacket has been adjusted, and Genesis has given his final bitchy warning about not acting out of character, finally… Sephiroth can have some peace and quiet.

Some day off! Not that the sparring wasn't great, and the clothes were frankly desperately needed, even if he couldn't make his usual colours fit right. All that aside though, he really needs time to himself! There's still so much to figure out! And he really needs to meditate. He needs to sort himself out! And he also, probably, needs to make use of Shinra's archive and records and study some history.

He also really needs a proper mirror in his little single room apartment. The bathroom mirror isn't enough to appreciate the new clothes. To think he used to hate dressing up formally as Shen Yuan. The difference of a few years as Peak Lord makes! And admittedly, Shen Yuan could've never looked anywhere near as good as Sephiroth in a suit like this. Sephiroth, really, looks just too good. Fit for a thousand magazine covers. Which is fitting because he's pretty sure Sephiroth has been on magazine covers back on earth! Which is kinda weird from this perspective! Famous in another world sounds like a damn isekai light novel title.

Ah, but then his whole life is a mockery of the genre.

Dropping his shopping bags by the wardrobe and his new coats over its door, Sephiroth throws himself on his couch and sighs, running a hand through his long bangs.

He has clothing, his room still needs some improvements and will never be Qing Jing Peak, but it will do. Those were the easiest things to cover, really, and now that they're done, now that he's spent several hours getting used to this body and how it looks and who he's supposed to be… the world he's now part of…

Is he really just going to be Sephiroth from here on out? Is he supposed to forget PIDW and Binghe and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Just go on being Sephiroth, and put Shen Qingqiu behind him?

… He really isn't sure he can, actually! In a way, Shen Qingqiu had suited him better than Shen Yuan had. Well, once the OOC restrictions had come off and he was free to be himself, anyway. Being a soldier, a super SOLDIER at that, with alien DNA and the lifeblood of the planet in his guts…

Resting a hand on his stomach, Sephiroth tugs at the blood red shirt he has on.

It's… really a bit like he's Binghe now. He's an alien hybrid thing here, so it's kind of like being a half demon! Or, ah, weirdly accurate biblical angel? What with the angel wing motif these games have going for themselves… Sephiroth's final form was kinda eldritch, from what he recalls. Wings sticking out every which way. Ridiculous and over the top in a way only Final Fantasy can be!

Damn but he hopes he can grow wings at some point. That would be just so cool, he doesn't even care how ludicrous it would get. The whole thing about wings being cause for existential monster angst is a thing he probably would need to consider, but, seriously. Wings! Yes, please, thank you!

It's the lifeblood of the planet that bothers him the most. Not just because of the oil allegory.

It's also how the local reincarnation cycle works. Though it's more like a spiritual composting rather than straight up reincarnation - but still! The energy pumped into his veins comes from the souls of dead things.

Yeah, he can't ignore that anymore.

Sitting up, Sephiroth gets out of the dress pants he'd bought and the button up shirt, switching back to the more comfortable pyjama pants and t-shirt he started the day with. He takes a moment to put purchases away and tidy his room up to peak Feng Shui before sitting down on his bed.

The energy in his gut is thick, massive and near immovable. He'd read up on Mako as much as there was to be read on his phone. The cycle went something like Lifestream to Mako to Materia - so, in the right conditions, the stuff actually crystallises. So, in a way, Materia is spirit stones! And that's kinda what it feels like in his gut - like his energies are condensing, hardening under pressure… crystallising. Except not into a golden core, nah, just one big shapeless lump of dead-weight-energy.

Well, not on his watch!

Relaxing and breathing in and then slowly out, Sephiroth thinks about all the Cultivation tricks he learned cultivating with damaged spiritual veins and incurable poison. Here he kind of has the opposite problem than with Shen Qingqiu, though - Sephiroth's spiritual veins aren't worn and fragile, they're hardened, like… scar tissue. He really feels a bit burnt on the inside!

Shinra's method was all quantity over quality where it comes to this stuff. Brute forcing their way into a semi-functional magic system, and who cares if it scorches the earth when there's instant profit to be made!

What a truly subtle metaphor.

Well… Shen Qingqiu has worked with worse - and at least there's a lot to work with! So as long as Sephiroth manages to avoid the Qi-deviation of the century, he will have one hell of a golden core! Just gotta not burn himself inside out! No pressure!

Qi Condensation stage - done! He couldn't have done better himself. Foundation Establishment, however… yeah. Sephiroth really has a great body, but it is not prepared for a Golden Core Formation. His energy flow is all whack.

No wonder he cracked like an egg at the slightest bit of mental pressure… a bit like the original goods Shen Qingqiu, really, with his many Qi-deviations.

Right. Never mind that! He has a lot of work and not all the time in the world, alas. No seclusion training in this world!

Time to get to it.

#Fanfiction #svsss #ffvii #ff7 #Shen Qingqiu #Shen Yuan #Sephiroth

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everything-fine-n-peachy · 1 month

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agree to disagree (z.cl)

pairings: zhong chenle x reader genre: high school angst summary: y/n thinks chenle has the biggest head on the planet (literally and figuratively) and chenle is a boy with a crush and a lot of issues to work through.

warning: slight mention of parental neglect and ensuing anxiety

You hated Chenle’s guts.

There was just something about this boy that made your eyes roll every single time he was with you in the same room. You had to agree that there were perks to haveing someone as affluent as Chenle in your grade. The sponsorships from his family during school events meant that teachers were inevitably more lenient. But behind this so called generosity, you could clearly see the humble brag that he was.

Everyone adored the fair skinned boy who liked to laugh obnoxiously loud with his friends who all wore rolex watches. There was an undeniable envy behind the thin veil of admiration that everyone seemed to have though. Except you, ya’ll stay safe.

You knew it since day one of the 7th grade when the teacher announced elections for class officers a week prior. Elections that you intended to win. The next day Chenle showed up with a bag of lollipops for everyone, automatically securing him a win as president of the class while you lost with less than five votes to your name.

It wasn’t to say that he did a lousy job. But he wasn’t going to silently work behind the scenes, no. He liked to make everyone aware of his status and wealth in the most subtle of ways. Free snacks whenever he felt like it, free entrance at the golfclub their family owned, and souvenirs for everyone from when he would go overseas with his grandparents. And you hated it. The feeling of being treated as a charity case. Like this boy thought he could buy everyone’s love. But not you.

“I hope everyone enjoys the free handwash mom says they cost a lot,” he announced. You with the long French braid and mouth full of braces promptly had enough by then.

You approach him with your irritation having reached it’s limit within your stature of four-feet-eleven. “If you’re always going to tell us how expensive everything is, then I think you should just shut up,” you spat, shoving the pink paper packing into his chest. You walk away with satisfaction as Chenle muttered crap about how it was from the tropical islands of whatever country you couldn’t pronounce.

Your hate was was palpable across the entire grade for the next five years. Everyone knew that you and Chenle didn’t mix except maybe your 12th grade English teacher.

“Class this is just for the first term. No one is being forced to sign a marriage certificate so I would appreciate if everyone cooperated with their partner,” Ms. Son commented as she flashed the list of pairs on the screen in front.

You visibly frowned, “you gotta be kidding me.” Jaemin, who sat next to you tried to contain his laughter upon realizing that you had in fact been paired-up with Chenle. Ms. Son eyes anyone who dared to complain before explaining the project. “I want each pair to pick a topic that you disagree on. For the next nine weeks I want you to come up with a presentation on how communication skills will help you understand a different perspective.”

