Don’t have a lot of editing powers but at the very least I can layer clips together so figured I’d give making a little tribute to one of my favorite childhood games a shot
It’s intended to be over a minute long but we’ll see how that goes lol, here’s a little snippet
Summary: You're Cletus Kasady's younger sister, but you've never told anyone. Now his name is everywhere in the news and everyone wants your side of the story.
Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, panic attacks, swearing
Mood music: Lover is a Day- Cuco
A/n: Aaaaye, sorry if this is a dumb idea. I just haven't seen anyone write this type of story? If someone has, anyone wanna link me a fic? Feedback is appreciated and requests are open! My queue is filled with the last batch I got, so expect those soon!
You almost dreaded leaving the apartment anymore. All you saw was his big, stupid, ugly face everywhere. Oh, he did that, oh, he did this, let's remind everyone that he's a monster in prison! Oh, but there's a plot twist; You hated it because you were, unfortunately, related to the guy. Nobody outside your adoptive parents knew.
You didn't like talking about, you didn't even like thinking about it. You had to put up with so much shit because of that guy. You were grateful that you were young enough that nobody knows or remembers what you look like now. You even changed your last name a few times. First, you changed it to Smith when your parents adopted you, then you changed it to Brock when you got married to Eddie.
It shouldn't bother you, you're a Brock, not a Kasady. However, you couldn't help but feel like that was just your identity. Once a Kasady, always a Kasady. You felt even worse because Eddie had taken up on the Kasady story as a huge part of his new job.
You were proud of him for finally getting back to what he loved, but sooner or later his trail would come back to you. What were you supposed to tell him?
It felt like the walls were closing in on you, and that there was an anchor slowing crushing you. You had to remind yourself to just take it all in one breath at a time. This is just some fad, some story. It'll all go away.
What if it doesn't?
Your head was spinning and you closed your eyes as you sat on your bed. Everything was so quiet, and even that was alarming.
"Babe? We're home!" Eddie voice rang through the apartment.
You sucked in a breath and hopped up and out of the room, "How was work?"
You just wanted to forget about it.
"Eh, you know." he smiled as he hung his jacket up, "Same shit."
Venom appeared, looking a bit annoyed, "Easy for you to say."
"What's got you in a sour mood, big guy?" you asked, walking over and giving Venom a small kiss before turning to Eddie and giving him a kiss as well.
Venom hesitated for a moment, mostly out of embarrassment, "Well, nothing now, but some guy called us a dick."
"That wasn't very nice of them." you replied, "How about I make some dinner? I was thinking chicken nuggets or- Uh, chicken nuggets."
Eddie looked at Venom, "That's a tough choice. I guess chicken nuggets it is."
You preheated the oven, "Why don't you two go get into something a little comfier?"
"Already ahead of you," Eddie said as he walked to the bedroom.
There was barely any noise for a couple minutes before Eddie said, "So, you know that story I'm working on?"
"Of course," you said, feeling the anxiety building back up.
"Well, I," he paused, you assumed he was putting a shirt on, "I've reached a dead end with it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I was talking to Cletus- Red- Whatever the hell they're gonna call him.. And he was asking me if he knew anything about his sister." Eddie stumbled out of the room as he pulled up his sweatpants, "I mean, everyone was talking about that, but I figured it was a bunch of bs."
"Oh." you repeated.
"so, I spent a majority of my day trying to find any information on this poor woman- And it's almost like he just fell off the grid."
"Well," you awkwardly chuckled as you got the bag of frozen nuggets out of the freezer, "I guess when a serial killer is your family, you'd want to disappear too, right?"
"I suppose," Eddie said.
Venom, meaning no harm, but just wanting to be part of the conversation, "Maybe he killed her, Eddie. People said that too. Maybe that's why we can't find her."
Out of habit, you put your hand over a scar you had on your arm as a lump form in your throat. It wasn't a nasty scar by any means, it was barely noticeably at this point. It was just a constant reminder.
You had lied to Eddie and told you that a biker had clipped you one day when you were coming home from work, but that was far from the truth. You wish it had been an innocent accident like that. The reality of it was that, before you and Cletus were removed from your home, he had attempted to, as he put it, saw your arm off.
Lucky for you, and being the world's biggest crybaby, again, as he would've put it, your mother had heard you screaming. Of course, she always wanted to think that Cletus would just grow out of all of this horrid stuff. You always thought if she had changed her mind, maybe she'd still be alive.
Sometimes you wished Cletus had actually killed you too, it would've been less painful than everything else you had to go through. Growing up, with Cletus always on the news for the shit he'd done, and every thing inbetween, you were slightly grateful that people would make up the rumours that you were dead.
Maybe then they'd leave you alone.
You put yourself on autopilot, taking a trip down trauma lane as you put everything into the oven and set a timer.
Cletus wasn't always outwardly violent, but that doesn't mean he was kind. He would always pick on you, or tell you that nobody even wanted you. He'd always take your things and ruin them, whether it be lighting them on fire or just cutting them up.
You were so young, and you tried to believe that maybe older siblings were just like that. Maybe it was normal for them to try to leave you to die in the woods, or maybe it was normal when he'd 'jokingly' push you towards oncoming traffic.
You had a lot to unlearn when you got adopted. You never wanted to be around other kids, and you barely spoke, even when you had gone to therapy. Sometimes you'd get angry at nothing and beat up pillows, and no matter what, your adoptive parents also responded with love and understanding.
You never had to deal with siblings again. Your adoptive parents are the only souls, outside the social workers, who ever knew what had gone on with your birth family. you were thankful for that.
The cycle still repeats it self, however. Some days you feel fine, you don't find yourself thinking about it, but then one little thing comes barging in and ruins it all.
You had completely lost yourself in a memory, and not a good one. You could hear your heart beating in your ear, and you must've been staring off into space.
The basement was dimly lit, and you remember your dad said he would replace the bulb, but he always forgot. You were stuck to a chair, and you couldn't stop whimpering.
"You're such a crybaby."
Cletus came into view with a roll of duct tape. He fiddled with it, trying to get it undone. You shut your eyes and tried to keep quiet. Maybe if you were quiet, he'd let you go.
He finally got a piece cut and he was going to put it over your mouth, but you kept shaking your head, calling out for you mom. You were even kicking at Cletus, which just seemed to annoy him more.
"Stop it! Stop! Go away! Go away, Cletus!"
There was something inside Cletus that just made him hate everyone around him. He had no regard for any other form of life. He didn't even feel bad about what he had planned to do to you. In fact, he had blamed you for it, he kept telling you that if you weren't so annoying, or if you were never even born, he wouldn't have to do this.
Finally getting fed up with your struggling, he grabbed your face and put the duct tape over your mouth. This made your crying worse. You could heard footsteps from the floor above you, and you were praying that whoever was up there heard you and was coming to your rescue.
Cletus proceeded to duct tape your arm down to the arm of the chair, making extra sure that it hurt. You were no more than five years old, and you were already telling yourself that this was how you were going to die.
"You know that old bat can't hear you, stupid." Cletus spat as he turned away to get something.
That's when you remembered where you were. You were at your grandma's house for the weekend. You two would get left here every so often, normally when your parents had errands to run. This time, mom and dad weren't coming back. You were stuck here.
You were thinking about all the small details of her house now, to distract yourself from what was about to happen.
Mary Poppins. Your grandmother had an odd obsession with her. She had all this little figurines that she decorated her house with. You were never sure why she liked Mary Poppins so much, but you found it endearing.
She would always hum the songs when she was baking.
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
You could practically hear her humming along.
Thats when Cletus turned back around and you saw the shimmer of the knife he had. You tried to just think of anything else, but nothing was working now. Everything was so quiet and the only noise was the sligh thum of the old light bulb.
"If you were never born, this wouldn't be happening," he sneered at you as he pushed the knife down onto your arm, "This is your fault."
He kept talking, and you wanted to keep crying, but you found everything so stressful that you were feeling tired. You didn't even have the strength to pay any mind to the burning pain in your arm. It was almost like you'd given up.
Then you heard her voice. It was calling out for both you and Cletus. It was getting louder, Cletus huffed and dropped the knife on the floor.
"One noise out of you and I'll make you suffer." he cackled a little bit, "Doesn't really matter, I was going to make you suffer anyways."
You watched hazily as Cletus made his way up the stairs. You tried to wiggle out of the duct tape restraints, but it caused too much pain, so you gave up. The voices were getting more and more muffled. Cletus was leading her away from the basement.
You wanted to go home. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You felt more tears welling up in your poor little eyes, and you closed them tightly. Just make it go away. It'll go away.
You remember hearing a lot of noise from upstairs. It sounded like things getting broken, and then several big thuds. You closed your eyes tighter. It grew quiet again.
You heard the basement creak open, and you heard the soft whimpers of the family pet, Fifi. You loved Fifi. She was a good dog. Cletus came down the stairs, holding the dog by the collar, and you watched as Fifi wriggled and yipped as she tried to get free.
You were tried to scream at him, but the duct tape muffled any noise that came out of your mouth. Cletus retrieved the knife and dragged the dog back a few steps. You wanted to look away. You didn't want to watch. You were frozen in terror as Cletus held the dog down and lifted the knife.
He was grinning so sadistically.
You felt something warm wrap around you and you jumped ten feet in the air, pushing them away and yelling, "Don't touch me! Just stay back!"
Eddie flinched and held his hands up as he took a step back, "Sorry! Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you."
You tried to catch your breath as you stared at him. You looked like you'd just seen a ghost. Eddie looked a little startled as he lowered his hands and slowly walked over to you, "Are you okay?"
You took another step back as you tried to calm your nerves, "Yeah, I- No- Yes, I'm.. I'm fine. Sorry for- I."
"Why don't we go sit down for a second.. You look like you're about to pass out."
What do you do? What do you say?
"Did I cause this?" Eddie sounded a little hurt, thinking that he'd unintentionally caused you any harm, "Baby, I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't you. I just.." you needed to just think of some excuse, "The whole Kas- Cletus thing is just.. Stressful."
Eddie gently put a hand on your lower back and you flinched again, causing him to move it.
"I just mean," you sighed a little, "I see it everywhere. It's- I- Nevermind."
You were fighting with yourself. You were going to say it.
"It's alright. We don't have to talk about it anymore." He sounded so sincere, "And it'll all go away after-"
"That's just it," you wrapped your arms around yourself as you tried so hard to fight those stupid crybaby tears back, "It won't go away."
Despite your best efforts, the tears came running down your face, and Eddie went to wipe your face, but you flinched away and ran into your bedroom. You slammed the door a little too hard behind you, repeating, "It just won't go away."
"Y/n," Eddie said, slightly confused as he walked over to the door. He couldn't open the door because you were sitting in front of it, and he could hear you crying. "Baby?"
He crouched down and sat down on the floor. He didn't understand what was going on, and Venom sure as hell didn't know either. They wanted to ask what was wrong, but maybe you'd tell them on your own.
"Sorry," you said between sniffles.
"It's okay." Eddie replied, leaning against the door, "What's going on?"
You took in a few deep breaths before wiping your face, "It's a long story."
Eddie, being a smartass, leaned forward a little to get a peek at the oven timer, "We have time."
You chuckled a little because you heard the door creak with his movement. Eddie chuckled too as he leaned back into his original position. Venom poked out of Eddie's arm and looked at the door for a moment before looking at Eddie, who just nodded a little. The little symbiote wrapped around Eddie's arm and got comfortable as you started talking.
"There-" you shivered a little, "Eddie, there's a good reason why nobody can find Cletus' sister."
Eddie looked at the door, intrigued. Did you know her somehow? Maybe through work? Were you helping her hide somewhere?
"And why's that?"
"Because, I-" you wiped your eyes again, trying to not burst into tears, "I'm Y/n Kasady."
Eddie tensed a little as he continued to stare at the door.
"You're Y/n Kasady?"
You hesitated, "Unfortunately, but I mean, legally, I'm not really a Kasady anymore...Obviously."
Eddie looked down to the floor, taking it all in. Everything made sense now. "How come you never mentioned it?"
"You think I wanna talk about it?" you didn't mean to come off as bitter, "I just- I hated it. I hated everything to do with that name..Nothing good comes from being a Kasady."
"Nothing good comes from bein' a Brock either."
"Eddie." you whined.
"Sorry, sorry. I'll try to save the jokes for later."
"I just never wanted to talk about it." you continued, "Besides, what the hell would I even tell people? You think reporters want to hear a five year old talk about the most horrendous shit?"
"You were five?" Eddie's voice sounded so hoarse. He didn't knowing anything about the elusive Kasady sibling. The fact that it was you,and you were only five made everything worse.
You couldn't seem to stop yourself, "Cletus was a monster. He killed our grandma- He- He.. Oh god, he tortured the dog while I was duct taped to a chair. Not to mention that he tried to cut my arm off right before all of that- Yeah, that scar? It wasn't from some stupid biker."
"Jesus," Eddie sounded mortified, "I'm..Sorry."
"To make matters worse, I almost got lost in the system because he burned down the orphanage we were both at." you paused, remembering that day, "With everyone but us inside of it."
Venom wasn't going to say it, but he felt a little mortified. He had never met a human who was capable of those awful things.
"They had to separate us, because they thought it would stop him from acting out. That didn't work. Cletus just-" your rant broke off into another fit of helpless sobs, "He ruins everything he touches. I know It's been decades since all of that. I haven't seen him since I was five, but I still live in constant fear-"
"He can't hurt you-"
"What if he breaks out of prison again? What then?" you sounded very panicked, "I have always been on edge. Cletus is a smart man, Eddie- It wouldn't take much to figure out where I am- Or my parents.. Or-"
"Hey, hey," Eddie said softly, "That's not gonna happen. You wanna know why?"
"Why?' you croaked, slouching against the door.
"Because we won't let it."
You did feel safer since Eddie and venom came into your life. You also knew that they'd rather die then to let anyone hurt you. Cletus was nothing but madman, and it wouldn't take Venom very long to put an end to him.
"We love you." Venom said.
You slowly turned to sit on your knees as you opened the door. You looked at Eddie and venom with a weak smile, and Eddie held out his arms, "Come here."
You crawled into his arms, and Eddie held you close to him, "I'm sorry you went through that, but I promise you that nothing will ever hurt you again."
Venom untangled himself from Eddie's arm and wrapped around yours, "We will eat whatever tried to hurt you."
You curled up closer to him, feeling a lot better, "I know you will...Sorry for being a crybaby."
"Don't need to apologize." Eddie said sweetly, "If it makes you feel better, I can make something up for the story. Just to get it over with."
"You'd lose your job if they found out that you lied."
Eddie shrugged, "Plenty of other jobs in the world, love."
"It's okay," you said, "I think, maybe, I..If it's you, I can talk about it. I'm just afraid of how people will see me after. They'll probably think that I'm just like him."
Eddie rubbed your back softly, "Nobody will think that."
"Who cares what a bunch of losers think anyways?" Venom looked up at you with all the love he could muster, "We think you are wonderful."
"You guys are pretty wonderful too." you replied, smiling at them.
You gave Venom a kiss before you cupped Eddie's face and gave him one as well. Everything felt okay again, and this time you knew they'd remain that way.
A startling beep rang through the apartment and you all jumped a little. You then began chuckling as Eddie helped you up. It was just the oven.
"You okay?" Eddie asked as he watched you get the food out of the oven.
He saw you differently now. Not in a bad way, but in a good way. He know understood everything he needed to know, and he knew that you were doing everything in you power to get better. He was proud of you.
"Yeah, actually." you said, "I guess talking about it really does help.. I was just afraid that maybe," you laughed a little, "Maybe you'd want a divorce, because who wants an infamous serial killer as an in-law?"
Eddie, seeing the opportunity to lighten the mood with a joke, said, "A what as a what now? I thought you were an only child."
You looked at him with the softest expression, "Thanks."
He smiled as he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, "Don't worry about it."
You wanted to stay like this forever. Unfortunately, the moment was ruined when Eddie went to grab a nugget right off the tray and yelped as it burned him.
"They just got done." you said, trying not to laugh, "You watched me pull them out."
He went over to the sink and ran his hand under some cold water, "Yeah, but..Why are they still so hot?"
"Eddie," you laughed, "They just came out of a piping hot oven."
You got a couple of plates out of the cupboard as Eddie dried his hands. You were putting them on the kitchen island as you saw him go for another nugget out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes its good that not everything changes.
✩ Time seems to fly by when you catch feelings for a mutual friend who also so happens to be your physics partner, and potential love partner.
✩ fluff + humor | 4.29k words | friends to lovers!au | beware! some cussing :(
“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I’m late-- oh!” You are thrown off-guard by the tall boy standing next to your friend, holding a large popcorn with both of his hands.
You were running late. Your friend Chenle had invited you to watch a movie this evening, and unfortunately you had overslept from your nap; waking up in a haste to get to the theater before the trailers were over.
Chenle may have told you about the new movie you guys were seeing, but he did not inform you of meeting a new person.
“Oh! I totally forgot to introduce you two, y/n,” he pauses to point to his popcorn-holding-friend, “this is Jisung,” he points back to you, “Jisung, this is y/n.”
Jisung reaches his right hand over to you, but retracts it back to awkwardly wipe some popcorn grease on his jeans. You smile at him as you two shake hands for the first time, his hand being firm and clumsy while engulfing yours. He forms a tight smile back at you while Chenle grabs the popcorn before it spills over entirely.
That was the first time you met Jisung.
You honestly did not know why you signed up for a physics class; it was the last semester of the year and you had rushed picking out classes, which was a mistake as you soon realized none of your friends were taking it with you.
Accepting your fate, you open the door to reveal the dimly lit classroom, quickly scanning for an empty seat. The moment you saw Jisung sitting alone, hunched over his phone, cross-legged, the stool next to him open, your instinct was to go over to him and plop right down.
“Uh..Hi Jisung..” You place your backpack down on the floor cautiously, making sure not to hit his leg.
“Oh Hi y/n..” He straightens up and removes one of his earbuds to look over your direction, raising his eyebrows to acknowledge you.
You let out a sigh, your body releasing some tension, “I’m glad you’re in this class I literally do not know anyone else.”
His posture becomes more relaxed as well, leaning closer to you, “Oh my gosh! Me too I was lowkey panicking dude--”
There’s a small exchange of relieved giggles before the teacher introduces himself.
Meeting Jisung the second time was pure luck.
And because of those two encounters you couldn’t deny that you had developed a bit of a crush. Everyday you had something to look forward to, with Jisung by your side during these painstaking long physics lessons.
Some days when the teacher wasn’t looking, Jisung would pass you notes despite the fact you two were literally shoulders apart.
↬ i have a good joke lol: what is your house wearing >.<???
You look at the small crumpled note slid over to you before looking back up at Jisung who was pretending to pay attention on what was on the board, his eyebrows crinkled and his pencil jotting down scribbles into the notebook he had ripped the small piece of paper from. When you whisper a harsh “what?” at him, he ignores you and shoots the piece of paper a glance with an expectant smile. You roll your eyes jokingly and click your pen to scribble down:
↬ what (ง •̀_•́)ง
↬ ADDRESS haHAHAHA get it
You watch him try to fight the laughter that was bubbling up inside him by looking down at his notebook, making you blush at his corny reaction.
Your teacher clears his throat, making both of your heads snap back up. He was currently going over the agenda for next week-- including a huge project that was worth a good portion of your grade. Again, you were thankful to have Jisung in this class, because much to your dismay, it was a group project.
“Jisung” you whisper, gesturing for him to come closer to hear you better, “wanna be my partner?”
He takes a moment to look at you, blinking and expressionless. You tilt your head a little, silently asking for his response. He comes even closer to you, making you scoot your body back a bit to make sure he couldn’t see the red that was creeping up your neck from his gaze.
“y/n.”
“Mm?”
“If I’m not your partner who else would want to be?”
“Oh my fucking--”
Your teacher looks over at you and clears his throat again while you straighten up. Under the table, Jisung squirms at the feeling of you pinching his thigh.
The next week passes too fast. You and Jisung have done absolutely nothing regarding the project.
“Yo yo JISUNG pwwwwwwak!” you say throwing down your bag in a hurry-- grabbing your stool to place it in an even closer distance.
“Hmmm?” Jisung doesn’t even look up at you, totally engrossed with the game on his phone.
“Can we please work on the project tomorrow?”
A couple of taps later, he dies and places his phone on the desk in a disappointed manner.
“Tomorrow…” Jisung trails off and squints at a random space between you two, “what’s the date today?”
“February fourth-- why? Are you busy? It’s okay if you can’t… I just thought we should get it done fast since it’s time consuming and the deadline is literally in three days…”
“Well, um, I’m not really busy-- where are we working on it?”
“Is my house okay..?? Kind of early in the morning so we can finish before sun down..?”
“That’s cool with me just text me your address--ADDRESS AHAHA”
“Not this again--” You facepalm, but deep down you must admit it was adorable of him to laugh at his own joke.
Jisung ended up arriving an hour or so later than the time you had originally scheduled.
When you opened the door he gave you an apologetic smile, the one where his cheekbones and gums show on his face. You resist the need to poke his tiny dimple.
“Hi” he raises a hand and wiggles his fingers halfheartedly.
“Hey” you mirror him, laughing off the fond feeling that started to grow in your stomach.
He squeezes past your front door and removes his shoes before entering. You follow behind him, a bit anxious at the thought of having a boy alone in your house. He shuffles awkwardly near your dining room table where you had set up all the materials in order to not waste any time. You look away for one second, about to go into the kitchen to offer him apple juice, but he grabs the exacto knife, activating your fight or flight instinct-- so you proceed to swiftly take it from his hand. He scrunches his nose at you, sitting down afterwards.
“We should play some music dude.” Jisung puts down his pencil and paper after sketching out the structure of your wooden tower. It has been a solid hour of working in silence, you two sitting side by side like how you always do in class. To your surprise, Jisung had concentrated really well on doing his part of the project while you started using sandpaper to get rid of the rough edges of the wood.
“Sure, play whatever song you want.”
“Mmmkay” He hits shuffle on his playlist, “And You?” by Dean starts playing at full blast, making the atmosphere less professional. You start zoning out while working again, but snap out of it when Jisung starts humming and singing along to the song. You feel his shoulder start grazing yours as he moves his upper body to the beat, making you smile to yourself.
As time goes by you and Jisung end up straight up vibing to the music, getting up to scream lyrics at the top of your lungs, or even shimmy-ing along to whatever was playing. But eventually you two stopped the music in order to focus, laughter and messing around getting out of hand.
Cutting up balsa wood in tiny increments was also very stressful and the amount of patience you two needed to muster was almost impossible. But the best thing about having a partner for this project is that you don’t have to deal with the stress alone. Hearing Jisung get frustrated, or randomly just throw his exacto knife on the table dramatically to get up and rub his temples made you ease up and get less tense. It was comforting not to be alone.
What did start to bother you was Jisung continuously touching his bangs to remove them from his line of vision. Every couple minutes he would place whatever was in his hand down just to brush them up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back just wait.” You skip to your room to grab a flower hair-clip, hiding it behind your back to present it with a little “ta-da” to Jisung.
“This hair clip is for you~”
“Oh wow thank you!” He tries clipping it to his head, but can’t seem to get it to stick, his long fingers unable to snap it down.
“Let me do it” you offer your hand out for him to place the clip back into your palm. He watches every move you do, his fingers playing in his lap as you look down at him sitting. The feeling of his hair is soft, as you gently take his bangs in a clump, putting them up. His eyes meet yours and you have to look back at the clip before your heart thumps any louder.
You clear your throat to fight off the feeling, “wow Jisung your head is kinda big.” The snap of the clip following after your random statement.
“Hey it’s embarrassing--” he grabs a hold of your wrist to make you look at him pouting about his big head.
“But big heads are nice--”
It takes a second or two for you both to realize what you just said, Jisung hysterically laughing, releasing your wrist and leaving it feeling warm.
“I’d honestly rather have a small head!”
“OH WHATEVER JISUNG”
Around five o’clock pm Jisung cuts his finger. In fact, he’s cut and broken a lot of things today due to his clumsiness, causing you to have to buy more wood. But at this point you weren’t even thinking due to the amount of brain numbing that gluing thin pieces of wood has been. So out of concern you instinctively reach out and start blowing on Jisung’s index finger. He tries to retract it at first, a bit surprised by the skinship, but relaxes when you look back up at him.
“Let’s wash it follow me.”
“Do you still have those minion bandaids you bring to school?”
“Yes.”
“Can you put one of them on me?”
“Of course.”
After wrapping Jisung’s little boo-boo you two decide you needed a well deserved break. Jisung simply places himself along your living room couch, taking up the entire space, acting as if this was his own home.
“Ya! Move over, I wanna lay down too.”
“No! Just lay on the ground here” Jisung pats the ground with his dangling arm while his eyes remain closed, dream-land already a couple minutes away.
“I’m just going to lay on top of you then.”
Jisung immediately snaps his eyes open and lays so that his chest touches the couch’s interior and his back is turned to you in order to make space. You jump onto the couch, making the weight shift, but he doesn’t even budge. The space is tight, but you two are too tired to care.
You may have accidentally fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was Jisung shaking you awake. When your eyes flutter open your hazy vision rests on Jisung who can’t look at you straight in the eye because, as Jisung says
“we practically napped together y/n…..”
You just laugh at him as he tries to climb over your body so he can go back to the wood gluing, embarrassed because he maybe, just maybe may have hugged you in his sleep.
At eight o’ six pm you find out that Jisung’s parents aren’t able to pick him up right away after school.
“So you’re telling me you have to wait a whole hour just to go home?”
“Yea and it’s really boring to wait at the back of the school because I kind of-- I guess,,, just stand there until I see my car roll up??”
It was an impulsive decision to suggest that he walk with you to your house everyday and get picked up here instead of waiting at school for an hour. But words ended up leaving your mouth faster than your brain could stop you, emotions getting the best out of the situation. At first Jisung did not like the idea.
“I don’t want to bother you or your family though--”
“Jisung you don’t bother me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yea! Just meet me at my last class everyday so we can start walking together.”
“But like… are you SURE SURE?”
“Yes!! Honestly it’s better this way, I didn’t like walking home alone everyday either. It’s a win-win situation.”
“Mmmkayyyyyyyyy if you say-so….” he gives you that gummy smile again.
It was already nine o’ nine pm and Jisung’s parents still weren’t here to pick him up. You two ended up cleaning up after the “walking-home-together” discussion, sitting on the couch to relax and discuss whatever came to mind.
“What’s my name on your phone?” You ask him while he responds to the text message from his parents telling him they’re on their way.
“y/n”
“Wow Jisung”
“Well what do you want it to be?”
“Mmm… how bout ‘the angel who saved me from being extremely bored for a solid hour for five days a week’?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“I’m getting a text hold up.”
“You got a lot of texts today, I didn’t know you were this popular.”
“Nah I got most of the texts this morning when I woke up.”
“Wait what? Why this morning?”
“Oh… well..it’s because it’s my birthday.”
“IT’S YOUR WHAT NOW???!!???”
“My… birthday??”
“JISUNG….what??? YOUR WHAT??? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t “busy”??? The fuck Jisung?? WAIT WHAT??? Let me GIVE YOU SOMETHING OH MY GOD!!!! Happy birthday oh my--”
“It’s okay y/n…oH and now you’re running to the kitchen okay nevermind”
You ended up grabbing an oreo and a candle, then shoving them in front of Jisung in a haste to sing a very terrible rendition of the happy birthday song as Jisung simply looks at you and chuckles, placing his hands to cover his face because in this moment you were so endearing and unbelievably cute. He would never admit that though.
“Thank you, thank you,” he claps his hands in a way so that they don’t make a lot of noise.
“I’m sorry you had to spend your birthday with me doing a stupid physics project.”
“No no it’s okay I’m glad I spent my day like this,” he pauses to contemplate what he was going to say next, “with you.”
“Really?”
“Yea it was fun!”
You could’ve sworn you could hear your heart thumping loud enough for Jisung to hear, but maybe that was just his phone ringing.
“I gotta go now, see you soon--- and uh thank you for the cookie,,, and today.”
The moment your front door is shut, you dial up Chenle’s number and proceed to ask him why he didn’t bother to mention that it was in fact, Park Jisung’s birthday. In which he responds with a crisp, “aHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA.”
The results for the project were handed out the following week, you and Jisung scoring a solid 92 out of 100. Jisung had impulsively hugged you out of excitement, realizing only after he had you in his arms. You can smell his laundry detergent from his sweater, and feel his body warmth, all of it feeling so welcoming. He lets go of you fast, awkwardly putting both his hands up for a double-high five instead.
Walking home with Jisung became a routine. Him scaring you outside your sixth period everyday also became a routine. Him being in your life was simply what became both of your normals, and it would be difficult to go back to how it was before you two met up for that project.
Chenle had suggested watching another movie together since this time it wouldn’t be as awkward, in which all of you unanimously agreed to go.
You and Jisung show up together, as it was a Friday after school. Jisung excuses himself to the bathroom before you guys enter the theater while you wait for Chenle outside. Your phone buzzes with a message from Chenle himself.
↬ y/nnn i’m sorryyyyy
↬ why what happened??
↬ something came up i cant make it i hope you two arent still waiting for me :(((
↬ awww it’s okay…
↬ but u should thank me
↬ why
↬ now u and jisung are able to go on a date MWAHAHAH
↬ shUT up
Jisung comes out of the bathroom and you explain the situation to him, fumbling to lock your phone before he could see any of the messages. You two make your way inside, getting your tickets and debating on different snacks.
You look over to see Jisung holding a large popcorn and your heart swells in your chest, remembering the very first time you had laid eyes on him. Remembering how far you two have come. He smiles at you before you grab the popcorn out of his hands.
During the movie, you can’t seem to focus; Chenle’s texts swarming your mind as you nervously glance over at Jisung from time to time. His eyes are fixated on the screen, a glow brushing over his cheeks. You admire how his face easily expresses how he feels on certain parts: eyebrows furrowing occasionally, his mouth agape in surprise, it all shows. He feels you staring and glances back at you before you look down at the popcorn in his hands and take a fistful to stuff in your mouth. He almost chokes at your reaction, covering his mouth before he starts laughing and people give him weird looks.
//
Jisung had failed his math exam on the following Monday as thoughts of you from the movies occupied his mind instead. It was bad. You were too cute for his own good.
Upon finding this out -- excluding what he thought about you -- you had suggested a spa day for the two of you in order to de-stress.
“For the hour at my house today can you actually stay for a bit longer so that we can have a skincare day?”
“Why???”
“I think you gotta pamper yourself more Jisung! Take care of yourself better!”
When you two arrived, the first thing you did was bring Jisung into your bathroom to wash your faces together. He fiddles with the cleanser before smearing it all over his face, making you laugh uncontrollably at how funny he looked.
“Okay after cleansing we gotta do toner!”
“What’s toner? Isn’t that the thing people use for printers?”
“Well it’s-- never-mind let me just put it on your face.”
You apply it onto a cotton pad before wiping it gently across Jisung’s skin. His skin was already so glowy, it made you somewhat envious. A strand of your hair keeps falling down while you lean over Jisung’s face as he sits on your closed toilet. Jisung continues to watch your hand move across his temples and the slope of his nose bridge before allowing his eyes to wander down to your wrist, then your arm, then your face. He naturally reaches out to your face with his pointer finger and gingerly tucks away the strand of hair. He allows his finger to linger there for a second, before placing it back down. The thumping of your heart makes you believe it could break out of your ribcage and onto his lap any second now. He clears his throat, not able to look at you in the eye again, before you finish applying the toner.
The previous incident is soon forgotten as the two of you ended up taking an excessive amount of selfies and embarrassing photos in face masks. Since Jisung had asked his parents to pick him up later you guys decided to take a nap while waiting for the masks to completely soak in. By now, Jisung and you have grown so comfortable with each other that napping together was an unspoken normality. This was okay between friends right?
When you open your eyes, Jisung is looking down at you fondly half-asleep. You think that you could fall asleep to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat every time, an ASMR only you could hear. He starts playing with your fingers absent-mindedly while you adjust to the situation.
“You smell good today.” Your voice is still a bit harsh from waking up.
“So I don’t smell good everyday?”
“Whatever Jisung.”
He softly chuckles and continues to play with your pinkie for a bit.
“You smell good too.”
//
Time ticked quicker than you were able to grasp it. The school year was suddenly already over before you knew it. On the last day of school Jisung had asked if you wanted to go to the amusement park with him, which you obviously agreed to.
There was still some unexpressed feelings between you and Jisung. Although you mutually somehow knew there was something there.
You guys ended up running around the park like a bunch of chickens without heads, having the time of your lives now that summer was upon you. Jisung had bought you guys iced tea while you were in the restroom, but since he only had enough change for one you guys ended up drinking from the same bottle. As you two went along, excited exchanges between you two also flew by.
“Let’s win that huge mouse plushie!!!”
“I’ll win it for you Jisung just sit back and watch.”
And you did. You won him that mouse plushie.
“Actually--shoot-- we should’ve ridden all the rides first before playing the games so we don’t have to carry around the prizes until we go home.”
“That’s actually smart… too bad you didn’t think of it earlier.”
