#or it was abuse that wouldn’t leave marks anyway like how they’d work him to the point of collapse or control his every action
Note
I don’t know if you already said this elsewhere, but did the Zenin ever hurt Megumi in a way it simply wasn’t possible for them to explain? Like being poisoned or bitten by one of the dozens curses? Did Gojo catch them red handed (the red is literally megumi’s blood💀)?
The first time that they hurt him in a way that they couldn’t explain away was the last time they hurt him, because Gojo immediately cut them off and refused to ever let them ever get near Megumi again. The Zenin didn't fully realize this at the time they had custody, but legitimately the only reason why it got as far as it did was because Gojo didn't know.
They weren’t exactly advertising “yeah we beat him when we have him” to him, but it wasn’t exactly because they thought gojo would put a stop to it, per se. They didn’t tell Gojo anything they did to Megumi because they felt absolutely entitled to him. They didn’t want Gojo’s input or interference, and they didn’t like feeling like they had to ask for permission around this with Megumi. But they didn’t think he actually would cut them off from him.
In the Zenin’s mind, Gojo doesn’t love Megumi. He’s never loved Megumi. Megumi’s just a political pawn to him, a way to insult the Zenin and steal their most valuable technique for his own. And he got way more value from letting them see him. He got to have his influence on someone who was very likely to be clan head one day—if Megumi’s cut off from them entirely, he’s not moving towards being clan head. He got a bargaining chip with the Zenin—he could further his own goals by offering them more time with him. Megumi’s a powerful piece of leverage but only if Gojo actually uses him. Him intervening to protect Megumi by severing all contact doesn’t further his own goals, so when it all came to a head, they pretty blindly assumed that he wouldn’t give a shit about what they had just done to Megumi, because at the end of the day, they thought he was going to keep using Megumi for his own ends, which meant giving them access.
Instead, Gojo immediately pulled the plug on the entire situation. They never touched or saw him again. The first time that Megumi saw them after the incident that made them go no contact was when Naoya came to pick him up at his school.
#sea glass gardens#in my mind jujutsu sorcerer kids are sturdier#like Sukuna punted Megumi through multiple buildings in their fight#so it must be /hard/ to do something that causes a bruise#a lot of the Zenin’s abuse was hidden because while it still hurt it wasn’t leaving marks#or it was abuse that wouldn’t leave marks anyway like how they’d work him to the point of collapse or control his every action#but if they hit him hard enough to leave marks then they had the built in excuse that megumi was fighting with other kids#or had just had one of those normal little kid bumps. like I have a baby nieces and nephews and those kids will just hurl their bodies#around. kids collect bruises. they’re figuring out what their limits are and even if you watch them carefully a few bumps is normal.#they hurt him badly but they always had a way to hide it until they went too far and didn’t anymore. and the second gojo realized that#the adults on the compound had been beating megumi he never let them so much as look at him again. he legitimately put his foot down and#refused to budge an inch no matter how much hell he caught for it#I’ve definitively decided that the incident that made them go no contact is not going to be revealed in sea glass gardens#it just isn’t something that would come out through yuutas pov#if I wrote other works in the series it would probably come out through one of them but it’s a big big if#I make no promises as to other works in the universe (though I have started writing some of them. completion is another thing entirely).#if you guys want to know the incident that made them go no contact I wouldn’t be opposed to revealing it over ask but it’s y’all’s#preference. usually the stuff I talk about in ask is stuff I’ll know isn’t going to be revealed in sea glass gardens itself. this is kind of#in purgatory because I know it’s coming out in sea glass gardens but there’s a smaller chance of it being revealed in a different work#so it’s up to y’all. if you want to know I’ll answer it behind a cut or something but if you want to gamble on it actually being written out#one day that’s fine too
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Hi! I love your blog! So hard to find a non con writers! Ignore the haters, just keep doing what you love! You’re not alone!
So happy to see your request open! I’d like to request a NON CON where Mafia JK fell in love at first sight with innocent reader and bought her in an auction. He is obsessed with her so he marries her and deflowered her, stuffing his thick manhood in her and. JK has a bloodplay kink. He wouldn’t stop fucking her until she passed out everyday. Milking her dry from orgasms. Thank you 💜
-> Thank you for the reassurance❣️
⚠️: BLOOD PLAY, NON CON, human trafficking, virgin reader, physical, mental & emotional abuse, little/innocent!reader, ddlg-ish, manipulation
“Get the hell up, you have to get ready.”
The man kicked you in your stomach and grabbed your arm, pulling you upstairs to the bathroom
“Wear this dress and fix up your face.”
He left the bathroom and you quickly jumped into the shower
Today was the “big day”
You were being auctioned off
Obviously, you were terrified and nervous
However, your current “owners” said that if someone doesn’t buy you today, they’ll make your life a living hell
They were hungry for money and if no one wanted you, you would’ve been a big waste of their money, time and energy
Well, not really — they just needed to blame someone for their lack of success
Plus, you’re the first person that they’re selling
They kidnapped you when you were walking home from the train station
You didn’t have much family nor friends which kinda made you the perfect target
You cooperated with your two “owners” because you didn’t want to get hurt
Yet, it still happened anyways
They’d often kick you, or slap you, or pull your hair
Nevertheless, you didn’t complain because you wanted to stay out of trouble
When you finished getting ready, your “owners” tied your arms and legs together and threw you into the trunk
The auction event was big
You could tell that you this event had plenty of rich and powerful people just by looking at all the cars
Your owners took you inside through the back door and told you to fix your hair
Once you did, they dragged you behind the stage and made you wait there for nearly 3 hours
There were other girls lined up in front and behind you, half looking terrified and half looking excited
In those three hours you overheard some girls talking about a certain man they wished to be bought by
Those were the girls who were “excited”
They were talking about how they went “all out” to impress him
You tend to not judge people but, you couldn’t help yourself
Who the fuck wants to be sold to anyone?
You couldn’t wrap your head around their thought process
They were practically gushing about this mafia guy who was supposedly young and handsome
Even if he was, why the hell would you want to be someone else’s property?
You muted their voices so you didn’t have to hear their nonsense and soon enough the auction started
One by one, girls and boys went up on stage and the bidding started
You were surprised because some of those girls got sold for only a couple hundred bucks
When it was your turn, your owners basically dragged you on stage and held you wrist as tight as they could so you couldn’t run
“A young, ripe, virgin finishing up university. Starting bid, $50,000.”
One by one, people raised their auction paddles and offered more for you
Your owners went wide eyed after the bids started increasing by $10,000
You eventually passed 1 million and were near 2 million
Random old men were raising their paddles higher and higher, determined to buy you
Eventually one of them had enough and said “5 million dollars!”
The room went silent and your owners were about to say “sold!” when someone interrupted and said “10 million dollars”
Even your mouth dropped
10 million?!
The man stood up and walked closer to the stage
Your two owners recognized him and started bowing multiple times
“S-She’s all yours, Mr. Jeon! Thank you so much. Please take her.”
This was the first time you saw the two males scared and nervous
And it kinda frightened you
It took a lot to scare those two but, this guy did it effortlessly
So, what in the world would happen to you?
You got dragged off stage again and the auction continued
You were dragged into a private room where the man who had just bought you gave the two men 10 million in cash
7 brief cases stacked on top of each other, full of hundreds
The two males happily accepted and let you go with the man
He didn’t want to stick around for the event so, he pulled you out of the building and pushed you into the car
“Anders, drive us home.”
The car ride was silent in the beginning
You’re eyes were glued on the window and his were glued on his phone
About an hour later, you fell asleep against the window and he noticed
He slapped you across the face and pulled you’re body away from the door
“What’re you sleeping for? You did absolutely nothing today. Do you think you’re some kind of princess? Do you think can sleep wherever you want whenever you want? Keep your eyes open. If I catch you sleeping again, I’ll make you regret it.”
Tears gathered in your eyes and you couldn’t hold it in
You started to sniffle, making Jungkook look over at you
“Shut up! If I hear you cry, I’ll force you to walk all the way home, barefoot”
You covered your mouth with your hand and lowered your head
After taking a moment to breathe normally, you apologized
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Jungkook raised his eyebrows
“How do you know my last name?”
“I heard my owners call you by that na-”
Another smack on your cheek, this time a little harder
“How dare you call them your owners?!”
Your eyes held so much terror, and it was a turn on for Jungkook
That was the moment he realized how much control he had over you
You were so naive and innocent, it made him want to ruin you
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon! I didn’t realize! It was an honest mistake.”
“Just wait until we get home” he muttered under his breath but you were able to make it out
You were terrified and rightfully so
Once you got home, Jungkook didn’t have any mercy on you
You were running from him, not knowing where you were going
You ran upstairs into a large bedroom and locked the door
“Please, don’t hurt me!” You cried, clutching onto the top of your dress that he ripped apart
You thought he was on the other side of the door, calming down but the closet door busted open and there he was
You tried to open the room door but he was faster and pulled you back onto the bed
“Already causing so much trouble for me, little one.”
He hovered over you
“I’m sorry. I’m scared. Please, don’t kill me.”
You started to cry under him
You looked so precious, begging for your life
He couldn’t resist
He took off his suit and ripped your dress open
Underneath, you were wearing a red and black lace lingerie
He let out a low growl before attacking your neck and marking you all over
“Wait! Sir! Please! Mr- agh! Mr- Mr. Jeon! No! I’ll give you money! Please! I can give you all the money in my bank account if you just let me go! $59,000 is all I have! I can-”
Jungkook started to chuckle against your neck
“59,000 dollars? That’s all? You expect me to set you free after you give me 59,000 dollars?”
He laughed right in your face which broke your heart
It was your hard earned money
You hated to see someone discredit your hard work just like that
You frowned and got tearful
“It’s all the money I have.”
You said in a quavering voice
Jungkook looked at you
You were dead serious
“I bought you for 10 million dollars and you want me to set you free for $59,000. Anyone with a brain would deny that offer.”
He slapped you again and continued on
Jungkook sucked your neck, breast and chest; leaving dark, purple marks all over
“Wait! Mr. Jeon, I-I’m actually waiting till m-marriage.”
“That doesn’t matter, anymore. You’ll be getting married to me, anyways.”
“No! Please!”
Jungkook pulled down your underwear and rubbed two fingers up your slit, making you shiver
“So pretty. I can’t wait anymore.”
He pulled out his thick shaft and you started to panic
“No! No, no, please! I don’t want this! I don’t want to do this, please!”
He spat on your opening for some lub and pushed his whole length in harshly
You groaned in pain when he did but couldn’t fight back
Your hands were against his chest but, pushing him off wasn’t easy
He started thrusting inside of you at a cruel speed, causing you gasp really loudly before wailing
“Hey! Stop! Please! It hurts!”
Jungkook pinned your wrist next to your head and fucked you deeply
After hours of fucking, cum and blood covered his cock and the bedsheet
He smeared the blood and cum mix all over your body
“Look at you, covered in your virgin blood mixed with my cum. You look so pretty.”
You were mumbling incoherent words, unable to think straight
He forced three orgasms out of you, of course you weren’t able to think straight
Sweat covered your forehead and your tight hole was leaking cum and blood
He pushed in one more time and began fucking you hard
You were squealing under him, telling him to stop yet he slapped your ass and grabbed your throat
“Your cunt seems to love my cock. That’s why you’re cumming so much around me. So stop telling me that it hurts because I know it’s a lie.”
One more deep push and you both came together
He laid down next to you and pulled you onto his chest
“Next week, you’ll officially be mine.”
You weren’t listening
Because you were passed out
It was your first time and he had made you cum at least 17 times
It would be surprising if you didn’t pass out
Jungkook didn’t lie when he said that you’ll be his in the next week
He made one phone call and whoever was on the end of the line planned a huge wedding in a week
You woke up one day and were forced into a white gown
Once you put the pieces together, you had a panic attack
You were getting married to this man you’ve only known for a week
You were being so uncooperative to the point where Jungkook had to come to you and set you straight
He quickly fucked you back into submission and made you get ready for your wedding
After your wedding, loads of fucking
You guys didn’t even show up to your reception party because Jungkook could not stop fucking you
And it continued like this for a very long time
You weren’t sure how you were still producing cum
Every morning, every night, sometimes in the middle of the day, he wants to have sex
It’s not like he’s slow or gentle either— he’s aggressive in bed, it’s tough to handle him
You usually end up passing out and even that doesn’t stop him
The next morning you wake up tired and sore however, he wakes up needy and wanting more
Sometimes he’ll fuck you hard enough to make you pass out right in the morning
Even when he comes back from a mission, he still has the energy to fuck you
You just don’t understand
For weeks, you can’t walk straight because of him
And it hurts to put any sort of pressure on your lower abdomen
Despite all of that, you still love him
After all the manipulation and brain washing he’s done to you, he’s convinced you that you’re in love with him
And that you won’t survive without him
You’ve been craving for love and attention for your whole life and Jungkook was finally giving some
Why would you want the person who makes you feel loved and appreciated gone from your life?
Jungkook used guilt tripping to make you stay with him
Not to mention, taking advantage of your toxic past
Stockholm syndrome ending for the win 🥇
Sorry for any mistakes!! Have a good day<3
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BnHA Chapter 306: the beginning of the WHAT
Previously on BnHA: Nana and the Gang were all, “hey Deku, we can read your thoughts and feelings so we should already know the answer to this, but for some reason we want to quiz you on whether or not you’d be down to kill Shigaraki Tomura.” Deku was all, “um okay, well tbh, probably not seeing as Saving People has been my entire thing since literally the start of the series.” The Vestiges were all, “yes that makes perfect sense and again we already knew that, but well, good for you buddy and I’m glad we had this talk. Anyway I guess we should ask these two cryptic fuckers in the corner to finally turn around now before we run out of -- ” and then the chapter ended. Because OF COURSE IT DID.
Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, WOULDN’T IT BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I GAVE YOU A CONFUSING CHAPTER WHERE EVERYONE FINALLY LEARNS ABOUT OFA, AND GOES BACK TO THE DORMS, AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH DEPRESSED NOMAD DEKU STANDING ON A PRECIPICE WITH GRAN TORINO’S TATTERED CAPE FLOWING IN THE WIND.” Everyone is all, “???????????” Horikoshi is all, “also the parents are moving to the U.A. campus, and Jeanist’s neck is two and a half feet long, for everyone that was wondering.” Everyone is all, “WHERE ARE KACCHAN AND TODOROKI AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHO ARE THE SECOND AND THIRD USERS”, and Horikoshi is all, “:)” and fades away into nothingness like the fucking fae he is. Like a fucking imp who’s kept his end of the cursed bargain. What, the, fuck.
okay guys, so after the longest Thursday of my fucking life, during which I was secretly hoping that my spoiler containment net would be somehow be breached, inadvertently exposing me to theta spoiler radiation, so that I could be all “oh no... spoilers... there’s nothing I can do... I have no choice but to look” (which sadly did not happen), it is finally Friday and the chapter is finally out. so I’ve got my clown kit at the ready and other self-deprecating memes on standby, and I’m ready to go. and I should note that I’m also ready for Horikoshi to pull some absolute bullshit and be like, “oh you know what, we haven’t checked in with Rat Principal in a while have we” and spend the entire chapter on nonsense like that. I’M READY FOR FUCKING ANYTHING so bring it
(ETA: it would be nice if this man wouldn’t call my bluff every now and again.)
oh, right, we were due a color page! wow look at this
isn’t this supposed to be the future?? what’s with all of these staticky CRT TVs
anyway, so! is this the first time we’ve seen Tomura’s stylish finger prosthetic glove thingy in color?? because I didn’t expect it to be red. also, at some point you just have to give in and change your pants into cutoffs or something, Tomura. start a new trend of stylish villain capris
meanwhile Deku is dressed like he’s going on a journey into the desert to find a mystical oasis. actually this cape looks a lot like Gran Torino’s. I have to go back and see if Gran’s is all raggedy like this
(ETA: it wasn’t before but APPARENTLY IT IS NOW. I also forgot that Horikoshi had showed it sitting on a side table in the hospital a few chapters ago.)
lastly, AFO looks like someone’s thumb after they’ve been washing dishes for twenty minutes. you are just the ugliest dude in history, and as always, fuck you
HAHAHA SOB I KNEW IT
oh, Twowy McTwoface is finally starting to turn around? better CUT BACK TO DEKU’S HOSPITAL ROOM THEN. wouldn’t want to accidentally ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS or SOLVE ANY MYSTERIES, god forbid
well, whatever. whatever!! anyway so now someone’s knocking at the door. I say “someone” but we all know it’s Hawks
yep
they were actually standing outside the door for a while hoping they’d overhear another juicy plot conversation, but no such luck this time
lmaooo Jeanist wtf
acting all embarrassed, but you’re really just as curious as Hawks is. making him do all the dirty work for you huh
ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS IS AN INJUSTICE
so like two seconds after Katsuki gets dragged away you open the door for the rest of them!! well, fine!! I really want it to be a more private/personal moment between the two of them anyway so let the other kids check in on Deku first then
and in the meantime, time to see Hawks put the thumbscrews to All Might’s resolve lol
I wonder how much of it Hawks has already put together in the last five minutes. One for All is something connected to All for One that Tomura seems to want. Tomura was apparently targeting Deku. that’s more than enough to make a few deductions right there. I wonder how much Hawks knows about Deku’s quirk. he did watch the sports festival, and he ran into the kids interning under Endeavor that one time
okay well maybe he hasn’t put the rest of it together just yet, but Hawks is making a pretty reasonable pitch here to All Might
also this is a pretty spectacular view. is this a hospital or a hotel??
AHLKJLKJLKJ ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL THEM
OH MY GOD HE IS?!?!
JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED, THE NEXT TWO PEOPLE TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT OFA ARE GOING TO BE HAWKS, AND BEST FUCKING JEANIST
-- LFKLKKLDK ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. ARE YOU --
( •̀_•́ )
[sitting cross-legged on the ground pulling up little clumps of grass and letting them fall from my fingers one by one] yeah. sure. okay. fine. sure
-- OKAY, NO. NUH-UH. NO
everybody better hold tight cuz I’m about to pick up this whole chapter and yeet it into the ocean like a fucking frisbee lol
HORIKOSHI I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE SITTING HERE WATCHING TV WTF
-- OH
well okay then. proceed. though lord help me if they’re about to reveal the secret of OFA to the whole fucking world skdkj
oh snap
well, there it is. pretty much what I expected, but it’s good to actually get to see this moment with him taking responsibility
though at the same time, thank you Horikoshi for not forcing us to sit through the rest of that
their fucking faces omg. okay but seriously, what nation doesn’t secretly love a good scandal
the Endeavor Pamphlets, part two. thank you for giving the country something to opine about on twitter in these trying times, Enji
so now they’re asking about Hawks and Jeanist but I cannot even focus on anything all of a sudden because what?!
is Jeanist even a real actual human being you guys?! are we sure he’s not three kids sitting on each other’s shoulders?? are you related to that one guy with the really long neck from the Jedi Council?? are you Orochimaru, bro??
so now Hawks is apologizing for the murder of Twice, and for hiding the connection with his dad
the fact that he has to give this serious formal apology and beg forgiveness for the shameful crime of Having An Abusive Father is really something else, though. just. it’s realistic, but I still hate it
moving on now to the one thing he actually does owe the public an explanation for
not to go all “Hawks did nothing wrong” on you guys yet again, but seriously. 100% facts. fandom can (and no doubt will) debate this until the end of time, but if Twice had gotten away they wouldn’t be having this press conference right now because there wouldn’t be any heroes left to give one. anyways though, I’ve already said more than enough about that in previous posts
so now some severe-looking lady with the weirdest fingers I’ve ever seen is saying that her mother was injured during Machia’s rampage
and she’s basically all “a fuck lot of good ‘I’m sorry’ does us all about now.” true true
wow she’s really getting fired up
and now Enji is basically saying that he understands that an apology isn’t enough, and what they really need now are solutions. okay, well! SO THEN WHAT IS THE PLAN THEN
hmmfsdgh
this eloquent PEZ dispenser makes a good point you guys
wait, hold up
CERTAIN citizens?? um excuse me, what??
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit
holy shit. well, this will go over well
okay! so this tells me a number of things, though
basically the minute that Hawks learned about One for All, he realized that anyone connected to Deku (e.g. Inko) would be a target for AFO. AFO wants OFA, meaning AFO wants Deku, and one of the easiest ways to get to Deku would be to target his family
Hawks therefore realized that Inko needed to be placed into protective custody
but the fact that ALL of the hero course students’ families (and is it only the U.A. hero course, or all of the hero course students across the country?) are being given protection tells me that Hawks and co. don’t want to single Deku out as being important. so then it looks like they’re not going to tell everyone about OFA (or at least not the public. which, good). so rather than drawing suspicion by saying “we’ve got to protect everyone connected with this one kid”, they’re making it seem like all the U.A. kids’ families are getting this treatment
but since the heroes are now spread so thin, they can’t just send a protective detail to each and every family, so they’re bringing all of the families to the same place instead to better keep an eye on them
so that’s all well and good, and a very smart move. except that idk how all of this is going to go over with the general public, all of whom are probably feeling unsafe at the moment, and who will probably see this as preferential treatment -- basically just the heroes looking after their own and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves
(ETA: okay so @hanashimas’ translation clarifies that U.A. is offering their services as an evacuation shelter for everyone who wants it, not just the families of the U.A. students. that’s much more appropriate so I withdraw my previous “wtf” reaction lol.)
anyway though here’s Mitsuki and Inko
can we take this as confirmation that the two of them really are friends? that’s one piece of fanon that I’ve always hoped was true, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s confirmed
(ETA: also this means that Hagakure’s parents (or maybe “parents” in quotation marks) will supposedly be moving in as well. sure am curious as to how that’s going to go.)
now someone in the press crowd is asking whether U.A. can provide adequate security, which is honestly the LAST thing I expected these people would be outraged about lol. shows what I know I guess
(ETA: again though, this makes sense if the “certain civilians” thing was just a translation error.)
LMAO DAMMIT ENJI
YOU CAN’T JUST ALWAYS PULL THE “JUST WATCH ME” TRICK AND EXPECT IT TO SHUT DOWN THE CONVERSATION EVERY DAMN TIME YOU ASSHOLE
-- OH MY GOD RED ALERT
TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BECAUSE OMG
WASH CAN’T BELIEVE HIS FAMILY GROUP CHAT IS STILL SENDING HIM FUCKING MEMES AT A TIME LIKE THIS. HE DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK IF THE DABI DANCE IS TRENDING ON TIKTOK, MOM!!
FOR A MINUTE I THOUGHT MT. LADY WAS HOLDING MIDNIGHT’S TORN-UP MASK, AND BY THE TIME I REALIZED THAT’S ACTUALLY HER MASK AND NOT MIDNIGHT’S, I HAD ALREADY CONSTRUCTED AN ELABORATE HEADCANON IN WHICH MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT WERE SECRETLY DATING BUT HADN’T COME OUT TO ANYONE YET, AND THEN TRAGEDY STRUCK, AND NOW MT. LADY IS GETTING READY TO SET OUT TO SEEK VENGEANCE. AND WELL, NOW THAT THIS HEADCANON EXISTS IN THE WORLD, I’M NOT SURE IF I’M READY TO GET RID OF IT
MIRKO HAS GOTTEN HERSELF A PROSTHETIC (ROBOT??!) ARM, NOTHING ELSE THAT’S HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPORTANT!!! HELLO!!!!!
AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH GOOD LORD. THE WORLD ISN’T READY. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HASN’T SLEPT IN NINETY-EIGHT YEARS, BUT SOMEHOW HE MAKES IT INTO THE HOTTEST THING EVER AS PER USUAL
WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY. ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIM? IS THIS KAMUI?? WAS THAT THING WHICH I ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HIS HAIR ACTUALLY A HELMET OR SOMETHING WHAT
LOL AND MEANWHILE
you tell me, Dabi! weren’t you the one who said that wouldn’t be enough to kill him? what even is your endgame here. I’m starting to worry about the villain brain cell supply you guys. I feel like Compress took most of them with him when he left
OH??