Murmurs fill the room. Some of your classmates are excited. Many are quite bored and just wish the bell would ring. You are downright fumming at Chenle’s audacity to wave at you from across the room when your eyes meet.

On the first meeting you drag yourself into the library for the inevitable. Chenle lounges lazily on one of the bean bags, engrossed in his tablet. You drop your things on an empty table before clearing your throat.

“I think the sooner we get this over with the better,” you say with a tight lipped expression. He agrees before standing up and joining you on the table.

You notice him studying you and can’t help but fumble with your pencil and notebook. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I just can’t figure out why you hate me so much,” he mutters more to himself than to you.

“We’re here to discuss the assignment.” you pointedly respond before proceeding to go over some of the topics you wanted to tackle. As you’re reading off the list you notice Chenle’s eyes linger on you a few times. You find the way he can keep eye contact unsettling but you push on wanting the assignment to be over sooner rather than later.

The good news was that you found plenty of topics that you disagree on. The bad news was that none of you could get through a conversation without picking a fight, well mostly you couldn’t get through a conversation without picking a fight.

You mutually decide that Renjun would be present on your second meeting. You both think maybe a mediator would help you. But not even 30 minutes in and Renjun’s hands are rubbing his cheeks in frustration.

“Let’s take this from the top shall we?” He reiterates,” you need to listen to each other first. Stop trying to win over each other.”

“I think there’s nothing wrong with using your connections to get farther in life, if I have an advantage why shouldn’t I use it?” Chenle states.

“If said advatange is within your reach because of privileges that you have, shouldn’t that be regulated by policy?” You bite back.

“They /are/ regulated by policy. Don’t companies have referals? Isn’t that even better since people are vouching for them?”

At this point Renjun let out an exasperated sigh. None of you were listening to each other, let alone him. “Guys, the pont of this assignment is to hear both sides. I need you to find some common ground,” he exclaims earning some looks from other kids in the lounge.

The two of you promptly stop arguing. Renjun sighs again, “you don’t actually disagree as much as you think.”

You snort in response, “yeah and Chenle just needs to get his big head back to earth to see that not everyone has a rich family who can get them places.”

“Why do you always act like that’s a bad thing?” Chenle retaliates.

“It’s a bad thing when you keep trying to buy your way through life!” you yell.

You visibly see Chenle shrink back into his chair. His face morphs into something you’re not sure of. Even you are a little surprised at yourself.

Chenle presses his lips together. He laughs to himself before speaking, “well, I don’t know what to say to that. But I have taekwondo training in five, so …”

You watch Chenle gather his stuff in silence. You stare hard at the blue metallic surface of the table long after Chenle is out the door.

“That was pretty mean even by your standards,” Renjun said. “I get that he’s annoying but isn’t that a bit unfair considering you barely know him?”

That night you stare up at the ceiling finding it hard to sleep. You toss and turn thinking about Chenle. You remember the boy who bragged about his thousand dollar drone, the boy who accidentally dumped his iphone in the pond and had a new one the next day, the boy who liked to tell people that money wasn’t a problem.

Then you also remembered that he was the boy whose parents didn’t show up to any ribbon ceremony, the kid who constantly brought nannies instead of family to his school shows, and the only one who hadn’t received a personalized letter from his mom or dad during the senior retreat in 10th grade.

You think you don’t really know Chenle as much as you’d like to think. Maybe you were the problem for allowing your 7th grade grudge get the best of you for the last five years. Maybe, you needed to give this project a chance by not sabotaging it nearly as much as you did.

You’re nervous when the third meeting comes up. Words have been scarce between you and Chenle but you at least have the decency to set up another meeting at the library. You’re a few minute early but soon five minutes turned into ten and ten turned into twenty. You attempted to text your partner but to no avail, you try and look for him yourself.

A few steps into the 12th grade corridor you hear shuffling in one of the rooms. Curious, you follow the sounds and find yourself face to face with Chenle who was in the process of pacing. You can’t help but notice that his hands shake a bit.

“Go away,” he says. When you don’t follow his command, he let’s out a shaky breath and a tiny laugh before slumping against the wall. You stand and watch as he sinks to the ground.

“You’re probably right. All I have going for me is my family and I can’t even please them. Can't win a medal, can't get on the merit list.”

You find yourself sitting next to him, leaning your head against the wall. Not quite sure what to respond, you let him drawl on.

“I don’t even like taekwondo,” he laughed to himself again.

“Why do you do it then if you don’t like it?”

“It’s the only tournament my dad ever attends.”

Your eyes look straight at the windows that offer a view of the sun setting beautifully in soft hues of pink and stark orange while you both bask in the misery of the moment.

“I got into university today. The university that they wanted for me so badly.”

“Do you want to go?”

“No,” he chuckled, covering his face with his hands.

“Then don’t go. You’re plenty smart I’m sure you’ll find a good university that you actually want to go to,” you reply turning your face to look at Chenle.

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “My parents have already paid for the first semester.”

There’s a long pause before Chenle speaks again. “I was thinking about what you said a couple of days ago. It kinda stung but it wasn’t something I heard for the first time.”

You unconsciously shift your position, uneasy at how Chenle’s demeanor changed from the last time you spoke to him with Renjun at the students’ lounge. He seemed so vulnerable, cocky have-it-all attitude all gone. Instead, a very much exhausted Chenle seemed to take his place.

“I don’t take any offense, don’t worry,” he assured you. “I just reaized for the first time that I actually let myself use my pain as an excuse. I parade this generational wealth around since that’s all it was ever good for.”

You feel yourself soften at his confession. Not that he was totally forgiven but it was a start. “That still isn’t an excuse for me being mean to you for the longest time. I apologize,” you mutter, eyes looking ahead.

“I guess we can call it even since I’ve been a jerk to you, too. Sorry bout that.”

You turn only to realize that Chenle was already looking at you. He had always been looking at you except you never did notice. He liked the way your eyes reflected the pretty sunset. Even after five years, his crush on you hadn’t worn off.

Truth be told, he pulled half the stunts he did to get your attention. Winning class president, giving away free strawberry hand soap because he had overheard that you liked the color pink, engaging you in arguments, and everything in between.

He knew from when you didn’t back down from him during class elections. Since then he only found more reasons to reaffirm his feelings with everything you do. His heart would skip a beat when your bright voice fills a room when you talk about social injustice, the way you were so proud of your dad, a teacher on career day, or the way you earnestly listen to your friends when they have something to say.

Chenle offers his hand, “to new beginnings?”

“To new beginnings,” you replied.

As you’re both standing up to leave you can’t help but feel the urge say something. “Chenle, about the university. I guess there won’t be any harm if you honestly tell your parents that you don’t want to go. Just a suggestion,” you offer with your palms raised.

For the first time, you experience Chenle smiling at you. Like, really smiling at you. You aren’t particularly sure why but you notice the crinkle of his eyes and the lopsided curve of his lips and you can’t help but feel endeared.

“Well, there’s that,” he says. “But I’m hungry. We should order pizza.”

You nod in reply, “as long as you aren’t getting them with pineapples, I’m down.”

Chenle’s eyes widen as he slowly lowers his phone, “you don’t like pineapples on pizza?”

“They’re disgusting, no.”

“But they bring out all the other flavors!” he exclaims.

You smile at him while he continues to tap on his phone. As you walk down the corridor you think- no, you feel that something has changed and even if you wouldn’t want to admit it, you were glad that it did.