“Can we ride the moominator first though???”
“I can’t ride roller coasters, they’re so scary!!”
“Well sucks to suck Jisung seeya I’m going to ride it…. BUY ME A CHUrrO in the meantime!”
“I DON’T HAVE ANY MORE MONEY!”
The sun began to set, and so did the energy you two had left. Jisung had suggested you guys ride a sky glider to watch the amazing view, and although you reject the idea due to your fear of heights you end up in the cart anyways.
“So you’re telling me you’re scared of rollercoasters but not sky gliders?”
“So you’re telling me you’re scared of sky gliders and not rollercoasters?” Jisung retorts back cheekily.
“Ya! You could literally die if this cord snaps okay? One little shake and we’re DEAD JISUNG. D-E-A-D!”
“Oh really?” you should’ve never have given Jisung the idea to shake the cart that contained the two of you, because now he was vigorously swinging his body.
You don’t say anything because your body is frozen still--the pit of your stomach creating a nest of nerves; your body filling itself with chills as the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your doom is the one thin horizontal railing.
Jisung misplaces his hand on the railing, slipping it over to your side of the cart, his body weight tilting it ever-so-slightly, causing you both to simultaneously freak out. You tightly grip Jisung’s arm, turning your head to look at him in full panic-mode, only then do you realize how close you two are.
Jisung becomes aware of the small space between you two as well, his grip on the railing that’s enclosing you getting even tighter than your grip on his arm. You see the sweat that begins to form at the corner of his forehead and the way he gulps when looking at you directly in the eyes.
“Ar-ar-aree y-you- o-ka-kay..??” he manages to stutter out, body never leaving the proximity of yours.
You two are trapped in this position. In the sky. The end far down.
You look at his eyes, and his slightly scrunched nose, and the way his mouth starts to form a thin line by pressing his lips together-- then your eyes revert themselves to the entirety of his face.
You would hate to admit it, but in that moment you thought maybe Jisung was hiding stars in his eyes.
You’re watching him, and it almost seems like he’s sliding even closer to you-- as if physically possible. Then, with the blink of an eye, in the heat of the moment, Jisung practically headbutts you in the face with his lips on your lips; giving himself whiplash as he breaks away from you surprised as if he didn’t just do that.
You both gasp and cover your mouths like little school children who had just learned about a silly secret.
“Oh my gosh” you mumble into your hands, and Jisung simply covers his entire face with his big ass hands.
You reach over and take his hands into yours before you peck him again. This time when you observe his face, the blush had crept up all the way to the tips of his ears to the point they were burning red.
He’s so embarrassed he squeals and covers his face again. This time he’s the one who squeaks into his palms, “again!”
He grabs your hot cheeks into his equally sweaty palms and presses his lips against yours, this time not as harshly and without the whiplash.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"HERE, IT'S FROM YOUR SISTER." mizuki reaches out to gojo who passes by the hallway of the dorms. she was in her normal clothing, her off day. a dark blue sweater engulfs her body along with the black jeans and hair that was tied in a mess with a single clip. she took a few steps to catch up the male that walked pass her room.
"huh? what is it." gojo turns to face her, taking in her homey look before inspecting the white paper bag in her hands. mizuki brings it out for the sorcerer to grab as she straightens up her posture.
"she's doing well, she talked a lot about you when i visited." she explains and exhales softly, catching her breath after having a hectic schedule.
"my giri no ani and nephew?" gojo takes the bag and looks through the contents which his sister had brought him from overseas.
"he's still capable of protecting them and safe delivery to onee-san." she puts her hand on her hip, a defeated smile to see how after all these years there was still that small distrust he felt towards his in-law. 'what an overgrown protective goof.'
"snacks, photos and... a letter?" he grabs out the small white envelope for both of them to see.
"letter?" mizuki repeats after him and watches as he opens up the envelope to read what was written inside. seeing that her job to deliver the presents that his sister had bought for him, her presence there was no longer needed. it's not as if he also would share what was the contents in the letter either, so mizuki went to take her leave.
"alright, your turn." gojo hums.
"what?" mizuki snaps back, turning her head to face him after her hand just reached her doorknob. gojo walks towards the short figure, "where's my souvenir?"
"what?" she asks once again, she had to know that he was messing around because, well, this is gojo we're talking about. her face scrunched up her nose, filling her expression with confusion and mild taste of shock when he didn't respond in the next seconds that he was joking.
"you heard me, mizuki fuyusame." gojo stands tall in front of her figure, to the point mizuki had to stretch her neck more than usual to see his blindfolded face. he let's out a small chuckle as he watches her expression transition into a scowl.
'ugh, i hate being called by my full name.' it wasn't something gojo would do often, but he did have a knack for annoying the other sensei of their school. "what makes you think i bought anything for you?"
"our precious yukihana told me so." he takes a step back, smirking mischievously as he watches mizuki's face start to slowly pale as dust of pink appear on her cheeks. "then again, you never give them to me and just keep them stuffed in your closet."
'that's why all the souvenirs i buy disappear. it was mari's doing.' mizuki's palm lands on her forehead, causing strands of her hair to fall on to her face. she really needed to fix her appearance right now, but dismissed that fact. groaning, she looks straight at gojo with full confidence.
"i didn't buy you anything, now leave me alone." clasping her hand onto her hair clip, she releases her silky brown locks so it would fall down her waist, stuffing the clamp into her hoodie's pocket. mizuki's wrist turns to open her door and leave, that was until gojo catches her attention.
"are you sure about that? what's this then." he holds up a light beige button up shirt in front of her, making her turn to look back at him. eyes went wide the moment it fell on the article, reaching out for the shirt only for him to bring it higher to a point which she couldn't reach.
"that's for me!" mizuki tries to jump up for the shirt, it was still too high for her to reach. 'stupid tall bastard!'
"mens size?" he hums out. mizuki who had given up trying to take back the shirt took a step back, crossing her arms and staring at the blindfolded man, "clothes have no gender. what does it being in the mens section have anything to do with what i wear?"
"how about wearing my shirts next then?" he took a step closer to mizuki as he plants a hand beside her head, trapping her between the suddenly closed door and his body. the smirk on his face was once more teasing the female, one which she quickly mirrored back.
"the same one you're wearing that's going to have a hole in it?" mizuki's hand gently laid atop gojo's chest, above his heart as she inches her face closer to his. her lips even centimeters away from touching his, tension built up.
"my pleasure, but let me kill you first."
"you never cease to give me chills."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"as much as i would love to stay and watch your teamwork flourish, i got some business to attend to." gojo grins and waves his hand to his four students who stare at him.
their mission was around the outskirts of shizuoka prefecture, many said that there were paranoia activity happening in the abandoned school building just right behind them. this was the mission mizuki had mentioned that day before.
"fuck off, you just didn't wanna be here for this mission." kiyara quickly swears at her sensei, eyes and lips flat as she knew this was just some sort of facade for the said man so he could go sugar hunting. if anything, she was confused exactly how he didn't develope diabetes yet with his sweet tooth.
"bingo! but you're all more than capable of clearing a grade two mission." gojo gives them a thumbs up along with his grin to brighten up their gloomy atmosphere.
to say the least the weather was completely terrible. rain clouds were approaching to the point it looked like even a storm was brewing, despite the fact it was morning. they were going to kill off curses in a shady abandoned school, to top it off, their sensei was irresponsible and decided he would leave his students up to the task as he goes to buy souvenirs while they could possibly die.
all was so dandy for him.
"i'm going to seriously punch you." fushiguro declares.
"anyways, i'll be back to pick you four up." turning on his heels he waves out to them.
"we got this. just go do whatever the hell you want and by the time you get back here, we'll already be out eating ramen." kiyara mirrors his actions, walking past her colleagues and towards the building.
"oh? is that some sort of encouragement for your classmates?" gojo glances behind him, looking to see any sort of reaction from her or even the rest of his students.
"no," stopping a few steps from her three classmates, she turns her head back to lock eye contact with her sensei ( or so she hoped she did ) and sends a smile. "just a fact."
'wow, she's either really confident or really stupid.' kugisaki furrows her brows at kiyara, she knew her opinion on her was a questionable one. but then again, maybe this was how all tokyo girls acted. she never really could put a certain thought on her.
"let's go." fushiguro was the first to follow her lead, the two catching up to them as they entered the building.
"this is one creepy school." kiyara states as she inspects the dark halls. her eyes look around to see if there were any curses that were lingering, while fushiguro's divine dogs continue to sniff them out.
"it's abandoned for a reason." fushiguro comments back at kiyara who lets a nervous giggle out.
"so, what was up with this place again?" itadori watches as shivers run down his spine, witnessing kiyara throw a dagger straight into fourth grade curse head without blinking an eye. both him and kugisaki give each other glances, this was different than the kiyara they first met.
"missing teens that would dare each other to come, appearently screams at night and moving shadows. the basics." picking up the cursed dagger on the wall after disposing of the curse, she slid it back by her right thigh.
"there's not a lot of curses here." kugisaki looks throughout the place, she too, threw a nail and slammed it with her hammer to exorcise a low grade curse.
"isn't this is a grade two mission?" itadori ponders and stares through ruined classroom windows, desks were broken and was completely dusted. 'probably been over fifteen years since someone last used this place...'
"it's in the gym." their advances came to a stop, fushiguro's divine dogs growling and barking at the door sealed with chains in front of them. itadori was the first to react, walking forwards and effortlessly kicking the metal door with ease. both doors fly across the gym auditorium causing dust to fly around the dimly lit room.
"what the hell does he eat?!" kiyara's mouth drops, kugisaki standing behind her also adds on, "right?! that isn't normal! it's freakishly weird! to top it off he chomped down sukuna fingers!"
"it was only backed up with aluminum metal and it's just old." itadori turns around and gives them a blank look, blinking as he scratches the nape of his neck.
"like hell that changes anything!" they scream.
"help me! please!" their eyes dart to a high school girl, one that seemed to be older than them. even in the dark, they can see the tint of blue that coloured her hair. a curse was holding her by the neck while their nail was stabbing through her waist.
"it has a hostage!" fushiguro screams out as all four of them run in only to be greeted with multiple lower grade curses.
"the gym's infested!" kugisaki brings out more of her nails, itadori grabbing hold of his slaughter demon as kiyara takes out her daggers.
"yuji, you're with me!" kiyara grabs hold of the pinkett's foresleeve and makes him dash with her towards the hostage.
"wait!ー huh? why are they suddenly fighting each other?" itadori stares at the scenes where a few curses had start to fight and destroy each other, confusing him. "is this your jujutsushiki?"
"faded." kiyara and itadori quickly split when a curse separates them, but suddenly it got confused when they 'disappeared' from it's sight. in complete sync the teenagers cut each arm off from both sides and sliced it in half before continuing.
"it let's me to make illusions and change my presence." she threw her daggers at the head of curse causing it to fly back, as itadori did the finishing touches by slicing it by the fingers and thrusting his weapon right through.
"that's pretty cool!" he grins and catches the hostage that fell into his arms, she instinctively wrapped her limbs around his body as itadori carried her bridal style.
"thank you so much... i was so scared." the girl hugs on to itadori, tears seeping through her deep forest hues as he crouches down on the floor, setting her to the ground. "you'll be fine now, onee-san."
'wait, this seems too easy...' kiyara picks up her daggers which were indented on the floor of the gym, throwing it once more for a curse to fade away. she felt something wrong with the scenery, like something was missing from the big picture.
'something's off.' she wasn't the only one that felt different about this mission, kugisaki and fushiguro were unsettled about the amount of low grade curses which grouped together.
'my shikigamo are still picking up curses, but where?' fushiguro watches as his one dog chewed the remaining corpse of a curse, the other growling in attack mode. he raises his brow, looking towards the direction it was barking at.
his eyes fell on itadori, kiyara and the girl they saved. he saw the tears which fell to the floor which glistened through the gloomy room. but from closer inspection, something moved around them, chains started to move.
"shit! she's a cursed spirit!" fushiguro screams to their direction as his heart starts to pound, no, no. eyes widen when his connected with kiyara's amethyst hues that were only filled with late realization. he tries to run to them, hand out to try and grasp her body.
The heavy door squeaked on its hinges, and I was alone with Jamie. Alone and afraid, and very, very doubtful about what I proposed to do.
I stood at the foot of the bed, watching him for a moment. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the brazier and by two enormous candlesticks, each nearly three feet tall, that stood on the table at the side of the room. He was naked, and the faint light seemed to accentuate the hollows left by the wasting fever. The multicolored bruise over the ribs stained the skin like a spreading fungus.
A dying man takes on a faint greenish tinge. At first just a touch at the edge of the jaw, this pallor spreads gradually, over the face and down the chest as the force of life begins to ebb. I had seen it many times. A few times, I had seen that deadly progress arrested and reversed, the skin flush with blood once more, and the man live. More often…I shook myself vigorously and turned away.
I brought my hand out of the folds of my robe and laid on the table the objects I had collected in a surreptitious visit to Brother Ambrose’s darkened workshop. A vial of spirits of ammonia. A packet of dried lavender. Another of valerian. A small metal incense burner, shaped like an open blossom. Two pellets of opium, sweet scented and sticky with resin. And a knife.
The room was close and stuffy with smoke from the brazier. The only window was covered with a heavy tapestry, one showing the execution of Saint Sebastian. I eyed the saint’s upturned face and arrow-punctured torso, wondering afresh at the mentality of the person who had chosen this particular decoration for a sickroom.
Indifferently rendered as it was, the tapestry was of heavy silk and wool, and excluded all but the strongest drafts. I lifted the lower edge and flapped it, urging the charcoal smoke out through the stone arch.
The cold, damp air that streamed in was refreshing, and did something to calm the throbbing that had started in my temples as I stared into the reflecting water, remembering.
There was a faint moan behind me, and Jamie stirred in the draft. Good. He was not deeply unconscious, then.
Letting the tapestry fall back over the window, I next took up the incense burner. I fixed one of the opium pellets on the spike and lighted it with one of the wax tapers for the candlesticks. I placed it on the small table near Jamie’s head, careful not to inhale the sickly fumes myself.
There was not much time. I must finish my preparations quickly, before the opium smoke drove him too far under to be roused.
I unlaced the front of my robe and rubbed my body quickly with handfuls of the lavender and valerian. It was a pleasant, spicy smell, distinctive and richly evocative. A smell that, to me, conjured the shade of the man who wore its perfume, and the shade of the man behind him; shades that evoked confusing images of present terror and lost love. A smell that, to Jamie, must recall the hours of pain and rage spent wrapped in its waves. I rubbed the last of it vigorously between my palms and dropped the fragrant shreds on the floor.
With a deep breath for courage, I picked up the vial of ammoniacal spirits. I stood by the bed a moment holding it, looking down at the gaunt, stubbled face. At most he might last a day; at the least, only a few more hours.
“All right, you bloody Scottish bastard,” I said softly. “Let’s see how stubborn you really are.” I lifted the injured hand, dripping, from the water and set the soaking dish aside.
I opened the vial and waved it closely under his nose. He snorted and tried to turn his head away, but didn’t open his eyes. I dug my fingers into the hair on the back of his head to prevent his turning away, and brought the vial back to his face. He shook his head slowly, swinging it from side to side like an ox roused from slumber, and his eyes came open just a crack.
“Not done yet, Fraser,” I whispered in his ear, trying as best I could to catch the rhythm of Randall’s clipped consonants.
Jamie moaned and hunched his shoulders. I grasped him by both shoulders and shook him roughly. His skin was so hot I nearly let go.
“Wake up, you Scottish bastard! I’m not done with you yet!” He began to struggle up onto his elbows with a pitiful effort at obedience that nearly broke my heart. His head was still shaking back and forth, and the cracked lips were muttering something that sounded like “please not yet” over and over again.
Strength failing, he rolled to one side and collapsed facedown on the pillow again. The room was beginning to fill with opium smoke and I felt mildly dizzy.
I gritted my teeth and plunged my hand between his buttocks, gripping one curving round. He screamed, a high breathy sound, and rolled painfully sideways, curling into a ball with his hands clasped between his legs.
I had spent the hour in my chamber, hovering over my pool of reflection, conjuring memories. Of Black Jack Randall and of Frank, his six-times-great-grandson. Such very different men, but with such startling physical similarities.
It tore me to think of Frank, to recall his face and voice, his mannerisms, his style of lovemaking. I had tried to obliterate him from my mind, once my choice was made in the circle of stone, but he was always there, a shadowy figure in the recesses of my mind.
I felt sick with betrayal of him, but in the extremity I had forced my mind to clear as Geilie had shown me, concentrating on the flame of the candle, breathing the astringency of the herbs, calming myself until I could bring him from the shadows, see the lines of his face, feel once more the touch of his hand without weeping.
There was another man in the shadows, with the same hands, the same face. Eyes filled with the candle flame, I had brought him forward, too, listening, watching, seeing the likenesses and the differences, building a—a what? A simulacrum, a persona, an impression, a masquerade.
A shaded face, a whispered voice, and a loving touch that I might bring to deceive a mind adrift in delirium. And I left my chamber at last, with a prayer for the soul of the witch Geillis Duncan.
Jamie was on his back now, writhing slightly against the pain of his wounds. His eyes were fixed and staring, with no sign of recognition.
I caressed him in the way I knew so well, tracing the line of his ribs from breastbone to back, lightly as Frank would have done, pressing hard on the aching bruise, as I was sure the other would have. I leaned forward and ran
my tongue slowly around his ear, tasting and probing, and whispered, “Fight me! Fight back, you filthy scut!”
His muscles tightened and his jaw clenched, but he continued to stare upward. No choice, then. I would have to use the knife after all. I knew the risk I was taking in this, but better to kill him myself, I thought, than to sit quietly by and let him die.
I took the knife from the table and drew it firmly across his chest, along the path of the freshly healed scar. He gasped with the shock of it, and arched his back. Seizing a towel, I scrubbed it briskly over the wound. Before I could falter, I forced myself to run my fingers over his chest, scooping up a gout of blood which I rubbed savagely over his lips. There was one phrase that I didn’t have to invent, having heard it myself. Bending low over him, I whispered, “Now kiss me.”
I was not at all prepared for it. He hurled me half across the room as he came up off the bed. I staggered and fell against the table, making the giant candlesticks sway. The shadows darted and swung as the wicks flared and went out.
The edge of the table had struck me hard across the back, but I recovered in time to dodge away as he lunged for me. With an inarticulate growl, he came after me, hands outstretched.
He was both faster and stronger than I expected, though he staggered awkwardly, bumping into things. He cornered me for a moment between the brazier and the table, and I could hear his breath rasping harshly in his throat as he grabbed for me.
He smashed his left hand toward my face; had his strength and reflexes been anything like normal, the blow would have killed me. Instead, I jerked to one side, and his fist glanced off my forehead, knocking me to the floor, mildly stunned.
I crawled under the table. Reaching for me, he lost his balance and fell against the brazier. Glowing coals scattered across the stone floor of the chamber.
He howled as his knee crunched heavily into a patch of hot coal. I seized a pillow from the bed and beat out a smoldering nest of sparks in the trailing bedcover. Preoccupied with this, I didn’t notice his approach, until a solid clout across the head knocked me sprawling.
The cot overturned as I tried to pull myself up with a hand on the frame. I lay sheltering behind it for a moment, trying to get my senses back. I could hear Jamie hunting me in the semidarkness, breath rasping between incoherent phrases of Gaelic cursing. Suddenly he caught sight of me and flung himself over the bed, eyes mad in the dim light.
It is difficult to describe in detail what happened next, if only because everything happened a number of times, and the times all overlap in my memory. It seems as though Jamie’s burning hands closed on my neck only once, but that once went on forever. In fact, it happened dozens of times. Each time I managed to break his grip and throw him off, to retreat once more, dodging and ducking around the wrecked furniture. And once again he would follow, a man pulled by rage from the edge of death, swearing and sobbing, staggering and flailing wildly.
Deprived of the sheltering brazier, the coals died quickly, leaving the room black as pitch and peopled with demons. In the last flickers of light, I saw him crouched against the wall, maned in fire and mantled in blood, penis stiff against the matted hair of his belly, eyes blue murder in a skull-white face. A Viking berserker. Like the Northern devils who burst from their dragon-ships into the mists of the ancient Scottish coast, to kill and plunder and burn.
Men who would kill with the last ounce of their strength. Who would use that last strength to rape and sow their violent seed in the bellies of the conquered. The tiny incense burner gave no light, but the sickly smell of opium clogged my lungs. Though the coals were out, I saw lights in the darkness, colored lights that floated at the edge of my vision.
Movement was becoming harder; I felt as though I were wading through water thigh-deep, pursued by monstrous fish. I lifted my knees high, running in slow motion, feeling the water splash against my face.
I shook off the dream, to realize that there was in fact wetness on my face and hands. Not tears, but blood, and the sweat of the nightmare creature I grappled with in the dark.
Sweat. There was something I should remember about sweat, but I couldn’t recall it. A hand tightened on my upper arm and I pulled away, a slick film left on my skin.
Around and around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. But something was wrong, it was the weasel chasing me, a weasel with sharp white teeth that pierced my forearm. I hit out at it and the teeth let go, but the claws…around and around the mulberry bush…
The demon had me up against the wall; I could feel stone behind my head and stone beneath my grasping fingers, and a stone-hard body pressing hard against me, bony knee between my own, stone and bone, between my own…legs, more stony hardness…ah. A softness amidst the hardness of life, pleasant coolness in the heat, comfort in the midst of woe…
We fell locked together to the floor, rolling over and over, tangled in the folds of the fallen tapestry, washed in the drafts of cold air from the window. The mists of madness began to recede.
We bashed into some piece of furniture and both lay still. Jamie’s hands were locked on my breasts, fingers digging bruisingly into the flesh.
I felt the plop of dampness on my face, sweat or tears, I couldn’t tell, but opened my eyes to see. Jamie was looking down at me, face blank in the moony light, eyes wide, unfocused. His hands relaxed. One finger gently traced the outline of my breast, from slope to tip, over and over. His hand moved to cup the breast, fingers spread like a starfish, soft as the grip of a nursing child.
“M-mother?” he said. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. It was the high, pure voice of a young boy. “Mother?”
The cold air laved us, whirling the unhealthy smoke away in a drift of snowflakes. I reached up and laid the palm of my hand along his cold cheek.
“Jamie, love,” I said, whispering through a bruised throat, “Come then, come lay your head, man.” The mask trembled then and broke, and I held the big body hard against me, the two of us shaking with the force of his sobbing.
It was, by considerable good luck, the unflappable Brother William who found us in the morning. I woke groggily to the sound of the door opening, and snapped to full consciousness when I heard him clear his throat emphatically before saying “Good morning to ye,” in his soft Yorkshire drawl.
The heavy weight on my chest was Jamie. His hair had dried in bronze streaks and whorled over my breasts like the petals of a Chinese chrysanthemum. The cheek pressed against my sternum was warm and slightly sticky with sweat, but the back and arms I could touch were as cold as my thighs, chilled by the winter air gusting in on us.
Daylight streaming through the uncurtained window revealed the full extent of the wreckage I had only dimly realized the night before; smashed furniture and crockery littered the room, and the massive paired candlesticks lay like fallen logs in the midst of a tangle of torn hangings and scattered bedclothes.
From the pattern of indentations impressing itself painfully into my back, I thought I must be lying on the indifferently executed tapestry of St. Sebastian the Human Pincushion; no great loss to the monastery, if so.
Brother William stood motionless in the doorway, jug and basin in hand. With great precision, he fixed his eyes on Jamie’s left eyebrow and inquired, “And how do you feel this morning?”
There was a rather long pause, during which Jamie considerately remained in place, blanketing most of me from view. At last, in the hoarse tones of one to whom a revelation has been vouchsafed, he replied, “Hungry.”
“Oh, good,” said Brother William, still staring hard at the eyebrow, “I’ll go and tell Brother Josef.” The door closed soundlessly behind him.
“Nice of you not to move,” I remarked. “I shouldn’t like us to be responsible for giving Brother William impure thoughts.”
Dense blue eyes stared down at me. “Aye, well,” he said judiciously, “a view of my arse is no going to corrupt anyone’s Holy Orders; not in its present condition. Yours, though…” He paused to clear his throat.
“What about mine?” I demanded.
The bright head lowered slowly to plant a kiss on my shoulder. “Yours,” he said, “would compromise a bishop.”
“Mmmphm.” I was, I felt, getting rather good at Scottish noises myself. “Be that as it may, perhaps you should move now. I don’t suppose even Brother William’s tact is infinite.”
Jamie lowered his head next to mine with some care, laying it on a fold of tapestry, from which he peered sideways at me. “I dinna know how much of last night I dreamed and how much was real.” His hand unconsciously strayed to the scratch across his chest. “But if half what I thought happened really happened, I should be dead now.”
“You’re not. I looked.” With some hesitation, I asked, “Do you want to be?”
He smiled slowly, eyes half-closing. “No, Sassenach, I don’t.”
His face was gaunt and shadowed with illness and fatigue, but peaceful, the lines around his mouth smoothed out and the blue eyes clear. “But I’m damned close to it, want to or not. The only reason I think I’m not dying now is that I’m hungry. I wouldna be hungry if I were about to die, do ye think? Seems a waste.” One eye closed altogether, but the other stayed half-open, fixed on my face with a quizzical expression.
“You can’t stand up?”
He considered carefully. “If my life depended on it, I might possibly lift my head again. But stand up? No.”
With a sigh, I wriggled out from under him and righted the bed before trying to lever him into a vertical position. He managed to stand for only a few seconds before his eyes rolled back and he fell across the bed. I groped frantically for the pulse in his neck, and found it, slow and strong, just below the three-cornered scar at the base of his throat. Simple exhaustion. After a month of imprisonment and a week of intense physical and mental stress, starvation, injury, sickness and high fever, even that vigorous frame had finally come to the end of its resources.
“The heart of a lion,” I said, shaking my head, “and the head of an ox. Too bad you haven’t also got the hide of a rhinoceros.” I touched a freshly bloodied weal on his shoulder.
He opened one eye. “What’s a rhinoceros?”
“I thought you were unconscious!”
“I was. I am. My head’s spinning like a top.”
I drew a blanket up over him. “What you need now are food and rest.”
“What you need now,” he said, “are clothes.” And shutting the eye again, he fell promptly asleep.
Fandom: One Piece
Rating: Teen
Warnings: minor injury, drowning
Characters: Penguin, Law, Shachi, Bepo
They'd got too confident. With the news that Doflamingo had finally left North Blue to go on to bigger and better things in the Grand Line, they'd stopped hiding and started acting a little more like pirates. You'd have thought that Penguin and Shachi, at least, would have remembered that there were always bigger fish around, but with Doflamingo their only focus for the past three years, they'd long since stopped seeing other pirate crews as a credible threat.
Hence Penguin's current situation.
"Listen kid," the clearly-drunk man spat in his face, saliva landing unpleasantly on his cheek. His breath stank, and it took everything Penguin had not to recoil in disgust. "Playing pirates is all well and good, but you've gotta do it at home, where you can run to Mummy once the day's done. Leave the real pirating to those that know what they're doing."
Penguin spat back in his face, grinning triumphantly when he scored a direct hit to his aggressor's eye. The vicious backhand he got was worth it, even giving him an additional liquid to spit, which he did, admiring how the crimson made it look like the man was crying blood.
"You punk!" one of the man's companions roared, kicking him solidly in the back. His hands shackled behind him, Penguin failed to keep his balance and crashed down onto his side. From the corresponding pain in his arm, he'd at the least pulled a muscle in all the chaos.
He hadn't been looking for trouble, per say. It had been his turn to do the supply run, while Law browsed the town for medical whatsits (the captain might have been teaching them basic nursing, but that didn't mean he understood half the jargon the younger teen spouted). Shachi and Bepo had been left behind to guard the Polar Tang. He'd thought – they'd all thought – that he could handle a small bit of trouble if it arose, but he'd failed to realise the drunk pirates were out of his league until it was too late. His shopping was long since ruined, trampled into the ground by muddied boots, and he knew he would be sporting a beautiful black eye the next morning, to say nothing of the bruised bones and cuts he'd suffered when the assholes revealed they weren't averse to using a knife on an unarmed kid.
Penguin figured he should probably start arming himself, if he was going to be trounced that easily by a group of drunkards. Of course, that relied on him getting himself out of his current situation without irreversible damage. The crude yet effective cuffs on his wrists were proving to be quite the problem, the locks out of reach to pick.
A rough hand grabbed his arm – the one with the probably damaged muscle, the bastard – and began to drag him down the cobbled street, towards the harbour.
"I'll show you what happens to disrespectful brats," the drunk pirate declared as Penguin bit back as many noises of pain as he could. They stopped at the end of the wharf; Penguin could see the grey of the Polar Tang at the other end of the harbour, recognisable only by its unusual shape. At that distance, Shachi and Bepo wouldn't be able to see him, and they weren't stupid enough to interfere with random fights. On the plus side, the Polar Tang wasn't that far… if, as he suspected, he got thrown into the water then he could just swim for it, leaving the pirates none the wiser.
That plan went out the window the moment his ankle was grabbed, hoisting his leg up and overbalancing him, leaving him suspended by the grip on his ankle.
"You think you can swim for it, little water bird?" His hat fell from his head to land on the boards below him. Of course the drunkard had read what it said, because he clearly wasn't so intoxicated he wasn't aware of his surroundings. Penguin cursed silently again, and tried to lash out with his foot as he felt something heavy clamp around his captive ankle. "Let's see how well penguins swim with their wings clipped, shall we?"
He barely had time to take a breath, storing as much air in his lungs as he could before he was flying through the air, helpless against gravity as he crashed into the surface of the water and sank like a stone.
He dimly heard someone scream his name as the water closed above his head, and looked up at the surface to see the distorted view of his captain throwing himself at the drunk pirates, short sword in one hand and a blue Room expanding from the other.
The water was Penguin's playground. He could cut through the waves as easily as Law's Amputate sliced through flesh, finding comfort and solace in the way the water moved against his skin.
Not this time.
He writhed, fighting against the cuffs binding his wrists together tightly behind his back, but the water hadn't weakened them at all, and his injured shoulder cried out in protest as he tried to manipulate it to get his bound hands in front of him to no avail. A problem, but not an insurmountable one. Penguin refused to panic. He'd swum without using his hands before. It was harder, but not impossible.
Swimming with his hands bound behind his back, a shoulder in agony, and lead weights tied to his ankle was outside of even Penguin's ability, he discovered in horror as his attempts to kick towards the surface were thwarted by the weight. With his arms behind his back, he couldn't manipulate himself to tug them off, so he renewed his efforts to move them over his head, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. A dislocation was better than death.
He'd managed to claim a decent amount of air just before being dunked, but it wasn't infinite. As he sank lower and lower, dragged down by his weighted ankle, the bubbles escaping from his mouth were increasing in number. His time was running out rapidly, and the exertion and agony he was putting himself through to try and contort his body into a position he could use to swim was wasting more air than he'd have liked.
It might have been smarter to let himself sink limply, preserving his air for as long as possible, but Penguin had no delusions about rescue. While Law had seen him sink, his captain couldn't swim and wasn't stupid enough to think his devil fruit would suddenly forget it hated him in light of Penguin's drowning. The Polar Tang was the other end of the harbour, and Law had been too busy fighting to call for Bepo or Shachi. Quick calculations told Penguin that his air wouldn't hold out long enough for one of the two to find him.
A particularly rough twist of his shoulder had him involuntarily crying out in pain, air rushing out of his mouth all at once before the water began to rush in. A rookie mistake, he cursed himself even as he tried to close his mouth to the invading water. His air was out now, and it would be seconds, not minutes, before the pressure forced him to gulp, drawing water into his lungs faster than Law could make a Room.
The harbour was deep – they'd chosen it for that exact reason – and the light was beginning to fade. It could also be the lack of air clouding his eyesight, Penguin realised as the pressure got too much for his jaw and lungs, wrenching his mouth open in search of air that was nowhere to be found.
As the water rushed in and his sight dimmed, he thought he saw a dark shape in the water, heading straight for him.
A whale? was his last, delirious, thought.
His eyes snapped open suddenly as he retched, water expelling itself violently from his mouth before he shuddered, pained lungs labouring to draw in the precious air between coughs that felt as if his respiratory system had decided his body was a dead weight and was seeking freedom from its limp confines.
"Oh, thank god," he heard someone breathe, fingers carefully dragging through his hair.
It was then that the hard surface beneath his side registered, and the sweet sweet oxygen filling his aching lungs.
He wasn't in the water any more.
His eyes didn't want to open, but Penguin fought them until they begrudgingly gave in. An orange blob floated in front of his face. Odd. He forced a slow blink, and then another, watching as it began to gain definition.
Shachi. A dripping wet, very worried Shachi. Oops.
"Is he awake?" That was Law's voice, strained and oddly choked up. "Penguin, can you hear me?" A familiar spotted hat forced its way into his view, and he gave a weak grin, his eyes finally focusing enough to take in the scene presented to him. Behind Law and Shachi was an arm. Just one, singular arm. It wasn't attached to anything at all. Beside it was a head, which seemed to be screaming profanities. Penguin hadn't even noticed, but the sight was satisfying. The drunk pirate still had that trickle of blood falling from his eye. "Penguin?"