“when asked about One for All, Endeavor fucking lied through his teeth.” well, well, well
SLKDFJLSKGDJLKLKGJL THE DORMS
( ⁰ ⌂ ⁰ )
SLDKJFLKJWLKJLK
WLKDJSLKJFWKELKSDJLKHGLK
HDSMFLKGKL:GDSELK
OCHAKO’S HAND IS SHAKING OH MY GOD
THERE’S YOUR KAMINARI, EVERYONE!!
RHA’S SCANLATION TEAM REALLY THREW DEKU’S HANDWRITING UNDER THE BUS HERE HUH
HE TOLD EVERYONE!?
WHY THE FUCK IS HE WRITING IT AS A LETTER
(ETA: 9. also if he really wrote every kid in his class then that means the U.A. traitor -- or Hagakure as we like to call her around these parts -- also knows about OFA, and knows that Deku has run the fuck off and isn’t at U.A. anymore. so that’s just great!)
OH HELL NO
the hell does that mean, you must leave. leave to go where. son you are not up and leaving to go power up and lead us all into a timeskip. and I swear to GOD, if you left Kacchan too...!!
MY GOD I CAN’T PROPERLY ABSORB ALL OF THESE OCHAKO FEELS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO TERRIFIED TO SCROLL TO THE LAST FUCKING PAGE, FUCK
I JUST GOTTA DO IT. I JUST GOTTA SUCK IT UP AND DO IT. FUCK
FUCK
WHAT. THE. FUCK
y’all I’m not even gonna waste your time with more keysmashing, JUST ASSUME THAT I AM DOING IT NONSTOP, FOREVER. and let’s just jump RIGHT IN HERE
okay so here I thought that All Might and co. had taken him away somewhere to train, but that is CLEARLY not what’s going on here. this kid is standing here in his Apocalypse Aesthetic hero costume which has CLEARLY seen better days, with Gran Torino’s cloak (GUESS THAT EXPLAINS THAT, THEN?? SO DID GRAN FUCKING DIE EXCUSE ME WTF), and a fucking backpack. this little green idiot has RUN AWAY FROM HOME. this is the absolute LAST THING ON EARTH I ever expected to happen so PARDON ME WHILE I SCREAM CONFUSEDLY INTO THE VOID
he does not look okay. you guys he doesn’t look okay at ALL. he has NEVER looked like this. this isn’t just a “I’m sad because I’m leaving all my friends behind” kind of look on his face, or even just a “Gran Torino died maybe and I’m still having emotions over it” look. this is an EXHAUSTED, dead look in his eyes. something terrible has happened
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS DEKU. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS GODDAMMIT
love how this random building is just straight up collapsing, like that’s just a normal thing that happens every day now. lovely
APRIL MEANS IT’S NOW FULL ON SCHEDULED ALL-MIGHT-DYING-HOURS, BUT LET’S COMPLETELY IGNORE THAT THOUGH BECAUSE FUCK THAT NOISE
“THE SECOND USER? WHO KNOWS? CERTAINLY NOT ME” HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD
“BAKUGOU? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” HORIKOSHI PLEASE
WHERE. IS. KACCHAN
did he go with Deku?? did he get a chance to talk to him before he left?? did he get his own private letter which he read and then promptly blew up in a fit of panicked rage?? is he going to go after him?? DOES HORIKOSHI KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING TO ME RIGHT NOW?? OF COURSE HE DOES, DON’T BOTHER ANSWERING THAT
omg. though actually the fact that we’ve already jumped a few weeks forward makes me hopeful that there won’t actually be another timeskip, or at least not much of one. I’m sure that’ll be the big debate of the week, but I don’t think we can jump too far forward here. for starters because of that All Might prophecy I mentioned. and also because TomurAFO isn’t just going to wait around for months. and also because I’m 100% sure that Deku’s running-away backpack is just filled ENTIRELY WITH NOTEBOOKS and this asshole cannot possibly survive more than 3 days on his own. UNLESS SOMEONE COMES TO HELP HIM THAT IS. OR SOMEONES, EVEN. OMG. omg omg omg. fuck this chapter lmao
#bnha 306#midoriya izuku#hawks (bnha)#takami keigo#endeavor#todoroki enji#best jeanist#all might#uraraka ochako#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Everything Undesired
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming
Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?
A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.
Chapter 1
“You are ours. We own you.”
Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.
“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”
Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.
He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.
He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.
“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”
He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.
He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.
He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.
He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth.
He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.
After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.
"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.
"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"
"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.
"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."
"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"
He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."
"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.
"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.
"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."
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This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.
“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”
“A child.”
The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.
And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.
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It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.
Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.
Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.
It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.
"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."
"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"
"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"
"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."
"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.
"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."
"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."
"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"
Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.
"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"
Next
Masterlist 2
#dead dove do not eat#tw: implied rape/non-con#tw victim blaming#tw: dissociation#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me swd#obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst#obey me mammon#om! mammon#mammon angst#obey me lucifer#om! lucifer#obey me leviathan#om! leviathan#obey me satan#om! satan#obey me asmodeus#om! asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#om! beelzebub#obey me belphegor#om! belphegor#obey me oc#arella
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Waiting Arms
Summary: Janus and Remus had never hurt him, but that didn't mean they hadn't known. It didn't mean they wouldn't still try.Virgil can't handle the fear of going back to how things used to be.
TWs: Panic attacks, mention of past abuse
Masterpost
Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222 (If i missed someone or you wanna be added just let me know!)
Virgil pushed himself off the floor, arms struggling to support his weight as he managed to make it to his knees, unable to stop trembling as the pain in his ribs and face grew to an unbearable throb.
He bit back rising tears, grabbing the couch for support to pull himself to his feet. He deserved this, he knew that. He’d really messed up this time.
But that was ok. He’d had worse (much worse). He could handle this. All he needed to do was get back to his room, hide out for a few hours to let the everyone’s temper simmer down, and then cover his face with enough concealer to hide any marks left on his skin.
No need to let everyone see what he’d deserved. It would only serve as an invitation to let them do it again.
The room tilted a bit when he finally stood up, but it righted itself quickly as Virgil blinked, hissing against the flare of pain where he’d been struck just below his eye.
He just needed to make it up the stairs, lock the door of his room and then--
“Anxiety?”
Virgil froze, halfway to the stairs, forcing himself to straighten up as Deceit appeared in the kitchen doorway, watching curiously through mismatched eyes.
“You look well,” he drawled, and moved to point a finger to his own face, mirroring the mark on Virgil’s. “What happened there?”
Virgil scrambled for an acceptable answer, coming up short as the panic quickly returned. He was...acquainted with Deceit but he didn’t know how best to traverse the other side when he was angry. He’d somehow been lucky enough to avoid setting him off.
“I uhm, I was just--”
There was suddenly a hand on the back of his neck, digging into his black hoodie, cold and controlling even through the cloth, and Virgil quickly snapped his mouth shut, knowing who was behind him without needing to look.
“It was just a simple accident,” the voice behind him said, dripping with false gentility. “I was grabbing Anxiety an ice pack- we all know how clumsy he can be.”
Deceit frowned, eyes flickering between the two sides. At the time, Virgil hadn’t recognized what it was, but for just a second something dangerously close to hope had flickered in his chest. Because Deceit looked unconvinced.
But it was gone as quickly as it came, dying back down into cold helplessness as the snake just sighed, shook his head and sank back down to his room.
Before Virgil could even move, the ice pack was being swung forward like a weapon, finding purchase against his already bruised cheek, hard enough to send him stumbling back against the staircase with a cry of pain.
“You’re welcome,” the side snapped, uncaring as ever. “I did you a favor- making sure he doesn’t know how much of a fuck up you are. He hasn’t had to hurt you yet, has he?”
Virgil shook his head, doubting the other wanted a verbal response from him right now. He stayed tense, braced for another blow, clutching the stair railing like a lifeline.
But it was true. Deceit was one of the only sides that had never been given a reason to punish him, and Virgil was more than happy to keep it that way.
The light sides hated him, he knew that, but he was careful not to stick around long enough to let them take out their anger, much as he deserved it. He had enough of that already.
Remus hadn’t gotten around to punishing him either, but the other half of creativity was terrifying for a whole list of other reasons. Virgil knew better than to risk pissing him off.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” the other side said, tossing the unused ice pack in the trash. “Can you make it to your room?”
Virgil quickly nodded, knowing full well the question wasn’t asked out of sympathy or concern. The last time he hadn’t been able to walk on his own he’d practically been dragged by his hair up the stairs and down the hall, cruel hands only tugging harder when he struggled.
The other side apparently took his word for it, thankfully turning away without another remark, sinking out and leaving Anxiety alone again.
Virgil blinked, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, mulling over the memory for what had to be the third time that evening.
That had to have been...what, years ago? Too long ago to know for sure.
That was just...how things had been back then. Virgil was pushed around, beaten and berated, constantly punished for things that (he now knew) should never have been a big deal.
But he’d assumed it was normal. Normal for Anxiety to be hated and hurt, normal to be terrified of any mistake, no matter how small. Because his presence was tolerated, not wanted. Because he was a villain.
He’d believed it. All of it. And so naturally, he’d just as easily believed Janus and Remus were just as likely to punish him.
Everyone wanted to hurt Virgil. The light sides, the dark sides, and the sides Thomas would never see. That was what Anxiety was there for.
If a side hadn’t hurt Virgil, it was only because they hadn’t been given a reason yet. They would eventually.
But now...looking back on it, maybe it wasn’t so simple. They’d lied about why they’d hurt him, he knew that now, so maybe they’d lied about Janus and Remus too.
They’d told him Patton, Roman, and Logan would hurt him just as happily as anyone else, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
So maybe lying to Janus every time he’d been caught with a black eye or bloody nose hadn’t been to spare Virgil from another beating. Maybe it was just to cover up their own lies and abuse.
Maybe Janus and Remus hadn’t joined in the abuse because they hadn’t known. And if they’d known it would have stopped.
God, Virgil hoped they hadn’t known.
He didn’t know what he’d do if they had, and they’d just watched and let it happen. He didn’t know what the others would do.
It was the reason he hadn’t asked yet, too terrified to hear the answer, even as Janus revealed his name and gradually began to fit into their lives, and Remus inevitably began hanging around more.
Because...because what if they had? What if they were just as willing to hurt him as the others had been? What if things went right back to how they used to be?
He knew...he knew the others would never let that happen. Accepting Janus was a shaky process, and they were getting there, but Virgil knew that if Janus attempted to strike him…
Well, it wouldn’t be pretty. He knew how protective his family was when it came to sending him back to that awful mindset.
But if Janus and Remus were aware, if they were living under the assumption that Virgil was there to be a punching bag…
All his progress would be undone. He’d go right back to how things had been, always terrified and overly cautious, any little slip up enough to send him into a mindless, blinding panic.
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live like that again. Not after being safe for so long.
So when Logan asked if Virgil had plans to tell Janus and Remus, he’d quickly shut the idea down and disappeared into his room before the logical side could offer any convincing argument.
Not knowing was better. He could just assume everything was fine and continue on like normal. If he never asked, never clarified, he couldn’t be given the answer he was dreading.
Of course, nothing could ever be so simple for him, could it?
It was mid afternoon, all of them dispersing to wind down after their usual routine of yelling at each other in Thomas’s living room until their host somehow came to a conclusion, and Virgil had wandered into the kitchen for something to drink.
Janus was already there, leaned back in the dining room chair with what looked like a glass of wine, and for just a second Virgil hesitated.
He and Janus had been...working on their rocky relationship. Slowly. They were getting there, Virgil just...wasn’t sure how he felt about being alone with him.
Because if there was no one around to stop him, and Virgil ended up doing something wrong and Janus had been perfectly aware of the abuse then there was nothing stopping him from--
“Virgil,” Janus greeted, easy and welcoming. “There definitely aren’t any leftovers from last night in the fridge.”
Virgil relaxed, allowing an easy smile to slip onto his face. Nobody had any reason to be upset with him. It was fine.
And he had to admit, aside from the lingering fear that refused to give him a moment of peace, having Janus and Remus around was...not as bad as he initially thought it would be.
He put the leftovers in the microwave and carefully got out one of the plastic cups to fill up with water while he waited.
Janus had made a smug remark about using plastic cups the first time he’d joined them for dinner.
The energy in the room had suddenly dipped, Logan and Patton exchanging nervous glances while Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand so tight he thought it might bruise.
Janus must have picked up on the importance of the plastic, because the dishes were used without further complaint ever being brought up again.
Virgil was yanked from his thoughts when Remus suddenly made his appearance in the kitchen, his Morning Star slamming down on the counter just inches from the anxious side, a hand coming down to rest on the back of his neck.
It was a textbook example of what would trigger Virgil into a panic attack, but of course Remus wouldn’t know that. No one had told him because Virgil had specifically asked them not to- not yet anyway- and he was suddenly understanding why Logan had been so hesitant to honor his wishes.
He lurched back so fast, twisting out of Remus’s hold, that he briefly forgot there was a drink in his hand, the water sloshing over the edge and seeping into the rug below his feet.
“Very mature,” Janus said, draining the rest of his glass. “Do you two mind not making a mess? I’m trying to unwind.”
Janus wasn’t angry. Amused, if anything. Virgil could have easily locked onto his tone and recognized that if he’d been just a bit more put together.
But Remus was grinning, blocking the exit, and wielding a weapon (he was usually wielding a weapon, there was no reason Virgil should be this frightened), and it was quickly growing impossible to latch onto rational thought.
“It’s not my fault Emo’s so clumsy,” Remus said, twirling his Morning Star until it rested over his shoulder, and Virgil desperately willed himself to just calm down. “I was just saying hi!”
He’d made a mess and he was trapped. He was outnumbered too...it would be so easy for Janus and Remus to grab him and--
But they wouldn’t. Not where the others could see. But...but the others weren’t here. Not right now. Where were they?
“Patton’s not gonna be happy about that spill,” Remus said, with a tone that Virgil would know was simple teasing under any other circumstance. “Don’t you think we should teach the emo a lesson, Jan?”
He was joking, he was joking. Remus was so clearly joking- they did stupid shit like this all the time. This was when Virgil would promptly tell Remus to go fuck himself, the Duke would make a sexual innuendo and stick around just long enough to steal some of his food.
That was how it was. Because despite everything, Virgil and Remus got along. When Virgil wasn’t struggling to convince himself he wasn’t about to be beaten to death.
He swallowed, his throat having suddenly gone cold and dry. “He...they- they won’t let you, Remus.”
“Aw, what’s wrong, Virgey? Scared of me?”
Yes. Terrified. But he couldn’t say that- he wasn’t supposed to be afraid. He’d made a mess, he’d ruined things, he was expected to understand and take the pain.
But it wasn’t like that anymore. He was supposed to be safe.
Virgil kept his hands behind him to hide the way they’d started shaking, curling them around the kitchen counter, and he cautiously glanced at Janus in one last desperate cry for help.
He just raised an amused eyebrow at Remus, not bothering to hide his smirk. “I believe Logan is napping. Just try not to wake him up, whatever you do.”
And just like that, it was back. The helplessness, the fear, the feeling of being trapped and cornered like some kind of cowardly animal people took sadistic joy in kicking around for fun.
Virgil was darting forward before he really even thought about it, too frantic to consider sinking out, eyes only on the exit to the rest of the mindscape where he could get help--
But Remus was faster of course, having been stood just inches away from the anxious side to begin with, dropping his weapon in favor of grabbing Virgil around the waist and abruptly hoisting him off the floor.
“Remus!” It came out much more strangled than he would have liked, but that was the least of his worries. “Let me- let me go.”
“Aw come on, we’re just having fun!”
Virgil wanted to fight- he wanted to kick and scream and do whatever he could to get out of the Duke’s grasp. He needed to get free, he needed to run and find one of the others. They would help him. They’d promised.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, frozen in the confining hold, eyes wide and breathing erratic. He couldn’t fight back because if he struggled…
Whenever he struggled it was worse. He wasn’t supposed to fight back. He deserved whatever came next.
But he had people who would help him now. But those people weren’t here-
“Remus.” That was Janus’s voice, muffled by Virgil’s own racing heart, and he thought he saw the other side stand from his chair. “Remus let him go.”
“Aw, but I’m--”
“Remus, put him down now!”
The yelling made it worse- overwhelming and loud and angry-
Remus let go without warning, which meant Virgil was on the ground before he could even blink, on his back and defenseless.
Remus was looking down at him, head tilted like a confused puppy, playful grin gradually dropping into something more confused.
“You alright, Emo?”
Virgil was already scrambling backwards, desperate and uncoordinated, only stopping when he found himself pressed up against the bottom of the kitchen counter.
Remus and Janus were both standing now, watching with a mix of perplexion and rare concern. Janus took a step forward, and Virgil’s hands moved to protect his face.
“Virgil—“
“You can’t.” He knew begging wouldn’t get him anywhere, as close as he was to falling into an endless string of pleas. But maybe he could get them to understand that they couldn’t do this anymore.
“Y-you- you can’t, you can’t they won’t- Thomas won’t he said- he said—“
“I don’t understand, Virgil.” Janus was lowering himself to one knee, no longer looming above him, and Remus was hurriedly backing up like Virgil was a bomb rigged to explode. “Can you explain to me what’s wrong?”
Virgil couldn’t breathe. Janus was too close and the exit was still blocked and he couldn’t take a single breath.
“Please don’t,” he found himself begging, pathetic and useless as ever. “You can’t hurt me, you can’t . Not anymore not- T-Thomas won’t—“
“Wait what?” Remus called from the doorway. “Hurt you? Shit, Virge I wasn't gonna—“
“Virgil, you need to breathe,” Janus said. “One deep breath, you’re alright.”
He shook his head, hating himself for the way he’d so quickly been reduced to a trembling, terrified mess, hating the way both dark sides could so clearly see it.
“Can’t,” he managed through frantic wheezes. “I can’t, I- please please don’t, I don’t want to be hurt again please.”
His words were met by a brief string of silence, heavy and unsure, Janus’s gloved hands hovering helplessly in the air.
“Virgil.” Janus’s voice made Virgil freeze, something steady but so clearly struggling not to be angry. “Have they hurt you before?”
“I…” he was struggling to answer, to wrap his head around what was being asked. “I don’t—”
“Virgil,” Janus said again, hand still outstretched but not touching, brown and gold eyes intense enough to be staring into his soul. “The others. Did they hurt you?”
Virgil swallowed, unable to stop shaking, arms still held out to protect his face, all his attention focused solely on the anger Janus was obviously trying not to show.
He couldn’t lie. Janus would obviously know if he was telling the truth or not- that's who he was. Virgil couldn’t risk making him even more upset.
“They- they did,” he forced out, his own voice small and unsteady. “I’m s-sorry I thought you--”
“Guys?” There was movement somewhere behind Janus, a glimpse of white and gold. “What’re you- oh shit, Virgil!”
Virgil stopped at the new presence at the doorway, the relief that flooded at the sight of Roman dizzying, even as he choked and struggled to breathe on the kitchen floor.
Roman started forward, eyes shining with that gentle worry Virgil had long ago learned to recognize through the haze of panic.
But Remus was suddenly in front of his brother, Morning Star back in his hand, effectively blocking his path. Roman stopped, concern shifting to surprise- then quickly to cold fury.
“Remus,” he practically growled. “Get out of my way.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“Remus, he’s having a panic attack!” Roman’s eyes briefly met Virgil’s, before his view was blocked again. “He doesn’t know what’s happening! This isn’t funny!”
“No, it’s not,” Janus said, standing from his crouch. “So you better tell us what the hell you did to him.”
“I- what?”
“He thinks we’re going to hurt him,” Remus snapped. “Why the fuck does he think that, Roman?”
Everyone was angry (why was everyone so loud?), all of them looming above him, standing over him to keep him down, all of them close enough to grab or hurt him if he made one wrong move.
What was Roman doing? Why wasn’t Roman helping him? He could barely make out the Prince from where he was...was he just letting this happen?
“Virgil?” Janus was talking to him again, glancing between Roman and the trembling lump on the floor. “You’re hyperventilating, V, you need to--”
“Of course he’s hyperventilating!” Roman said, and Virgil jumped at the sudden volume. He sounded angry. Had..had he managed to make Roman upset too? “You idiots won't let me help him!”
Remus held his ground, weapon still raised, and Roman looked like he was seconds away from drawing his sword against his brother.
“I’m not letting you near him until you tell us exactly why he’s so convinced someone’s about to beat him!”
“I will, just--”
“He said you hurt him! He fucking said that, Roman!”
“It’s- shit, Remus it’s not like that--”
Janus was suddenly crouched in front of Virgil again, blocking his view of the fight, his voice close enough to muffle the yelling.
“I need you to breathe,” he said, voice taking on a gentle tone Virgil hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll be alright, but I need you to breathe with me.”
Virgil shook his head, pressing further back against the counter, nails digging into the rug beneath him. He couldn’t breathe- wouldn’t force himself to calm down when he knew the second he did it would only be met with pain and punishment, right when he’d started to think he was safe.
He wasn’t safe. He was never safe, they would always hurt him because he deserved-
Janus reached for his hand, already starting a vaguely familiar breathing exercise, but Virgil yanked his arm back, hardly registering the flare of pain that came from slamming into the counter, the fear suffocating.
“Don’t!” He snapped, too shaky and quiet to be intimidating in the slightest. But Janus froze nonetheless, the human side of his face falling. “Don’t- don’t touch me, you can’t do this anymore!”
“Virgil--”
It was too loud, everyone was too loud and angry and he’d managed to upset everyone again. He didn’t know where Patton or Logan were (had he upset them too? Had he done something wrong? Maybe they’d finally decided to let things go back to how they were), and he could barely hear anything Janus was trying to say.
And then, fueled only by panicked instinct rather than rational thought, Virgil forced himself to sink out, the storm of sound from the kitchen fading just like that.
He was still on the ground, fingers now digging into plush carpet, everything finally still and quiet.
But he still couldn’t breathe, still drowning under the knowledge that everything had gone back to the way it was. Everyone was angry, everyone wanted him to hurt—
“Virgil?”
He jumped, scrambling to his feet despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he hadn’t gone back to his own room, not wanting to be alone. He was never safe when he was alone.
“Virge? Buddy, what’s wrong?”
Virgil realized he’d left the mindscape as soon as he saw Thomas toss his phone aside and get up from the couch- and he wanted to sob at the utter relief that came with seeing his kind and worried gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, more on instinct than anything else, but he had popped in without any warning, wheezing and crying and probably freaking Thomas out. “I just...c-can I stay? Please, I can’t- I can’t go back, I don’t--”
“Hey hey hey, you’re ok,” Thomas said, stopping just a few paces from Virgil. “Of course you can stay, bud. You can stay with me as long as you want.”
Thomas smiled, small and hopeful as he opened his arms in a wordless invitation, and Virgil didn’t hesitate before flinging himself forward and sobbing into Thomas’s chest, his legs threatening to give out when arms moved to wrap around him, protective and secure.
“There you go,” Thomas said, rocking them both gently, his steady heartbeat beating in Virgil’s ear. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re ok. What’s going on, Virge?”
He clutched the material of Thomas’s shirt, willing himself to breathe normally, his gasps still coming in too short and too fast, wincing at the sound of his own awful wheezes.
“I-I c-can't- I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, vaguely aware he was probably ruining Thomas’s shirt, but the host didn’t seem to mind. “They...it stopped and now i-it’s gonna happen again and I can’t--”
“Alright, slow down,” Thomas soothed, making no move to let go. “Focus on my breathing, ok? Try and copy me.”
“I-I...I can’t--”
“Yes you can. I’m right here, you’re safe, I promise you’ll be ok. But you need to breathe, Virgil. Please, you’re scaring me.”
That was enough to get through to Virgil, a bit of reason amidst the panic. Thomas was already scared, and Virgil was only going to amplify that. And if he hurt Thomas ...oh god, if Thomas was affected by this it would only give everyone another excuse to be angry--
“Sorry,” he forced out around his obnoxious crying. God why couldn’t he just be quiet? “S-sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry Thomas, I can try to--”
“Don’t apologize,” Thomas said, holding him tighter. “I’m not angry, bud, I’m worried. Just try to breathe with me, ok?”
Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, willing his racing thoughts to quiet just long enough for him to listen, to focus on Thomas’s slow and steady breaths, on the rise and fall of his chest.
The panic didn’t fade, the feeling that at any moment someone would appear to drag him back blaring like an alarm, but after a few moments the ache in his chest began to ebb, and Virgil felt himself come back just a bit.
“There you go,” Thomas praised, even as Virgil’s breathing continued to be broken up by sobs, still shaky and small and much too fast. “You’re doing so well. You’ll be ok.”
Virgil shook his head, shuddering when Thomas reached up to cup the back oh his head. “They- they’re gonna do it again and I can’t, I--”
“Virgil--”
“Please.” He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t look up and risk seeing pity or annoyance, the dismissal of Virgil’s fear that would leave him helpless and alone all over again, like nothing had ever changed. “Please don’t let them do it again, Thomas please. You said- you- you said...just please don’t change your mind, Thomas, please.”
His words were met with silence, the living room still and quiet for just a moment before Thomas loosened his grip.
“Let’s...why don’t we get you over to the couch? I don’t think you’re thinking very clearly.”
Virgil couldn’t move, ice cold dread clawing at his throat. “Please...please, Thomas, please.”
“Hey.” Thomas was suddenly in front of him, hands on Virgil’s shoulders practically keeping him upright, and the anxious side warily met his gaze. “I promise, I won't let anything bad happen to you, Virgil. I don’t know what you think is happening right now, but we said no one would ever hurt you again, right?”
“I...but they- what if they--?”
“We can talk about it when you’re calm,” Thomas said. “You’re exhausting yourself. But I can promise you, things will never go back to the way they were. Ever. We love you Virge, and that’ll never change. Do you understand?”
Virgil blinked, breath caught in his throat, struggling to latch onto the words he so desperately wanted to believe, fighting to just listen and relax.
“It’s ok if you don’t right now,” Thomas added when Virgil didn’t respond, and nothing about his tone hinted that he was annoyed or upset. “I know you’re not completely here right now. But you protect us, right? So just...believe me when I say we’re gonna do the same for you.”
And then Virgil was suddenly being led forward, the unfortunately familiar exhaustion eating away at the lingering panic, everything feeling oddly distant and dull.
He allowed Thomas to lower him onto his back against the couch cushions, fighting back another hiccuping sob when something soft gently wiped away his tears.
Thomas was talking to him again, soothing but worried, and by the time Virgil thought he heard other voices join in, his eyes had already slipped closed.
When Virgil woke up again, it only took a few terrifying moments to realize he was on Thomas’s couch, the events of the afternoon flooding back, along with the shame and embarrassment. Just like always.
Damn. He’d really fooled himself into believing he was getting better, huh? It’d had been weeks since he’d panicked that badly...he’d actually started to think he was over that.
But then again, this had been...different. Janus and Remus hadn’t known. They could very well be under the impression that hurting Virgil was expected. Encouraged, even.
God, he should have asked. He should have set the record straight as soon as Janus was accepted. Now they might be upset or angry, and they could be planning to--
There were footsteps from the kitchen, making their way towards the couch. They stopped as soon as Virgil’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into the blanket that had been carefully placed over him.
“Kiddo?”
He instantly relaxed at Patton’s voice, just over a whisper, and he let out a shaky breath as the steps continued.
“Hey,” Patton said, setting down a mug on the coffee table and kneeling beside the couch. “How’re you feeling?”
Virgil shrugged and struggled to sit up, wincing when pain shot down his arm, gratefully accepting the help Patton quickly offered. “I’m fine. Just...just tired.”
“I’ll bet,” Patton said, when Virgil was situated. “I heard you had quite a scare today.”
Virgil’s cheeks suddenly felt hot, well aware of how pathetic everyone probably thought he was. “It was dumb.”
“You and I both know it wasn’t,” Patton said and then paused, suddenly averting his gaze. “I heard what happened. And...we had to tell Janus and Remus. About why you reacted that way.”
Virgil’s stomach churned, and he really hoped he wasn’t about to throw up. He’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day.
“Ok,” he said, voice back to that small, shaking whisper. “What did they say?”
Patton took his hand and squeezed, brown eyes big and pleading behind his glasses. “They feel horrible, Virgil. They really do.”
His words loosened some of the panic in Virgil’s gut, but...but it didn’t get rid of it completely. “Ok.”
“They didn’t know,” Patton added, like he could read Virgil’s mind. “We had to explain it to them. They were in the same boat we were.”
“That’s...that’s good. I guess.” He hesitated, blinking down and Patton’s fingers intertwined with his own. “I...I guess I was worried things were going to go back. To...you know. How they were.”
“I know, honey,” he said, and suddenly Patton was pulling him into a hug, the angle a bit awkward but warm and safe all the same, and Virgil melted into the embrace. “But it won’t. Not ever. Even if Remus and Janus wanted to- which they don’t- we wouldn’t let them.”
Patton pulled back before Virgil could say anything, reaching forward to cup the anxious side’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“We wouldn’t,” he said again. “We wouldn’t let them, Virge. You know that, right?”
And it took every ounce of willpower Virgil had left not to burst into tears once again. Because he did. And he remembered Thomas saying something similar.
“Yeah,” he choked out, chest loosening when Patton smiled. “I do, Pat. I know.”
Patton’s smile only grew, and he leaned forward to give Virgil a quick kiss on the forehead, and for just a second everything in the world felt right. Peaceful.
“I sent Thomas to bed a little while ago,” he explained, and it was only then that Virgil realized how dark the living room was. “He wanted to see you, but…”
“He needs the rest,” Virgil said, knowing he’d probably done a number on Thomas’s anxiety. Great. “I didn’t mean to stress him out, I just...I wasn’t thinking.”
“He’s not angry,” Patton assured. “None of us are. You panicked, and you went to someone you felt safe with. I’m proud of you.”
Virgil had honestly expected to be reprimanded for the impulsive decision. Gently reprimanded, of course, because it was Patton, but told off all the same. His job was to keep Thomas safe and vigilant, not freak him out because of his own stupid panic attack.
But he did feel safe with Thomas. Going to him had been nothing but instinct and desperation, and he’d helped. More than anyone else probably could have in that moment.
He’d needed the reassurance, and Patton knew that. Thomas probably did too. He understood them better than he let on.
“The others are still awake,” Patton continued when it became clear Virgil didn’t have an answer. “They’re...really worried about you, if you’re willing to see them. It can wait until morning if you’re--”
“No.” Logically, he knew nobody was mad at him. He just...knew he wouldn’t get much rest until he saw it for himself. “No, I- I can see them now. It’s ok.”
Patton smiled, clearly relieved, and sank out with promises to be back in just a few seconds. Virgil leaned back, breathing in the silence and pushing the blanket away as he leaned back against the cushions.
True to his word, Patton was back in seconds, Roman and Logan rising up right behind him. Neither of them looked...great.
He had no idea what time it was, but it was clear they’d all been up for a while, waiting to talk to him. Logan’s tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled, and Virgil vaguely remembered the logical side agreeing to take a short nap that afternoon. He hoped he hadn’t woken him up.
Roman looked far worse, his sash gone, jacket undone and his hair (usually kept in perfect condition) an unkempt mess, like he’d been constantly running his fingers through it.
Virgil didn’t think he’d ever seen the prince look so disheveled. He didn’t like knowing he was the reason behind it.
Janus and Remus didn’t appear with them, and didn’t seem to be making any plans to. Virgil tried not to think too hard about that.
Roman was already rushing forward before anyone could say anything, dropping to his knees in front of the couch. It was his usual dramatic grandeur, but there was real fear and regret behind the act.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, quieter than Virgil expected, and the anxious side quickly took the prince’s hands in his. “I should have- I tried to get to you but we- there was a stupid misunderstanding and I--”
“I know, Roman.” There had been a moment of confused terror back in the kitchen, his panicked brain unable to understand why Roman wasn’t helping. “I think- Remus thought you were...you know…”
“Janus and Remus believed that we were the ones who had been hurting you,” Logan said, and his voice sounded...strained. Hurt. “From their perspectives, keeping Roman away from you was the best course of action.”
Virgil swallowed, suddenly realizing how much fear and confusion he must have caused everyone. “I- I’m so sorry, I think I told them...god, I didn’t mean to.”
Roman pulled himself up on the couch and Virgil scooted over to give him room as the prince pulled him close, and he fell against his chest.
“It’s quite alright,” Logan said, shoulders relaxing when Patton squeezed his hand. “It’s been straightened out. And of course, no one blames you for poor communication during a panic attack.”
“It’s no one’s fault,” Patton jumped in. “It was just...a scary miscommunication. We all just wanted to help you, kiddo.”
Virgil had no intention of pulling away from Roman, but he held out a hand for Logan to take and pulled the logical side onto the couch, Patton following behind.
The angle wasn’t ideal, but they organized themselves into some kind of sloppy group hug, and to Virgil it was beyond perfect. For a moment he closed his eyes and listened to their breathing, their familiar presence on all sides.
He was safe. He was, and he always would be. What happened for all those years was...it was wrong. He knew that now. And it wasn’t going to happen again.
There was no reason for his chest to still feel so tight.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped up safely in each other’s silence, but a flash of movement from the doorway made Virgil pull back, the others reluctantly following.
Janus stood in the light from the kitchen, looking like he’d just been about to sink back out, straightening abruptly when he realized all eyes had turned to him.
“I apologize,” he said quickly, and Virgil didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound so uneasy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back later.”
“You’re fine,” Virgil said without even really considering it. “You can come in.”
Janus hesitated, looking to the others for some kind of unspoken permission before making his way into the living room, all his movements eerily out of character.
He smiled, still a few steps away from the couch, the gesture not quite meeting his eyes. “You seem to be feeling better.”
Virgil wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not, but he shrugged all the same. “Yeah, I’m uh...I’m fine, I guess.”
He felt that familiar, overwhelming need to apologize again, but he bit his tongue and pushed it away. Patton seemed to notice, sending him a small, proud smile.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Janus said. “Alone, if you’re up for it.”
The twist in his chest was back, tightening worse than before, but Virgil resolutely ignored it, digging his hands into the blanket and forcing himself to breathe.
“You don’t have to, of course,” Janus said quickly, raising his gloved hands. “It’s been a long day. It can wait.”
“I’m ok,” Virgil said, pushing past the rising anxiety, the doubt and old fears piling up. He owed Janus a chance. “We can talk. It’s fine.”
Logan and Patton exchanged glances, and Roman was watching him skeptically, all of them oddly silent.
“It’s ok,” he promised. “Seriously, guys. I’m fine, all of you need to go to bed. It’s late.”
Patton sighed, flashing Janus a sympathetic smile before standing up from the couch, the others slowly following suit.
“Both of you get some sleep when you’re done,” he said, before turning back to Virgil. “My door is open all night if you need me, honey. Don’t be afraid to come get me.”
Virgil nodded, bid them all a quiet goodnight as they sank out, leaving him and Janus alone in the dimly lit living room.
It took a moment, neither of them knowing quite what to say, but Virgil scooted aside and Janus sat on the other end of the couch, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap, staring straight ahead at nothing.
For a traitorous second, Virgil expected to be hit. They were alone now, if Janus had been lying, now was the perfect time to punish him.
Janus took a breath, speaking so softly for a moment Virgil almost thought it wasn’t directed at him. “You used to be incredibly accident prone.”
He blinked, risking a glance up at the other side, only able to see the scaled side of his face from where he sat.
“You fell quite a lot,” he continued, and Virgil wondered if he was being insulted. “You always seemed to have...cuts or bruises somewhere. I remember I once caught you with a particularly nasty bruise below your eye. I don’t remember who it was- it was so long ago- but they said it was an accident. They brought you an ice pack.”
Virgil swallowed, clasping his hands together, knowing exactly what Janus was referring to, despite the situation being identical to so many in the past.
Janus finally turned to look at him, eyes filled with so much pain and regret, Virgil momentarily forgot how to breathe. “Those weren’t accidents, were they?”
It wasn’t a question. Janus knew the answer. But Virgil shook his head regardless, stubbornly swallowing against the lump forming in his throat, the familiar stinging behind his eyes.
“Oh Virgil,” Janus whispered, faint and broken. “Virgil, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Virgil shrugged, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay before answering. “I thought you knew. They said...they told me you would just do it too. I thought...I thought everyone knew.”
Janus didn’t respond at first, still watching Virgil with someone unreadable in his eyes. And then, slowly, he began peeling off one of his gloves.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Janus said. “I need you to believe me.”
“You...you don’t have to do that.” Virgil’s voice broke, and he quickly wiped away a stray tear. “I trust you.”
Janus just shook his head, removed his glove and set it aside, then carefully held up his now bare right hand.
“Virgil,” he said. “Look at me.”
Virgil obeyed, taking a shaky breath before glancing up to meet Janus’s eyes, forcing himself not to look away as he spoke.
“Virgil,” he started, leaning in closer, voice low and almost desperate. “I didn’t know. I swear, Remus and I didn’t know. If we did- if we thought for a second that something like that was happening- we would have stopped it. Immediately.”
And Virgil...somewhere behind the panic Virgil had known that. He hadn’t thought Janus had lied to the others, and he had certainly been more than eager to protect him when he’d thought Roman was a threat.
But hearing him say it, the raw emotion he so rarely heard in the snake’s voice, the way he looked so desperate for Virgil to listen and believe his promise…
He was curling in on himself before he could even try to stop, a tiny hiccuping sob breaking free from his chest, fresh tears now freely streaming down his face.
Janus put a hand on his back, another moving to cup the back of his head, slowly moving him forward until Virgil rested against his chest, gripping Janus’s sleeves.
It wasn’t quite a hug, they weren’t ready for that just yet. But they’d get there. And right now, this...this was exactly what Virgil needed.
“I’m sorry,” Janus said again, and Virgil could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard a genuine, heartfelt apology come from him. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I wish I’d put a stop to it a long time ago.”
Virgil shrugged, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to avoid crying all over Janus’s clothes, desperately fighting back another sob.
“I thought about telling you,” he managed, small and muffled. “So many times. You were- you were nice. You tolerated me, you...you were the only one.”
Janus’s grip tightened, just for a moment. “I...hadn’t realized.”
Virgil laughed at that, the sound humorless and dry. “They said you knew. They said...they- they said you’d hurt me too once I pissed you off. I was...shit, Janus I was so scared. I was always so fucking scared.”
He heard Janus’s breath catch, felt him suddenly go very still and silent.
“I thought you knew,” Virgil said again. “And then I- I learned that it wasn’t...normal. When you and Remus started showing up I was so...I thought you would make me go back. I thought it was going to happen again.”
“I know.” Janus took a breath, pulling away slightly to look Virgil in the eyes. “But it won’t.”
Virgil nodded, covering his hands with his sleeves and wiping at his soaked face. “I don’t...I still don’t get it. I don’t understand why they hated me so much.”
“I don’t either.” Janus squeezed Virgil’s hand before reaching over to grab his glove. “I really don’t. But you’re safe now, and if they ever come anywhere near you again--”
“You’ll kill them, I know.” Virgil managed a smile, small but genuine all the same, pulling his hoodie tight around himself. “Get in line.”
Janus matched his smile, both visibly relaxing, and Virgil realized the tight feeling in his chest had almost disappeared. It wasn’t gone entirely, not yet, but it was better. They would be ok.
“Remus wants to...give you some space I think,” Janus said, and Virgil tried not to think too hard about what that meant. “Are you ok to be alone tonight? I can always stay.”
“I’m fine. Really, I’m just...probably gonna head to bed.” Virgil knew full well he wasn’t going to try and get any more sleep, not unless he wanted a full night of reliving traumatic memories through vivid nightmares, but Janus didn’t need to know that.
The snake hummed, slipping his yellow glove back on and standing up from the couch. Virgil hesitated, not wanting to risk falling on his face in front of anyone right now.
“Well, I hope you get some rest,” Janus said, gradually starting to sound like himself again, but still genuine and warm. “I...hope you feel like you can come to me if you need anything. Just as long as you don’t wake me up before nine.”
Virgil laughed as the other side sank out, chest loosening even more. He shut his eyes for a moment, silently counting out his own breathing, before pushing himself to his feet and sinking back out into the mindscape.
He rose up in the common area with the intent of grabbing a snack and heading back to his room for the foreseeable future, but he quickly realized he wasn’t alone when there was movement and a flash of green on the couch.
“Shit!” Remus shouted, then instantly looked like he regretted it when Virgil jumped. “Fuck- I mean, shit, sorry Virge, I’m leaving, I was just--”
“It’s fine,” Virgil said quickly, hating...whatever side of Remus this was. He wasn’t supposed to be so careful and on edge. Ever. It went against everything he represented. “Seriously, it’s...it’s chill. I’m just grabbing some food.”
He didn’t move and neither did Remus, both of them standing on opposite ends of the mindscape living room, neither quite willing to meet the other’s gaze.
Remus spoke first, loud and sudden, but Virgil didn’t flinch. “I’m so fucking sorry, Virgil.”
Virgil took a steadying breath, eyes on Remus’s shoes. He’d been expecting the apology, and it helped (it was much more welcome than the ridicule or contempt he was always half expecting), but there was only so much emotional turmoil he could go through in one night.
“It’s ok,” he said. “You didn’t know.”
“That’s why I’m sorry.”
They fell silent again, and Virgil wondered if he should just give up and walk away as Remus plopped back down onto the couch.
“How long?” the Duke asked suddenly, just as Virgil was actually starting to walk forward. “How long did they...you know. Do that?”
He stopped, temporarily frozen at the question, forcefully pushing down memories fighting to come back to the surface. Later. He could think about it later.
“Dunno,” he muttered, and it wasn’t a lie. “I can’t, uh...really remember when they didn’t.”
Remus stood abruptly, face twisted in dark rage and disgust, and Virgil instinctively took a step back.
“I’ll kill them,” he snarled. “I’ll kill them right now, I swear to god. They’re dead. Everyone who ever fucking touched you, Virgil. I’m killing them.”
“No you’re not,” Virgil sighed. It was a nice thought, though. “You have no idea what that’ll do to Thomas.”
“Then I’ll go beat the shit out of them!” He spun around to face the anxious side, and Virgil couldn’t help his nervous smile at the Duke’s eagerness. “Give them a taste of their own medicine, you know? Make them regret everything they ever did!”
“Please don’t.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so soft, but Remus quickly fell silent. “I just...I don’t want to risk it. I want them to just leave me alone.”
“They’re never getting to you again,” Remus assured. “Ever. I’ll rip them to shreds if they even look at you! I’ll--”
“I know. I know, Remus I just...want them to forget about me.”
He’d never be able to forget about them, he knew that. He still woke up screaming at least once a month with their words echoing in his ears, cowering and expecting a blow from a faded memory.
But he’d clearly meant so little to them. He’d been nothing. A walking punching bag. He was out of their reach now, safe and protected, so if there was nothing to remind them that he even existed…
They’d forget about him. They’d never think of him again. And Virgil could rest a little easier at the thought.
And Remus, despite no doubt having many graphic plans to extract his revenge, seemed to understand, and he smiled. Not the toothy, playful grin they’d all gotten used to after a lewd joke, but a real, reassuring smile.
Virgil briefly wondered how many people got to see that smile. He felt strangely honored.
“No problem, Emo,” he said. “Just don’t expect me not to think about bashing their skulls in.”
Virgil smiled, ducked his head, and disappeared into the kitchen. He reemerged a few moments later with a bowl of popcorn and plans to hide out in his room watching Youtube until he inevitably passed out.
“It’s almost three,” Remus called as he passed, like either of them had healthy sleep schedules. “You planning on sleeping anytime soon?”
“Probably not. I think I’m just gonna watch stupid conspiracy videos or something until I’m too paranoid to sleep.”
“Have fun with that, Virgey.”
Virgil adjusted his hold on the popcorn bowl, and made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before stopping, hesitating just a moment before turning around.
“Do you want to like...join me?”
There was genuine surprise on Remus’s face before something much more familiar took over, the Duke waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Join you?”
“Jesus, ew.” Virgil was almost positive Remus could see his poorly concealed smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Come on, I just meant like...we haven’t really hung out together. And I don’t...really want to be alone.”
The Duke’s expression softened, and he stood up from the couch to make his way over to the stairs, snagging a handful of popcorn as Virgil started up the steps.
“Lead the way, Emo!” he sing-songed, probably loud enough to wake everyone in the mindscape, humming under his breath as he followed, and Virgil wondered if he would regret this by the morning.
Somehow, he really doubted it.
It wasn’t until his laptop was set up, Remus sprawled out at the end of his bed babbling away, that Virgil realized the tight feeling in his chest had finally faded completely.
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#fanfiction#series#virgil sanders#ts virgil#janus sanders#ts janus#remus sanders#ts remus#roman sanders#ts roman#patton sanders#ts patton#logan sanders#ts logan#prinxiety#analogical#moxiety#platonic lamp#hurt/comfort#angst#tw abuse#sympathetic dark sides#sympathetic light sides#family#writing
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Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day
(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)
So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.
And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.
Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.
They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.
And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.
If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.
The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.
The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.
And boy, did he see him.
His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.
When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.
Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.
“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.
“Definitely not your ugly mug.”
Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.
“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.
“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”
“Like you're such an expert on those.”
Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.
“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.
He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.
Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.
The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.
“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.
Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.
You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.
That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.
“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”
Ian bent forward and spat.
“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.
“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”
Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.
---
It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.
Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.
„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”
„The what?“
„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”
Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”
“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”
Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.
“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”
The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.
“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”
“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.
But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“
Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.
“Oh, hey!“
The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.
His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.
„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.
Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”
As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.
---
Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.
Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.
And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.
Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.
It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?
Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.
And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.
“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”
His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.
---
“Fifty!”
“One hundred!”
“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”
“With one hand behind my back.”
Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.
“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”
“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”
They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.
“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”
---
Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.
“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”
Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.
Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.
He wasn’t.
“Everything okay here?”
Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.
“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”
And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.
“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.
Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.
“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”
Someone gripped his arm then.
“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”
From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.
Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.
“Jealous fucker.”
“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”
But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.
His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.
“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”
Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”
Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”
#sorry anon this took FOREVER#hope it makes you laugh at least#they're being dumb and competitive and in love#just how we like 'em#shameless fanfiction#gallavich fic#gallavich#writing prompt#my fics
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Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 1
Amazing banner credit to @joonscore
Part 2 -> Part 3
Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok
Wordcount: 6.1k
Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut
Rating: 18+
Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.
Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.
Ao3 Link: here
A/N: This took me a disgustingly long time to complete, but I’ve limped to the finish line! I wouldn’t have got there without @ditttiii, who helped me talk through an early version of the fic. Also major thanks to my beta @birbdae for cleaning up this long piece!
Is there anything he loves more than stepping into a club for the first time? The easy answer is yes, but in the moment – in the present – right now – Hoseok can’t give the easy answer. Shoving through the door is like plunging into water, waves of heavy bass surging against him as he submerges into the half-remembered music and suddenly warm air. The change in temperature is a welcome relief after the cold outside and only serves to reinforce the sensation of entering a thicker atmosphere. Breathing in against the sudden pressure, Hoseok does a grateful little skip as he pulls off his beanie and gloves.
Next to him, Taehyung laughs, the deep sound competing with the heavy music beating at Hoseok’s eardrums. “Not even on the dance floor and you’re already starting?”
Tossing his head to get his dark hair out of his face, Hoseok grins. “That suggests I ever stopped.” He hadn’t. Not really. Once you start to dance – to inhale the music and turn it into pure, unadulterated movement – you don’t really take a break. You just… slow down, sometimes.
His companion grins, a boxy affair with no ridicule in it. And why should there be? Taehyung is a dancer, too, and a helluva good one, if Jimin and Jungkook are to be believed. (They usually aren’t, but in the case of a possible new crewmember, Hoseok is willing to lend a little belief.) He’s known Tae for a year now, since Taehyung became friends with Jungkook in one of their classes and started hanging out with the crew, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago that Kookie persuaded him to show off his stuff. Apparently, in the past, there’d been some kind of accident that stopped Taehyung from dancing, yet according to Jimin and Jungkook, that hadn’t shown at all when he finally broke out in front of them.
