#And nobody looks at this long enough anyway to even notice that the rib cage doesn’t consistently stay the same size or whatever

[janamensch]

Xiiki!!! She’s my favourite, is it obvious?

[someonestolemyshoes]

So... during the time skip, Hange is on a business trip to Marley. Levi stays home to deal with some installation or important project for Hange, gets injured in some stupid way, falls off scaffolding or something. And he doesnt think too much of it because it's such a stupid way to get injured. And he hides it even when it gets worse and Hange is the only one who notices because she knows him so well. BUT when she gets back, it gets worse. And Levi hates hospitals so Hange forces him to go <3

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt :) I’m not super thrilled with the way this one turned out, but I had a lot of fun anyway, and I hope you enjoy it! Angst ahead, if that’s not your thing. 

(Drinking game: take a shot every time Levi says he’s fine) 

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

**

It wasn't a particularly bad accident, but it was a particularly stupid one.

Hange had been tied up in meetings for days, stuck inside Sina with other military personnel, with carnivorous media, with business moguls eager to ensure their pockets would be well lined by any negotiation plans with Marley and their neighbouring countries.

She had taken Armin and Jean alongside her; Armin had a mind with similar mechanics to her own, and as such he was best suited to help her formulate a compelling case with their higher ups, while Jean had attended at Levi’s insistence. Hange had already made it clear that, with Armin gone, they needed somebody to oversee continued construction on the railway line, and Levi, uneasy with the idea of Hange being without an attack dog, had demanded Kirstein attend in his place. The brat was becoming something of a budget Moblit, always trailing after Hange whenever she was around—Levi thought he looked a little pitiful, following her around like an eager puppy, but he supposed he was grateful for it now, if it meant he had no objections taking a trip into the interior with her.

Levi had been left with the rest of the brood. Eren and Mikasa worked diligently, though Eren—distant and despondent as he had been since the Queen’s address after Shiganshina—remained sullen, while Mikasa alternated between shooting Eren looks of concern, and staring scathingly at Levi whenever he came into view. She tolerated him far better, these days, but Levi was unsure she’d ever fully forgive him for his public display at Eren’s trial.

No matter. She did as she was told, reluctantly as may be. Connie and Sasha, on the other hand, were proving problematic.

They lacked focus. The four of them were working on construction of a rail house near the coast, somewhere to store equipment for maintenance, with a few flat beds for workers to rest in between commutes. The walls were coming along, but the space was still lacking a proper roof, covered only by tarp to keep the metal beams and frames inside from rusting before they could be treated and on the tracks. Eren and Mikasa were working quietly on one side, while Connie and Sasha were goofing off on the other.

Levi clicked his tongue. The work was, in theory, far less hazardous than slaying titans had ever been, but they were still a couple of stories in the air on flimsily constructed scaffolding, without any gear to catch them if they fell. The drop wasn’t deadly in itself, but the inside of the half-built hut was full of great mounds of metal, beams and poles and wires covered only by papery thin sheets. A fall onto that, from this height, would result in breaks and bruises at best. 

"Oi,” Levi called, making his way around the rickety structure. Connie and Sasha either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. That had been happening upsettingly often, of late; whatever intimidation tactic Levi had employed when they were still bratty kids had lost its effect. Connie teetered around Sasha as she tried to smear mortar on his cheek, edging along the scaffolding on only his toes until he made his way around her. Levi picked up his pace and called again, more of a snarl this time, a warning, but Sasha let out a shriek of delighted laughter as she managed to slap a trowel full of mortar on the top of Connie’s head. Neither of them heard him.

“You fall and break your necks and Hange will kill me,” Levi said. Sasha twisted to look at him but offered only a smile. Levi was within feet of them, when Connie moved quickly behind Sasha—he was doing nothing suspicious that Levi could see, but Sasha, awaiting retaliation, tried to scurry hurriedly away. Her foot missed the edge of the scaffolding, and there was a fraction of a second in which her eyes widened, body tilting, before Levi moved.

His hand closed around her wrist. With a sharp tug, he jerked her back onto the safety of the scaffolding, but in his rush to grab her he hadn’t the time to brace himself—with his weight unbalanced, the force of his pull sent his body careening forward, tipping over the edge of the plank.

He barely managed to release his grip on Sasha before he lurched over the edge.

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

Levi hit the beams with a resounding clatter. Metal clanged and wood splintered, dust gathering in great plumes as Levi hit the tarp. The beams, built with enough strength to hold steam engines, had no give to them—Levi struck one solidly with his side and his body bowed around it. Something—his ribs, his spine—crunched on impact. The sudden stop made his neck whip down, temple cracking hard against the stone floor.

Every last drop of air punched out of his lungs and a white, dizzying pain exploded in his head. He slumped the rest of the way to the ground, gasping fruitlessly, but his chest, all empty, crushing pressure, would not expand, would not allow for a single wheezing breath.

He lay in a heap on the cold stone. Dimly, he could hear voices, the clatter of feet on wooden planks and the echo of sturdy shoes on the scaffold poles as the kids clambered their way down to him, but everything sounded muffled and distant, warbled by the pound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his ears. He blinked rapidly, squeezed his eyes closed to push the fuzziness from the edges of his vision, then gathered himself slowly, shifting to lay on his back. His every muscle felt tight, seizing from the shock of the impact and sharp, stabbing pain, but despite the tension, something in his side felt loose. He sucked in a few small breaths, pausing at every spike of pain before trying again, and then he pushed himself up to sit. His head felt thick and full, stuffy, too heavy for his neck to hold up. It throbbed with the change of position, a crack of pain so sudden he thought his skull might split in two. He resisted the urge to grab at it as the kids’ footsteps sounded close by, several sets of feet scuffing and clicking against the stone.

Levi pre-empted their concern with a wheezy, “I’m fine,” as Mikasa, followed swiftly by the others, rounded the corner and stopped short of him. “Get back to work.”

None of them moved. Levi focused his swimming gaze on them as well as he could, attempting a glare, but the corner of his eye and the side of his face felt fat, skin tight over the rapidly swollen flesh, and his breathing was tight, uneven, chest jerking with each attempt to fill his empty lungs. Nobody looked intimidated by the sight of him—in fact, all four of the little brats looked almost frightened.

“Captain…” Eren said. Levi scowled, fought not to wince.

“I’m fine.” Gritting his teeth to muffle each pained grunt, Levi grabbed a nearby beam and used it to drag himself up to his feet. His head spun, the ache intensifying to something almost unbearable, and that, coupled with the sickening grinding sensation in his side as he straightened up, was enough to make him sway on the spot. Mikasa was the first to step forward, hovering awkwardly. Levi suppressed the manic urge to laugh—there was some irony somewhere in Mikasa, grudge so steadfastly held, being the one ready to catch him if he fell. Levi shooed her away. His chest ached something terrible, a persistent, resounding swell behind his rib cage. It should be impossible to feel so full, so bloated, yet so empty at the same time.

“You should rest a little more,” Eren said, at the same time Sasha erupted with a wailed apology. Connie looked pale and guilty behind her.

“Hange wants this—shitty thing—finished, by the time—she gets back.” Levi hitched stilted breaths as he spoke. He took a careful step forward. His side screamed, and his head pounded, but he remained upright, which was good enough. He passed by Connie and Sasha, who both looked ashen-faced, and clicked his tongue against his teeth. They’re too tall now, so tall he almost lost his precarious balance when he stretched up to pat them both roughly on the head. Then he brushed past them with as much ease as he could manage.

“Hurry up. The damn walls won’t build themselves.”

**

Levi had expected to be better by the time Hange returned.

The pain had not subsided at all in the three days that passed between the injury and Hange’s arrival—if anything, it had intensified, and Levi’s bouts of dizziness and breathlessness were near constant. He hid it as well as he could from the others, compensating with vicious scowls and quick, barked instructions, but he couldn’t escape their concerned glances.

The building, at least, was almost complete. They had laid the rafters for the roof the day before, and were hammering on the felt when Hange, Armin, and Jean appeared in the distance.

The weather was blisteringly hot. Eren and Connie had removed their shirts long ago, while Sasha and Mikasa had tried fruitlessly to keep their hair off the base of their necks and out of their faces. Despite his lack of manual labour Levi was just as sweaty as the rest of them, though his skin was pale in comparison. He had argued, albeit rather feebly, to do his part in aiding the construction, but the damn brats had put their foot down on that, at least—as such, Levi had spent the last three days sitting beneath the shade, glumly watching their progress.

He stood when he saw the horses approaching. The others climbed down from the scaffolding, wiping sweat from their hands and faces. They cast Levi a sidelong look, and he glared in return.

“Not a word,” he reminded them coldly. Levi had already demanded that they keep the details of his incident quiet. The swelling on his face had gone down some with the aid of a bag filled with cold sea water, but the bruises were persistent, mottled from his eye to his ear. He could play it off as a far smaller incident than it was, so long as he could keep the ugly welt on his torso well hidden. The bruising there was dark, a deep, violent shade of purple, wrapping around his side and bubbling out over his back.

Eren looked uncertain. Mikasa gave him a stoic, level look, while Sasha and Connie still looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. They had apologised profusely, and on multiple occasions,  for causing such a mess. Levi had, at their insistence, scolded them for messing around, but in truth he had little energy left to care.

Hange waved as soon as they were close enough. She kicked her horse on, Jean and Armin following dutifully behind her. The three of them pulled to a stop and dismounted, leading their horses to shade and water, looking tired, but satisfied. Levi kept his angled down, twisted to one side. He was prolonging the inevitable, he knew, but if he could get Hange talking about the meetings, or with some luck the upcoming expedition, or maybe even the mostly completed rail house, Levi could at least wait until they were alone before Hange battered him with questions.

All three of them had dark circles under their eyes. Armin yawned widely, he and Jean bumping into one another as they walked. Hange, as tired as she looked, strode forward with a delighted confidence—Levi, in spite of himself, quirked his lip in a small smile. It has been too long since Hange looked excited about anything. The prospect of an expedition had breathed some life into her.

“We’ve still got to work out some kinks,” Hange said, “but things are looking good. We’ll set up another meeting with Kiyomi. It might take a little while, but we’ll get out there ourselves. See the world with our own eyes, and—more importantly—let them see us.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged excited glances. Mikasa and Eren shared a more subdued look. Levi understood both perspectives—the prospect of venturing out into the world opened them up to a lot of risks. Each of them carried targets on their backs. One wrong move, and they would be in trouble. But, if all goes according to Hange’s plan, there would be plenty of reward. Freedom was worth any price they could pay, if only they can secure it.

Levi listened as the group reacquainted. Eren and Mikasa seemed pleased to have Armin back in their company, while Sasha hounded Jean endlessly until he relented, and surreptitiously pulled a small pack of cured meat from the inside pocket of his jacket. He had the decency to look embarrassed when he caught Levi’s eye on him, but his abashed expression quickly turned to one of confusion when he caught a good look at Levi’s face.

“The hell happened, Captain?”

Hange, who had been quietly engaged with Armin and the other two, looked around. Levi tutted and curled his lip, letting his fringe fall to cover part of his bruised brow.

“None of your business,” he said. His chest spasmed and he clenched his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to cough. “If you’ve still got the energy to stand around talking, you can get up there and help them finish the damn roof.”

Jean, who either hadn’t quite developed the same immunity to Levi’s brash tone as the rest, or was nervous about Levi scolding him for stealing food from the interior, nodded once and shrugged out of his jacket. Sasha’s eyes followed longingly as he hooked it over the nearby cart sitting on the tracks, but then her gaze shot back to Levi, and she scurried after Jean towards the rail house.

The others followed. Hange’s eye was still on him, and she waited until the group had scrambled up onto the scaffolding and picked up their tools before she crossed over to him. She bent a little, tilting her head to get a good look at his face. Hange let out a low whistle.

“Quite the bruise,” she said. Levi gave her a somewhat guarded look, and carefully shrugged one of his shoulders.

“Brats were messing around,” Levi said simply. “Caught me with a stray elbow.”

He didn’t dare look Hange in the eye long enough to determine whether she believed him. He nodded towards the rail house and said, “They’ll be done in a few hours.”

Hange beamed, bracing her hands on her hips. “They’ve made good progress! I wasn’t sure they’d get it finished by the time we made it back.”

“You wanted it finished,” Levi scowled, “those were your orders.”

“Calling it an order is a little harsh, Levi.”

“You’re our commander, Hange,” Levi said. “You tell us to do something, we do it. By definition, it is an order.”

Hange grimaced. It had been years since Shiganshina, years for Hange to come to grips with the position that had befallen her, and to her credit she had taken to it admirably enough, on the outside. It was only in small, private moments like this that she allowed herself to show doubt. The lack of cooperation from Hizuru had been a blow Hange had expected, but hoped to avoid—she had worked hard on her proposals and her negotiations had been sound, but the rejection stung nonetheless. With each new trial and each new error, Hange felt herself all the more lacking. Her distaste for her own position, for Erwin’s faith, grew stronger, and showed face more often.

Levi took in her sullen expression and winced internally. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “They give you a hard time?”

“Who?”

“Zackley. The reporters. The kids.”

Hange let out a low chuckle. “Zackley’s as rigorous as ever. Picked apart every last thing we had to say, highlighted every possible flaw in the plan. Made us work hard, as usual. The reporters...asked a lot of questions we didn’t have answers to. They’ll smear our names in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, but it can’t be helped. We did our best. Armin was a huge help, though. He’s still a little nervous, but—so clever! So full of interesting ideas, and he negotiates well. He’ll make a good commander one day.”

“And Kirstein?”

“He’s an excellent paperweight,” Hange said, shooting Levi a sideways grin. “I appreciated the company, but I think we would have been fine without him.”

“Never know,” Levi said gruffly. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the heat of the sun or simply standing too long, but Levi was beginning to feel woozy. Breathing was still a chore, a concentrated effort to suck air into his aching chest and let it out again without choking, coughing, and more often than not he felt lightheaded. He nodded towards the boxes he’d been using as a seat over the last couple of days. “Sit. You look like shit.”

“For once, I don’t think you get to judge me for that.”

Levi had already begun walking stiffly to the boxes, and made no comment. He had no valid argument to give—he did look like shit, far worse than Hange, and he felt even shittier. He dropped a little heavily onto the box and bit back a grunt of pain.

Hange sat next to him. The box shuddered. Levi tensed as pain lanced through his side. He took in a quick, sharp breath, holding it high in his chest when the pain intensified. He could feel Hange’s eye on him and clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his face somewhat neutral.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hange said to him. Levi grunted. He busied himself taking slow, shallow breaths, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding Hange’s keen stare. “You look a little clammy.”

Levi made another quiet noise. Levi wasn’t very talkative at the best of times—this, he knew Hange was aware of, and most of the time Hange was content to fill the silence herself, but today she was quiet, and watching him too closely. Scrutinizing. Levi had often praised Hange for her powers of observation—she had an incredible eye for detail and a knack for spotting patterns and anomalies, a talent which had served the Survey Corps very well, but right now, Levi was cursing it. He didn’t need Hange surveying him.

He was hurting. He’d had a near constant headache since the incident, and his chest felt tight, riddled with pain both dull and sharp, stabbing whenever he breathed too deeply or gave in to the pressing urge to hack out a cough, but more than that, he felt unwell. Groggy, sickly, light-headed. His heart beat frantically, and his skin did feel clammy, cold sweat sitting on his brow. He stared ahead, blinking the fuzziness from his head and resolutely ignoring Hange’s steady stare.

Hange’s palm pressed to his forehead. The sudden touch made him jump—his muscles tensed, his ribs screamed in protest, and Levi let out a strangled groan, biting his tongue a second too late to trap the sound.

He was barely aware of Hange’s fussing as he fought to draw breath. Air grated in his battered lungs as Hange’s hand pressed flat to the back of his neck, her voice warped and muffled in his ear as she felt his sweat-damp skin. His vision tunnelled. He blinked rapidly to clear the black spots and wheezed in the humid air. His chest felt like it might split open, pressure billowing out from behind his ribcage, pressing agonisingly against his damaged bones.

He breathed short and shallow until the haze of pain lessened. Hange’s voice was loud beside him, the sharp, deep bark she used when she felt it necessary to assert her authority. Through the fog in his head he could barely make out her words, but he knew exactly what it was she was demanding. Sasha’s voice was meek in comparison, but it still carried over the distance enough for Levi to hear her.

“It was an accident,” she was saying. “It was our fault—my fault—”

Levi hissed through his teeth. Hange’s hands—one still at the back of his neck, the other curled around his arm—tightened their grip on him.

“Drop it,” Levi said. “Stop grilling them. It doesn’t matter what happened, I’m fine.”

Hange had the audacity to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Fine? Levi, you can’t even move. You can barely breathe! What the hell did you do?”

“Fell,” he said shortly. His voice sounded weak, but he didn’t have the breath to put more force behind it.

“From where? When? Hell, Levi, when did this happen?”

“Hange, leave it.”

Hange turned her question to the rail house, and Connie answered immediately. Traitors, Levi thought scathingly. Mikasa explained without prompt that they didn’t know the extent of his injuries, that Levi had refused a proper medical examination despite the head wound that had left him unable to stand straight. She explained that they had managed with very little effort to get him to observe the construction from the ground, which, it seemed, was enough to concern Hange—Levi wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. He despised being idle and she knew it.

“You should see a doctor, Levi.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not. What else did you hurt? Just your head?”

Levi felt ill. Hange’s persistent questions were making his head spin and his entire body felt sore and spent. He mustered enough strength to glare at her, but nothing more. Hange was watching him carefully, brow furrowed in concern, but at his silence her expression hardened, and she stood abruptly. Levi bit back another groan as the box moved beneath him.

“You can ride, then?”

Levi squinted up at her. “Hah?”

“If you’re fine, you can ride back into town with me.”

No. “Sure.”

Hange stared at him a little longer, waiting, no doubt, for him to backtrack, admit defeat. Levi clenched his jaw and maintained steely eye contact. Hange narrowed her eye at him, then turned towards the rail house.

“Oi!” Hange called up, cupping a hand around her mouth. Six heads turned their way, popping up over the roof. “We’re heading back early. Leave the scaffolding when you’re done, we’ll send for it tomorrow. Good work!”

She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses, still tacked and tethered beneath the shade of a small copse of trees.

“We’ll go get your head checked.”

“Hange, I said I’m fine.” It was a weak argument, made even moreso when he stood too abruptly and swayed on the spot. Hange darted back towards him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and a little of her angry resolve cracked, worry creasing her brow. She led him, more slowly now, towards the horses with her hand hovering over his back. He braced himself for the agony of her touch, if she pressed her palm against him, but Hange—perhaps in fear of not knowing what other injuries he had sustained—didn’t touch him.

“Humour me,” she said. “If you’re really fine, and it’s really nothing, no harm done. I’ll feel better knowing, and you—” she drew them to a stop by the horses and turned to face him fully, grinning, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “—you get to say I told you so.”

Levi said nothing. The thought of riding for hours on end made him feel nauseous.

“This is pointless,” he said. “I’ll rest here, if you’re so worried.”

Hange shook her head at him. She untied her own horse and Jean’s, holding the reins out for Levi to take.  

“We’re going back now, Captain. That’s an order.”

**  

An hour into the journey, Levi began to struggle in earnest.

No part of the ride had been pleasant—the heat was oppressive, and the motion of the horse required a fluidity in his hips and back that sent sharp jolts through his side with every step. Hange was uncharacteristically quiet, occupied instead by watching Levi from the corner of her eye. His head pounded with increasing intensity the longer they travelled, and between the pain, and the scorching sun, and his pitifully shallow breathing, Levi was feeling more faint by the second.

It was an unsettling sensation. Injuries were always difficult, but Levi had never felt so completely wiped out by physical damage in the past. Three days was enough time for his body to at least begin healing, but Levi had seen no improvement since the moment he struck the beam during his fall—if anything, he’d felt worse by the day.

Now, he was fighting to keep himself upright in the saddle.

They were approaching another clump of trees, great leaves wilting in the heat, when Levi, jaw tight and teeth bared, grunted out a request that they stop.

Hange looked torn. She wanted to hurry back into town, and was already impatient enough that Levi had requested they walk—”It’s too hot, for the horses”—but something on his face must have reflected the severity of his discomfort. Hange directed them to the treeline, dismounting and taking Levi’s reins while he did the same. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckled.

Hange caught him about the elbow but only after he had sunk to the grass. He felt shaky, weak, but more than that he felt vulnerable. Realistically, Levi knew that there was no shame in being hurt, in needing help, but he was a stranger to it. He had been self-sufficient since he was in Kenny’s care, and had grown up with the express understanding that showing weakness was a death sentence. And then again, in the Survey Corps—an injured soldier was titan bait.

There were no titans now, but Levi felt distinctly exposed, sitting in the long grass with his vision swimming and his lungs burning, barely functional.

Hange knelt next to him in the grass. She brought a hand up to his face, fingers curling against his jaw. Her gaze darted over his face, all of her righteous anger forgotten as she took in his state. Levi wanted to shake her off, to shake off the spinning in his head, to stand up and get back on the horse and continue their journey, but he couldn’t find the strength to gather his legs beneath him. Hange’s hands—one on his arm and one still on his face—kept him sitting upright.

“Levi…” Hange said slowly. Words sat on his tongue, reassurance that he was fucking fine, that he just needed a minute, but try as he might, he couldn’t get enough air in to voice them. His chest bubbled and rattled as he drew in a thin breath.

“Levi,” Hange said, sharper this time. Levi blinked blearily and searched for her. Neither of them were moving, but Hange’s image wavered and blurred in front of him. He swallowed. Wheezed. His heart hammered in his ears. Hange’s fingertips found the pulsepoint in his neck, pressing, counting. “Levi—what else hurts?”

Levi swallowed thickly, a nauseous tremor under his tongue. After a moment, he choked out, “cracked a few ribs, probably.”

Hange sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me see.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight her as Hange began unbuttoning his shit. He swayed where he sat, struggling to balance without her hands keeping him upright, until he heard Hange’s hiss as she uncovered the bruises wrapping his chest and back.

Levi looked down and grimaced. The bruising was worse than he remembered, stretching further up his chest, dark and mottled, the flesh tight and swollen.

“Levi, this is bad,” Hange said. “We need to get help.”

“Just need rest,” Levi said. His voice sounded slow and slurred in his own ears. Hange’s hand cupped the side of his neck, her thumb tipping his jaw up to look at his face. His eyelids felt heavy.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to move, but—Levi, please. C’mon, I need you to get up.”

It had been a long, long time since Levi had heard that frantic tone from her. She sounded urgent, panicked. Desperate. Levi dragged his eyes open, but found he couldn’t focus on her face anymore. His lungs protested violently as he tried to speak, only coughing instead, dry and hacking. His chest burned.

Hange dragged him to his feet. Levi’s limbs felt heavy and clumsy, detached and completely out of his control. He leaned heavily into Hange’s side as she moved him across the grass.

“C’mon, Levi—work with me.”