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” you finally said, putting one foot in front of the other.

#nct dream #zhong chenle imagines #zhong chenle #chenle #chenle imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #chenle fluff #kpop imagines #nct dream x reader #chenle x reader #nct x reader #nct smau #kpop smau #chenle smau #nct #nct enemies to lovers

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happyk44 · 5 months

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The thing was Percy didn't like being a bad kid. Every time he got kicked out of a school or wound up in the counselor's office over some incident he wasn't completely blameless for, his mom's brows would pinch. The line on her lip dipped. He knew what she was thinking each time: lost wages, job risk, who was going to watch him if he got suspended, where would she send him if he got kicked out, and so on.

He hated that he did that to her. Being a bad kid meant being a bad son. He refused to be a bad son - not on purpose anyway.

Well, he used to. She wasn't here anymore. Her brows weren't going to furrow. Her lips wouldn't thin. Her shoulders wouldn't draw up and tense before the principal even opened their mouth. It was over.

He didn't have anyone anymore. Nobody at cabin eleven would look at him. Other cabins steered around him like he was carrying the plague. Grover was off doing whatever satyrs did - probably getting ready to infiltrate some new school, befriend some new kid, save their lives. He didn't need Percy. It’d only been a few days but they'd barely interacted. Older satyrs would yank him along into the wood before Percy could get close or even open his mouth. Even Annabeth just eyed Percy with scrutinizing eyes - like she was assessing him for something. But every time he tried to approach her outside of their lessons, she brushed him off.

No one wanted Percy around.

What was the point of being a good kid anymore? There wasn't anything or anyone forcing him to keep his head above water. He was tired of the murmurs. He was tired of the avoidance. Tired of the glares from the Ares cabin. Tired of trying to keep the quake in his stomach tamped down.

He was just tired.

He thumbed along the flat edge of his sword. His new best friend was the pervasive feeling of loneliness. With a miserable sigh, he tucked the sword into the holster on his hip. People barely wanted to spar with him now so he was stuck to sweating it out on the dummies by himself. At least only when Luke wasn't pushing him as hard as possible.

But even with Luke there seemed to be pause. The first time Percy felt his gut yank after being claimed had been in training with Luke, and as soon as the feeling caught him, Luke begged off. Like he'd seen something in Percy that unnerved him. Sometimes when Percy looked in the mirror, he saw something in his eyes that unnerved him. A foreign thing - like a contact lens put in the wrong way.

No amount of poking or prodding at his eyes was going to get it out though. It was inside him - in his blood. He was sure of it.

He was starting to worry that it was the very thing he'd been keeping back, the very thing his mom was trying to keep him safe from.

The clang of metal against metal was loud as he walked past other trainees. There were a couple people leaning against the wall near the water fountain. As expected, they shifted away as he neared. Mistrust was bright in their eyes.

He did his best to ignore it. Not the first time people had stared at him like they thought he was dangerous. Or beneath them.

The water sprayed for a moment before he lowered his head. It was clarifying. He'd noticed it before, a burst of energy with every sip whenever he was tired, but ever since being claimed, he'd noticed the alertness more and more.

As he let go of the button, he caught the tail end of the muttering nearby. His stomach dropped.

“... should've ditched him sooner,” one boy grumbled. His friend snorted. “Maybe then she wouldn't have died.”

“What did you say?” The two startled. Percy understood why. He barely recognized his own voice, the eerie coldness to it frosty on his own tongue. Still, he repeated as he twisted on his heels to face them. “What. Did you just say?”

Panic besot them. For a second, the barest of a second, he could feel it kick in - be a good boy for me, Percy, be a good kid for Mom.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't here.

So what was the point?

He took a step forward. “What,” he snarled, saliva coating his tongue like froth, “did you say?”

The others shifted away but he just crept forward. “Nothing, man,” one of them finally bit out, but they were lying. He could see it in their eyes, hear in their voice, feel it in their veins.

“You're lying,” he said. A bitten off laugh echoed from his lips. “You were talking about my mom.” Another choked laugh. “You think it's my fault?”

One of them raised his hands - a mock surrender. “Hey, dude-”

“You think I wanted her to die?” A sharp sensation coiled through Percy's chest. It thrummed hot and heavy, piling, piling, piling on his lungs. “You think I asked for ANY OF THIS?”

Someone's hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was like the crashing of the waves against his bare feet. Cold, clarifying, clear.

Freeing.

His fist drove straight into the jaw of whoever was behind him. He could barely tell who he was seeing - it might've been Luke, or any other tall blonde guy. But as soon as whoever it was stumbled back, he whirled around and punched whichever kid was closest in the stomach. They went down and he clambered on top to wail. Fist and fist upon whatever body part he could reach. He wasn't the most elegant hand-to-hand fighter but there was something to be said for the voracious and vicious energy boiling through him.

Distantly he was aware of yelling around him, aware of people pulling at him, aware of the person beneath him crying, arms over their face, arms Percy was tired of hitting. He needed to get their face, get their tongue, rip his mom from their mouth. How dare they speak about her.

How dare anyone talk about her.

A dozen hands finally yanked him back. He screamed. Bodies toppled. He grabbed the closest one by their hair, driving his knee upwards over and over again until hands ripped him away again. Swung blindly and caught someone. The two of them fell. His stomach pulled back. They choked. They weakened. He swung himself over until he was on top.

I want you all to drown, he thought, grabbing at their jaw. Don't ever speak of her again.

Saliva smeared across his fingers. His stomach pulled back even more. What was that - blood, water? On his hands, on his knees, on their skin, on their faces, in their veins.

His free hand drew out. He wanted it. It was his. Didn't they get that? She was his, and she was gone, so he would take and take all else that belonged to him until the hole in his chest was gone. Until the water they had coursing inside them filled him up.

“Percy,” someone whispered.

Their voice was familiar, breath hot against Percy's ear. He twitched. The feeling of nearby water, nearby fluid, was clenched tight in his fist. He just had to pull back. Yank it. Make it his.

The voice turned pleading. “Percy.”

He froze as two hot hands came to clasp his cheeks, dark brown eyes and curly hair blurring into view. Grover's face.

“Grover,” he breathed. For the first time since he'd ended up at camp, he relaxed.

Grover's thumbs stroked his skin. “Yeah, it's me.” He leaned in closer. “Percy, you need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“You're hurting people," he said. “You have to stop.”

Why? Percy thought. He didn't care. He didn't care if they hurt, didn't care if they drowned where they laid choking, didn't care if they suffered. It didn't mean anything to him. They didn't mean anything to him.

But this was Grover.

And with his mom gone, Grover meant the world.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes,” Grover said. His breath was warm, his skin hot, his body close. Distantly Percy remembered nights at school like this - Grover tucked up next to him, trying his best to help Percy study when most people would've bailed. “I want you to stop.”

His lips were wobbling. His eyes were thick with wetness. His voice was unsteady - trying to be calm and rapidly failing. Even his hands shook.

Percy grabbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he whispered as he clung. His stomach relaxed slowly, the crash turning into a tickle. “I'm good, I'm good.”

Shakily, Grover exhaled, pressed his forehead to Percy's, and murmured, “I know, I know.”

His hands pulled away from Percy's face, but not away from him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. Percy's breathing wobbled as he tucked his face into the crook of Grover's neck. He clung tight and desperate. Pleading.