Hoseok will see the truth for himself soon enough, anyways; it’s not like they came to the recently opened club to just stand around. His eyes flick eagerly at the thought, scoping the place out.
It’s pretty packed, and given how huge a club it is, that’s saying something. This is one of those open area concepts, all sprawling space with two bars pushed off to the corners, and a much smaller upper area, almost an oversized balcony. On the far side of the club there’s a DJ booth that’s swarming with people in front of it, so much so that he can’t see through the crowd to whoever is getting them so pumped. And there are more people streaming in by the second; he and Taehyung have had to shuffle to the side several times since they stepped inside, and by now they’re almost plastered against the wall. That would have been disappointing, except that according to Jin, on Saturdays the floor gets cleared at around 11 and the serious dancers get to have a go at it for a while.
In the meantime… Spotting a gap in the crush of bodies, Hoseok takes his chance and darts almost seamlessly through, throwing over his shoulder as he does so, “You want something to drink?”
His companion follows, albeit more slowly. Not that Hoseok can blame him; Taehyung is broader than he is, making knocked shoulders and collisions almost an inevitability. When Hoseok makes it to the nearest bar, he’s left the other behind.
It gives him plenty of time to hover around the edges, admiring the form of the bartender, who puts Taehyung’s shoulders to shame. The man in question isn’t exactly the picture of grace – not like those in Hoseok’s crew – but his energy is so loud, so vibrant, that it makes up for nearly dropped glasses and a few hesitations as he mixes the drinks for various customers. The breathtaking smile helps; the way he goes from 1 to 100 the second anyone tries to complain about the wait time probably helps, too.
Red-faced and outraged, he’s chewing out some poor guy for that exact offense when Hoseok finally finds room to sidle up to the front of the bar. “And if you think I’m making you another Manhattan after that comment, you can stick it straight up – oh. Hey, Hobi!”
The offender slinks away as Hoseok shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Is Namjoon paying you to bartend or to insult customers?” he shouts over the deep resonance that’s currently more a feeling shuddering across the floor than a sound.
Jin’s indignation doesn’t fade so much as evaporate entirely. Blinking with easy complacency, a small smile playing across his face, he turns and begins prepping the order a girl apologetically yells at him. “Just to bartend. The insults I give for free.”
“Wow, a star employee.” Fake seriousness dissolving into something more real, he asks, “Will Namjoon be around tonight? I wanted to ask him about the competition the club is hosting.”
It takes a few moments to reply, Jin’s hands and concentration caught in the mixing profession before he pulls himself away. “Not until a lot later, if at all,” the bartender replies eventually. “He’s looking after Remi tonight, so if he comes it’ll be after she goes to sleep. And can you imagine Joon leaving her alone?”
“No,” Hobi admits. Namjoon dotes on his daughter so much (the few times a month that he gets her) that it would be a miracle if he showed up tonight. Which is a little inconvenient for Hoseok, but the vague annoyance is buried under the reminder that being a good dad comes before being a good club owner.
He stands in fidgeting silence – silence surrounded by sound and people – for a few moments, playing with the studded collar of his black jacket, watching Jin work, and trying to enjoy the music. Taehyung must have been caught by someone, which is fine and not unsurprising given that it’s Tae. However, the absence of his companion, and with Jin mostly absorbed in his drinks, has mild anxiety trickling under Hoseok’s heels and through his fingertips. He rocks on the former and drums the latter against the sleek black leather of his pants in an attempt to drive the restlessness out. It doesn’t work particularly well, but automatically he finds himself adjusting his movements to the rhythm of the bass, and the focus required does help.
Each song is mixed so well, there’s no weird or awkward moment for his concentration to snag on, and the transitions are seamless, so smooth that the DJ must have curated this tracklist with individual attention to each end and beginning. Not unheard of, exactly, but certainly a pleasure when compared to many of the jarring amateur attempts Hoseok has been subjected to before. Last they’d talked, Namjoon had mentioned he was looking to hire another DJ for his new club, and if this is the man… well, Hoseok just hopes he’ll be the same guy who’s doing their dance competition, too. Another question – or request – to throw Joon’s way the next time they meet.
He’s just about to resign himself to submerging back into the crowd in search of Taehyung when the boy in question pops up, all teeth and warm apology. “Sorry, hyung! I saw a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, and you were so far ahead already I didn’t think I could call you back, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a bit so I paused and then I’d lost you and –”
“Don’t sweat it.” It’s always been a marvel to Hoseok that such a rambling and excited apology could sound sincere, but Taehyung makes it work one hundred percent. “Let me grab you something. What do you drink?”
“Oh, well, I like whiskey sours, but you don’t have to –”
“Whiskey it is.” As he turns away, Taehyung’s surprised expression isn’t lost on Hoseok. Yeah, he isn’t often this direct, but the young man’s never seen him at dance practice and besides, the music is scraping under his skin, rubbing his bones the wrong way in the best way possible. It’s forcing him into a different form.
Suiting word to deed, he returns to the bar, puts in Tae’s request along with his own. Like a cheerful despot towering behind his counter walls, Jin takes the order before other people’s, waving off the muted outrage of his customers with shameless ease. It’s good to see his relatively new job hasn’t reformed him too much; it’s not that Jin’s ever actively rude or cruel. but he just has one pace, and that pace is his own.
For all that Hoseok admires that quality in his friend, it still has him flushing and ducking his head apologetically at the accusing looks. He’s quick to grab the drinks, but when he tries to shove money at Jin, the other man waves him off. “My treat,” the bartender calls. “When you all start dancing, everyone’s going to get thirsty and I’m going to be getting tons of tips!” His laughter quickly spikes too high to be heard in this crowd, but he’s still laughing as Hoseok, even more flushed, winds through the press of bodies with the glasses held high.
When he reaches Taehyung, his companion just sips his drink, but Hoseok downs his. The burn down his throat is no more intense than the burn he feels building in his muscles. A different kind of heat.
He finds himself shifting, his body beginning to ache with impatience. Tae is an entertaining person, but Hoseok's restlessness is blazing through his concentration, leaving cinders in its wake, and words of any kind – no matter how entertaining – are a poor thing in comparison. While he's always eager to move when at the club, this is a new level of agitation, a heightened awareness of the sounds and heavy ambience, and at first, he doesn't know what has him so on edge.
They talk some more, just waiting, really, for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive. Taehyung doesn't have a car and Hoseok had agreed to drive him, and Jimin was going to drive Jungkook after a late class. They should be here within half an hour or so, though in the meantime Tae, ever obliging, grabs he and Hoseok two more rounds of drinks. It's while he's grabbing the third round that the impatience becomes less of a hum and more of a howl, and Hoseok grasps with a sudden jolt that it's because of the song that's currently playing.
Whoever is mixing this music is really doing an amazing job; the song modifications, amplifications and beat alignments almost make the atmosphere come alive, and all it needs is an avatar to show off just how much energy it really has. He could be that. He should be that. It’s almost like he and the DJ are in a private conversation, and they’re egging him on, jamming little pinpricks into his joints, demanding he dance.
His mouth is dry – too dry – but that's nothing new when he's in the club, and Hoseok hardly notices it. The next song has just come on, as seamlessly as the last, and with a sharp pang of understanding, Hoseok realizes why he feels so tense, even more so than usual.
This DJ – whoever they are – has similar tastes as Yoongi. The powerful flow of thudding music is creating something in Hoseok, a kind of nostalgic frenzy, and it makes him swallow hard, swallow again with the feeling of shards of glass and regret slipping down his throat. He hasn't heard a DJ who favours reverb and synth choruses so much since the last time he'd guested at one of Yoongi's gigs. How long ago was that? Four years? He can hardly remember.
To remember is absolutely not why Hoseok is here.
"Hyung?" Taehyung says something to him, has said it more than once, to judge by his tone. Hoseok snaps his eyes to the other man's face, his breath abruptly staggered. "Hyung, are you okay?"
"Yeah," and to Hoseok’s ears his voice sounds tinny, strained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jimin and Jungkook should be here soon, right? I should go grab some alcohol for them."
"Do you wanna take your shot?"
"I will after. Be back in a sec."
"Sure...?" Taehyung's eyes are sharp and probing, uncomfortably and unexpectedly keen, and Hoseok can't remember if he knows about Yoongi. He definitely wouldn't know Yoongi – none of his friends do – because they didn't know Hoseok back then. So – there's no point in explaining. No point in bringing it up. Hoseok swallows again, and walks away, needing to escape. Although he can't escape the music.
He also can't help how his gaze skitters to the DJ booth, there and back again, short looks that can't penetrate the barrier of people crowded around it. It can't be him. It can't. The last time he saw Yoongi...
You didn't come here to remember, he reminds himself savagely.
Jin has seemingly even more customers pestering him than before, and just hands off the drinks without a fuss. This time, hypersensitive and too raw to accept charity, Hoseok makes him take the cash, pressing it to the counter when the bartender tries to decline. Head tilting, thick eyebrows furrowing, for the first time this night Jin looks something other than melodramatic, and Hoseok doesn't want that. He came here to dance, for Christ's sake, not have someone notice a mini-meltdown!
Hefting on a smile that feels like it weighs one thousand pounds, he brushes off his friend's concern and darts away, carrying a tray of glasses. He's hardly taken a few steps before he downs his drink. Too much, too fast, especially for him, but he needs the soft buffer of alcohol right now. Hoseok won't look at the DJ stand. It's not him. There's no way it could be Yoongi. And even if it were...
It's not.
And even if it were, what would he do? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? Punch him in his bleakly certain face? Or–
It's not him.
The music resonates around him – through him – in shuddering waves, jarring his weak attempts to tamp it down, and Hoseok is starting to feel feverish with the familiarity of the flashbacks flickering through his head. He's definitely had too much to drink. He just – he needs to do something. He needs to move.
It is with a huge wash of relief that he gets back to Taehyung and sees Jimin and Jungkook have arrived. Jimin is dressed in faded denim jeans and a glittering blue and yellow jacket, though the jacket will probably be off by the end of the night if other nights are anything to go by. Jungkook is a little more subdued, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, but his outfit makes the tattoo sleeve on his left arm pop. Both of them are standouts in the crowded space. Add in Taehyung with his black and white patterned shirt and matching headband, and Hoseok really can’t blame the number of eyes he notices settled on the trio.
Taehyung is oblivious to it. “You’re back!” he exclaims, leaping forward to help Hoseok with the drinks.
Jimin’s sultry expression – he calls it his performance face – is something he wears as easily as his brilliant jacket, and he shrugs it off with just as much aplomb when his gaze lands on Hoseok’s tight look. Eyes flickering about as if he could spot the problem, his smile becoming warmer but tinged with concern, the small man accepts the glass from Tae and then asks, “What’s up?”
A grin can be a work of art, and Hobi turns this into a masterpiece. All ease and bright lines, no clouds in this painting. He’s not quite as good at lying outright, but the noise probably masks his beat of hesitation. “Nothing! I’m just excited to get started.”
“Makes two of us,” Jungkook comments, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he nabs a shot from Taehyung.
“Three!” Taehyung chimes in. They all fall silent, turning expectantly to Jimin.
He’s still watching Hoseok, his lips lightly pursued. Hobi can’t help his nervous titter at the close examination, turns it into a more raucous laugh. “You’re not excited, ChimChim? Come on, we’ve been talking about this for weeks!”
At last, Jimin breaks eye contact, if only to shove back the unruly silver bangs tumbling across his forehead. “I’m excited,” he says, apparently deciding to drop whatever he’d seen on Hobi’s face. “Just hope there aren’t too many rookie dancers around. We don’t wanna make them look too bad when we start.” The look he wears is nothing short of angelic, but Hoseok knows well enough the competitive edge that lurks under that innocent façade. Jimin likes to win.
Jungkook huffs a fervent agreement. He likes to win, too. He’s good at it. Actually, they all do, and they all are. There’s a reason Hobi’s put this particular team together.
Right. Something to focus on, instead of the shadow of memory that the music keeps trying to make more substantial. With a playful nod, Hobi notes with false regret, “Well, if Tae is as good as you say, they might be out of luck.”
“I’ll do my best!” the man in question promises earnestly, and Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of… something… in Taehyung’s eyes. Maybe not the same sharp need to win that Jungkook wears blatantly and Jimin cloaks yet never lets go of, but something. Passion, at the very least.
Hell, it works for Hoseok. Who cares what drives his people, as long as it's driving them to work hard?
As long as it isn’t driving them straight off a cliff.
He knows exactly where that thought comes from, and unbidden he turns to the DJ booth. It’s still too crowded to tell who’s working there. Probably a good thing. At this point Hoseok doesn’t know what will hurt him more; if the DJ isn’t Yoongi, or if it is.
The rest of them are talking and drinking, and he listens with half an ear, half a brain, half a being. The other half is straining to tell if the music really is as familiar as he thinks it is. If he can match that melody with that moment, or that bass with that breath, or that reverb with that regret. It’s stupid, pointless, harmful, but he can’t make himself stop. How funny, that he could have sworn he was over this. Had drummed it out of his muscles and his head both. God, if only he could dance.
Like an answer from the heavens – or maybe elsewhere – the music suddenly cuts off. A voice comes on the mic, clear, crisp, and familiar, but not who Hoseok was half expecting. It’s Jin. “Hey ladies and gentlemen and everyone else. As ya’ll know, it’s time for the Saturday dance off! If you fancy yourself a dancer, stay where you are, otherwise get your ass out of the floor area marked by the thick black lines. If you didn’t know there was a dance off today and you don’t like it, there’s a big ass door under the exit sign. I think we’re over capacity anyways.” With a loud blare of feedback, he cuts off.
Slowly at first, then more quickly, people start wandering out of the space Jin had indicated, crowding against the walls, or heading to the smaller area upstairs. He thinks he sees a few people leave after the announcement, but that might have just been a coincidence. By the time things have cleared, there are some twenty people on the dance floor, not including his crew.
This is exactly what he needs to clear his mind. Hoseok observes those left, his head tilted, an easy smile unconsciously gracing his lips. He can tell at a glance a few people are just idiots who want to flail around and call it dancing. There’s nothing wrong with that, exactly, but experience has taught him that people like that usually get pretty embarrassed when they suddenly find themselves next to professionals. Unless they’re really drunk, in which case they’ll just be a slight distraction. Nothing his guys can’t handle.
As for the rest… Hoseok actually recognizes two women, a couple he’s met at a few competitions, both official and underground. They’re good. Really good. His smile grows, and amid the tingling warmth of all the alcohol he’s had, there’s a fiercer burn, a kind of exultant excitement. He’s too drunk, probably, but this is crystal clarity, a heatwave burning everything unimportant and leaving just his focus and his friends.
And the music. The DJ regains control of the mic system, and he’s starting off with something heavy, almost ominous. The bass is shaking the floor, shaking Hoseok’s foundation, and he finds himself shaking in response, with little tremors of tension. Whoever’s running the music, they know how to start a show, and Hoseok is aching to finish it.
This isn’t an actual competition, of course. No judges, or set songs, or styles. It’s freestyle, and if there’s any kind of critic, it’s the crowd, already buzzing with anticipation and adding to the air of expectation. Hoseok breathes in and it feels like he’s inhaling something far more than air.
Because this isn’t run by anyone official, there are no rules about who can start, or how, or when. While Hobi and the rest of the serious dancers size each other up and feel out the rhythm, a trio of wasted kids stumble into the center of the floor. Their awkward floundering is laughable, and so Hoseok does laugh, a joyful sound echoed by Jungkook and Taehyung and a good deal of the crowd and competitors. It’s not unkind, at least not on Hobi’s part; he’s just too excited to reach the level that’s so far above these people to keep back the explosion of mirth.
Jimin’s lip is lightly curled when Hoseok glances at him, but though he isn’t laughing, he’s squirming in place, clearly impatient to start.
Why keep him waiting?
“You ready?” he asks his crew, a redundant courtesy. They are. “I think we go low for this one? I’ll take the center? Let’s go… Jimin, then Jungkook, then Taehyung? And keep heavy on the left?” Phrased as questions, but they aren’t, just more courtesy, letting Taehyung know how he wants to approach this. They’ve already discussed general four-person set-ups, with Tae and without. The other two know what Hoseok wants. Everyone nods, short, sharp.
He steps forward. Not far. Not really enough to crowd the hammered trio’s space. Just enough to announce their presence and give them room to work. His friends follow, and Hoseok can almost feel them at his back. The wide grin has faded, replaced with an unintentional intensity that, unbeknownst to him, makes it hard for people to look away. Most of the laughter in the crowd dies, replaced by wire-tight quiet.
In that quiet, he begins. Slowly to start. Why hurry perfection? The music pours into his marrow and he turns it into movement, gives it form and features for the simple price of sweat. Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in several beats later, not quite matching his moves or each other, but close. Distorted shadows. They flicker in time with the rhythm, a collection of power moves loosely connected by breaking. Hoseok breathes, draws in the crowd’s awe and admiration, and turns it into fuel as he burns through everything but the music.
Worries, memories, regrets, nothing can survive the blaze of his concentration, and Hoseok feeds them to the flames with ruthless abandon, glad to feel them smoulder to ashes.
His moves become sharper, harsher. Everything gets so much more defined when he dances. The audience, his friends, his body, they all assume a stark clarity, almost painfully distinct. He doesn’t worry – he just moves. The music pulses all around him, urging him on, a nameless connection, and as the fluid lucidity gets even sharper, he prepares to speed up.
Soon – in fact, at what feels like exactly the right moment – the song flows into something else. Faster and more electronic. His body reads it almost before his mind does and Hoseok feels himself changing his motions to fit. More popping now. It feels right to hit the floor, so Hoseok does, in a totally controlled spin on his back that nonetheless looks wildly, perfectly out of control. He stops with a shoulder roll that allows him to transition to his feet, making room for Jimin to step forward and claim center as the crowd cheers.
Jimin is… fucking beautiful. The thought is a vague spark without solid form in the midst of Hoseok’s movement, but it’s true all the same. He dances differently than Hoseok or Jungkook, more gracefully, like any second he could swap his bones for the wind and begin to fly.
Not immune to the effect, but far too disciplined to fall for it (much), Hoseok keeps up his pace next to Jimin, letting himself relax even further into the music. The drunk trio are long gone, shuffled off in embarrassment, but some of the others are inching closer. They’re being polite – letting his crew get in a full rotation – but that’ll end soon enough. He relishes their interest. Not because he has something to prove, or particularly cares what they’re thinking, but because once they start to respond, it’ll be another bar to aim for, another goal, one more reason to keep dancing. And God, does he want to keep dancing.
Jungkook is next, powerful, demanding. He hits each move like it’s personally offended him, smashes into the poses as if he wants to break through reality and reach some other plane. When his feet hit a series of rapid beats in quick succession, it’s enough to get the crowd, already primed, to start whistling and whooping.
Hoseok finds himself doubting his choice to put Taehyung last. From what he’s seen from the corner of his eye as they’ve gone, Tae has kept up fine, his movements slick and confident. Maybe just a hair slower than the trio, but that could easily be chalked up to a lack of familiarity, given how much the other three have practiced together and how long Taehyung has been on a break. Still, asking him to follow up what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok himself have already shown… He’d thought it would give him time to settle any nerves and see how they all approached being center, and Jimin and Jungkook had sung his praises to the high heavens, but now it seems like it might have been cruel.
Taehyung moves into the middle, and for some reason there’s a sudden swell of appreciative screams. Not from anything Hoseok can see from behind and to the side – maybe Tae had made a particularly great expression? The screams don’t really… stop… after that. From what Hoseok can observe, he gets it.
Turns out it wasn’t cruel to put Tae last. Like, at all.
The man is a consummate performer. Several times, when Taehyung’s supple steps put his back to the front and Hobi can see his face, he’s almost literally struck by how good his facials are. Passion is the name of this game and Tae plays it to perfection, his expressions conveying such a range of intensity that it’s a surprise he hasn’t started a fire with his glower alone
Hell, Tae winks at him at one point and Hoseok finds himself grinning at the smug audacity, breaking his own fierce look. Whoops.
He whips it back on, but they’re almost done, anyways. Another group has edged closer, brash with impatience, and a few seconds later start their own dance. Of course, Hoseok’s crew doesn’t give way immediately – like you could snatch the crown that easily – and for a little bit they’re actually dancing against the other crew. It’s a brawl of sorts, Hoseok’s favourite kind of fighting. It doesn’t last long enough (it never does), but it’s exhilarating while it does. The fact that their opponents are pretty good is just gasoline added to the flames.
However, if a good dancer knows how to step while on the stage, a great one knows when to step off the stage, and as the most recent song winds down, Hoseok stops himself. Unwillingly, painfully, but he does. He gives a short bow to the opposing group, granting them the floor amid a cascade of cheering.
When he and his crew walk away, the shouting just gets louder, deafening in its wild appreciation. Exhilaration swells under his ribs, threatening to crack them with its overwhelming force. For just a moment, Hoseok hears the cheers, feels the way his body is still crackling with energy, remembers how good it had felt to move, and he’s complete. For just a second.
And then the moment is gone.
The rest of his friends are grinning under the praise of the clubgoers, a little playful swagger in their steps as they jostle each other, giving compliments and insults on the individual executions each had pulled. Jimin snags his jacket from a girl who had picked it up from the floor, waves with giddy appreciation at her. They’re quick to find a good spot to watch the other dancers, the crowd happy to give way after what they’d shown. A couple of people offer to get them drinks and Jimin accepts while Jungkook and Taehyung beam. They’re all practically glowing, flush with success. They’d done well; they deserve to be proud. He’s proud of them.
He can feel proud and still be hollow, right? The sudden empty fatigue hits him like a cement truck going 100. It’s almost always like this after he dances, and the more intense the performance, the harder he gets hit. Hoseok abruptly becomes aware of the sweat pouring off him, the waves of heat billowing across his skin, the strained, quiet pain of muscles stretched just a bit beyond their limits. He’s… tired isn’t right. He could do three or four more routines like that, all in a row, without getting truly, bodily exhausted.
Drained. Yeah. That’s it. Like he’d poured something vital into each move, spilled himself across the floor, until there was too little of him left.
Jimin and Jungkook know him well enough to give him a little space after a dance, but Taehyung isn’t in the loop yet. “Hobi-hyung!” Sweat has darkened the younger man’s light brown hair, and if it weren’t for his headband, it probably would have been dripping down his face. “Hyung, you were incredible! You have to teach me how to pop at your knee like that, I’ve only ever done my upper body!”
The disconnect is there, unbearably strong. It will fade in the next few minutes, leaving him just fatigued instead of full-on wrung out, but in the meantime Hoseok makes himself laugh. Taehyung deserves that much, even if it sounds strange to his ears. “Only if you teach me that expression you were wearing during the chorus while you were center. Think I saw a few people faint when you looked their way.” He laughs again, trying to make the sound more natural. Pretty much fails.
Taehyung seems grateful for the compliment, nonetheless. He bobs his head, flashing a boxy grin. “It’s not a fair trade. Making faces is easy; I think I’d have to be high to move like you were, if I ever could.”
His jaw abruptly tightens, tension arcing through his throat. So quick he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t expecting it, Jungkook and Jimin exchange a glance. They know (almost) all of his history. Jimin reaches out, plucks at Taehyung’s shirt sleeve. “Come on,” he whines. “Didn’t you see me? Don’t you think I was cool, too?”
It’s a masterful attempt at distraction, though Taehyung seems inclined to dwell on Hoseok’s moves. “Well yeah, of course! But what hyung did was –”
Jimin interrupts him. “Anyways, I want to introduce you to one of our friends,” he says cheerfully. “Seokjin-hyung. He works as a bartender here.”
“Oh, but Hoseok-hyung already–”
“I’ll come too!” Jungkook chimes in, and together they drag the bewildered Taehyung into the crowd and away. A kindness, letting Hoseok have this moment of weakness. What had he done in another life to deserve these people in this one?
What had he done? For just a second, a memory enters his head, of a few colourful blue and red tablets sitting in an outstretched hand. A voice, achingly ironic and raspy, asking, “You ready to get ecstatic?”
He couldn’t have said if it was the pill or the voice that he longed more violently for after the sodden rush of dance-inspired euphoria was gone. Given the way his eyes cut to the DJ booth, Hoseok supposes he has his answer.