Law sounded in pain, so Penguin returned his attention to him. He didn't look injured, but his eyes were red and slightly puffy. It didn't look right.
"Sorry," he finally rasped, feeling like he'd swallowed sandpaper and washed it down with an impressive dose of metal filings. "I lost the shopping."
"Who cares about the shopping, you dumbass!" Shachi erupted, the fingers in his hair tightening. Penguin didn't have the energy to wince. "Don't you dare scare us like that ever again, you hear me?"
Penguin grinned again, closing his eyes to a sharp call of his name from Law.
"Lemme sleep," he slurred, too exhausted from his ordeal to bother with proper diction. "'M okay, promise," he added as a small hand rested on his shoulder lightly. The action reminded him of his aching shoulder, and he let out a groan of protest, which devolved into further coughing.
"No, you're not," Law said sternly, sounding as if he'd entered his 'doctor mode', as the rest of them liked to call it. "Shachi, help me." There was a grunt of acknowledgement, and Penguin felt himself being manoeuvred to his feet, arms wrapping around him from both sides. Feeling utterly boneless, Penguin slumped forwards, almost dragging them back to the ground with him.
"Watch it," Shachi complained, but it lacked his usual bite as Penguin felt him readjust his grip.
"Penguin, you need to stay awake until we get back to the Tang," Law told him. "You can sleep there, I promise."
He let out a sound that was supposed to be acknowledgement as he felt them pull him along, although it sounded like a drunken slur, and tried to persuade his legs to cooperate with limited success.
He made it as far as Bepo, who sounded like he'd jumped off the submarine as soon as they were close enough, before he couldn't fight any more, collapsing into warm fluffy arms.
"Close enough, I suppose," he heard Law sigh as Bepo lifted him easily to carry him the rest of the way, before he knew no more.
Warnings: blood, gore, violence, and other gang-related themes, NSFW themes, swearing
Word Count: 2.5k
Let me know if the read more bar doesn’t work & let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
The first thing you noticed when you came to was the stinging that instantly turned into a sharp pain in your neck. You tried to move your hands to the spot but instantly realised that your wrists were bound together, the rope cutting into your skin.
Your eyes blinked rapidly as they tried to fix your blurry vision, and when your sight cleared you noticed you were in what seemed to be a cargo storage room. A loud horn from outside made your head thump, and you could only assume that you were somewhere around ships.
“What the fuck?” You mumbled. Your bare legs were covered with goosebumps, and you realised that whoever had taken you had covered you in a large, puffy jacket and a pair of thin pyjama shorts, since you went to bed in a towel.
The nerves under the ropes in your wrists screamed at you with pain as you twisted them, trying to see if you could loosen their hold; it was too tight.
Suddenly, the sound of what seemed to be high-heels clicking against the floor, caused your actions to halt as your eyes darted around the dimly lit area. A woman, no older than twenty strides into your view and you sucked in a sharp breath.
Her hair was bleach blonde and thin, telling you that she constantly dyed the poor strands. The tight black dress hugged her petite body, as she reached for the chair that you hadn’t even realised was placed next to you.
Placing the chair down a few meters in front of you, you watched as she brushed off the dust and sat herself down; her piercing green eyes meeting yours. The bright red lipstick she was wearing was slightly smeared and a red mark was vibrant against her pale cheek.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” her perky voice finally broke the tense silence. “There’s a pretty high bounty on your head, you know?”
Not replying to her, she scooted the chair closer to you.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I’ve been ordered not to.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched her hands nervously rub her knees. You could take her on. Your brain rattled with ways to divert her attention so you could make your move. Whoever had tied you up made the mistake of not bounding your legs.
“How did you find me?” You settled on, causing her eyes to light up.
“Oh! I’m not the one who found you,” she lightly laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I work for the Holland’s. My boyfriend brought you in.”
“The Holland’s? As in Tom?”
Your heart thumped against your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Tom wouldn’t do something like this to you. Would he?
“No, Dominic Holland - Tom’s dad. I thi-”
“Stacey!”
Both you and the girl jumped as booming voice came from behind you. Your head snapped around to meet the face of two men. The one with dull red hair walked straight over to the girl, while the other made his way to you.
“Grant, come get your girlfriend!”
The girl – Stacey – was pulled from her seat as she tried not to fall face first into the cement floor; tripping over her black stilettos. A greasy man, who was definitely in need of a bath jogged over to the girl, grabbing her forearm.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing talking to her?” The greasy guy ridiculed, getting way too close up in her face. Stacey’s whole body trembled and you could tell that he was an abusive piece of shit.
“Why don’t you let her the fuck go?” You didn’t even realise that you had spoken up until everyone’s heads snapped to you.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Your eyes widened slightly when the greasy guy began to step towards you, relaxing slightly when the redhead placed a hand on his chest to stop him. That relief was cut short though when you were roughly pulled to your feet.
“Keep your mouth shut princess,” the guy hauling you up whispered; his British accent strong. “You’re only going to get yourself in more trouble.”
Yanking you over to the chair that Stacey was previously sat in, he pushed your shoulder until you fell backward onto the seat.
“Where the fuck is your father?” Greasy guy angrily asked the two boys, shoving the red head who was slightly smaller than him away. Stacey quickly took a few steps backward.
“He’s coming. Probably informing Y/L/N that we have her.”
Your eyes, darted up at the boy standing next to you when he mentioned your last name. You wanted to ask what he was talking about, but no words came out.
“Well he better be here soon, I didn’t go through all the trouble to get her for him not to show. Plus, Tom’s probably got his men searching for me already.”
“Our brother isn’t going to fucking find you,” the redhead spoke through gritted teeth. “Besides, you got your fucking money – you’re free to go.”
Our brother. Tom. Their brother was Tom?
Your thoughts swarmed your mind and you barely had time to register the sight in front of you. Greasy man tried to pull Stacey along with him, but she refused to go causing him to slap his hand across her cheek. Her soft cries met your ears and you would’ve lurched yourself at the asshole had the boy next to you not pushed you back into the seat.
“Grant, leave Stacey with us,” the boy holding you in place suggested, leaving no room for disagreement. Grant only gave Stacey one more shove which caused her to fall backward onto the floor.
The red head tugged Grant away by the back of his shirt, and they disappeared from your sight.
“Don’t fucking move,” the guy next to you bit out, quickly making his way over to Stacey who was a sobbing mess. You heard the boy mumble out something that sounded like an ‘I’m so sorry baby,’ as he cradled her in his arms.
Realising that she wasn’t calming down, he gently lifted her up and began walking in the direction that the red head had gone, not before glancing at you one final time and threatening you.
“If you even move from that fucking seat, you’ll end up swimming with the fucking fishes.”
“What the do you mean she’s gone?!”
Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was currently in his bedroom changing out of his bloody suit when Harrison stormed in, cheeks flushed from running so fast.
“I mean she’s gone Tom! She wasn’t in her room so I searched all over the fucking compound for her but-”
“Have you told Trish?”
Harrison rapidly shook his head as he noticed his best friend’s eyes begin to once again burn with rage. “I went straight to Trish’s room but she wasn’t there either, I asked a few of the guys but they haven’t seen her all day.”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Tom I-”
“Call her! Call your fucking girlfriend right now!” Tom cut Harrison off once again, tugging a loose grey shirt on. It was more comfortable than the suits he had to wear every day.
Harrison’s hands fumbled with his phone as he tried to type his password. Tom was running his hands through his hair and tugging at the roots so hard he thought he was going to end up bald by the morning.
“It’s ringing,” Harrison spoke up, putting the phone on speaker. The tone made Tom anxious and he frustratedly slammed his palm into the shelf next to him when Trish’s voicemail began to speak.
“Do you think they’re together?”
Tom ignored his friends questions and reached under his pillow to pull out the his very first gun. The very same gun his dad had trained him to use. He made sure the clip was loaded before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.
“I was planning on getting a fucking drink and then some very much needed sleep after the events of today, but the universe won’t do me that favour will it?”
Storming out of his room, Tom made his way to where his men and women were drinking and gambling in the speakeasy downstairs. Their attention immediately averted to Tom and Harrison as they made their way over to the small stage that was usually never used.
“Today we were compromised, which I want to thank you for helping deal with,” Tom’s voice bellowed causing a bunch of whoops and cheers to start. “However, we’ve been compromised once again!”
The gangs excitement was quickly replaced with a rush of people standing and pulling out their guns, getting ready incase they were ambushed.
“You can put your weapons away – we’re not under attack, but I need you guys to tell me some shit. We were keeping a girl here who’s father was searching for her. A bunch of our rivals are coming after her, but it seems like some of our own have chosen the wrong side.”
Everyone began shouting their questions about what he means at Tom who quickly shut everyone up by raising his hands. “My father has been in contact with some of you. I don’t know who, but I do know that one of the people he spoke to just took her!”
Tom’s eyes scanned the room for anyone he deemed to look suspicious but he had trained his men not to show weakness so he couldn’t tell which of his people betrayed him.
“Who’s missing from the group?” Everyone’s heads looked around the room before a bald guy rose from his seat and spoke up.
“Grant went missing a couple of hours ago, said he was bored of the party and wanted to go to bed.”
“Thank you. Harrison go check if Grant is fucking sleeping,” Tom ordered Harrison, who was already making his way out of the speakeasy. “One more thing, have any of you seen my right hand woman, Patricia?”
A series of “No’s” came but the girl next to the bald guy quickly tried to get Tom’s attention. Shutting everyone up once again with the raise of his hand, Tom nodded towards her.
“She was talking with Grant at the bar right before he left. I don’t know what about, but it looked tense.”
Tom’s chest tightened at her words, and he clenched his fists. Trish wouldn’t betray him; she knew what happened when people went behind his back. They ended up dead.
Tom didn’t say anything more, as he exited the speakeasy meeting an equally angry Harrison in the hall.
“What is it?” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was exhausted.
“Grant wasn’t asleep, but I found these in his bedside table.” Tom snatched the tiny bottles out of Harrison’s hands and looked at the labels.
Anaesthetic.
“Fuck!” Was the only thing that Tom could find himself yelling and before he knew what he was doing, the bottles were shattering against the wall.
“Tom! Hey, you need to calm down!”
“Calm down! How the fuck do I calm down when my girlfriend is missing Harrison?!”
Harrison took a small step backward at the sharpness of Tom’s words, but felt a smirk grow across his face before he could stop it.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Tom snarled, hands clenching and unclenching.
“Your girlfriend?”
Tom only shook his head and let out a weak ‘shut up’ before making his way to their infirmary. He rarely ever visited the place, leaving it up to his gang to bring him appropriate weapons. So upon seeing Tom, infirmary keeper Dale almost had a damn heart attack.
The older man quickly rose from his small rocking chair and walked over to the boy who he considered a son. Dale had worked for Dom when he was the mob leader and practically helped raise Tom when his parents were hardly around. Tom pulled Dale into a brief hug before getting down to business.
“What can I do for you son?”
“You know my dad better than anyone else right?”
Dale gave Tom a sheepish smile and he slowly sat back down in his seat. “I wouldn’t say better than anyone, but I do know him pretty well.”
“So you would know all of his hiding places?”
“All his favourites.”
The smirk on Tom’s face grew and he turned to look at Harrison who was mirroring his expression. Dale pointed a shaky finger to the notebook that was on the workbench in the middle of the room, and Tom swiftly removed the machete from on top of it and passed the book to Dale.
The older man pulled a pen out from his shirt pocket, flipping through a few pages before he started writing. Tom’s eyes scanned around the small room that was in pristine condition.
All machine weaponry was on the right wall while all melee weapons were on the left; all behind bullet proof glass. The wall behind Dale’s chair appeared clear but Tom knew that with the right button it opened to reveal their ecstasy import.
“Here’s a few of his hideouts, houses, warehouses and such. Be careful Thomas, you might want to send out some of our soldiers.”
“Don’t worry about it Dale,” Tom smiled, taking the page that the man held out to him. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Your father has associates, they’re probably out scouting the place incase of an attack. Don’t go making any rash decisions.”
Giving the older man a quick handshake, Tom promised not to make any stupid decisions before gesturing to Harrison to follow him. The men travelled in silence until they reached Tom’s office. Ignoring the mess around them, Tom passed the sheet of paper to Harrison.
“I need you to gather a few groups of our men to leave first thing tomorrow morning for a few of those places. I won’t be able to scout them all myself.”
“Got it.”
“I have a strong idea about where he is and I’m going to go there. Alone. So don’t tell the men to go to the second to last warehouse.”
“Tom, I don’t thin-”
“I don’t care,” cutting Harrison’s protest off, Tom waited until his best friend nodded before he continued. “You’re going to be my underboss while I’m gone. I trust you to make decisions and if anything happens to me, I trust you to take over. Understood?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
Gesturing for Harrison to leave, Tom waited until his best friend was gone before glancing around the room; his eyes landing on the small frame on the wall.
It was a photo of him and his family at the hospital moments after his younger brothers were born. They were all smiling with the goofiest grins on their face; Tom’s small arms tightly wrapped around his fathers neck staring at the man with nothing but adoration – and he couldn’t help but wonder.
How could you go from loving someone so much to hating them with a burning passion? It just doesn’t make sense.
Pairing: None, Sibling!Tony X Sibling!Reader, Implied!Steve X Reader
Warnings!: Mentions of Rape, Noncon Elements, Torture, blood, gore, wounds (Please heed the warnings! This is not super graphic but it does go slightly into detail!)
Request: Eyyy, was wondering if I could request something? Was thinking of tony having a sister who fights on Cap’s side during CACW and ends up getting tortured on the raft. Lots of angst plz!!!!! (And if ur comfortable could you be more descriptive with the torture part?)
Masterlist
a/n: You asked for angst...I deliver angst. Also, I made Tony sorta an asshole. Sorry not sorry
“[Y/n]?”
The soft, agonized sound of your name coming from the Iron Man suit floating across the airport from you tore at your heart.
But you didn’t let your face betray your churning emotions.
“Tony...They chose their side.” Steve’s voice carried across the distance without a need for shouting. The strength in him bolstering your own.
Even though you were Tony’s little sister, you did not agree with his way of handling the current issues happening within the Avengers, especially when he locked up Wanda without talking to anyone.
Blood may be thicker than water, and all that jazz, but you needed to stand by your beliefs. Which led to you being on the opposite side of your brother, ready to fight him.
“[Y/n]...” You felt, more than heard, the sigh your brother gave.
Once more your heart pulled at you to comfort him.
For so long, it had been you two against the world. A distant father who never wanted anything to do with you, a mother who tried her hardest that you barely remembered, because they had been killed during a car accident when you were still a child.
Tony had raised you single handedly, and you helped build Stark Enterprise from the ground up after your brother inherited it. You had cried and screamed when the video surfaced of your brother being tortured and held captive in Afghanistan. You had been beside him when Fury approached him about the Avengers initiative. You had teased him for years about his crush on Pepper.
He had held your hand when you walked to school the week after your parents deaths. He had taught you how to build your own Iron Suit. He had helped you hone your mutation. He had let your cry on his shoulder when your date stood you up and later, he took you out for ice cream after scaring the boy into apologizing. He called you as soon as he escaped and Rhodey found him in the desert. He let you handle the inner details regarding the Avengers Initiative and he was the one who talked to Fury about letting you join. He had teased you about your crush on Steve.
“Whatever. Underoos!”
And a small red bundle flew by and ripped Steve’s shield out of his hands and weird white fluid stuck his hands together.
And the next thing you knew, you were running alongside Clint towards your former teammates and family member.
Using your mutation, you kept Rhodey from hitting Scott as he flew through the air on one of Clint’s arrows.
Keeping an eye on your brother and Bucky, you kept Wanda safe as she let Bucky and Steve run into the hangar where the Jet was.
Running, you tried to stop the weird guy in the fursona of a cat, but a swift kick to your head knocked you to the ground.
Groaning, you looked up and a blurry image of a red android floated before you.
“Stay down Ms. Stark. For your own safety, please don’t resist.”
The calm, cool, and confident voice of the previous Jarvis turned Vision, made its way into your foggy head.
Flopping back down, you heard the rumble of a jet and watched with a satisfied smirk as the jet flew overhead.
Vision didn’t leave your side, tilting his head at your prone self, he noticed the smirk, “You are glad that Rhodey seems to be paralyzed?”
You froze. Your smirk sliding off your face. You squinted at the android. The kick he had delivered to your head still messing with your eyes.
“What?”
Vision nodded slowly, no emotion on his face, “It seems Rhodey fell at a high velocity and crashed.”
Your heart broke for your brother’s best friend. The man who was a sort of Uncle to you.
“Hands in the air! Raise them up! Stay still!”
Orders screamed through the dust settling across the airport. Men in black ops and holding rifles stormed the area.
As one roughly dragged you up to your feet, you dimly registered that Scott, Clint, Sam, and Wanda were getting similar harsh treatment.
But Steve and Bucky were gone. You were glad. The mission at least was somewhat a success.
“Can I have a word with my sister?”
Vision somewhat stable now, you turned your head to see your brother, still in his Iron Man suit, his mask receded so that you could see his bruised face.
Wincing, you steadied your feet. Staring at your brother, you saw the tired, dead look in his eyes as he looked at you.
The man holding your arm leaned over and whispered so softly that Tony couldn’t hear, “Give me a reason to shoot your brains out you freak.” Before he let go, only took a few steps back, his rifle still trained on your head.
“[Y/n]..” Tony groaned, running a hand down his face. Smearing dirt and blood.
You kept your calm, your voice steady, “I know what you’re going to say. But I don’t regret my decision. You were going to far Tony. The Accords? Really? It would be prison for people like me. We would become weapons sold out to the highest bidder. And You let that man,” You spat, remembering how Ross twisted words and lied to your brother, “lie to you and you...the so called genius of this family, didn’t look up the validity of his words!”
Tony flinched as if you had hit him.
His eyes hardened and he gestured to the man standing behind you. Your arms were twisted behind your back again, the rifle pressed against your skull.
“It hurts me to turn you over to the government...you’re still my sister...I still Love you. I hope you can come to your senses soon.”
Your brother’s words were soft. But you growled at him, your mutation flaring up before dying away as you remembered the gun at your head.
“Shut the fuck up, Tony!”
Tony stumbled. Vision catching him before he could fall.
You continued, words falling like acid from your lips, all the rage and betrayal you felt coming into your tone “You don’t care about me! You never cared about me! You never listened to me or my opinions! You always treated me like glass, like I would break if I so much as tripped! News flash, Tony! I’m stronger than you will ever be and I’m glad that Steve got Bucky out of here because you have become the Villain in this scenario!”
Your wretched scream, that tore at your throat, was accompanied by bitter tears, both fading as you were drug aboard a plane and the gangway slowly closed, encasing you in darkness.
Once away from the prying eyes of Team Tony, the black ops military men wasted no time in clipping on handcuffs to your team members.
But, then they pulled you and Wanda to the other side of the plane.
Scott pulled at his handcuffs, his eyes wide with worry, “What are you doing to them?”
The men didn’t respond. And then there was a click and the cold feeling of metal encasing your neck.
Looking over at Wanda, you saw her watching you with horror mirrored in her eyes. She had a collar on her neck, which you figured was what was around yours as well. It was blinking red.
With a growl, you reached for your mutation, intending to get away from these men and escape with your team.
But the minute you tried to focus your mutation, your entire body jerked as electricity was shot through you.
A strangled gasp left you as you fell to the floor of the plane, your elbows hitting metal, sending pain through your arms as you tried to protect your head.
“[Y/n]!? What did you do to her!?” Sam screamed, fighting against the hold of two men while another was removing his wings.
The leader looked over at him with disinterested eyes, “It’s a prototype. A suppressant collar that prevents them from using their mutations.” He turned to look over you and Wanda, a sinister glint entering his eyes, “If I were you, I would not attempt to escape. The shocks will grow in intensity the more you try to use your freak powers.”
Panting, you rolled over to your knees, your hands cuffed in front of you, pushing yourself to your feet, muscles straining against the tightness that the electricity had caused.
Wanda’s own handcuffed hands fluttered over you as you let your head loll onto her shoulder. Pain still jolting through your body. If that was the first shock, and if what the man said was true, you didn’t want to know what the next shock would feel like.
The next few hours passed in relative silence.
Scott, Sam and Clint spoke to each other in whispers on their side of the plane, shooting you and Wanda the occasional comforting looks.
You and Wanda stayed next to each other, holding onto each other’s hands, grip so tight, you thought you both would lose blood circulation.
The destination was kept away from you no matter how many times you asked. And each ask got you the same answer...a fist to the cheek.
Blood dripped from a split lip and your left eye was swollen shut by the time the drone of the engines was cut.
“We’re here.”
Men grabbed your arms, ripping your hands away from Wanda. She whimpered, but kept quiet when you shot her a look of warning.
The men stood behind her as you stood next to the man in charge, waiting for the gangway to lower.
And how you wished you weren’t in the front when it did.
A loud roar of crashing waves reached you first before your vision computed what you were seeing.
A floating building. In the middle of the ocean. Rocking violently as the huge swells of sea water crashed against it.
“No no no nonononononono!” Your words reached a fever scream as you pulled against the arms dragging you forward.
The words your teammates said faded into white noise as your vision went white in terror.
The ground that you were now standing on, rocking back and forth, your legs gave out on you.
You didn’t drop though, as the hands tightened on your arms, leaving bruises as they simply continued walking, dragging you now into the building.
“Hey! Where are we!?”
“What is this place!?”
“We have rights!”
The men laughed at that. Clint scowled.
You were brought back to the present as you began being dragged down stairs.
Your knees hitting the metal grates, new cuts and gashes and bruises appearing on your skin.
“You are traitors to the US Government. Prisoners of the state, and you have no rights. This is the Raft, and it will be your home until the day you die.”
Stumbling to your feet, you looked around. The floor wasn’t moving as bad, but your terror was barely held back due to the knowledge that it wasn’t moving as bad because you were under water.
Right now, you were standing before a gate, that almost looked like an airport security scanner. Beyond that, you saw a circular room, with various cells in the walls.
You were dragged into the airport looking security scanner.
A bored looking guy stood behind a glass window, looking at a computer screen. His voice came through an intercom, “Strip.”
Baring your teeth, you lunged towards the window.
Ignoring the yells of Clint to stop.
That was the last thing you heard as you felt a blinding pain to the back of your skull before you vision went dark as unconsciousness took over.
When consciousness finally returned to you. The first thing you noticed was the soreness between your legs.
The second was the fact that you were naked.
And the final thing was the amount of blood that was pooled around your sprawled body.
“Wanda?” Your voice was hoarse, and you had to cough several times to clear it. “Wanda? Clint? Sam? Scott?”
You called out for your team. Looking around as you recognized a cell.
A single toilet and a metal bed frame decorated it. Standing up, wincing at the pain you were in, you took stock of yourself.
Cuts littered your body. A large gash on your arm had you hissing as you saw the white muscles open to the air.
Your legs were shaky as you realized what had happened while you were unconscious. Bile drew up to your throat. Choking it down, you fought the urge to cry as well.
Limping on bare feet to the metal cell doors, you peered out. Your eye still swollen shut, your face stinging with new wounds that you couldn’t see.
“Guys?”
“She’s awake!”
“[Y/n]...god. I am so sorry! I tried to get them to stop!” Sam reached his hands out through his cell bars. He was directly across from you. Clint and Scott on either side, you could barely make out their faces as the cells curved. You noticed that they were still wearing their clothes, you being the only one naked, that you knew of, since you couldn’t see Wanda.
You could feel the, now warm, metal of the collar still around your neck.
Biting back a groan as you realized one of your ankles was possibly twisted or broken, you asked the boys, “Where’s Wanda?”
Sam’s eyes flickered beside you for a moment. But it was enough for you.
Leaning against the cold concrete wall, you spoke softly to the cell next to you, “Wands? How are you doing?”
You heard a snort, before her soft Slovakian Accent floated towards you, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Geez, Stark. They did a number on you and I only heard it, while the boys had to watch.”
Wincing, you couldn’t stop the moan of pain as something tugged at your cheeks and liquid fell to the floor from your waist.
“Kid. Are you….Were you...aware?” Scott’s voice was not the bubbly, hyper, positive voice you remembered.
Dimly, you were reminded that he had a daughter. And what it was probably like for him to witness what you were almost a hundred percent sure had happened to you.
Shaking your head at him, you cradled your arm against you. Sam shouted, “Fuck!” Before punching one of the walls of his cell.
Clint had tears falling from his eyes as he winced from the sound.
“Wanda?” You questioned, your working eye roaming around, looking for any signs of guards of the black ops, “Can you pass a piece of cloth, from your uniform, to me? I need something to wrap around this wound.”
An intake of breath. And then you could see a strip of red dangling near one of your bars.
Stretching out your arm, you grabbed it and felt Wanda let go.
Using your teeth, you wrapped your arm so that the muscles weren’t exposed anymore, tying off a tight knot despite the shot of pain that was sent through you.
“How long have I been out?” Your voice still held authority as you fell to the ground to sit with your back against the wall that was connected to Wanda’s cell.
Your eyes floating up the bright white fluorescent lights as you wondered if your brother was aware of what the government had done, was doing, to you and the team.
Scott was the one to answer you as Clint’s breathing shuddered under the weight of his tears and Sam paced angrily in his tiny cell space. “Roughly three hours. They….left you alone about an hour ago.”
Nodding numbly, you shivered as the cold air of the Raft finally reached your desensitized state.
“[Y/n]....”
You held up a hand, stopping whoever spoke from continuing. You were lost in your thoughts.
Remembering warm summer nights with Tony. Laughing as Dum-E sprayed him before an explosion went off. Rubbing Tony’s back as you worked with him through a panic attack. Playing cards with the team in the common room of the tower. Blushing when Steve walked in on you working out. Giggling with Wanda and Natasha about the boys. Meeting Scott and cooing over his pictures of his daughter.
Then arguing with Tony. Throwing a vase as he left your room. Punching a security guard as he tried to stop you from going on a mission. Screaming during a mission briefing as Tony said you were the only one not allowed to go. Listening around a corner as a woman approached Tony about her son who was killed. Overhearing Ross thank the woman and pay her for the lie. Trying to talk to Tony only for him to discard you at every turn. Steve approaching you about Bucky. Hearing about Tony locking Wanda up in the tower. Agreeing to side with Steve after one last attempt to get Tony to listen to you that ended in tears and screams as he blamed you for your parents deaths.
“Looks like our little plaything is finally awake.”
You shot the person who spoke a withering look.
Dressed like a normal prison guard, the scruffy, greasy looking man simply laughed at you, “Aw does the kitten have her claws out? What? You seemed to enjoy it when you were unconscious. Body squeezing me just right…” Leering down at you, the man eyed your naked form with a feverous glint in his eyes.
Your vision went red with hate. When he leaned closer, you took the chance and hocked a huge glob of spit at him, smirking when it hit his cheek.
“No…[Y/n].” Clint whispered. Sagging down to his knees as he watched.
The man leaned over and clicked on his walkie talkie that was clipped onto his shoulder, “Prisoner 5569 seems to be up for more fun. Anyone want to join?”
And with a sinister smile, the man opened up your cell as feet pounded into the room.
Screaming, your fists and feet flew from your vulnerable position on the floor against the wall.
Rough hands gripped your wrists, hands a blur as more joined in, smiling twisted faces of greasy men hovering over you.
An agonized scream ripped through you at the audible snap of your wrist. The pain rocketing down your arm at the broken bone.
You were dragged up to your feet and taken out of your cell towards the center of the Raft.
As your team watched, they dragged your arms up, tying them together with leather and hooking it to a metal hook that was hanging from the roof.
Your feet swung wildly as your toes barely touched the ground, all your weight now resting on your arms.
Fresh blood rushed from the giant wound on your arm, soaking through the makeshift bandage from Wanda’s cloth.
Unbidden, and unwanted tears fell from your face to mark the cement floor as your broken wrist screamed and your hand twisted in an unnatural angle. You could no longer feel your fingers and you knew that was a bad sign.
Head hanging low, you tried to focus on your team’s voices.
Your head flew up as a metal pipe slammed into your back.
A hand to your face.
A boot to your leg.
A face between your chest.
A hand between your legs.
A gunshot to your hand.
A whip across your stomach.
Fingers digging inside your arm, twisting the visible muscle.
A knife dragged down your spine.
Laughter. Jeers. Groans. Moans. Screams. Pleas.
Blood, spit, snot, tears, and various liquids on your face, stomach, dripping down your legs, pooling on the cement.
As you drew in a breath, about an hour into the torture, now ignoring your team, hating that they were able to see what was happening to you, a static sound pierced the room.
The men stopped, except the one currently using you.
“A Tony Stark has landed and has been granted access.” A Monotone AI voiced to the men.
You didn’t show sign that you heard. You just didn’t care. Your brother had thrown you into this hell. He was responsible.
As the men frantically tried to clean up. Tony stepped into the doorway. Everyone froze.
You kept your eyes closed.
“Get away from my sister.” A cold voice. Tangible anger and terror hovered in the stale air of the Raft.
Slow, methodical footsteps echoed as more frantic ones ran away from where you were still strung up.
The sound of a fist meeting flesh and the last man stopped and fled. Leaving you alone in the center of the Jail.
“Oh….[Y/n]...what did they do to you?” You didn’t bother looking at him. The tears in his voice not doing anything to you. You didn’t have the capacity to care anymore.
Hands grabbed your wrists, causing an indrawn hiss of pain as the broken one was touched, before you were lowered to the ground.
Tony stared in horror at his, now blood covered hands.
“You caused this. You did this to your own family. Your own sister! Look at what you did Stark!” Sam’s voice was loud, watery, and filled with disgust.
Your breathing was wet as fluid filled your lungs.
Hands ghosted over your face, “[Y/n]. Baby. Please wake up.”
A groan, “I’m awake. Get away from me.”
“What?”
You forced your one good eye to crack open and glare at the man kneeling over you.
He quickly removed his suit jacket when he saw your eye open and pulled it around your limp form, covering most of you.
“[Y/n]...if I had known. If I knew that-”
You harsh, barking laughter, accompanied by blood flowing down your chin, cut him off.
He stared in horror at you as you fixed him with an empty look, still lying prone on the cement ground. You couldn’t feel the cold.
“What would you have done, Mr. Stark.” He flinched Backwards when you called him that instead of Tony, “You would have requested I be put in a different cell? You would have left everyone to rot here while I got five star prison treatment? Should I kiss your shoes? Cry thanks for your concern? News flash...it’s a few hours too late.”
A coughing fit overcame you. Tony’s hands helping you sit up. Immediately letting go when you snapped your teeth at him.
“[Y/n]...he’s still your brother. Let him help you.” Wanda finally spoke after hours of being silent.
Another caustic laugh from you, “Sure. A brother who fought with me. Who didn’t believe in me. Who let me be raped. Beat. Cut up and tortured. Who let the government call me a terrorist and place me in here. Who was willing to let me rot in this place-”
This time Tony cut you off, his hands gripping your shoulders as he yelled at you, eyes wild in confusion and fear, “No! I wouldn’t! I...I was in talks with Ross about these drastic measures...trying to work it so that all of you would be allowed a lighter sentence in state prison instead. I...didn’t know. I didn’t know! [Y/n], you’ve gotta believe me! I didn’t know!”
You simply stared, no emotion, as he began crying, as he drug you towards him and buried his face into your shoulder, his tears mixing with the blood on your skin.
“No.”
He pulled back to look at you, head tilted in confusion. Tears still running down his face.
You looked right at him. Right through him.
“No?”
“No. I will not be the element for your tragic redemption or your backstory. I want no part of you. Of this family. I am no longer a Stark. I want you to leave me.”
Tony jolted. Your voice was so monotonous. No emotion reflected through it. Not an ounce like he remembered you.
Not the sister he once had.
“What?”
“[Y/n] don’t..”
“He left her, I say good for her.”
“[Y/n]...I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to leave you again. I promise.”
As Tony went to hug you. You swung your arm with the broken wrist at his face, hitting his cheek, not feeling the pain.
“I said…” You drew in a breath and then screamed, “Leave me! I am not a Stark! I am not your sister! I am a broken plaything and you are the one who made me this way!”
Tony scurried backwards on his hands and knees as you began kicking at him. His eyes wide in terror and pain and sadness.
Your words morphed into an endless scream. Blood dripping from your throat as you tore your vocal chords.
Only stopping when Tony finally shook himself back to his senses, and with tears on his cheeks and an apology on his tongue, knocked you unconscious with a single hit to your head.
You had truly become broken. In just the few hours you had spent on the Raft. You were no longer [Y/n] Stark.
In truth...no one knew who...or what...you were anymore. Your family was gone. Broken. Just like your body. Just like your spirit. Just like your mind. Gone.
A/N: Since @sickandvomiting and I are in love with our 50′s AU of Jace and Elizabeth, and equally in love with brutal whump, we decided to write the story of how Greaser Jace got his scars. I had to change the origin, since a car wreck that severe would’ve just straight-up killed him back then. Anyway, this was really fun to write, so I hope y’all enjoy reading it. Coordinating illustration(s) to come.