No, he couldn't be a good son anymore. He didn't have to bother keeping in check to avoid the thin line of his mom's lips. But he could be a good friend. To keep the tears out of Grover's eyes, the tremble from his skin.

“I can be good,” he promised quietly, for Grover's ears only. “I promise I can be good.”

“I know,” Grover said. His cheek pressed against Percy's. “I believe you.”

The fountain nearby trickled quietly. The steady flow soothed the unease between Percy's shoulders. Still, he squeezed the pillow in his grip tighter to his chest as he watched Grover flit around the bunk closest to him. He snapped the final end of the sheet around the mattress. Hooves clopped quietly against the tile as he stepped back. His gaze flickered between Percy's bed and his own.

Then he grunted and began pushing it closer.

Percy hopped up. The discarded pillow slipped from his fingers and onto the floor. He nearly tripped over it trying to get to Grover's side. They pushed the other bunk over until it was pressed into Percy's.

While Grover unfurled his blanket, Percy stepped back. Awkwardness choked him. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he picked the pillow off from the floor and pressed it into his chest. Grover didn't spare him many glances as he worked to make up the bed. Leaning across his bunk, he yanked Percy's blanket from between the seam where the two bed frames connected and began tying the edges of both blankets together. It was shoddy work, no way it wasn't coming apart just from them lying on the sheets, much less sleeping.

But Grover did it anyway.

As he shifted back, hooves scraping the floor, Percy held out the pillow. Grover dusted off the top then laid it against the headboard. With both hands on his hips, he admired his work. Percy stared at it too. It was nice. Joined bed. Grover within direct reach.

His palms itched.

“Are you scared of me?”

Grover twisted around. His brows furrowed, but the edges of his lips were quirked upwards. It was reminiscent of school - Percy stumbling over something he read and Grover, lost but amused, over why Percy thought it was a man-of-war that Theseus fought.

He was partially grateful Grover cut him off before he could finish what he actually thought the sentence was trying to say. It certainly wasn't fight.

“I mean,” Grover started and Percy's stomach drew back. Behind him the trickle of the fountain silenced. Like the water was holding its breath too. “I'm scared for other people, but I'm not scared of you.” He punched Percy's arm with a quiet smile. “I know you're not going to hurt me, Percy. That's why I stopped you.”

The fountain began to trickle again. “And that-” He faltered. The ghost Grover's touched goosed up his bicep and across his shoulder. “-that doesn't worry you?”

That you might have to stop me again went unspoken but Grover was always good at understanding Percy's unspoken words, at knowing his unspoken feelings - even the ones Percy wasn't even aware he felt.

He sighed. “It worries me. But not because it's you.” He shook his head. “And definitely not because I'm scared of you hurting me.”

His eyes scanted away, brows furrowing deeper. Then he relaxed into the bed. After teetering on his heels for a couple seconds, Percy joined him. He gripped the edge of his shorts so tight his palms burned. Grover reached over to stroke along the back of his hand.

He exhaled slowly and let go.

“You remember Pan?” Grover asked.

Percy paused. “The satyr god, right?”

“Yeah.” Grover pulled away to tug at his fingers. “He's been missing for a while. Ever since the industrial age took off. And no one knows where he is. It's the dream of every satyr to find him, so that nature can return to the way it was.”

“That your dream?”

He nodded solemnly. “You have to be a Protector first, before you can get your Searcher’s license. But I'm not like the others.” His gaze fell down. His hands sat in his lap, cupped around nothing but air. “I don't want him just so we can bring nature back to its peak.” He sighed. “We were a lot different when Pan was still around. More free. More wild. I want satyrs and nymphs - all of us to be us again!”

Percy leaned into him. “What's stopping you?”

Grover snorted. “People forgot. We were more than just Pan's disciples. We fought to protect the wild from mankind. We didn't just sit around waiting for him to tell us what to do. But nobody wants to do anything.” He scowled. “They think when Pan returns he'll fix it all and I-” He bit his lip, then shook his head. “The world has changed. And gods don't get involved like that. Not to the extent they want him to. It's not in their nature. But if he comes back then maybe…”

He faced Percy. His eyes were watery, darkening the already dark brown of his eyes into shots of black. The welled tears glistened ever so slightly. Like the night sky, free of pollution.

His lips wobbled into a gentle smile. “But that's why I'm not afraid. You’re like nature at its purest form - chaotic, wild, unburdened.”

Normally those words wouldn't hit Percy as compliments. Insults, degradation - things that would deflate him and make his mom frown. But Grover sounded so earnest, his heart swelled.

“You can't tell, but I can feel it.” He swung his arm over Percy's shoulders and tugged him in close. “Your demigod essence, this sense of the wild that I've been searching for my whole life.” He gestured loosely. “Even the Demeter kids don't have that. Their mom is all agriculture and farming and that's great and all, but it's not pure nature, it's not the wild.” He squeezed Percy's shoulder as best he could with one hand. “You remind me of home, Percy.”

The frog Percy hadn't noticed in his throat jumped out with a burst sob-laugh. He tried to tile away, but Grover just tugged him close, bringing around his other arm to keep Percy pinned. Nonetheless his hold was fairly loose, like Percy was a stray cat he didn't want scratching him if he felt like running.

Or like he knew that Percy was the ocean through and through, unwilling to be contained, wanting to flow wherever he saw fit.

Percy practically crawled into his lap, sniffling into Grover's shoulder. Warm hands stroked up and down his back. He laughed quietly - a half-distressed noise marrying the sound, but managed a breathy wheeze of, “You remind me of home too.”

Grover kissed the top of his head. For the first time since arriving, he shattered. All his twisted up emotions committed out in a tidal wave of tears and broken gasps. All the while Grover held him. As tight as Percy clung to him, he didn't complain. Just held on even tighter. Wetness from Grover's own tears smeared across Percy's skin.

Ever the empathetic. Like his mom.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don't leave without saying goodbye,” he begged in a hollow, hoarse whisper.

“I won't,” Grover promised.

They held onto each other even as tears and cries faded away. Grover kept stroking his back with both hands. Percy continued to cling.

Shoulders shaking, Percy wound the fabric of Grover's shirt over his fingers. After a few minutes of toiling silence, he whispered. “I think I'm changing.” He pressed his forehead to Grover's collarbone. “I'm scared.” He pulled back and stared into Grover's eyes. “What do I do?”

“Be my best friend,” Grover said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. And as soon as the words fell off his tongue, it did. How silly was Percy not to think of it before? “My best friend is a good person, the best kind of wild.”

“I can do that,” Percy promised. “I swear, I can do that.”

“I know,” Grover said, squeezing Percy's cheek. His thumb swiped away at a still wet tear under Percy's eye. The stroke was soft, gentle. Kind. “I believe you.”

#percy jackson #grover underwood #i dont remember percy really having time to mourn his mom in tlt so i figured id give him a moment with grover #happy talks pjo #my writing #my fanfic #pjo fanfic #anyway grover is sleeping witj percy in his cabin to quote unquote keep an eye on him bu really they're just gonna play games #because percy is calm when grover's around #and i haven't read tlt in a while but i dont remember grover doing much with percy post arrival #so im headcanoning that its an unspoken unofficial rule that protectors arent supposed to interact yoo much with their former protectees #in order to allow for a better transition into demigod living and also so the protector in question can go out and find other demigods #🤷‍♂️ whatever whatever but grover 1) knows that percy is possessive and insane and 2) is also Percy's bestie so hes been TRYING #and Percy's attempted murder(s) came in handy for them to chill out with each other

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aloneinthehellfire · 9 days

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Chapter Seven: We Are The Pariahs

The Pariahs That Saved The World

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: vecna's curse, mentions of death, mentions of homophobia, bad father-daughter relationship (story of my life)

[A/N: omg she made it out of her writers block era!!!! I am so so sorry for the long wait on this chapter, I had planned to write it ages ago but felt myself losing part of my creativity (it's a very long story about the trials and tribulations of an arts uni student) but I am trying to make it up to you all by bringing you the most packed chapter yet! And totally not because I was rushing to get to write my favourite part of the series, okay bye]

We Are The Pariahs

You never thought you’d see this room again.