Hange hefted him up onto one of the horses. Her horse, he realised, as she clambered up with him. She settled behind him, her arms gripping the reins either side of him. Levi tried to sit up right, but as she kicked the horse on, he slumped back with a low groan. Hange’s voice rumbled through her chest when she spoke.

“You good?” Hange asked quietly, and then, “stupid question, of course you’re not.” Levi found the strength to scoff, but it was a pitiful sound, and followed swiftly with another pained grunt and a fit of coughing. “Bear it a little longer, okay?”

Consciousness drifted, as they rode on. Levi was dimly aware of the sun on his feverish skin, and of Hange’s warm, solid body at his back. Her jaw brushed his head when she moved. Her voice was constant now, a rumble up his spine and in indistinct mumble in his ear. At times he could pick out her words, but his comprehension was hazy, mind unable to string sentences together, to find meaning in her chatter.

In this state, there was no focal point for the pain. It was consuming, indistinct but ever present, impossible to isolate in any one location. His whole body ached. His breathing was quick and laboured. There was no real respite even in this state.

Hange’s hand repeatedly found his throat, fingers feeling for his frantic pulse.

Time passed strangely. The ride seemed to last a lifetime, with Levi waking a thousand times to agony, consciousness barely breaking before he succumbed again to his feverish dozing.

At times, he awoke to new sounds and new sensations. The echo of multiple voices around him, all talking frantically over one. The scratch of crisp sheets beneath his bare back, the click of shoes on tiled floor. New, stinging, fiery pain, sudden and excruciating enough to make his body jolt in discomfort, followed swiftly by strong hands on his arms and legs to keep him still. Cool air blowing gently over his heated skin. His hand caught in a loose, tangled grip.

The aches in his battered body settled, localised. Levi felt it acutely in his chest, though the pressure no longer felt as intense. Breathing still hurt, but the air came easier now. He felt his lungs fill with it, little by little, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the light, then rolled his head slowly to look around.

The small window had been cracked open, the fresh, cool air lifting Levi’s fringe, tickling at his brow. Thin morning light poured in, illuminating the small, sparsely furnished room. Besides the bed he lay on, there was only one small table and a stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.

Hange was slumped low in the chair. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her, her chin dropped to her chest while she slept. She had discarded her military jacket, eye patch, and glasses in a heap on the floor, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons of her shirt undone and splayed open. Her hair hung limp and ratty around her face. She looked pale and exhausted.

Levi’s tongue was dry, tacking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It took him three attempts to say her name, and when he did it came out raspy and ragged. He tried to move, to reach over and nudge her awake, to ask what the hell had happened since he’d last been lucid—but as he leaned over a sudden, white hot agony ripped through him, tearing into his side.

He gave a strangled groan and pressed himself back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes closed as he rode out the spasms. Wood scraped by the bed; Hange must have startled awake at his outburst. Levi squinted an eye open to see her blinking rapidly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes before scooping up her glasses and taking in the sight of him.

The pain subsided little by little, though Levi didn’t dare move again. Hange sat on the edge of her chair and reached for him, her hand stopping short of his and falling to grip the bed sheets instead.

“How you feeling?”

Levi cleared his throat. “Like shit.”

Hange managed a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were considerably darker than they had been before, her skin paler, papery. Levi frowned at her. “You still look like shit.”

Hange waved him off with a small laugh, sitting back and scrubbing her hands over her face. She hung her head over the back of her chair, fingers pressing into her eyes beneath her glasses. She sat for a long while, observing the backs of her eyelids. Levi watched her through pinched eyes as the burn in his side settled to a more familiar ache.

“Don’t do that,” Hange said, voice strained by the stretch of her throat. “Don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” Levi said.

“All of it. Don’t get in stupid accidents. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Don’t—”

She stopped short, then, with a sudden hitch of her breath. Levi watched her dig her fingers harder into her eyes, watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed reflexively. For a moment she was quiet, then she sat up straight and turned watery, bloodshot eyes on him.

Hange was strong. She was a far more emotionally available person than he could ever be, but she had an incredible capacity to compartmentalise. To switch off. To accept the necessity, the inevitability of loss, to evaluate and recalculate and move forward. Hange mourned—Levi had witnessed the aftermath of it plenty of times before, repaired broken tables and reorganised upended bookshelves in the wake of her disaster—but she mourned later. Alone. Felt all her fears and frustrations in isolation, away from prying eyes.

Hange wasn’t the type to cry at peoples besides and beg them to live.

And yet.

“Don’t leave me on my own.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“You dare tell me it wasn’t that bad and I’ll kill you myself.”

Levi clamped his mouth shut. Hange was glaring at him like she might really mean it. Instead of arguing, he said, “what’s the damage?”

Hange slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hung low. “Broken ribs. Ripped up a few muscles in your back. Collapsed lung. The air pressure in your chest was restricting blood flow to your heart.” She put her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her messy hair. “You got so fucking lucky, Levi. If we hadn’t left when we did—”

He watched silently as Hange groaned into her palms. She breathed deeply, back and shoulders raising as she did.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Hange’s head shot up. “By the skin of your teeth, Levi. You—” she took a long, steadying breath, but her voice still shook as she continued, “—you were barely breathing. You couldn’t talk to me, you would hardly even respond to me.”

“Sorry.”

Levi wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Hange looked distraught, her composure tenuous. Levi’s fingers twitched on the sheets, itching to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of reassurance that he was here, he was fine—but he wasn’t fine, and moving so far was out of the question. He gripped hard at the sheets instead. “Sorry.”

“Not you as well,” Hange said quietly. Levi’s chest tightened painfully at her tone—she sounded so small in that moment. Scared. Levi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so frail before. “What am I supposed to do if you—” she cut herself off again, shaking her head.

“Same thing you always do.” Hange curled tightly in on herself. Levi turned to stare at the ceiling instead. “You keep going, Commander.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“One day or another, everyone you care about eventually dies. You said that.” He listened as Hange’s breath hitched, but refused to look at her. “It sucks. It hurts. But we keep moving forward.”

The mattress dipped by his hand. Levi rolled his eyes down, and found Hange hunched out of her chair, her face pressed into the blankets. Levi sunk his fingers quietly into her hair.

They lapsed into a painful silence. Hange hiccupped and sniffled now and then, while Levi scratched lightly at her scalp. After a long while, Hange spoke again.

“I know those were my words,” she said thickly. “But I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Stubborn,” Levi said quietly. He pulled lightly at her hair until she raised her head, wiping her cheeks and nose messily on her arm. “Disgusting.”

Hange managed a bare, wobbly smile. Levi’s hand fell from her hair as she straightened up, and Hange scooped it up in both of her own. She played absently with his fingers, curling and flexing them, rubbing her thumb over the lines on his palm. She seemed to be gathering herself, brow a little furrowed in thought.

“I know we can’t guarantee anything. I know how uncertain our world is. But just—” Hange paused, closing Levi’s fingers around her own, then looked up at him with a fierce determination. “Promise me anyway.”

Levi blinked sluggishly at her. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll survive.”

Levi tensed. “Hange…”

“Indulge me. Just this once, please.”

A promise of that kind was unrealistic, Levi knew this. Hange had said so herself: there were no guarantees. Except, that wasn’t quite true—death, at least, was a constant. The only inevitability they had. The island may be free of titans now, but the threat of attack loomed over them like a persistent storm cloud, black and heavy, ready to give at any moment. And accidents, as he had painfully learned, could happen in the blink of an eye.

Levi was resilient, but he wasn’t invincible.

But Hange was looking at him steadily, her resolve unwavering. She wanted his word here and now. Needed it, maybe, but Levi knew her. Hange valued honesty over everything else. There was no way she could feel at ease with such an empty promise.

Levi sighed.

“You’re a brat, you know that? Looking at me like that.”

Hange’s gaze held firm. Levi felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“I can’t promise shit like that, Hange,” he said. She squeezed his hand tighter still, and her body tensed, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “You know I can’t. Nobody can.”

For one horrible, gut wrenching moment, Levi thought she might cry again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes but when she opened them again, her good eye looked terribly blank.

“You’re right. Sorry, sorry!” She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, hands resting on her legs instead. Her voice sounded lighter, more like Hange, but there was something off about it. Something forced. Strained. She adjusted her glasses but didn’t meet his gaze again.

This was the Hange he knew. The Hange who could bury her feelings in the moment, squash them down and push them aside to focus on the rational, the plausible. Seeing her like that didn’t relieve him the way it should have. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a discomfort in his gut, knowing that he was the cause of the grief she felt she had to hide.

It was stupid, the whole situation—how a moment of carelessness lead to this; Levi bedridden, and Hange struggling to hold herself together.

The space between them grew stagnant. Hange seemed a little lost in thought, gaze caught blankly on Levi’s blankets, while Levi watched her, waiting for her to say something else, to change the subject, to be Hange again. But Levi was never one for giving inspiring speeches, and in truth, he didn’t know that anything he could say now would make anything better. Hange would do what Hange always did—wait until she was alone, and vent in whatever way she could.

And Levi, as soon as he was able, would do what he always did, too—pick up the broken pieces and mend as much as he could.

“You should rest.”

Hange blinked tiredly over at him. It had been an age since Hange looked well-rested, years since Shiganshina and the exhaustion of that particular battle had never left her. The burden she carried—everything Erwin had left behind and all that they had discovered since—was so impossibly heavy, the expectations put upon her too much for any one person to handle. Hange had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be worried about him, too.

“Eat something, bathe. Sleep. I’ll still be here when you come back.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll promise you that much.”

Hange gave him a weak, wry smile as she fished up her eye patch, strapping it into place and righting her glasses over it. “I guess I’ll take that. And then tomorrow, you can promise me the same again.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll nap for a couple hours and come back. You should sleep some more too, you know. It’ll help you heal faster.”

Levi grumbled in response, and grumbled louder still when Hange stepped up to the bedside, but he fell quiet when she leaned over, brushing his fringe back from his forehead and pressing a small kiss to his hairline. It was such a simple gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary—Hange had been a physically affectionate person as long as he had known her, always grabbing and hugging and kissing whenever she got the chance—but there was something so tender in it, this time. Levi’s eyes fluttered closed.

Hange lingered longer than was strictly necessary, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Levi could easily have let her stay close, feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin until he drifted into sleep, but she straightened up after a moment and Levi was left instead with the cold breeze from the open window. Levi blinked sluggishly up at her. His own exhaustion barrelled in, making his eyes sting, lids heavy. Hange folded her jacket over her arm and pushed the chair into the corner, out of the way.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said.

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna feel like you got crushed by a titan when the pain meds wear off, so make the most of it.”

“Got it.”

“And you should let the doctor know if anything changes. Straight away, don’t wait around.”

“I will.”

"And there are nurses around, if you get hungry or thirsty. The bathroom is just down the hall too, but they've got bedpans if you need to—"

“Hange.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Hange had already crossed the room as she spoke, but she paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame. She deliberated with herself for a moment longer, then said, “hey, Levi?”

“Hm?”

Hange chewed on her lip, contemplating something, a faint blush building on her cheeks. And then she shook her head, gave him a small smile, and said, "Ah, doesn't matter. Sleep well."

She left quickly after that, closing the door quietly behind her. Levi stared at the space she'd vacated, brow a little furrowed; her hesitancy confused him.

But he was tired. His body hurt. His head felt thick and fuzzy, and without Hange's presence to keep him occupied, he consciousness began to drift. 

Tomorrow, he thought hazily. He would ask her tomorrow. For now though, he would follow his own advice; for now, he would rest. 

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

Okay here’s something I had thought of from when I had only seen the trailers that’s been in my head I want to share: so for basic clarification, I thought from one of the trailers the boys would’ve been captured in like, those metal bar crates at the climax of the story, like old fashioned movies. Now to elaborate.

Luca and Alberto had been captured after being seen, as Giulia and Massimo were the only ones trying to convince the town they were good (the town believing they had been brainwashed by tricky sea monsters, like old myths) (don’t know about Luca’s parents) With their pictures taken, they are sent via them in train where they managed to escape from their cages, and jumped out of the sidecars into fields, as it had been raining; running for a while til they find and decide to hide in an old barn in their sea monster forms, and now with the adrenaline crashing, just cuddle up together and cry from relief and stress. They ended up in Switzerland, don’t know how to read or write or anyway to get back.

On the run or taken in by some farm family? Who knows, but we can agree Switzerland is gorgeous. Sorry if this is much, I just wanted to share this somewhere. It kinda sounds like a old fable a small town believes that nobody else does anymore cause of science. 🤷🏻‍♂️

AN: Okay, I didn't write everything in this prompt, but I think I got a lot of the points! I hope you like it :)

__: *✧･ﾟ:*___ >><(((・> ______ >><(((・> ____ _: *✧･ﾟ:*__

Alberto’s wrists burned as Luca untied the rope from around them. He inhaled deeply as he shook his hands to get the blood flowing. The train car stank of rotten wheat and newly caught fish.

“Thanks,” Alberto said. It was his fault they were there. His fault for dropping the umbrella in the rain. His fault that Luca had to rescue him when Ercole pointed a harpoon at him. His fault for falling off the bike. His fault Luca turned back instead of run.

The feeling of nets pressing into his scales still felt present, even though it’d been hours.

“I’m so sorry about all of this Luca,” Alberto said. He stared down at his hands. It was too difficult to look at his friend now. “I’ll get us out of this.”

“Alberto,” Luca put a hand on his shoulder, and Alberto flinched away from it. Luca moved it, letting the hand hover near him without touching. “We’ll get out of this together. It’s not just you anymore. I promise.”

Albert’s heart was in his chest, and he felt it ache. He’d been alone for so long.

When he finally looked up, Luca was sitting next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest. His cheekbones were bruised purple and there was a cut on his arm that matched Alberto’s scar. Behind Luca, Alberto noticed daylight spilling through a hole in the train car.

He nudged Luca and pointed to it.

Luca’s mouth pinched. “Do you think we’d fit through it?

“Maybe?” Alberto stood up. His feet were unsteady beneath him.

Alberto took a deep breath. He had no idea when the train would stop, and he didn’t want to be around to find out.

Hewalked over to the gap in the train car panel. The bottom half of the metal panel was completely rusted, and when Alberto kicked it, the rust crumbled away.

“Luca! Come over here, we can make the hole bigger!” Alberto called behind him. He kicked at the panel again and more light spilled through.

____

Alberto hit the ground hard and started to roll down the grassy hill. The sky spun into the ground over and over and over, until he eventually slowed down. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The clouds covered the sun, and rain poured onto him. Alberto laid, catching his breath, and taking stock. His ribs hurt, in an aching way. There was a dull throbbing in his shoulder, but he didn’t feel any sharp pains, which was a good sign. He took a slow breath, gently expanding his lungs to check how badly hurt his ribs were. As the skin expanding, he felt a sharp sting and he exhaled hard. He tested the idea of sitting up and felt like he might get sick before he even moved. That was probably less good.

“Alberto?”

Albertocould hear mud squelching as Luca crawled over to him. His face, green and bright against the grey sky, came into Alberto’s view.

“Hey Luca.” Alberto said quietly. It hurt to speak.

“You don’t look so good, Beto.” Luca said.

“Mmng,” Alberto breathed out.

“Can you sit up?”

Alberto shook his head the tiniest bit.

Luca bit his lip and looked around the valley. “I don’t think we can out in the open. They’ll see us,”

Alberto watched Luca’s face as he got more and more stressed. His thoughts felt slow. It was like he was dragging them through sand and murking the water while he did so, but what he did think of was how Luca blended into the grass well enough. And that he must stand out, purple among all the green.

“Alberto!”

“hmm?” Alberto focused on Luca.

“There’s a barn not too far from here.” Luca pointed behind him. Alberto didn’t raise his head to see where he was pointing. “I think we should go in there and dry off.”

“Okay,” Alberto said, keeping his voice quiet.

“You need to get up, Beto,” Luca held out a hand.

Alberto took it, wincing at the pain in his chest as he moved. Luca must have noticed because he slowed his movements. “That’s it. Just a bit more.”

And then Alberto was sitting. Everything spun around him as Luca pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, lean on me.” Luca said, looping an arm around Alberto’s waist to keep him standing. “It’s not too far. We’re going to be okay.”

____

The barn stank, and Alberto crinkled his nose as Luca lowered him down to the ground and leaned him against the wall. “There we go.”

Luca squatted down and wiped the last of Alberto’s scales from his face. His fingers were gentle, barely touching Alberto’s skin, as if he worried that any touch could cause him pain.

“Thanks Luca.”

“Of course.” Luca gave him a small smile. “I saw a blanket near the entrance. I’m going to go get that. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay” Alberto leaned back onto the wall. The wooden panels pressed into his back. He still couldn’t take any deep breaths without his chest hurting. He felt anxiety starting to swell with each of his shallow breathes. He had no idea where they were. No idea how to get home, and, after how the town of Portorosso had treated them, his home no longer felt safe. It was too close to all the hurt.

“It’s a little worn through in places, but it’ll do,” Luca said as he returned with the blanket. It was grey and patterned with plaid. The blanket looked like it might have once been warm, but now it was thin. The sides of it were fraying, and holes dotted the fabric.

Luca draped it over Alberto. “There, that’ll help right?”

Alberto’s foot stuck through one of the holes, but it did help.

Luca sat next to Alberto and wrapped his arms around himself. “That’ll help,” he repeated, more to himself than to Alberto.

“Luca,” Alberto said, his voice strained. He lifted a corner of the blanket. “You too.”

Luca shook his head. “It’s for you.”

Alberto kept holding up the blanket, inviting Luca in.

Luca took a deep breath and gingerly scooted under the blanket. Alberto leaned his head on Luca’s shoulder.

Luca sniffed, and Alberto looked to see a tear rolling down Luca’s face.

“We’re never going to be able to go home.” Luca said. He stared straight ahead, looking beyond the walls of the barn, and imaged the mob of people in Portorosso who’d forced them onto the cages.

Alberto placed his hand on Luca’s thigh, hoping it’d comfort him.

“Portorosso wasn’t your home,” Alberto whispered.

“But they’ll go searching for sea monsters now,” Luca replied quickly. “My whole village—they’ll have to move. What if we do manage to get back and no one is even there?”

“We can’t know that.” Alberto shook his head.

“I never should have raced.” Luca said quietly. “I never—”

“Hey,” Alberto cut him off, louder than he meant to. He coughed, and it sent pangs through this chest. “You were just trying to be a good friend.”

“No, I was a horrible friend, I—”

“No,” Alberto shook his head more vigorously, “this is not your fault.”

“But I—”

“Other people did this to us,” Alberto whispered. He looked into Luca’s eyes. They were red from crying and the skin around his eyes had turned teal and scaley. “It’s their fault.”

“But why would they do this?” Luca said. He sniffed again. “I mean, how could they hate us so much?”

“I don’t know,” Alberto replied quietly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Luca wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess.”

“I know.” Alberto scooted down so that he was lying on the ground. “We should sleep. Figure out the rest in the morning.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” Luca laid down next to him.

“Goodnight Luca.” Alberto said, curling into himself and closing his eyes.

He heard Luca shift next to him before he felt Luca’s arm wrap around his back and pull him closer. A tear fell onto his face, and then Luca’s face was near his. Breathing warmth onto his face. “Goodnight, Beto.”

[staarshiine]

Turbulence

words: 1,773 tw: s*icdial thoughts

Louie knew that he shouldn’t be feeling this way, that it was a dangerous and terrible thought to have, but he just couldn’t muster up the energy to care anymore.

He hadn’t cared about anything for a long time.

-

or, Louie can’t sleep. He ends up spiraling.

Ao3

Louie didn’t know what it was that woke him up.

These nights even the slightest creek from the old house could startle him awake. It was embarrassing, really, to sometimes fall out of bed just because a poster fell off a wall, especially after he had a day of avoiding bears with chainsaws for arms. Maybe being such a light sleeper was the price he had to pay for a childhood of near death experiences. A shitty trade off, if you asked him.

In the end it didn’t really matter what woke him up, the result was the same.

Louie was left laying alone in the dark, tired out of his mind, but unable to sleep.

For some awful reason, his brain had decided to choose now to be uncomfortably aware of every inch of his body, almost as if sensing his desperate attempts to fall back asleep.

His gut was churning and twisting in a way he knew would evolve into a full blown stomachache the second he decided to get up, and there was a slight pang in the left side of his rib cage. His wrist and knuckles still hurt from when he had smacked the back of his hand against a stone wall while running away from the catastrophe of the day, and there was a similar stinging pain in his knee from when he scrapped it tripping and falling on the ground to narrowly avoid the swipe of an axe. His legs and the bottoms of his feet were aching from the cardio workout he got while running for his fucking life earlier that day.

He was just so tired.

The weariness went much further than just bone deep. It was as if exhaustion was laced into every breath, like someone had made thread out of lead and had sewn it into the very fabric of his soul.

He was tired of not being able to sleep through the night. He was tired of his body hurting all the time. He was tired of being forced to fight just to live every day.

He was tired of his life. He was tired of living.

The realization dawned upon him quietly but all at once, like the tide slowly inching in until he’s suddenly been submerged by the waves he didn't notice creeping in.

Louie knew that he shouldn’t be feeling this way, that it was a dangerous and terrible thought to have, but he just couldn’t muster up the energy to care anymore.

He hadn’t cared about anything for a long time.

When had the constant danger become normal? Why had he gotten used to being kidnapped on a daily basis, as if it wasn’t horrifying enough to get locked and tied up? How had having to run just for the chance to breath for another day become a regular occurrence?

Louie had been running on pure fear for so long, he wasn’t sure how to get through the day without adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

Maybe he was tired of fighting. He barely even knew what he was fighting for.

It wasn’t as if Uncle Scrooge allowed him to keep any of the treasures they found on adventures. The golden luster of a future life filled with riches had begun to lose its shine. Was some pretty coin worth all the trouble it was taking to get there?

He didn’t have many big dreams outside of just getting rich, it was almost sad. It was sad. But it wasn’t as if he was going to get far in life anyways. Louie was a greedy, lazy, selfish bastard and he knew that fact uncomfortably well. No matter what Louie did he could never seem to escape who he really was. Someone always ended up getting hurt.

Did he have anyone to be there for?

He didn’t have many friends, either. Not that he ever really tried to make any, not after the disaster that was Doofus Drake. Lena, Boyd, Violet, and Gosalyn were all nice, but they weren’t really his friends. They were all closer to his siblings. He wasn’t anyone’s first choice.

There was always his family.

His family who probably hated him.

Louie couldn’t even count the number of times he had put them into mortal danger for stupid reasons. No shiny ring or necklace was worth their lives, but he was always blinded by the shine and his own selfish greed, and risked it anyways. What reason had he given to deserve their love? He brought nothing good to the table. All he did was sit around all day and get in the way.

His family didn’t seem to have the same problems with the constant adventures that he did. Day after day they just popped back into action, bravely facing whatever life threw their way. Louie felt so ashamed in comparison. Was the problem just him? What was wrong with him?

Why couldn’t he do anything right?

Schemes were supposed to be his thing, the one skill he had that had the capacity to be helpful, to some degree. He fucked that up too.

He had blinked all of them out of existence because of his stupid fucking schemes, and his mom hated him for it. Of course she did. Who wouldn’t? He certainly did.