Jace felt like he’d been walking for about ten hours, though it had really only been about thirty minutes. Normally his long legs could’ve taken him from the bar to Elizabeth’s place in ten or fifteen, but it was hard to walk quickly when he was actively losing blood. When he’d first stood up, it had been a struggle to ignore the searing pain of several deep cuts. Now he was so lightheaded, the pain was negligible, but his ability to stand was quickly fading. It felt like he’d been trudging through miles of concrete jungle. He was about to give up and lay down in an alley to accept his fate when a familiar sight wobbled before his eyes. Just down the road, Elizabeth’s dilapidated brownstone was visible under a flickering streetlight, its telltale patches of moss and missing brick mercifully familiar.
Jace sighed in relief, sending a fresh jolt of pain through several cuts and some probably-cracked ribs. It stung fiercely, but it woke him up a bit, and he forced himself to keep walking, cursing and fumbling as he scaled the rusty fire escape. His right wrist screamed when he grabbed onto the railing, but he didn’t let go. Just two flights of creaky old stairs, and he’d be safe. By the time he reached Elizabeth’s window, he was one stiff wind away from toppling right back down the fire escape. He leaned heavily on the rail, using his good hand to rap on the glass.
“Ey! Doll face! You up?” Even in this state, Jace knew well enough to whisper. If he woke up Elizabeth’s neighbors, or god forbid, her parents, they’d both be dead.
Momentarily the curtains were drawn back to reveal Elizabeth’s face behind the glass. The grin she wore at the surprise of seeing him quickly faded, however, as she got full sight of him. Blood streamed down his face, neck, and chest, staining his white t-shirt a dark brownish red.
“Jace, what the fuck!!” she hissed, opening the creaky window as quietly as she could. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She tugged on his arm, trying to pull him into the room, but pulled away when he winced sharply.
“I… I can clue you. Kinda.” Jace climbed in the window himself, hissing, wincing, and groaning and eventually just landing face first on the ground. “Shit…”
Elizabeth jumped at the sound, and her hands momentarily flitted to his back before she stood back up and peeked out her door. Good, the hallway was clear. They hadn’t heard.
“Better get to explaining there, honey,” she whispered, closing the door as quietly as possible. She fluttered back to him and helped him to sit upright. “Thank god the floor is wood,” she muttered when she saw the bloodstain left on the scuffed floorboards.
“Sorry.” Jace tried to grin sheepishly, but it was more of a grimace. “I wasn't even tryin’ to start shit this time.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“I wasn't!” Jace cried, “I was at the bar with the guys, and there were a couple punks hangin’ out nearby... hollerin' at the bartender and just bein' assholes. Leo and Donny had to bail early, so it was just me and Aaron there the rest of the night. It's gettin' late, we're about to head out, and we hear a ruckus over on the far side of the bar. It's those punks from before. They're all over this kitten, they clearly wanna neck 'er and she is not havin’ it.” He paused, waiting for a reaction from Elizabeth. She scrunched her nose distastefully, and he continued.
“So I go over there. I tell 'em to back off unless they wanna knuckle sandwich. Aaron cut out soon as I started talkin'. You know him, he's such a wet rag with that shit. Too scared of gettin' in trouble. But anyway, so I'm tellin' these punks to leave the girl alone, they tell me to get bent and go back to grabbin' at 'er.” Again, Jace paused, and Elizabeth scoffed obligingly.
“So I yanked the closer guy offa her and decked him, and his friend lets go'a the girl to help 'im. At first I was creamin' 'em, like those two were half dead, and then outta the woodwork, like five more guys pop up to help the bastards. But I don't wanna just bail, cause what are they gonna do to that girl if I turn tail like Aaron. So I'm just tryin' to keep my head above water, and one of these nosebleeds breaks a goddamn bottle an' comes at me with it. Nearly cut my fuckin' head off before I kicked it outta his hand. Dunno what I woulda done if the bartender hadn't threatened to call the cops. Jackasses ran off, but it was already past close, so I had to cut out, too. I didn't even see where that girl got off to… I just hope those creeps didn't find her."
Elizabeth just hummed in response, at a loss for words. As he’d been speaking, she had started wiping the blood off his face and neck with a washcloth and the water from her hot water bottle. She paused and met his eyes, and cupped the uninjured side of his face with her hand.
“I’m so sorry that happened, sugar,” she said, wiping a streak of blood and sweat from his cheek with her thumb. “But hey, we match now!” She flashed him a concerned smile, and was pleased when he momentarily grinned back, though the expression quickly morphed into a grimace.
Jace shrugged, his face immediately screwing up in painful regret. “I mean… it was the right thing to do… I think. Maybe I shoulda just butted out...” He sighed, and his good hand flew to his ribs, which were aching much worse than earlier. Any last dregs of adrenaline were long gone by now, and he could feel the edges of the cuts on his chest tugging with every breath. “I'm gonna hafta borrow a shirt from Donny or somethin’... If I come home in this, Mom's gonna flip her lid.”
“Hey, no, it wasn’t your fault. People are just… like that,” she said, resuming her work on his wounds. “I would offer you one of my dad’s shirts, but it would be like me trying to wear a baby onesie,” she added with a chuckle. After a moment, she stopped again. She could see deep down into the whitish yellow viscera in some of the cuts, and while the bleeding was slowing, it wasn’t slowing as quickly as she’d like.
“You should really get to a hospital, Jace,” she murmured. “All I’ve got here is iodine, alcohol, and Rawleigh’s.”
“That should be fine.” Jace shrugged, as if he had a bad paper cut and not a couple pints of blood soaking his shirt.
“It won-” she started loudly, but caught herself and lowered her voice to a whisper again. “It won’t be fine! I can’t take care of this by myself, you need a doctor!”
Jace sighed. “How do you want me to get there, Liz? Aaron picked me up today.”
“I dunno, we could flag down a taxi or something? I don’t have any money though, and I don’t think I can very well ask my parents,” she trailed off. “Besides, I doubt any cab would take us with you lookin’ like this.”
“Yeah, I got money, but…” Jace sighed. He was wracking his brain, trying to figure out who he might be able to call. At first, his vacant gaze seemed thoughtful, but then his eyelids fluttered and he slumped forward against Elizabeth.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she hissed, tapping his face. “Jace, c’mon baby, wake up.” When he didn’t respond, she held his head against the crook of her neck and stroked his hair, swallowing down the newfound panic that was crawling into her throat. “Shit!”
She pushed Jace back against the wall as gently as she could, though his head lolled back and hit the drywall with a hollow thump. She muttered an apology despite the fact that he couldn’t hear it, and stood as quietly as she could, afraid the thud had woken her parents. She listened for a moment, head cocked toward the door—nothing except her mom’s muffled snoring from down the hall.
She made her way to their living room, dancing around the creaky floorboards in a routine that was now muscle memory from repetition. She dialed the number as quietly as she could, wincing every time to rotary dial reset with a click and a metallic ring. When the operator picked up, she gave the number to Jace’s home, and silently hoped upon hope that it would be his dad answering, and not his mom.
The phone rang a few times, and Elizabeth practically collapsed with relief when Vody’s deep voice and clipped accent came through the receiver.
“Hyello? Who this?” He didn't sound angry, luckily, but he was definitely confused. Phone calls at three in the morning rarely meant good news.
“Mr. Romanovich! It’s Elizabeth. Please come to my house, it’s important. Jace is here. Please help.” The words came tumbling out in a rush, accompanied by sudden tears and a choked sob, and she found herself hanging up the phone before he could even open his mouth to respond.
Vody stood over the phone for a moment, dumbfounded as it buzzed in his ear. He could only imagine what Jace had gotten into, but he supposed now wasn't the time to worry about it. Not bothering to throw on real clothes, he simply grabbed his car keys and stepped into the boots he'd left by the front door. It wasn't cold out this time of year, and even if it had been, New York winter was about as cool as a Siberian summer. Despite being clad in only his boxers and a tank top, he strolled shamelessly out to his car, climbing in and gunning it down the road.
The streets weren't as busy this time of night, and it didn't take long for Vody to pull up in front of Elizabeth's brownstone. He parked out front and hurried up to the door, hesitant to actually knock at this hour.
Luckily, the door swung open as soon as he reached the landing; Elizabeth had been listening for him. She held a finger up to her lips and pointed to his feet, and for a moment Vody caught a glint of tears on her cheeks in the dimly lit doorway. He took off his clunky boots and she guided him deftly through the hallway, showing him how to avoid the noisy floorboards. They miraculously made it to her room with minimal sound. There, Jace had slid down the wall and was slumped sideways onto the ground, seemingly lifeless. Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth when she reflexively gasped, and after dashing over to him and taking a moment to compose herself, she turned to Vody.
“Please help. He’s hurt bad.”
Vody sighed quietly. He wasn't exactly fazed - he'd seen people in much sorrier states during the war - but that didn't mean he wanted to see his son torn up and bleeding to death. He didn't bother asking questions yet, crouching down to scoop Jace off the ground as carefully as possible. Jace groaned slightly, his eyelids flickering, but he slumped over against Vody's chest as soon as he was picked up. Vody stood up easily, not at all bothered by the weight. Elizabeth hurried to open the door for him, and they crept out to the car in fearful silence.
Once Jace was placed carefully into the passenger seat, Vody climbed back into the driver's, starting the car while Elizabeth hopped into the back. He finally broke the silence, as there was a rather important question to be asked.
“You know where nearest hospital is?”
“Yeah.” She supplied him with the location and the quickest way she knew to get there, and once again fell silent. Her eye was fixed on Jace, and she reached up to squeeze his shoulder. After a few moments she spoke again, this time more quietly.
“I should have called you sooner. I’m sorry. I waited too long.” A sob caught in her throat and she bit it back, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. Nonetheless, they rolled down her face and she ducked out of sight, ashamed of both her inaction which led to this situation, and the way she was currently handling it.
“Hey. You okay. You not nurse. Not trained to take care of hurt people. Freak out is normal. You try to help. That what matter. We go to hospital now. Will be okay.” Vody reached one of his long arms back to gently pat her shoulder.
“You cold?” He asked tactfully, having been trying not to stare at her very thin nightie for a while now. “Should be blanket somewhere in back.”
“Yeah, thanks,” she said with a sniffle, pulling the worn fleece around her shoulders. “The hospital is right up here,” she added as they turned onto the correct street.
Vody went quiet again as they pulled up in front of the emergency room. He parked right there, rushing around to pick up Jace and carry him inside. The poor nurse at the desk looked horrified, hastily paging the doctor on call. It wasn't long before a stretcher appeared, nurses pushing it and a doctor hurrying alongside. Vody set Jace on the stretcher as carefully as possible, following along without waiting for an invitation as they wheeled off down the hall. He gestured for Elizabeth to come with, fully ready to fight anyone that tried to stop them.
She tagged along behind him, jogging to keep up with their quick pace. She pulled the blanket tighter around her, feeling exposed in the public hallway. She didn’t even bother to gather the ends of it off the floor, instead letting it trail behind her like a sad cape. When they arrived at the room, the nurses stopped both of them, one laying a gentle but firm hand on Vody’s chest.
“You can both stay here and watch, but you have to give us room to work,” she explained. “There’s a waiting area down the hall, too,” she added, though it was more of a suggestion than an additional detail.
“We’re staying. We’ll stay out of your way,” Elizabeth stated.
Vody nodded firmly. He wasn't going anywhere until he knew Jace would be okay. He leaned on the wall, sighing quietly as he watched nurses frantically slice away Jace's clothes and work to staunch the wounds that were still trickling blood. When the doctor got to work, Vody finally looked down at Elizabeth.
“What happened?” His voice was softer and more subdued than Elizabeth had ever heard, the mischievous twinkle long gone from his eye.
“Some punks gave him a beating when he tried to help out a girl they were harassing,” she said, her gaze never leaving Jace. There was so much blood. She reached blindly for Vody’s hand, and ended up latching onto his arm with trembling fingers. He put an arm around her, strong and sturdy. There was a long sigh followed by silence as he pondered his response. He didn't want to say Jace should've left the girl to be harassed, but he couldn't think of a better solution either. It was just a shit situation. He sighed again, low and heavy.
“Am trying to decide if I should call his mother. Obviously, will tell her either way, but... Don't know if better to go home and talk later, or call now.”
“Jace wouldn’t want her to worry,” Elizabeth replied. “He didn’t want you to worry either,” she added after a second.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Vody snorted. “He seriously think he just going to come home and pretend he fine?” He shook his head. “Too much like me.”
Elizabeth found herself chuckling along with him. “I think he really believed he could just waltz in and no one would notice a thing. He’s a real dipstick sometimes…”
Vody nodded, a smile flickering on his face. It faded quickly, and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Have cigarettes in car. I go get. You stay, watch him.”
As he turned to leave, Elizabeth caught his hand and he paused.
“He’s gonna be okay, Mr. Romanovich.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “He always is. He has to be.”
Vody forced a smile for her. “He have you. That help.” He trudged off down the hall, ignoring the strange look he got from a passing nurse.
As promised, he returned a few minutes later with a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in hand, one already lit in his mouth. He held them out to Elizabeth without a word. She took one and allowed him to light it for her as she puffed, blowing a small cloud of smoke against the glass of the ICU room wall. The scene seemed to drag on for far too long, with an alarming amount of blood and sharp tools. Easily the most gruesome was an incision the doctor made between two ribs, inserting a tube to drain blood from the chest cavity. Even Vody grimaced at the sight. Between him and Elizabeth, the pack of cigarettes was quickly depleting.
Eventually, the doctor came out to talk to them. He explained that they had patched up all the cuts, but they wanted to keep an eye on Jace for a while, since some of the wounds were deep, with one having nicked his small intestine, and another puncturing his left lung. They were going to take him for x-rays now that he wasn't going to bleed out on the radiologist, and do further repairs once they knew for sure what was broken. Vody nodded along, listening closely but at a loss for words.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Elizabeth replied in his stead. As he left, she turned to Vody and grabbed his large palm. “Hear that? He’s gonna be okay.”
Vody sighed, nodding half-heartedly. “Da.” He leaned against the wall, slowly sinking down until he was sitting on the floor. It honestly looked a bit ridiculous - a giant man, smudged with blood, wearing work boots and heart-print boxers, sitting on the pristine hospital tile. He had told himself he was going to be calm. He was the father here, he had to be responsible and take care of things. At the same time, it took all his self-control to stay quiet and composed. He felt like an idiot. A failure. A fuck-up. Had he raised Jace to be too much like himself? Should he have been keeping a closer eye on his son? How the fuck did this even happen? He sighed deeply, and it wobbled as he choked down a sob.
“Mr. Romanovich?” Elizabeth questioned, hearing the slight tremble in his breath. She laid her hand on his shoulder hesitantly, unsure of what to do.
“Hm?” Vody didn't dare to look up; he felt pathetic. He was sitting on the floor crying, being comforted by a little girl. The hallway was far too silent to miss his sniffles, and his face burned red with embarrassment.
Without a word, Elizabeth stepped into the now empty ICU room and rooted around for a bit before discovering a cache of blankets. She brought one out and draped it around Vody’s shoulders before sliding down to the floor next to him and resting the side of her head against his arm. Sniffling quietly, he patted her hair in silent gratitude.
“He’s okay,” she whispered. It felt as though any sound in the quiet hall would break the thin barrier keeping their emotions at bay, and she closed her eyes as the words dissipated against the white walls.
Vody kept a sturdy arm around Elizabeth, awake and alert as much as he didn't want to be. He was too on edge to even consider spacing out - it felt like if he blinked, he might open his eye to a doctor leading them down to the morgue. Of course, that wasn't the case, and after a while, a nurse came to talk to them. She explained that they'd found several breaks, but luckily, none were compounded. They'd had to put screws into Jace's wrist, since he'd fucked up the alignment of the bones pretty badly (likely trying to climb the fire escape), and they wanted to keep a close eye on his ribs, to make sure they didn't interfere with the healing of his lung. Despite this seemingly endless list of awful news, she assured them that Jace was expected to recover completely; he would just need care and rest for a while.
“He’s stable now, I can take you to his room if you like?”
Vody nodded, scrambling to his feet and helping Elizabeth up as well. He hurried after the nurse as she guided them to a simple patient room. Jace was sprawled out on the bed, his lanky legs mere inches from drooping off the edge. His wrist was wrapped heavily in plaster and bandages, and his arms and torso were covered in fresh stitches, including particularly nasty gashes across his left pectoral and below his navel. The tube was still in his chest, and he was attached to a delightful assortment of monitors to track his vitals. The entire right side of his face was covered in bandages, with a long line of stitches and a patchwork of bruises on the other cheek.
Vody couldn't help cringing at the sight. Somehow this was almost worse than the gorey mess earlier. Maybe because he could no longer tell himself it was just the blood everywhere that made it seem so bad, or maybe because he'd never seen Jace look so weak and vulnerable. It felt wrong, and Vody couldn't help feeling responsible. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but hesitated, not wanting to jostle Jace or mess up any of the equipment.
Elizabeth had no such anxieties, and rushed to his side. She brushed a strand of hair off the exposed side of his face, fingers tracing along his brow, then down his jawline. They lingered momentarily on his lips, and she smiled sadly when she felt his warm breath on them. It reminded her that he would be okay. Jace stirred slightly at her touch, letting out a soft groan. Vody perked up at once, watching them closely.
“Jace?” she whispered. “You awake?”
Jace's eyelids fluttered, and he squinted against the bright hospital lights. His vision was hazy, but the massive mane of dark curls hovering over him was unmistakable. “Hey, doll face… how goes it?”
“Oh, just peachy,” she replied with a chuckle that ended in a stifled sob. Tears began rolling soundlessly down her cheeks as she took his face in both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she added, voice thick with emotion.
“Didn't miss it as much as I thought I would. Shit hurts.” Jace was trying to be light-hearted, but even faking a smile made him grimace. He patted the mattress beside him with his good hand. “C'mere, there's space for your skinny little ass.” That brought a more genuine smirk out of him, followed by a grunt of pain. Every movement seemed to hurt, even just talking. “Christ alive, they got any drugs in this quack shack or do I just get to sit here suffering?”
“You’re already on enough to send any of us normal folk to cloud nine,” she said, hesitating and shooting a glance in Vody’s direction. “But you’re a pretty big cat too, so you can probably handle some more. I’ll go get the nurse, leave you two alone for a moment.” With a quick pivot, she scampered away, leaving the room in a breathless silence as Jace’s good eye focused slowly on his father.
“Shit.” Even as he'd realized he was in the hospital, Jace had still naively hoped his parents hadn't found out. He was clearly panicked, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself. “Okay so, ya see, the thing is-”
Vody cut him off. “Hush. Miss Lizbeth told me everything. You think I'm mad at you, Jason?” He was almost laughing as he said it.
“Well… kinda?” Jace admitted. He didn't even have a good reason for why. He'd just assumed that going out, being rowdy, and getting into trouble meant his parents would be pissed.
“Did you start fight?” Vody asked plainly.
“Not really… I mean… I threw the first punch, but I was just tryna get those creeps offa that poor girl!” Jace tried to sit up, naturally getting animated as he defended himself. He promptly fell back on the pillows with a grimace.
“Then why would I be mad?”
Jace paused, looking up at his father for a moment as he thought. “...I dunno.”
Now Vody couldn't help laughing. “Too much my son, you are…” He plunked down on the foot of the bed, patting Jace's knee gently. “I not mad at you. Was worried, of course. But I not mad. Your mother…” Vody sighed, knowing Serafina likely wouldn't be happy about Jace getting in a fight, even one most people would consider justified. “I will talk to your mother.”
Jace cringed. “Do you have to tell Mom?”
Vody snorted. “Well, yes. How am I explain broken hand and stitches face?”
“...right. Good point.” Jace sighed. He really didn't want to have to talk to Serafina, even if Vody talked to her first. He got distracted from his worries when Elizabeth walked back in with a nurse, who approached Jace with another syringe and inserted it into his IV tube.
“Just a little more morphine. We don’t want to go overboard,” the nurse said with a small smile, which Elizabeth returned as the nurse left the room.
Jace visibly relaxed as the meds hit his system, and Elizabeth found herself laughing. “Naturally, you beat up some goons, get totaled, and end up high as a kite on the good stuff.” She took his hand in hers, careful to avoid the bandages and stitching. “Fucking beatnik.” She raised an eyebrow when he smirked at her, no longer wincing at the movement.
“Look,” he grinned, “this wasn't how I planned to spend my Friday night. The beat life chose me.”
“It's Saturday morning. Has been for while now.” Vody chimed in.
“Shit, is it?” Jace looked at his wrist as if he ever wore a watch.
“Da. Sun came up hour ago.” Vody confirmed.
“Ah, shit…” Jace smiled apologetically at Elizabeth. “Sorry baby. Normally, I try to make our all-nighters a little more fun.”
“Jace!” Elizabeth hissed through clenched teeth and leaned in conspiratorially. “Your father is in here with us, shut up!” She flashed Vody a sheepish smile and clamped a hand as gently as she could over Jace’s mouth when he started to speak again.
Vody just chuckled. “Your secret safe with me. He not get habits from his mother.” He sighed. “Who I probably need go talk to. Wish luck.”
“Slay the dragon!” Jace encouraged, muffled by Elizabeth's hand, who flashed Vody another apologetic grin.
As soon as Vody left the room, Elizabeth whirled on him in mock outrage.
“You knucklehead! Sayin’ shit like that in front of the old man,” she muttered, climbing up onto the bed with him. “You really are the most, aren’t ya?”
“Baby, I'm more than the most.” Jace grinned, slinging his less-damaged arm around her. “Like your nightgown, by the way. Meant to tell ya earlier, but I was busy… y'know… bleedin’ out.” He laughed, drowning in far too much morphine to be worried about his mortality.
She curled into his chest with a snort, tactfully avoiding his more grievous wounds, and gently kissed his collarbone before laying her head down and falling silent, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath.
“You really scared us, you know,” she said finally. “Us meaning him too. He was terrified.”
Jace snorted derisively. “You're pullin' my leg. I've never seen Dad scared.”
“Really, babe. Like, really really.”
Jace furrowed his brows, seeming to be in serious thought for possibly the first time ever. He didn't say anything for a while, then quietly ventured, “How bad do I look?”
“Like how I imagine someone might look after a tiger attack. Which is to say, pretty damn bad.” She fell silent for a moment, then quietly added “Scary bad, honestly.” Her hand trailed slowly along the edge of his bandages, mapping out the new tracks it would have to follow.
Jace cringed. She hadn't even tried to sugarcoat it - it was too bad to bother. He'd been considering asking for a mirror, but now he was honestly afraid. “Oh… shit.” As stupid as it was, he couldn't help being more worried about his appearance than his health. Cuts would recover. Good looks… not so much.
Elizabeth lifted her head to face him, and found his eyes darting down to assess the damage for himself, slight panic beginning to show in his face when he saw exactly how many injuries there were, their centers stained a deep browning red.
“Hey, don’t do that. Not yet,” she said, lifting his chin with two fingers and tilting it toward her face. “Not yet…” She smiled sadly when his good eye finally focused on hers, and she kissed his brow. Jace tried to force a smile, but it didn't stick. He wasn't sure if it was the stress or the drugs, but he was struggling to focus. Thoughts were spinning around like a whirlwind in his head, and the bed no longer felt steady beneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut with a tense sigh.
“You’re okay, baby,” Elizabeth said, rearranging herself so that his head could rest on her chest instead. “I’ve got you.” She carded a hand slowly through his hair. The nurses had washed the blood and product out of it to get him cleaned up before the surgery, and it was soft under her hand.
“Just sleep. We’ll deal with whatever comes up tomorrow. For now, just sleep.” She continued her gentle ministrations, and when his good eye remained wide open, head spinning with endless possibilities, each less desirable than the last, she started humming. Gently, sweetly. A stupid little song that they’d heard in a jukebox when they first met. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut as the morphine made the thoughts indecipherable and he stopped trying to think, and stopped trying not to think. Instead, he just let himself be, and feel Elizabeth’s hands in his hair, the warmth of her body, and sound of her voice. And eventually, he was lulled into a deep but peaceless sleep.
"You're just a stupid little girl who has done nothing but ruin everything I've ever worked for - your father would be ashamed"
"I'm glad your father's dead, he doesn't have to see what a wretch and a cancer you've become"
"Police Academy?! Ha! Maybe I'll get lucky and someone sensible with half a brain will shoot you like your failure of a father"
Ava woke with a start, her body jolting upright, her eyes still heavy with sleep unable to focus on her unfamiliar surroundings as her heart pounded erratically and her chest heaved as she struggled to shake off the remnants of the all too familiar dream. Too caught up in regaining her composure she never noticed the bucket of water or the person throwing it until she was drenched and spluttering. Her hands came up to rub her eyes in an attempt to once again clear her vision before throwing a glare at the offending person "'bout time you woke up, almost thought you'd died and saved me a whole lotta trouble" a roll of her eyes indicated she'd heard him, she just refused to give him a reaction. Of fucking course it'd be Jacob Seed to get her wet in the frosty early morning air and not in the good way. "Fuck off, Seed" came her irked reply mentally slapping herself for actually responding to him "someone wake up on the wrong side of the cage this morning?" a question asked without an ounce of genuine care and a smirk so fraudulent it made her old Barbie dolls seem a hundred per cent real in comparison. Ava didn't reply and instead huffed in annoyance; she was exhausted and her entire body ached from having to sleep on the dirty floor all night so she was in no mood for being patronised by an asshole choosing to focus on trying to untangle the mess of brunette hair with nothing but her fingers - unsuccessfully I might add which only worsened her already sour mood. Refusing to give up her hands continued as best they could to untangle some of the easier knots and avoiding the still tender area of where she'd been struck a few hours earlier.
Cerulean blue eyes watched as she stubbornly refused to give up enjoying the small huffs of frustration he'd hear occasionally. If he was any sort of gentleman he'd offer her an extra set of hands but he found watching her struggle much more entertaining. Instead the former army marksman took the opportunity to study the young woman sitting awkwardly in his cage; always know your enemy he thought as his gaze wandered over her. Now that it was daytime he could get a good look at her; hair a chocolaty brown and even though it was currently a mess you could see she took care of it, she must have been about 5"2 and a hundred and five pounds if that which surprised him considering she put quite a bit of force into the kick to his face last night - not enough to hurt him too much but she still managed to draw blood. That didn't mean anything to him though, she was still weak and he looked forward to putting her through her paces and beyond but for now his studying continued now noting her eyes that were a sea green "you getting off on this, Seed?" then there was that mouth of hers always too quick with a smart remark and a sarcastic comment - that would soon change, he'd break that bad habit first. "You could have avoided all of this if you and your friends had just walked away" which was true but Ava wasn't about to admit that especially not to Jacob who currently sat upon a metal chair, his large arms folded across his chest whilst his legs stretched out before him crossing at his feet; dickhead came to mind as she finally gave up on trying to tame her unruly hair and turned her attention to the eldest of the three siblings. Easier to see him properly within the early morning rays of sunshine peeking through. The photos provided within the manila folder didn't give much detail; too grainy to actually make anything out but now in the morning light she noticed just how beautiful his eyes were and yes, she hated herself for admitting it and yes, she almost threw up in her mouth but she couldn't deny that they were strikingly beautiful and one of the first things she'd noticed. His scars and his burns weren't even on her radar as she casually studied him whilst his attention was momentarily elsewhere, of course they were noticeable and of course she was curious about them; how had he gotten such severe scarring? Did they bother him? Then she snorted realising what a stupid thought that was - it was Jacob Seed as if anything bothered him.
Her snort caught his attention and his eyes snapped back to her making her look away "somethin' funny?" completely ignoring his question Ava rose to her knees and shuffled until she was at the front of the cage "to answer your previous statement. If you and your freakshow of a family acted like decent human beings none of this would have happened" she spat venomously, her facial expression twisting into something that conveyed hatred. Within an instant Jacob's demeanor changed from one of mild amusement and boredom to that of white hot rage, his hands came up to slam on the bars of the cage as he shot forward making the young woman fall back in fear and shuffle as far back as possible - everyone knew not to slander his family in anyway but apparently Ava didn't get that memo and instantly regretted running her mouth as she saw the sheer anger in his glare and the way his hands gripped the bars hard enough to turn his knuckles white. She wasn't afraid to admit that she was terrified right now but her wide green eyes couldn't look away "don't ever talk ill of my family" his voice despite being low was filled with rage and a fierce protectiveness that almost sounded like a growl, it made a chill run down her spine. If making situations worse by running your mouth was an Olympic event Ava would get gold everytime, it was a talent and right now it was one she wished she never had.
His gaze lingered on her for a few more moments as if contemplating his next move and Ava just prayed to whatever higher power that existed that it didn't involve him opening the cage. Instead Jacob released his grip, stood swiftly from the chair and moved towards two of his Chosen; unable to hear what he was saying Ava closed her eyes and made a mental note not to mention his family again. When she reopened them she noticed Jacob had headed inside the Veterans Centre and the men he'd been talking to heading her way "time to get cleaned up little lady, brother Jacob's orders" cleaned up? Wonderful she thought knowing it wasn't about to be a warm bubble bath waiting for her. When she hadn't moved quickly enough the cage door was wrenched open and a dirty hand grasped her hair making Ava his in pain as he dragged her kicking and screaming across the compound "quite ya flappin' girly, it ain't doin' ya no good" she didn't listen and despite her ankle throbbing she managed to get a lucky hit on the shin of the second man who cursed loudly before regaining his composure and back handing her for the trouble making her head swing back, almost seeing stars from the impact.
Ava was thrown unceremoniously onto the hard floor of a dimly lit concrete room, her hands and knees stinging from taking the brunt of the impact, this made her glance over her shoulder and glare at her two 'knights in shining armour' but they'd already left leaving her to her own devices for the time being. Her mind wondered what their version of 'getting cleaned up' was because judging from the state of them and the smell she had to endure on the way over they hadn't bathed in quite some time; hypocrites.
Ava noticed the medium sized drainage hole in the middle of the room and the large hose pipe hanging neatly on the wall near the door but her muddled mind didn't put two and two together and paid no attention to it, instead she focused on the door and wondered if they'd been stupid enough to leave it unlocked. It couldn't possibly be that easy to get off here, right? As if she'd be able to just open the door and go? Seeing as she was cold, exhausted and hungry Ava didn't think she had much of a choice and even with a bad ankle she could suffer through the pain long enough to get away from this place.
Without hesitation she slowly pushed herself up off the unforgiving floor and hobbled towards the door; her ankle protesting every step she made but she wasn't about to let that stop her when her freedom was so close that she could almost taste it.
A shaky hand reached out towards the handle, her fingers brushing it gently but to her horror it moved and the door began to open making her recoil from the fiery haired brute who had just stepped inside "goin' somewhere, pup?" he asked, his face showed no emotion and neither did his voice which didn't bode well for the brunette now sat on the floor - the momentum of trying to move away quick enough meant she fell ass backwards and her ass had no padding so no doubt that would be yet another bruise for her.
"Strip" came his clipped demand, his gaze fixed and hard on the woman in front of him. His arms were folded across his chest again and Ava wondered if that was a natural stance for him or if it was to stop him from possibly murdering her. Her brows furrowed in confusion at his demand "what?" "you heard me, I said strip" again, his tone was short and clipped but that didn't stop Ava who scoffed and point blank refused. There was no way she was going to strip for him "and if I don't?" she asked raising an eyebrow as if to challenge him which with all things considered was probably pretty stupid on her part but up until this point her life had been a series of stupid events so why not continue?
It was then she realised her mistake and her eyes widened in absolute fear as Jacob stormed across the room and it was in that moment she saw that rage within his eyes from earlier and prayed that whatever death was coming it'd be quick. All of a sudden she found herself pinned to the cold, harsh floor with one of his hands around her throat, his grip hard enough to leave bruises whilst his other hand pinned both her wrist above her - she had nowhere to go because her legs were useless at this point and even they weren't she doubted she'd have enough strength to fend him off long enough to reach the door. His face was now right above hers, his breath hot on her face as she struggled to for air "you'll learn why I'm the best at what I do and you'll either play nice and fall in line remembering that you're nothin' more than meat that's expendable" as if to emphasize his point his grip around her throat became that much tighter that she'd started to squirm beneath him, panic mode had kicked in as her vision became cloudy. She truly thought she was about to die and in the back of her mind she found she was okay with that because that would mean she would finally meet her father. In her current situation she was completely powerless to stop him from choking the life out of her and snapping her neck like a twig but apparently he wasn't feeling that murderous today and released his grip just enough for her to gasp for air " - or you'll be culled, tied up and used as live target practice for my Chosen, so what will it be, princess?"
Ava gasped and spluttered again fighting for air unable to give him a physical answer Ava weakly nodded as much as his grip allowed making a cruel smirk replace the scowl he'd been wearing previously" good girl, you know what to do" within an instant he'd relinquished his grip on both her wrists and her throat and had returned to his previous position. His gaze hardened and cold as watched her pathetically regain her composure.