Soft pink walls, almost entirely covered in movie posters and band memorabilia, a fluffy carpet that felt like home beneath your feet. But it wasn’t the room that made your heart beat faster. It was the girl sat on the bed, mascara tears coating her cheeks.

“Heather?” Your voice was small, scared to spook her.

“Y/n? Is that you?”

Her broken voice almost made you run to her, swoop her in your arms, tell her everything was fine.

No, she isn’t real. Y/n… none of this is real.

You were supposed to be stood in the Upside Down, searching for a way out. You had been calling out for Dustin, you saw… you saw something. What did you see?

“Why weren’t you there?”

Heather’s eyes turn dark, her voice dropping to an abnormal pitch. A jolt of fear from your chest settles into a pit of despair in your stomach.

Vecna. You had seen Vecna.

“You… you could have saved me…” Heather’s cheeks were wet with tears, her mascara slithering down her face likes vines. “You weren’t there.”

No mater how hard you tried, no words escaped the lump in your throat. After all, was anything you could say going to stop Vecna?

“I will always hate you for what you did.”

A sob breaks free from your lips, and a smirk etches onto her face, a face slowly peeling away until all that was left was a red and raw face of horror.

“You never let yourself trust your own gut,” Vecna stands from Heather’s bed, creeping closer as you press yourself further into the wall, “Y/n… always the follower…”

“What do you want?” You manage to whisper, turning your face away as his claws begin to rise above you.

“I am giving you one last chance to finally save someone,” He spits, milky white eyes examining yours, “I want you to warn them all, show them…”

His rotten breath fans against your face and you cry, feeling your head tilt back under his control. He leans impossibly closer, seething venomous words into your ear.

“Tell Eleven… or your soul will be next.”

A silent scream leaves you paralysed, eyes wide as something hot pierces your mind.

Flashing images, displays of terror and destruction. You saw your friends, your family, all burning. Hawkins was crumbling, a giant monster with a gaping mouth breaching through the gates. Chaos flew in wisps of ash and fire until there was nothing but total and complete darkness.

“Tell them…”

“Where is it?!”

Robin could hear Steve and Nancy upstairs rummaging through her bedroom drawers for a hope of a Walkman or even that stupid music box, anything. The longer they took, the paler Robin felt. She was stood in front of you, yelling into your ears, trying to shake you awake from your deathly still posture.

“It’s not gonna work!” Eddie stresses behind her for the millionth time, a higher level of panic detected in his voice with each announcement. “Chrissy didn’t- oh my god, she’s gonna end up like Chrissy. My best friend is gonna-”

“Eddie!” Robin snaps at him, his eyes widening in shock. “We are all fucking terrified right now but I need you to get a grip! STEVE! WHERE’S THE MUSIC?!”

“WE’RE WORKING ON IT!” He yells back, matching her own panicked tone, and Robin could almost throw up.

She knew exactly what was going to happen the moment she saw your face drop, the strike of fear on your features as you stared into your reflection. She already anticipated your shoulders to drop and your eyes to roll back. She just didn’t make it to you in time.

“Please, please, please.” Robin begs you, her throat tightening with every flutter of your eyelids.

A choked gasp shouldn’t have been the sweetest sound Robin thinks she’ll ever hear, but once it escaped your lips, relief washes over her like the tide.

You stumble forward and she only just manages to catch you, Eddie already lunging across the room to help. They both lower you to the floor, allow you to sit as you try and catch your breath.

“You’re okay. You’re okay, we got you.” Eddie kept saying, your wild eyes darting around the room like you were afraid of the shadows, clinging onto his arm.

And Robin just sat there, staring at you, trapped in her own fear of the torment she shouldn’t have been feeling. It felt even worse knowing she had anticipated it all.

“What happened?” She finally asks when your breathing is steadier, watching as a pained expression is woven into your features before disappearing in a flash, shaking your head.

“He… he was warning me. Us. Told us to stop.” You nod feverishly, enough to spark curiosity.

But before Robin could question any further, two sets of footsteps come barrelling down the staircase.

“We got it! We got it- it’s right here!” Steve stumbles over his own words, panting for breath as he holds a Walkman in his hand, presenting it to the ceiling like a trophy. Robin blinks.

“You’re only like 5 minutes late.” She rolls her eyes and Steve looks exasperated, a sigh of relief exhaling from his lungs when he notices you sat there.

“Oh, thank god.” He runs a hand through his hair, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find any music.”

“You couldn’t-” Robin frowns, shaking her head at him. “Then what the hell were we meant to do with that thing?”

“Improvise?” Steve offers and Nancy clears her throat.

“Sorry.” She surrenders, looking at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, attempting a smile but it didn’t settle right on your lips. “Just… just another threat.”

And with yet another lie, they all seemed satisfied enough to continue their mission; contact Dustin. To which they were successful, using light as communication that you usually would find yourself fascinated with. But the entire time you sat there as the others smiled, you couldn’t block out his voice.

“Tell Eleven… or your soul will be next.”

“You and Wayne really aren’t keeping up on the housecleaning.” You comment, and Robin lets out a snort behind you.

Eddie’s trailer was much like the rest of the eerily familiar homes in the Upside Down; dark and filthy. Vines were pretty much scattered across the furniture, almost swallowing the trailer itself whole. But that wasn’t the concerning part.

If you had to pick just one thing to be scared of, it would be the gaping hole in the ceiling.

“This is where Chrissy died.” Eddie says, gulping as you all stared at the thrumming crimson light. “Like, right where she died.”

And just like that, you were now even more terrified.

“Could this day get worse?” You mutter, and you wish you had kept your mouth shut.

“I think there’s something in there.” Robin announces and you all squint upwards, taken aback by a shadow moving against the membrane.

A few slow seconds ticked by, and you wondered if it was just a trick of the light.

Something suddenly pierces through, pieces of the small gate splattering to the ground and you all leap backwards, heart hammering in your ears.

Steve moves first, cautiously peering up before a smile starts to stretch his cheeks. Curious, everyone else follows suit, and you’ve never felt so relieved in your life.

“Hi there.” Dustin laughs in glee as Max, Lucas, and Erica, all wave up to you.

The first face you see as you grin is Robin’s, meeting her hopeful eyes and happy smile with those of your own. In the moment, you reach out your hand as squeeze hers without thinking. You didn’t even notice her grip your hand tighter. You also didn’t remember letting go. Because you never did.

“Holy shit, this is trippy.” Robin laughs, and you can only nod in agreement, looking through the gate as if you truly were Upside Down.

“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin yells, and you all instinctively laugh.

In a hushed mutter of agreements, the kids start to build the exit plan, dispersing across the trailer. Robin gently tugs on your hand and you look at her inquisitively, her head motioning for you both to step to the side.