God.

He just wanted to go back to bed.

Louie didn’t know how much time he had spent, falling deeper and deeper into his own head, but he felt worse than ever before.

His blanket had long stopped being comforting and instead became suffocating. He could barely muster the energy to rip it off, and the sudden cold made him feel sick to his stomach.

Living in a literal tower seemed cool, but the novelty wore off once they realized Scrooge was too cheap to pay for the heating in the room.

Still, the cold was better than the clammy constricting blanket. He curled up tight into a fetal position, and tried to bite back the tears burning in his eyes.

Louie knew he wasn’t in the right mind, that his brain was playing tricks on him and skewing his perception of reality, but god did it feel real.

In that moment he truly believed nobody cared for him. That he was totally and utterly alone.

Then Dewey let out a loud snore above him.

It was such a stupid and small thing, but he couldn’t help but let out a snort. Which then exploded into full blown laughter.

Louie just couldn’t stop. He knew he was definitely going to wake someone up, but he just couldn’t control himself. He doubled over wheezing and cackling till his stomach and cheeks hurt, and each gasping breath began to turn into sobs.

Between the sound of his own manic laughter he could hear the sheets above him shuffling, and the quiet thunks of Huey climbing down the ladder.

Knowing his brothers were awake to witness his hot mess of a breakdown just made the situation even more hilarious in the same way a depressed clown falling on his ass was. Louie’s face was bright red from how hard he was laughing, and hot tears were streaming down his cheeks. He could barely breathe. Nothing about the situation felt real.

“...Louie?”

Dewey’s sleepy voice cut through Louie’s gasping breaths, and startled him out of his crazed giggling. Somehow both his brothers had manifested at the edge of his bed without him noticing. Louie could barely make out his brothers’ concerned expressions through his watery eyes.

Huey’s eyebrows were furrowed so hard Louie was surprised he hadn’t gotten wrinkles yet, and Dewey was rubbing his eye and clutching a pillow to his chest. He looked almost scared. Louie had to look really insane for Dewey of all people to be scared, Dewey wasn’t scared of anything. It was honestly concerning sometimes how often he would throw himself head first into danger.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Huey fretted, and moved to sit near him on the bed.

Like he had to ask. Louie knew he looked like a garbage fire that was hit by a freight train then tossed into a blender and hurled into the fucking sea.

You tell me, do I look okay, Hubert?

He knew he was being a little mean, but it was enough to throw Louie back into hysterical laughter, which quickly dissolved into violent sobs. Huey let out a distraught noise and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Louie just let himself be held and cry into his older brother’s sleep shirt. He felt like a baby, but he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. The bed dipped and creaked slightly as Dewey sat down on the other side, and began to rub circles into his back. That just made Louie cry even harder.

They really did care about him.

The thought suddenly flooded him with pure relief.

Louie didn’t know how long he spent sitting there and sobbing his eyes out, but eventually he ran out of tears to spill. His heaving cries sputtered off into quiet gasps and eventually he was left quietly clutching to Huey’s side. The night still felt unreal, like the second Louie let go Huey and Dewey would vanish and he would be all alone again.

“...No,” Louie weakly whispered out, his voice scratchy and raw from the abuse Louie had just put his throat through. “I’m not okay. I… I think I haven't been for a really long time.”

No one said anything. Dewey just leaned into his other side and gave Louie’s hand a slight squeeze. Huey shifted slightly to reach up and gently wipe away Louie’s tears. He rested his palm against Louie’s cheek and guided his head to rest on Huey’s shoulder. They were such small acts of affection, but it was enough to warm Louie’s heart. It was right there, sitting sandwiched between both his brother’s, did Louie finally feel a sliver of hope.

He was loved.

It didn’t matter what he thought of himself, there would always be two people in his little corner of the world who cared about him.

Louie was still tired. He wasn’t sure anything could lift that heavy feeling out of his chest, but just sitting there and being held made it just the slightest bit lighter.

Maybe he could make it through another day.

Maybe tomorrow morning he could work up the courage to talk to his siblings and explain just exactly how he was feeling. But for now, all Louie was concerned about was letting his heavy eyelids slip shut.

And finally, he fell asleep.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Golden Cage - Chapter.18

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but — — is Dean really who he says he is?

Chapter Warnings: It’s just fluff. So much fluff. A tiny bit of angst at the end, maybe.

WC: 4481

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Two days later, Dean knocks at her door. It’s only 6.00 AM, but he’d rather get things going early because it means that he’ll have more time with her. 

Azazel stayed in the hospital a day longer than he had to because they ran some tests, but other than that, he’s up and about again, being his ruthless self. The usual, really. In fact, he’s doing so great that he arranged a family dinner for his daughter’s birthday tonight. And maybe that’s why Dean’s standing outside of her room at fucking 6.00 AM. It’s mainly because he’s selfish and wants her to himself for as long as he can before he has to take the princess back into her golden cage by 8.00 PM. 

Fourteen hours. They’ll have fourteen hours to themselves. Somehow it’s a long time, yet it doesn’t feel it’s going to be long enough. 

Y/N doesn’t open up and Dean waits. 

Another two minutes pass. He knocks again. There are going to be people waking up soon, walking about and Dean wants to avoid that. It’s not like he didn’t have permission, but he’s sure that there’s going to be questions about why he’s knocking frantically at her door should someone see him. Maybe even more questions, because people are nosy and Dean’s not really in the mood to answer them all.

Lifting his arm, he brings his knuckle down on the wood. Only once, because the door flies open, and there’s a hand tugging at his tie, pulling him into the room while the other hand closes the door and then Dean feels himself being pushed back by a warm body against his. 

His back connects with the closed door and there’s a set of lips on his while her hands hold his face, small fingers span wide over his cheek and she’s not quite kissing him right because she’s not on heels and is a little shorter than him, so he lowers himself a little, giving her better access so she could kiss him right. And he does all that while he grins into the kiss, his hands on her waist. 

She parts with a cheeky grin, “Good Morning, Dean.” 

Dean smacks his lips as he looks down, has to bend down and steal another kiss, just because he can. He smiles when he parts, “Happy Birthday, baby,” He almost said princess, but only because everyone calls her that now, “You’re already up?”

Her hands are still braced on his shirt, fingers toying with his tie and it’s now that Dean notices that she’s already dressed. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” She pouts adorably.

Chuckling, he brushes a hand over her cheek, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “Is that so?”

Looking up, Y/N nods.

“So, why didn’t you open the door when I knocked the first time?” He raises an eyebrow in question. 

Pushing herself away from him with a chuckle, she walks back to the bathroom, swinging her hips. Dean guesses it’s for good measure and to make him notice. Boy, he notices it alright, notices her dress. It’s a white flowery one. A dress that points out one’s innocence. It’s a little ironic, as Dean knows how dirty this girl is, knows what her tongue is capable of, and well, there he is, his fucking dick stirring in his pants at the sight and the knowledge.

“I’m still getting myself ready,” She calls out from her bathroom as if it’s a good enough excuse for not opening the door and let him fry outside. Dean takes it anyway, he told himself not to be annoyed at her, not on her special day.

Of course she’s getting herself ready. She doesn’t even know where they’re going, but he likes how excited she is about it. Dean steps further into the room and lays down on the still unmade bed. His nose catches the scent of her, it’s so sweet it’s almost nauseating. Maybe only because his body is filled with want. With the want to stay here. With the want to curl up in bed with her, forgetting everything around them. 

Looking to the side, he catches the balled up fabric underneath her pillow. Dean doesn’t have to pull it out to know that it’s the hem of his shirt. The one he made her wear after they fucked for the first time. A weird sense of pride washes over him. He’s proud to know that she still sleeps in it. Proud to know that by her doing that means that she’s his, isn’t she? His heart calls her his. It’s his mind that won’t allow him to do it. Not when everything’s so fucked up and it could blow up in his face.

Still deep in his thoughts, Dean grunts when he feels something heavy on his stomach. 

She’s straddling him with a grin, “Why are you collecting me so early?”

Dean’s hand rubs along the smooth skin on her bare thighs, hands squeezing at her flesh as he looks up. Her face is illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside light. She looks absolutely beautiful. 

He swallows before he speaks, a little taken aback by how much his heart wants her, “Because I’m selfish and want more time with you.” 

There’s a little frown on her face before it evens out and a smile starts to spread. She leans forward, kisses him soft and tender, and Dean draws her closer, his hand on the back of her neck. 

Capturing his bottom lip, she sucks on it, making him chuckle into the kiss, “Baby, we should get going,”

Releasing his lips with a wet pop, she groans as she sits right back up, “Ugh,”

Dean pushes her off him playfully and she squeals. Reaching out for her, he helps her up and rearranges his tie and shirt, careful not to look too ruffled up when he steps out of her room, which is risky enough in itself. 

Thankfully, this part of the house is still asleep. The only part that’s awake is in the back where the kitchen is situated. The maids and chefs are already preparing breakfast. 

They slip down the stairs undetected and it’s when they are in the car that she turns to him to ask where he’s taking her. 

“You’ll see,” He clicks his tongue against his lips, leaves it there and winks.

 *

 The first stop is at the restaurant and she recognizes it too as Dean slows down his car.

“It’s too early,” She says, “It’s not going to be open yet,”

Dean kills the motor and looks over at her, raising an eyebrow for good measure, “You sure?”

“Duh? Yeah? I have worked here, I know when we open! It’s certainly not before seven!”

He has to suppress his grin at her reaction. It’s super cute when she’s annoyed at him. 

Leaning closer, he whispers into her ear, “Look again,”

Y/N turns her head to look into the restaurant only to see the inside light up as Jo and Garth are standing by the window. In their hands are balloons and a big sign that says “HAPPY BIRTHDAY”. 

“No way.” She clasps her hand over her mouth.

“Yes, way.” Dean chuckles and gets out of the car, walks over to her side to help her out.

He lets her walk inside first because even though Dean told Jo and Garth to be ready when he arrives, he didn’t tell them about what they are. It actually pains him, but this is only the first stop. They will drive further away after their breakfast. Somewhere where they can be what they are with nobody watching them.

One table is already set up, and they all take a seat. Garth has outdone himself with fresh pancakes and waffles. He even made different variations of eggs and Dean digs into the bacon, scoops up more than the others. Can’t really help it, he just really loves bacon.

He didn’t say much during the meal. Instead, he listens to the three of them talk and he watches her every now and then, thinks it’s great to see her happy. It’s probably not something she is very often.

Apparently, Garth and Jo have never done this before. Never celebrated any birthdays with her. Not because they didn’t want to, Dean’s been told, but because they didn’t know if they were allowed to. It almost broke his heart to hear that, and after Dean asked them to take part in surprising her, they were so fucking excited. He doubts that Garth got any sleep at all from excitement, judging by the bags under the dude's eyes.

“Where are you taking her?” Jo asks and Dean almost spits the coffee out of his mouth because he didn’t expect Y/N to tell them that Dean’s taking her out. 

“Uh,” He stammers, “That’s top secret.”

“Come on, it’s us!” Garth drives his elbow into Dean’s ribs and he shuts the dude down with a glare. Garth can’t look away fast enough and Dean feels a little guilty, but he really doesn’t like to reveal it here. 

“Speaking of,” Dean clears his throat, “Y/N, we have to go if we want to get there today,”

“Uh,” Jo exclaims, “Sounds super ominous! It means that it’s far away, right?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands up and brushes at his mouth with the napkin before he lays it down into his plate. He ignores the other two, only looking at Y/N, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

It’s only about five minutes later that she shows up and as soon as she gets in, Dean drives off with a screech.

“Why do you have to hurry?” Y/N’s still busy securing her seatbelt when suddenly, Dean stops at the curb just a block away. 

“Because,” He says as he releases his tie and yanks it from his neck, “I really want to get going.” Looking at her, he holds the tie in his hand, “Turn around.” 

“Dean? A tie? That’s kinky.” She giggles, but she’s a fucking good girl because she does what he tells her. 

He chuckles, as he wraps it around her eyes, blindfolding her, “Why? You want me to use it next time I fuck you, huh?”

She whimpers at how he talks. He knows that he can run a dirty mouth, but from what he gathered, she quite likes it. He also takes it as a ‘yes’ to his question, makes a mental note to do it sometime when they get to be alone in the apartment.

When the knot is secured on the back of her head, he tests it out to check that she really can’t see, and only when he’s absolutely sure, he lets her sit back. 

“Why do you have to do this?”

Dean's hand goes to her face, draws her closer to kiss the top of her head. Instead of answering her, though, he counters the question with a question of his own.

“You trust me, don’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” She says in a firm voice. It makes him ache on the inside too, because she really does trust him, and how fucked up is it that he can’t even tell her the whole goddamn truth.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he nods, “Good, you’ll like it, I promise.” He’s smiling, but she can’t quite see it. It’s a tired smile. One laced with doubts and uncertainty, but he hopes that the tone of his voice didn’t give it away.

 *

 “Are we there yet?” She whines.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” Dean growls next to her, “Do you think asking me that every ten minutes will make us get there faster?”

It’s true. She kept asking and they’ve only been on a road for an hour. It’ll take at least another hour and a half if there’s not too much traffic, but he avoids telling her that. 

She hits the back of her head demonstratively against the headrest, “Ugh, I’m just bored and I can’t see a thing!” 

Dean reaches out, rubs over her thigh with one hand, “Just a while longer, okay?”

Pouting, she takes his hand and weaves her fingers through it, “‘K,”

He grabs her hand, places them to his lips, kisses the back of it, “Good,”

After about twenty minutes after her outburst, she fell asleep. Dean knows that because her head tips back, exposing her throat and her mouth stays open, little snoring sounds coming out of it. He smirks at the sight, can’t really help it because it’s fucking adorable. There are weird pinpricks in his heart every time he glances over.

 *

 Y/N’s still sleeping when they arrive and Dean gets out of the car and takes a minute to inhale the fresh air tinted with salt. He closes his eyes, lets the breeze brush over his face and hair. 

When he opens them again, he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt and folds the fabric back on his forearm before he walks around the car to open the passenger door. 

He grins when she still doesn’t stir, is still sleeping soundly, a drip of drool at the corner of her lips. 

Jesus, he should not be feeling the things he feels but he does and he has got to face the consequences somewhen— 

—but not now. Not today. 

Dean leans down, nudges his nose to her cheek, plants kisses there and on her lips.

“Baby, wake up,” He breathes out, nudges her awake some more, carries on doing it until she starts to stir.

Y/N smacks her lips, yawns and Dean smirks. 

“Are we there yet?” Her voice is strained, still full of sleep.

He chuckles, “Yes,” Dean says and kisses her once more, “Yes, we’re here,” 

Taking her hand, he pulls her up, drapes her over his shoulder and she squeals at that. 

She’s barefoot, having taken her shoes off on the drive but it doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t need her shoes here. 

While Dean walks, he feels her stirring in his grip so he tightens his hands around her, doesn’t really want to drop her. Her hands are on his back, and his hands, well, his hands are on her thigh and ass. Can’t really help but squeeze it roughly, thinking that he won’t be able to resist getting a piece of that later. 

And all this while the man Dean’s supposed to meet is already waiting for him. Dean can see him standing in the distance, can see the man watching them, but somehow, he doesn’t care, squeezes once more, making her squeal again while he chuckles. 

“Where are we?” She asks, but Dean doesn’t answer. He’s sure that she must have already heard the waves crashing, must have smelt the salt tinted air, must have heard the seagulls crying overhead.

Instead of answering her, Dean nods to the man in the distance and sets her down, positioning himself behind her.

“Oh,” Her mouth forms an ‘o’ before a smile spreads on her face, “You didn’t,”

“Sure did,” He laughs as his hand releases the tie around her eyes.

There’s another squeal of excitement when she can finally see and Dean squeezes her shoulder, “Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Her voice is weak, but he knows it’s only because she catches her breath, “I’ve been on yachts, yeah, but nobody has ever taken me to a beach yet.”

She’s been on yachts. Of course. 

He dips his head down, kisses her shoulder and she reaches back, threads her hand through his hair, “Thank you,” She whispers and tilts her head, kisses his cheek.

“That’s not all,”

“It’s not?”

Dean’s lips are still on her shoulder and he inches them closer to her neck, “Nuh-uh,”

“Nuh-uh?”

Kissing her neck, he smirks, “There’s someone who wanted to wish you a happy birthday too,”

“Who?”

He turns her around so she can see the man. There’s a yelp as she speeds towards him, leaving Dean to laugh and catch up. 

“Uncle Bobby!” She cries out excitedly.

Dean watches as he opens his arm in an embrace and Y/N goes in for a bear hug.

“I’m sorry,” She says, “I should have said goodbye,”

Bobby hugs her a little tighter at that, “Happy birthday my darling,” The man laughs, “Don’t you worry about that, okay?”

Dean has reached them both now, but he stays a couple of feet away, giving the two of them space. 

“Why don’t you come by the house any more?” Y/N sounds whiny. It’s more adorable than annoying, though.

The big man releases his grip on her, holds her by her arms before he brushes the knuckles of his one hand over her cheek, “I need to put as much distance between me and the family as I possibly can, dear. One day, you’ll understand.”

She frowns.

Bobby chuckles, “It’s for my own safety, sweetheart. But I miss you dearly. I’m glad Dean’s there for you.”

She looks back at Dean and he just shrugs.

“Once this is all over we can meet again, okay? I’ll take you to the aquarium.” Bobby’s smile starts to falter. Dean can see that the man tries to hold it together, but the glassy eyes give him away.

“When what is over?” Y/N asks curiously, seemingly not understanding what’s going on and Dean can’t blame her one bit. Both men don’t really know either, all they know is that someday, this is all going to be over, it’s more the when and the how that they have to work out.

“You’ll know it when the day comes, sweetheart.” The old man tries to calm her. 

“Ugh,” She sighs, “I wish you would stop speaking in riddles, my head hurts.”

Bobby has to chuckle at that. Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t ask more questions but again, he really shouldn’t be surprised. She was not raised to ask questions and it clearly shows.

“I’ve sent some books to your home. You still read, right?” Bobby asks, fingers pushing her chin up and she nods, “Good,” The man smiles, “Now, can you give me a minute with the fine young man here? I’ve got something to discuss.”

“‘K,” She says and steps to the side before she turns towards the waves. Y/N starts to walk and then stops before she turns back to them, “Can I go in the water?”

They both open their mouths at the same time but Bobby was quicker to answer her, “Of course you can, darling. Knock yourself out,” 

Her smile is bright as she starts to walk further away from them.

“Don’t swim!” Dean calls out, “The water is too cold and we don’t have a change of clothes with us!”

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah” She mumbles, but it’s loud enough for them to hear and Dean thinks she’s doing it deliberately, the little brat.

Dean’s eyes widen and he has to gasp for air while Bobby is laughing heartily next to him.

“That’s what I have to deal with!” Dean shouts to Bobby and the old man places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes it. 

“Oh, son, you don’t have to tell me, I’ve done this for many, many years,” The man brushes a tear away from the corner of his eye and Dean has a hard time distinguishing if they are tears of laughter or some hidden sentiment behind Bobby’s facade. The old man takes a deep breath and looks into the distance, where Y/N is digging her toes into the sand before he opens his mouth to speak again, “But you wouldn’t want to have it any other way, would you?”

Dean’s eyes roam the distance too, tries to see what Bobby’s seeing. And he sees her. Sees how she lifts her skirt while she plays with the waves, flashing them half of her ass cheeks. 

He has to grin and shakes his head, “No, I wouldn’t.” 

There’s a smile tugging at his lips when he hears her squeal in delight.

Wouldn’t change it for the world, Dean thinks, but doesn’t allow himself to say out loud.

Bobby seems to notice Dean trailing off because the man clears his throat before he speaks, which prompts Dean to be pulled back into reality.

“So, tonight, huh?” Bobby looks at him.

He tears his eyes away from Y/N who’s standing in the wet sand and lets the wave wash up and rise around her ankles. She giggles as sand is swept away from under her feet, making her sink down.

“Yeah, tonight,” Dean answers Bobby absent-mindedly as he tries to keep an eye on her at the same time.

“My daughter will be there?”

Dean tears his eyes away from Y/N for a brief second to face the old man who’s looking at him expectantly. Dean nods, “Azazel invited her, yes.” 

“I hope he’s doing better.”

“He’s doing fine, sir,”

“Good,” Bobby nods, “Will you be updating me?”

“Y/N!” Dean shouts out loudly, “Get your feet out of there before you sink in too deep!” 

Bobby laughs at his outburst.

“This girl,” Dean mutters under his breath before he returns his attention to Bobby, “I’m sorry, yeah, I will.” He says, before he catches something in the corner of his eyes and is back to shouting, “Y/N! Leave it! Don’t touch it! It’s probably dead!” 

The girl is squatting down to inspect something that looks a lot like a dead fish from where he’s standing.

“She’s like a child sometimes, isn’t she?” Bobby chuckles.

Dean has to smile at that, “Yeah,”

“She has never learned to be any different, son, you have to go easy on her.”

“I am,” Dean breathes out, “God knows I am. Honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The old man nods, before he looks around him. The beach is a little deserted. It’s not a prime spot for beach goers, it’s pretty much a secluded spot Dean once found, “It’s a nice location. Did you choose it or did she tell you that she wanted to go to the beach?”

“That’s on me, sir,”

“She’s never been. She’s never felt sand between her toes,”

“Yeah,” Dean smirks, “That’s what she’s told me.”

And it’s really no surprise that Y/N acts the way she does. She’s on her knees now, digging a hole in the sand. She’s happy and Dean likes that. Likes that he’s the one who can show her something new, something she’s never done before. It makes him see the world with different eyes too. Makes him not take things for granted that feel too natural to him. 

“Alright,” Bobby says after a while of watching Y/N, “I’ll leave you two to enjoy your day. Take care of her, okay?”

“I will,” Dean answers, knowing full well that if he says that he’ll try, it wouldn’t be good enough for Bobby.

It also serves as a reminder for himself because yes, he will take care of her. He just hopes he’ll be around long enough to do it.

The old man says his goodbyes and Y/N runs back to send him off. When Bobby’s gone, Dean sits down and takes off his shoes and socks and braces his arms on his knees as he sits with bent legs.  She leans her head against his shoulder. 

They both look at the waves crashing in and Dean tilts his face, places a kiss on the crown of her head, “You like it here?”

She smiles up at him. It’s a beautiful smile. One he wants to capture and store it in his memory to take it out whenever he needs a reminder how beautiful the world can be. 

Dean moves her after, places her in front of him, between his legs, as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face into the crook of her neck from behind. He places a chaste kiss there, “I was hoping you’d like it,”

“How did you find this place?” 

He exhales, has to clear his throat before he can speak again, “Use to bring Sam here when our father was gone for a long period of time. It always cheered him up.”

She tilts her head to look up at him and Dean takes the opportunity, places a kiss right between her eyebrows, “Sam?”

“My brother.”

“Are you two close?”

Dean swallows the lump in his throat, “We were.”

“Oh,” Y/N says and turns her gaze back in front.