With no other option but to do as she was told the young brunette cautiously and fearfully began to slip out of her deputy uniform as shaking hands fumbled with zips, buckles and buttons. His never wavering gaze didn't help her much either and not knowing if he would strangle her again also didn't help but soon enough she'd managed to discard her uniform leaving her in nothing but her bra and underwear; surely I can keep these on, right? This made Ava look over towards him and in return he merely nodded making tears spring to her eyes as she tentatively reached for the clasp of her bra at the back to unhook it before letting it drop to the floor. Ava gulped down the feeling of nausea before scrunching her face in pain as she winced - her throat would be sore for a good while and no doubt the bruises he left will last weeks before they fade.
Refusing to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry, Ava thumbed the elastic of her underwear before tugging them down over her hips, thighs and legs before discarding them with the rest of her clothes. Every part of her was open to him, she felt extremely vulnerable wished she was anywhere but here. Her earlier bravado had been stripped from her and now she naked and exposed in front of him. A face full of cold, harsh water soon broke her train of thought as the force of the pressure slammed her against the nearest wall making her cry out but this only resulted in more coughing and spluttering from the woman. Not that she could see but she could already tell that her skin had probably turned a nice shade of red if pain was anything to go by.
No matter how hard she tried to cover herself from the onslaught of water it just never made a difference, instead she gave up and pressed herself against the cold wall waiting for it to be over.
After what felt like an eternity the water stopped and she was left sore, drenched and very, very cold if her shivering was anything to go by. It's the type of cold that works its way into your bones and then it's icy tendrils wrap itself around your core and you genuinely wonder if you'll ever feel warmth again. "Get dressed" a flurry of definitely used clothes that consisted of ratty dark jeans and a fade flannel shirt hit her but Ava was that cold she would have worn a garbage bag to get warm at this point so she hurriedly threw them on making a note of just how big they were on her, not that she was about to complain especially if it meant being stripped again.
By now Jacob stood in front of what he could only assume was a drowned rat, her hair now forcefully untangled hung dripping onto the flannel she wore as he grasped her jaw he noticed how she flinched but said nothing, his grip just hard enough to have her attention and possibly leave bruises "when you behave yourself you get privileges like clothes but if you keep running that mouth of yours and misbehaving those privileges get taken away and you'll get punished. I'm sure my men out there would love to see the sight that I just saw and I mean, who knows what would happen if I'm not around" his not so subtle threat was quickly understood; the possibility of getting raped wasn't something she wanted "have I made myself clear?" "y - yes" Jacob quirked an eyebrow and gripped her jaw that little bit harder; more bruises to add to the collection she thought as she painfully cleared her throat "y - yes, sir" her voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk but her answer seemed to satisfy him because relinquished his grip and strode to the door, an arm keeping it open as he glanced at the sorry state of a deputy.
"Time for your trainin', let's go, pup" Ava meekly nodded; too tired and too fearful at this point to put up a fight. Her stomach filled with dread as she made her way towards the door.
Summary: When Sakura graduates from the academy, she suddenly finds her head invaded by the ghost of Uchiha Shisui. Her inner is gone, but not forgotten, and she struggles with impulse control more than ever before. But also, Shisui gives a lot of unsolicited advice - useful and otherwise - and does not shut the fuck up. He’s not thrilled about current events.
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Shisui (not Shisui/Sakura or SasuSaku)
Word Count: 3.5k
Chapter Warnings/Squicks: graphic torture, severe eye trauma and torture, body horror, violence
Author’s Notes: Firstly, please take the warning seriously for this chapter. If you would like to skip the scene where these apply, this is the very first scene. Jump to the scene break, which has the opening line “Sakura woke up with a gasp.”
Secondly, I would like to give an enormous thanks to @jaycrowind for betaing, @thriceandonce for being an excellent cheerleader, and @stormwind13 and @hiruma-musouka for talking me through the difficult parts of this chapter (which was basically everything after the opening scene, ha).
Also, I would like to remind everyone that I have no plans to discontinue any of my fics at this time. Please do not send any comments/asks/reviews/messages either asking me if I have or implying that I have. If I do come to such a decision, I will make a public announcement.
Finally, I am now available on twitter! My handle is _roadkillcafe_ . I also have given an official blanket statement for anyone wishing to do podfics/translations/remixes/fanart/etc of my fics. Just leave me proper credit for the original fic, and send me a link for me (and others) to enjoy! Thank you very much :)
Previous Part: Part 4
“Shisui, please.”
Ragged breathing filled her ears. There was a burning ring around her wrists and when Sakura glanced up, she saw that she was chained in too tight cuffs that had rubbed her wrists bloody. Even before she could catch her breath her heart was already pounding in her chest with fear.
“Please,” the voice broke into a sob. “I can’t take this anymore, just kill me. Don’t let them have my eyes, Shisui, please.”
Sakura’s head turned without permission and every iota of her being rebelled at what she saw.
A young shinobi was literally pinned to a chair, stakes driven through his hands and arms to the chair. Below, his ankles and legs were similarly staked. Blood dripped everywhere from him, but the most horrific part of the scene was his face. Her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the eyeball that dangled freely from the socket, only connected by a strand of nerves. Dimly, Sakura realized that the boy was a Hyuuga.
“Nikkou…” Her voice was raspy and yet familiar to Sakura, despite not being her own. Shisui. She was reliving Shisui’s memories.
“Nikkou, I can’t – there’s no way out of this. I’m sorry.”
“C’mon Shisui, you’re a genius, you’ve gotta think of something. Anything, I don’t care, just don’t let them take my eyes, please.” Nikkou’s remaining good eye rolled wildly in his head. It occasionally fixed on Shisui, teary and wide eyed with terror and pain. Sakura struggled to look away from the sight of his bruised face, but Shisui’s gaze remained focused on Nikkou and his ruined eye, and so did Sakura’s.
Before Shisui could reply, the door to the cell banged open. Both of them startled badly, Sakura’s heart beating a sharp staccato rhythm in her chest.
A Kiri shinobi strode into the room. He was older than Shisui and Nikkou, with the beginnings of craggy lines on his face, and his hair styled into something resembling a fin. Sakura had no idea who he was, but there was a foreign swell of resignation and fear and hatred in her chest.
She watched him circle around the room like a shark, slowly closing in on Nikkou. Nikkou’s breath escaped him faster and faster until he was almost hyperventilating, his good eye hyper focused on the foreign shinobi. On his hands specifically, which held clippers. The shinobi considered Shisui.
“Well, Konoha? Do you have anything to say yet?”
Nikkou’s eye snapped to her. “Shisui, tell him something! Tell him what he wants to know! Please!” When she remained silent, Nikkou tried again, his voice becoming a ragged scream. “Shisui, please!”
Her mouth moved. “I will not betray my village.”
The Kiri shinobi smirked. “I didn’t think any of you Konoha shinobi had it in you.” He jabbed Nikkou in the shoulder with his elbow in a seemingly friendly gesture. “Too bad for you, kid.”
He reached forward to grasp Nikkou’s dangling eye. When his fingers made contact, Nikkou began screaming, the sound echoing in the cell.
“Not my eye! Please, not my eye! Take anything else, please!”
Revulsion rose, with Sakura unable to tell if it was hers or Shisui’s. There was a layer of understanding that Shisui had that wasn’t hers; an understanding of the fear of losing an eye. The hatred was turning to outright loathing as the shinobi pulled the string of nerves taut and brought the clippers close to the end where they were attached to Nikkou’s skull. He took his time, drawing it out, stroking the blades along the length of nerves. Nikkou was wailing and Sakura was unable to look away when, with a quick snip, the shinobi took his eye.
Her upper lip curled with a rage such that she had never known. She memorized the way the Kiri shinobi casually dropped the eye and its attached nerves into a sterile bag. Nikkou sobbed brokenly, defeated.
“Thanks for the eye, kid. It’ll come in handy. I’ll come back for the other one later, unless your teammate here decides to talk. See if you can convince him while I’m gone.” The shinobi spun the clippers around his fingers in a goodbye, and left them alone once more. Sakura tracked his movements the entire time.
If it was the last thing she did, she would kill him.
Sakura woke with a gasp. Before she even fully understood what she was doing, she was moving, ripping her blankets off her body and stumbling to the bathroom. She made it to the toilet in time to vomit her dinner violently. Her stomach heaved over and over, even after there was nothing left, and only strings of saliva and bile clung to her lips. She barely had the strength to spit into the toilet. She pressed her face against the cool porcelain and wept.
When her shoulders had stopped shaking, enough time had passed that Sakura could address the silent presence in her head.
“What the hell was that?”
Shisui was silent for a long time, long enough that Sakura started to doze with her face on the toilet. And yet every time she drifted off too much, the image of Nikkou’s eyeless socket surfaced. With the image came the foreign tangle of emotions that had to be Shisui’s association with that memory. Sakura had certainly never hated someone so much in her life.
‘I never would have wanted you to see that memory,’ Shisui said at last.
But I did, Sakura thought to herself, and felt Shisui’s slight flinch when the stray thought reached him.
She stayed silent, and so did Shisui, as she struggled to process the nightmare. She didn’t even know what she wanted to ask Shisui first or if she even wanted to learn more about it at all, and as she thought, his words from before floated across her mind, I was on the Kiri front during the Third War.
There was the unspeakable horror of Nikkou staked to the chair and the Kiri shinobi clipping out his eye while Shisui watched. There was Shisui’s absolute, resigned refusal to give over any information to the interrogator. There was the question of how he escaped. There was the niggling wonder of why the hell bad things happened to eyes around Shisui. But most of all…
‘What happened to Nikkou?’ Sakura asked at last.
‘He’s dead.’
Despite her exhaustion, the images from the nightmare - Shisui’s memory - drove Sakura out of bed to avoid enticing their return. Which is how she ended up running laps in Konoha before dawn, before pre-dawn even, the sky still blanketed in stars. She had several canteens of water buckled to her waist as the only things weighing her down. When her lungs burned for air and her legs felt limp, she stopped to drink. All too soon, the vivid images would return and spur Sakura into continuing her laps.
Sakura turned towards home once the sky began to lighten. The first rays of dawn once again swept away the worst of the night terrors until she felt almost normal again. At least, normal except for the dead jounin haunting her. She kicked off her shoes and made her way towards the shower to wash away the sweat and the remnants of the sickly feeling from vomiting.
Showering led to redressing, which led to breakfast. By now Sakura was ravenous and dreading the day’s work. What had she been thinking, running laps for hours? How was she going to be able to train? How was she going to complete the mission?
‘Oh, relax,’ Shisui said in the face of her fretting. ‘Training should always push you to your limits. The run was good for you. You should do it every morning.’
‘I should’ve known you would suggest more running,’ Sakura grumped. She hated doing laps. And yet, this was the second night in a row she had nightmares from Shisui’s memories. She would have to do something to keep them from lingering. At least running had long term benefits. ‘I’ll think about it.’
It wasn’t long before Sakura was ready for the new day. She eyed herself in the mirror. There was no outward hint of the nightmare she had suffered last night, nor of her ghostly tenant. She just… looked like herself. Sakura leaned forward so she could peer at her eyes. They did say that eyes were the windows to the soul. But there was nothing.
She shook herself. At this rate, she was going to be just as obsessed with eyes as Shisui was. She needed to get to training. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as bad as it was yesterday.
When she arrived, Sakura found that she was earlier than any of her teammates. It was a pleasant change from being late the day before. It also gave her time to sit and relax. The weather was warm and breezy, but thankfully not humid. All in all, a good day for training. If only Sakura had any idea of where to even start.
‘I can help guide you through a few things. You should work on your conditioning and basic taijutsu and weapons skills before you think about fancy ninjutsu or genjutsu,’ Shisui offered.
Sakura narrowed her eyes at the sky. ‘What’s in it for you?’
‘I don’t die again because of a genin’s stupid mistake,’ Shisui said dryly.
That sounded believable, especially after his insistence yesterday that he wouldn’t teach her anything.
‘You start with conditioning first, to prep your body for the strain of jutsu, right?’ she asked.
‘That’s part of it. But there will always be a time when you don’t have enough chakra for any jutsu, and how well you know basic taijutsu can save your life.’
Sakura looked down at her hands thoughtfully. ‘Alright, I’ll listen to what you have to say. But nothing too hard! Who knows what kind of training Kakashi-sensei is going to make us do.’ Sakura said.
‘That’s the spirit. Now get up. There’s no time like the present.’ Shisui urged her.
Sakura rolled to her feet. There was a moment’s pause when she pondered what exactly she should do to condition herself. Then, with hesitant strikes, she began working through the Academy practice routine. Neither of her parents had styles to call their own, not like clan children. They had always encouraged her to make the best of her intelligence and what the Academy taught her. That had been enough to get them to chuunin, after all.
Shisui didn’t speak, or even give any indication he was paying attention besides a sense of watchfulness that Sakura couldn’t explain. Since he didn’t stop her, she continued with the series of simple katas that she knew. The style was mostly built around redirecting a stronger or faster enemy’s force, under the assumption that the user was smaller and less experienced. Sakura definitely counted as that.
As her routine came to a close, Shisui began to offer her pointers. They were, to Sakura’s relief, far more useful than the ones he had given her yesterday.
‘Your stance weakens when you punch with your left hand. Watch the placement of your feet,’ and ‘Lead with your opposite foot to strengthen that strike,’ and ‘If you follow through, you can turn this kata into a hold,’ were all patiently explained to her. It was at odds with his patronizing attitude the day before. Sakura couldn’t decide if it was because Shisui was, contrary to first impressions, actually a good teacher, or if he still felt bad for the nightmares his memories had given her. Either way, she didn’t question it.
Shisui hummed thoughtfully. ‘Your grasp of the Academy basics is solid, though you do need lots of conditioning. But I only know how to teach speed.’ Sakura got the impression of a shrug. ‘So I will teach you what I know. My style is far different from the Academy’s. At its most complicated, it is a very fluid style that requires a lot of flexibility and makes equal use of every part of the body. I combined it with my speed to dispatch enemies as efficiently as possible. At your level, you will need to do the same.’
‘Okay, makes sense. So where do I start?’ She was tired and her thighs weren’t exactly happy after her impromptu morning run, but she also wasn’t bone dead exhausted. She could do this.
‘With stretches. Lots of stretches,’ Shisui said. From there, he talked her through several exercises that were new to Sakura, and that were barely even the beginning of Shisui’s personal style. There was a lot of ground for her to cover, and not much time to do it in. Training wasn’t going to be something she did just with her team, but a new hobby that she did constantly.
That morning, Shisui only had time to teach Sakura one of the beginning forms. But combined with the other stretches and his advice on her use of the Academy style, it was enough. She even felt ready to go another round with Kakashi. There would be no way that she would win, but she wanted to try out what she had learned against an unsuspecting opponent.
Sasuke soon arrived at the training grounds as Sakura finished her stretches, and then Naruto showed up five minutes later. She had timed it so that her teammates wouldn’t spot her. She had no idea how to explain to them how she was suddenly learning non-Academy forms. Besides, this way, if Kakashi was anywhere near as late as he was yesterday, she would have plenty of time to rest before more training and possibly another mission.
Sakura peeked under her lashes at Sasuke. He looked so cool, leaning back against a tree, the sun catching his pitch eyes just right so that the pupil was discernible from the iris. She felt her heart flutter against her ribs. He was so smart and talented, sure to be the brightest star of their generation. Heat rose to her face.
‘So...what do you actually know about this kid?’ Shisui asked.
Sakura startled out of her musings. ‘What?’
‘Well, you keep going on and on about your infatuation with him. So you must know a lot about him, right? What is it that you like about him besides his talent? Konoha has plenty of talented and skilled shinobi,’ he elaborated.
‘Well…’ Sakura paused to organize her thoughts. ‘He likes tomatoes, I think. They show up the most consistently in his lunch. He’s not very cooperative on teamwork tests at the Academy, but that’s only because he can do everything himself! And…’
She frowned. What did she know about Sasuke? Why had she started crushing on him? He wasn’t always such a loner. In fact, a few years ago, he had been...friendly. Competitive, certainly, but outgoing and playful. She had liked him because he had never bullied her or avoided her. He didn’t go out of his way to talk to her, but he had never been cruel, not even in the thoughtless way that kids could be. And then Sakura found out that Ino had liked him too, and that was the final straw.
Sakura shook herself. Things about Sasuke. ‘He says he doesn’t really like or dislike anything, or have any hobbies. He doesn’t have a dream, but an ambition. To kill a certain man, he said, and restore his clan.’
‘That’s ominous.’ Shisui’s presence seemed to ripple a bit. It felt weird, like her brain was tingling.
‘It is,’ Sakura agreed, subdued. She wondered why Sasuke wanted to kill someone so badly. What was it that this person did that made Sasuke think only of killing him? What did it take for a person to feel that way?
‘Clearly, you need to train more,’ Shisui interrupted, his voice lighter now. ‘And learn more about what happened. And then you can go along with Sasuke on his little field trip to kill this man. If you’re actually serious about your crush on him, that is.’
Sakura narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Why do you care if I get a chance with Sasuke-kun?’
‘I don’t,’ Shisui said flatly. ‘But it just so happens that training kills two birds with one stone. You get to impress your crush, and I get to stay in a body that won’t die on the first C rank mission it goes on.’
‘Does it really matter if you’re already dead?’
‘Who doesn’t want to stay alive a little longer? This is my second chance. Besides, I’m a ghost, and like all stories about ghosts, I have some unfinished business that I’ll probably need your help with,’ he said.
‘What kind of unfinished business?’ Sakura perked up. This was interesting. She hadn’t had anyone to gossip with since her friendship with Ino became a rivalry.
Shisui huffed. ‘The kind you don’t need to know about yet.’
Sakura fidgeted with the hem of her dress, feeling a bit like Hinata all of a sudden. ‘Does it...does it have anything to do with Nikkou?’
He hesitated, and Sakura got a brief flash of quick thinking on his part. Maybe deciding how detailed he wanted to be, though after that nightmare, she didn’t see why it mattered. ‘I...yeah. That Kiri nin, he’s still alive. His name is Ao. And I’m going to kill him.’ There was a rush of hatred and intense focus, almost obsession. Shisui wanted to avenge his mutilated teammate and bring home the last part of him that never made it back.
Nikkou’s screams echoed in Sakura’s mind again, causing her gag reflex to rise. She swallowed down the bile. Shisui didn’t even have to ask.
‘Of course I’ll help you kill him.’
Sakura easily committed Ao’s face to memory. Blue hair styled into a fin, slightly craggy face, Kiri fatigues. She would know him the next time she saw him.
“Wow, Sakura-chan, I didn’t know Kakashi-sensei being late made you this angry.” Naruto’s voice jolted Sakura out of her head.
Sakura glanced around. She had forgotten that she was at training with her team, waiting for Kakashi to show his face. While she had been talking with Shisui, her gaze had focused on a far off tree, and her face had done little to disguise her emotions. Even Sasuke was looking at her with a little interest. Sakura flushed. Just what had her expressions revealed to them?
“Well,” Sakura blustered. She seized upon the excuse Naruto had gift wrapped her. “Well, it’s rude! And a waste of our time! What’s the point of meeting so early if he isn’t going to be on time to help us train or supervise missions! He’s so irresponsible. We all managed to be here, didn’t we?” She gestured redundantly.
“I know!” Naruto exploded. He was suddenly in Sakura’s face, expression animated. “I could be learning a super cool jutsu! Or, or, protecting a castle from a mutiny! Not just hanging around here waiting.”
“You sure you’re up to protecting a whole castle?” Sasuke said. The fact that he was drawn into their conversation spoke volumes about how bored he was. Luckily, it had the advantage of not only getting his attention, but pulling Naruto away from her.
“Of course I am. I’m gonna be the Hokage, you know.” Naruto posed proudly. “Do you even know what you’re gonna be?”
Sasuke folded his arms. “I’m going to be an elite jounin of a village, and bring honor to my family name.” His tone made this sound like it should have been obvious. Sakura nodded along. And it should have been. Sasuke was the best.
To her surprise, they both turned to her next. After yesterday and the way they so got caught up in their rivalry, and Sakura being lost in her thoughts with Shisui, she thought they would ignore her.
“Ne, Sakura-chan, what about you? What are you going to be?”
Sakura licked her lips. Her eyes wanted to dart to Sasuke, but he had nothing to do with her being a shinobi. She had, after all, joined the Academy two years before she even started to have feelings for him.
“I…” she clenched her fists with embarrassment. “I don’t know what I want to be.” She glared down at the ground. Sakura didn’t want to see the expressions on her teammates’ faces.
‘We all start somewhere, kid. Chin up.’
She breathed out through her nose and ground her teeth together. Shisui was right. She was brave enough for this. She looked up. Sasuke and Naruto were still waiting for her to finish.
“But I am going to be strong! And useful! I won’t be someone’s tag along or left behind.” Sakura nodded decisively. It was too soon for her to tell what she would specialize in, or what she would like best. Maybe she would be a chuunin like her parents, or an elite jounin like Shisui or Kakashi. Maybe she would go into Intelligence, or the Academy, or Research and Development. For right now, she was a genin. She had time.
Even Though It Hurts Pt.2 (Steve Harrington x Reader)
Part 1
Warnings: Blood, Violence (Regarding the demodog scene), Swear words, fainting
A/N: Finally got this to how I wanted it, if there are any errors in spelling or grammarI’m to numb to notice at the moment as I’m drowning in assignments. Let me know if you liked it and are interested in a third part!
@im-a-stranger-thing
“What exactly is the plan, Steve?” Your voice wavering slightly. Back to back with Steve, the two of you circled around with your weapons at the ready.
“This wasn’t part of the first plan!” He yelled over his shoulder, the sound of hissing drowning out your voices.
“We have to make one...now!” You shouted, knuckles turning white from the grip you had on your axe.
You looked around trying to find a solution, a red car catching your eye.
“That red car.” You said, not taking your eyes off of the hoard now closing in. “You see it?”
Steve nodded before realizing you couldn’t see his face, considering the two of you are back and back.
“Yeah. red car. I see it.” He said, the stress evident in his voice.
You nodded to yourself, licking your lips before explaining the rest of the plan.
“Alright, these things aren’t going to chase both of us. They move as a pack, at least from what I can tell.” You said, adjusting your grip.
“Are you suggesting we split up?” Steve asked as if it was out of the question.
“Yeah, go toward the bus. Okay? I’ll run forward and circle around.” You asked, making sure Steve knew what the plan was.
Steve had zero chance to answer, before you sprinted off into the fog, bringing the horde with you. Not all but a majority, giving Steve a chance to get back to the bus and to the kids.
You dug into your pocket desperately trying to find the keys to the van, all while struggling to carry an axe at the same time without getting killed in the process.
A demodog snapped at your heels earning a grunt mixed with a yell from you, kicking backward to get it away from you.
You managed to hook your finger through the key ring, now clutched in your fist. Although you could see the van, you still had a lot of distance between you and the vehicle. You flung the axe behind you allowing yourself to pick up speed, hitting one or two demodogs while at it.
Steve rolled across the hood of the red car, regained his balance and jumped into the bus, barely making it.
The monsters now clawing and prying at the door, which Steve tried to barricade with a slate of sheet metal.
“They can’t get in!” Lucas screamed although he wasn’t exactly positive if this was true or not.
The crew of children including Steve let out a chorus of screams as arms poked and prodded through the door. Steve now hacking away at the demodogs with his bat trying to protect the kids.
“Where’s Y/N?” Dustin asked, only now noticing his cousin was missing. “Steve where is she?”
Steve looked over at the distressed boy, finally managing to hold off the monsters.
“She-“ Steve said looking back toward the door, not exactly having an answer as he didn’t quite grasp the plan you had concocted. “Uh, she’s...?”
Max let out a shrill scream that launched Steve back into action, ready to defend (his) the kids.
The screech of tires rang in their ears, a slight thud against the bus gave Dustin hope that his cousin had made it out alive.
You slammed your palm on the horn. Gruesome sludge caked the windshield, your hand shook as you switched on the wipers, eyes not moving. You let out a shaky sigh as the adrenaline wore off, leaving you sick with nerves.
The metal doors of the bus opened and relief washed over You, your hands moving quickly to unlock the door.
“Y/N!” Dustin exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around you, stumbling backwards against the car. “YOUR ALIVE!”
You laughed through tears that had formed without knowing, just relieved everything was alright and Dustin and his friends were safe.
Steve appeared from the bus entrance, your eyes locking with his. A few tears managed to roll down your cheeks, your lips parted slightly as if to express your joy to see him alive but no words came out.
Dustin parted from you, scrunching his nose as he noticed the look on your face.
“Why are you crying?” He asked.
You turned away shuffling your feet, you used the hem of your sleeve to soak up the tears that had built up in your eyes.
“Nothing, Nothing I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” You admitted, feeling embarrassed now that everyone was worried about you.
Steve wrapped his arms around you tightly, the smell of his hairspray filling your nose. Your chest pressed against his, your right hand balled the back of his jacket as the other found its way around his midsection.
“I didn’t think we were going to make it.” You admitted softly, hiding in the crook of his neck. “I thought- thought you guys would be dead.”
You would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined finding their bodies torn apart, helpless to do anything but scream.
“Alright, stop with that shit,” Dustin said annoyed, shoving Steve off of you. “We’ve got a town to save.”
You sat in the driver's side of your aunt's van, hands firmly clutching the wheel and your eyes shut, just trying to focus on something, anything, other than the string of events that had happened earlier.
The van sat idle in your driveway, you chewed at the corner of your thumb deep in thought. The lights were out in your aunt's house, thus meaning she had gone to bed. There was no way you’d be able to fall asleep, not after nearly getting killed more than a few times in the span of a few hours.
Steve had told you to go home reassuring you he would take care of the kids, but what if he couldn’t? What if he needed your help again? You ran different scenarios through your head, different possibilities of how the night could have ended and without you in the equation things never ended well.
“Fuck it.” You said, hand grabbing the gear shift.
You nearly crashed with a blue Camaro as you backed out, you recognized it was Billy’s from school, but the driving was so poor it couldn’t have been him behind the wheel.
You followed after the car, trying to get a good look at who was driving. To your surprise, you could see a very focused max in the reflection of the mirror and a screaming Steve in the rearview mirror.
“What the hell?” You muttered to yourself, slamming your foot down on the gas pedal trying to catch up.
The car swerved, cutting you off as they made a sharp turn, nearly clipping you in the process.
You followed the group as they pulled into a pumpkin patch, which wasn’t much of a shock considering you just battled (what you thought were) aliens in a junkyard.
You abruptly put the breaks on, your tires sliding against the mud from the pumpkin patch.
“Where the hell is Steve?” You asked, running over toward your cousin.
“What are you doing here? I thought we told you to go home!” Dustin scolded, unpacking their supplies from the car.
Steve’s hand came up from the backseat, steadying himself on the car door.
“Holy shit.” You muttered, making your way over to him. His face had been completely disfigured, caked in blood and gashes branded across his features. “What happened?”
Your fingers ghosted over his lip, trying to examine the damage that had been dealt with him.
Your eyes shot open, the side of your face pressed against your pillow which was now slightly damp from sweat. You sat up, rubbing your eye in an attempt to wake yourself up. Your room was still dimly lit, music playing softly from your radio that sat on your desk. You wiped away the sweat from your forehead that had gathered in your sleep. As you leaned back on your elbows, the sheets of paper you had scribbled on earlier crinkled.
“Not again.” You sighed as this was the 6th time, this week alone, you had the same recurring dream. It was a detailed memory more than anything, luckily tonight it ended before it got to the tunnels.
A month or so had passed since the events that had taken place at the junkyard. You became more reserved after that, not wanting to get involved again with anything. Dustin would sit at the end of your bed while you pretended to sleep, trying to convince you to come with him and his friends but you refused, giving excuse after excuse, sometimes you had too much homework, other times you were sick.
You peeled off the t-shirt you wore as it stuck to your skin with sweat, throwing it in your hamper near the closet. You gave your head a gentle nod, reassuring yourself that it w
Tonight you managed to spend some time in the living room, mindlessly watching tv although your mind wandered somewhere else.
Dustin bolted into the room, frantically looking for something.
“Did you get it?” He asked his mother who sat adjacent from you.
“It’s on the counter Dusty.” She said, cooing at the kitten that sat in her lap.
He yelled a thank you, disappearing with the brown paper bag.
You peered out the living room window from the couch, your chest pounding as you saw Steve sitting in his car out front.
“I’ll be right back.” You said getting to your feet, giving the kitten a quick pat on the head.
You opened the front door, bringing Steve’s attention to you, now leaving you with no window of opportunity to back out.
“Hi.” You said, standing stiffly on the front steps.
He lifted a hand from the steering wheel giving you a wave in return.
“Are you coming with us?” He asked.
“No, no, I wouldn’t want to ruin your guys night.” You explained, now stepping down the steps and toward Steve’s car.
You folded your arms across your chest, rubbing your forearm in an attempt to stay warm.
“You're not ruining anything.” He said with a kind smile.
Dustin exited the car, his hair quaffed to look like Steve’s. You smiled as you watched him walk into the school gym, for once he seemed confident in himself.
You glanced at Steve to see a proud look on his face, which fell into a more sombre look. Following his gaze, you realized he was looking at Nancy.
“You still love her.” You commented, climbing up into the passenger's seat.
“What? What-Why would you say that?” He said, clearly flustered that you had caught him in the act.
“Because you look at her the way I look at you.” You explained, playing with the zipper of your sweater.
The car was silent for a moment, Steve just staring at you with wide eyes.
“What are you staring at?” You asked annoyed, feeling his eyes on you. “Steve, what’s your deal?”
He looked at you bewildered, you clearly not realizing the weight of your words.
“You just said-“ he began, being cut off by You hissing in pain. You arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut, a sharp pain ran up your right leg.
“Shit.” You said through gritted teeth. You brought your leg up and crossed it over your left, slowly rolling the pant leg up.
“What’s wrong,” Steve asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. At first, he thought it was a distraction tactic, an attempt to evade confronting what you had said. But as you rolled up your pant leg, he saw was looked like a bad infection.
“One of those fucking...things bit me.” You explained, your cool fingers dancing across your calf, not sure what to do to ease the pain.
The bite was deep but sealed up on its own. It was a deep purple shade, spidering veins spreading from it.
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Steve practically yelled, leaning in to get a better look. “That looks infected.”
You sighed, not knowing what to say.
“I put rubbing alcohol on it...” You trailed off as you pulled the pant leg back down, wincing as the fabric rubbed against the wound.
“That’s like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound and calling it a day!” He scolded, putting the car in drive. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What do you think they’re going to say when I tell them some other dimensional lizard bit me? Huh? What do you think they’re going to do?” You pestered, Steve swerving out of the parking lot.
“Fine!” He yelled, clearly stressed. “But we are telling the others.”
You were a little shocked by Steve’s authoritative voice, you weren’t going to lie, it was kind of hot.
“A bunch of thirteen-year-olds? What are they going to do?” You asked, now regretting getting into Steve’s car.
“We’ll tell hopper, Joyce, even. They know all about this shit, Joyce practically lived in the lab when Will was tweaking out.” Steve explained, eyes focused on the road.
“Lab?” You asked distraughtly. “What the hell are you on about?”
Steve rambled on about how you could be seriously hurt, considering what happened to Will after his encounter with the upside down, this could be just as bad.
“Take me home, Steve.” You said abruptly, your voice low. He glanced at you from the road. His face softened at the look on your voice.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to yell I just...I’m just worried that’s all.” He admitted, his hand finding your knee. “I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so much shit seems to go wrong...all the time.”
The car turned into your parking lot, the engine dying as he turned the keys off.
You pursed your lips, tears welling in your eyes at his words.
“I’m not her, Steve.” You said not looking at him. “I’m not Nancy, so you don’t have to worry.”
You pushed the door open and hopped out, Steve calling after you, you silenced him with the slam of the door. The world spun, your body collapsing from the pain of your leg. The car lights blurred into a bright nothing as you laid on the cold cement, unable to stay awake.
Oh wow that was fast hahaha! Thank you so much now I get it! And good luck with all your writing. Actually, I was going to request a Junkratxf!reader fic, inspired from your OC’s relationship with Junkrat so I want to keep it that way I guess hahaha.. how would junkrat react to your OC getting super handsy when she’s drunk and he’s trying real hard to resist? Could be NSFW unless you’re not comfortable with it!
:) I just happened to be online at the time and had sudden anxiety over not being clear in my stories. I’ve made up for it by being late with this! Also, you essentially requested fanfiction of a fanfiction from the author of the fanfiction. That is hilarious. :)
What follows is not canon to The Mountain but I had fun practising a bit for things I’ve got planned. ;)
Also, I am a wordy bastard and stubbornly refuse to admit this isn’t very short.
Drunk!TheMountain!Reader x Junkrat; “Try And Resist” (NSFW)
You were drunk. You shouldn’t have raided the small treasure trove of alcohol, but you did. You had wanted to relax a bit after another long day. And now you were! Relaxed, that is. So, that’s a win.
Your head felt simultaneously too heavy and too light as you stumbled about, thinking offhandedly that this was like swimming through air. Which makes sense! Obviously air is a material you swim through daily. It’s just not described as such because of reasons you couldn’t bring yourself to care about right now.