“What’s up?” You whisper, unsure of why she wanted to talk in private. If anything, you could only hope why she wanted to talk privately, but that was wishful thinking considering you both barely knew eachother and it probably wouldn’t work because who knows if she’s-

“Did you… did you see something?” She asks and you frown. “Earlier. When Vecna… is there something you’re not telling us?”

“No.” Your response was too quick and her face drops into a serious tone, her hand slipping away from yours and you’ve never thought your hand could feel heavier without the weight. “Robin-”

“You can’t keep secrets, Y/n.” She says and you shut your mouth. “There’s already been so much-”

She takes a breath, eyeing the others as they all appear to be fixated on the events above them.

“You went to the Creel House and never told us about it.” She reminds you, a soft frown marking two small lines between her brows. “You heard Vecna, and you didn’t think that would be important to know. And now you’re having these visions and you’re not telling us the whole story with that, either. Why?”

“It’s…” You begin, but your shoulders slump with exhaustion. She was right. Why are you trying everything to hide it? “He showed me something. Something horrible. About our future, Hawkins. He threatened me, but I- I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t think terrifying everyone else was going to get us anywhere.”

“What did you see?”

“Monsters. Gates.” You gulp, the next word barely audible. “Death.”

“Shit.” Robin blinks, tightening her lips. “Yeah, that’s… that’s pretty terrifying.”

“We need to focus on Max.” You say, glancing over your shoulder to where they were testing out a rope. “We can’t… we can’t help her, or anyone else for that matter, if we’re too focused on the bad ending. And from what I saw…”

“What?” Robin frowns when you don’t speak.

“I don’t think it’s something we can fight.” You admit just as Steve yells out for you both.

“Come on, operation get the hell out of here is commencing. Move it.”

Steve guides Robin by her shoulder, making her frown in confusion. He points to the rope.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Climb it.” Steve says, like it was obvious.

“Seriously?” She cranes her neck to look up at it, an encouraging thumbs up from Dustin on the other side. She looks around to see no-one else is volunteering. “Guess I’m the guinea pig.”

She manages to catch your eye before reaching for the rope, unspoken words floating between you both as she focuses on her climb, ignoring the burn on her palms as she mustered up enough strength to reach the top.

The strangest feeling washes over her as her head passes through the gate, blood rushing to her face. She was upside down now, holding onto the rope.

And then she was falling, landing on a mattress with a soft thump, staring up at the ceiling of familiar faces.

“That was fun.” She announces as she accepts Dustin’s hand, pulling herself to her feet.

“Who’s next?” Nancy asks, and after that, everyone started to make their way to the other side.

Eddie landed first, grinning at everyone with a casual “That was fun.”

You passed through the gate next, smiling at Robin as she offers her hand and ignoring the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you stared back up at the gate, waiting.

Nancy readies herself on the rope, obviously affected by Steve’s nature to always be the last.

She didn’t climb.

“Nancy?” You’re the first to speak, stepping on top of the mattress to get a better look.

And then Steve was trying to shake her awake while the others searched in panic for music she would listen to. But you didn’t move.

You refused Vecna’s threat, and all of a sudden Nancy was now cursed? It didn’t feel like a coincidence.

It felt like your fault.

Nancy had snapped awake after a painfully chaotic chorus of panic, her wide eyes of horror speaking more to you than it would anyone else. You were relieved to know she wasn’t cursed, just another messenger for the dark wizard. You were in fear of knowing Vecna didn’t tolerate insubordination.

The things she had told everyone made Robin feel too sober, her back resting against a cabinet on the floor while they had all sat in silence, Nancy’s voice thick with tears.

Vecna wanted revenge, and that meant Hawkins was on his kill-list.

Robin couldn’t help glancing your way when Nancy started describing the details of your own vision, but your eyes were fixated on the carpet. She hadn’t known you for long, but she didn’t think you were ever this quiet.

“Four chimes.” Max suddenly says, cutting through the tense air. “Vecna’s clock. It always chimes four times. Four exactly.”

“I heard them too.” Nancy agrees shakily.

“He’s been telling us his plan this whole time.” Max realises, and Robin feels very sick.

“Four kills.” Lucas understands. “Four gates... End of the world.”

“If that’s true…” Dustin speaks, looking at Max, “He’s only one kill away.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Eddie mutters, rubbing his face, “Jesus Christ.”

“Try ‘em again.” Steve orders to no one in particular, pointing to the phone, “Try them again.”

Max nods and grabs the receiver to dial the number they had been trying for the past few minutes. You had hoped the Byers would be able to help, that El would come back and help you win this. But no one ever answered.

“What do we do now?”

Your voice was a surprise to everyone having been the only person unable to share your own input to Nancy’s visions. Your throat felt hoarse, and there was a pounding headache forming behind your eyes. It was all starting to feel hopeless.

“We’re going back to the Upside Down and we’re killing Vecna.” Nancy announces and Robin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Hold on, wait, let’s think this through.” Steve objects, standing from the couch.

“What is there to think through?” She countered, crossing her arms.

“We barely made it out of there in one piece!” Steve stresses and you watch as they argue, unsure of who’s side to take.

“Because we weren’t prepared!” Nancy replies. “But this time, we will be. We’ll get weapons and protection. We’ll go through the gate, we’ll find his lair, and we’ll kill him.”

“Or he’ll kill us.” Steve says and across the room, Robin raises her eyebrows at you. “The only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us.”

“And for good reason.” Robin interrupts, standing up and clearing her throat, “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry. One. Sorry, what are we calling him now?”

“One.”

“Vecna.”

“Henry.”

“Right.” Robin breathes out, continuing. “We’ve learned something new about Vecna/Henry/One. He’s a number like Eleven, only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering version of her with really bad skin.”

“Ew.” Erica turns up her nose.

“But, my-my… my point is, he’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with a snap of his fingers. It’s not a fair fight.”

“Then why fight fair?” Dustin intercepts and you turn around to look at him. “You’re right. He’s like Eleven. But that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths. And weaknesses.”

“What weaknesses?” You question with little effort, and Robin can’t help but feel a little upset at how hopeless you sound.

“When El remote-travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like state. I bet the same is true of Vecna.” Dustin explains.

“That would explain what he was doing in that attic.” Lucas comments.

“Exactly.” Dustin nods. “When he attacks his next victim, I’ll bet you he’s back in that attic, physical body defenceless.”

“Defenceless?” Steve raises his brows, gesturing to his bruised neck. “What about the army of bats?”

“True. We’ll have to find a way past them.” Dustin accepts, “Distract them somehow.”

“And, uh,” Eddie leans forward, “How do we do that exactly?”

“No idea. But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance.” He smiles, “It’ll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin.”

“That all sound good in theory, but there is no pattern to Vecna’s killings. I mean, at least not one that I can decipher.” Robin says, “We don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don’t even know who he’s going to attack.”

“Yeah, we do.” Max speaks up and your stomach drops. “I can still feel him. I’m still marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me.”

“What?” Your head whips up, frowning.

“Max. You can’t. He’ll kill you.” Lucas whispers out and she shrugs.

“I survived before.” She reminds him and Lucas frowns. “I can survive again.”

“How?” Robin observes the way you stare up at Max with a look of remorse. You really cared about these kids, about her. It’s why you were here in the first place. You could have flown back to Stanford, but you chose to stay.

Which is why the thought of Max sacrificing herself after all of this felt so absurd.