Dean sighs, “Yeah, not anymore. He’s a lawyer, and I chose the wrong side to be on.” 

It’s not really a lie either. Sam never liked that Dean worked undercover, always hated it and after a while, Sam decided that he doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Somehow, Sam decided that it was better for him to act as if Dean was dead. 

He swallows down the lump in this throat, swallows down the tears that want to make their way to the surface, “I’m not a good man, Y/N. My own brother has cut me out of his life. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”

She sits up on her knees and turns around, captures his face between her palms, “Dean, look at me,” 

Dean does. His eyes are clouded, but he does.

“Don’t say that, okay? You should give yourself more credit. Have you ever thought that maybe your brother cutting you out of his life was because he loves you too much? Because he was afraid that you’ll get hurt and it’s easier for him to pretend that you’re gone and you’ll never come back?”

He has in fact, never thought about it. Dean thought Sam really hated him. 

“Dean,” She smiles, and kisses him. It’s too gentle, a kiss that makes his heart ache. When she parts, she looks at him again, smiles as she speaks, “You’re the best man I know. You take care of me, you protect me, that’s all that matters.”

Is it really, though? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s fucking betraying her too. 

“One day, maybe you can see Sam again?” She asks and Dean nods. 

Yeah, maybe one day Dean will find a way back to Sam. Maybe, that day will be here sooner than they all thought it would.

Before the mood could drop lower, Dean leans back a little and starts to fold up his slacks on each leg. When he finishes, he rubs over her arm, “Come on, race you to the water?”

Dean’s up and running before she can even register.

“Hey! Not fair!” Y/N yells after him, but soon she starts to laugh as she breaks into a run to catch up.

Chapter.19

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[jonah-aesthetic]

Jingle Bells I Daniel Seavey

Daniel X Reader 

Plot:  Your best friend since childhood takes you on a sleigh ride. one you’ve only mentioned once to him. With the entire Christmas vibe he brings to life it’s hard for you to keep your feelings at bay for him.

Word count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: unedited I feel like this piece flopped for me. I didn’t want it too long, but it also dragged on a little. Yet I didn’t think I put enough detail in this one. 

Rating: 16+ (I’m 20 so I’d like my readers to be some what around there.)

MoodBoard

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Your vision was blocked by a folded bandanna tied around your head with a secured knot or two. Hand tightly locked with Daniel’s, feeling his thumb rub a top yours for comfort. Snow crunched under your Dr. Martens with ease, slightly soft from the snow fall a few days prior. Slow steps as He guided you keeping your location a surprise.

 Your senses felt heightened with your eyes looking into the dark oblivion. The vague bitter smell of horse manure and the rather oddly pleasant hay scent Reached your nose. You wouldn’t have noticed it before, almost feeling like a damn blood hound. Yet it gave a hint on where he was taking you. 

Two hours previous he woke you up, you’re nothing close to a morning person. So you cussed his ass out of your apartment so you could enjoy the fantasy dreams about him. Ones you could never endure in reality, Daniel’s your best friend who you were insufferably in love with. 

Yet he came again, using the spare you forgot you gave him. But this time he came bearing an Eggnog Latte and gingerbread cookie. Slaying the ferocious dragon into silence, the way he always knew how.  The caffeine and baked good keeping you at bay as he told you he at the day planned for the both of you. Although it was a surprise, all he said was dress appropriate for the chilly winter weather and grab a blanket. 

Analyzing everything in your head for a quick second. You realized he was bringing you on that sleigh ride you mentioned once before. Thinking it’d be fun to do during the winter months, you didn’t think he’d actually book an entire day for it. Making it a big thing, you wish he didn’t. Cause it only made butterflies flutter, tempting you to wreck your friendship. 

“Watch your step..” Daniel’s voice is more projected against the snow over ground. Heart slamming upon your rib cage and you swear you can hear it.

“Actually just bend your knees, It’s a stairwell and I’d rather not risk you eating shit. Or breaking a nose in the winter.” At his words you probably figured they were slippery or he didn’t trust you not to slip, you were no doubt clumsy as Bambi, and the man knew it. 

Bending your knees a little, which you curious on why he asked you in the first place. Yet you trusted him with your life, there’s no going back on years of friendship now Seavey. his arms scooped you under your legs and against your back. Bringing you closer to his chest, the motion fast and unexpected as you let of a small whimper. Daniel groaned as he hopped getting a more sturdy hold on you. 

“God you’re heavy.” He breathes, the air from his lungs hitting your cheeks. 

“Then put me down Asshole.” You scold him, slapping his chest, feeling a deep chuckle rumble within. 

“I was joking, you’re not heavy, you’re fine. It was a bad joke anyways. Now hold on I might drop you.” 

“Daniel That’ll be the last thing you’ll do before you end up in hell.” You threaten playfully. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck after feeling him climb up the stairs. It was a small rocking motion almost like you were on a ride especially with the blindfold on. 

“Was that a death threat?” 

“If you drop me, yes, yes it is.” 

Gasping you felt Daniel fake drop you, it was a slower motion that you thought it would be to actually drop you. Nonetheless it still scared you, clawing on tighter to him. Whitening your knuckles as angry wasps scattered in your stomach. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I have you Seavey.” You yelled still preparing for the fall the would never come. 

Again you could feel the glorious deep chuckle of his erupt from his chest. Vibrating against you, turning angry wasps into love-sick butterflies. “We’re hear anyways.” 

“Than you can put me down and take this damn blindfold off.” You speak trying to reach for it. Daniel’s hand caught your wrist like a reflex. “Not yet, just a few more minutes.”

Opening a door and being engulfed my warmed, you shivered from the drastic temperature change. Bells rang above warning the receptionist that customers have arrived. It was around an hour, or what felt like an hour to you later. Of going over everything for the surprise, from the time to the pricing. Which you weren’t to happy about, yet after all of it nobody confirmed your theory. You knew what it was, but you wanted it to be heard. Though nothing about it was said. 

Nada. Zilp. Zitch. Nothing. Not even a damn crumb. 

Going from warm to cold wasn't as drastic of a change. Daniel still held you bridal style, scared you eat shit. Which you most likely would have, if he let you climb down the steps. You felt very natural in his arms anyways, like to pieces of a puzzle. 

Daniel began to lower you softly letting you go before your feet were on the ground again. Silently thanking him for being on your two feet again. His presence coming behind you, raising his fingers to the knots and began to pick at them. 

“Are you ready?” 

Yes I’ve been waiting all damn day for this. Take it off Seavey.” Hearing him chuckle behind a smile spread across your face. Feeling the bandanna drop, hands flying to your mouth as you gasped. You knew it, yet you were still shocked by the sight of it. 

In front of you was bright red sleigh with gold detailing all around it. Had a massive resemblance to the famous Santa Klaus one. instead of nine reindeer, a beautiful black Clydesdale stood in their place.  On of the bands resting upon his butt had a line of huge bells. Ringing every time he moved, bringing the whole Christmas vibe alive. 

whirling around gazing at him a gentle smile rested on his lips. His blonde hair half tucked under a black beaning. Light stubble dancing along his jaw, making him look older. His icy blue eyes watching you, fighting the urge to tell him you wanted him. Maybe he knew it already, that’s why he took you here, and maybe he didn’t.

“You didn’t have to.” You said shaking your head, 

“I know, I wanted to, I had the money for it.” He shrugged stuffing his hands into his pockets. Why couldn’t Daniel be less attractive! it wasn’t fair. perfect silence emerged over both of you, genuine smiles with adoration for one another hidden behind your eyes. 

“If you Two love birds are ready, I love to show you what this gorgeous winter has to offer.” The Driver spoke, sitting upon the front seat that was two or three feet higher then the main seats in the center of the sleigh. 

With giddy giggles Daniel escorted you towards it, his hand resting on the smallest part of your back. Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you could’ve felt his hand reach and squeeze your hip. 

Sitting down it was a tight and cozy fit, the bench and the back rest was cushioned with a black leather material. Smooth to the touch and soft as ever, with a clicker of the chauffeur’s tongue, the sleigh bolted to life, cause you and Daniel to fall back into each other. Soon enough the jingle bells rhythm came into ear shot. Making this whole experience feel like you woke up in a fucking Christmas. Unbelievable real.

“Are you okay?” Daniel’s laugh fans your cheeks as he helps you to sit up right. 

“Never better.” You say with an undying happiness you possessed inside. Not feeling the way the cold nipped at your nose making you look like and off brand Rudolph. 

“Here.” He speaks as you watch him unfold a black blanket, a little dumbfound, the thing was massive and surprised you hadn't noticed it before. Handing you one of the corners of the blanket, and instantly wrapped it around you as Daniel did the same. Pulling you two closer together, trying to engulf your body in it as much as you. 

“Thanks” you whisper under your breathe, watching it form into an icy cloud. Glancing at the gold letters embroidered into the corner of the blanket tight. it was a gift from Daniel’s mother giving to you on the day you both graduated. Remembering the words she said to you like it was yesterday. 

“You know I wasn't to ecstatic about new neighbors moving in. But as soon as I saw this sweet little girl playing with my boy. I was glad that your parents’ pick the that house. I Watched you two laughing and giggling in the yards, I just knew you two would be in separable. It’s a shame that boy of mind doesn't see the love that you have for him...”

It shocked you to know that she knew that you were in love with him. You covered your tracks pretty well back then. Controlling yourself around him was child’s play compared to now. She never interfered with the way you felt about him, You were grateful at the time. Now not so much, but it could’ve wrecked the friendship you had-

“Y/N look.” Daniel’s voice cut your thoughts short, His attention of the right. You follow his gaze, spotting nine caribou in scattered in the woods. Or rather nine reindeer, you guessed they weren’t replaced after all. You could feel the sleigh come to a gentle stop, the jingle bells’ song vanished into the air. 

“Oh shit! Reindeer.” No filter with pure shock, 

Curiously watching them from a far, you admired each and every one. Noticing a chunky bell lacing around their necks, like they were Santa's famous reindeer's’ out of the movies. 

“And watch this.” He speaks glancing up at the driver, as if on cue he places his fingers in mouth and releases a high pitch whistle. “Keep an eye out for him,” 

“Keep an out of who?-” 

A  reindeer further into the forest walks towards us, elegant and gentle. Stalking through the snow as if he held pride, significantly larger than all the other reindeer, he must of been the alpha, the leader. 

Amazed at the whole thing you couldn't think of words to say and if you manged something. It’d definitely come out as word vomit. Reaching closer and closer to the sleigh you could her the bell jingle against his chest. Black scribble appeared on the red ribbon clasped around his neck. Soon being able to read the name ‘Rudolph’  on both side on his throat. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Daniel asks looking back at you expecting you to say words you couldn’t fathom at the moment. You gulped and nodded your head vigorously. He was more then beautiful he was stunningly gorgeous and massive. You’ve never seen a wild animal in person not to mention this close to one. 

Daniel held a chuckle at your reaction to this entire encounter with Rudolph. Finding your dumbfound shock, adorably cute. In moments like these he dreaded the knowledge of being your best friend and not your boyfriend. Where he could just grab the back of your neck and smash his lips hungrily to yours. 

The adrenaline high was retreating in your veins, causing your mind to process again. The cage of anxiety breaking open as the glance of Daniel’s ocean eyes calmed you down.  

He’s fucking perfect. Look at those dopy eyes, various shades of blues swirled inside them. causing your heart to melt into the bottom of your stomach. All thoughts of common sense started to leave, glancing at his lips. looking pink and soft as ever, god they must taste like heaven, or at least the closest thing to it. 

Best friend. Best friend. Best friend. 

Looking forward you could’ve swore you breathed the same air as Rudolph. Still he was more beautiful up close. White creamy chest that reached to his legs, chocolate brown body. adorable nose that had the softest resemblance to a cow. Antlers sprouting from a top his head, developing towards the sky. A small white box was tethered to his left antler by a black ribbon. Throwing your best friend a suspicious glance, he nodded letting you reach for it.

Clasping the velvet box in your hand, feeling your heart pound repeatedly. Breath caught, anxious of what’s in the box. Feeling your gut tell you this was it and whatever this box contained was going to change everything. Distracting yourself you focused on Rudolph, seeing the way he looked at you. As if he knew what it was somehow. 

taking your glove off with your teeth you reached for him, pausing three inches before his nose. If you learned anything from Draco’s encounter with Buckbeck, was to be patient and let the animal come to you. Although at the end of the day it was just a fucking movie. 

Warmth exploded from your palm to your elbow, smiling you trailed your hand to rest under his chin. His fur softer than you were expecting it to be, yet you didn’t know what you were expecting. “Thank you Rudolph.” You whisper to him soon retracting your hand. Backing away he retreated to his herd, quite as if the encounter with him never happened.

Taking up your spot next to Daniel you glance up at him, “What is this?” You asked breathlessly. 

“Open it.” He says, voice a tremble and couldn’t help but think that he knows. Was this what a best friend break up was like? Staring at it you forced the top open, but you let it go. Snapping shut without a glimpse. You shake your head, gulping feeling the bile rise. “I can’t Daniel” 

His hand comes into view, twice the size of yours. Veins scattered along his knuckles, red from the cold. Taking the box from you grip you stared at your fingers, missing the feeling of his hands on yours. 

“I’m in love with you.” He blurts in out like it was nothing new to you. Your head whipped so fast you got dizzy. His eyes were genuine, you always knew he was lying. The way he would glance up and down then to side. Tongue poking out with a fiddling of handing, but he didn’t show any signs. He was a good actor though. 

“She told you.” You accuses like a defensive mechanism. You guessed Keri thought you moved on with your feelings for Daniel. There was no other reason you could think  of. 

“She did.’ He confirms, Nodding his head. Was this was this a joke to him? Cause it wasn’t fucking funny. You shook your head feeling the fire burning in your blood. 

‘I can’t do this.” You speak, removing yourself from the seat and jumping out of the sleigh. Starting to head back in the direction you think the farm was located. The cold weather bite at your body, but you hugged yourself too furious to care. 

“Y/N!” 

“Leave me alone Daniel.” You could here him chase after you, with the ay he was breathing. 

“Mom told me you wouldn’t believe me.” His voice getting louder. 

“Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself Seavey, better yet you should’ve let me sleep in.” You were hurt, and you didn’t know how to comprehend any of this. 

“I love when you talk about things you’re passionate about. Like the colors on your paint palette, how you mixed blue and purple for the perfect shade of magenta.” 

That was two months ago and you remembered the excitement you felt. After hours of mixing you finally made the exact shade you wanted. Daniel was the first one you came to, as he was at your apartment. 

“Daniel stop.” using his name the way you were was like a sting each time. 

“Or the time you hit that sparrow, you pulled over as so soon as you felt the bird hit the grill. You dug him a grave with a used spoon in the truck of my car. Gave him a funeral and forced me to speak at it like it was lost friend. It was the day I finally realized I love you with every fiber of my being.” You could hear the strain in his voice. 

That happened two fucking years ago. 

“It’s not fair.” You speak stopping in your tracks, a good distance away from the sleigh. Feeling his presence behind you, you let him reach out for you. His hand turning you to face him yet you faced the ground feeling like you lost a damn war, defeated and drained. 

“I know it’s not and I’m so incredibly sorry.” He sounded like he was begging for you. 

“Okay.”  you didn't know exactly what it was for, but you felt like it was needed. 

His hand came to rest on your cheek wiping a tear you didn’t know slip. His touch delicate against your face, tilting your head up he caught your lips against his. His lips were soft as you fell into sync. Tasting like cinnamon and peppermint. Pulling him closer you lost yourself within him, the feel, the smell, and the touch of him. 

Kissing him was like finally finding the last piece of your puzzle, the way both of you fit perfectly together amazed you. He tasted like heaven and heaven tasted like home. 

---------------------------------------------

Felt like I could’ve added more, but its already long.

I hope you enjoyed this piece.

Also if ya made it to the end comment which Why Don’t We guy I should do next. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

The Born Again Identity

...if Supernatural was on HBO. 

**Warnings** for this chapter: Psychological torture, vague allusions to rape, blood, general Lucifer assholery. 

[It’s nighttime. Sam is staggering along a set of railroad tracks, Lucifer trailing behind him in the form of Jess, as she looked the night she died, bleeding from the stomach.]

HALLUCIFER: Do you really think you can run away? I’m in your head, Sam. I’m part of you. I’ll always be part of you. 

[Sam runs through a gate and along a heavily-graffitied alleyway. A woman is buying drugs from a dealer. The woman leaves and Sam staggers closer to the dealer.]

DEALER: Dude. No fuckin’ way. 

SAM: It's okay. No one's after me.

DEALER: Seriously, fuck off. 

SAM: Just... leave me alone.

[Sam slides down to the ground with his back against a post.]

DEALER: What the fuck did you take, anyway?

SAM: Nothing.

DEALER: Bullshit. 

HALLUCIFER: Come on, Sam. Tell the nice tweaker. You'd be sleeping by now if you could just stop thinking about all the people you’ve fucked over. 

SAM: I just need some rest.

DEALER: How many days you been up, anyway?

HALLUCIFER: Four. Oh. Wait. Scratch that. Five.

[Sam gets to his feet and starts to walk away.]

DEALER: Hey, hold up! Wait! Hold up! You want to knock out? I can knock you out.

INSIDE A CAR

[Sam and the dealer are asleep in the front seats. We hear Hallucifer’s voice.]

HALLUCIFER: Sammy! Don’t you pass out on me now, the party’s just getting started! 

[As Sam opens his eyes, we see inside the Cage, from his perspective, and Lucifer has him backed into a corner.] 

HALLUCIFER: Nowhere to run, Sammy. You’re all mine. 

[The scene strobes between real life and the Cage as Sam scrambles away.] 

HALLUCIFER: Man, we used to be so… close. Those were the days. You missed me, didn’t you? 

[Sam is running away from Hallucifer. He runs in front of a car, which hits him and sends him up onto the windshield, over the car and to the ground.]

HOSPITAL 

DEAN: He was in a car crash. Why the fuck can't I see him?

DR KADINSKY: Sam was admitted. He was treated for a broken rib and lacerations.

DEAN: Okay. That's not too bad. And?

DR KADINSKY: And... he's on our locked psychiatric floor. Are you aware that Sam is experiencing a full-blown psychotic episode?

DEAN: Psychotic? Come on. I mean, it’s not like the guy's Norman fuckin’ Bates.

DR KADINSKY: No, I'm sure he isn't. We need to determine whether his state was brought on by the insomnia or whether the insomnia is a symptom of his condition. We've pumped him about as full of sedatives as we safely can. So far, he won't go under. I've never seen anything like it.

SAM’S HOSPITAL ROOM

[Sam is on the bed, dressed in a white T-shirt and white hospital pants. Dean enters the room.]

DEAN: How’re you feeling? 

SAM: Maybe you should cancel my UFC fight.

[Dean sits down on the end of SAM’s bed.]

DEAN: Look, I’m sorry, I should’ve gotten you help sooner. 

SAM: What? 

DEAN: I mean, I’ve known this was coming for a long fuckin’ time. 

SAM: When you put my soul back, Cas warned us — 

DEAN: Nah, I mean a long fuckin’ time. Just… always felt too guilty to go through with it, y’know? Bobby talked me out of it more times than you can count. 

SAM: Out of — wait, what? 

DEAN: You’re fuckin’ crazy, Sam. I’ve always known you belonged in a place like this. I’m so fuckin’ tired of dealing with your shit, worrying about how you’re gonna fuck up next… this is such a relief. 

SAM: You don’t… that’s not —

DEAN: I knew it back when you started having visions, Sam. The visions, and the demon blood, and Ruby… you started the Apocalypse, for fuck’s sake! And you jumped, and I figured I was finally free, but then you come back even more fucked up. You hurt all those people, and now you have the balls to pull this pathetic shit? 

[Sam just sits there, looking hurt but not exactly surprised to hear any of it.]

DEAN: You’ve never been able to keep it together. You’ve never been strong enough. I mean, come on. I went to Hell, you don’t see me bitching about it. You’re losing your mind because you’re not strong enough to fight back, that’s all there is to it. 

[Dr Kadinsky and the real Dean appear at the door, but Sam doesn’t notice them.]

HALLUCIFER-DEAN: Sam, what’s on your hands? What the fuck is wrong with you? 

[Sam looks down. Something black is showing through the bandage on his hand; he rips it off. His blood is coming out black, and he scrubs at it frantically, reopening the cut. His veins are starting to go black. The real Dean comes through the door.] 

DEAN: Sammy! What happened? Are you — 

[Sam looks up and then looks between the real Dean and Hallucifer, who is laughing; he looks like himself again. Sam wipes away tears.] 

DEAN: What the hell just happened? Were you trying to — 

SAM: No. Fuck, no, I just… Lucifer. I saw — never mind. 

[Dean sits down and starts re-wrapping the bandage. Hallucifer takes the form of Ruby, wearing just underwear and a tank top. She’s a mess; her neck, wrists, and thighs are bruised, and her lower lip is swollen.]

DEAN: It’s full-on horror movie shit up there, huh?  

HALLUCIFER-RUBY: Man, if he only fucking knew… your memories are worse than any fucking horror movie. Your head’s a goddamn haunted house. Go on, Sammy. Tell him exactly how close you came to just giving up, after he went to hell for you. Tell him what you did to me.

[Ruby has a knife, and she starts opening shallow cuts in her own skin: her shoulders, her stomach, down her arms. She walks closer, offering her wrist to Sam, who turns away.]

SAM: It was — no. I can’t.

[Hallucifer takes his normal form again, and suddenly he’s right next to Sam, sitting too close, with his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam flinches.]

DEAN: Lemme guess… crab-walkin’ zombie girls? Are we talkin’ more Sam Raimi or Takashi Miike? [He’s half-joking as he finishes tucking the end of the bandage in, trying to keep the mood light, but he looks anxious.]

HALLUCIFER: Tell him how you just gave up in the Cage, too. Tell him everything you let me do to you… how you just gave up. Stopped fighting. 

SAM: I can’t. 

HALLUCIFER: Probably a smart call. Nobody wants to hear that shit. 

DEAN: Sam, if I don't find something –

SAM: Then I'll die. Dean, we knew this was coming.

DEAN: No.

SAM: When you put my soul back...

DEAN: No.

SAM: Cas warned you about all the shit it would –

DEAN: Fuck Cas! Quit being Dalai fuckin’ Yoda about this, okay? Get pissed!

SAM: I’m too tired. Look, Dean… Lucifer used my soul as a fucking chew toy for a century. I’m not sick, I have PTSD, and there’s fuck-all we can do about it. Either I pull it together, or… or I don’t. This is all in my head. It’s all on me.

.

.

.

More here! 

[luvteez]

attention

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader genre + tags: smut | spanking, fingering, exhibitionism, humiliation wc: 1.7k

“Care to explain what you’re doing?”

Hongjoong has witnessed many questionable first sights once he gets back to the dorms from the studio — too many to count, to be completely honest — but this is a first. This being you sitting on the couch with both legs thrown over Yunho’s lap who isn’t keeping his hands to himself. It doesn’t help that you’re wearing that ridiculously short skirt that doesn’t even cover a quarter of your thighs, and it certainly doesn’t help that you’re blatantly encouraging him to feel up your legs as if there was nothing wrong with it.