He has his answer, but he doesn’t have what he wants. The press of people has dispersed with the dance-off, the clubbers are more interested in crowding the square than swarming the DJ, leaving his view clear for the first time tonight. There’s a girl working the booth. Not someone he recognizes.
Not Yoongi.
A shaky exhale splits his clenched teeth, and Hoseok closes his eyes. He hasn’t been listening to the music since they stopped dancing – not really – but it sounds different now. No longer as intimate, the connection between him and the rhythm is broken. Had he just imagined that bond before the dance-off, made up that gut-wrenching familiarity? Given that he hasn’t taken any drugs tonight, he seriously doubts that he has the creativity to imagine something so vivid.
Maybe the girl DJing learned in the same style as Yoongi. Maybe that’s what set him off.
He hasn’t had any drugs tonight, but he’s still coming down from a high. That’s how it always is, after dancing. He told his friends, his family, that he got clean, but it was a lie. Hoseok just replaced ecstasy, his drug of choice, with something else. Movement instead of MDMA. Not a bad trade. He couldn’t have made a career off of being a chronic user, after all. Couldn’t have found happiness, either. Probably.
His mouth is bone dry, and he’s lost sight of his friends. They’re probably busy harassing Jin. For a while Hoseok watches the other dancers, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs in time to the beats, grateful for the chance to pull himself out of his despondency with a bit of friendly critique. From what he can see, the group that went after them is the most skilled so far.
The couple he’d recognized earlier haven’t gone yet, and they’ll shake up the ranking, but slowly Hoseok settles into the comfortable conclusion that his crew is the best one here. It doesn’t matter – there are no announced winners – but it’s promising for the actual competition coming up in a few weeks.
Things get better. He gets better. He always does. By the time the couple finishes their piece – with a flourish of partner flips that have him joining the raucous cheering – Hoseok is back to feeling energized by the sweat still slick on his skin. He’s back to being overjoyed by the music beating against his eardrums, back to savouring the crush of bodies and noise and life that scream nothing more than here you are, right now, isn’t it amazing!
Even stepping in a thick puddle of someone’s spilled drink isn’t enough to dampen his spirits.
With a grin and a lighthearted curse, Hoseok heads to the bathroom, intent on wiping off his shoes. Sticky sneakers are a fact of life at clubs, but given that it’d been a mini lake of beer and he hates the sensation of his feet peeling across the floor, this seems to be a justified trip. Even better, the dance-off is finishing; he won’t be missing anything.
It’s as Hoseok is leaving the washroom, shoes squeaky clean, that someone grabs his arm from behind. Hard. He startles with a yelp that’s barely audible over the raucous noise of the club, his heart rate spiking. Moving jerkily with the admittedly excessive alarm pounding in his chest, Hobi turns to berate whichever of his friends thought it would be funny to sneak up on him.
Freezes. Stares. Doubts.
Hoarsely ironic, Yoongi observes, “Still as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, huh?”
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DSMP FanFic Recommendations I
So, a few days @nastiiuu did a nice Recommendation of a DSMP FanFic called Evermore. So, per request, here's a list of different DSMP Recommendations that I have from my History, Mark For Later, and from my Bookmarks! Sorry, @nastiiuu that it took me a while to get this up! But I hope you all enjoy!
Stay safe and I will put the Summaries and Tigger Warnings in as well!
So, I will start off with the one the @nastiiuu recommended a few days ago!
Evermore
Summary: Prince Theseus, a child of blonde and blue, a child of isolation and a crave for touch. He's the youngest in the Royal Family, and somehow the most forgotten. The most neglected. The most alone.
Tucked away in his tower, the young prince watches the world move on without him, watches his family welcome two new princes into their arms, and yet reject him when he cries desperately from nightmares or shivers from a painful wound.
"Wilby?" The child had murmured, all curious and hesitant at once. He was tucked in his older brother's lap, watching as his other sibling sparred with their father. "We'll always be together, right? Forever and ever?"
Wilbur smiled. "Of course, Tommy. Forever and ever."
The Hanahaki rising in young Theseus' throat says otherwise.
TW: Isolation, Hanahki Disease, Angst no happy ending, Character Death, Villain!Dream, Manuplation.
The Exchange: My Life for Yours: I'm still reading this one, I'm on chapter 17 and it's ssssssssooooooooo good right now!
Summary: Tommy was a liability. Too annoying and too loud.
Techno didn't care about this child.
"Unless of course, you want call on that favor"
"Ok"
Then why he suddenly did?
TW: Villain!Dream, Canon Diverse, Kidnapping, Demons/Dreamons, Demon!Dream, Dreamon!Dream, Isolation, Manipulation, "A Deal with the Devil."
The Inevitability of Change: I just got caught up with this one and oh my Ghoul! This is intense and so good! I can't wait for the update!
Summary: Fuck it, he was allowed to do this, it would be better for everyone else anyway. They could do whatever they wanted and he wouldn’t be in their way. He wouldn’t cause problems anymore and he could have the perfect life that he had always wanted.
The egg extended a blood vine out to him. "Do we have a deal?" There was a level of smugness that Tommy recognized all too well from all his wars with Dream, it was the sound of an opponent knowing they’d won.
“We do, you dumb ugly bitch.”
or
Tommyinnit hated change. He'd witnessed so many people he cared about in his life change and hardly ever for the better. He just wished things could go back to the way they were when he had everything he ever wanted, a loving family who cared about him, a best friend who was always by his side. He craves this so badly that he makes a deal with the egg to get everything he's ever wanted.
or or
Tommy becomes a coraline kinnie
TW: Derealization, Unreality, Manipulation, Child Abandonment, Violence (later chapters), Explosions (later chapters).
Ties of the Puppet
Summary: Tommy hates how his mind feels trapped at that moment with Tubbo. The look in his eyes one Tommy had been forced to see far too many times. Wilbur’s eyes.
or
Tommy struggles with the trauma of his life and unhealthy relationships, Wilbur tries his hand at redemption, Phil and Techno learn to heal what's been lost.
TW: Mental Health Issues, Violence, Abuse, Redemption Arc for Tubbo, Healing for Tommy/Phil/Techno, some of the characters will seem a little OOC, Canon Diverse.
Forged By Truth (Or the Lack there of)
Summary: After his escape from exile failed spectacularly, Tommy only needed to be reminded that Dream saved his life a few times before it starts to sink in. Once his exile can continue again far away from any more distractions, Dream proceeds with his plan to craft the perfect weapon.
TW: Manipulation, Mention of Character Death (Character doesn't really die but the other characters don't know that), Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Protégé AU, Tommy becomes Dream's Protégé, Angst, Whump.
Mask: I'm still working on this one but it's really, really, really good! A lot of Angst and Manipulation. So, please be careful when reading!
Summary: Dream knew Tommy was a naturally clingy child. That's why he found such satisfaction in having him exiled.
Dream didn't plan on Tommy clinging to him.
Dream was going to take advantage of the situation.
All Tommy needed was a bit of a push and then he would be completely broken.
Ready to be remodeled into the perfect weapon.
TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Manipulation, Emotional and Mental Manipulation, Protégé AU, Broken!Tommy, Angst, Angst (possibly no happy ending but I'm not sure), Whump.
Lion's Cup, Tiger Stripes: I just finished this one and it's so good! Exile Arc but with a twist! Guest Appearances by Sad-ist, Late-August, Derivakat.
Summary: Tommy Innit knew what Dream was doing and was sure as hell not going through with it. So, by the third week of exile, as Dream starts to escalate his punishments, he leaves. One month later he runs into Purpled and hires him as a bodyguard while he travels.
Or Tommy runs away, stays in one village for a month to clear his head and decides to go travelling while dragging Purpled with him.
Or road trip pog.
TW: Angst, Angst with a happy, Found Family, Violence, Testing, Scares, Explosions (later chapters), I think that's all.
Valley of Serenity: This is a very long fic! It's about 60+ chapters so feel free to read in increments but this is a really good fic! Redemption Arc and Healing for the SBI Family!
Summary: After blowing up a nation, Wilbur throws a sword down at his father's feet and begs to be killed.
Phil, however, takes one look at the state of his children and decides he has other plans.
(post november 16th au where wilbur doesn't die. instead a family leaves the smp entirely, and learn how to live with each other again.)
"Fuck, I - I can't forgive either of you right now," Tommy says quietly. Despite the words, he hugs Wilbur tighter. "One day, though. I think one day I will."
"And we're still brothers, right?" Wilbur dares ask. Techno inhales sharply beside him.
They get a choked laugh in reply.
"Yeah. Brothers."
TW: Angst, Mention of wanting to die, Healing, a long road of healing, Mental Health Issues, Family Bonds, Angst but I think there is a happy ending, Violence, Mention of the L'Manburg exploding. Redemption Arc, Healing.
Breathing's Just A Rhythm: I finished this fic a few weeks ago and my ghoul! This is so good! Time Travel Fic with Dream, Schlatt, Tubbo, Tommy, and of course CHAT!
Summary: POGTOPIA??? WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?? TIMETRAVELBLADE. technotravel
“Chat, I did not time travel,” Techno said exhaustedly, “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but please calm yourselves.”
The voices started obnoxiously whispering at the top of their lungs. HE DOESN’T KNOW. PANIC
Or: Tommy, Tubbo, Jschlatt, and Dream all end up in the past. (Oh, and the Chat comes too)
(mcd is a villain, this fic has a happy ending)
Or OR! Dream attempts to Time Travel in the past but winds only go back a few months ago during Pogtopia Area and he winds up bring a few unexpected victors with him! MEANWHILE: Karl is trying his damnest to fix everything with Time Travel Fiasco that Dream caused! B/C the Future selves and the past selves switched!
TW: Graphic Violence, Bodily harm (later chapters), Kidnapping (later chapters), Explosions (later chapters), Betrayal (later chapters I won't say who!), Isolation, Manipulations, Mental and Emotional Abuse, Trauma, Therapy (Finally these boys gets some), Good!Schlatt, Villain!Dream, Redemption Arc Wilbur and Schlatt.
I think I got them all?
Wrong Place for Redemption: This one of the stories that helped inspired Breathing is Just a Rhythm! Time Travel Fic!
Summary: -Previously titled Time Will Decide. Name taken from lyrics in 'A Sadness Runs Through Him' by The Hosiers
“Okay, why don’t you go see him.” Tommy didn’t know what he thought the afterlife was going to be like, hell he didn’t even know if it was a real thing. Maybe he’d see Wilbur, possibly Schlatt, but he didn’t expect to see a white castle and Karl.
Or where Tommy looses his final life to Dream in the prison only to be teleported back in time.
OR where Tommy is given a second chance and isn't going to blow it, not even if things start to get revealed (things that change everything) and discoveries are made.
This whole book has TW's: Child abuse, violence/murder, gore/blood, implied/referenced suicide, suicide, drinking, etc.
Parental Rights: Another good on going fic for me! Can you tell that I love some SBI/Found Family Fics here?
Summary: Sam wants to be there for Tommy. Wants to be his dad. Wants to be the one Tommy comes to when he's in trouble or excited over something. He'd happily legally adopt Tommy, but well... Tommy's actual father is in the way of that. Sam thought with how distanced Phil was with his son it would be easy to persuade him to give his parental rights over to Sam. But well... Tommy's stubbornness had to come from somewhere, right?
TW: Sleep Walking, Mentions of Exile, Healing Arc for Tommy, Healing Arc for Sam, Healing Arc for Tubbo, SBI, Healing Arc for Techno.
Allium: This is still on going, but oh man! This is getting really good!
Summary: What if Dreams plan for the Disc War finale had worked?
Tubbo dead, Tommy in the prison, SMP under his control. Allium Ashes.
TW: Major Character Death, Ghostbo (Ghost Tubbo), Manipulation, Isolation, Imprisonment, Prisoner Innit, Making someone believe they are responsible for something they didn't do, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission.
And How Can I Compete (With The World At Your Feet): God AU and this is really Fangtastic! Rated M for Graphic Violence and Attempted Sacrifice.
Summary: Tommy has been kept away from the world and held captive for four years, and now he’s about to be used as a sacrifice to a god. A blood god, to be specific. The Blood God. But, instead of accepting his captor’s sacrifice, the Blood God is in debt to Tommy. And he’s going to save him.
A universe where Technoblade, Wilbur, and Phil are all gods who have become quite protective of a mortal fifteen year old without a home.
This concept was based on a text post I saw, I think! I can’t find it anymore, but if you see it let me know!
TW: Blood, Violence, Attempted Sacrifice, Villain!Dream, Villain!BadBoyHalo, Occult Setting, God AU, Blood God!Techno, Angel of Death!Philza, God!Wilbur, Angel!Tubbo, Angel!Ranboo.
Death's Forest: This is a nice little One-Shot for the SBI, and Dadza fans! Set during Tommy's Exile. Don't worry! Dadza to the rescue!
Summary: “Can I see him?” Phil asks, blinking owlishly, as if he’s simply just asking. As if he’s not holding a threat behind those light words.
“Don’t push your limits.” Dream responds, and Phil only smiles with a slow nod.
The next day, Dream wishes he had answered differently.
Or
Phil isn’t quite human. He wants to visit Tommy during exile.
TW: I don't think there's any TW here, but if there is, please let me know!
Prince Theseus: Royal AU! Hybrid Tommy. Prince Tommy (Theseus).
Summary: Prince Theseus Craft of the Anartitic Empire,
A child who could bring joy to anyone's day left to be forgotten by his family
left to spend his days in his tower with nothing but his Maid and dear friend as company
Left to watch his older brothers laugh and smile as his father looks at them with love and the eyes of a proud parent he never saw directed to him, watch them both receive the love he craved so desperately from his father. Left him to envy his brothers yet grow jealous as that jealousy turns to a small flame of hatred growing steadily as time passes leaving him to make his final decision.
No longer will he be known as Theseus but as the Amazing Tommyinnit who could do anything who will prove his former family wrong and show he is better than what they think.
Which leads him to where he is now, a runaway prince who finds a new family brought together by hardship and their love of traveling the endless seas.
AKA :
16 yr old Prince Theseus changes his name to Tommyinnit and runs away from his royal family who neglected him and finds a real family on a ship who just so happened to be pirates as well.
TW: Isolation, Mention of a Minor Character Death, Running Away, Royal AU, Hybrid Tommy, SBI, Neglect, Pirates, Found Family, Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Magic.
Therapy Marriage: Okay, I'm adding this one for some Wholesomeness, and Fluff with some Angst but there should be a Happy Ending!
Summary: but for some reason, tubbo (and possibly ranboo, although he doubted this was his idea) had got it into his head that tommy needed therapy or some shit.
which, fine, maybe he had a little bit of an issue. he did freak out at damage, and weapons, and he had reached out to puffy, but he was okay! he didn’t need tubbo to pity him.
but- here was where the weird part came in- tubbo wanted tommy in his marriage.
TL:DR Tubbo wants to help Tommy and decides that the best method is by marrying him as well. Ranboo just goes along with it.
*****
Okay, this post has gotten very long! I do apologize for that! So, I'll add others to another Post!
#nastiiuu#fanfic recommenation#dsmp#dream smp fanfiction#dreams smp fanfic#ao3#dsmp fanfic recommendations#long post
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Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity
Characters: Shindo Ainosuke (Adam), Kikuchi Tadashi (Snake), Shindo Ainosuke’s Aunts
Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, References to Abuse, Yandere Tadashi, Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Bondage, Murder/Minor Character Death, Blood, Gore, Crying, Vomiting, etc. Tread carefully!
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: (AU - Canon Divergence) Tadashi is tired of Ainosuke's aunts and their manipulations, so he decides to take matters into his own hands, whether Ainosuke wants it or not.
[TadaAi Week 2021 | Day 2: Separation/Ties]
“Ainosuke-sama. Your presence is requested in the drawing room.”
Tadashi cuts off the call before Ainosuke can reply, and he’s left staring at his phone in bewilderment. The only people who would call him to the drawing room would be his aunts, but it’s the middle of the night. And usually, Tadashi would come to fetch him in person.
Still, he can’t resist the habits that have been ingrained in him since he was four: when his aunts call for him, he attends, regardless of what he’s doing. Whether he was just sitting in the garden, in a lesson with his tutors, or even at one of his equestrian classes, when the call came, someone would come to fetch him and bring him inside. The only place where he could be certain that he wouldn’t be interrupted was when he was in school.
Thus, confused, he nevertheless begins the walk down to the drawing room, frowning as he draws closer. There are small noises that he can’t identify: muffled, high-pitched voices that he can’t understand, a rustle and the sound of something tearing. And when he steps into the room, it feels as if the axis of the world has tilted, and he’s stepped into a dream… or a nightmare.
His aunts are seated around the table as they usually are, and when he enters the room, three pairs of eyes turn to look at him, just like always. But they aren’t eyes filled with their usual confidence and self-assurance. They’re wide, desperate, and terrified. Each of them is tied to her chair with coarse rope, their mouths stuffed with cloth, and Hanako and Masako are covered in plastic sheeting that wraps around their necks like a barber’s cape. More rustling draws his attention to Kanako, and Tadashi behind her, securing a third sheet around the woman with the harsh rip of more tape. And then his assistant straightens up, tugging at the lapels of his jacket before looking at Ainosuke. And he doesn’t recognize those eyes, either: they’re as flat as always, but they’re also cold. So cold that it makes Ainosuke shiver and take an involuntary step back.
“Tadashi?”
His voice sounds strange to his ears, thin and distant.
“Tadashi? What are you doing?”
Hanako is trying to say something through her gag, frantic words that break apart into unintelligible noise. Masako is struggling against her bonds, the rope twisting the silk of her nightgown and leaving red welts around her wrists. Kanako is lunging forward, dragging her chair forward in a soft scrape of wood on wood, but Ainosuke can’t look away from the man who’s brought them all here. So he sees when Tadashi reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out something that shines dark and metallic in the moonlight coming through the window, pressing it to Kanako’s head. And the woman freezes instantly, her pleading eyes staring at Ainosuke, begging for him to stop whatever is happening.
Bending over, Tadashi pulls out the cloth from her mouth, dropping the soaked fabric into her lap, where it squelches against the plastic.
“Ainosuke!” she gasps, her voice high with terror. “Do something! Call the police! Call--”
“Shut up.”
She’s cut off by a cold voice that none of them recognize, her head snapping sideways when the gun is slammed against her head. A gun. Where the hell had Tadashi gotten a gun? Kanako whimpers as blood courses down her face while the barrel is shoved against the back of her head again.
“The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are apologies to Ainosuke-sama. Anything else, and I’ll pull the trigger. If you don’t do a good job, I’ll pull the trigger.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Kanako is babbling, tears drawing tracks through the blood.
“Ainosuke, you know we love you, right? We just--”
And she flinches at the sound of a small click, the cocking of the gun.
“NO! Nonono, I'm sorry. I'll do it. I'm sorry, Ainosuke. We hurt you, and I regret it. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to raise you into an outstanding man. And you've done us so proud, Ainosuke. We just tried our best to--"
With a bang, Kanako suddenly slumps forward, and her sisters' screams can be heard through their gags while they jerk against the ropes and Ainosuke stares, wide-eyed with shock. Kanako doesn't move while blood drips from her head, pattering against the plastic like rain. She just sits, silent and still, and he just watches with a sick sense of horror.
But then Tadashi is moving, crossing the room, and he can't help but follow the other man's silent progress. The moonlight illuminates a splash of something on his face, wet and dark, but Tadashi hasn't even bothered to try to wipe it away. And then he stops behind Masako, and Ainosuke's legs can no longer support his weight. He crumbles to his knees, his throat working frantically to force words out.
"Tadashi... stop. Please," he begs, watching his youngest aunt cringe and shiver. "What do you want? We'll give it to you, anything. We won't tell the police what happened. I promise. It's not too late. You can still stop. Just stop. Please. Don't... don't kill her. Don't kill them."
Tadashi doesn't even seem to hear him as he bends over to pull the gag out of Masako's mouth. The woman is sobbing helplessly, her face tear-stained and her breath coming in short, choking gasps. Even the gun pressed to her head can't suppress her panic, and neither can Tadashi's chilling voice.
"Your turn."
But there's no sound in the room except for Masako's crying and Hanako's muffled shouts, and then Tadashi sighs with apparent impatience. A gloved hand wraps around Masako's slender throat, and Ainosuke just stares as the fingers tighten, digging into soft flesh. And the cries are suddenly cut off, and Masako struggles in Tadashi’s grip, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly until he finally lets go. And then she slumps forward, coughing, only for Tadashi’s hand to fist in her hair and drag her head up, forcing her to look over at Ainosuke.
“Your turn,” he repeats.
“Tadashi...”
“Ainosuke. Ainosuke, dear. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. We were wrong. What we did was wrong.” Masako’s voice is hoarse and shaky, and every word seems to cause her pain, but she forces them out anyways, tears still falling down her face. “We hurt you badly. We ruined your childhood. We were selfish, thinking of ourselves and the family. Not thinking about you.”
“No. No, that’s not true, auntie. You raised me. All of you,” Ainosuke protests, his mouth dry. And it’s true: without them, he couldn’t have become the man he was today. They’d loved him, and they’d taught him everything he knew, everything he needed to succeed. It was true that their love sometimes hurt, but he’d always known that it was only because they cared.
“Keep going,” says the voice of the executioner, and both of them flinch.
“Kikuchi-kun is right, Ainosuke. We should apologize. We need to apologize. It was all our fault. Everything. All of it. Please, Kikuchi-kun. Let us go. We won’t say anything. We’ll make it up however we can. Let us start over, please. I never wanted to do it; it was always them. Hanako and--”
Ainosuke sees her eyes widen and then try to push their way out of their sockets, and a mark appears on her forehead with something dark trickling out of it before Tadashi lets go and Masako’s head falls forward limply. He hadn’t even heard the shot, and a sour taste grows in the back of his throat before he collapses forward himself, his hands resting on the floor as he vomits onto the ground, belatedly realizing that it’s been covered with more of the plastic sheeting. His stomach heaves, bringing up more of his dinner in a slimy mess, and he realizes that he’s crying too, hot tears falling over his cheeks.
What’s going on? Why is Tadashi doing this? What have any of them done to deserve this... this senseless, ruthless execution? He chokes and cries until there’s nothing left for him to bring up, and his throat is raw and disgusting when he finally looks up, knowing what he’ll see. Tadashi’s standing right behind Hanako, his expression impassive as he looks down on his master with his hand resting on the back of the couch.
“Tadashi,” Ainosuke chokes out past the taste of acid on his tongue. “Please...”
Once again, Tadashi removes the gag from the woman’s mouth before nudging her with his gun. Hanako’s always been the strongest of her sisters, the matriarch of the family, and it breaks Ainosuke’s heart to see her shaking with sobs, looking between the corpses surrounding them.
“Kanako... Masako...” she whispers, her voice filled with so much grief that it seems likely to drive Ainosuke mad. But then her eyes harden, and she tilts her head back to spit at Tadashi, her saliva striking him on the cheek and mingling with Kanako’s blood.
“You won’t intimidate me, servant. What do you know about nobility, when you sneak into our rooms in the middle of the night and force us here at gunpoint? When you coerce us to lie with our lives in the balance? Go ahead and kill me! Show Ainosuke that we were right to separate him from your foul influence! Watch, Ainosuke! This is how the lower-class creatures live!”
“Tadashi! Auntie!” Ainosuke cries out, even as Tadashi says, “As you wish.”
And a third shot rings out, echoing in his ears.
He doesn’t know how long he’s knelt there with vomit soaking into his pants, staring at the ground because it’s better than looking up. He doesn’t even realize that Tadashi has moved until the older man is kneeling right next to him, and then Ainosuke is scrambling away in a wild panic until he’s backed himself against the wall. He still doesn’t understand, but it’s his turn next: it must be. Tadashi’s too smart to leave any witnesses to the crime, and he’s clearly thought it through to ensure that any mess is easy to clean up and hide. He’s probably got a perfect plan for disposing of the bodies, too, in a way that they won’t ever be found. Maybe even for Tadashi to disappear as well.