You should tell Jamis- Jamie - he can swim. Just through air instead of water.
You laughed at his pinched, confused expression, reaching down to pat him on the cheek. “C’mon, it’s funny,” you whined, clutching his jaw and pursing his lips between your forefinger and thumb.
His eyes (his beautiful hazel eyes of gold) blinked up from where he sat and then narrowed. He breathed in deeply, brow furrowing as his nose wrinkled at the smell of your breath.
“You’re right pissed up, ain’t ya,” Jamie said, moving up to catch your wrist and pull it away from his face.
You gasped, reeling back and covering your mouth with a flat palm. “Wha- no! I’m not angry.”
“Pissed up means sozed, babe,” he said.
Your dramatic reel back was apparently over-dramatic. This became clear to you as you started to fall over backwards. Jamie chuckled as he tugged your arm to right you. Instead you fell into his lap, obviously too drunk to stay upright.
Obviously. You totally hadn’t done that on purpose.
He squawked in surprise all the same as your arms went to wrap about his neck, your head nuzzling into his neck.
You hummed, lips pursed in thought against his collarbone. “You just defi- defined a slang word with another one. That’s not fair,” you slurred as you tilted up to stare into his eyes once more. All other thoughts flew out of your head. “Oh, I’m not sure what I should do with you now.”
Jamie laughed. “Yanno what, I was thinking the exact same thing. Haha! Well, I’ve got a few ideas…”
That piqued your interest. That piqued your interest hard.
“Oh?” You bit your lip, moving closer and straddling his lap. He gulped as you leant down to brush your lips against his. “And what… ideas do you have?”
If his hands clutched your hips any tighter they were sure to leave marks, the tiny sober part of your brain said. The rest of your brain shouted that that was fine; if anything he should make more.
Jamie was almost shaking under your arms, staring with blatant want at your slightly parted lips. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured as he moved closer.
His lips caught yours loosely for a split second before he started giggling and moved back, sporting another conflicted look.
You weren’t having any of that, though, and followed him. “C’mon, Jamie, I want this,” you whined.
When he tried to speak next, his voice cut off in a moan as you nibbled on his lower lip, pulling at it. He gulped and managed to push you away a few centimetres. “Y-you never call me Jamie,” he said, one hand smoothing up your side. “You’re drunk.”
You giggled, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you did so. “No I’m not,” you protested in a sing-song voice as you shot back up, almost clipping his chin with your head. “I’m tipsy.”
His heated glare was your only warning before he stood up, holding you with one arm under your knees and the other under your shoulders. “So, drunk.”
“No,” you whined, “just, just mostly drunk. There is a difference.” His disbelieving snort dismissed your complaint almost before you’d finished it.
Your arms were still about his neck and, as he walked through the cabin you had taken shelter in for the night, you used this fact in the best way possible. This way of course being to lift yourself up and continue trying to kiss him.
“You know you’re a good kisser,” you murmured against his lips. “I bet you’re good in bed, too.”
Breathing in harshly through his nose, Jamie tore his mouth away from yours with a groan. “Turn it up,” he spit out through clenched teeth. “I’m already on me last leg here.”
“Turn it up,” you asked. “Does that mean I need to try harder to seduce you? Because I can.”
Jamie’s answer, whatever it was going to be, ended in a strangled moan as you leant in to lick his neck.
“Bloody hell, ain’t you hot for it when shit-faced,” Jamie said as he entered the bedroom, chuckling slightly as he moved to toss you over his shoulder instead. “Too bad for you that I’ve got too much experience with this kinda stuff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” you whined.
“Means I ain’t gonna smash your back out if I’m not sure you’ll remember it. Don’t wanna deal with any screaming in the morning and then you ignoring me ‘till fuck knows.” He chuckled again as he threw you on the bed. “But fuck me if this ain’t something right the fuck outta me dreams.”
You bounced once, sending dust flying, and the world seemed to dance as your eyes lost focus for a moment.
“I’ll be able to remember,” you said. The confident words were undone slightly as you slurred and flipped unsteadily to your knees. Your hands shot to his belts, tugging him closer as you fumbled at the clasps. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Jamie.”
The man in question groaned with desire again, hands coming up and hovering a few centimetres from your head as he stared down at you with hooded eyes. But then shook himself and, slapping your hands away, said “That’s bonzer, love. Now, why don’t you just stay here —” He caught your wrists and pressed them into the mattress “— while’s I go get something what you really need, okay?”
You hummed, putting on a pensive facade. Jamie’s darkened eyes flickered over your face distractedly, and you took the initiative to place a peck on his lips. He shuddered and moved into the kiss fervidly. Then you bit him, earning a whine that left you laughing drunkenly.
With that he moved away as if you had burned him and took two steps back, hands cupping over his lower face in a praying position. “I need, no, y-you need,” he stammered. Pausing, he looked away as he bit his tongue. Closing his eyes as he held his hands out flat, he said, “I need to go get you something. Don’t move.”
You giggled, recapturing his attention. Licking your lips, you laid on your back in a slow sprawl. The heat in his eyes rose as you stretched across the bed, stroking your hands up your sides before stretching them above your head. Smiling up at him, you noted his teeth were digging into his lower lip as his hands clenched repeatedly by his sides.
“Alright,” you laughed, waving him off. “I’ll be waiting.”
He disappeared from sight like a shot, peg leg clanking as he ran. You were dimly aware of the door opening and slamming shut, but didn’t focus on that too much. You sang to yourself snippets of your favourite songs, waving your hands through the air and marvelling at how graceful they seemed in the still free-whirling room.
You let them fall back to your stomach with a small thud. Where was Jamie? You wanted to fuck him, and were finally unafraid to admit it.
The sober part of your brain shouted out a list of warnings before you drunkenly shushed yourself, the noise echoing through the room. You chuckled, fingers trailing up and down your stomach as you imagined Jamie coming back with something fun (and sexy). And then fucking you.
You yawned, blinking at the wooden rafters above. He was taking a while. Maybe he had forgotten? Or maybe this was one of his ideas - leave you wanting in revenge or something. Maybe to heighten the need? Did he have the patience for it? You didn’t think so.
Suddenly Jamie reappeared, clutching a water bottle in both hands. You fought to sit up, smiling at him and twirling a finger on the blankets beneath you. “Jamie,” you exclaimed. “You’re back! I thought you’d left!”
“Holy bloody fuck,” he muttered to himself, one hand shaking as it ran through his sparse hair. You smiled again, eyes flicking to the tenting fabric of his trousers. You licked your lips and laughed quietly when he flinched, following the movement of your tongue.
Then his other hand thrust the water bottle towards you as he averted his gaze. “H-here, darl. Drink this.”
Scrambling to your knees again, you caught his hand against the water bottle as you drank. His attention shot back to you, watching your half-lidded expression expression with wide and dark eyes. You took several long sips before leaning back to declare “This is just water.”
“Y-yeah,” Jamie tittered. “W-well, whadidya expect? More grog?”
You laughed, remembering an old film. “What are you, an orc,” you questioned as you fell back, rolling about in mirth.
Jamie’s laugh was stilted. “I don’t know what an orc is,” he said as he sat to your left, carefully avoiding touching you as he held the water bottle in your line of sight. “But I do know ya need to finish this ‘fore ya go ta sleep.”
“Will you be sleeping with me again,” you purred, rolling over on your stomach and pressing up against his leg like a giant cat. “I’m feeling a bit cold.”
Jamie froze, staring down at you with an expression bordering on shock. “No, darl,” he said, voice hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat before continuing. “No, you’re pissed up. Sozed. Drunk. It wou-wouldn’t be right.”
“Shit, dude,” you whined, flipping to your back again on the hard mattress and rubbing a hand along his lower back, feeling the muscles stiffen under your touch. “You’re picking a weird time to play the gentleman.”
He laughter was low and dark as he turned to hover over you, supporting his weight over you with one hand above your head and holding the water bottle to your lips with the other. “I ain’t being a gentleman for shits and giggles,” he growled, his left leg shifting to curl over and between your knees. “I’m being smart. Don’t want you throwing a wobbly tomorrow when ya don’t remember how much ya wanted it. Now drink.”
You drank again, closing your mouth around the water bottle’s as you stared up at Jamie. His heady eyes were focused on your lips. A loud groan escaped his mouth when you shifted to slide your leg innocently up to his crotch, where you innocently rocked it with slow, tentative movements.
Okay, so perhaps innocent wasn’t the right word.
However, it got you what you wanted. Jamie’s growl of frustration came only a moment before he threw the water bottle over his shoulder and captured your mouth in a biting kiss. His leg shifted up, rocking against you as he rutted on your thigh.
Then Jamie’s hands were roaming over you. More accurately, his left hand was. His right hand was anchored at the back of your head, pulling you up to him even as he pressed down on the itchy sheets. The other hand danced down your chest, grasping and pulling along the way, to clutch at your hip and drag you more forcefully against him.
The sound of the bed creaking and your fevered breathing filled the room. This was it - you were finally going to see if reality lived up to fantasy. You moaned with abandon at the prospect. He answered with a loud moan of his own and a broken stutter of your name.
“Fuck,” Jamie panted as he broke away from your mouth to pepper bruising kisses down your throat. “Oh, shit, I want you so bad. You’re so good, love, so, so good.”
Your arms came up to press him closer as you hooked your leg around his waist. The action opened you to him, and he wasted little time in shifting to press his hips against yours. Both of you groaned, pausing to look each other in the eye.
Jamie gave another experimental grind as he held your gaze, the tip of his tongue peeking out of a small, open-mouthed smile. You shuddered, eyes rolling back as you enjoyed the feeling of his clothed cock pressing against you.
Humming in pleasure, you curled around him and pressed your foreheads together, whispering, “You want me? Then take me.”
Jamie shifted up to his knees, hovering over you as his hands slid to your waist. He dragged your lower body up with him, an act that made you both moan again. Staring down at you with a dark haze in his eyes, he questioned, “Will ya remember this?”
The next thing you knew your torso was bare with your trousers and underpants around one knee. Jamie was swearing up a storm against your mouth in between harsh kisses. His fingers thrust into you over and over again, bringing you closer to cumming with each slide. His metal hand was on your chest, moving with surprising care as he pinched, pulled, and prodded, working out in record time what you reacted to best.
You cried out his name, toes curling against the back of his thighs while your fingernails raked across his back. When had he taken off his jumper?
Your next bout of awareness came as Jamie groaned your name into the crook of your neck, slowly sliding into you. You hissed at the sensation. God, his cock filled you so well.
Jamie’s metal arm was around your waist, holding your hips at an angle that made you writhe in pleasure as he moved. His other arm was crossed behind your back, chipped fingernails digging into your shoulder as he clutched you close.
Shuddering against you with a hiss, Jamie bottomed out and held for a moment. His lips and teeth scraped over your skin, murmuring words you couldn’t quite make out over the pounding of your heart. You hummed, hands roaming his back and threading their way into his uneven hair.
Jamie whined, making his way up your throat with small licks, nips, and open-mouthed kisses to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he whispered, staring into your eyes.
Even through the haze of alcohol you blushed and turned away. “Shut up and fuck me already,” you said, bucking up against him.
His hips rolled against yours, lips falling to your ear and filling it with his pants and moans. Then he was saying something, something that sounded like your name and a four letter word you weren’t sure you wanted to hear (not yet). But you couldn’t focus on it, instead concentrating on the sensations rocketing through you as you clutched at him and whined.
You awoke the next morning feeling better than you had in a year and only mildly confused as to why you were naked. You remembered snippets of last night, but nothing much.
You did remember seeing Jamison naked and that you had asked for it. However, that was about it. This disappointed you, and, thinking over what you did recall in the cold light of morning, all you could feel was shame at your wanton behaviour.
The door was kicked open with a thud, revealing a beaming Jamison wearing nothing but his trousers. He walked into the room with a couple of prepared MREs. “Oh, g’morning darl! Haha, finally awake, ay?” He smiled at you as he walked to the bed and held out one of the warm containers. “Figured you’d like a bit of a lie in. So’s I went and got ya some nice tucker - lucky you, getting brekkie in bed!”
He chuckled at his own teasing, but his smile faltered when you pulled the blankets up and shielded your chest. Clearing his throat, he stood in front of you with a creased brow as he stared at the food in his hands. Then, as was typical, he cracked a grin and laughed.
“So, ah, what d’ya remember from last night,” he asked, placing your portion on the bed next to your feet.
You reached out a hand to pick up your food. He went to lean against the far wall and watched you as he began to eat. Pinning the cloth to your body with your elbows, you began to pick at your own meal.
“I remember I asked for it, at least,” you said.
Jamison’s grin was wan and drawn, but he spoke in a cheery tone. “Hey, at least y’ain’t throwing a wobbly, love.” He giggled, looking away as he downed a large bite. “Least y’ain’t throwing a wobbly.”
I was trying to get a fucking AMAZING picture of the sunset (or maybe it was the moon). I kept calling it sexy. To get a better picture, I was trying to climb on the playset in my backyard, but there were people on it. I asked them to move for a a couple seconds so they wouldn't be in the picture and hold my jars of paper stars I had been holding. I thanked them profusely afterwards. But when I got pack inside, I discovered that the grandmother had given the paper stars to her children who crumpled them up and turned them inside out. The mom had then filled the jar with water and sprayed the top with Pam. I marched back in there, slapped the grandma, and screamed at both of them the best you can in a dream.
Another part of my dream was just a phrase. It was a play on being "roped in" or "chained down". It was a much softer version. Using "garland" as a verb, similar to "rope", but nice. Like, so soft that you didn't realize it was happening, and its not an incriminating thing that youre garlanded into.
Anothet part involved my sister. I was trying to hide a little ways down my street, pretending to be asleep underneath my blankets. I was still outside, tho, and partially hidden by a tree. There was an extreemly small pride parade of like 10 people going on. There were 2 people carrying a flag that was checkered yellow and an orangish red. I then saw my sister walk by wearing a crop top with the lipstick lesbian flag on it, and rainbow wristbands. I talked with her for a while, not making a big deal put of the fact that she was gay. (She's not lgbtq+ irl, but she seems to being lgbtq+ against me a lot in my dreams.)
Another part of my dream was wild. CrankGameplays was working on a giant animal themed MMO. But before people were joining, there were AIs implimented into the world. (All of them were YouTubers) They thought they were real people, so I went into the game and tried to enlighten them that they were all in a simulation, and there were real versions of themselves that they didn't know about. I tried to use the analogy of if you were playing the Sims, and you told your sim to play video games, and it starts playing the sims. They thoight they were the person in front of the computer, but really, they're the sim. Markiplier was very confused.
But eventually, the MMO was completed, and all of the real youtubers joined a Skype call with me and we played around a bunch. I leveled up enough to get a higher rank animal and just chucked a deer into the ocean.
The SCARIEST part of the dream is kind of a repeating theme; large confusing bathrooms with a major design flaw, I.e. the only available toilets don't have tall enough walls, the stalls are cramped, bad toilet placement, the bathroom being as big as a wherehouse, bad lighting, dirty, no sinks, chairs instead of toilets, and just general nightmare physics. ALL of these tropes appeared in this dream. I went into the bathroom with six other people, one of which was my sister. The bathroom was in school. They were all waiting for me to go so that we could all leave. It was all dimly lit and all exposed concrete and everything was too dirty to use. Like 3/4 of what were supposed to be toilets were just plastic chairs, most didn't have stall walls over 2 feet high, and the only clean toilet I could find was clipping halfway through the wall. And every time I went too far back away from the door, the ceiling would get extremely low, and I would be shimmying on my stomach with it pressing on my back. There were cobwebs everywhere. The first 2 times it happened weren't too bad, but rge 3rd time, I started panicking, screaming for my friends. When the ceiling hot high enough for me to move faster, i crawled in a sprint to my friends as a joke, trying to freak them out. My sister screamed and ran up some stairs to the bathroom exit. They realized it was me when I stood up and laughed at them.
Cuz in a sky full of stars, I think I see you. (Requested)
Someone requested a story about Joel and Elias becoming friends, so here we go!
S/N: Sorry for taking so long; I had a liiittle bit of a writer's block so...yeah anyway thank you for requesting! ^-^
Description: In which Singer!Joel and a very uninterested Elias manage to come to an understanding after realizing the biggest trait they have in common..
(Third person point of view)
"Guys, we're gonna be late!" The brunette complained, as she quickened her pace, looking back at her three friends as she did so.
"I told you we wouldn't be able to get there on time if we don't take the bus, but did you listen to me? No. Instead, you decided to listen to Mr.I-know-a-shortcut-Orlem!" Elias crossed his arms while rolling his eyes.
The four of them were supposedly on their way to a popular coffeeshop in town; it was known for hosting a lot of enjoyable shows, and for today, they were having a show for an up-and-coming artist- Joel Crawford. Joel was a favourite singer of Liz, Luca, and even Yukiya. Elias seemed to be the only clueless one.
Of course, Elias being Elias, he couldn't stand the thought of being unaware of something that seemed to be known to everyone else, so he decided to tag along, just to see what the fuss is all about.
"Hey! I do know a shortcut!" Luca defended, to which Elias only rolled his eyes once more.
"The show starts at 8 P.M., and it's currently 8:20 P.M.; we're already quite late." Yukiya added quietly, ignoring his two friends that were at each other's throats, as usual.
"Oh, come on! This was my only chance to see him live!" Liz whined, disappointment clear in her voice.
"You can't really know if it's your only chance, I mean, technically-" the blond was cut off by Luca, "Less talking, more walking." He pushed Elias foreward, in an attempt to quicken his pace.
Their argument went on for the whole walk to the coffeeshop, but sure enough, Liz and Yukiya were already used to their bickering, and they just facepalmed every now and then.
"Finally! We're here!" Liz cheered, and smiles immediately formed on all of their faces.
However, their expressions soon were replaced with frowns when they realized they were unable to enter the coffeeshop.
"Do you have any tickets or invitations?" The security guard asked while crossing his arms.
He was, instantly, met with confused looks. "Tickets?" Liz looked at the rest of them, "invitations?" Yukiya used the same tone as Liz.
"Aren't you used to coming here all the time? How come you didn't know you needed tickets or invitations?!" Elias was overwhelmed with how thoughtless they could be. They had walked for at least half an hour, just so they could walk back home without even getting a chance to rest.
"They never asked for tickets or invitations!" Liz defended, "Yeah, that one time we're really looking forward to the show, they decided to do that.." Yukiya sighed in disappointment.
Before they could get far, Luca, who had been suspiciously quiet ever since they arrived, finally spoke up, "I have an idea." He smirked.
"Oh boy." Liz hesitantly waited for further explanation.
"This can never be good." Yukiya mumbled.
"Oh? Another great idea? Like that very helpful shortcut of yours?" Elias replied sarcastically; Luca sighed in return.
"Could you just listen to me? I have a better idea than going into the coffeeshop to watch the show; instead, how about we go meet Joel Crawford in person?" Luca grinned widely.
"What in the world are you even talking about?" Elias asked what everyone must've been thinking.
"Just follow me." Luca said as he turned on his heels and walked towards the back of the coffeeshop.
"What are we doing here, Luca?" Liz furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
They were standing in front of the backdoor, that was obviously locked, but Luca still looked like he was carrying out his plan- the plan nobody seemed to understand.
"The show ends in about.." Luca paused to look at his watch, "ten minutes." He said and looked back at them. "This gives us enough time to sneak in!" He exclaimed, "Joel would be in the room prepared for artists to rest after the show; we can just sneak in and meet him." Luca explained.
"You want us to sneak into Joel's room?" Yukiya stared at him in disbelief.
"That would be an invasion of his privacy, wouldn't it..?" Liz kept glancing back and forth between Luca and the rest of them.
"Yeah. Plus, what makes you think he won't call security and kick us out?" Yukiya wasn't even sure how Luca could suggest such a ridiculous idea.
"He won't; because, we'll convince him not to; artists that aren't that popular yet are easier to convince." Luca tried to reason with them.
"You planned this, didn't you?" Elias concluded, "You purposely made us arrive late, so that you could try to get us to sneak in." Luca chuckled in response. "Maybe so." He shrugged, "It's more fun that way, isn't it?" Luca didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt.
"I'm not sneaking into some guy's room!" Elias crossed his arms and looked away, dismissing the idea.
"Luca, let's just go home; maybe they'll host another show soon, and we can come back later.." the girl touched Luca's arm, trying to knock some sense into him.
"Doesn't the idea of meeting your favourite star excite you? What if he accepts you as a friend? This is the way to do it. Watching his show would be useless; you'd go unnoticed, but having the dedication needed to get to personally meet him, now that, is impressive!" Luca tried to persuade them, but he only sounded like a madman to them.
The green-haired boy didn't get any response, so he sighed before speaking up again, "Fine. How about this, I sneak in then convince him to let you guys in, what do you think?" They all just stared at him, unsure what to say.
"I'll take that as a yes!" He turned towards the door and pulled a paper clip out of his pocket.
"..Y-you can pick locks?" Liz asked in surprised, once she realized what he was doing.
"Um, yes? Duh." Luca replied as if it was the most normal skill he could know of.
As if he needed to be any more suspicious and worrisome than he already is.
"If anyone kicks you out, we don't know you." Elias stated.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Luca rolled his eyes. "Although, If I do get you guys inside, you owe me!" He turned to wink at the group before throwing the door open and rushing inside, not giving them time to respond.
"That reckless idiot." Elias rubbed his temples in frustration.
"We can't leave without him, so we'll have to wait." Yukiya placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"I'm scared. What would happen if he got caught? Would he get arrested?" Liz started panicking.
"Let's not assume things, okay? He'll be fine. Probably." Elias tried to comfort her. In some strange way, but still.
After a few minutes of silence and tension, Luca walked out of the door.
"Follow me." He smirked before walking back inside.
Elias considered just leaving. He really didn't know what to expect. Was Luca messing with them? And if he wasn't, would it really be his place to meet some artist he doesn't even know? It would be strange, wouldn't it? He only came to watch a show, so why were things getting so complicated?
However, seeing his friends step towards the entrance, he found himself following, as if he had no control over his own feet whatsoever.
They quietly made their way through a dimly lit hallway before reaching an opened door, where their smug friend was waiting for them.
They walked inside the room, and there he was, Joel Crawford, in his full glory.
Sure enough, Liz and Yukiya were already familiar with the guy's looks, yet they stood there to stare in awe. They were sure he looked at least ten times better in real life.
Thing is, he wasn't even trying. He just stood there, struggling to keep his messy, black hair away from his forehead. His mismatched eyes were twinkling so beautifully like gems of some sort. He work a pair of tight black jeans, a white and black striped shirt, and a black jacket on top. It was so simple and effortless, yet he made it look attractive.
As if under the effect of a spell, the three of them couldn't keep their gaze off of him for what felt like eternity to the poor singer.
Joel couldn't help but blink at them innocently; he didn't know what they were thinking, were they disappointed? Did they expect something more impressive?
Whatever the case was, Joel couldn't handle that much attention for so long, so he decided to break the silence, "Um, hello?" He said awkwardly.
The three of them finally snapped out of it.
Liz was trying her best not to scream her head off; she was in front of her favourite singer. How lucky can someone be?
Yukiya was happy, not enough to scream, of course -let's not get ahead of ourselves- but enough to let a smile form on his lips.
Elias, on the other hand, was simply annoyed. He didn't get what the big deal was. Why was he so impressed all of a sudden? He doesn't even know if this guy was that good at singing anyway. It made no sense why his jaw almost dropped just looking at the guy. It only annoyed and flustered him even more.
"Uh, h-hi, I'm..uh..I'm Liz Hart; nice to meet you!" Liz stumbled on her words while attempting to introduce herself.
"Yukiya." The blue-haired guy gave his usual, brief introduction of himself.
"Nice to meet you too, Liz and Yukiya. I'm Joel." The singer smiles and needlessly introduces himself out of habit. He still wasn't used to being known by people, and it felt strange to just assume they already knew him.
Joel directed his attention to the blond, who still hasn't introduced himself.
"I'm Elias Goldstein." Elias finally blurted out.
"Nice to meet you, Elias." Joel gave another charming smile. It was hard to dislike someone when they have such a beautiful smile. In addition, Elias didn't even know why he was in defence mode; he just was. That didn't mean that he'd be rude to the poor guy, though. Elias returned the smile and mumbled a 'you too'.
Liz had allowed herself to wander around the small room, observing everything. She knew that wasn't permanently Joel's room, but for now, it had some of his stuff in there, and she wanted to look around.
"Oh, is that yours?" She asked when she saw a poster of a constellation on the wall.
Joel looked towards her before replying, "Ah, no, not really. It was there when I got here so.." he shrugged.
"Oh." She nodded. "Is it...the big dipper?" She squinted her eyes at the poster then looked back at the rest of the group.
"Not even close." Yukiya shook his head. Liz could only groan in response while Luca couldn't help but laugh at her.
"Well, what is it then? I'm bad at this." She looked at the four guys, waiting for an answer.
"Hercules." Joel and Elias replied in unison.
They both looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
"Oohh Prince Elias has a rival; someone might take your place as the smart one." Luca teased.
And as if that was a sign for the start of a competition of some sort, Joel spoke up, "The constellation was named after a greek hero called Hercules. He was the son of Zeus and Alcmenea." He glanced at Liz then looked at Elias.
Was he challenging Elias? Elias didn't know, but one thing he knew was that he wasn't gonna stand there, looking like an idiot. He had to say something.
"His name was derived from the Etruscan name hercle, which means glory of Hera, and that's rather ironic, considering Hera despised him; she wanted him dead." Elias said before looking back at Joel, the way Joel had done before.
"Hera hated him because she knew he was the son of Zeus and another woman, and she was very enraged and jealous." Joel added.
The group was staring at them with a mixture of impressed, confused, and amused expressions. By now Joel and Elias weren't waiting for the other one's signal; they just kept adding as much information as they possibly can.
"Yeah, she despised him so much that, in fact, she sent him a temporary curse of madness, making him kill his own wife and children." Elias stated.
"That's horrible." Liz gasped.
"Yeah, but, well, Hercules was known to be very arrogant and a massive womanizer even when he was married. He did get married more than once too, so I doubt he was all that upset anyway." Joel shrugged.
"He did have to do the 12 labours to pay for it though." Elias said, "but still, yeah, this was his greatest weakness; he was very gluttonous." He nodded.
"Those two are such nerds. What in the world is going on?" Luca whispered in confusion and disgust almost.
"That reminds me of Julius Caesar; he was also rather arrogant, wasn't he?" Joel and Elias seemed to be in their own world by now.
"Yeah, he literally asked the pirates that captured him to raise their ransom demand; because, he felt it was too low, and that he was worth more!" Elias chuckled.
"Yes! Like, who even does that?!" They both start laughing together while the others stare in bewilderment.
"You know, Luca told me a lot about you guys, but you're definitely a lot more fun than I expected." Joel said while looking at the group.
"Luca told you about us?" Liz asked before looking at Luca, "Is that how you convinced him to let us in?" Her question seemed to confuse Joel.
"Convince me to let you in?" Joel furrowed his eyebrows, but after a few seconds it hit him. He gave the green-haired boy a look before speaking up once again, "Did Luca perhaps forget to mention that him and I were childhood friends?" Joel raised an eyebrow.
All gazes were directed to Luca.
"Eh, I might've left out a few details." Luca gave a nervous laugh, as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Luca, you-" everyone was more than ready to murder him. "Hey! Hey! At least we had fun, right??" He defended for his dear life, for he knew they didn't need more reasons to be frustrated because of him. "Well...yeah, we did." Liz was the first to give in. "I guess so." Joel agreed, before he turned to look at his new-made friend with a smile.
Summary: Humans weren’t meant to have three colors. Fushimi deals with the consequences of the choices he’s made.
Notes: So, um, remember that power overflow fic I mentioned a million years ago? Yeah, finished it ^^ Sort of incidentally Sarumi but that’s not the focus, and a bit of a divergence from the end of ROK for necessity’s sake. Happy birthday, Saru.
It burned.
Under his skin, writhing, and Fushimi felt like he was boiling from the inside out. His eyes were shut tight and he curled in on himself, clutching at his chest. Red, blue, green. Red, blue, green.
“S-shouldn't we give him a sedative or something?”
“If Fushimi-kun asks for it. Otherwise, everyone is to remain away from this area.”
He heard the voices dimly, and Fushimi tried to open his eyes. He could make out fuzzy figures in blue on the other side of the bars, and the cot beneath him was hard and cold.
There was a dark spot on the far wall, the scar left behind by an explosion. There had been a blanket, burned to ashes in his sleep.
Red, blue, green. Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.
–
There was food left for him, slid through the slot at the bottom of the cell. It was still warm, covered in plastic sheeting that he barely bothered to push aside.
All meat and no vegetables, and it smelled good. Fushimi picked at it and then a shudder went through his body – green, this time – and the bars of the cell danced with electricity.
He pushed the plate back through the slot and curled back up on the cot.
–
More voices. His vision was fuzzy around the edges and Fushimi didn't bother to raise his head.
“There's no record of this happening before. I'm afraid I won't be much help to you.”
It was only vaguely familiar, and with the pain in his chest it took a few moments for Fushimi to recognize the voice of the Silver King. Fushimi could just make out his figure standing on the other side of the bars, hands behind his back, head turned in the direction of the cell. Someone in blue was with him – Munakata, probably, but he hadn't spoken yet so Fushimi couldn't be sure – and Fushimi thought that maybe he could see the indistinct forms of the Silver King's two clansmen hovering in the distance.
“I see. I had hoped your previous research would turn out to be of some use. You did discover the Slate, after all.” Yes, it was definitely Munakata, and Fushimi's hands felt cold.
“I'm sorry.” There was rueful smile there that he could hear even if he couldn't see it. “I should have done something sooner. I had thought refreshing the Slate would have--”
Fushimi wanted to laugh but his throat felt blocked so that he could barely breathe. He was shaking though, and he couldn't seem to stop.
“It was a risk we were willing to take.” Munakata replied to a question Fushimi hadn't heard. “In truth, I had not expected this outcome either.”
Or maybe he was laughing and that was why the convulsions wouldn't stop. Red flooded his vision and he heard the sound of someone screeching like a cat and the jangle of a sword nearly being drawn as red flames flowed out and slammed against the metal bars of the jail cell. The bars bent slightly, small bits of rock crumbling down from the ceiling above, but the metal held and the ceiling held.
The flames kept going though, through the bars, and Fushimi convulsed again. There was a tinge of violet along the edges and then the power stopped, halted by a wall of pure solid blue.
“Is this what's been happening?”
“On occasion, yes. I would prefer if you kept the destruction to a minimum, Fushimi-kun. After Suoh Mikoto's rampage last year it would be a shame if we had to repair the jail again.”
Fushimi did laugh then, bubbling up from his throat like blood from a wound. Green electricity crackled along the corners of his vision and his hands were burning, burning.
A pause and then footsteps as they walked away. The creak of a door and a girl's voice timidly whispering, “Bye,” and then silence, and Fushimi laughed.
–
“What the hell is this?”
Misaki. Of course it was Misaki. Fushimi was only surprised it had taken so long, and he curled in tighter around himself.
“You assholes did this to him and now you're keeping him shut up here like—like a fucking prisoner, what the fuck is wrong with you people!?”
Misaki was screaming again like an idiot, like any of this had anything to do with him. They'd talked briefly, in those few moments he'd had in the underground before everything really started to get away from him. Even so it made the colors underneath Fushimi's skin writhe painfully just to hear Misaki's voice, and Fushimi's hands reflexively clenched around the burn scar on his chest.
“It was Fushimi-kun's own decision, to remain in here.” It was Awashima's voice this time, not Munakata's, officious as always but with a distinct tremor beneath it, not quite the clipped severe tone she would normally use in such a situation.
Go away. Fushimi wanted to yell at the both of them but his throat was too raw from screaming the night before, and he dug his fingers into the burn scar instead.
“The hell it was! You can't keep Saruhiko down here, he's not—he's not a fucking criminal!”
“We are aware of that.” He didn't know what was worse, the worry in Misaki's voice or the compassion on Awashima's. “The door is unlocked. If he wishes to leave he can. At the moment, however, Fushimi-kun is a danger to both himself and others. This is the most secure room in the building. He will be safe here.”
“The hell he's safe! He looks like shit, have you Blue dogs even been feeding him?”
Go away. Fushimi's nails curled into the burn and he felt warm blood on his fingertips. He bit his lip hard, more blood, metal-tasting in his mouth. See Misaki, I don't need food. I don't need sleep. I don't need any of you, so go away.
“His needs are being taken care of. The Captain--”
“Fuck you and your stupid King! If it wasn't for you guys, Saruhiko wouldn't even be in this situation to begin with!”
“Fushimi-kun was aware of the risks. He volunteered for the operation.” Awashima's words were cold but her voice was heavy with worry and something like regret, something like guilt, and Fushimi's body folded in on itself as if he could shut them all out.