Your eyes light up once you notice your boyfriend. “Hongjoong! C’mere, I sha—“

“You know what? I don’t wanna hear it,” he deadpans and immediately makes a beeline towards his room. “Give me ten. I’ll drive you home,” he says in passing and before you can retaliate, the door slams shut. You frown.

“Did he have a bad day or something?” you mumble under your breath. 

“He’s probably frustrated that a track didn’t come out right,” Yunho sighs. “Happens all the time, but by morning he’s calmed down. It looks like he’s more pissed than usual, though. Why don’t you check up on him? Then you’ll also stop pestering me about your shaved legs.”

You scoff at him and land a playful punch on his shoulder. “I needed to show someone. You just happened to be the closest victim. Besides, who can resist soft legs?!” To prove your point, you shove one leg right under his nose, but all Yunho does is roll his eyes and push it back down. 

“Whatever. Now get off me.”

Sending him one last glare, you finally peel yourself off him and scramble to Hongjoong’s room. When you enter, he’s exchanged the shirt he was wearing before with a different one, the old shirt carelessly thrown on the bed. He cocks a brow at you, then proceeds to ignore you. 

It’s one thing being stressed from work, but it’s a completely different matter to be an asshole. Not wanting to deal with his attitude any longer, you grab him by the shoulder and force him to look at you. 

“What’s wrong with you? Is it because of work or something else?“

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home,” is all Hongjoong spits out before he pulls your hand away from his shoulder and attempts to drag you out of his room.

You only budge a little, but it’s enough to show that you’re not on the same page as him. “What? I came here all the way to see you, and I’m not letting you kick me out when you’re this aggravated.”

“Well, guess what? I don’t care. Now let me drive you home while I can still control my anger.” His voice drops, but the warning edge bleeds through.

You narrow your eyes and give him a once-over before you get the big picture. Your jaw almost drops open at the realization, because Hongjoong? Jealous? Impossible. You’re about to tell him off and clear the misunderstanding immediately until a different thought hogs your mind. 

It’s probably a bad idea — hell, you’re playing with fire given his current state fueled by envy, it’s way more than a bad fucking idea — but you could have some fun with this. A challenging smile forms on your lips.

“Why wait ‘til you get me home when you could show me my place now?”

Hongjoong looks at you as if you’ve completely lost it. He swallows heavily once he realizes that you’re dead serious, and then his demeanor darkens. “You’re impossible,” he growls before dropping himself on the bed and manhandling you across his lap. It all happens in a flash, and it isn’t until after that you register him restraining your wrists behind your back with one of his shirts. You try to wiggle away from him, but he keeps you pinned on your stomach.

A hand flips your skirt up and strokes over the swell of your ass. “This is for letting Yunho grope you.” The harsh slap bounces through the room as well as the broken cry that leaves you, followed by pleas to not do it again. However, hongjoong ignores you. He does it again, and you lurch forward from the brute strength. “And this is for pissing me off.”

Hongjoong works quickly and yanks the skirt off you along with your underwear before kneading one of your cheeks. Upon that, a moan threatens to leave you. “You get ten more spanks for good measure,” he says, his free hand reaching up to tug on your hair. “And count for me, would you? Unless you want to prolong this punishment. But that would mean a higher chance of the others finding out. The walls aren’t soundproof and the door is open after all.”

The door is what now—

Your blood runs cold. Panic hogs your mind as your eyes flit to the door and indeed, the door is slightly open. You gulp, horrified at the thought that someone might’ve heard how Hongjoong spanked you just now, might’ve heard how you actually liked the treatment. 

Your mouth feels dry and you’re pretty sure you’re going to lose your voice for good. Yet nonetheless, you still manage to croak out, “If I beg, will you at least lock the door?” 

Although you can’t see him, you know that he’s made up his mind already and is just entertaining your idea. The words hang heavily in the air and after a while, he answers. “No. You were so eager to let Yunho touch you, so who cares if anyone else sees you like this? Bet you’d want the others to touch you anyway. Should I? Should I call the others and let them watch you get spanked? Let them take turns and touch you like this too?”

It shouldn’t, absolutely should not have crossed your mind, but the damage has been done. The image of the other seven members present in the bedroom, drinking in the view of you sprawled across Hongjoong’s lap and taking turns punishing you is burned into your skull. Perhaps, Seonghwa and Yunho would be the nicest ones, delivering clean hits that make you cry out of pleasure. San and Wooyoung, on the other hand, would be the devil’s little shits and take their time teasing you, running their hands up your thighs first and driving you into hypersensitivity. You wouldn’t even put it past Hongjoong to let them spread your folds apart, toy with your clit, and tease your entrance until you’re leaking and hopelessly clenching around nothing before striking a hit on your cunt.

Add Yeosang’s sadistic streak and Jongho’s brute strength to that and—

“You’re dripping and staining my pants after just a little dirty talk? Oh my, perhaps I should let the others see,“ Hongjoong muses, running a stripe up your pussy to prove his point. The direct contact has you downright trembling in shame.

“D-don’t... please...” you whimper, fumbling around once again but to no avail. Hongjoong resumes his ministrations, speeding up his fingers when your voice grows louder and then finally gives you a sharp spank on your ass that has you choking on air. 

“Count,” he reminds sweetly, his voice the polar opposite of his actions. 

His fingertips ghost over the insides of your thighs, and you know his patience is running thin. “One,” you wrench out, and you can pretty much hear the smile in his voice. 

“Well done. Keep up with me.”

And so the cycle repeats. He teases your slit, forcing you to hypersensitivity before he hits. You’re trembling throughout the entire ordeal, and one too many times did you almost lose control of your voice. By the fifth spank, you are twitching uncontrollably, pussy aching from clenching around nothing. Hongjoong makes you painfully aware of the mess you’re making on his pants and your ass feels sore all over. However, you still manage to withstand the punishment and by the end of it, you are drained. 

Seems like you’re not the only one who’s beat. “I’m starting to get thirsty. I need a drink,” Hongjoong mumbles, but you still catch every word despite the buzz in your ears. “I’ll go grab something in the kitchen. It won’t take long. You okay staying here by yourself?” You nod dazedly, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he lays you down on your back and presses a kiss on your forehead. The shirt is still restraining your wrists behind your back, but you don’t mind the pain. 

You expect him to get up, but instead, he suddenly restrains your ankles against the bedposts, forcing your legs apart. In an instant, your eyes shoot up to him in disbelief. “W-what...?”

“After everything you did, I believe you still need to bear your shame.” His eyes stop and stare at your exposed pussy for a while longer, and then he dips a finger down to press on your clit. The cry that leaves you is beyond filthy and loud, and you can only pray that nobody else has heard it. “Look at you, making a mess out of yourself. What would the others think if they happened to pass by this room and see inside? Would they take pity on you or watch in glee?”

You can only watch in silent horror as he gets up and swings the door wide open. It’s almost like your heart is about to break your rib cage, adrenaline is rushing through your veins, and the only thing you can channel your energy into is the fear that someone might see you. If it’s Seonghwa or Jongho, it might end better than if it were Yeosang or Wooyoung finding you first. you can already picture it if it were one of the latter; they’d either let everybody know about your pathetic position or even worse, string you around like a doll and take pictures and—

It’s Hongjoong who breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Let’s hope nobody will come in, hm?”

[ members’ reactions to walking in on you here and here ]

[cant-blink]

Half-Life, Ch. 4 (NSFW)

Summary: NSFW!! NSFW-NSFW-NSFW!! Rated R! Contains graphic sexual assault, as this is the smut chapter where Gigan decides to have some fun with Ghidorah, and it’s anything but consensual.

-

Ghidorah wasn’t sure what he expected from a ‘bar’, and from what he’s seen so far, he’s less than impressed.

Especially when the half-life kept insisting on leaning against him, laughing obnoxiously at whatever pointless story he was rambling about. As if the dragon cared to hear any of it. He cared more about the lifeforms he was still sensing for miles around. They were all so small and weak; it would be so easy to fly out of here and blast them all. Destroy this entire establishment! Imagine how good that would feel, the dose of euphoria his crests would give with each life snuffed out. He can definitely use a moment of distraction right now.

But no... He’s stuck here, surrounded by lifeforms that he wasn’t allowed to harm, much less kill. All because of this blabbering idiot, who only seemed to get more stupid the more he drinks. He didn’t know how it was possible, but it was happening.

“Hey, Ghiddy!” If this half-life calls him that one more time... “Ghiddy!”

For every ‘Ghiddy’ he hears, he noted to add an extra hour to the torture he had planned for this cyborg. 

“GHIDDY!!” Okay, that one was TWO hours, just for shouting it so close to his ear. He closed all six of his eyes, tails twitching with agitation before he was forced to respond through gritted teeth.

“Yes?”

“Your Masters were a real piece of work, you know that?” As if he needed to be reminded. “That they won’t even let you enjoy the simple things in life, like food and drinks, it’s insane.” Ghidorah doesn’t respond, not because the chip wouldn’t permit it, but because he didn’t want to encourage the half-life to continue. Doesn’t stop him from continuing anyway. “I took you here, to show you what an actual good time looks like; that it’s so much better than killing trees. But noooo, you’re just making this so difficult. You’re always making things difficult, all because you blame me for something I didn’t even do.”

Okay, now Ghidorah wanted to say something but his voice wouldn’t work. Probably because he had nothing good to say here. Like hell this cyborg ‘did nothing’. Even disregarding his contributions to capturing him, this piece of work tried to abandon him TWICE in a fight Ghidorah didn’t ask to be in. Did he really think something like THAT would earn his good graces?

But his mouth would not utter these words, no matter how hard he tried. No, he just had to stand here in this uncomfortable position.

“You’re so damn lucky you’re hot,” the cyborg continued. “I wouldn’t even bother with anyone else, but you...” He didn’t like the way this half-life looked at him, nor the feeling of one of those bladed arms brushing over the scales of his shoulder. “You just look so damn fuckable.” He winced as the half-life ran his tongue over his mouth; why does he keep doing that?! Worst part about it, he felt the other claw hook onto his horns, holding him in place. He could do nothing to resist it, even as his mouth is intruded. He can feel it against the roof of his mouth, wrapping around his own tongue.

He thought he would only have to endure this for a few seconds, but not this time. The cyborg leaned against him, pushing him back against the bar. He felt pain from the gash left on his chest, and every instinct told him to shove the blue kaiju away. He didn’t even bother to try to act on those instincts; he knew it wouldn’t do anything.

The half-life was really pushing against him now, so much so that he felt the blades of that chest-saw digging into his scales. A few even punctured through, earning a flinch from him. His wings folded shut, just so he can brace them against the bar and avoid falling back any further.

Finally, the cyborg pulled his tongue out of his mouth but he didn’t back off of him. 

“Say my name, babe.”

......

Ghidorah narrowed his eyes, but his answer came without malice in his tone. “Half-life.”

The pain was expected, but no less horrific. The saw pressing against him suddenly went off, only for a few seconds. But it was enough to rip through his scales and flesh, spraying blood, and getting a shriek from him. And a contemptuous laugh from the cyborg.

“Half-life, huh?! Want to call me that again, Ghiddy?!” 

Ghidorah snarled at him hatefully, teeth bared and body frozen. Those blades were still embedded in the muscles of his chest and underbelly. But he knew it would take no real effort from the cyborg to go in deeper, to slice through his rib-cage and disembowel him completely. He didn’t know if he would have enough cosmic energy in his reserves to repair that kind of damage.

“Gigan. That’s my name. Say it.”

“Gigan.” came his response in that stupid monotone the chip forced him to speak in. It didn’t matter to him what this creature’s name was. He will always be ‘half-life’ in his mind, because it’s TRUE. And this idiot can lie to himself as much as he wants, force him to call him by whatever name he wants. Doesn’t change the truth.

And of course, the cyborg remained oblivious to these thoughts. 

“Good,” the smaller kaiju hissed. “I don’t want to hear ‘half-life’ come out of your mouth again, got it?” All three of Ghidorah’s heads gave a single nod and the cyborg’s smirk grew over his beak as he leaned his face in close once more. There’s that tongue again, sliding over his lips and pushing past his teeth. Just close his eyes and it’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soo- 

Wait, what was THAT?!

He felt something poke against him, far too low on the cyborg’s body to be any of his saw-blades. His left set of eyes opened and peered down to see-

“Hey, hey, hey!!” came an unexpected yell, and both of them looked towards the lifeform behind the bar. The many-legged kaiju glared at them, particularly at the half-life. “Take that shit outside. Nobody wants to see that!”

The cyborg watched this lifeform for a moment, that stupid smirk never leaving him beak before he returned his attention to the dragon. “Ain’t nobody around to see.”

“By ‘nobody’, I meant me!” the insect continued indignantly. “We’re not running THAT kind of establishment. Either dial it back or get out!”

The half-life ran that tongue over his own beak and mandibles for a moment, once more maintaining eye contact with the insect. After a long silence, he chuckled. “Fine, we’ll be back when we’re done.” His eye locked back onto Ghidorah’s, the dragon feeling the dread he kept buried underneath his anger and frustration growing stronger.

He knew what was about to happen, and for the first time in his life...

He hoped the lesser lifeform, that insect, would stop it. Can’t it see that he did not welcome any of this? Of course it could see that, and Ghidorah knew it didn’t care. He wouldn’t care if the roles were reversed; he’s seen matings before and the only reason he ever interfered at all back then was to kill the participants. Granted, he highly doubted the insect would be strong enough to kill him, but he would make it easy! He would let it without a fight! He would honestly rather be dead right now than face the utter humiliation in store for him!

But he had no way to communicate any of this...

As the cyborg pulled away, allowing blood to escape the gruesome gash left on his belly, Ghidorah couldn’t even acknowledge the pain that action brought. He wanted to stay where he was; he would sooner take part in this weird drinking thing the cyborg insisted on earlier. Sure, it hurt his throat to forcefully expel the drinks from his Gravity Beam sacs so many times in a row, but that pain was preferable.

The dread grew with every step he was forced to take to follow the half-life. For the first time that he can remember, he felt truly alone. There was nobody willing to help him. 

-

Nothing more satisfying than seeing the look this three-headed asshole was giving him as they slowed to a stop out of sight from the bar. Even knowing he had no choice in what was to come, Ghidorah still had a defiant look on his faces, all three baring their fangs at him. It was adorable, how he thinks he can do anything.

He was quick to show just how useless the dragon’s efforts were with a strong kick to Ghidorah’s chest, and as the hydra stumbled back, his tail whips forward to sweep those feet out from under him. Down the dragon went, the ground beneath them trembling from the impact.

Ghidorah roared at him, attempting to get up before Gigan planted his foot on his chest. Directly on those open wounds he left.

“Stay down.” he told his golden prize and he felt Ghidorah freeze at the command. The look on the dragon’s face, no doubt trying to fight the chip, was so damn hot. As was the sight of him laying helpless at his feet. He can see the fear in those eyes, try as the dragon might to hide it behind that show of aggression. The fact that HE was the one causing that fear, in such a powerful kaiju...

Yeah, nothing was going to be more satisfying.

He took his time, looking over those golden scales and especially at those massive wings fanned out on either side of the hydra. Ghidorah seemed to have taken notice of his attention towards his wings, and as if in defiance, he began folding them closed. Gigan reacted quickly, both his claws slashing down to pierce into the membrane of those wings. The tips of his blades buried in the ground, pinning those beautiful sails open. He heard the stifled cry of surprise and pain from his partner and he grinned down at him.

He said nothing, lowering himself down until he sat straddled against those hips, his tail brushing back and forth between the dragon’s. The wyvern felt cold beneath him, and it took a moment for his body heat to warm those scales. He can feel those muscles tensing beneath him, Ghidorah’s defiant faces refusing to give way...

... until Gigan gave a grind against him.

Those eyes widened and the cyborg couldn’t keep in a snicker. Damn, it felt good though, those scales rough against his groin. Between the sight of those sails, and the sensation of scales against him, it didn’t take long for his arousal to become obvious once more. From beneath the base of his tail, just under the last point of his chest-saw, peeked the very tip of his member. Curious and eager.

He shifted his weight, leaning down to run his tongue along those scales. His vision was overtaken with gold, beautiful shimmering gold. Clicking softly, his body automatically began giving a few more thrusts to ensure his parts were ready, and wanting for more. He shifted slightly again, relying on instinct to position himself just right. But no amount of poking and prodding was getting what he wanted. Where-?

He lets out a growl in frustration. He couldn’t find where this dragon’s entrance was and it was throwing off the lust coursing through him. He shifted again, but still nothing. He felt nothing but scales between those legs.

...

No matter, he had three other options to work with.

He turned his attention to the dragon’s faces. Ghidorah seemed to have resigned to his fate, those three heads resting on the ground with all six eyes closed tight. Did the dragon feel any pleasure from this? He didn’t care; his own desire was his sole priority and it was getting harder to ignore. A crooked smirk came to his beak, and he pulled his claws from those wings. He shifted his position, moving himself forward. He can feel Ghidorah’s wings under his knees, the membrane puncturing from the spikes.

Ghidorah only winced, and still refused to open his eyes when Gigan settled on his wounded chest. He reached out and trailed a claw delicately along the snout of the middle head before hooking it behind those horns and pulling him up. This got a growl, soft but no less defiant. 

Gigan was undeterred, running his tongue along those lips before he whispered. “Open your mouth.”

Finally, Ghidorah opened his eyes, just to glare at him before parting those jaws. Gigan wasted no time, pulling the dragon’s open maw directly over the waiting tip of his member. Not a second later, said member revealed itself explosively, its corkscrew-shaped form shoving itself inside with surprising velocity and force. Ghidorah’s eyes widened at the action, but no attempts to pull away was made, even as his throat was intruded. Said throat was surprisingly narrow and the cyborg kaiju was so well-endowed that a noticeable bulge was visible in the dragon’s neck. To Gigan’s delight, not only were those walls tight around him, but there was a tingling sensation within that moist cavern, as if the dragon’s Gravity Beams had left residue that now teased him.

A pleasured clicking sound comes from him, as his mandibles tapped against his beak.

He can feel the teeth barely raking against his shaft, that forked tongue pressing between the coils of his organ. The muscles in that throat spasmed around him as the dragon gagged. But the cyborg doesn’t withdraw and in fact, he made it a point to shove himself as far into that throat as he could. The retching got worse and he held the dragon there, savoring him.

Only a few seconds of this, he felt the dragon attempt to pull away, and he moved his claws off to allow it... before pulling him back down before he can fully disengage, his blades digging into those scales every time another attempt to struggle was made. He held him there for a moment before repeating the process once more. Up and down. His voice came as a husky growl.

“Like that. You will move like that. Got it?”

The hydra immediately froze, and he can feel a vibration in that throat, as if an attempt to vocalize was made. But no sound came out. Still felt damn good though and he gave a forceful thrust against the dragon’s snout. This got the dragon moving; he was a bit awkward at the task but soon adapted a rhythm Gigan can appreciate. A fast learner, very good.

With one head taken care of, his eye turned to the other two heads, still laying there with their eyes closed.

“You have two more tongues, babe,” he hissed breathlessly. “Fuckin’ use them.”

At those words, those two heads picked themselves up from the ground, and without hesitation, they got to work. He felt them on his chest and neck, and he used his tail to guide the left one closer to the less armored, more sensitive parts of his body. The other, he propped that chin up to meet that tongue with his own.

He heard another growl from the dragon and it encourages him to push his tongue into that mouth. And he went further, seeking that same tight tingly feeling in this one’s throat too. That growl was cut off, any attempts to pull away made useless. He tilted his head, just to lock his beak onto Ghidorah’s mouth proper, his mandibles closing tight enough on the dragon’s snout and jawline to draw blood.

The middle head was still tending to his member, and his own hips began to thrust against the motion. He was building quickly, and with hardly a thought, he pulled back his tongue and bit down on Ghidorah’s, severing it from his mouth completely. The head jolted away with a shriek, the left head screeching along with its counterpart. He felt the center head halt his administrations, and the attempt to vocalize gave a pleasant vibration against him.

Gigan smirked, chewing the severed tongue and savoring the blood in his mouth before looking down at the middle head now glaring up at him.

“Keep going,” he commanded as he chewed. “Faster now.”

The dragon did as told, and he turned his attention back to the right head. He pulled him back in with a claw, licking the blood that seeped from the hydra’s mouth. And as climax grew nearer, he pulled the head lower and bit into the back of his neck. Hard.

The resulting shriek of pain is what brought him over the edge.

He felt Ghidorah give a jolt beneath him as he ejaculated, and the middle head attempted to pull away again. But Gigan used a claw to keep him in place, his voice muffled with fur, scales, blood, and flesh. “Swallow it.”

There we go, he felt the muscles contract around him as the dragon takes in his load, and then felt the resulting wretch. But Gigan’s member kept his seed from coming back up and the other two heads began gagging as well, as if trying to expel the fluids without success.

That’s right, you’re taking it all in, you asshole.

His body began to calm, and he lets out a breath. He doesn’t let go of the right head, biting down harder if anything just to savor the taste of blood. Finally, after a moment, he pulled away. The middle head’s mouth was freed and the second it was made possible, Ghidorah retched again and out came the white fluid, all over Gigan’s chest and stomach.

The cyborg wasn’t bothered, the glare he received more than made up for it. He chuckled, nuzzling his beak against the dragon’s snout. “Not bad for your first time, babe.” There’s that typical growl in response and his smirk grew tenfold. “How about another round?”

“No.”

“Yes,” he chuckled, glancing back towards Ghidorah’s tails. Shame the hydra didn’t seem to have a proper entrance for him, but now that his mind was cleared, he had the patience to do a proper exam down there. He returned his gaze back to the dragon’s. “Stay down.”

Ghidorah’s eyes narrowed at that, as Gigan stood up and circled around towards his tails. His own tail clicked as he slowed to a stop, scanning the scales between the dragon’s legs. His tail moved to poke and prod at the folds of skin, feeling him out. Making double certain that there was indeed nothing there. 

There wasn’t.

Ghidorah really had no reproductive organs whatsoever.

........

That’s okay, he’ll just get creative.

Without any warning whatsoever, he stabbed the stinger of his tail deep into Ghidorah’s flesh right where an entrance should be. The shriek that escaped the wyvern was ear-piercing this time, but Gigan does nothing to silence him. No, he savored it, as he drove his tail in deeper and deeper. The dragon kicked against the ground, trying to push himself away, but Gigan expanded the blades of his stinger so as to effectively hook himself in.

The struggles don’t stop and those tails thrashed recklessly, releasing those gasses as if that would do anything.

He gave another powerful lurch in deeper, pushing through flesh and whatever organ it was that was in the way. The shrieks get louder somehow, and the dragon’s legs and tails began twitching and spasming.

Gigan watched those struggles with satisfaction, keeping his tail embedded in the dragon before violently ripping it back out. The shrieking came to a sudden halt and blood was pooling around Ghidorah’s tails, staining the scales. There were chunks of flesh and mystery organ stuck to Gigan’s tail, which he took particular glee in licking off.