There’s something dark lying on the ground between them, and Ainosuke’s watery eyes are drawn toward it, and he flinches when he recognizes the gun with Tadashi’s hand lying on top of it. But the hand retreats, leaving the weapon behind, and he looks up at the man he thought he knew but he clearly didn’t, sitting in seiza in front of him.
“If you wish to take revenge, Ainosuke-sama, I won’t stop you.”
The coldness is gone, but Tadashi’s voice is as flat and colorless as it’s always been since their separation. Glassy-eyed with shock, Ainosuke stares at him, afraid of a trick. But as the silence stretches between them and Tadashi doesn't move a muscle, Ainosuke lunges forward to grab the gun and whips back just as quickly, the weapon heavy in his hands as he points it at the other man. And Tadashi just sits there.
His finger creaks on the trigger as he remembers his aunts, the women who gave up their own futures to ensure that he would be successful at everything he put his mind to. Who taught him how to navigate the messy world of human relations and politics. Who ensured that he learned how to prioritize, that he understood his role as the scion of a family of status. Who loved him.
And Tadashi had killed them all. Heartlessly, with the same efficiency with which he handled everything else.
"Why?" he asks, his hands shaking. "Why, Tadashi?"
"Because you deserve to be free."
What does that even mean? He wants to pull the trigger, to end Tadashi's life just as easily as Tadashi ended his aunts', but no matter how much he tries, it's as if he's frozen. But Tadashi just waits patiently, looking up at him calmly, until the gun finally falls from his hands, thunking on the floor.
And then Tadashi is sweeping him into his arms, hugging him, and Ainosuke's tears flow freely as he hugs his family's murderer back, desperate for warmth. It's wrong. It's so wrong that he can't even find the words to describe just how fucked up this whole situation is. But he can't kill Tadashi, even after all this.
"It's okay, Ainosuke-sama. It's because you're kind. But you're safe, I promise. I'll be here for you. I'll teach you."
The words are soft and reassuring, words that don't match what Tadashi has just done, but Ainosuke still clings to him helplessly, hating himself and hating Tadashi. Then, Tadashi stands up, hefting Ainosuke in his arms before starting to carry him back to his room.
He helps Ainosuke change out of his soiled clothes and gets him a glass of water, helping him to drink before tucking him into bed, as if his master is a child again. Then he leaves, murmuring something about cleaning up the mess. And Ainosuke lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and praying that it was all a nightmare, that it'll go away when he wakes up in the morning.
[Part 2]
#sk8#SK8 the Infinity#skate the infinity#tadaaiweek2021#fanfic#fan fic#sk8 adam#shindo ainosuke#ainosuke shindo#sk8 snake#kikuchi tadashi#Tadashi Kikuchi#mine
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If you're taking the angst oneliner prompts, how about “Everyone I’ve loved has gotten hurt. I can’t let that happen to you” for a pairing of your choice?
hi! this took me forever but i hope you enjoy it! i wanted to write some more for Miles so i chose him and Loki, but ik i haven’t established much of Miles’ lore as a super soldier or anything, so next indent is a tl;dr for context of some stuff i discuss:
the thing that makes his era of SS special is a chip implanted through surgery that essentially enhances their ability to heal and recover from even fatal injuries- it also records everything he says and does (aside from nudity <3 this prolly wouldn’t be true in marvel but i’m not dealing w that aspect if i write smut for him LMAO), and essentially functions as an electric circuit in his body.
epic epic epic now let’s get to the angst. (i’m sorry if this is hard to follow, part of it is intentional but also my brain exploded w an idea and went crazy.)
since this is a bit heavy compared to my other angst pieces it’s all going under the cut. content warning for suicide (directly and indirectly discussed) and implied abuse <333 wholesome and fun! /j
“Why did you join?”
The question was simple. But each word rocketed around Miles’ head, splintering and cracking into various vowels and consonants until it all sounded fake. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. So Loki asks again.
“Why did you become a super soldier?”
Cooper knows the answer. To him, it’s obvious. It’s in the space between them, heavy and cold. It’s in the old scars on his arms and thighs, long-since faded by the serum’s enhanced healing factor. He’d considered himself lucky to forget how he felt when he gave them to himself, to be able to forget the suffering he’d marked permanently into his skin. But now, the memory morphs into a kind of embarrassment; self-flagellation in the face of pain long-since eclipsed by what joining the Corps has put him through. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach.
“Why don’t we talk about Asgard more instead?”
“You said you couldn’t come with me.”
“I can’t.” At that assertion, the god looks almost hurt. “The chip, it’s unstable- I told you that. I can’t even stub my goddamn toe without it short circuiting and triggering something.“ The Captain looks at him, and his heart aches.
This was never going to work.
He wants to tell him that. He wants to push him away so he’ll leave and forget all about him. But he can’t. Something about the man before him made him weak. Instead, he says “You wouldn’t understand it anyways.”
“Then tell me so I can.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
There’s an edge to the Asgardian’s voice that wasn’t there before- a good-natured frustration that threatens to crack Miles’ porcelain mask of indifference. The soldier knew if the god kept pushing he’d tell him. They’d been together far too long for him to stand his ground, his fondness for the god rounding out his rough edges. And he would go with him if it weren’t for the trial. Hell, once Cohen and his ilk were rotting in prison he’d happily go off-planet with Loki for the rest of his life. But he can’t tell him that either. So, he decides to show him.
“Look.” He crosses the room to sit next to the god on the bed and offers a hand, and the long-haired man is taken aback by how it seems to shake. After a moment, Loki takes it, and the room fades to black.
But something is wrong.
Every time the trickster has accessed someone’s memories, it felt like diving into an ocean- significant events pouring over him like waves on a warm summer day at the beach. But here, in the recesses of Miles’ hippocampus, everything is cold. Everything after he joined the Corps is orderly and clean, the serum and chip working in tandem to document his service, but before that it’s as if someone intentionally destroyed it. Thoughts and feelings appear to fracture right in front of him as he reaches for a memory, any memory, to help him understand.
The first thing he notices is an old couch- bright red cushions on old wood, divots of the many patients who’d come and gone worn into the fabric. The dining room table catches his eye next- black paint chipped away by years and years of personalized autographs and engravings of names into the wood, as if patients past had wanted to leave a little piece of themselves behind.
Then he sees him. Miles, tiny and sickly-looking under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital. His arms and neck are wrapped in gauze, and deep circles of purple and blue are punched into the skin under his eyes. In his hands is a letter. Before Loki can read anything, his vision fades once again to black.
The next few scenes are blurry and confusing. There’s a lamp with blue light, monitors covered in code written in green text, the beep of a heart monitor. He and Miles are in an interview; then a lobby; then, in a meeting room with his old Corps team. A man stands in front of the room in a suit, a cool confidence painted on his face. His voice is loud, and omnipresent, and follows them everywhere even as the visions change.
“We’re always asking ourselves questions, questions about how to survive on this floating piece of rock. Questions about our dreams, our goals, our futures....Today, I’m going to ask you a question.
“Answer very carefully: What are you afraid of?
“Are you afraid of bugs? Of spiders, snakes, and the things that crawl at night? Are you afraid of the dark?”
Miles lays dormant on a table, covered in sensors that beep hysterically as staff swarm in and out of the room.
“Of the monsters lurking under your bed? Are you afraid of heights? Are you afraid that one day you won’t be?
“Are you afraid of...rejection? Are you afraid of failure? Of showing weakness? Of judgement?”
Despite the anesthesia he’s breathing in, his eyes are open.
His eyes are open.
“Are you afraid of your father? Are you afraid that when you die, that when your body decays into the ashes that it came from, that you will be forgotten? Are you afraid to die? Are you afraid of God? Of eternity?”
The vision flashes to a scene in high school.
“Are you afraid of your father?”
Miles is walking up the stairs in a suit. It’s prom night.
“Are you afraid of your father?”
He is smiling because a boy loves him for who he is. He wants to tell the whole world. He wants to tell his Mother.
“Are you afraid of your father?”
He finds her in a bathtub, blood dripping onto the white tile as the water overflows. A note is tapped to the door, love mom. Her lips are lifeless and pale but she speaks:
“How do we forgive ourselves for all the people we have left behind? How do we let go of people who just days or weeks or months or years ago meant the world to us? How do we move on? From our mistakes, from our failures, from all the things we did not become?”
A siren begins wailing, and behind the young boy, there is the silhouette of a monster with its hands balled into fists. His father.
“We know the answer.”
Police vehicles flash red and blue, painting a bruise over the violent scene. The Asgardian is confronted with visions of psychiatric wards, of attempts gone wrong, of suicide notes written to nobody in particular.
“Apply. Join us. You can serve as a conduit for positive change, a vessel for the American Utopia we all dream of. Give yourself a new purpose, a new life. You can begin again.”
Darkness, thick and impenetrable like smog, as if Miles’ mind doesn’t want to let him go after what he’s seen. As he draws himself out of the soldier’s memories, his wrist feels wet.
“You can begin again.” The voice is barely an echo, but for a moment Loki swears he can feel it whispering by his ear. The room suddenly feels very cold.
For once in his life, the god can admit to himself he might have made a mistake.
You can begin again.
When he is finally grounded in the present, Loki finds himself on the bed alone. Miles is cowered over his desk, muscles tensed as if preparing for impact.
“You need to leave, Loki.” The Captain’s voice is strained, barely a grunt. Under the pallor of his skin, the god swears he can see electricity pumping from the chip, blue and burning in his veins. His hands curl into fists.
Oh he really made a mistake.
“I’m sorry I brought up something unpleasant-“
“God, just shut up for once and listen to me. I…I could hurt you. I don’t want to.”
“Well, I’m no stranger to that.” The god smiles rather awkwardly at his comment, very suddenly aware this might be more serious than he realized. His tone shifts immediately.
“Are you- are you in pain?”
“Leave. Now.” The aggression in his voice makes Loki’s palms tingle.
“I’m not going to-“
“Everyone that I loved has gotten hurt, I can’t let that happen to you. You need to go. Go back to Asgard and get drunk, o-or stage another coupe or something. Go.”
Love?
The words hang heavy in the air, the phrase “love” brushing up against Loki’s lips softer than any kiss they’ve shared, but Miles seems far too distracted to notice his admission.
“O-oh- right!” The trickster god had been posing as his father on Asgard for a while now- leaving him with all the food, wine, and pleasures he could ask for. But there had been something missing, something that felt hollow and empty in his chest. The nobles and servants only adored him because of who he appeared to be- they loved Odin just as much as they hated Loki. In actuality, despite all the company he could ask for, he was alone. And the man he wanted to bring back with him was pushing him away.
“Ok. I’ll- I’ll come back. After your trial. We’ll get a drink-“ Before the Asgardian can continue, the lights in the room begin to flicker violently, light bulbs bursting in fireworks of broken class and fire as an alarm begins to sound.
He really does have to go. And normally he’s used to it- happy even, to be able to make a quick escape. It often leaves an impression. But now, seeing Miles so out of character, cowered in pain- he doesn’t want to.
“I’m coming back for you.”
And in a flash of brilliant light, Loki is gone.
#pain and suffering writing prompts arc complete! yay….:#tbh this has helped me a lot w plotting out his arc w Loki#so i appreciate this prompt a lot i thought of him immediately w it#suicide#implied abuse#my writing#asks#aceghosts#oc: miles cooper#x: damned if you do#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#loki fanfic
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Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)
@tsshipmonth2020
The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)
Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.
Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending.
Word count: 4k
*READ DAY 9 FIRST*
Blue: What time are you available?
Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch
Blue: I was merely tr
Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!
Blue: I will never understand you.
Green: Good
He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.
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Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream
Blue: No.
Green: It’s just a question!
Blue: I’m assuming you would die.
Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?
Blue: No!
Green: C’mon, for science?
Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!
Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.
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Green: Hey
Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?
Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack
Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.
Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?
Green: thanks
Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm.
Green: please hurry
Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.
The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.
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Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.
Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight?
Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.
Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~
Logan: You’re a sap.
Remus: And you love it
Logan: Guilty.
Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.
It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.
Why would anyone want you, Janus?
You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.
Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?
He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms.
------------------------------------------------
Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever.
It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.
These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles.
He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.
Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.
Hello?
And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.
Hi. Well, that was lame.
You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.
Yes.
I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.
Whatever for?
He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while.
My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan.
The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though.
You seem kinda shy. It’s cute
Let them speak, Remus.
Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain…
So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep.
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If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors.
Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.
“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”
“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.
“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself.
The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable.
The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another.
For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!
He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them.
“Hi!”
Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater.
“Do you want to sit with us?”
His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look.
“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face.
“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”
Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.
His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them.
So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it.
Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.
The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about.
Hi.
He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.
I found him. Bleachers in the north field.
“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”
Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.
“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.
“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”
“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows.
“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”
“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.
“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”
Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.
“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.
“Five months ago.”
And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really.
Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.
It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were.
“Why didn’t you write right away?”
“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft.
“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?
To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before.
“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’.
“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”
“I mean… yeah.”
“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.”
“Remus!”
“It’s true!”
Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”
“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”
Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.
“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”
“Remus!”
“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”
Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to.
“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”
“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?”
It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.
“Can you start by telling us your name?”
“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.
“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.
“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”
#lywrites#tsshipmonth2020#intruloceit#janus sanders#logan sanders#remus sanders#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfiction#ts soulmate au
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Part 9 of Gozukk and Anna
Anna has a doctor’s appointment. Gozukk turns down an offer to join the church. Jak helps out.
[Note: One of the d&d canon things I particularly don’t like is that the ‘evil races’ have their own separate evil gods particular to their race. I’m aware that there are halfling and elf and dwarf pantheons also, but the thing is that those generally have deities of multiple alignments (rather than only evil ones) and those communities seem to be allowed to serve any gods they want, in practice. In my d&d world, orcs can too, and this particular tribe, to the extent to which they’re religious, is affiliated with Kelemvor. Not everyone worships him, and there are some individuals with other faiths, but he’s the god they have a shrine and a cleric for/from. (I’m not sure it matters that much from a worldbuilding standpoint, but I’ve taken an overall position of “no-race-specific deities,” which does also throw Moradin and the like out with the bathwater, but that’s probably alright.)]
The masterpost is here and includes a cheat sheet with character names, since the list of people she’s met in the community just keeps getting bigger.
tw: slavery (past), tw: PTSD, tw: past rape/noncon (barely referenced), tw: past abuse, tw: fantasy religion (no religious trauma), tw: panic attack, tw: drug reference (past), tw: date rape drug (past)
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles, @bluebadgerwhump, @dragonheart905, @carolinethedragon, @whumpzone, @newbornwhumperfly, @cupcakes-and-pain, @much-ado-about-whumping
****
Anna’s legs shook faintly as the healer shouted for her and her master to enter, but she tried to keep her face steady as she ducked under Gozukk’s arm and in through the flap of the tent.
The space was small but comfortable, the furnishings generally not quite as nice as Gozukk’s, with the exception of a smallish but very fine altar, richly carved from solid wood. A set of heavy brass scales sat on it, held up by a skeletal hand, the same image that was carved along its sides, and that she recognized from the box in Gozukk’s room, and a small collection of candles sat around it.
Gozukk knelt briefly in front of the altar, going down on one knee with a quick bow and then rising to his feet again before turning to the healer, Mukzod. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about our newest guest,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t paused at all. Anna felt certain she should kneel, too, but somehow she found herself frozen, unable to move farther into the tent, or to do anything at all.
Mukzod was dressed in dark grey robes, well-made and clean, with the same skeleton-arm scales embroidered carefully across his chest, but looked fresh-faced, too young for such serious, formal vestments. He was a half head shorter than Gozukk but just as wide, with dark messy hair that flopped into his eyes as he nodded toward her and made her shudder and freeze up. He looked almost nothing like Master Kir, but that hair, the length of it, the little flick of his head to get it out of his eyes - her chest tightened with fear, her breath shortening.
The healer’s smile was warm, but she couldn’t slow her racing heart.
“Hello, guest. Anna, is it? Did I hear correctly?”
Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t answer. Gozukk reached a hand halfway toward her, but then stopped and she suddenly, desperately wished he hadn’t, wished she could bury her face in his chest and not see this new stranger, with his new hair, and his new tent. But that was a foolish thing to wish, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” Gozukk answered, his voice softer now, as if to put her at ease even though he was talking to the healer. “You’ve heard right. I already know she’s wounded, but I want to make sure she isn’t also cursed or marked or being tracked.”
“You know, if you just gave a little bit more of yourself to Kelemvor, you could do it yourself,” Mukzod said jovially. “We all know your piety is genuine.”
Gozukk laughed. “For the last time, cleric, a paladin oath is out of the question. The tribe has to come first. You know that. A holy life is not in my cards.”
Mukzod held his hands up, “I know, I know! I only ask because I know you’d be good at it.”
Anna watched the exchange, trying to follow. Kelemvor was - was a god of - of something. Scales. Justice? But no, that was Tyr, everybody knew that. The skeleton, though - the skeleton - her eyes widened, and her body began to shake.
“I - I didn’t realize you worshipped - umm -” Her voice was thin, tense, and surely one of them would bark at her to speak up. She tensed, awaiting a slap for interrupting, or for doing it poorly, or both. Instead, both men turned slowly to look at her, their posture open, hands away from her.
“It’s alright, Anna,” Gozukk said, “He’s not a god of death. He’s a god of the dead, which is something else.”
Mukzod had his hands up, the palms out toward her. “The chief is right. We don’t kill, not unless we have to. Not unless we’re fighting undead things. I’m more about healing. And curing diseases. And burying bodies we find unattended in the desert, which happens a little more often than one would hope.”
She shivered. She’d seen a body like that, had watched the men in the caravan dragging another man’s corpse away from the hooves and wheels that had crushed him to death, only to leave him lying in a heap alongside their caravan route and keep moving at Master Kir’s orders.
She opened her mouth to ask if they’d found the man from the caravan, if they’d buried him properly, but then she couldn’t. What if they thought she’d had something to do with it? She still remembered the beating she’d gotten after they stopped that night, how unsure she’d been whether her master thought she’d done something to distract the dead man, or whether he was just frustrated. She’d known her place. She hadn’t needed to be reminded. She didn’t need to be reminded now.
She sank onto her knees and felt both safer and less safe, in over her head and drowning in uncertainty.
Gozukk knelt beside her again, taking her hands gently in his own, so gently she could have pulled away, but she knew her place, and maybe soon he would realize she knew it and she wouldn’t have to be so scared.
“It’s alright, Anna,” he said, running his thumb gently over her knuckles. “You don’t have to worship him. Plenty of folks don’t. But I do, and Mukzod does, and he’s got some magic that can help you, if that man did anything that’s lingering.” He scowled, but over her shoulder, not at her. “Anything magical, anyway.”
The cleric placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on Gozukk’s and she flinched heavily before she could stop herself.
“Is it alright if I do a quick magic detection spell? If all is well, I’ll won’t see anything, and we’ll know the human doesn’t have any magical hooks into you. If there is something, I’ll have to do some tests, but we can fix that, too.”
His voice was soothing, but she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at the hair falling into his eyes, scraping his shoulders around the back of his neck. She was shaking, and she couldn’t stop. She gripped Gozukk’s hands tighter, hoping he would allow her nearer. He squeezed back gently and she scooted forward on her knees until she was close enough to whisper into his ear.
“Please, Sir -” she flinched, but decided not to correct herself and maybe he wouldn’t notice, “I - can I -” He let go of one of her hands and then reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, a gesture that was increasingly becoming a familiar one. She steeled herself and caught her breath. “May I put my head on your shoulder again, please? Like yesterday, when I was -” she didn’t have a word for what she was, “Please, Gozukk, I’m sorry I’m weak, I just - I can - I can do this. I can be good, please, I just - I need - please.” Her breath gave out, her body shaking even harder.
Yesterday, she’d leaned into him with both of their hands between them, his pressing hers to his chest. Now, he wrapped one arm around her carefully, keeping hold of her hand with his other one and drawing her just slightly closer. “Is this alright?” he whispered into the space between them, “Does this help?”
She shook, and wasn’t sure how to answer, but she knew what she’d wanted at first, knew what she’d wanted, and thought she still wanted it. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, her breath coming in deep gasps, and he removed his arm from the small of her back as she kept fighting for air, tracing his fingers through her hair at the temple instead.
“It’s alright,” he said, “I’m here to help.”
After a moment of his arm hovering beside her, he let it fall to his side, not touching her as she knelt up against him, watching him breathe and trying to time her breaths to his.
“Are you ready for the spell?” he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder.
“We’re ready, Mukzod.”
Nothing happened. The cleric said a few words in a language she didn’t understand, and then he fell silent, the air in the room unchanged.
“Nope, all clear,” he said after a moment. “Your pendant’s lighting up like a candle, Chief, and the altar, and some of my stuff, so the spell’s working, but she’s not got any magic on her. Not that lingers, anyway. I can try a dispulsion anyway, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing there to dispel.”
Gozukk leaned his cheek against her temple, sighing in relief. “There we go. You’re safe. Now we know it for sure.”
“I -” Mukzod cleared his throat. “Can I be of any other service? I’d thought you might have come for healing. Or perhaps a calming spell?”
A calming spell? Anna had never heard of that, but as soon as she thought too hard about it, she found herself remembering the times Master Kir had - what had that been - he’d put something in the wine, she’d known there was something in the wine, but he’d made her drink it anyway, made her drink it, made her choke trying to swallow as he forced it down her throat and then he’d - and then he’d -”
She sobbed, her head suddenly spinning, her entire body tingling like there were bees buzzing just inside her skin, and her head on Gozukk’s shoulder wasn’t enough to keep it at bay, wasn’t enough to keep anything at bay, wasn’t - wasn’t -
She grabbed desperately for the front of his shirt, closing her hand into a fist around the fabric and forcing herself to keep breathing. His free hand came up alongside her head, but he didn’t quite touch her, just kept it hovering there, like he was shielding her from the sun. As another wrenching sob tore itself from her throat, she pulled herself closer to him, into that protection, and everything else be damned.
“We’re done for the day,” Gozukk said, his voice rough-edged with anger, like it never was when he talked to her, and she flinched but didn’t dare pull away, couldn’t afford it when he was the only thing steadying her spinning head, couldn’t afford it when it might make him angry, couldn’t - couldn’t - she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air.
"She’s allowed to feel what she feels,” he snapped at the cleric, “She’s doing fine.”
His own breathing wasn’t quite as steady as she knew it could be, deepening as if he were holding himself together, holding back the snarl she could hear at the edge of his voice.
But then the snarl was gone, and his voice was velvet-gentle again, his hand stroking carefully through her hair. “It’s alright, Anna. You did well. It’s been a stressful day. You don’t have to do anything more. Mukzod just wants you safe, same as me.”
The gentleness was for her. It was just for her, and she was a fool, and she believed it, and she knew she was a fool, but she could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel the way the buzz under her skin threatened to become the way she felt in the dark, at night, like a fire burning itself out, like she was dying a piece at a time, reducing herself to ash as she went, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t die now, not while she was in a place she was fool enough to half-believe might be better.
“Do you want me to carry you back home?” he asked, his voice still soft, rumbling through his chest and under her cheek, and when had she twisted her head sideways like this, resting more fully on his shoulder? “Or do you want to wait it out here and then we can walk back together? I think you need some quiet for a little bit. You can take another nap, like yesterday. You’re still healing.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting go of the front of his shirt, and he took it as an answer, rearranging immediately to gather her up in his arms and cradle her against his chest.
When he rose to his feet still holding her, she didn’t shudder this time, but she wondered if that was only because to shake any more than she was already shaking might be to shake herself to pieces.
The softness in his voice was gone as he looked up at the cleric and ordered, “Open the flap for me,” all of a sudden in control again, the chief whose feet she had been thrown down in front of. But then he was bending his neck to speak softly in her ear again, the gentleness returned to his voice. “Squeeze my neck when you’re ready for me to walk, and we’ll go. Just tell me when you’re steady.”
She squeezed his neck, desperate to be away from here, as if the bees in her skin would leave her alone out in the sun.
They didn’t, but Gozukk let her bury her face in the side of his neck and kept holding her, his arms solid around her and his breath steady, now, soothing.