Blue surrounded him and he felt cold again, so cold, and he heard Awashima gasp.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
When he looked up again they were gone and there was an indent in the ground, a deep dark scar where power had cut through the floor itself. Fushimi rolled over and slept.
–
“Fushimi-san, you need to eat.”
Fushimi didn't look up, lying on his stomach on the floor, face buried in his arms. It sounded like Hidaka's voice and there was the rough scratch of ceramic on stone as a plate was pushed forward.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
“The Captain said you didn't eat anything yesterday either. You have to—you have to eat something, you'll get sick at this rate.”
His body felt cold and boneless and he could barely raise his head, much less laugh. Fushimi didn't move, and green electricity darted up and down his body.
“Kamo-san made you something.” Cajoling, like he was talking to a child. “Well, we all kinda helped? Everyone's really worried about you. Maybe if you eat something good you'll feel better?”
Go away. Go away.
His head hurt and the electricity wouldn't stop. There was blue pulsing under his skin, blood in his veins, and red that burned the arteries raw. Green that jolted his heart and stopped his breath. Nothing working right, everything blurring together.
“I'm sure you can get through this. I definitely believe you can get through this, Fushimi-san!”
“Go away!” The words tore themselves from Fushimi's throat and the green power burst from his lungs, lighting up the entirety of the cell. Dimly he thought he saw Hidaka fall back, skitter for the doorway. “Go away, go away, go away--”
Hidaka fled out the door but the words wouldn't stop and electricity danced along the walls, charred them black. It hit the bars of the cell and then upwards through the ceiling. Fushimi felt like his heart might explode any moment but he kept yelling, head swimming, and he wondered if it would hurt when the red and blue burst through his skin and tore him apart.
It didn't happen. Instead there was the sound of something further away in the building exploding, and then all the lights went out.
Fushimi collapsed onto his back and choked on his own laughter.
–
The dark cell had grown cold and Fushimi lay there on the cot, eyes half-closed, shuddering slightly. Red pulsed under his skin and he forced it down, swallowed, trembled. He didn't need that warmth, didn't trust it, never had.
The door opened. Fushimi wasn't certain how long it had been since Hidaka had run out, since his powers had cut off all the electricity to the building. No one else had been in since, not even to bring him food or water. He'd eaten the charred remains of whatever it was Hidaka had left for him, curling his fingers into bits of burnt meat like a child, licking the ashes off his fingers.
There was a slight glow of blue that lit the room and the steps were slow and regal. Munakata, then. Fushimi lowered his head back down.
Munakata's footsteps halted just in front of the cell door. There was a long silence and Fushimi wondered if Munakata was observing him like an animal in a cage, or a lab mouse whose results had been found wanting.
There was the sound of something metal hitting the floor, and Fushimi raised his head.
“Shackles which can block out even the power given by Kings.” Munakata's voice was direct and clear. “They were found hidden amongst the artifacts at Mihashira Tower. If you wish to make use of them, Fushimi-kun, then they are yours. They will block out even the three powers you now possess. You can return to being a normal human, with a normal life. If that is your choice, I will relieve you of your duties and allow you to leave Scepter 4.”
Fushimi stared back at him dully. Blue light glinted off the metal cuffs lying on the floor, but Munakata's expression was entirely in shadows.
“If you wish to bind yourself forever, I will not stop you from doing so.” Munakata turned as if to leave, and for just a moment Fushimi thought he could make out a hint of a smile on Munakata's face. “If you decide otherwise, however, I will be behind the building near the training grounds tomorrow evening. You may join me there, if you wish. The door is unlocked, Fushimi-kun. Whatever you choose, you need not remain behind it forever.”
Footsteps again, walking away. The door closing, and then darkness.
Metal cuffs on the floor in front of him.
“If you wish to bind yourself forever.”
He could take that offer, he supposed. Kings and clans, those were nothing to Fushimi. And as for power...no, he had none of that right now. Worse than none. Even having no powers at all would be better than this.
Useless. Dangerous. Defective. Not even able to control what he had asked for, asked for once and asked for again – take this hand, take this sword – and volunteered for a third time. Weak and useless, not good enough to keep the thing he'd taken into his hands from slipping out of his fingers.
And the alternative, cold metal against his wrists, forever. A dim stifled feeling in the back of his mind and in his core, like having a blanket thrown over him all the time. Cut off. A piece of him gone that he couldn't get back.
Metal cuffs on the floor and Fushimi's hands glowed.
Red, blue, green.
–
There was an old training ground behind Scepter 4's building, a remnant of the previous Blue King's clan. It was rarely used now, not when the dojo was more convenient, indoors and not bound to the whim of weather. Fushimi pulled his coat closer around his shoulders as he stepped out into the grass, a cold wind stirring up behind him.
Munakata was standing there, looking up at the dim evening sky. He turned his head as Fushimi approached and there was a knowing smile on his face that made Fushimi scowl.
“I had hoped you would make this your choice, Fushimi-kun.”
“Tch. What choice?” Fushimi crossed his arms and tried to ignore the way they shook. There were small darts of green flashing underneath his pale skin. “Well? What did I have to come all the way out here for? I'm cold.”
“I thought perhaps we could spar.” Munakata stepped aside to reveal a small pile of wooden swords lying on the ground. Fushimi raised an eyebrow.
“What's the point of this?” Fushimi said bluntly. “I don't recall you leading the swordsmanship training, Captain.”
“Indeed,” Munakata said, accepting the words with a nod. “But this is a special case. Take a sword, Fushimi-kun.”
Take this sword. Blue coursed through his veins and Fushimi's entire body shook with the sudden shock. Munakata didn't seem to be at all fazed by the reaction, only stood there calmly waiting while Fushimi got himself back under control.
“Well, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata prompted once the episode had passed. Fushimi took a stiff step forward, one hand wrapping around the hilt of one of the wooden swords.
“Now what?” Fushimi muttered.
“Now,” Munakata said calmly, dark eyes meeting Fushimi's, “imbue the sword with power.”
“Huh?” Fushimi glared. “What kind of stupid--”
“If you would, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata's voice was calm but commanding, and Fushimi found himself taking a step back and nodding.
“...Whatever.” Fushimi shrugged, as though it was nothing. He could feel flames coiling around the inside of his skin, waiting to split through and spill like blood on the ground – take this hand, someone had said once, and the flames had slid inside, down his throat, burned in his stomach – and Fushimi clenched his teeth and steadied himself.
Blue. It should have been easy. It should have been automatic, no different from breathing, but he could feel red, feel green, both creeping up his arms and seeping into the blue that should have automatically come at his call. Fushimi bit his lip hard – down, down, force it down – and the sword began to glow blue. The aura was calm and steady and Fushimi was just about to turn back towards Munakata, a triumphant smile on his lips, when suddenly green shot down his arms and the sword glowed brighter and brighter, electricity dancing along the edges, and Fushimi didn't even have a moment to cry out before the sword burst into pieces in his hands.
There was a momentary sharp sting of pain but not near as much as Fushimi would have expected, and as he blinked away the spots that had suddenly blurred his vision he realized that there was still blue glowing there, around his hands where he'd held the sword. It wasn't his, though, and he looked up at Munakata's calmly smiling face.
“Captain...”
Munakata simply reached down and took another sword, holding it out to Fushimi.
“Again, Fushimi-kun.”
–
He was bone-tired by the time he dragged himself back into the cell. He'd reduced five swords to toothpicks and snapped a sixth in two before Munakata had allowed him to quit. His hands were a mess of splinters and small cuts – Munakata's shielding had managed to keep him from doing any permanent damage to himself but the timing hadn't always been quite on the spot enough to save him from everything. Munakata had treated his hands before letting him go, covering them in salve and wrapping a temporary bandage around them with a look that suggested he expected Fushimi to take the bandages off as soon as he was out of sight and was preemptively disapproving of it.
He'd also suggested that Fushimi return to the dorms, and Fushimi curled himself up into a ball on the cold cot. His heartbeat was still pounding from all the activity and he could feel red flames licking at the inside of his skin, begging to be set free. He thought he could almost see it, staring down at the bandages on his hands, and in a sudden impulsive movement Fushimi tore them off his hands.
Blood oozed sluggishly from the wounds, red, red, red. Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.
He dreamed in blue.
–
It took a week, before he was able to consistently put power into the sword without breaking it. In the meantime the makeshift training area quickly became a wooden sword grave, the ground covered in a fine layer of shattered sticks.
No matter how many times Fushimi failed Munakata refused to say any word at all about it, save for the repeated “Again.” It was starting to get irritating but Fushimi couldn't quite bring himself to say as much out loud.
Munakata was waiting for him behind headquarters, as usual, but there were no wooden swords lying beside him. Fushimi wondered darkly if he'd used up all of Scepter 4's budget in that department.
“Done already?” Fushimi muttered as he walked over to join Munakata. There was green sparking in his veins again, and his skin itched. Munakata smiled brilliantly at him as he approached.
“Certainly not,” Munakata said. “I simply believe it is time we start a new form of training. After all, Fushimi-kun, there is more to using power than merely placing it inside a sword.”
“Is that so?” Fushimi said, heavy sarcasm dripping from each word. “So? What are you going to make me do this time?”
“I think a simple sparring practice should suffice. We will try the red powers this time.”
“Sparring?” Fushimi ignored the shiver of distaste that ran through him at the mention of the word 'red.' As if he needed to use those powers again. “Against you? That's unexpected.”
“Not at all,” Munakata said. He was still smiling but with the satisfaction of a cat surprising a canary. “Actually, Fushimi-kun, I had a different partner in mind for you this time.” He turned and signaled to a figure Fushimi hadn't even noticed leaning against a tree in the distance.
“I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't call me like I'm one of you Blue dogs.” The irritated voice was familiar, too familiar, and Fushimi's skin jolted with red and green. “I'm only doing this for Saruhiko, not you.”
“Misaki.” The word tasted flat on his tongue, completely at odds with the way the rest of his body was tingling with electricity (green, definitely green, not red, not the beat of his heart and the catch of his breath because Misaki was here, Misaki was here for him). Fushimi laughed. “Well, this is a surprise. Did you finally wise up and leave those losers behind?”
“Shut up!” Misaki snapped irritably and Fushimi felt a smile wind its way across his face. Munakata was watching the two of them with a thoughtful look, but he didn't intervene. “It's not like I wanted to be here. But Kusanagi-san said...” Misaki clenched a fist and stared up defiantly into Fushimi's face. “Kusanagi-san said that your stupid King wanted me to come and help you.”
“Help?” Fushimi laughed again (maybe they'd changed, maybe they'd talked, but his skin burned inside out and it was better this way, to keep his power away from Misaki, this power that would swallow him up like an anthill glowing with flames). “I didn't think you would ever help the Blue clan, Misaki.”
“I'm not!” Misaki said fiercely. “I don't give a crap about you stupid Blues or your damn King, and I definitely didn't come because that guy asked me to.” He pointed sharply at Munakata as he spoke but Munakata's expression remained serene. “I wanted to help you, you idiot!”
Green electricity running through his swiftly-beating heart, and his tongue wouldn't work.
“As I was saying, Fushimi-kun.” And of course Munakata took that moment to step between them. “Yatagarasu-kun has kindly agreed to be your sparring partner for the day.”
“I refuse.” Fushimi managed to find the words, even as a hundred small jolts made his hands shake. “Why should I have to waste time fighting this loudmouth midget?”
“Don't act so high and might, monkey.” Misaki was still smiling somehow, still eager, as though Fushimi's words hadn't even dealt him so much as a glancing blow. “You may think you're so strong now that you've got three colors but you still look like the same guy to me. I bet all that power of yours won't be able to put a single scratch on me.” His eyes never left Fushimi's as he spoke, as though he was trying to get across what he couldn't quite find the words to say. “I bet you won't even be able to keep up with me.”
You can't hurt me, so don't be so afraid.
Fushimi heard the meaning beneath the words clearly, and he grit his teeth.
“I will provide shielding as needed, of course,” Munakata said. “And in any case, I believe Yatagarasu-kun is particularly well-suited for accepting high-damage hits.”
“R...right.” Misaki looked like he wasn't sure if he'd just been insulted or praised. “A-anyway, are we gonna fight or what?”
“Fushimi-kun?” Munakata's eyes were sharp and searching, and blue stirred at Fushimi's core. “It is your choice, of course.”
Misaki was still looking at him, silent, waiting.
“I wanted to help you.” Fire burned in his veins and electricity tingled under his skin, and Fushimi couldn't be sure of the colors.
Fushimi clicked his tongue and stepped forward.
“I guess.” He managed a smile. “If you can handle it, Misaki.”
“Excellent. You may proceed. Remember, Fushimi-kun: red power only.” Munakata took a step back even as Misaki moved forward, cracking his knuckles. Fushimi assumed a defensive stance, waiting.
“I hope you're ready to get your ass kicked, monkey.”
“We'll see about that, Misaki.”
Misaki moved first only because Fushimi let him, red power gathering in his fists. Fushimi immediately moved to counter, pulling his own red from where it burned below his skin, arms coming up to block, body moving in an almost graceful motion as he matched his movements to Misaki's in the dance he knew too well and a flicker of green darted in amongst the burning red--
Fweet.
There was the sound of a whistle and Fushimi all but jumped back, concentration broken. Misaki seemed to have been caught off guard as well and he stumbled in the middle of his dodge, landing awkwardly in the grass.
Behind them, Munakata stood calmly with one hand behind his back and a plastic whistle dangling around his neck, as though he was someone's substitute gym teacher.
“What the hell are you--” Misaki started to yell as he tried to scramble to his feet.
Fushimi exchanged a blank look with Misaki, who shrugged and then smiled as if to say “He's your King.”
“Again,” Munakata repeated, and Misaki held up his fists once more. Fushimi looked between the two of them and clicked his tongue.
Again, and his arms lit up red.
–
Fushimi fell onto his back on the grass, breathing hard. Again, again, and all the start-and-stop made him feel twice as tired as any regular fight could have. His entire body ached and he swore if he heard that damn whistle one more time he was going to shove it down the Captain's throat.
Munakata had been called away to do some actual work and so he'd allowed a brief break for a rest while he was gone. Fushimi stared up at the blue sky, vision feeling slightly hazy.
Two minutes was the best he'd managed so far. Two minutes of steady red aura, not out of control, not tinged with blue or lined in green. Just pure red flames, a single color, all in control. A couple of his overpowered hits had managed to land moments before the damn whistle jolted him again, but he hadn't done any major damage to Misaki or to their immediate surroundings.
Misaki. Fushimi tilted his head slightly as Misaki flopped down beside him. Misaki's face and clothes were slightly singed but he was laughing a little as he looked up at the sky.
“That was kinda fun, right, Saruhiko?” Misaki's voice was tired but light. As though this was old times again, as though they were still friends.
“I guess.” Fushimi couldn't even work up the energy to manage a taunt, and the way Misaki was looking at him was making sparks crackle under his skin.
The wind blew gently over them as they both stared upward in silence.
“...Hey. Saruhiko.” Misaki's voice, uncharacteristically serious and subdued, broke the silence. Fushimi didn't reply, didn't even move, but Misaki continued as if he had. “Don't—don't give up, okay? I know you can control this. The colors, and everything. You're not the kinda guy who loses easily, so...don't give up, all right?”
Fushimi turned his head slightly to look at him and Misaki stared back at him, a steady gaze. After a long moment Fushimi found himself nodding without even quite being aware of it.
Misaki smiled, and fire burned through Fushimi's heart.
“Right! We'll show those stupid powers of yours!” Misaki held out a fist to him and Fushimi found his own hand moving to press against it. “You'll see, Saruhiko. You'll have the hang of it in no time!”
Nodding felt like a lie, but Fushimi did it anyway.
–
He had been sparring with Misaki for three days, the morning he woke up on fire.
It wasn't like before. Fushimi could feel it in every corner of his body, burning, burning, burning, in his stomach and his throat, behind his eyes, flames replacing blood and running through his arteries, spreading to every corner of his body. He didn't need a thermometer to tell him that his temperature was far too high and he could feel the sweat running down his face. Fushimi curled up into a tight ball, convulsing slightly with each breath. His mouth burned so much he could barely breathe, much less speak.
And dimly he remembered this feeling – can you take my hand? – remembered the feel of his body burning to ashes, boiling alive from the inside out, a monster made of flames that stared down at him and prepared to swallow him. His entire body throbbed with pain and Fushimi couldn't even manage enough breath to scream.
He didn't know how long he lay there, twisting, melting, burning, mouth bone dry even as his skin was soaked in sweat, when he heard the door to the prison ward open and a voice call for him.
“Fushimi-san? The Captain sent me to check on – Fushimi-san!”
It was Akiyama's voice, tense with worry, but Fushimi couldn't turn his head to look. He heard the sharp sound of Akiyama's footsteps running back the way he'd come, yelling for help, but Fushimi couldn't move.
“Power overflow.”
“As I suspected.”
Time had melted together and Fushimi wasn't sure if he really heard the voices, the Captain and the Silver King again, or if he was only hallucinating because of the fever. He had the dim memory of someone covered by a shield of blue lifting his head and forcing water down his throat, and there was a once-cold cloth on his forehead that did nothing to stem the raging fever.
“No, I haven't seen this before. Has it happened in the past, with the two colors?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Three might be too much for one person. Has he been exerting himself more than usual lately?”
“You could say that. Have you any suggestions?”
“There may be a solution...”
The voices faded away and Fushimi's body convulsed. It was hot, so hot, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to burn to death.
“Saruhiko.” The voice was clear like water, cutting through the haze in his mind, and Fushimi felt something smooth and round pressed into one of his hands. He managed to crack one eye open.
Anna smiled down at him, a gentle face with determined eyes. Two of her hands were holding on to one of his and there were flames all around her.
Fushimi tried to open his mouth, to say something, but his throat felt too dry and all that came out was a broken croaking sound.
“It will be all right.” Anna's hand tightened around his, the marble she'd placed in his palm pressing into his skin. It felt oddly cool, like a drop of water in the middle of a desert. “I'll take the rest of it, so Saruhiko can relax.”
There was the sense of some of the flames around him wavering, coming together and then flowing away from his body towards where Anna sat. Fushimi convulsed again and Anna laid one of her hands on his forehead.
“Relax,” she repeated softly. A small smile fluttered around her lips. “Saruhiko's red...is also a pretty red.”
He wanted to say something scornful then – Mikoto's red, after all, the only one who hadn't received a new power to overtake the old – but he still couldn't speak and her hands felt cool and gentle around his.
“You'll be all right. Saruhiko is strong.” A small white hand pressed itself over his eyes, slid them closed. “So rest.”
When he woke up there was a blanket thrown over him and his skin felt like his own again, no longer burning, the tightness in his chest gone. He felt worn out though, strung through as though the fire that had been burning inside him had left him utterly hollow.
There was a soft touch on his shoulders, rough hands raising his head and bringing a glass of water up close to his lips. Fushimi's vision was unfocused as he stared blankly upward but he could just make out a hazy figure with red hair.
“You idiot.” Misaki's voice was strained as if he'd been crying and Fushimi couldn't find the energy to attempt a mocking reply or even a click of his tongue. “Don't—don't make everyone worry about you like that again. I'm not gonna forgive you if you make Anna upset again, got it, monkey?”
Fushimi didn't know what to reply even if he could get his voice to work, so he only sat there silently as Misaki helped him drink. The water felt cool and soothing against his parched throat. Once he was done drinking Misaki gently lowered Fushimi's head back down onto the cot and pressed a wet cloth against his forehead.
You don't have to do this for me. Fushimi wanted to scream it out, to smack Misaki's hand away, do anything to wipe out the expression he knew had to be on Misaki's face. But he was tired, too tired, and he could only lie there motionless as Misaki tended to him.
When he woke again he was alone in the cell. There was a small red marble pressed into his palm.
–
By the next morning he was fine and able to manage a short sparring session with Misaki, though the worry in Misaki's eyes was almost enough to make Fushimi turn on his heel and go back to the cell. But Misaki didn't say anything about the day before and neither did Munakata, beyond ending the session early after noting the way Fushimi's powers had started flaring wildly the more exhausted he became.
It was another week before he woke up burning again, unable to move, and Anna was summoned to his bedside once more.
Two weeks later it wasn't burning but cold, a chill that wracked his body with shivers, and Munakata who sat beside him and stroked his hair, holding his hand and siphoning off the power that his body was unable to contain. Fushimi was burrowed under multiple thick blankets – and he knew those blankets, the kind Scepter 4 kept in every dorm room for the winter and didn't, to his knowledge, have extras of and was too aware of the faces that kept poking in through the doorway of the jail and calling quietly to Munakata, asking after Fushimi's condition, and it would have set his teeth on edge if he could stop them from chattering. He could barely make out the words Munakata was speaking to him but the cadence was even like a lullaby and it was almost enough to make him forget the cold.
So it went from there, another half a week and burning again – the red always unstable and maybe even more so being Suoh Mikoto's red and no Suoh Mikoto there to calm it, only Anna and her small hands and red marbles. Then blue, and cold, and Munakata quietly discussing various theories and interesting anecdotes with him even though Munakata had to know that Fushimi could barely hear him. And every time, there was the after ritual too – Misaki with cold water and Awashima with warm, Akiyama and Hidaka and all the rest bringing in blankets and hot tea. So many things that didn't make sense and for days afterward when he was feeling better Fushimi would lean against the wall of the cell and hold Anna's marble up to the light, and wonder.
It was nearly a month and half after the first overflow that he was jolted awake by green power flashing behind his eyes, body jerking helplessly with spasms as the electric shock ran through his body. He tried to climb out of bed and fell to the ground instead, limbs feeling completely out of his command, not even able to muster the small amount of control needed to stand.
“There must be something we can do.” He was vaguely aware of Munakata's voice again but Fushimi's mind couldn't quite wrap itself around at the words. It felt as though he'd been lying there on the ground for hours and still he couldn't stand, light-headed and with a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. If he could Fushimi thought he would have laughed, wondering if this was Hisui Nagare's revenge at last, green power that would overwhelm his internal systems and stop his heart.
“That power belongs to the Green King.” The Silver King again, always the researcher there to observe the subject. Why there was such sorrow in his voice, Fushimi had no idea. It wasn't as though they'd ever interacted in any meaningful way before. If anything he thought the Silver King would be excited, to have the chance to observe the ways in which three powers could utterly fuck up a person's body.
Fushimi did manage a laugh then and choked on it halfway through. He writhed helplessly on the cold floor, gasping and coughing, and he supposed it was just as well that he hadn't eaten anything so there was no worry about throwing it up.
“And if there is no Green King?” Munakata, calm and questioning, as though he was looking at a puzzle piece whose position he was determined to find. There was an undercurrent to that tone too, and it almost felt like Fushimi could hear it more keenly with the shocks pulsing through his body. “Hisui Nagare is dead.”
“I realize we can't wait for the Slate to choose a successor--” The Silver King's voice cut off. “The Slate. The power belongs to the Slate. If there was a way we could return it there, without needing the King as an intermediary...”
“We cannot risk moving him to Mihashira Tower.” Munakata seemed to have caught on to whatever idea the Silver King had hit on and it was hard for Fushimi to keep concentrating on their voices. “And the Slate itself is still too fragile to move after the reconstruction.”
“Maybe we could...route the green power, somehow, through another King? Someone who can reach out to the Slate and sync with it--”
“Would that have an affect on the King, dealing with power outside of their own?”
“No...yes. Maybe. I can't say. There's no record, my research didn't – but it's probably his only chance. I don't know if his body will last long enough for the overflow to burn itself out. People weren't meant to take on three powers.”
“It is a chance, at least. I will make arrangements on this end if you can handle the matter of the Slate itself.”
“I won't say it isn't dangerous.”
“I am aware.” Fushimi thought Munakata might have laughed, low and rueful. “Well, though Fushimi-kun himself might argue I do prefer to clean up my own mess, in this case especially.”
His vision grayed out then and Fushimi wasn't completely certain if they'd stopped speaking or if he'd blacked out and they'd left. He was peripherally aware that he wasn't alone in the cell anymore, and he thought he could see a tint of blue off to one side of him. The red marble had somehow made it into his palm and he managed to close his hand tightly over it.
“Saruhiko.” He heard Anna's voice from far off, as if in a dream.
“Are you prepared?” Munakata, voice almost fading into nothing against the incessant buzzing in Fushimi's ears. He thought Anna might have nodded. “We are ready on this end. Yes, I am aware. I am taking all precautions. We will begin, then.”
Fushimi didn't know who he was talking to and he wanted to tell Anna to leave before she was hurt by the electric sparks his body kept giving off at random intervals. His face was entirely numb though, and he could only look at her grimly determined face as she reached for his hand. Her entire body was surrounded by a faint glow of red and, oddly, blue.
“It's all right, Saruhiko. You can't hurt me.” He thought she might have smiled. “I'll send it back for you now.”
Her hand pressed over one of his, the one holding the marble, and she closed her eyes.
There was a vague feeling like he was floating and Fushimi's body convulsed again. Anna's grip on his hand remained strong and he thought he could see two small wings of flame beginning to flicker at her back.
“Found it.” Her eyes opened, glowing red.
“So it is reacting? Excellent. This gamble may work, then.”
Part of Fushimi was certain he should know what was happening but his head was spinning and he finally had to close his eyes. Anna's hand tightened over his.
In his mind he could see a room, could see the Dresden Slate pulsing. There were still small spiderweb cracks all over it, a patchwork of pieces to mark where the Slate had come apart and then fused itself back together into something different and yet the same as always. The Silver King stood off to one side with his clansmen, watching.
And then the vision blurred and he could see Hisui Nagare sitting in front of him, eyes bright with conviction, offering a hand to the man who had betrayed one clan and then another.
Fushimi wondered if the Green King had known what might happen to a person who took on three powers, if that was why he'd accepted Fushimi so easily. If he'd known right from the start who the double agent in his mist was and had chosen to offer him the power anyway, just to see the consequences of it.
He'd managed to contain it for a time, that was the worst of it. Fushimi could still remember those moments after the sparking in his heart had died down and he'd found himself still alive and uninjured, green power burrowing into his heart along with the red and the blue. When he'd called for it, it had come to him, been tamed by him.
Or maybe it had only been taming him all this time, and dimly Fushimi felt his body convulse again and heard Anna saying something, her voice uncharacteristically emotional. He'd used only the green power nearly the entire time he'd been spying on jungle from the inside and all that time he'd been fine. It had only been right at the end, after he'd run into Misaki and they'd fought off Gojou Sukuna, after they'd yelled at each other and dragged themselves to safety that he'd summoned the red into his knives to ward off the enemies tailing them. It had begun shortly after that, wading into the fray to join the rest of Scepter 4 as they intercepted wave after wave of low-ranked jungle members, when Doumyouji had said something about Fushimi's sword glowing purple that he'd entirely ignored at the time. He almost hadn't noticed the colors mixing then, red, purple, blue, aqua, green, colors cycling – like everyone else he had been focused on the scene in front of them, the Slate as it broke apart and reformed, Munakata's Sword falling and then suddenly reconstructing itself into an entirely new one inches from Munakata's head.
The remaining members of jungle had moved to escape and Fushimi had gone after them alone, not thinking about anything but the completion of his mission. It was only when he'd swung his sword and everything had exploded around him, tearing up his clothes and the landscape and any enemies unlucky enough to be surrounding him that he'd realized how hot his body had felt.
His heart beat erratically and Fushimi's throat suddenly tightened up. He thought his body might be thrashing now but all he could see in his mind was the Dresden Slate, the Slate and Hisui Nagare laughing at him from somewhere that couldn't be seen.
And there in his mind, Hisui Nagare's Sword of Damocles glowing, the very Sword that he'd seen dismantled with his own eyes when the Slate had been reborn.
All of a sudden it felt like his body was his own again and Fushimi sat up abruptly, too abruptly, and he fell forward onto his hands with his mouth open as if he might be sick. He thought Anna might still be there, that it might have been her hand rubbing the slow circles on his back as he gasped and sputtered, trying to get the feeling in his body back.
He could hear Munakata again, talking to someone he couldn't see.
“Yes, it seems to have worked. And on your end?” A pause. “How interesting. Yes, yes, I believe Fushimi-kun should be fine now. For the moment, in any case. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
Fushimi coughed helplessly, fingers curling into the cold floor, face twisting.
Fine? Fine? As though he would ever be fine. He could still feel the green inside of him, green and red and blue, all of them only waiting to tear him apart, tear apart the body too weak to contain them.
His body twisted in helpless spasms, colors coiling around his heart.
–
The green overflow took longer to shake off, and it was nearly a week before Fushimi manged to drag himself out of bed and onto the training grounds. Munakata was there waiting for him even though Fushimi had not bothered to send any word that he was feeling well enough to come, and he wondered darkly if Munakata had been waiting for him here every day.
Misaki was there too, pacing, fists clenched, and something about the way he kept glaring at Munakata gave Fushimi the impression that he had possibly just missed some yelling.
“Saruhiko!” It was Misaki who saw him first, running to meet him and then stopping a few steps short, sudden hesitation in his eyes and the look on his face made Fushimi grit his teeth. All this power, and still it made Misaki look at him like that, like someone weak who needed to be protected.
“I am pleased to see you are feeling better, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata easily stepped between them, as though he could sense the awkwardness that had sprung up in the space of Misaki's hesitation. “I had hoped to continue our training sessions properly.”
“Tch. I guess.” Fushimi crossed his arms, trying to ignore the pulsing beneath his skin. He moved to pick up a wooden sword and Munakata stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I believe we should try something different today.” Munakata's smile was steady. “Try to summon your green aura if you would, Fushimi-kun.”
Fushimi stiffened, feeling the jolt of green electricity twist its way down his spine, but it was Misaki who spoke.
“What the hell are you saying?” Misaki's eyes were burning. “Saruhiko can't—he was almost killed by that shitty Green and now you want him to--”
“What is done cannot be undone.” Munakata ignored Misaki entirely, eyes on Fushimi. “That being so, the only answer is to learn control. You have mastered two auras already. I have every confidence that you will be able to manage a third.”
“And if I can't?” The words came from Fushimi's mouth unbidden, and he scowled at the sound of them. The reply seemed to please Munakata though, and he smiled.
“Then we shall find another path,” Munakata said simply. “But there is no knowing until you try, after all. Now, if you are prepared to spar?”
Fushimi glanced briefly over at Misaki, who still looked dissatisfied but assumed a defensive stance anyway. Fushimi gave a heavy sigh and spread his arms wide.
Green electricity crackled at his fingertips – Hisui Nagare's Sword of Damocles, power and heartbeat and betrayal, even if it had all been someone else's plan, still there beneath the beat of his blood – and Fushimi closed his hands around the power, and attacked.
–
He felt sore all the time now, and the routine had become almost blurred in his mind. Wake up, crawl out of bed, eat the food left for him at the door of his cell (his open cell, unlocked, but he didn't leave), then make his way to the training grounds. Munakata was there waiting for him very nearly always – once it had been Lieutenant Awashima, much to his surprise, a whistle around her neck and sympathy in her voice as she forced him through the motions again and again. Misaki usually as well, though lately there had been others too, Akiyama and Benzai using their Blue aura against his Red and his Green, and once even Yatogami Kuroh with his Colorless powers observing as Fushimi cycled through all three colors one after the other.
And punctuated between days and weeks, overflow. Red and blue, Anna and Munakata with their hands over his, water poured down his throat. And only one other time, the green again, and all the fuss that went with it. For all the bother, though, Fushimi couldn't help but notice that the intervals between overflows were growing longer in between, and he felt the electricity and the fire and the cold moving beneath his skin less and less. Almost...normal, as if he could live like this after all, and the small slivers of hope that tried to worm their way into his chest made him long for an open wound to scratch.
Fushimi groaned a little as he rose and stretched; the cot had not gotten any more comfortable in the months he'd been here. Anna's marble was still tucked away in a corner of the mattress and he ran his hands over it before leaving the cell and making his way to the training grounds.
Munakata wasn't there, for once, and he hadn't left Awashima to take over in his stead either. Misaki was there though, pacing restlessly, and for the first time it occurred to Fushimi how utterly uncomfortable it had to be for Misaki to keep coming back to Scepter 4 headquarters day after day even with the alliance, how often Misaki had probably been standing there with Munakata, feeling similar to how Fushimi always had around Suoh Mikoto but never leaving, waiting for Fushimi to arrive.
“So are you going to be my babysitter today, Misaki?” Fushimi smothered those thoughts and let the usual hint of a taunt seep back into his voice. It felt nice, almost, the way the word rolled off his tongue.
Normal, and the jolt of electricity dancing along his skin tasted like a feeling without a color.
“Che. Someone has to be.” Misaki stopped pacing as Fushimi approached, one hand on his hip. “I was gonna spar with you like normal but that stupid prissy King of yours said he had some kind of emergency and left me standing here.”
“Emergency...?” Fushimi's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He hadn't heard that there was anything happening but then he hadn't been in the office for weeks either, and it wasn't as if they'd waste time telling him about a situation that he would be no help at all in dealing with. From what little he'd managed to gather, refreshing the Slate hadn't caused the number of Strains to decrease in any way and therefore Scepter 4 still had a job to do. Blue power hummed under Fushimi's fingers and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Then why are you still here? Who knows when Captain will be back if there's a mission. You want to get back to your precious Homra, right?”