After he got it all cleaned off, he returned his attention to his partner, who was still twitching although not as strongly. Those six eyes were wide and unfocused, locked on the sky and not even paying attention to him. 

He said nothing as he moved to straddle those hips. The twitching gets stronger and those legs start kicking uselessly again. But he was not to be dislodged and his claws hook onto dragon’s body, and every spasm sliced deeper gashes into flesh. His erection has settled to the point where only the tip was revealed once more, and he positioned himself so that it just barely brushed against the makeshift entrance.

Ghidorah’s tails give another useless thrash before Gigan shoved himself into that wound as deep as he can. At the simulation, his penis once more exploded out of hiding, violently penetrating the ‘entrance’. He felt those muscles tense and there was a moment where the dragon’s movements were once more reduced to just twitches. Wonderful twitches against his groin.

But the dragon wasn’t screaming anymore, even with those three jaws wide open. The dragon’s discomfort and pain was a major driving force behind his pleasure, and deprived of it, his mating was threatened. He leaned forward, running his tongue into the older wounds he left on Ghidorah’s chest and stomach before biting into it. His teeth and mandibles dug deep into the flesh. But this got nothing more from the dragon, not even a growl.

“Scream for me, babe.”

Nothing.

He glared towards Ghidorah’s faces; all three were still staring at the sky with that stupid unfocused look. Was his voice too muffled? He released his hold on the dragon’s flesh, his tone impatient. “Hey, I said scream.” Still nothing. Was he not paying attention? Fine, he’ll make him scream the old fashion way. 

There was no gentleness in his motions, feeling the slippery bloodied flesh trembling against his member. He doesn’t stop, building speed as he drove himself as deep as he could, and the dragon was still not reacting to any of it. Even when Gigan stabbed a claw into Ghidorah’s wing and sliced through the membrane.

Nothing.

It was getting disappointing real fast, and he found it a bit more difficult to finish this time around. Even when he reached his climax, it wasn’t nearly as good as the first one. This damn dragon ruining everything. His seed spilled from the wound, tainted with blood as he pulled away. He looked down at the damage done, but his sadism has long since given way to frustration. The preparation was more fun than the actual mating! Without a word, he stood up over the dragon, glaring down at him.

Still no damn response. Just more sporadic twitching.

Giving a huff, he moved towards the three heads, those six red eyes still star-gazing blankly like an idiot. He knelt down, his member pulling itself fully back into his body as he does. He used a bloody claw to shift one of those heads towards him. No response, no growl, no hint of recognition in those eyes. But the damn thing was alive, still bleeding. Unconscious?

Seems the dragon couldn’t handle him.

That thought did little to make himself feel better, and he stood back up to give that stupid face a kick. Without a word, he turned back towards the direction of the bar and started walking towards it, leaving Ghidorah twitching where he laid with no intention to get him help. Damn thing didn’t deserve it.

Whatever.

A few more drinks will ease his disappointment, then he can go for another round with his new mate. This time, with lowered expectations.

[sanjisock]

bark to smoke, wood to ash

ao3

one.

You are eight and the words that fall out of your brothers’ mouth hurt like gravels, like acid, like gunshot wounds. They call you useless and it tears at your skin, they call you weak and it rings inside your ears for days. The bruises on your skin fade, but the words claw underneath, bone-deep, like a phantom scar.

A failure. A burden. A mistake. A mistake —

Brother.

You don’t know what’s wrong with the last one. It isn’t one of the bad words your mother taught you not to say, and your brothers never said it with the tone and derision they reserved for your name. Brother. Almost in passing, like an afterthought.

The word clung to you anyway, dirty and foreign, seeping under your skin like mud. It has sullied you into something you’re not.

(You are not, you know — you are not anyone’s brother. You’re not a —)

-

two.

You are thirteen when you realize that you hate the way you look in the mirror. You know you always do, at the back of your mind, but it’s the first time that it catches you off guard; there’s bile at the back of your throat, and you almost drive your leg through the vanity, shattering the ugly image staring back from the surface.

Zeff has just started giving you salaries — actual salaries instead of the meager pocket money they used to be — so the first thing you do is to visit the town’s market.

You are a boy, so you get yourself a couple of men’s shoes, loafers and dress shoes, oxfords and sandals. You are a boy, so you pick up the three-piece suits and vests, the kind a gentleman would wear. You are a boy, so you walk past the nail polish and lipsticks, and you don’t wonder how they would look against your pale skin, if they should match the dresses you will never wear.

You narrow your eyes at your own reflection, rubbing your chin, feeling the beginning of a stubble under your fingers. Your chest is a flat and narrow thing, every part of your body telling you what you have heard a thousand times — you’re a boy. You’re a boy. You’re a boy. 

(You are a boy because you don’t know what else you could be.)

-

three.

You are sixteen and nobody tells you you’re beautiful; they call you handsome and strong and clean-shaven and many other words that don’t settle right at the pit of your stomach. A good husband, one over-eager patron once said to her blushing teenage daughter; a rough delinquent, most shopkeepers would say behind your back after you’ve haggled their prices one too many times; a handsome boy, some of Zeff’s old associates would sometimes say, a clumsy attempt to praise you. You hate the last one the most.

You are sixteen and you fall for the first boy who calls you beautiful.

He’s a boy from the next village, a year older than you are, sharp-tongued and sharper smile. He visits on Saturdays as his parents go to the island’s marketplace, a few ways down the street from Baratie, and when he kisses you behind a passing cart he tastes like a brilliant supernova.

Beautiful , he calls you, and for the first time a word slides off your skin like honey. Beautiful, he whispers to your lips, and it warms you from the inside, right in the very center of your chest. Beautiful, he presses against your skin, and you close your eyes and take it all in, the way the word fits right in between your rib cage, tucked neatly against your heart.

It doesn’t last. He also calls you his man.

(You’re not his man. You’re not anyone’s man. You’re not a man —)

-

four.

Today’s celebration is more crowded than you are used to, which says a lot, considering how it usually goes with the Strawhats. Luffy, you are quick to learn, always finds a way to surprise you.

You’re carrying five plates on one hand and three glasses of beer on the other, half-tiptoeing to avoid stepping on people’s feet. Some of the locals wave at you, complimenting you on the food, and you don’t notice Nami among the crowd until she’s pressed against you, her breasts digging into the crevice of your back as someone pushes her from behind.

You feel a shock of jealousy burst through you.

It is shocking, in its suddenness. There is nothing inherently sexual with the thought; you’ve always been attracted to men and women alike, in the safety of your own mind — but this is something entirely different. You are suddenly aware of your adam’s apple, your flat chest, your dick between your legs; how they’re wrong wrong wrong — 

She must’ve felt the way you stiffened, because she leaps back in surprise and stammers out an apology. You want to tell her that it’s fine, but for once, you can’t. There are a lot of people you can lie to but not her, who’s been carved open and forced to lie for so long.

“I can’t,” you tell her; no longer caring if you don’t even make sense. “Nami-san, I can’t —”

Something erupts among the crowd, and Luffy emerges from it a moment later, always the center of attention. Nami’s instantly distracted, and you have never been more glad of Luffy’s natural proclivity for trouble.

You chase after him, and try not to think of the way envy curls coldly in your chest.

(For the first time in your life, you dare to want —)

-

five.

They force you to wear a dress and you run.

It’s wrong, you try to tell yourself, because men don’t wear skirts and you may be a failure to Judge but you won’t be one to Zeff. It’s wrong, you try to tell them, to every single resident of this cursed island of Momoiro, and they look at you with pity , and you hate them for it. It’s wrong, you try to tell someone, anyone who would listen, because you don’t know what else it could be.

So you run.

You run and you feel the silk of the dress slide against the inside of your thighs, the bra tight around your chest, the straps of your panties dig into your hips. You wonder if they would leave marks against your skin, the kind that’s red and stark and doesn’t disappear for days, like they have become a part of you somehow.

You run because you know it’s wrong.

(You run because it doesn’t feel wrong.)

-

six.

Zoro is terrible. A brute, a dumbass, an oaf — you hate his guts, you hate his voice, and you hate the way he always knows the right words to set you off into a tirade. He is loud and brash and everything a man is supposed to be and you hate that, too — like a constant reminder of who you aren’t, of who you’re supposed to be.

He also looks at you like you’re an equal, like someone he can depend on when all else fails. He pushes you towards your dream and never expects any less than the best; when the two of you stand side-by-side, something in your blood sings, like you are strong enough to take on the world.

That part — you don’t hate that.

(Zoro is terrible, but —)

-

seven.

Your stomach drops when your eyes meet Zoro’s.

He’s not supposed to be here , you want to think, but in hindsight, why shouldn’t he, when the tavern they are in seems to be the only establishment in this quaint little town that offers alcohol on its menu. Of course that brute is here.

You should’ve known better than to risk it. 

You are not wearing the — the whole thing , thankfully; the red dress from Momoiro still safely tucked at the corner of your locker, never to see the light of day. But your hair is shoulder-length and your nails are in three different colors, and you are at least five-inches taller than him because of the heels you are wearing. Zoro’s a dumbass with only one good eye left, but he’s not blind.

Zoro blinks, does a once-over. You wait for the other shoe to drop, for the disgust to crawl up his expression like poison ivy, but it never comes; he simply tilts his head to the side, more confused than anything.

The first thing he asks is, “How did you get your hair so long?”

“It’s called a wig , dumbass,” you retort, the banter between you two coming as naturally as breathing, even when your heart is pounding against your ribcage. “It’s like — fake hair, basically. Not that you’d know anything about fashion.”

Zoro scrunches up his nose, and he’s wearing that expression he always wears whenever someone tells him to count higher than ten. You usually find it hilarious, just one more thing to tease him about, but right now it is comforting in its familiarity. The disgust that you have long dreaded never seems to appear, and you feel tension slowly bleed over your shoulders.

“Huh,” Zoro says after a moment. A blush blooms across his cheeks, and he sounds almost embarrassed when he says, “suits you.”

(You remember being sixteen, falling in love with the boy who called you beautiful.)

-

eight.

“Please change us back!” Nami calls out to Law, and you feel your blood runs cold. You know it’s selfish, that none of these is yours, the breasts and the curves and the long, soft fingers; but you can’t help begging still, please don’t please don’t please don’t please —

Law still turns you back.

You fall to your knees. Nami thought it was from the physical wounds she’d received before Law switched you back, and you let her think that way. Your hands will not stop shaking for the rest of the day, and you tell Chopper that it’s the cold.

(This is not your body, your brain traitorously whispers, persistent. It’s never been the right body for you —)

-

nine.

Zoro slips his hand under your shirt, and you groan at that, pleased — you’ve been making out for what seems like forever now, and the way his finger brushes against your nipple is a welcome development. His mouth starts to trail down your neck, and you tug on his haramaki, urging him on. This thing between you two — whatever this is — has been long-overdue, and you feel like a second without the two of you naked is just another second wasted.

You slip out of your pants without thinking, and your breath hitches when you realize you’re still wearing your panties.

Zoro seems to notice your discomfort, because his hands immediately still. He looks up at you, eye searching, and you find it sweet, the way he’d stop if you tell him to stop. You don’t want him to, of course, if the arousal pooling at the bottom of your stomach is any indication; but you like knowing that you have the choice. You can count on one hand the number of times you’re able to do that — making choices, that is.

You know that you don’t need to explain anything, when it comes to Zoro. You have that choice too. He has always been good at giving people space, and you know he will wait until you are ready to say anything. But you look at the man in front of you who has never been anything but honest, and the words claw out of your throat before you can think twice.

“I’m a woman.”

Your voice is small and confused. Your throat burns, like the words have been scraped raw from its walls.

Zoro doesn’t say anything at first, and you tear your eyes away from him, because you’ve never been scared of him but you don’t think you can stand it if he starts to look at you different. You think of your pathetic excuse of a family, their cold eyes and colder shoulders, and you don’t know if you can go through another heartbreak. You know the Strawhats are better than this — better than them — but you can’t help thinking what if, what if, what if — 

“Okay,” Zoro says. And, “Thanks for telling me.”

You exhale, then. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath.

He fucks you into the bed, long and sweet, softer than you’d ever expect him capable of. He holds your hand after, and the two of you lie on the bed, chests pressed against one another’s under the covers of a warm blanket. He breathes out when you breathe in.

(For the first time in a long while, the king of Germa doesn’t haunt you. You are not his son, and you have never been his.)

-

ten.

“You ready?”

Zoro is leaning against the door frame, waiting for you, but you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the mirror yet. You watch the way your kimono hugs your frame, thick and rigid; nobody could’ve seen any curves, even if you had one. That’s the point, you’ve been told — this is Wano’s idea of a woman’s beauty. Femininity through the concealment of body curves. It’s different than most concepts you’ve heard of female beauty, and you like that — that there isn’t one way to be a woman, that there is no mold to fit in for you to be one.

“Yes,” you say, and you let him lead you towards the door.

(You are a woman, and you have never been anything else.)

[stfulinz]

Murderously Obsessed - Chapter 2

Plot - Kai Parker’s back and he’s worse than ever. He will do whatever it takes to ruin Mystic Falls and this time, nothing  and nobody will get in his way.

Y/N watched as Damon’s body collapsed on the ground, the sound of his neck snapping cut heavily through the air. Kai Parker emerged from the doorway with a devilish grin commanding his face, his arm stretched out as he walked towards the elder Salvatore’s limp body. He kicked Damon in his rib-cage twice, just to make sure he was actually out and not just pretending, it’s a no risk zone when it comes to the vampire with the anger issues, he thought to himself.

Kai sauntered his way to the girl bleeding out on that alcoholic Ric’s table, he honestly wondered if the school knew about their prestigious History teacher hiding liquor in school lockers, would they keep him? Probably. Mystic Falls is a fucked and hopeless town and it honestly didn’t take a genius to figure out why the Scooby Gang loved it here. Probably because they’re all equally fucked and hopeless in their own ways.

His train of thought about ruining Ric’s career so that the old man could drink himself to death was cut short when he heard a soft sigh coming from Y/N. He watched closely as she blinked through her tears, still trying to put pressure on the stab wound and it was only then he noticed that her white t-shirt was lifted up - revealing her stomach. Since she was bleeding non-stop, the rest of her body lost color; she looked so weak. The only source of light was the moon, which reflected off of her skin and he found himself thinking how beautiful she looked. She was just as pale and pristine as the white moonlight.

And then he hated Damon for touching her and lifting her shirt, even if it was to help, and out of sheer spite decided to snap his knees.

Y/N didn’t notice when Kai got so close to her until he rested his hand on her cheek, the other hand went over her own, putting light pressure on the wound. “Please, don’t kill me, Malachai. Please”, she heard herself begging and even though she was the one saying those words her brain could hardly register them. Her ears were ringing non-stop with pain and she felt like she was speaking into fog and mist. She didn’t even know if he heard her.

A small tear escaped her eye and fell right into Kai’s palm, the same one that cradled her face ever so gently. It was hard to believe this is the same guy who stabbed her and temporarily killed Damon all within the span of 40 minutes because he looked at her with so much concern and hurt right now that she almost felt bad. She felt bad for dying.

Kai felt his palm getting more wet as she blinked through more of her tears, he watched her put on a brave face and try to hold it in until she couldn’t anymore and just started sobbing hysterically in his arms. Her vacant hand grabbed Kai’s jacket and pulled him closer as heavy sobs ripped through her body, he was surprised how hoarse her voice had become due to all the torment when he heard her ask, “why am I not dying? There’s no more blood in my body, how am I alive?” She shook Kai more violently than ever, “what did you do to me!?”. Another sob. And another. Until she just conjured up a full blown anxiety attack.

Malachai was honestly staggered at her rage, he watched her rough breaths vanish into the air. Chilly winter air finally settled in and he wondered if she was Hypothermic.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re angry”, he found himself saying with furrowed brows, “you’re the one who is accusing me of killing you. I should be angry with you, Y/N”.

“Accusing you? Malachai you stabbed m-”

“- Don’t ever call me that”.

“Malachai,” she said with extra emphasis and he rolled his eyes in annoyance, “you stabbed me”. She was mumbling so softly that Kai was having trouble understanding her.

“Ok, I did, so what? Blame Steven for that, I overheard him and Damien talk about draining vervain out of someone by bleeding them out and I thought to myself, huh, I was looking for a way to make you stop taking your daily dose of vampire repellent, or in my case, heretic repellent” Kai laughed at his own joke when he got no reaction from the gorgeous girl in his arms and he stopped talking because he thought about how badly he wanted to kiss her right now, her hand was still on his jacket and her lips were slightly open and she was so close all he had to do was lean in and then-

“Stefan and Damon”, he watched as her lips moved but couldn’t even focus on the words because he was so consumed by her he honestly felt like every nerve in his body was on fire from her touch.

“Huh?”

“Stefan and Damon, that’s their name. Not Steven and Damien”.

“Right. That’s what I said,” Kai was honestly taken aback by the fact that she still had the ability to focus but figured it was for the best because he needed her to stay awake. “Anyway, I didn’t know how to stop you from taking it because they mixed it in your morning coffee so I started to bring coffee for you myself but that did nothing because you just started drinking 2 cups of coffee. No offense, you’re so addicted to caffeine it’s sad, I mean how are your teeth even intact anymore? Is your brain okay from all the energy juice you take?”

Y/N refrained from making a snarky comment about his own eating habits and decided to stick to the point instead of engaging with him in a battle of wits, “Finish the story, Malachai.”

“Hey,” he said gently and then pressed on her wound with so much strength that Y/N screamed with every ounce of energy in her body, pain overwhelmed her from the top of her head all the way down to her toes and a fresh set of tears pricked her eyes, “I thought I told you not to call me that, gorgeous.”

She was horrifyingly surprised at how good Kai was at causing agony, his demeanor was relaxed and his face had an easy look to it, she disturbingly wondered for how long he had been planning this, how many times he had practiced and thought this through in his mind to be so damn immaculate.

Kai removed his hand from her stomach, staring at how beautifully blood soaked it was before licking his fingertips. He closed his eyes and hummed quietly in satisfaction.

“Y/N, you taste so sweet I might have to start calling you sugar, instead.”

She didn’t respond, so Kai continued to talk her mind off. “Nothing is ever really easy with you, which I find to be adorable by the way - always stay feisty, so I just chose the hard way. It’s almost like I tried to be the nice guy and compel you without hurting you but you didn’t want that so this,” he said while gesturing to her battered and bloodied body, “is completely your fault.” 

Y/N had to close her eyes because she couldn’t even look at him. Trepidation filled her up. All this because he wanted to compel her, she was so smitten by Malachai Parker that if he just simply asked her to stop taking vervain, she would’ve. In a heartbeat. She truly would’ve done anything if he asked, and that’s why the emotional pain here was much bigger than the physical pain. Which is saying a lot because she’s pretty sure he stabbed her right through her gut. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing this though; to let him know how uncomplicated this could’ve been, to tell him that she feels more hurt and betrayed than angry. That would put him on cloud nine.

“How am I still alive?” she whispered numbly.

“Oh, yeah, I put a spell on you but all that’s irrelevant”, he waved off-handedly, and she just wanted to break his nose more than anything in the entire world.

“What about Damon?”

Kai sighed, now he was mad. And amused. He couldn’t decide which one, he huffed and stepped away from the fragile girl and smirked smugly, deepening his voice to impersonate Damon - “that’s for me to know, and for you to dot dot dot”, he tapped his finger in the air each time he said dot. “was that good? I thought that was pretty good, Bon Bon would be proud.” His smirk dropped as he saw Y/N’s head lull. The spell was wearing off.

“Kai, listen to me-”

“Enough chit-chatting, time’s up”. She had never seen him this serious before, his clean face was set in focus and his jaw clenched as he moved forward and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to enough proximity to maintain eye-contact. His gray blue orbs, a perfect mix of chaos and calm pierced through her soul as she watched him mouth words that she would forget the very next second.

“You will get up and walk to the Salvatore boarding house all bleeding and confused; balling your eyes out, when they ask you what the hell happened - tell them Damon stabbed you in a fit of rage. Repeatedly. He tried to feed off of you but you ran before he could get a hold of you. You couldn’t make sense of anything but the only logical explanation is that Damon turned his switch off when you told him Elena still loved Stefan. He knew she could never entirely be his so he didn’t want her at all. None of this matters, Damon kept repeating repeating to you before he pierced a butcher knife through your stomach in the Mystic Grill kitchen. You hate him for this, you will never forgive Damon Salvatore.

They won’t know how to help you, they’ve never seen something like this - so just gently say Kai Parker. That’s where our story begins, sugar. Forget this conversation happened, Y/N. Forget you saw me here. Forget all of this. Only remember what I told you. Go.”

[brokendevilwrites]

Nerd!Verse but make it Anya.

I’m going to split this particular ask up into sections as there was lots of questions and they weren’t in order chronologically, but also I wanted to write some little bits before I went back to work.

Anyway: Nerd!Verse presents...Anya.

Also very aware I don’t know my own timeline for this verse so if shit is out of place just, like, ignore it? Thanks loves.

[Find NERD!VERSE here.]

What does Anya say to Clarke after Lexa takes her back? from this ask

Lexa falls through the door around noon. 

She’s covered in rain and tears and regret and Anya ends her Skype call almost immediately, throwing out a harried excuse to her agent, and she barely makes it to Lexa in time before the brunette is dropping to her knees. Sobs rip through the girls rib cage and Anya can’t do anything but fucking stare at her. 

(She’s seen Lexa cry before; granted Lexa was six and she had just landed face first into some gravel at a pretty high speed. They never were allowed to ride their bikes down the hill after that…)

When she finally gets her act together Lexa has stopped heaving out sobs like they’re physically hurting her and she willingly stands up with Anya when the woman wraps her arm around her. Together they make it to the bathroom and Anya runs a hot bath for her friend, complete with the designer bubble bath stuff she was asked to advertise, and she helps Lexa to undress. It kills her to see her friend shake and she wishes she could un-hear the shaky ‘thank you’ that Lexa gives her as she removes her bra for her. Nobody should hurt like this, Anya thinks. 

As Lexa sinks into the hot water she seems to relax a little. There are still tracks on her cheeks and her lips are chapped and Anya doesn’t even have to ask her friend to explain what the hell is going on. 

She already knows. 

Clarke has done this before and Anya told Lexa she would do it again. She’s always been wary of the Griffin girl. Not to be mistaken with not liking her. Anya liked Clarke well enough and she thought she complimented Lexa greatly but she didn’t think they’d last and she hates that she’s right. 

They were too different.

Eventually one of them was going to break and Anya always knew it would be Clarke. Lexa was so deep in love she would have sacrificed herself to the Gods before she ever thought of upsetting Clarke. 

With gentle strokes Anya washes Lexa’s hair and she hopes the water is helping to warm her up. The weather is bitter outside; she’d wrapped up in several layers that morning to get some pastries for breakfast and she was on her second coffee to defeat the chill when Lexa had stumbled in, all heartbroken and sad and so unlike the girl she knew. 