Halfway back to the tent, small footsteps joined them, a voice she didn’t recognize piping up from below. “Whoa, Uncle Gozukk, is something wrong?”
“Get the flap when we get to my tent, Jak,” he said, the imperiousness gone again, as if it had never been, his voice warm and normal, but without the particular softness he seemed to save for her, and what did that mean? She sobbed in spite of herself, about nothing, or maybe about everything, but her head was full of bees and her skin was full of bees and she couldn’t think.
“She’ll be alright once she has a little peace and quiet,” Gozukk explained, tone patient, “She’s just a little overwhelmed.”
A small hand patted her dangling ankle and she pulled away instinctively before she realized the boy was no threat.
“Oh,” he said, “That makes sense. Does she need a calm down cloth?”
She could feel Gozukk’s chuckle, deep in his chest. “Yeah, that might not be a bad idea. Why don’t you go get one after you help me inside? And then you can go back to whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”
“Got it!” The footsteps sped up, then stopped again, waiting for them to catch up.
Anna clung to Gozukk the rest of the way to the tent, relieved when Jak’s footsteps pattered away as soon as she and Gozukk were inside.
The fine chair he’d been seated in to meet the caravan was inside, now, set behind the table in the front room, and Gozukk settled her into it. She grabbed at its arms, surprised, and squeezed them tighter when Gozukk squatted down in front of her to look in her eyes. She couldn’t get out of the chair and down to his level. He didn’t want that. She had to stay. She had to stay.
Her breathing was still ragged, too fast, and she knew it, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
“Anna, can you hear me?”
Everything was still too much, his words clear enough to make sense, but then immediately gone to her, as if they had never been. She nodded, trying to keep hold of the question.
“Alright. You did a good job this morning. I want to make sure you know that. It’s alright if you need to stay in here the rest of the day. I’ll try to come check on you when it’s time for lunch, but if you get hungry before I come back, you can go find Djaana or one of the twins, and they’ll look after you.”
She was breathing. That, she was sure of. His voice was soothing, reassuring, and the things he was saying were reassuring, and she couldn’t make them mean anything. She nodded. Reassuring. He was being reassuring. She could be reassured. She kept breathing.
Gozukk nodded back. Her breathing eased a little. Good. He was pleased.
Jak came running in, and she got a good look at him for the first time. He had the same dark hair as Djaana and Gozukk, but his eyes were a lighter color, a green she hadn’t expected, and even with some lingering baby roundness to his face, she could tell there was something about his cheekbones that must be like his father. Gozukk stuck a hand out to slow the boy before he could run all the way to her, and he blushed, looking bashful.
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot about the quiet.” He held out a damp, white cloth, in her direction, and she wasn’t sure what to do but take it.
The boy’s green eyes stared at her, his arm drifting behind his back so he could wrap his hand around his elbow, still staring. “Thank you,” she said quietly, aware that her breathing was loud and her voice wasn’t.
“Why don’t you explain to Anna how it works, just in case her mama and grandmother didn’t teach her?” Gozukk asked, something of the softness he always aimed at her in his voice as he addressed the boy.
“Yeah!” Jak said, his face brightening! “It’s easy, Miss Anna! You just put it on the back of your neck, and it’s nice and cool so it feels good, and then you just breathe real steady and think about cooling down and noticing that it feels good, and then when it gets dry, you can go back outside and play or try what you were doing again. Or I guess you can - I dunno. What do you like doing?”
She had no answer, but there wasn’t enough time for it to become awkward. Gozukk laid a hand on Jak’s shoulder. “Why don’t you wait and ask her that in a couple of days? You wouldn’t like it if somebody asked you a bunch of questions while you were trying to calm down, would you?”
“Oh! No!” He mimed locking his mouth closed with a key and tucking it into his pocket, and Anna found herself smiling in spite of everything. She put the cloth against the back of her neck to prove she’d been trying to listen, though there was a lot he said that she hadn’t been able to keep ahold of, the words slipping through her fingers as half of her kept getting wrapped up in her own breath.
He was right. It felt lovely, cool and soft. She closed her eyes, half instinctively, and managed a deeper breath.
She could hear a smile in Gozukk’s voice as he said, “Take all the time you need. We’ll be back to check on you at lunch time.”
Then both sets of footsteps walked away, out the door, and she was alone.
She slid out of the chair and onto her knees, where she felt more herself, but kept the cloth where it was, steadying her breathing as much as she could and thinking about the coolness, the dry air pulling water from the cloth, the dampness sitting against her skin, and nobody touching her.
When the cloth dried, she wasn’t calm, but she was close.
#d&d whump#fantasy whump#hurt/comfort#whump#recovery whump#past slavery tw#past abuse tw#ptsd tw#fantasy religion tw#panic attack tw#drug allusion tw#vague rape/noncon allusion tw#drugging tw#Jak was NOT supposed to be in this he just SHOWED UP#he WAS supposed to be at breakfast but he was NOT THERE#this child i swear#also Anna is triggered by mullets because real triggers are weird sometimes but also bc i am a clown all the time#her other doctor's appointment should be hopefully better but might actually just be weirder who knows#Mazogga's older and wiser than Mukzod but she's also old enough to be the boss of Gozukk so she's gonna do what she's gonna do#does this need some kind of a trigger warning for medical? it really isn't medical but maybe?#anyway jak's a good boy and everybody's trying their best and it's just gonna take some time#gozukk's family believes in AUTONOMY and RESPONSIBLE EMOTIONAL SELF-REGULATION#their enemies think orcs are scary because of the teeth and muscles but ALSO because of the CONFIDENCE and SELF-EFFICACY#or something#idk i just love orcs and i want them to have good things#and anna deserves a loving and supportive community#and they deserve an anna they just don't know it yet because she hasn't come into her own yet#but she will one day#in chapter a billion or something because i keep getting ideas for very tiny increments of time after the previous ones#would you believe i thought this chapter might be her visiting BOTH the healer AND the midwife? a clown
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Catharsis (A Satan x GN MC Fanfic)
As it would turn out, moving is hell, and tensions are high in my house for the moment... I can't work up enough of a playful mood to look at my other WIPs right now, so here's another episode of "I'm Moody and Need to Work Through Some Stuff... w/ Jazzy." Funny enough, I wrote this while listening to Kartharsis (yes with a K) by TK from Ling tosite sigure (yes the Unravel guy).
Warning: Angst, Verbal Abuse
Catharsis: the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions
Satan could never claim to have the healthiest anger management strategies… To some extent, it's not exactly his fault. He's a being born from rage itself and for most of his life, it's tinted his every thought… Even after cooling down some, his temper remained exceedingly short. And worst of all, his wrath could burn looong… If given a chance, he could stay mad for days unless given some kind of release…
His brothers usually knew to steer clear if getting Satan that pissed. The only surefire way they had of calming him down was to let him destroy something and that wasn't doing all that great for the House's walls… But brothers do what brothers do. There will probably always be a day where they're bickering or fighting with each other… which means that Satan could never be off the hook entirely...
The person who actually got his nerves this time was Belphie. The co-members of the Formerly Anti-Lucifer League don't butt heads very often, but it's bound to happen occasionally… Particularly when Lucifer was concerned. Belphie had promised to get Satan a book he needed for a curse the two of them had been scheming for months. It was supposed to be so intricate and difficult to undo that it'd have the eldest struggling for weeks… Unfortunately, Belphegor had decided to sleep in on the day he was supposed to bring it... This made Satan miss a crucial time window to put the finishing touch on their curse. They'd have to wait another century for the planets to align again…
To say that Satan was irritated would only be the start… truthfully, he was furious. Days of effort and planning went to waste because his lazy brother couldn't be bothered to get out of bed! Perhaps even more unfortunate, though, was that Belphie wasn't one to take someone else's anger lying down… He may be lazy, but he had wit far beyond his rank and venom to match it in equal measure... All fights between these two were like verbal pit matches, a vicious dance of jabs and insults until one of them finally throws a punch or someone else steps in to break it up...
Today's unlucky contestant was Beel, who hollered at them loud enough to shake the walls... Satan knew that Belphie was more than happy to leave the situation as it was… The lazy bastard could always hide in the attic and sleep away his problems… but it wasn't that easy for Satan. His anger doesn't just "go away" like everyone else’s... Sure, he may appear to simmer down.. but it lingers. It festers. And he hates it…
He hates being mad… There's nothing pleasant about anger. Breaking people under your feet in righteous fury? Well, there's some fun in that. But just being angry with nothing to do about it...? Whoever asks for that…?
Which is why he was trying to indulge a suggestion the MC gave him some time back to take his mind off it… Stress cleaning. Apparently, it wasn't unheard of for humans to use cleaning to vent emotional frustration through physical activity... The concept didn't sound unreasonable to him at the time. So when he passed by the kitchen and saw the dishes from Beel's last meal stacked up high, he decided to roll up his sleeves and give it a try.
… He should have known that a little bit of cleaning wouldn't have been enough for him, though. With each dish that he scrubbed clean, his sponge's pressure against the porcelain increased ever so slightly… Building and building until he was very nearly cracking the plates beneath his fingers…
No… the rage wasn't leaving him. He kept replaying the fight again and again in his mind… always producing new comebacks to words that were never said and spiraling farther down into his own resentment… Hadn't the human said this would work? Why wasn't it helping…?? If anything, he just felt more worked up than before! Why was he listening to them anyway? What would they know about helping him, Wrath made flash, control his anger?? What kind of idiot was he for even considering-!
"Satan…? Are you okay…?" The tentative, yet familiar, sound of said human's voice called to him from the kitchen entrance. He didn't bother turning back to face them and just kept his eyes trained on the filth in front of him...
"No." There wasn't any point in lying, was there? They could see him practically slamming the plates down on the drying rack by this point…
"Ah…" He heard them shift their weight as an awkward beat passed. They no doubt knew it wasn't a good idea to approach Satan when he was angry… but that meddlesome streak of theirs must have been begging for them to intervene in some way. Typical human… sticking their nose in places it didn't belong…
"Well… Beel told me about what happened… You and Belphegor, right…?" He heard their footsteps finally enter the room and stop somewhere close to the kitchen island. Trying to keep some space between him and them, perhaps? Oddly reasonable coming from such a reckless creature… But it didn't stop his shoulders from tensing up at the meer sound of Belphie's name.
"Don't bring him up." His words snapped out like the crack of a whip, menacing and sharp. Though he couldn't see them, he was sure the MC flinched, and he felt a perverse sort of satisfaction in that thought… There was a pause before the MC continued, clearly considering their next words carefully...
"Satan… I just wanted to tell you that it's my fault Belphie slept in… I kept him up last night, and you know how he gets when he can't sleep." Their words were slow and careful like they were trying not to startle a wild animal. He still didn't turn back as he waited for them to continue.
"... Okay. I just thought I'd let you know, I guess… It wasn't really his fault…" There it was. His simmering temper had been wanting, no begging, for him to find something, anything, to let it go on... And this was just what he had been looking for… an opening.
"Oh. So you're taking his side then?" Pausing, he stopped abusing the glass in his hand and let an eerie calm build from his lack of motion... He knew just what he needed to do to scare them. He's done it to other people hundreds of times...
"W-what? No-I never said that…!" It didn't matter that they were right. He wasn't in the mood to be reasonable right now.
"You may as well have. You're already down here coming to his defense, aren't you? Did he put you up to it? Holding that precious 'cuddle time' you two like so much hostage, I bet..." He threw them a sidelong glare from over his shoulder and felt yet another wave of satisfaction from seeing their confused face. It was like he just swept a rug out from under them, and they were failing to catch their balance.
"That's not what I…!" They stopped themselves mid-sentence as it seemed to dawn on them just what they had gotten themselves into… Satan wasn't looking for a reasonable conversation right now. He was looking for a punching bag... But they weren't looking to be one.
"You know what… No. I don't appreciate your tone." He could see their eyes narrow as they found their resolve once more, stronger this time. He hissed softly at the loss of his easy mark...
"What does it matter? You're the one who started this in the first place. You just said as much a bit ago. Don't you know to leave me alone when I'm pissed off anyway, or are you really just this stupid?" That one must have hurt because he saw them flinch this time…
"I'm only here because I knew you were upset-"
He cut them off sharply. "And you didn't think I needed the space?" Again, they flinched at the growing volume of his voice, but they didn't appear to back down either. They only responded in a tone much softer than his own, patient but strained from invisible wounds...
"It passed my mind… But I just wanted to help…"
Help? Oh… Right. He must have forgotten who he was speaking to… Help was all the MC ever did. Even when they had no idea how or when their ideas were so crazy, they'd put Mammon to shame… He always knew they meant well… Did his anger really just blind him to why he was even washing dishes in the first place…?
The two stared at each other for a few moments while Satan battled over what to say next... Their earnest answer had re-awoken a bit of sense in him, yet he could tell his temper still wasn't satisfied… An overwhelming part of him, one he loathed to acknowledge, was calling for more vitriol… It just wanted to fight and be petty for satisfaction's sake… to have an enemy to stomp over, no matter who it was…
But just looking into the MC's eyes was keeping those hateful words down his throat… He could see that they were hurt and worse, he was well aware that he caused it… Sure, he may not have raised his fist, but he had still done plenty of damage with his voice alone… They didn't deserve his rage, and even now, he hated to have released it on them in the first place…
His internal struggle must have reached a peak without his knowledge because he hadn't noticed his grip was tightening around the glass in his hand. At least, not until it suddenly shattered all over him. The MC jumped back with a yelp at the unexpected explosion, and even he shouted a swear or two as he felt the shards lodge into his palm.
"Shit!" It didn't take a doctor to know that having glass embedded in your skin isn't ideal, and he could claim to at least have a little first aid know-how. As he used that knowledge to inspect his hand, he almost completely forgot that the MC was in the room until they made a noise.
"Um… Satan?" They were hesitant to speak, which he didn't blame them for. He did have a habit of breaking things for intimation value, but he guessed that they noticed he was as shocked as they were for once. "Need this?" In their hands was the first aid box the family kept in the kitchen. Though it was really only intended to bandage up the occasional knifed finger... it would do for the moment.
"Yes, that would help… thank you…" Though his appreciation was genuine, his words were stilted and hollow… He couldn't even meet their eyes considering how this whole exchange started… He felt terrible before, but now it was more than enough to finally overpower the wrath within him… He hates knowing when he's been a total asshole too…
He gestured the MC to put the box on the counter then began treating his wounds. They helped him as he worked nimbly, but he could feel an awkward tension between them… Not undue, but still uncomfortable. He knew he had to remedy it quickly...
"MC… I'm sorry… That was wrong of me…" They glanced away from his hand for only a moment before responding with a strained smile.
"It's alright…"
"No. It wasn't…" He paused only to grunt as he removed the largest glass shard from his palm. "...I was looking to let off some steam and targeted you unfairly… I didn't mean what I said; I was only searching for a reason to be mad… None of this was your fault… I hope you can forgive me…"
The MC shook their head as they searched the box for bandages. "No, I have some fault here too… I really should've given you space to cool off before talking to you… I just saw that you were doing the dishes and thought you were simmered down already…" He stopped what he was doing a moment and glanced back at the sink's drying rack, now half full of still soapy and partially cracked dishes.
"... Well, I don't know how vigorously you wash those, but I don't think I'm ever going to find that to be a relaxing activity." Their soft chuckle relieved a bit of the weight in the air, much to his solace.
"Fair enough… Though I'm not sure what I was thinking telling you to try cleaning in the first place. I should have just asked you to break every vacuum in the House instead." They both snickered over the image of him ripping the handles off of their hoovers by accident, and, slowly, Satan could finally feel the anger in his chest fading away... Of course, it'd be the MC to do it… It always was. Why hadn't he found them to start with…?
"And just so you know, I'm not taking sides with Belphie or anything. I'm sure he turned off his alarm or something." He snorted slightly as he finished the bandaging. Were they really still on that?
"I know, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter what side you're on to me anyway." He took his newly bandaged hand back just in time to see their puzzled expression.
"What? Why not…?" He chuckled some as he let his undamaged hand come to rest on top of their head, stroking back any bangs in an affectionate pet of sorts. He then caught the back of their head to tilt it up towards his, meeting their wide eyes with a devilish grin.
"Because you'll always be mine, kitten…"
#this story will live and die on how well i can write apologies#no pressure#i hope i didn't make satan an asshole#obey me#Obey me shall we date#obey me satan#obey me fanfic#shall-we-date-obey-me
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The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader) - Part Five
A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of the love and feedback. I really appreciate it, and a big thank you to @iiashleysykes for proofreading for me. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!
WARNINGS: NSFW, contains smut
TAGLIST: @mikasackrmann @missalicebaskerville @liitlesushi @bonemarroww @jamaisvusbitch @winchescumberholland @mira-mirach @babayaga67 @iiashleysykes @orenjineki @badbitchfor2dmen
You stayed in the bath, soaking together for a while, until finally you decided it was time to actually bathe. You grabbed your wash cloth and lathered it with soap before turning to Dabi. Your hands were just as gentle as when you had rinsed the dirt from his skin, your touch light as a feather. You hummed happily, and Dabi smiled while watching you.
When you finished, you rinsed him, and Dabi sat back enjoying the attention. You knew he wasn’t fragile, but you felt compelled to care for him. Knowing the life he had led, all that he had endured, drove you to want to give him moments he could cherish. You didn’t know how everything would turn out, it was beyond your control, but right now while you had him here with you, you could give him this.
When you finished with him, you started on yourself as Dabi watched you with hungry eyes.
Your skin glistened and your face was so serene. He watched your hands roam across your body, leaving a trail of suds behind. He thought you were beautiful. You turned towards him with a smile, your bright eyes sparkling in the dim light. He couldn’t stop himself when his hands reached toward you. His feelings were torn between the overwhelming warmth he felt when he looked at you and the twisted desire that bloomed in his chest.
He didn’t know what to do with the tenderness you stirred in him, so he acted on his lust instead. He grabbed you, bending you over onto your hands and knees in the water and wasted no time in burying himself inside of you. His body leaned over yours, bracing himself with a palm on the wall as he thrust hard and deep.
Dabi was rough and dominating, the urge to own and ruin you taking a hold of him. His hand wrapped in your hair as he pushed your torso down, head under the water as he rammed into you. The suddenness and brief fear left your body tingling. Dabi pulled you back up and pushed you against the wall, water cascading down your body as you gasped for breath, the side of your face against cool tile. You pleaded for more, rolling your hips to try and impale yourself on him further. His chest pressed to your back as he whispered in your ear.
He told you that you were his, how you belonged to him and that he’d never let you go. How you take his seed so well, and that he would keep giving it to you until you were ready to give birth. How you were so needy for him, begging for his cock. That you wouldn’t be able to walk out of this bathroom when he was done with you.
You weren’t sure what part had pushed you to so close to your climax, but your orgasm hit hard and fast as he began pounding himself back into you.
He stilled and pulled you back with him, careful so he could remain within you while you sat in his lap.
He reached around with both of his hands, pulling your legs open farther so he could play with you breasts and pinch your clit. You threw your head back into his shoulder, a loud moan leaving you. Your hips were squirming and twitching, sensitive from overstimulation. He picked you up, his forearms placed beneath your spread thighs, and twisted your body to face the full length mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door as he slowly stood.
Your eyes met his in your reflection before they trailed down your bodies. He tilted you back as he started to move, and you were transfixed watching his length disappear in you. You saw your flushed face and how your breasts bounced. Your hands wrapped behind you, around his neck. Your eyes fell closed when the pleasure got too intense, but he traced his tongue along your jaw and then spoke, his voice stern.
“Eyes open, doll. Watch me.”
You did as you were told, lifting your heavy eyelids and keeping your gaze on Dabi. You were vaguely aware of your voice crying out, but you were more focused on the soft grunts that Dabi exhaled in your ear. He brought you to another orgasm, and then filled you as you clamped down on him.
His arms shook under you, and slowly Dabi backed up to slide down the wall of the shower, letting you rest against him.
He kissed along your neck, leaving his marks upon your skin as he went. He pulled back and looked you over. Your damp hair was tangled, indents from his teeth still lingered on your throat, and your hips were bruised from his grip. Your eyes were shut and your chest rose and fell rapidly, still trying to catch your breath.
You were barely conscious, completely exhausted, and slouched in his hold, but all Dabi could think was how perfect you were.
Your legs were weak, and you were far too tired to stand, so he carried you to your bed, laying on the cot beside you.
You were sound asleep by the time you touched the mattress. His fingers traced down the side of your face, across your lips and down your chin. They made their way down your neck, and over your breast, giving a light flick to your nipple as they passed. You moaned as your legs slightly parted, and he laughed quietly to himself. You truly were his. Even in your sleep, you were responsive to his touch.
His fingers trailed down your stomach and between your lips. His eyes were dark as he grinned. You were still so wet, ready to take him again.
He climbed over you and lined himself up, slowly pushing himself inside as he lifted your legs. You whined in your sleep, your body sore, but he didn’t notice, too entranced with how it felt to watch himself push inside of you. Once he was all the way in, he rocked his hips slowly, his hands reaching forward to abuse your nipples until they were a bright red. He leaned down to put one in his mouth while the other was twisted and pulled between his fingers. His lips moved, traveling across to lay his claim on your body as much as he could.
He leaned back and admired the hickeys that now decorated the skin of your breasts. Soft whimpers left you as your hips moved on their own, grinding against him. His hand moving to rub your clit as he picked up speed.
Dabi kept on until finally he released in you again, his hand gently rubbing your stomach after. The thoughts of you carrying his child still plaguing his mind. He found it funny, something that he had never wanted, that had never even been a thought, was now one of his strongest desires. He let his mind wander for a little while longer, before he finally joined you in dreaming, succumbing to his own exhaustion.
You woke up to the sun shining directly onto your face and you groaned, from both the brightness as well as your body aching. You immediately noticed the marking covering your breasts, and a few more trailing down your stomach and thighs. You smiled and shook your head before looking to the side to see Dabi eyes still closed and his arm wound around you.
“Pervert.” You whispered groggily while stroking the hair back from his forehead, and then decided to rest a little longer as you let yourself drift back to sleep in his arms.
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You went back to work after that weekend, and Dabi was always at the apartment waiting for you to get home.
You finished with his tomb before the end of the season, and you were finally paid beyond the general funding.
It was as exciting as it was sad. On one hand, you had completed your project and now you could discover something new, but on the other hand, you always felt as if you left a piece of yourself behind with each finished job. This time especially, as Dabi’s tomb has been more than a piece of the past, it had been a new beginning.
On the final day you had access, you cleaned up and helped close off the tomb. Everyone else was turning in, leaving for the last time. You stayed behind waiting, and when you were alone, you added your name to the wall in hopes that it would be enough to lead you back here one day. Even if it didn’t, you figured it would be an amazing story to have, even if it was one you could never tell.
__________________________________________
After two seasons of working nonstop, you honestly were ready for some time off. Christmas was approaching, and usually you stopped home first and then spent the rest of your time elsewhere, just traveling and relaxing, before your work began again.
You talked it over with Dabi, and he agreed to go to your home with you, though he was apprehensive about eventually meeting your family. You assured him that it would be fine, though.
Your mother had been asking for years when you would settle down and bring home a man, this was the year you finally did. You figured she wouldn’t care who it was at this point, though you didn’t really think she would mind Dabi anyways. Your step father was missing a leg, so you figured they’d be sympathetic to his scars and could easily look past them. Your father was the one that you were on the fence about, but you couldn’t imagine him being rude, though you were sure he would have his own opinions.
A week later and you were boarded on a plane. Dabi was shaken at first, almost looking ill when he experienced the turbulence. You had pushed him to take the window seat, and once you were sailing smoothly through the air, he stared in awe at the ground far below you, his hand never leaving yours.
The world was so different now, so advanced. He couldn’t believe it. He never dreamed that he would one day be above the clouds.
You had tried to convince Dabi to get some rest, but he was adamant about staying awake, not wanting to miss anything. You smiled fondly at him, his eyes were bright with excitement as he looked between you and the world outside his window. Finally, the plane landed and you brought him to a cafe in the airport. You figured you could both grab a bite to eat while you waited for the cab you had called to arrive.