“W-well, yeah, I wanna get out of this place as quick as I can.” Misaki shifted, something obviously stiff and uncomfortable in his stance, and it made the air a little harder to breathe. “But I figured I should at least let you know what's going on, if your guys weren't gonna bother.”
“I don't need you to do me any favors,” Fushimi muttered, dismissive, even as fire began to burn hotter in his lungs.
“I'm not doing you a—” Misaki stopped, sighed, and shook his head. “A-anyway...your King left and I saw a bunch of vans driving off...you Blues sure work a lot, don't you?”
“That's right, Misaki. That's how adults with real jobs do things.” Fushimi snickered and Misaki glared at him, and if it wasn't for the red and green suddenly singing under his skin it almost might feel like old times, like nothing had changed at all – Fushimi teasing and Misaki getting angry but with a spark like laughter still in his eyes. “So? You've told me. If Captain's not here I'm going back.” There was no point in just standing out here doing nothing, after all, and Fushimi began to turn away.
“Wait!” Misaki's voice stopped him and Fushimi turned, a bit surprised. The expression seemed to be mirrored on Misaki's face, as if even he hadn't expected the word to come out of his mouth, and there was still something unseen between them blocking their way to each other. “I mean...it's stupid to just go back and sleep in that cold cell again, right? Why the hell are you still staying in there anyway, no wonder you look like a fucking ghost...”
“I'm not going to explain myself to you,” Fushimi said, back hunched as he glared at Misaki from under his bangs. “I'm going back.”
“I said wait a second, you stupid monkey!” Misaki's hand reached out and touched his shoulder, and even though he couldn't see the green Fushimi felt something like a spark. “I mean...look, it's been too long since you got out of this place, right? And if you don't have anything to do, and I was planning on helping you so I don't have anything either...”
“So?” Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out, Misaki.”
“Saruhiko...” Misaki abruptly held out a hand to him. “Go out with me.”
“....Out?” Fushimi repeated, slightly dumbfounded, mind trying to wrap itself around the implication.
“N-not—I didn't mean like that!” A flash of red covered Misaki's face and Fushimi would have laughed if his own body hadn't felt so hot. “I mean – you know, just...just hang out? Like old times.” Misaki laughed sheepishly. “We won't go too far, just into the city, get some lunch or something. You've been hiding in that dark cell for so long you've probably forgotten what real food tastes like.”
“Just hang out,” Fushimi repeated, fingers twitching, electricity dancing between. “Idiot. Did you forget I'm--”
“You're controlling it, right?” There was confidence in Misaki's voice, as if just saying it would make it true, and Fushimi could hear an echo from old times beneath the words, amazing, enough to light his heart on fire.
“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue in place of an answer, and his hand seemed to move on its own to take Misaki's, skin against skin, red fire, green sparks. “Where do you want to go anyway?”
“I dunno.” Misaki shrugged, far too casual but with a definite burst of energy in his movements, keeping Fushimi's hand clutched in his and it reminded Fushimi abruptly of being dragged from place to place in middle school, Misaki in front of him shining like a star. “We'll just go get something to eat and then come back, all right? It won't take that long and maybe your King'll be back by then so we can get practice out of the way too.”
“Whatever.” Fushimi let the word hang on his tongue, slow and noncommittal, but Misaki was already smiling and there was no stopping him now. Fushimi had set the wave rolling and had been caught up in the undertow before he'd even realized it, pulled along as always by Misaki's ebb and flow.
It was only around ten minutes later that Fushimi found himself sitting on a park bench, head dangling back and staring up at the sun through the trees above as Misaki walked over and set a paper bag already half-transparent with grease next to him.
“I got you a plain burger,” Misaki said before Fushimi could even open his mouth. “Meat and a bun, just the way you like it because you're weird. And I got fries for both of us.”
Fushimi didn't reply, hands reaching for the bag. The paper crumpled against his fingers and his mouth suddenly felt sour with the taste of charred food. The burger smelled good though, better than it should have, and he carefully took a bite before making a face and setting it back down.
“There's mayonnaise on it. You didn't even check before leaving the restaurant, did you, Misaki?”
“What the hell, I asked for it plain!” Misaki picked up the burger, removing the top bun. “Wait, maybe I can wipe it off with a napkin...”
“Don't bother.” Fushimi snorted. “I'm not hungry.”
“The fuck you're not, you look like a famine victim Saruhiko.” Misaki held out the bunless burger towards him. “You need nutrients. I don't know what the hell those Blues are feeding you but it's not working.”
“I'm fine,” Fushimi said coldly, turning his face away from the food. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, that's what you always say, and it hasn't stopped being a lie.” Misaki sighed, hunching his shoulders a little as he looked down towards their feet, and Fushimi felt a lump of red in his throat. “Hey, Saruhiko...are you really still staying there? Y'know...in the cell?”
“I am.” He didn't let anything creep into his tone, red and blue and green gone silent beneath his skin. “It's the safest place.”
“Y-yeah, that's what everyone kept telling me when I asked.” Misaki's hands seemed to tighten where they clutched the curve of the bench, and suddenly he stuffed one hand roughly into the bag, pulling out a handful of fries. “You're not a criminal, Saruhiko.”
“I know that.” Fushimi rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I'm not an idiot, Misaki. Scepter 4's prison cells were created to hold high-level Strains. It's the most secure place in the building.”
“Yeah, but...do you really need that?” Misaki looked up at him, amber eyes meeting blue, and Fushimi felt the red again, burning restless in his chest. “You're not a Strain or a criminal or anything like that. You're controlling it. You don't have to keep yourself locked up behind doors and walls forever.”
Fushimi opened his mouth to reply, and colors shifted along the curve of his ribs – a blue chill, a red burn, green electricity sparking up to his heart.
“I’m not--”
The sound of an explosion cut off any reply he could have made, and Fushimi's body straightened at the same time as Misaki's, all three colors a sudden rush and a whirl as if preparing for an attack.
“What the hell was that?” Misaki was already getting to his feet.
“You said the Captain left headquarters because of an emergency, right?” Fushimi's mind jumped ahead on its own, noting the smoke in the air and the rush of activity in the distance towards where the sound had come from. “A Strain...”
“Then let's go!” Misaki glanced back at him. “I dunno where the rest of your guys are but that didn't sound good, right?”
“Tch. You want to interfere with an investigation, Misaki?” Fushimi's movements were languid as he stood but inside he felt like a dam ready to burst, all three colors leaping to his fingertips as if they could tear themselves from his hands. “The Captain can handle it.”
“Yeah, that's why a building just exploded.” Misaki gave him a lopsided grin, one hand pulling his hat down more over his head and the other on his hip and suddenly it was like nothing had changed, like they hadn't changed, and Fushimi's body moved on its own to answer to it. “You wanna check it out too, don't you?”
“I suppose someone has to go along to keep you from getting into trouble,” Fushimi drawled, stretching idly as he let a knife slip into his palm. Misaki's smile only brightened, enough to make his head spin, and Fushimi had to look away. “Looks like we'll be getting some practicing in after all.”
“All right!” Misaki raised a fist in triumph. “The last one there's paying for lunch!”
“You already paid, idiot.”
Misaki didn't even seem to hear him, off and running towards the source of explosion and Fushimi followed after, half a step behind, power singing in his veins and colors whirling around his hands and heart.
Coming to his call, just like they always had, and Fushimi couldn't help but smile himself. Maybe this would be easy after all.
–
It hurt.
He was boiling, frozen, body jerking with every breath. He could sense the bed beneath him, too soft to be his own, and there was a beeping sound in his ears. Something taped to his wrist, bandages everywhere, tubes and IVs, fluids, hospital smell. Fushimi didn't bother to open his eyes.
He remembered blood, red, then blue and green and the entwining of all three that he couldn't control. Explosions behind him, around him. A man with hands that glowed, and a gun pointed at Misaki's head.
He wondered if Misaki was dead, and Fushimi laughed as green electricity traveled up his arms. Something behind him exploded and there was the sound of a loud steady keening, signaling an emergency.
Then footsteps and yelling, and Fushimi sunk back into darkness.
–
When he opened his eyes again he was back in the familiar cell, gray walls and closed door. There was a blanket thrown over him and his wrist still itched; Fushimi grimaced as he noted that the IV had been left in. Someone had transplanted the machines in too – the numbers were blurry without his glasses on but he was able to get the general idea, measuring heartbeat and breathing and blood pressure. It made him want to laugh again, at the uselessness of it all.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying there with his eyes open when he finally noticed the presence standing there on the other side of the door. Munakata was watching him in silence, face impassive.
Are you enjoying this? Fushimi did laugh then, sharp and cold, and Munakata didn't so much as flinch. The lab mouse failed again. You're supposed to dispose of them once they're not useful anymore, Captain.
Munakata turned and left then, not speaking so much as a single word, and Fushimi couldn't stop laughing.
–
“Yata Misaki's alive, you know.” It was Akiyama who told him, sent down to change his bandages and check the IV. Fushimi would rather they simply take it out all together, but he'd refused to eat and Munakata had made it clear that the IV would remain for as long as that refusal lasted. Why Munakata felt the need to keep alive the body that had obviously been stretched beyond its limits was beyond him.
Fushimi stiffened slightly at the words but he didn't speak. His throat was too dry to even laugh now and the red stifling his lungs only made it worse.
Dimly in the back of his mouth he could taste greasy food and mayonnaise, and he wanted to throw up.
“We got him to the hospital in time.” Akiyama didn't seem to mind that Fushimi hadn't answered, carefully switching out the bag of fluids. He leaned over to check the blood pressure monitor, made a mark on the chart Munakata had left hanging there. Fushimi wondered idly if they were giving the information to an actual doctor or if it was only busywork, something to make it seem as though they were doing something besides checking to be sure he hadn't died yet. “His wounds were severe but not life-threatening. He should be out of the hospital soon.”
Fushimi's own injuries were healing as well, burns on his arms and hands, something torn in his knee. Sometimes lying in the bed Fushimi would stare at the bandages and for a moment it would be as if he could see something seeping out from between them, red and blue and green, and his breath would catch in his lungs, choking him, and then someone would run in to check on him. The amount of fuss was ridiculous and pointless, but he was too tired to fight back against it.
“...He's worried about you.” Akiyama hesitated slightly as he spoke. Since when have you two been on speaking terms at all and Fushimi's lips curled at the thought.
Akiyama touched his wrist, hands cool and steady around the gauze that kept the IV in place. Fushimi didn't even move, and finally Akiyama stood and walked to the door with a small sigh.
“He doesn't blame you.” Akiyama's voice was always so steady but this time Fushimi thought he could hear a shake in it. “Nobody blames you for this, Fushimi-san.”
Then he was gone, and Fushimi closed his eyes and slept.
–
“Ah, I hope you don't mind the intrusion.”
Fushimi opened one eye at the sound of the voice. His bandages were gone by now, the machines taken away, but the IV still remained. He'd become used to the constant in and out of the rest of Scepter 4, Akiyama and Hidaka and Awashima and even the occasional silent presence of Munakata standing on the other side of the bars in continuous observation. This was different though, and he wondered dully why the Silver King was even bothering to come visit him.
“I know, I know, we haven't really spoken much before, have we, Fushimi-kun? Ah, you can call me Shiro, okay? Well, I hear you're not talking much lately though. I thought I might come see you in any case. Munakata-san was kind enough to lend me entry so...here I am!”
Annoying. Fushimi turned his head to the side, staring at the wall.
“Yata-kun is doing fine, or so Anna-chan tells me. But you've heard that already, right?” Shiro laughed sheepishly. “This is probably something I should let others handle. We're not close, after all. But...I thought I might have some perspective to offer, and I wanted to talk to you regardless. I should probably apologize too. This mess...I could have prevented it a long time ago, I think. You've really taken on the burden that should have fallen on all of us, and myself especially. And of course my research hasn't been much help in the end, either. So I'm afraid this is all I can give you.”
Shiro paused then, taking a deep breath, and there was the sound of feet shifting just a bit.
“Don't run away.”
Fushimi didn't even raise his head but he felt his hands clench just slightly.
“Ah, I know, that's a bit much coming from me isn't it? But that's why I think I'm the person who can say this to you. Something tragic happened to me once and a person I loved dearly paid for it. I felt that if that was the case, if this power was only a thing that brought unhappiness, then I would just take it and go away somewhere. I spent so much time running and hiding, while my friend continued with the work I had started in my place. It wasn't until something kicked me out of my hiding place – literally, in my case – that I realized how pointless all that running had been. That's why I decided that I wouldn't run anymore, wouldn't let myself regret like that anymore. Nothing will change if you don't make any choices, you know? So I couldn't just float forever. Someday, something had to bring me back down. That's when I realized my mistake too late. So because of that, I think I'm the best one to talk to you right now. I understand how you must feel, thinking there's this power you can't control and that you'll only hurt the people you love because of it. But if you let yourself, you can change, you can learn. The only way to do that is to face what's in front of you. So, Fushimi-kun...don't run away.”
Fushimi remained silent, and after a moment he heard the sound of footsteps moving away.
“Just think about it a bit, all right?” Shiro's soft laughter rang in his ears, and then there was the sound of a closing door and silence.
Fushimi rolled over and went back to sleep.
–
Red power stirring woke him from his sleep, and Fushimi's hands clenched reflexively around the red marble that was still stored beneath his pillow.
“Saruhiko.”
Anna's voice was quiet, hesitant, and for a brief moment he almost felt guilty for putting that tone into it.
There was the rustling of skirts and Fushimi raised his head just a little. He hadn't bothered to put on his glasses – and did he even have them for that matter, he wasn't sure if they were somewhere in the cell or if they'd been cracked and lost somewhere between here and the hospital and the smoking rubble he'd made in the center of the city – and all he could see was a blur of red and white. He supposed that was best, after all. He didn't want to see her face, what expression she was making.
“Misaki is fine.” He could almost hear the echo there, Anna by the stables and Totsuka before that, and Fushimi's fingers ran along the smooth edges of the red marble.
“Misaki doesn't blame you. He's worried.” Clothes rustling again, Anna stepping closer to the cell door, and he was too tired to tell her to move back. “It's all right. Saruhiko didn't do it on purpose, so...”
Fushimi's harsh laughter cut her off. His throat felt raw, hoarse, and he heard her take a step back. Dimly he felt bad for it but he smothered the feeling as he carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position. He felt around for his glasses – so they were there after all, had been all this time – and the room came into sharp focus at last as he put them on.
“So? Did you come to look at it, Anna?” His voice sounded utterly raw and Fushimi realized that it was the first thing he'd said since the incident. His head hung back loosely and a smile wound its way across his face like the scar left behind by a knife. “What does it look like now, all that pretty red? Tainted blue and green, no good at all?” Fushimi laughed again.
“Saruhiko's red...” Anna's voice didn't waver and the smile dropped away from Fushimi's face. “Is still Saruhiko's red. A strong red. A powerful red.”
“Don't give me that crap!” Impulsively Fushimi threw the red marble across the room. There was the sound of something shattering and Anna flinched almost imperceptibly. Fushimi immediately felt a pang of regret and shook it off – there was no point in regretting, no point in hiding any of the mess he'd always been, not now, not when his skin felt like it was burning from the inside, flayed bare and raw and seething against the open air. That laugh was only blood from a wound, after all. “Is it even my red? That's right, isn't it? This is your beloved Suoh Mikoto's red, the very last of it. That's why you're all here. You couldn't let such that precious red escape, even if it's trapped inside the body of a traitor.”
Anna's gaze remained steady as she stared at him and there wasn't even so much as a hint of a shake in her voice when she replied.
“No.” Anna took another step forward to press a white hand against the cell door. “It's Saruhiko's red.” She held up a small red marble close to one eye as she stared at him and Fushimi found himself sliding back along the bed as though retreating from that gaze. It irritated him but he couldn't stop it, and the colors inside him were churning so fast he felt as though he might be sick.
“Did you see this coming?” Fushimi's voice was choked. “It was always like this, right? Not the same as everyone else's.”
“Saruhiko's red is dimmer, sometimes.” She was still staring at him through the marble. “There are other colors I can't see, mixed in. But still...” She lowered the marble and smiled at him, calm, caring, and Fushimi couldn't look at her anymore. “Still, it is a beautiful red.”
Fushimi didn't answer, his back to her now. His limbs were shaking and he pressed a hand over his mouth, bile rising in his throat. Red was boiling under his skin and he felt like it was trying to melt his insides, sweat suddenly wet on his brow and his hands clammy. A wave of blue rose up to smother it and then a shock of green – another convulsion, a pulse along his heartbeat, and he spat bile – and Fushimi collapsed on his hands on the bed, breathing hard as he waited for the spell to pass.
By the time he was aware of himself again, Anna was gone. There was a new red marble though, beside his pillow, and Fushimi turned away from it as he fell back into a fitful sleep.
–
Slow regal footsteps woke him and Fushimi grimaced.
“I wondered how long it would take you, Captain.” He didn't even need to look and see who it was. Munakata didn't reply but Fushimi could still feel his presence on the other side of the door without even needing to open his eyes. “Is it your turn to spill out some useless platitudes about all this, as if that will make me feel better?” He laughed coldly. “I expected better from you.”
“I am rather disappointed in you, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata's voice was cool and steady, almost enough to calm the buzzing beneath Fushimi's skin.
“Are you?” Fushimi lolled his head to one side, just enough so that he could see Munakata staring in at him. “Don't you want to tell me how much you want to help me this time? Just like everyone else, all of you and your useless pity. I don't want to hear those words, not from you.”
“I assure you, I do not intend to speak anything of the sort,” Munakata said with a slight nod. “My offer from before still stands, Fushimi-kun. If you wish for the shackles, they are yours.”
“As if that's a choice.” Breathing felt like drowning in open air. “If you meant that, you'd have just left me sitting in that crater to bleed out properly.”
“Perhaps I intend to take responsibility for that which I set in motion,” Munakata said. His voice didn't waver but there was something hidden beneath its calm that Fushimi couldn't quite grasp. “I believe you are always telling me such things, yes, Fushimi-kun? To do my own work.”
“Is that it?” Fushimi laughed again. “So I'm just a responsibility to you now, is that it? How noble of you, Captain. If that's the case, maybe I should ask you for that sword again. You can do me the same care you did Suoh Mikoto.”
Munakata's expression remained serene but somehow the air around them felt colder.
“Is that something you would prefer, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata's voice was sincerely curious. “You need only ask, after all.”
“Wouldn't it make sense?” Fushimi shrugged. “There's no point in keeping around someone so dangerous who's utterly useless to you, right?”
“And is that all you feel there is to your presence here, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata asked mildly. “Simple usefulness?”
“What else is there?” Fushimi replied coldly. “This isn't a place to make friends. I knew that when I came here, because I'd had enough of that.”
“True enough,” Munakata said. “But that wasn't what I asked you, Fushimi-kun. Do you truly believe the entirety of your worth to me is measured in how useful you can be?”
“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “That's the same thing, isn't it? Why other use could you have for someone languishing in your dungeon waiting for three powers to tear him apart? Suoh Mikoto's death made you soft, Captain.”
“Perhaps.” Munakata laughed quietly. “But I fear you have misunderstood me from the start, Fushimi-kun. Certainly, I value you as a member of Scepter 4 and consider your skills an important asset. But I brought you here because I felt you had potential, yourself. Whether you live up to that belief or not cannot be quantified in simple data. That you are currently in a state of flux, unable to carry out your normal duties, does not make my feelings change nor should it. A single failure is not the entirety of your worth, Fushimi-kun. Your place here does not become less simply because you feel it should be so.”
Irritating. Fushimi grit his teeth. Munakata's entire demeanor, so calm and rational, as if Fushimi should believe the words he said simply because Munakata was the one to say them. It made him sick, the way his heart still stirred at it.
“If you're going to throw me away, Captain, just do it already.” Fushimi turned pointedly away from him. “There's no point in keeping around a failed experiment, right?”
“I do not recall considering you anything of the sort,” Munakata said and there was an unexpected fierceness to his words that made Fushimi's entire body go rigid. “Indeed, if there is any failure here it is mine, for placing you in such a situation to begin with.”
“I chose this,” Fushimi said dully, leaning wearily against the wall as if he couldn't quite support himself anymore.
“You did,” Munakata agreed. “And you performed your duties admirably, Fushimi-kun. So I wonder what failure you are speaking of, that I should be so displeased as to rid myself of you. I asked you to infiltrate the Green clan and help defeat Hisui Nagare in any way you could. You have done so. It is in partial thanks to you that we are all still alive and victorious. You are continuing to live up to my expectations even still.”
“Don't say stupid things,” Fushimi said hoarsely. “I can't even--”
“Humans were not meant to take on three colors,” Munakata continued. “And yet you were able to do so, Fushimi-kun. Indeed, I believe you may be the first ever to do so. That such a thing may be difficult for you is understandable. Not every problem can be solved the moment it appears in front of you. But none of this changes the fact that you were indeed able to take on three colors and make them obey you, for a time at least. Why should I be displeased, that you have done something no other human being has ever been able to do?”
“And it's worse than useless if I can't control it,” Fushimi said coldly. “Or is that why I'm still here? Am I your test subject now, Captain?”
“No.” There was the sound of movement, Munakata turning as if to leave. “I have never considered you as such, Fushimi-kun. I have full confidence in you. In time, I believe you will learn to adapt to the three colors you have obtained, to control them. And no matter how long that should take, you are still a member of Scepter 4. I will continue to wait for you until you have made your choice as to what you wish to do going forward, but until that time comes I have no intention of abandoning you or discarding you. Please keep that in mind.”
Fushimi turned to look at him then, the blue wrapping itself around his arms, his legs, cooling in his veins like water, and Munakata smiled brilliantly one more time before walking away.
–
“You stupid monkey.”
Fushimi shifted, every nerve in his body suddenly buzzing with green sparks and red flames.
Of course it would be him. It wasn't like Fushimi hadn't expected him to turn up eventually, even as he'd hoped that maybe he'd finally burned that red thread to ashes at last.
“Hey! Are you listening to me, Saruhiko?”
“How could I ignore all your stupid mindless yelling, Misaki?” Fushimi said coldly as he heaved himself up on his arms, turning his head so that he was facing the cell door.
Misaki looked better than Fushimi had expected, though he supposed that it had to have been at least a few weeks now if not a month. It was no wonder the wounds would have healed by now. And even then Fushimi could still see traces of them, a bandage around Yata's wrist, the remains of a burn mark just above one eye.
(And even as he stared at Yata the memories he'd almost blocked out assaulted him again, the swirl of red and blue and green that all slipped away from him at once, Misaki's scream of pain and Fushimi's own hands blossoming bright with blood, burning and convulsing as his own power rebelled against him, the explosion and the darkness and the bleeding motionless form of Misaki lying in the center of it all, the deep certainty that shook him to the core that Misaki was dead, Misaki had to be dead, and it was all Fushimi's fault and as he reached up to grasp his shoulders he paid no mind to the way his hands sparked green, let it take him, let it pulse in his blood and stop his heart, because what else did he have if there was no Misaki, nothing but ghosts and ash, and the color swallowed him whole until it all went black.)
“Saruhiko!” It was Misaki's yell that brought him back and Fushimi realized that he'd been choking, curled up close to himself with a hand over his mouth, coughing wetly, and he disguised it with a frayed laugh.
“I don't need you to look at me like that.” Fushimi lowered his hand and ignored how it shook, ignored how it flashed blue and then green. “Who sent you, Misaki? Anna? The Captain? Here to tell me how you don't blame me and I should come out already and enjoy all these wonderful powers of mine?”
“That's not why I'm here!” Misaki took a step closer as if he was about to enter the cell, and Fushimi tensed. “You idiot...what the hell do you think you're doing? None of this was your fault, you don't have to--”
“Fault?” Fushimi sneered. “All of you keep saying that, as though it matters. I did it, Misaki. My powers were the ones that nearly flayed your flesh off your bones.” Misaki flinched and Fushimi smiled. “What's wrong? You don't like hearing it?” He felt the sudden need to be closer, to see Misaki's face more clearly, and he slid off the bed onto his own two feet. He only managed a single step before stumbling, suddenly far too aware of how weak he felt.
“Saruhiko!” A hum of sound as the bars of the cell pulled back and Fushimi's entire body felt struck through with color, blue and red and green as he clenched his fists against the floor.
“Stay away!” The cell walls sparked with green and he could just make out Misaki taking a step backwards from where he'd been trying to approach. Fushimi raised his head and forced himself back up on trembling legs. “You see, Misaki? This is what happens when you get too close.” He held up one hand, burning red to the fingertips.
Misaki stepped backward again, stopped, swallowed hard and moved forward towards him instead.
“If you think that's gonna scare me away you're a bigger idiot than I thought.” There was a slight tremor in Misaki's voice, and Fushimi couldn't tell if it was from fear or something deeper, fear not for himself but for someone else, and Fushimi grit his teeth.
“Idiot? Me?” Fushimi scoffed, skin boiling hot with the powers snaking through his veins. “If you had a brain in your head you'd be anywhere else but here.”
“Where the hell else am I gonna be?” Misaki's fists were clenched tight and shaking and it made no sense, none at all. “What the hell do you think I've been doing all this time, Saruhiko? I've been so fucking worried--”
“Because you're an idiot.” Fushimi spat the words out, blood churning in his lungs, electricity dancing along the back of his hand. “What was it you said before? That I was 'controlling it'?” He gave another laugh, cold and dead, creaking like tree branch at the edge of a snowstorm. “Your pointless words won't change anything. Or did you want me to do it again, burn off your skin, so that you'll finally understand?”
“If what I'm supposed to understand is leaving you alone, then go ahead and try it.” Misaki was so close now that they could touch but Fushimi refused to be the one who stepped back. Misaki was still staring at him with that straightforward gaze and the floor of the cell sparked with a sudden rush of electricity. Even so, Misaki stood his ground. “I'm not leaving that easily, Saruhiko. None of us are. When will you get that through your stubborn head?”
“If all of you would stop clinging to stupid sentiment and cheap words you would understand,” Fushimi said darkly. “You saw what happened, Misaki. What happens to anyone near me when I lose control, because I'm too weak to contain it.” Useless, useless, and he could feel it shattering between his fingertips with every word. Such a fool he'd been, to think anything could last, even this – even his own body, his soul, turned against him at last. “Go away. I don't need any of you here to look at me with that pity, as if that will change anything.”
“I never pitied you, Saruhiko.” And he'd expected Misaki to yell, to fight, to do anything but stare at him with that steady gaze, and for a fleeting moment Fushimi found himself wondering when Misaki got so strong. “Yeah, it got away from you. It's gonna get away from you again, probably. If you think I don't get that you're more of an idiot than I am. I know shit happens, Saruhiko, and even you can't be perfect. But it doesn't matter. If you lose control once, okay fine. Do better next time. But if you think I'm gonna sit by and let you give up – if you think any of us are, you're still too much of a stubborn asshole to realize how much you mean to everyone. How—how much you mean to me.”
Red, like a fire in his heart, and Fushimi's hands were shaking as he bit his lip and forced a glare.
“You? I don't remember saying we were friends again, Misaki.” He put all that he could into the words, scorn and hatred and every ounce of that man's loathing, and still Misaki didn't flinch.
“Yeah, well, some shit doesn't need to be said.” Misaki reached out for him and Fushimi wouldn't let himself shrink back, not from this person of all people, Misaki's hand brushing his shoulder. “You're stronger than this, Saruhiko. You're the strongest guy I've ever met, you know that? Because you've been through all this shit and you're still standing. You've always, always been stronger than this. Are you really gonna let something like this beat you, after everything we fought and tore each other apart for? Now you're gonna give up on me?”
“I'm not giving up,” Fushimi sneered, smacking Misaki's hand away, and Misaki didn't even so much as flinch at the spark of green that was released the moment their hands brushed each other's. “Unlike you, Misaki, I have enough of a brain to know when something is a lost cause.”
“Yeah, right.” Misaki shook his head, and there was the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. “The Saruhiko I know fucking hates to lose. And I think you know it too. You're being a stubborn asshole now because you think you can't do it, because you were always the guy who gave up if he couldn't do something perfectly on the first try and then acted like you never wanted to do it in the first place. Remember—remember when I tried to teach you to skateboard, and you fell off?”
“Tch. Why are you bringing that up again?” Fushimi looked away, sullen, and cold blue made his fingers go stiff. “Like I wanted to learn something stupid like that.”
“See? That's exactly what I'm saying!” Misaki pointed sharply at him. “You fell and I told you to try again, but you wouldn't because you said it was stupid. But this time you can't say that, you can't walk away just because you can't do it, and you don't know what to do so you're trying to push everyone away, like any of us care if you're perfect or not! No one expects you to be able to handle this shit all on your own, Saruhiko. Sometimes it takes a while, hell, maybe it'll take years, who the fuck knows – but I know you can beat it. You're still the most amazing guy I've ever met, Saruhiko. And if you fucking give up on me now, after all the shit we've been through, I'll never forgive you.”
Fushimi felt the colors flaring in his veins again – red, blue, green – and Misaki's eyes shining wet as he turned abruptly on his heel and left the cell. The cell door shut behind him and Fushimi could hear the footsteps moving away, quickly, and then the heavy slamming of a door.
Then, silence, and Fushimi fell back against the bed.
Misaki...Fushimi shook his head, lip curling and small green lights flashing beneath his palms. Idiot. As if saying it would make it true. As if Misaki's words could make him less than what he was, a useless experiment failed at last.
Fushimi's hands braced against the bed and he paused as his fingers brushed something cool and round. Anna's new marble, still lying on the bed where he'd left it, and for the first time since her visit Fushimi picked it up and held it between two fingers, staring through it.
Red.
Pulsing, burning, swift beneath his skin, and he could almost smell Suoh Mikoto's cigarettes on the wind. Suddenly Fushimi wondered if this was how Mikoto had felt all the time – a raging power roiling like a wave inside his soul, and there was nothing to do but close his eyes and ride it out until the end that came on the point of a sword.
“You're fine the way you are.” Had he ever been? Fushimi let the marble rest in the center of his palm and colors swirled around it, a spark of green and a flame of red, a cool splash of blue, and Fushimi's body shuddered.
Control.
He could still see it in his mind's eye – Misaki held motionless with the barrel of a gun pointed straight at him, the way all of Fushimi's powers had rushed up at once in response to the screaming in his soul and Fushimi unable to push them back, to shove them away and call on just one.
The red was building, a tiny tempest of flame surrounding the marble, and Fushimi bit his lip so hard he could feel blood dripping down his chin.
Control.
Suoh Mikoto's cigarettes and the smell of Bar Homra, the clink of glasses and the sound of Misaki's laughter, and a burning in his soul that had never gone away, not really.
Control it.
The red swirled once and then died, swallowed up by the sudden tornado of electricity that began to dance in his palm, and the marble trembled.
Green. He'd been told it was the 'color of change,' once – but change what? Change who? How long had he been here, unchanging and unchanged, and he'd thought for a moment that this color was not suited to him at all. But he'd taken it anyway, held it in his hands, and something had changed. Utterly against his will but inexorable, inevitable as a tide, it had changed.
Control.
The world had moved on, and his heart beat fast, electricity in his veins the same way Hisui Nagare's electricity had sparked in place of a human heart, a body moved by power and ambition and a single dream, and for a moment Fushimi had felt his fingers brush the edge of it. Change. Another spark, calmed.
Blue now, a steady pulse, closing in on the marble from all sides and shrinking as if to break it. Take this sword, he'd been told once, kneeling in the rain. He smelled coffee and printer ink, heard laughter in his ears, and the soft clink of a puzzle piece put into place.
It was order, after all. He of all people had never been made for order, not with his mind always a swirl of chaos, emotions boxed up and pinned down and sunk into the depths of his soul where he wouldn't need to feel them, until three colors dragged them up. But there was order in this too, in the steady movement of hands across a keyboard, praise in his ears, and smiles that welcomed him home no matter how many times he replied with a scowl or an acid word. Order.
Control.
The blue broke, faded away, and the marble sat there in his palm, the surface smooth and still.
Unbroken.
–
There was a blue wind blowing.
He could feel it in his bones, in his veins, red in the arteries, and the grass was a vivid green. Fushimi raised one arm to shield his eyes from the sun, and didn't let his legs shake.
In the distance he could see two figures, waiting for him. Fushimi felt his mouth twist in a shape that might have been a smile, and power stirred like a waking serpent in his soul. It shuddered, opened its mouth, and Fushimi kept his footsteps steady even as it pulsed and coiled inside him.
Red, blue, green. Inside, seeping out, always waiting for the moment to strike.
And outside himself – the deep blue of his King's coat as Munakata shifted to face him, an inscrutable smile on his face, a flash of light through green leaves catching on the rim of his glasses. Misaki beside him, red hair blazing in the sun and a bright grin like a rainbow after a storm, painted in a color he didn't know the name of.
Not yet, and Fushimi stepped forward through the light as Misaki held out a wooden sword towards him.
“One more time?”
Fushimi took a deep breath, exhaled, and reached for the sword.