Anya loses count of how long they stay there but when Lexa finally moves her knees are numb from where she’s been kneeling and Lexa’s cheeks are pink despite the now cool water. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Lexa says and her eyes look so, so, tired but Anya knows that it’s not her body that’s tired. She refrains from saying anything about it being early afternoon, or that sleeping won’t help, and stands up with Lexa. Her friend looks so lost that Anya finds herself reaching for a towel and holding it wide. The action clearly snaps Lexa back into action and she bites out “I’m not a baby,” with an offended scowl.

“Get in the fucking towel, Woods,” Anya rolls her eyes but there’s no heat behind it, no malice. There never is. Lexa gives her a smile but it’s barely there before it fades and she steps out of the expensive claw-footed tub--a present from Anya’s dad when they moved in--and right into the towel. 

Anya wraps it around her friend and ignores the marks on her shoulders and her neck that tell the story of where she was last night.

“I’m ordering Chinese for dinner. Make sure you’re awake.”

;;;;

Anya clears away the cold Chinese when she wakes the next morning and puts it into the fridge with a note letting Lexa know that it is hers.

;;;;

Two days later she throws it away.

;;;;

To everyone else Lexa seems fine. 

She emerges from her bedroom on the third day looking like death and gulps down two cups of coffee and finishes a bowl of oatmeal. By the time Anya checks on her to see if she wants to go and meet Lincoln for some drinks she looks human again.

Lexa has always been amazing at putting on a show. She was incredible at it at high school, it was how she made her way to the top with such precision, and it’s clear that she’s a damn expert at it now.

During drinks it comes up in conversation that Clarke broke up with Lexa and Anya braces for the breakdown but Lexa takes a sip from her cocktail and shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like she didn’t retreat for two whole days over it, like Anya hasn’t lost sleep.

“Is she okay?” Lincoln asks when Lexa goes to the bathroom and Anya stares at the space Lexa had been sitting in.

“I don’t know.”

;;;;

They go out one night and Anya gets so phenomenally drunk that she doesn’t realise that Lexa takes Clarke home.

She finds out the next day when Lexa slams around the apartment, nearly breaking a coffee cup with a picture of the moon on it in her temper, and Anya pauses her show to stare at her.

“She asked me how many girls I’ve slept with since we broke up,” Lexa gives as an answer and it makes Anya’s eyebrows fire up into her hairline. Lexa has barely been able to eat a full meal in the weeks since the breakup and Clarke is asking bullshit questions like that? “That’s not even something I’ve thought about but it’s something she thinks about me. Is that who she sees me as?”

Anya shrugs and unfollows Clarke on social media. 

;;;;

Weeks ease into months and soon Clarke’s name stops feeling like a grenade in Anya’s mouth. 

Lexa smiles again and she laughs in the way she used to and things seem to have settled. It’s on one of those nights--when Lexa is laughing and her eyes are bright--that she encourages Lexa to delete Clarke from social media completely. She’s been complaining about Luna non-stop and Anya is sure Lexa thinks they’re dating and she just wants to protect her best friend. 

Besides, how is she ever going to move on if the first thing she checks in the morning is Clarke's Instagram?

“There,” Lexa slurs happily around her wine glass and she drops her phone onto the couch triumphantly. It makes Anya happy to see Lexa so free, so carelessly her again, and she almost cheers in happiness. Almost. “She’s gone.”

And just like that...Lexa is sad again.

“She’s gone. It’s really over.”

Anya sighs and goes to the freezer to grab some ice-cream because Lexa is still heartbroken and Anya is her best friend.

;;;;

“Is Lexa here?”

“Who?”

“Anya, please,” Clarke begs. It’s pitiful, Anya thinks. She’s trying for the wounded look; big eyes, pouting lips, broken body. But it’s not going to work. Anya isn’t in love with her. In fact, Anya can barely look at her and Clarke is damn lucky she doesn’t slap her in the face right there. “I just want to talk to her. Please?”

She doesn��t spare Clarke another glance when she shuts the door in her face.

;;;;

Lexa crawls into her bed at about two am and Anya already knows the conversation that’s going to take place. 

“She’s going to break your heart again.”

“It’s mine to break,” Lexa tells her firmly and Anya agrees but it doesn’t mean she likes it. “You don’t have to understand, Anya. You don’t even need to like her. But please respect my choice to love her.”

Anya turns over in the bed. The sheets are satin and they feel nice as she turns which is lucky because expensive sheets put her in a good mood even if Lexa is making Anya angry enough to frown. 

Which she tries hard to not do. 

Any facial expressions tend to lead to wrinkles and she’s not about to lose out on a contact with the highest bidder just because Lexa is a dumb fucking lesbian.

“I’m on your side, Lexa. Always. But you think with your heart too much,” Anya tells her and that’s that. 

Talking about feelings isn’t exactly something they do.

;;;;

They’re having a games night and everyone's invited. Lexa and Anya host. Obviously. Their apartment is bigger than anyone else’s by miles and it makes sense because they also have two spare bedrooms. One is used as Anya’s dressing and filming room, whenever she’s doing something for YouTube or Instagram, and the other is storage but both have beds in and a place for people to crash.

Lincoln arrives with Octavia first. It’s kind of amazing how their friendship group remained so perfectly intact from high school. Anya has been friends with Lincoln and Lexa for as long as her memories go back and she doesn’t know how the dynamic would work if they had never met Octavia in freshman year. Costia had long since broken off from them but Anya still notices the likes on their pictures--only if Clarke isn’t in them. She definitely noticed that. 

Lincoln immediately heads to the ridiculously large TV and switches on the Sports Channel and loses himself. Lexa sends an amused look to Anya from where she is cooking up some tapas for the night. It’s always been like this and Anya finds herself at her most comfortable around her people.

And then Clarke arrives.

Clearly she doesn’t hide the annoyance on her face quickly enough because Octavia laughs around a mouthful of chips and Lexa quickly kisses Clarke to distract her. 

;;;;

Clarke wins at Scattergories like she always does but Anya finds she doesn’t really mind because Bellamy brought a bottle of wine that was delicious, but everyone else thought was awful, so Anya shared it with herself. Clarke is a lot easier to handle when she’s three-quarters into a bottle of wine and, really, Lexa should be thanking her. 

A ring interrupts them and Clarke excuses herself with a glance to her phone. Lexa uses the opportunity to pipe up, just as Anya is pouring her final glass, and honestly Lexa should have known what was coming as Anya finished the bottle off. 

She can’t be blamed. 

“Can you please be nice to Clarke?”

“I haven’t said anything!”

“Exactly,” Lexa snaps and she just looks at Anya like that answers everything. Anya stares at her as she sips her wine slowly and waits for her friend to continue. “Everyone else is including her but you’re completely being ignorant.”

“Maybe everyone else is being ignorant to how she dumped your ass and we had to fix it.”

When Lexa gets angry she twitches her jaw and it’s the first clue that Anya is pushing it too far. But the thing is, Anya wants to go too far. She wants Lexa to react. Besides that first day, where she completely broke, Lexa hasn’t really shown any type of emotion and Anya was born for the fight.

Clarke broke her best friend and Anya doesn’t think it’s fair that Clarke started this damn issue  without a single idea of how she was going to end it. It’s not fair that Anya picked up the pieces and Clarke gets to enjoy the finished product.

Just because Lexa’s forgiven her doesn’t mean she has to.

“Anya,” Lexa warns but then Clarke comes back in and immediately notices the tension. Anya can feel the stares of her friends but she’s never backed down from anything in her life and Lexa isn’t an exception. “Stop. My decisions are my own.”

“You make your choices. I make mine,” Anya shrugs like she isn’t fighting with her best friend. She can sense Lincoln tidying away the games as a way of distracting the rest of them and not for the first time she’s glad for his emphatic nature. Her eyes flick to Clarke, and she almost smirks at how the blonde flinches back slightly, but she continues regardless. “Difference is your choices are going to ruin you.”

“Enough.”

Anya breathes out laughter through her nose but she’s not amused. There’s no point in even trying to get Lexa to acknowledge what Clarke did--twice--because when Lexa sets her heels in then there is no moving her. It’s a flaw that’s going to get her into danger one day and Anya will be there to pick the pieces up once again.

“Maybe I should go?” Anya hears from Clarke and Lexa looks at Anya with so much fury that it makes Anya’s head spin with how quickly she can soften her features when she turns to Clarke.  

Anya practically growls. “Stop with the damn victim card,” she spits out because she’s so tired of everyone pretending that what Clarke did was okay. She broke Lexa’s heart for no fucking reason and then when she decided it was too hard being single she wriggled back into Lexa’s life and forced forgiveness from someone who wasn’t even fully over her. “I’m allowed to dislike you, Griffin. I don’t have to be your friend. Not everyone is going to think you’re amazing and that’s life. Lexa might have forgiven you but I remember what you did. The quicker you figure that out, the better.”

;;;;

For the first time since she bought their apartment Anya sleeps in a different building.

When she wakes up Lincoln is sitting on the chair next to the sofa and he nods his head at the bottle of water on the floor next to her. She takes the aspirin that lay next to it and thumps back into the pillows, a hand over her eyes, and she remembers why she hates Lincoln’s apartment. They have floor to ceiling windows that capture the light at all times of the day but they don’t have coverings for them and Anya wonders if this is what torture feels like.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

Anya groans. “All of it.”

“That sucks,” Lincoln says but he doesn’t sound like he feels bad for her. “You were an asshole.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you going to say sorry?”

Anya just groans louder.

;;;;

Lexa doesn’t speak when Anya finally comes home and it’s such a full circle that Anya nearly laughs. She spots her reflection in the mirror next to the door and she’s glad she isn’t due to do anything until Tuesday because she looks ill. 

“We’re not kids anymore,” Lexa says and the way her voice has levelled makes Anya pay attention. Lexa has only ever really been angry a handful of times that Anya can remember, she doesn’t usually lose her cool, but for the first time in their friendship Anya is actually worried she’s taken it too far. “You’re not my mom. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. And if you’re unhappy with the decisions I’m making then I need you to talk to me. Throwing a tantrum is for children, Anya. We’re adults.”

Anya clicks her jaw in annoyance and says nothing.

“You’re my best friend. I need you to be on my side for this.”

“I’m the only one fighting in your corner,” Anya scoffs and she decides right then and there she doesn’t have time for this. Lexa can sleep with whoever she wants, she can fall in love with whoever she wants, and she can have her heart broken as many times as she wants. “I’m not about to pretend that what she did was okay just so I can spare your girlfriends feelings. She didn’t spare yours when she said you didn’t make her happy anymore. She didn’t spare them when she asked if you were sleeping with other people.”

“We’ve spoken about that. I’ve forgiven her.”

“Good for you. Forgiveness is the first sign of weakness,” Anya snaps before she takes a deep breath and wonders when she became her father. “You’re asking me to respect your decision to forgive Clarke, right? Respect mine that I can’t.”

“My relationship isn’t your business.”

“No. But you’re my business,” she says and Lexa stops at that, her eyebrows high. “You and Lincoln and Octavia. You’re all my business. I’ll protect you all exactly the same way and I’m not going to apologise for that because I know you’ll all be there when I need you too.”

Lexa nods and just like that they agree to disagree on the topic of Clarke Griffin.

---

Summer arrives and the tension lifts.

Anya tries to be civil around Clarke and, in turn, Lexa doesn’t try to push for everyone to get along. A lot of the time the easiest way of dealing with it is with avoidance and it’s working out for everyone so far. There’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken so Anya doesn’t speak to Clarke and Clarke doesn’t speak to Anya and it seems to work because their little group of friends intertwines enough that they never really have to interact.

Lexa has certainly been happier since forgiving Clarke and it’s so clear to see that denying it would be ridiculous. She hates being wrong but she secretly hopes Clarke proves her wrong about this.

“Thank you,” Clarke says as Anya stands in the kitchen of her apartment. She’s dressed in tiny shorts and a tight top and Anya wonders if she’ll be able to record the stuttering mess that will be Lexa when the girl sees her girlfriend. When Anya says nothing and takes a drink of water, Clarke continues. “For being there for Lexa. For looking after her. I didn’t do too great at that last year and I’m just really glad that she has someone looking out for her the way that you do.”

Anya doesn’t say anything and Clarke nods like she kind of expected that, her fingers curling in on themselves a little, and Anya watches.

“Your relationship isn’t my business. I’d never tell Lexa to choose and I never have,” Anya finally says and her glass makes a dull noise as she sets it on the white counter. “But I also know I should probably cut you some slack.”

It’s the closest Clarke will get to an apology or an acceptance and the smile Anya gets in return lets her know how happy Clarke is about it. “I won’t hurt her, or me, again.

“Don’t promise me. I don’t care,” Anya says with a cool tone and it makes Clarke laugh. 

;;;;

Lexa smiles at Anya later after whispering with Clarke about something and Anya knows it’ll be fine.

“Are you going to follow her on Instagram again?” Lexa asks later when they’re putting away dishes. Anya takes a plate from the rack and puts it in the cupboard, taking her time before answering.

“Absolutely not, no.”

[werejusttouchingeachother]

SEOUL 2018 [August 10th, 4:27PM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 T/W: angst - mentions of abuse, depression, suicide, cursing Words: 4171

It was almost two months later when you finally met Baekhyun again after the night he left New York. He’d been at the dorms and you’d felt more terrified than you had been when you first launched your boutique.

Manager had ushered you inside quickly, immediately making you feel awkward as your eyes met Junmyeon and Sehun who were sitting on the couch and watching something on the television.

“Y/N,” Junmyeon called your name in surprise as he quickly stood up, wide eyes exchanging glances with Manager behind you. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I don’t think anyone did, Hyung,” Sehun mutters, giving you a small smile. “Hi, Noona. It’s been a long time. I missed you.”

You smile fondly at that, tense shoulders loosening at his contagious warmth. “I missed you too, Sehun.”

“I’m mad at you, though.” He crossed his arms. “You never called. Or responded to my texts.”

You flinched, expecting this accusation from the youngest member who’d always had the most fun teasing you and who you knew would take your silent treatment the hardest—not when you’d spent days and nights sending each other funny memes and pictures of dogs with bad haircuts almost on a daily basis only to suddenly ghost him.

“Yeah, I just…” you trail off and shake your head, knowing excuses were in vain. “I’m sorry. I should have replied.”

Sehun blinks at your sincere apology, not having expected it and his face clouds over with worry at your seriousness.

“Sehun,” Jun says, nudging him. “You can catch up with her later.” He gives you a meaningful look as he asks, “Y/N, aren’t you here to—?”

“Yeah, I’ll go check,” Manager says, turning to your left in the direction of the rooms. You grab his arm to stop him.

“Does he…?” You trail off and Manager hesitates before nodding.

“I told him that you landed here today morning.” He pauses before saying, “I think he’s expecting you.”

You waited in the hallway then as all the members slowly filed out of their rooms, giving you polite formal smiles (Jongin, Yixing and Jongdae), wary looks (Minseok and Kyungsoo) or blatantly ignored your presence (Chanyeol).

You didn’t say anything. If any of them knew what had exactly happened, you were sure that it had to be Chanyeol.

All of them joined Junmyeon and Sehun in the hall, the farthest room from Baekhyun’s to give you as much privacy as they could within a dormitory. Bowing your head in thanks, you walk past Manager and head for the right door at the end of the hallway.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock gently on the door. You can hear the silence of the usually noisy dorm and it doesn’t help the way your heart is pounding against your rib-cage, your stomach twisting with anxiety.

The door opens then and your breath catches as your eyes fall on Baekhyun.

His hair is dishevelled and his clothes are drabby, hanging off him in a way that you knew all too-well that he had been wearing them for a while. His cheeks are hollow and your eyes run over his clothes, growing frustrated when you realise they’re too large to figure out whether he’d lost weight.

“You haven’t been eating,” Baekhyun says, his tone flat and your eyes fly back up to his face in surprise. You feel your skin rise with goosebumps at hearing his voice after so long and your eyes sting with unshed tears that you have to forcibly blink back.

“I…” You clear your throat before raising an eyebrow at him. “Neither have you. Your face has grown thinner.”

“What is this, a competition?” He rolls his eyes, stepping away to let you in.

“If it is, nobody is winning!” You hear Sehun shout from the hall, making you roll your eyes.

“Sehun, shut up!” Baekhyun yells as he closes the door behind him. You bite your lip as you look around the familiar room that was almost a home to you at one point—a point that seemed entirely too long ago now.

“Did you wear lipstick? Or did you chew it all off?” Baekhyun asks, pointing out your usual nervous habit and your gaze shifts back to him as he sits in his gaming chair, opposite the bed that looked unusually tidy.

He hasn’t been sleeping.  

“Did you sleep at all this past week?” You shoot back, crossing your arms as you sit down on the bed and cock your head at the neatly made sheets. “Or leave that seat? How long have you been gaming in those clothes?”

“Why do you care?” Baekhyun snaps and you sigh, leaning back as you square your shoulders and remind yourself not to follow his childish antics.

“I didn’t come here to fight, Baek,” you start, trying to gather your thoughts. “I—”

“Y/N.” His voice is sharp enough that you stop, eyebrows rising as he inhales deeply before saying, “If you’re here to break up, just leave. I haven’t processed a lot since New York but I’m not numb enough that I can sit here and listen to you end everything. Being here in Korea must be killing you anyway so just leave and I’ll consider it the end. Let’s not make this any harder than it—”

“Shut the fuck up, Baekhyun,” you snap, eyes narrowed in disbelief as you gape at him. “Is that what you want to do? New York to be our last conversation? Just leave a two-years-long relationship like this?” You shake your head, holding up your hand to stop whatever he was going to say as you interrupted, “I’ll leave soon, don’t worry. As soon as I’m done telling you what I have to tell you.”

He falls silent, eyes watching you carefully and you take a breath before starting. “I told you something that night two months ago. Before you said that I shouldn’t be feeling that way. Something about my childhood. Do you remember?”

Baekhyun nods slowly. “You said that you’ve never been enough for your parents from when you were young. And I made you feel like that again, yeah, that’s burned into my memory, don’t worry.”

You shake your head, shooting him a look. “That first part, yes. The second part, no. This is what I flew out here to tell you, face-to-face. What I should have told you that night.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you take a second to muster the courage to say what you’re going to say. Baekhyun immediately notices your hesitation, his eyes clouding with worry at the obvious storm raging inside your mind right now.

It almost makes you smile—the fact that he could still read you like an open book. Despite all the pain, all the misunderstanding, all the conflicting emotions that were stirred up amongst both of you, he still worried about you, your thoughts, your nervous habits and your weight.

“My parents came from well-reputed families,” you started, leaning back against the wall. “It was an arranged marriage, a union that was more of a business deal than that of love. They weren’t chaebols or anything but they were well-off and had a long uninterrupted line of sons on my father’s side that always took over the business and carried it forward.”

Baekhyun’s face falls at this, already knowing where this was headed as you continued, “They wanted a boy. When I was born, it was more of a shock than anything. They tried a lot for a second child but my mother had some health issues and there were complications. So they were stuck with me and I was… never enough. I did everything they wanted me to do, always obeying their insane rules and never had any fun the way other kids did. I used to draw a lot from when I was a kid and they would rip my drawings apart, throw my colours away. I’d get into trouble if I didn’t do the homework or scored anything less than hundred on tests. I used to cry at school and my teacher told me that they do it because they love me, because they care. That most parents are strict so the kids will grow to be really smart.”

“So I studied hard. Began to buy separate notebooks to draw in and hide them where they wouldn’t find them. I lived by the rules they made, all through middle school and high school—it was always hell, I was always wishing to get away. I never even dared to like someone as a teenager because I feared what would happen at home if they found out. I didn’t have any friends because they discouraged it, said it was a distraction. They’d decided on the day of my birth that since I couldn’t take over the business, I’d follow the highest position for a woman—medicine. Their words, not mine. So then, I joined medical school and when I had to draw more bodies and organs than the clothes that went on it, I snapped. I had a phase where I stopped attending classes, where I failed all the exams and almost got suspended. It was a highly prestigious school so they called in my parents and they paid heftily to keep me at school, promising that I’d make up for it.”

You pause then, lowering your head and taking a breath since the next thing was particularly difficult to voice out loud.

“That was the second time my father hit me,” you say in a hoarse voice, clearing your throat before continuing, “The first time was in elementary when they found my doodles for the first time on my books. The teacher had sent a note to them, suggesting to join an art class because I drew more than I wrote notes and they beat me till I was black and blue. They told me that art was for idiots, that things like drawing, writing, acting and singing would never get me anywhere in life. After that was when I started my preparation for medical school. After I failed that too, I thought they would understand then or at least try. But they beat me again. And I thought I’d kill myself so, I ran away from home.”

You glance at him, smiling slightly. “That time we were at Tokyo, you were so surprised when I didn’t want to take pictures together under the cherry blossom trees. It’s not because I was cold that night—it’s because cherry blossoms always reminds me of that night I ran out in Korea. They were all I could see when I looked up and they were so pretty that it felt like they were mocking me. That was the first time I wished I could look up at the sky and see the Eiffel Tower, wish that I could be at Paris where I could draw freely and just live for myself.”

“And that’s when I realised that I was going to kill myself when I hadn’t ever lived. Not once, not even for a day, had I lived for myself. It was always for my parents and they never even appreciated my efforts or tried to understand me.”

You look up then, smiling although you couldn’t see him because your eyes were tearing up. “The only time that I lived was when I designed. I had nothing to lose. There was no one to please so I thought I’d fully meet the criteria of such a worthless disappointing child. I started dreaming about Paris and my boutique—I started dreaming of skies where I could look up and see the Eiffel.”

Baekhyun’s expression is unreadable but you continue, “You know the rest from here. I lied about going for classes and instead worked many part-time jobs. I saved up just enough money for one of the cheapest flights to Paris but it wasn’t enough, of course not. I got kicked out of school and I didn’t wait to get kicked out of home too—I used all the money I’d saved to move out instead and started working at Korea. Three years later, about the time all my friends were graduating from college, I finally had enough to go to Paris. For seven months, I struggled and starved and almost died because of how poor I was before my designs finally caught the eye of someone who saw my potential. I became his apprentice.”

You take a deep breath and grabbed the pillow from his bed, hugging it in your lap because your hands were shaking.

“I have a lot of issues with my parents, Baekhyun,” you state aloud, looking at him. “My childhood was traumatic for me and there’s a lot that I’ve been suppressing from when I was a kid. I’m insecure when people show me affection because I’m not used to receiving it, I have anxieties about whether they will leave so I think I should leave first because I always tend to think I don’t deserve whatever love I get. Seoyeon is a clear example of that as my only friend—the only one I’ve trusted enough to get close to me.”

“I moved out of the apartment after you left.” His eyebrows rise at this and you explain, “It felt lonelier when you were gone. It was too big and memories kept haunting me, I was always going crazy with my own thoughts so I decided to move into a smaller place.”

You paused then, inhaling softly as you felt your shoulders lighten like you’d just lifted a burden, one that had been weighing down on you for almost all your life. Feeling your heart race slightly because of the next thing you were going to say, you mentally prepared yourself for all the negative possibilities before continuing.