The cab came quick enough, and after you loaded your bags, you were off on the hour long drive it took to get back home. Both you and Dabi fell asleep, only to wake up as you pulled into your drive.
You paid the fare and grabbed your things while Dabi stood, his jaw open in disbelief. Your house was so big. He wondered for a moment if you were perhaps royalty, but then shook the thought from his mind as he remembered you explaining that your job paid well and that times were very different now.
You spent most of your time away, and as you were somewhat recognized in the world of archeology, you brought home a decent profit. It also helped that while you were off working, you tried to save as much as you were able.
He walked in the front door and looked at the high ceilings, the beautiful wooden floors, and all of your plush furniture. He thought back to his home in the afterlife and felt a wave of relief that your home was much nicer than his.
He didn’t mind his home, it was where he had grown up, where he and his siblings had been left, but he knew it wasn’t anything special. He had chosen it, putting it in the scenes of his tomb so it would be there with him when he died, but part of him always regretted it, wishing he had given himself a bit more. His home served as a reminder, who he was and where he came from, but he was more than willing to accept living with you. Your home was nice, it was warm and inviting. He welcomed the change.
You gave him a tour and he seemed happy with where he would be living. When you finally reached your room, he was quick to push inside and collapse on your bed.
You laughed, before making your way over to join him. You laid with your head on his chest as he hummed content.
Sleep was quick to start creeping up on you, and you snuggled into him further as you drifted off.
Dabi held you close, placing a kiss to your head and relaxed back into your pillows. He had known of his plans for a while now, but he had never expected you to be a part of this. A part of him.
When you had first shown up in the tomb, he had figured you would be a pawn to him, and that he would use you and then carry on. But somewhere in the time he had spent with you, you had grown on him. You mattered to him. You became his, and as he let himself think on it, he knew he was yours as well.
His mind finally let him join you in sleep, and that night he dreamt only of your face.
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The next day, Dabi helped you with unpacking. He didn’t have a lot to bring with him, so he finished putting his things where you had directed him rather quickly. When he opened one of your suitcases, he saw a small and battered bag, barely tied shut with a black ribbon.
“Hey doll, what’s this?” Dabi called out, inspecting the pouch in his hand. You walked up behind him to look.
“Oh! I found that when I was searching for your body. It was stuck in the cliff side, and I forgot to ask you about it. I brought it back to see if I could have it examined, it looks like it has bones from a finger inside of it.” You explained and Dabi stiffened. When you felt his body tense, your eyes shot to his face.
“Why? What’s wrong?” You asked, anxiously.
Dabi walked to your dresser and dumped the contents of the bag onto it. He inspected the bones and gems.
You followed, peering at everything laid out, noticing Dabi flip the bag inside out. There were symbols woven into the liner inside, and they matched those that you had found in his tomb.
“Does this have something to do with the seals?” You asked.
“It’s a curse.” He said, his tone dark.
“A curse!?” You began to panic. “What do you mean a curse?”
“Calm down.” He grunted in frustration, but his glare never left the pile in front of him. You tried to steady your now racing heart.
“Do you know anything about it?” You said in a hushed tone.
“Maybe. Can you tell anything about the bones?”
You picked them up, looking them over and laying them in their proper shape.
“Hmm. It looks like an adult index finger, I can’t be certain though.” You said and Dabi groaned, rubbing his hand through his hair in anger.
“Just perfect.” He spat.
“What does it mean?” You asked.
“It means someone hated me enough to chop off their finger and shove it inside a bag.” He grumbled, turning from the dresser to make his way to your bed, plopping down hunched over to rest his head in his hands. You frowned, going and taking a seat behind him and rubbing your hand on his back to soothe him.
“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” You pushed, trying to understand.
“I don’t know if I can ever return to the afterlife.” He whispered.
“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow.
“An index finger points to who the curse is laid on. It was tucked away with part of my body, like they were making one last jab at me. Whoever asked for the witches aid, this is their finger. They cut it off, and the seal was added into the lining of the bag, strengthening whatever magic they used. It’s purpose is to bind. Now that I am back in my body, I’m bound to this world. I can’t return to the afterlife.” He said, his face expressionless.
“But how could they have known you would return to your body?”
“Before I died, I spoke with the Gods. Perhaps they did the same.” He shrugged.
You felt your stomach drop, unsure of how to fix a problem from several thousand years ago.
“Do you know how to break the curse?”
“The one who sacrificed his finger has to die, only then will the magic will disappear.” Dabi told you. You nodded in thought before asking.
“Wouldn’t they be dead by now though? So shouldn’t the curse already be broken?”
Dabi looked at you and smiled, pulling you into his chest as he held you tightly against him.
“Yeah, your probably right, doll. I’m sure everything is fine.” He said softly, resting his chin atop your head. You nuzzled into him, your eyes closed, while his forced smile dropped from his face and his hardened gaze wandered back to the pile on top of your dresser.
Dabi knew the curse wasn’t broken, not yet. He wasn’t ready to tell you everything, the reason he needed to come back to your world and his plans. Not only did he want to keep you from worrying, he didn’t even want you involved. He knew what he had to do, and he had a feeling that he would find the owner of the missing finger then. For now, he would push it to the back of his mind and let himself forget. He would just enjoy being with you for as long as he was able.
#dabi x reader#dabi boku no hero academia#dabi bhna#dabi smut#dabi x you#dabi fanfic#dabi#dabi x y/n#dabi my hero academia#dabi is touya#mha dabi#dabi au#bnha dabi#dabi is a todoroki#dabi lemon#dabi lov#dabi league of villains#dabi mha#dabi touya#dabi todoroki#dabi x female reader#The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader)
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Saving You II JJ Maybank
Part One: Fine Line
Author: @anonymous0writer
Summary: You and JJ had been best friends for as long as you lived. But the feelings that would change your status haven’t been said. Will the words ever be said?
Warnings: Alcohol use, parental abuse, swearing. Brief mentions of depression/ self harming.
Please read at your own discretion! (I struggle with depression so I wrote it how I experience it.)
Requested: “Reader and JJ are friends since kindergarten. She is his complete opposite - shy and low-key and introverted, but that’s why they fit so well together. They have feelings for each other, but never confessed. She knows about his issues at home, but JJ doesn’t want her to interfere, its dangerous. One day tho she sees as JJ's dad is abusing him and tries to help him, but she gets hurt as Luke slaps her too. JJ freaks out and after this mess he tells her how he feels”
A/N: This was really fun to write!! I love a best friends to lovers troupe. :) And this is long.... I hope you like it anon!! It’s also long..
Also: My second JJ series!! I actually have a plan for this, so it won’t be like Not Together Anymore, which was pretty bad! But for this series, I have four parts roughly planned... and I’m excited for it!!
Let me know what you think!!!
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Tags: @jayjaymaebank @rudys-pankow @maaybanks @everydayimfangirling @outrbank @thelocalpogue @teamnick @bxbyyyjocelyn
Y/N was laughing, with her head thrown back and her eyes alight with amusement. She didn’t catch the look her best friend gave her. But it was there, the secret glances filled with love and longing. In fact, ever since seventh grade, the two had been stealing admiring looks, hugging a little longer and smiling just a bit wider at each other.
They were in love, yet the strict line of “best friends” kept their mouths shut, confining them to longing and dreaming of the day one would toe the line. But years had gone by, and no one had toed the line or even stepped just a little too close to it. The line was there for a reason right?
They’d met in third grade, and once they knew that the person staring at them was their person, they made up for the years they missed quickly. The two, ever since they met at the field trip to the beach when they were eight, and forced to be in a group together, they never left the other’s side. At eight, they knew that they were soul mates. Maybe not romantically, but in every other way. They never kept a secret and never left the other behind. They had a secret understanding that they couldn’t abandoned each other. Y/N and JJ were each other’s rocks. Any thing they needed, the other would be there in a heartbeat.
And that’s how Y/N knew about JJ’s father way before anyone else. He’d been able to deal with it for a couple days, but when he showed up for work one day, grunting and wincing up a storm, Y/N demanded to know what had happened. JJ knew he couldn’t lie and say it was Rafe or another Kook. That was how Y/N learned that JJ’s father had beaten him ever since seventh grade and his mom left. Ever since then, whenever Y/N sensed something was off, she drove to JJ’s and found him hurting and bruising, and would nurse him back to health and kept her mouth shut.
JJ knew about Y/N’s struggle with depression. She’d been hurting herself by biting herself since the start of high school. The episodes hit out of no where, and when Y/N didn’t show up for two days at school, JJ knew something was very wrong. Y/N was never late to school. Hell, she hated missing class more than anything and came in once when she was half dead from a cold. So JJ had barged in, and found her in the shower, staring blankly at the wall, bruises and angry red teeth marks marring her arm. He’d nursed her back to health, promising to keep her struggles a secret from everyone, including her parents as long as she didn’t hurt herself anymore.
Both had secret they’d rather keep secret, but they couldn’t keep it from each other. They had a pact. They’d be there and help each other, and they’d never leave the other.
The two were practically attached at the hip. You didn’t see Y/N without JJ close behind. You never saw JJ without an arm around Y/N’s shoulders or her laugh chasing after him. They were always together, and it was a shock if you saw one alone. They didn’t avoid each other if they fought. Sure, they rolled their eyes at each other and called each other an idiot or a dumb ass, but they still sat close and acted as if there wasn’t a fight. They’d make up, deciding it was too much work to be mad at each other. But no matter what, they were always together. Some called them twins, or the two. Even the pogues didn’t call them individually. Even when JJ was begin a dumb ass, and Y/N was just sitting next to him, Kie would yell, “Quit it you two!”.
But with knowing each other since they were eight and spending every day together since then, and knowing each other’s deepest darkest secrets, they fell in love silently. They’d both crossed the line without the other knowing, thinking it was untouched.
And Y/N would’ve known that the blonde was in love if only she saw the look he gave her as she laughed. But she didn’t, so she never knew.
-----
The Boneyard party was in full swing, but a small group of kids from the Cut were sitting by themselves, opting for hanging out with each other instead of getting shit faced drunk with the rest of the kids.
Pope Heyward sat, back pressed against a dead tree, no beer in sight. The boy liked to keep the ‘signal clear’ and not get a DUI. The boy ran a hand through his hair, eyes bright as he talked. He wore an old fishing T-shirt and was sitting cross legged, talking enthusiastically with the girl across from him.
Kiara Carrera was shaking her head at Pope, waiting until he finish so she could launch into her own point. Her long and dark curly hair was tamed into a half up half down bun, the curls bouncing around her shoulders. She wore a bright yellow crop top, her shorts faded and worn. Her flip flops were discarded beside her, and she dug her bare feet into the warm sand. When it was her turn to speak, the boy on her right poked her in the stomach. Kiara slapped his hand, and started over.
The boy who poked his best friend was John B. Routledge. Called John B. because his father was also a John, and John B. fit him more than John. He laughed and poked the girl again, but let her talk as he took a sip of his beer. He was tall, tan and wore a half open button up. He sat on a log, and dropped the empty beer can to the sand, asking his best friend since the second grade to hand him another.
JJ Maybank grabbed the cooler seated next to him and fished out a beer, popping it up into the air for his friend to catch. “Nice one, slick.” He commented when the boy failed to catch it and it hit him in the stomach. The blonde laughed, smirking hard, but was able to listen to the girl who’s feet were in his lap. His hands rested on her legs, thumbs tracing small patterns onto her skin. JJ was wearing his famous backwards cap that tamed the blonde hair underneath. His tan arms were on display in his sleeveless T-shirt.
The girl with her legs on JJ was Y/N Y/L/N. Head thrown back as she listened to the heated conversation of the two next to her, and smirking at John B. and JJ. Her longest friend here was JJ, but John B. was in close second. Kiara was her sister and Pope was the fellow genuis. Each kid had their own connection to each other, but in all, they were the closest group of friends you could find, best friends since the day they met.
And with the closeness of the best friends came a few set of rules.
One: Never leave a Pogue behind.
However, the rule had been broken a few times when they came a little too close to the cops catching them. But the rule was the foundation of their group. They would die for each other and wouldn’t even think about leaving one. Except when the cops were inches away from putting them in a cop car. The cops were the only exception, though JJ had a knack for ending up there anyway.
Two: No pogue on pogue macking.
That was established by Kie. And seconded by Y/N. If people started to sneak around, the intricate webbing of their friendship would unravel. The rule sharpened the line between Y/N and JJ. This was also another foundation of the group. No kissing or messing around with each other, and everyone would be fine. Sure, they’d kiss on dares and on time Y/N kissed Kie because the boys wouldn’t leave them alone, but that was strictly... ‘professional’.
There were other rules, but none as important as those two. And, with the closeness of JJ and Y/N, people automatically assumed that they were a couple. Hell, out of the five in the circle, they were the only ones touching, with Y/N’s feet in JJ’s lap, his fingers tracing a soft pattern in her skin. There was no denying or arguing the fact that those two were the closest out of all of them. Soulmates was the one word to describe them.
“Alright, Kie,” JJ called out, thumbs pressing a little harder into the calf of Y/N. She didn’t mind it and smiled lightly at the surfer. “You gotta pay up.”
Kie glared, pulled out of her conversation with Pope. But now everyone’s attention was on the blonde. He smirked and raised his eye brows at the dark haired girl.
“For what?” Kie asked.
JJ laughed, “C’mon. The bet about-”
“Yeah, yeah. I know, JJ.” Kie grumbled, embarrassed about loosing the bet.
The five bet all the time. Nine out of ten times, JJ was involved, but everyone gambled with each other. Over stupid things, but one was always granted a kiss, money or fulfilling a dare. This time, the award in question was a kiss. If JJ could do three of the difficult tricks on his board, three times in a row without messing up, (in one go) Kie would give JJ a kiss.
But Kie being the clever girl she was, knew JJ didn’t specify the kiss. She smirked, and leaned forward, mouth hovering near JJ’s.
Y/N looked away, mouth twisting at the thought of JJ wanting a kiss from Kie. It made her heart ache just a little. Y/N had fallen in love with the boy in front of her since high school and had helped her through one of her darkest moments. The blonde never reciprocated the feelings, and Y/N never pursued them. The line between them was clear. Friends, and friends only. Even if she felt like crossing the line, she knew JJ would never feel the same way. Not in a million years. The countless girls he took from Boneyard parties and the locked doors was enough evidence of such. So Y/N kept her secret close to her heart, keeping it from the guy she’d never lied to in her whole life. She’d kept it for two years, silently yearning and begging the boy to feel the same way.
But here he was, grinning as a girl leaned toward him, rewarding him with a kiss. And not just a girl. Kie. The girl he flirted with shamelessly. Sure, JJ did that with Y/N, but it was toned down and not as obvious. Y/N even overheard the surfer refer to her best friend as “the super hot hippy chick”. It was obvious why JJ made the bet with Kie in the first place, no less established a reward as such.
But Kie wasn’t into him. Or the bet. She smirked for her own reasons and planted a soft kiss on JJ’s cheek. Kie pulled back and sat back down, ignoring the squawk of disbelief from the boy.
“That wasn’t the deal!”
“You never said it had to be on the lips, idiot.” Kie muttered, eyes glancing over to Y/N to see her friend frown slightly at JJ’s reaction. “You’re a dumb ass.” She reiterated, but this time for a different reason.
Kiara was the only one that knew the feelings the ‘two’ had for each other. But none of the two involved knew that she knew. She saw the way JJ looked at Y/N. Sure it was always different from the way he looked at everyone else, but something had changed in the past year. JJ had caught feelings later, but Kiara knew Y/N had loved the boy since the beginning of high school.
“What?” JJ pouted, flashing his baby blues. When Kie shook her head, the blonde turned to Y/N. “You’ll kiss me, right?”
The boy puckered his lips as they curved into a devious smile. Y/N blinked and met the eyes of her best friend. JJ leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. However, Y/N recovered quickly, and smirked. She leaned in like she was going to kiss them, and then as their lips neared, she put her hands on his chest and shoved him back. JJ floundered, hands reeling and his jaw dropping in disbelief.
Y/N giggled, smiling at her best friend. But as her stomach erupted in butterflies at the thought that JJ asked her for a kiss, even if she was the second option, JJ’s stomach was sinking because of the slight rejection.
They knew each other inside out, but for their own reasons, they didn’t know that the other was feeling the same thing. They were falling in love, but they thought they were alone in the plummet, when they could be falling together.
#obx#outer banks#outer banks imagine#obx netflix#anonymous0writer#imagine#jj#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x you#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank smut#jj obx#jj outer banks#jj obx imagine#jj obx x reader#jj one shot#jj maybank series#obx jj#obx jj maybank#outer banks jj#outerbanks jj#jj imagine#john b routledge#kiara carrera#pope heyward#the pogues#writing#outer banks series#request
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Black Peonies preview
A/N: This is the first chapter of the J/H soulmate AU fanfic I’ve been working on for a really long time. I do not plan on posting it on AO3 or ff.net for now, because I have yet to finish writing the last couple of chapters.
That being said, I hope you enjoy this sneak peek.
Trigger Warning: Explicit child abuse
Chapter one:
January, 1970
Steven Hyde walked through the dark streets of Point Place alone. Mr. Forman’s brother from Chicago got hurt, and the whole Forman clan went to see him for the weekend, which means that Hyde had nowhere to go.
He stayed with Kelso and Donna for a big chunk of the day, but Bob doesn’t like when Donna has boys over after it was dark out, so he and Kelso had to take off.
He walked Kelso to his home, because Hyde was not in a hurry to get to his own house. It was a Saturday, and Edna tends to go a little crazy on Saturdays, that’s why he would often sleep over at the Forman’s.
He was lucky Bob and Midge made them snacks too, because Edna rarely buys any food for the weekends. She tends to spend the little money they have on booze and drugs.
He spent as much time as possible walking around, trying to avoid going home to Edna, but there wasn’t much he could do, it was very cold outside, and he didn’t have a nice jacket to keep him warm, he needed to go home. It was trashy, but at least there was heat. He hoped Edna would be passed out by now, but he doubted, it was still early.
The minute he reached his block, he sighed. He could already hear the sounds of beer bottles clinking and the voices of his mom’s stoner friends, she definitely was not asleep, crap.
Someone threw a beer bottle at his direction, and the glass shattered all over the shitty pavement. He glanced at the direction the bottle came from, and saw his mother’s laughing figure sitting on the porch. Fucking fantastic.
“Home already, kiddo?” She asked, slurring with her words and blowing the smoke from the cigarette in her hand.
“It’s cold” He shrugged, and tried to get inside the house before his mother would start with her usual drunken ramblings, that usually ended up with her blaming him for her shitty life.
His mother grabbed his arm to stop him and he sighed in frustration.
“You couldn’t have stayed with your friend today?” She asked bitterly
“He’s outta town with his folks” He answered, hoping she would drop it and let him go to his room.
“It wasn’t enough for you to ruin my career, now you have to ruin my weekend too?” She said, puffing out another cloud of smoke
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had somewhere else to go” Hyde answered
“Aren’t you a smartass?” Edna taunted him, and laughed slyly.
“I want to go inside, it’s cold” Hyde said simply, if he learned something from all of his 11 miserable years with Edna, is that there was no use in arguing with her.
“I know something that will warm you up in a second” She slurred out and laughed, forcefully grabbing his right hand on her bony fingers and putting out her cigarette on his skin.
He felt his skin burning and tried to pull his hand off her tight grip, the pain brought tears into his eyes and it was almost unbearable. But she held on tighter, pressing the burnt stub onto his skin as she laughed.
"Tears?" Edna mocked at the sight of Hyde's teary eyes "Aren't you supposed to be a tough guy?"
He held himself back. He wanted to tell her to fuck off so badly, but he knew better. If he did, he would have to spend the night wandering the streets, and he wasn't in the mood to freeze to death.
She flicked the bud onto the snow, and finally let go of his hand. The pain didn't go away though, in fact, it got worse. He thanked a God he wasn't so sure he believed in for making Wisconsin winters so cold. He would be able to hide the burn by wearing gloves and ease the pain by shoving his hand onto the snow that probably accumulated by his bedroom's dingy window.
Hyde glanced one last time at his stoned and drunk pathetic excuse of a mother and headed inside the house, holding his right hand on his left one.
Sometimes he wished the soulmate thing wasn't real. He doesn't like the thought of an innocent girl suffering all the pain his mother puts him through.
But he knew better, the universe never cared about his wishes, otherwise he would have a different mother. He just hoped that the girl who had the bad luck of being his soulmate had a strong support system or whatever, because his shitty reality isn't changing anytime soon.
Meanwhile, in Point Place's community theater…
10 year old Jackie anxiously tried to peek through the closed blinds, today was probably one of the most exciting days of her life, she was about to play on her first piano recital ever! She was trying her hardest to not be nervous, because she’s a Burkhart, and Burkhart’s excel on absolutely everything they do – according to her mother. She practiced every day for hours, she wanted to be perfect, because both of her parents promised they’d watch her play today.
“Miss Burkhart, it’s almost time, are you ready?”
“Yes I am, Mrs. Crawford! I have my sheet here with me – even though I don’t need it, just as a precaution” Jackie said excitedly, and her music teacher smiled
“You’re going to do great, Jackie” She said with a small smile “Go wait over there, you’re up next”
Jackie nodded and went to wait where her teacher indicated. Her heart was beating so fast, and she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She couldn’t wait to be praised by her parents.
They already missed her dance recital, and neither of them were there when she won the trophy for “Prettiest Ballerina”, but they promised they would attend her piano recital, that’s why she decided she would play one of the hardest songs, so she could impress them.
She knew none of her colleagues had the ability to play this song; most of them were playing “Fur Elise” or “Ode to Joy”. She wanted to be the best, so she chose “Clair de Lune” by Debussy, one of her father’s favorites songs. He likes to listen to it when he’s smoking his cigars, so she made sure to learn just to make him proud.
When she heard Mrs. Crawford calling her name, she’d put on her stage smile, the one her mother taught her so long ago. When she entered the stage, she glanced at the audience, trying to find the familiar faces of her parents. She didn’t see either of them, and she had to repress the urge to cry.
They bailed on her, again. They promised they would make it!
She took a deep breath and saw Martina’s familiar face. She was giving her a sad smile, and Jackie sighed. She likes Martina, but she would never fill the hole left by her mother. It’s not like Martina wants to be there anyways, she only went because she’s paid to do so.
Jackie quickly forced a smile and went to sit at the piano bench. If her parents didn’t want to be there, that’s their loss. There was a good amount of LOPP’s mothers there, she hoped they would tell her mother later how she played beautifully, and her mother better feel bad.
She stretched her fingers the way Mrs. Crawford taught her, and placed the music sheet on its proper place. The second her fingers touched the piano keys, she felt herself relaxing a bit, and when she started to play, she genuinely smiled. The first couple of minutes of the song went smoothly, some people even clapped when she mastered the transition from the slow part of the song to the slightly faster one.
Then she stopped playing, and not because the song was over.
Out of nowhere, she felt a blinding pain on her hand. She whimpered in pain and held her right hand with her left one, tears involuntarily falling from her eyes.
Mrs. Crawford quickly ran to see what was going on with her best student, and she sighed when she saw a black peony forming on the girl’s hand.
“It’s burning, Mrs. Crawford” Jackie cried, and the older woman placed her hand on her shoulder.
“I know honey, you know what that means, right?” She said, and Jackie nodded.
That means that her soulmate was hurting. Again.
Last week Jackie got a new flower on her shoulder, and the week before that, she felt like someone was slapping her on her face.
Thank God that bruises on the face don’t leave flower marks, otherwise people would see her as a freak, because she feels like she’s being slapped or punched on at least once a week.
Mrs. Crawford guided her out of the stage, and made her sit on a small bench near the dressing rooms. Jackie carefully rubbed her hand, the pain was starting to subside a little, the black peony marking the exact place where it was hurting.
“Do you want to go back and start again, Jackie?” The woman gently asked, and Jackie shook her head.
All she wanted to do was go back home and pray for her soulmate to get the help he needs. She doesn’t know why he gets hurt so often, but she wanted it to stop. For both of their sakes.
#jackie x hyde#jackie and hyde#soulmate AU#black peonies#fanfic#zenmasters#that 70s show#that '70s show
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