“I just need to keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic.” She says, slowly nodding. “Then you can chop his head off. Stab him in the heart. Or blow him up with some explosive Dustin cooks up, I honestly- I don’t care how you put this asshole in his grave, just… whatever it is… whatever you do… try not to miss.”

It sounded like her closing statement, an invisible signed document of her stubbornness. Nothing you could say would change her mind, and you knew she was right. This was the only way.

“Now all we need is a shit ton of weapons.” You sigh, spreading your hands in exasperation.

“Where the hell are we gonna get that?” Steve frowns, exchanging a look with Robin. “Doubt Officer Friendly is gonna let us raid the station.”

“No need.” Eddie suddenly stands, stretching his arms. “I know exactly where we can find them.”

Everyone frowns, some in confusion, some in concern. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t say War Zo-” You start, but Eddie doesn’t let you finish.

“War Zone!”

War Zone was pretty much how you assumed a store named that would look. It was a giant warehouse filled with aisles and aisles of anything you could possibly get your hands on. Guns, ammo, grenades, knives. All you could ever need for battle.

It was just a shame the only two excited for this trip had to be hidden from the public. You thought it was ironic that you were trying to avoid suspicion just after stealing a whole Winnebago.

“Hey!” Dustin protests as Steve sits him back down at the table, shaking his head.

“Sorry, man. It’s too risky.” He explains, but the curly-haired boy just pouts.

“Hellfire stays inside.” Nancy announces and despite Eddie’s look of disappointment, he didn’t kick up a fuss. He could look at guns another day, when there was no longer a price on his head.

“Okay, time for some… shopping.” Robin shrugs as Max jumps out of the RV behind you, slamming the door shut. “Are we, uh, looking for anything in particular?”

“Anything that looks like it’s gonna hurt.” You say, surprising the others. None of them object.

Swarms of mostly bulky men were walking down the aisles when you all entered, seemingly curious yet unbothered by your little group. You all definitely looked out of place.

“Uh… we should also probably look out for clothes.” You suggest, gesturing to Steve’s stark outfit. Your own was covered in black slime and dirt, much like Nancy and Robin’s.

“Good idea.” Steve says as he makes a beeline for the clothing department.

“I’m gonna head over to the guns. I’ve got an idea of what I want.” Nancy nods and Max takes Erica with her to the smaller section of knives and bug repellent.

“What do we think?” Robin asks with a lighter tone, posing with a beret on her head.

“You know what, it actually suits you.” You laugh and she flashes you a smile, throwing it into the shopping cart.

She begins to peruse the jewellery section next, making you chuckle in amusement as you spot Steve trying on a jacket further down.

It had been a while since either of you talked. After your vision in the Upside Down, you could tell he was walking on eggshells around you, much unlike your usual banter. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you had an honest conversation with you.

“So, weird question, but, um… how are we meant to be paying for this?” You question as you walk over to him, a surprised look on his face as he glances over at Robin. She seemed to be preoccupied by the studded belt in her hands.

“I’ve still got my whole compensation fund from Starcourt we could-”

He stops once he says it. Starcourt. He saw how your face drops without permission, giving him a small glimpse of the sadness that wore away inside you.

“I, uh… we could use my savings money.” You offer, trying anything to pretend like your momentary lapse of weakness didn’t happen. “I mean, it was meant for books and stuff back at Stanford but I feel like this is a much more important use for it considering the whole end of the world scenario we’ve found ourselves in.”

You attempt a laugh, but it came out with too little volume, and all too much air. You try to redirect your attention to the vest in front of you. It looked like tough leather, hopefully thick enough to add some protection to your frame.

“Sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”

The battle vest almost slipped from your hands as you turn to catch Steve’s eye. His expression was serious, an apologetic look pointed at you.

“Huh?” You frown, unsure when this sudden turn of conversation started.

“I haven’t really been grateful. To have you here with us, I mean. You literally dropped your life just to help us, and I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you. High school was years ago.”

“If it helps, I have also been an asshole, so…” You laugh and you manage to spark a smile on his face. “And of course I’m here. You are, too. I’m not the only one risking everything.”

You didn’t expect a genuine smile from Steve Harrington to ever be sent your way, but you found yourself smiling back. In so few words, it was like a war had been resolved between you. A long time coming, at that.

You watch as his gaze drifts to behind you, his brows furrowing.

“Uh… I’ll be right back.”

You turn to see him jog over to Robin, placing a hand on her back. From this distance, you could just see her standing there with a fallen expression, staring at something further down the aisle. You take two steps back, curiously searching for the source of her uncharacteristic torment, but you can’t see past the couple laughing together.

The guy was quite tall, someone you think you recognise from school. Dan, was it? He was smiling down at a girl not much younger than you, wearing a grin and ginger hair.

It took a second for the realisation to hit, and by then Steve and Robin had wondered back over to you, quickly explaining you all needed to leave before you were suddenly rushing back to the Winnebago, left to sit for a little while longer with your thoughts.

Why was Robin so upset about a random couple in the middle of War Zone?

Robin hadn’t expected to see Vickie anywhere, let alone a stupid illegal gun shop on the outskirts of Hawkins. It definitely caught her off-guard, and since she watched what little hope she maybe had left of dating suddenly kiss a man, it also felt right. After all, she was a pariah. That was all she was going to be.

“I don’t care.” She interrupts Steve’s attempt to rationalise the prior events, rambling about the impossibility of Vickie not liking women too.“And I don’t understand why you do either with everything that’s going on. Honestly, this feels like a perfect time for that little pull of the rug because… in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

A sigh leaves her lips just in time for her to catch a glance of you across the field. You were sat cross-legged on the grass, laughing as Eddie and Dustin play-fought with their new and improved battle shields. As she sat just outside the Winnebago, holding a funnel for the molotov cocktails they had ordered, she feels a smile tugging at her lips when she sees your grin, and then she shakes it away as fast as she can. Not fast enough for it to go unnoticed.

“Aren’t you always telling me about all the fish in the sea?” He smirks, waggling his eyebrows and she grimaces. She knows he’s only joking, trying to tease her a little bit. But he doesn’t realise it wasn’t a game to her.

“Ew, no, don’t be gross.”

“I just think you’d be perfect together-”

“Okay.” She quickly stands up, almost spilling the bottles. “I think we’re running out of alcohol. I’m gonna go find some more.”

“Why are you being weird?” He frowns as she starts walking away. “But- we have enough bottles here!”

You heard Steve’s shout across the field as Dustin starts making a joke about bats, turning your head to see Robin was quickly walking away from him and disappearing inside the Winnebago. You were twisting grass between your fingers, staring longingly at the trailer home door. You wanted to talk to her. You needed to.

Your legs moved before your brain could comprehend it, marching you across that field with determination. There was no more putting it off. You couldn’t spend your last moments before what could be the end of the world sat on the grass wondering what would have happened if you’d just had the courage to open up.

Robin managed to compose herself for a bit, running her hands down her face and catching a glimpse of herself on a small mirror. Her mascara had rubbed off a little around her eyes, her hair now dirty and wild from the whirlwind of their adventures. With a sigh, she grabs another box of bottles. She so badly wanted a shower. Or at least to just curl up in her bed and pretend like the world was going to be just fine if she fell asleep.

She knew any minute now Steve would come looking for her, demanding answers. He was right. She was acting weird. But how else were you meant to act when you were slowly coming to the realisation that you’d be alone forever? How could she pretend to be normal when she had to sit and watch everyone else fall in love when she couldn’t, or reconnect with their high school sweethearts while she mourned the feeling of never experiencing teenage love?

She wasn’t normal. Nothing in her life felt more real than that.

“Hey.” You suddenly announce yourself and Robin drops the box she was holding, cursing under her breath as she scrambles to collect it before she lost all composure. You wince. “Sorry.”

“No, you- it just-” Robin presses her lips together, sighing. “I didn’t expect to see anyone in here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” You grimace even harder, motioning to the door. “This was weird, I can go-”

“No!” She drops the box again, on the small table this time. “Uh… I mean, no. You don’t need to…”

There’s a moment of silence you really wished was comfortable, but even you couldn’t pretend it was anything other than awkward.

“Are you doing okay?” Robin blurts, unable to resist talking if it meant she didn’t have to stand there with her own thoughts for much longer. “With the whole, you know, being a Vecna prophet?”

“A prophet, huh?” You smirk, raising your eyebrow. “No, I’m, uh… I’m okay? I think. Just… god.”

You flop yourself down on the cushioned seats of the Winnebago, biting your lip.

“I should have done what he asked.” You admit, meeting her eyes as she slowly lowers herself to sit beside you. “Nancy is probably, I don’t know, traumatised now because I keep thinking making everything a secret is gonna solve everything. Like it ever has.”

“You were doing what you thought would protect us. That’s not a bad thing.” She shrugs, staring down at her hands. “You shouldn’t even have to be dealing with all of this in the first place.”

“No one would have guessed an evil mind wizard who lives in an alternate dimension would somehow use me to spread his villainous plans.” You chuckle, trying to find the humour in what had to be the scariest experience of your entire life.

“No.” She breathes an airy laugh, biting her lip. “But I made you come here.”

“What?” You looked taken-aback, blinking at her. “No, Robin… I’m here because I want to be.”

“But you hate Hawkins.” She says, twisting in the seat to face you so she could express herself with her hands more. “And I- I don’t blame you. You lost your father… you left for all good reasons. I shouldn’t have shown up at your door demanding help, it… I didn’t realise how badly it would affect you, or-”

“Robin.” You place a hand over hers and she stills, words cut from her mouth by a single touch. “I want to be here. What happened a year ago doesn’t define my actions now. It never did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t leave because my dad died.” Your voice had gotten quieter, and Robin watched as your eyes started to glisten. “I… I left because Heather did.”

Robin frowns. Heather? Nancy mentioned a Heather back in the library after your first encounter, stating the two of you had known eachother since sophmore year. It had only been a passing comment. Robin only remembered the Heather with a plaque at the school, a soul lost to ‘the fire’. Flayed, Robin realises.

“Heather… Heather Holloway?” Robin asks and you nod, wiping away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “Nancy told me you guys were friends.”

“Right. Friends.” You say almost bitterly, avoiding her eyes. Robin sends a quick glance to the door, making sure it was shut. She had a feeling this conversation wasn’t one you were going to be comfortable sharing with anyone else.

“Was Heather… was she more… more than a friend?” Robin’s mouth felt dry as she struggled with her words, hoping you didn’t return them with a laugh or disgust. And you didn’t. You only nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Back in the hospital, Starcourt… I had gone with Nancy and Jonathan to try and figure out what the hell was happening to Hawkins. Nancy told us it was related to Driscoll, that we had to hurry. I remember she wouldn’t tell me why she was so scared. But Jonathan let slip that they had been at Heather’s house…”

You take a deep breath, trying to relax your now tensing shoulders. “I kept asking them where Heather was, if they had seen her, if she was okay. I… I knew something was wrong. I hadn’t heard from her for a whole day, I even begged for their help when she went missing but they told me I was paranoid. But I was right in the end.”

“You were too late.” Robin whispers in realisation, and your glossy eyes find hers, nodding.

“Heather’s dad was at the hospital. So was mine.” You recall, twisting the corner of the cushion. “They were flayed, attacked us when we least expected it. My dad was telling me how Heather died, what they did. Right before he drove a knife into my shoulder.”

You gently push down the shoulder of your jumper to reveal a red scar, and Robin’s breath hitches.

“I don’t really remember much after that. Jonathan managed to get him off me. I think Nancy dragged me somewhere safe before a nurse found me.” You sigh, rolling your shoulder. “When I had woken up, my gran was the one to tell me about Starcourt, how my dad had died in the fire. And that Heather and her family had apparently burned in there too.”

“I’m so sorry.” Robin squeezes your hand, wiping away her own tears. She had wondered why Nancy and Steve seemed so hesitant about your story. Only now did she know it was because they couldn’t feel anything but guilt about how they treated you.

“Heather was my best friend, and more.” You smile before it broke, biting your lip, “I hated the thought of staying here. I was just so… angry. At the others. At myself. I had to leave.”

“I would have done the same.” Robin admits quietly. “To be honest… I don’t think I would have come back.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” You shrug, “But I needed to be here for my gran.”

“Does she…”

“Yeah. She knows about Heather and me.” You say, nodding. “I came out to my dad when I realised I liked Heather. He… he wasn’t happy about it. We fought a lot after that until my gran decided to take me in. She’s pretty great.”

“She sounds it.” Robin smiles.

“Being a girl into girls in a town like this…” You laugh, glancing out the window. “When I turned Steve down in sophmore year, I just remember the relentless torment from everyone around me. I didn’t even know I liked girls then, but I knew I was never going to say anything because if I refused a date with a guy and they all hated me for it, what would happen if I ended up dating a girl?”

“It was all so natural with Heather. She didn’t make me feel like a freak, or make me some kind of pariah. Because she understood me. And about a year after we became friends, after the whole Steve incident, we started dating.” You lean back into the seat, pouring your heart and soul to a girl you hoped you had met years ago. “Our dads worked together at the Post, and we had to keep it a secret. That’s why… that’s why everyone out there thought we were just friends. Because that’s what I told them.”

“No one out there would have judged you like that. Especially not Steve.” Robin insists and your face twists with uncertainty.

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s my best friend.”

You knew that. You saw it anytime they bickered or teased one another. You saw it when Steve went rushing over to her the second he sensed her posture drop in War Zone, whispering reassuring words to her on the field after.

Part of you had assumed when you first saw them together that there was no way they couldn’t be dating. So many factors could be against why they weren’t. There was only one you were nervously hoping for.

“That girl… the one at War Zone. You looked really upset…” You bite your lip, heart beating harder. “Is that because…”

“I know exactly how you feel.” She meets your eyes and you almost melt, suppressing a smile.

“Is that why you started acting weird when you found out Eddie was my ex?” You ask and she frowns, obviously curious about that. “I dated him because I thought he was cool, and nice. We broke up because I realised I was gay.”

“Oh.” She laughs, feeling incredibly stupid. “God, I was so sure- I literally hate myself right now.”

“So… does that mean… if you liked that girl…” You struggle to find the words, scrambling your mind with endless possibilities to just ask the question.

“I like you.” Robin finally says in a whisper and you smile.

“I like you, too.”

Her eyes flicker to your lips for just a moment, until she catches something, a red trail starting to stain your upper lip.

It all came crashing down after that.

“Y/n?!”

Steve must have heard her screaming because when he comes rushing in, your eyes are already rolled back, Robin’s hands holding onto your shoulders.

You weren’t a prophet after all.

You were a warning.

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#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley #robin x reader #robin buckley fanfic #st4 fanfic #wlw #sapphic fic

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