“I’m going for therapy,” you declare, watching his eyes widen in surprise at this. “Seoyeon told me that if I never deal with my past, it’s always going to affect any relationship that I have. I started almost as soon as you left and all these things I told you, Baekhyun, they’re-they’re just the surface of it. You know that I hate coming back to Korea even though you didn’t know exactly why. Same with the cherry blossom trees. There’s a lot more that I can’t tell you, a lot that I can only tell my therapist because it’s difficult for me to admit it openly, even to myself. But at the same time, these are the things I should have talked to you about, like you told me that night at New York. I let my insecurities get to my head and projected it onto you which was unfair.”

You place the pillow back and stand up then, looking down at him.

“I understand and accept everything you said that night,” you state, Baekhyun gazing up at you unblinkingly. "We don’t have to go public. We never do. I don’t care about that and I don’t think I ever did. The party that night, the way everyone was so welcoming… it made me question if I was even worth standing around such people. If I was worthy of your love and care.”

“And that is not your fault, Baekhyun,” you clearly enunciate, knowing he was going to interrupt with the opposite statement. “Those are just my fears stemming from my shitty childhood. Apparently my first instinct when shown love is to fight and then flee. But I know now that it’s not a matter of worth—you’ve only loved and cared for me, unconditionally, even when I’ve been closed off and so difficult.”

“I…” You trail off, heavy emotion weighing down on your chest suddenly and making you choke on your words as you hoarsely say, “I’ve only known darkness, Baekhyun, so when you shone down on me with all your light, I got blinded. I was an idiot and I fucked up something that was beautiful and the best thing that ever happened to me. But I can see clearer now for the first time in my life and I know better. And I know that I love you. So much that I am even willing to be mysterious Mrs. Byun X forever. No one has to know about us or me and I couldn’t care less.”

You take a breath then, meeting his gaze. “I’m opening the door again, Baek. And I’m giving you the same option I did last time except now, I can promise you that I do not care about being hidden and I also promise to try and fight my demons from wrecking what we have. If we have it again.”

Baekhyun blinks at you, pouty lips parted open as he gapes at you like a fish and you nod, stepping to the door slowly.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” you reassure him, forcing yourself to smile even though you were beyond terrified. “I know it’s a lot to take at once. Manager has the address of my hotel and I’m staying for a week. Or you can just text me, if you don’t want to see me. He has my number too.”

Baekhyun doesn’t say a word and you feel your heart crack slightly in your chest as you nod, biting down on your lip and turn to the door.

Swallowing heavily, you mutter, “Goodbye, Bae—”

You’re spun around by a death grip on your arm then, eyes widening as you look up at Baekhyun standing right in front of you.

“No,” he said, shaking his head as he dragged you back to the bed. He placed his hands on your shoulders and pushed you down forcibly, ordering, “Sit.”

“How can you leave like that?” Baekhyun asked, disbelief colouring his tone. “I didn’t even speak yet.”

You blink at his glare, stammering, “I mean-I just-I didn’t want you to feel pressured—”

“Y/N, it’s been two fucking months,” he snorts, shooting you a look. He retrieves his hands from your shoulders and lowers himself to the floor at your feet.

“You know that you can just sit beside me?” You ask, glaring down at him as a sudden memory flashes vividly in your mind. “Or back on that seat across from me?”

He shrugs as he sits cross-legged, looking up at you. The room’s light was right behind you and it shone down right on his face that made it look like he had stars in his eyes and you wondered if it was bright enough to hurt him.

“I want to look at you,” he says quietly.

“You’re sitting the same way you did that night,” you remind him softly, biting down on your lip.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion before he realises, eyes softening as he takes your hand from your lap slowly.

“I’m not leaving this time,” Baekhyun assured you gently, giving you a small smile as he played with your fingers. He raises his other hand to your face and tugged your lower lip loose from your teeth, shaking his head at you and giving you a warning look, the way he always used to whenever you kept gnawing at your lips.

He sits back and gives you a cheeky smile then. “Technically, I can’t. You came here to the dorms so I don’t really have anywhere to go from here—”

“I missed you,” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. His smile freezes at your words and you blink back the tears gathering furiously as you corrected in a softer tone, “I miss you.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, intertwining your fingers together. He grips your hand tightly and seems to struggle as he forces the next words out, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. Therapy and dealing with everything from your past can’t have been easy. I should have been there, I shouldn’t have left—”

“Baek, no,” you grab his hand holding yours with your other hand, shaking your head vehemently at him. “It’s good that you did. I needed to get my shit together—about me, about us. I needed to do it, it was time.”

He looks into your eyes, voice meek as he asks, “Are you okay?”

You start to nod and he tightens his grip on your hand again as he repeats, “No, Y/N. Really… are you okay?”

You pause, swallowing slightly as you look down at both your hands. “It’s… a lot. There’s a lot that I’m remembering and reliving that I don’t want to. But that’s how I can make peace with it, how I can stop—” You take a shaky breath, choking as you finish, “—stop hurting myself. And stop myself from hurting you.”

“Oh, god, Y/N.” Baekhyun lets go of your hands then, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You still at the sudden unexpected embrace and he pulls you down from the bed onto his lap, hugging you tightly to him.

Your entire body seems frozen as you find yourself on the floor with him, his arms clutching you tightly to him.

“Baek,” you whisper, practically trembling in his arms when you feel his warmth singe into your skin. He is as warm as you remember him and when his scent, your instant comforter, flooded your nose after missing it for what felt like forever—you’re almost ready to cry.

He pulls away to look at you, shaking his head as he whispers, “Please don’t cry, baby, it kills me.”

His hands cup your face and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as you sigh softly. You open your eyes and almost melt when you see the way he’s staring at you.

It reminded you of Paris—the way he looked at you every night when he said ‘goodbye’ at the door of your hotel room, a gaze that lingered and that you were reluctant to break away from.

Despite saying it already, you repeat, “I miss—”

Baekhyun closes the gap between your mouths, his plush lips pressing against yours tenderly as he held your face in his hands. You closed your eyes, responding instantly while your hands fist into the front of his shirt, clutching him tightly as if you were afraid he’d slip away.

He kisses you back just as fervently, holding you gently as if he didn’t want to break you. The kiss tastes as sweet as the first, your heart thudding against your chest and butterflies erupting in your stomach as if it was your first time.

You pull away to breathe with your eyes still closed and he presses his forehead against yours, feeling your breaths intermingle. Your eyelids flutter open and his thumb wipes a stray tear that had streaked down your cheek.

“I missed you too,” he breathes, pressing another kiss to your mouth. He lingers before pulling away, lowering his hands from your face as his eyes meet yours with determination before muttering, “Fuck it.”

You blink. “What?”

“Fuck it. I love you. We’ll make it through this, through everything—my job, your past, everything. We walked into this thinking our biggest problem would be the distance and we’ve overcome that. It’s… it’s fine. I can’t lose you again, Y/N. These two months have been hell, I’ve just been going crazy in here.” Baekhyun takes in a shaky breath, grabbing your hands from his chest and staring at your joined fingers. “Hyungnim told me that you needed some space and I thought it was over so I broke down but then he told me to wait, that you just needed some time. I thought you’d made your decision and the reason you weren’t reaching out was because you didn’t want to… be with me anymore.”

You shake your head and lean forward, kissing him. “That’s not… you know I can’t leave you, Baekhyun.”

“Then don’t.”

You smile, nodding slightly. “I won’t.” You hesitate, biting your lower lip as you ask timidly, “Does this mean that you’re walking in through the open door again?”

He smiles then, cheeks puffing and eyes shining as he replies, “Well, you know what they say. Love is an open door.”

“Literally betrayed her and left her to die but okay, Hans,” you tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” He grins, releasing your hands and wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you into his chest. “Then… oh, right. Paris. Love is your open arms.”

You roll your eyes teasingly, snorting, “Always so cheesy.”

“Shut up, you love it.” Baekhyun drops a kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes, smiling at how much you’d missed the gesture—genuinely smiling with your heart feeling full for the first time in months. Your veins that had gone numb after so much time apart finally felt alive, filling with the ethereal golden rays as he basked you in his contagious warmth.

Your sunshine.

[pilot-boi]

Five Injuries Hidden: Chapter One

A little look into the extents that Jaune would go for his team, his friends, his family. Did he maybe go a little too far at times? Maybe. Is it really necessary for him to get medical attention and actually heal his injuries? Probably. Will he ever stop gladly throwing himself on top of the wire to protect even one of them? Definitely not.

Maybe he should actually let them help him when he goes too far and gets hurt in their stead. But for that to happen, they’d have to know about the hits that he keeps taking for them, which they don’t and never will. And what they don’t know won’t kill them.

But… It might kill him if he isn’t careful.

((I keep forgetting Aura is a thing, so don’t mind me giving him injuries that he shouldn't really be able to get. Set vaguely between V5 and V6.))

Oscar

Jaune’s never had a baby brother before, so he can be forgiven for being just a little bit more protective than he really needs to be, right?

AO3 LINK

It was pouring

Not an innocent little sprinkle either, oh no. It was a torrential downpour.

The water kept getting in his hair and washing it down into his face. Who needs eyesight anyway? That wasn’t necessary, right?

And to think, he had been having such a nice day, too.

A wild shout snapped Jaune out of his thoughts, and he snapped up his sword to block the clumsy swipe of the Ursa’s paw, the resounding clang leaving a faint ringing in his ears. A grin made its way onto the  soaked knight’s face as he batted the offending limb away with his shield and slashed across with his blade to decapitate it.

Whipping his head around, Jaune quickly scanned the impromptu battle field for his friends. His family. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Yang’s joked in the back of his head about counting heads like a teacher on a field trip, but he paid it no mind.

Relief swept through him as he saw that they all had their battles well in hand. Yang and Nora even seemed to be making a game out of it, shouting out the number of kills to each, both trying to one up the other. Their partners were taking it more seriously, but Jaune could see Blake smiling in amusement and hear the laugh tinging Ren’s words.

Ruby and Weiss were dashing around each other, working like a perfectly oiled machine. Glyphs would appear for Ruby to run on, perfectly timed for her to take out a truly obscene amount of Grimm with one strike. As he watched, he even saw Oscar take out a Beowulf singlehanded.

Jaune couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest.

Shaking his sopping wet out of his eyes -in vain, apparently, as it simply slid right back after he swept it away for the millionth time- a movement in the trees caught his eye by complete chance. Red glowing eyes and feathers flickered from branch to branch. 

Whipping his head around, Jaune zeroed in on a hidden Nevermore. It must have been drawn by the strife of the combat. With a screech it launched itself from the trees and reared back its wings to launch its feathers like throwing daggers.

Aiming directly at Oscar. Oscar, who still had trouble remembering to keep his Aura up. His brother. His baby brother.

Everything seemed to slow as his mind’s eye worked out just what he was seeing. He quietly pushed away the rage that bubbled up, and sought the cool planning mindset that had saved him and his friends time and again. Jaune would have time for anger later -because how dare that monster even think of laying a feather on Oscar Pine- because he had more immediate problems.

For one, and most immediately, that he would not be able to warn Oscar in time. No, the stupid bird was already locked and loaded onto Oscar, and by the time he warned him, there could be a feather a foot long skewered through his chest.

So, that brought his options down to only one. One acceptable solution. If that arrow was going to hit anyone, it was going to be him.

As he came to that conclusion, everything rushed back into full motion.

The Nevermore loosed its feathers like a hailstorm.

Oscar heard the noise and turned to see what was flying towards him.

Their friends yelled out in warning. Weiss threw up a wall a moment too late. Ruby jumped into a cloud of petals.

And Jaune slammed Oscar -his little brother, dammit stupid bird would pay for that- out of the way, his momentum carrying them both mostly out of the path of the barrage. Mostly.

Jaune was never so happy to have a soaking wet red sash tied around his middle than at that moment. It hid injuries quite well.

Hiding a grimace of pain as something just short of agony raced across his lower ribs, Jaune quickly checked over Oscar for injuries. His Aura flared up in his hands, liquid light pouring down into any possible imaginary injuries the boy could have. “Are you okay?! It didn’t get you, did it?”

Oscar shook himself out of his shocked stupor, blinking dazedly. “N-no. I’m fine. Thanks Jaune.”

Jaune breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping, before they raised back up rigidly and his shield spiraled back out to cover them both. “Wait, what about the Nevermore?!”

Ren laid a calming hand on Jaune’s shoulder. “Not to worry. Ruby and Weiss are taking care of it. Are you alright, Jaune?”

A sharp sting lanced across his ribs. Couldn’t spare Aura for an injury he didn’t know the extent of. What if he needed to heal someone? “Yeah, sure, I’m fine! Do you think you could check over Oscar to make sure that it really missed him?”

Ren tilted his head to one side in confusion and crouched down beside them both. “I saw you using your Semblance, but it you’re sure-”

“Guys, I’m fine! Not even bruised anymore thanks to you,” Oscar reassured him.

“You got him to the ground before the others even took off after the rest of the Grimm,” Ren reminded Jaune, ignoring the knight’s skeptical expression. “You did well, Jaune.”

“My ‘good enough’ almost wasn’t good enough.” Jaune slumped tiredly, resisting the urge to sling his arm across his torso to cover the angry welt he could feel. “I’m just relieved I saw it in time.”

Oscar punched him lightly in the arm, and then shook out his fingers from punching his metal armor. Jaune didn’t even notice the hit, but he noticed the reprimand. “Come on, stop that. Please! You saved me, you made it. I’m right here, on the ground, safe and sound.”

“Yeah, what he said!” Ruby called as she waded through the semi-dense brush, the tell tale smoke of dead Grimm dripping and seeping off the scythe leaning on her shoulder.

Good. The thing was dead. Jaune tried not to feel so satisfied about that.

Nora bounced out from behind her and slung an arm across Jaune’s shoulders, unknowingly aggravating Jaune’s side. “C’mon fearless leader, cheer up! Everything turned out a-okay. Now, what do ya say we all finish up here and go get something to eat, huh?”

Jaune heartily agreed, and soon they were all back in Mistral proper. Qrow, slung across the couch with one arm covering his eyes, grumbled when their troop stomped inside covered in mud and shouting to each other. 

Excusing himself with the plea of exhaustion, Jaune snagged the first-aid kit from the kitchen and sequestered himself into his and Oscar’s shared room. And with a wince, he finally took in the extent of the damage.

The less said about the torturous removing of his armor and soaked through clothing, the better.

A long, angry red mark was gouged across his side, right under his rib cage, and a dark, grim looking bruise covered from just above the severe laceration all the way down to the top of his hip. 

He stared at it for several long seconds, debating whether to heal it or not. Who knows what they’d be doing over the next couple days. Could he afford to leave it? Or could he afford to siphon off precious Aura to heal himself, when he might need it for the others?

After far too long, he settled on cleaning it out first and figuring it out later.

Biting back the few curse words he knew, mostly from Yang, he quickly balled up the cleanest, least muddy piece of his shirt before biting down on it, effectively blocking any yelps that would be sure to somehow slip past the firm barrier he had paced against them.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, his side protesting fiercely, and gathering up all his courage, Jaune tore open a sterile package and applied the large antiseptic patch found within.

The world whited out.

Suddenly, in some part of his brain that was untouched by overwhelming agony, he was very, very glad that he had taken the precautions to stop anyone from seeing or hearing him. Locking the door behind him had been an afterthought born from years of sibling life, but now he was so very glad that he took the second to do so.

After all, he couldn’t have someone walking in on him feeling like he was dying, now could he?

He used to like rainy days.

Somehow pulling himself back together out of the sheer force of will, he finished cleaning out the gash. He channeled a sliver of Aura into the injury and watched as it stitched himself up into a barely healed slash, still surrounded by bruising. Just enough to stop the bleeding.

Taking a moment to center himself, he spit his shirt out of his mouth and finished up by wrapping a loop of gauze around his middle and over the still extremely tender wound.

Finished. Now he could die in peace. Didn’t they say that death was eternal rest? Yeah. He could go for an eternal nap right about now.

Sadly, that wasn’t in the cards for Jaune at the moment. Briefly mourning the fact that he couldn’t stay seated on his bedroom floor with stray medical supplies strewn about forever, Jaune mentally shook himself off and begrudgingly started cleaning up any evidence of this little escapade. 

His dirty shirt got tossed right into the laundry, along with the bloody soaked and slightly-more-tattered sash. Hopefully nobody would notice the extra holes in the latter.

That done, and knowing that Oscar at the very least would undoubtedly be coming by soon, Jaune quickly pulled a new shirt over his head to hide the remaining evidence, i.e. his injury. 

It was quick for him, but really he walked slowly with shuffling steps, as his side strongly rebelled against the thought of doing anything fast other than sleeping. So he shucked off his soaking wet jeans, tossed them into the pile with his shirt and sash, tugged on a pair of sweatpants, and collapsed painfully into his bed.

No training tonight. Sorry, Pyrrha, but he didn’t think he’d manage to wake up to his alarm no matter how loud he set it. And setting it loud enough to wake the others was a no-go. Jaune felt so exhausted that he doubted even his nightmares would be enough to wake him.

Don’t get him wrong, Jaune didn’t regret what he did. He never would. You could scour his soul for eternity, and you would never find even a slightest shade of remorse for doing what he had done to save Oscar, the little brother he’d never had. 

This result was the optimal one. That’s what he did, he crunched the numbers. And the numbers would always come to this result, without question. Jaune would gladly relive this entire horrible, muddy, rainy day a million times if it meant that Oscar would come out of it uninjured. 

In fact, he would willingly do this for any of his friends, his family, the family he’d found and made and cobbled together. This family that was a little damaged and cracked, but that had dragged him out of the darkest time in his life without a second thought and without asking for anything in return. 

A debt that Jaune could never begin to repay. Not that he’d ever stop trying. He hadn’t been grateful enough when they’d been doing it, so he was doubly grateful for them sticking with it and not giving up on him like he’d so dearly wanted them to.

So he’d do anything for them. Anything at all. With absolutely no hesitation at all. If any of their lives were on the line, there were really no numbers to be crunched. This decision was a no-brainer.

Hands down, no questions asked.

[androgynoussublimeangel]

The Price of Freedom (Chpt.1)

AO3

Summary: 

Alastor isn't sure what's gotten into their resident drug-addicted pornstar but something is different about the determined set of his shoulders and a vengeful glint in his eyes. And just where does he keep slipping off to each day returning with more money than any prostitute could make in a single day.

Alastor is beginning to realize Angel Dust might not be the demon Alastor assumed him to be. And has he always had a trio of strange imps following him around?

But Alastor isn't one to miss out on what could prove to be some very promising entertainment.

*

Angel wanted his freedom. The freedom that Valentino had stolen before Angel even knew what freedom was. He’d spent his whole lifetime being trapped under someone else's control, first his father’s, then his drug dealers, then his clients. Now that he was dead he’d only traded one pair of shackles for another.

As long as Valentino had power, Angel knew he’d never have more than a gilded cage. And Angel was fucking tired of cages. But the overlord wasn’t going to just give up his throne willingly.

But Angel wasn't going to give up without a fight.

With a final horse scream, Angel toppled to the floor, pained tremors wracking his limp body. Flinching as Vox roughly tore his cords from the base of his skull. The TV demon carelessly kicking the prostitutes' prone form as he stepped over him. Angel could only moan softly in pain, his long limbs curling inwards cradling his still trembling body. Barely aware of the sound of the door opening behind him.

“Sorry for the wait Angel Cakes,” Valentino’s smoky voice prickled unpleasantly over Angel’s still pain addled consciousness. Angel blinked blurrily up at the looming figure of his pimp. “Just took Vox a lot longer to find what we were looking for in that empty fucking brain of yours. Don’t know how you find anything in there babe.” The other demons voice dripping with cruel amusement. Digging the toe of his shoe into Angel’s sore ribs. His sharp smile twisting as the pornstar whimpered, trying to wiggle away uselessly.

“Must be all that shit you’re always snorting, might wanna lay off the angel dust, sweetheart.”

Valentino laughed sadistically, sidestepping his employee’s crumpled body, striding towards his desk with Vox following close behind. The overlord settling into his overly luxurious chair, carved from ebony wood with gold inlays and lined with crimson velvet, auspicious enough to be called a throne.

Angel had always thought it looked less like a symbol of the overlord's power and more like he was overcompensating. Not that he ever dared share that with Valentino.

The pimp steepled his fingers together, propping his feet atop his enormous desk. The TV demon standing to Valentino left, screen flickering as a cruel grin warped his face. The lights leaking through the enormous penthouse windows haloing the overlords in neon colors.

“But Vox is the best at what he does,” Valentino smirked at his fellow overlord, the smirk growing wider as the other demon cackled in response. Angel tried to lift his head, weakly glaring at his boss, eyes still unfocused and vision blurring at the edges. Still fuzzy from Vox’s invasion of his mind.

“Come on Angie, baby, don’t be that way. You forced my hand sweetheart, I couldn’t trust you to remember to tell me everything.” The pimp scolded, voice thick with false sweetness. “Just like I’m sure it slipped your mind to mention your whole little “going-clean” schtick.” His smile dropping suddenly, eyes steely. “I don’t appreciate learning about my employee's apparent plans to quit from those fucking pigs running the news.”

Angel shuddering under the force of the overlord's anger, the air practically pulsating from the power exuding from the pimp. Forcing his aching body upright, legs still too weak to hold his weight. His lower set of arms wrapped protectively around his throbbing torso. Valentino’s enraged expression becoming pleased at the sight of Angel’s pained grimace. His face twisting into a pseudo-sweet smile.

“But you’re ain’t gonna quit are you, Angel?” The pimp crooned. Legs falling from his desk as he leaned forward in his chair. Propping his elbows on the desktop and hooking his chin on his intertwined fingers. Glowing red eyes watching the prostitute expectantly, dark promises flickering behind the tinted lenses of heart-shaped glasses. Angel swallowed back the disgust curling in his throat.

“No daddy.” He replied obediently. Eyes downcast and posture demure, the perfect picture of compliance.

“Good, good, we wouldn’t want to have to punish you again now would we.” Angel shook his head vehemently, ignoring the splitting headache pounding behind his eyes. Valentino hummed in satisfaction as he leaned back into the plush velvet lining his chair.

“Now,” The overlord purred, the tapping of his nails against the armrest of his chair deafening in the quiet room. “You wanna explain to me what all this ‘redemption’ bullshit is about?”

Angel didn’t reply. Refusing to look at the overlord.

Valentino sighed, rising smoothly to his feet, sauntering over to Angel’s kneeling form. Angel gazed up at the other man, fighting to not flinch away from the hand that began petting his hair. “How ‘bout I make this easier,”

The clawed hand that had been carding through his hair suddenly gripping a fistful of white locks. Angel winced as his head was yanked back, Valentino’s sharp teeth suddenly inches from his face. “What makes you think you’re even worthy of redemption?” The pimp growled, ignoring Angel uselessly clawing at the hand tangled in his hair.

“A stupid, worthless, whore like yourself, whose only redeeming quality is your cock-hungry holes.”

Angel averted his eyes, unable to hold Valentino’s hateful gaze as verbal poison spilled from the pimps lips. A sudden sharp grip on his chin wrenched his face forward, Valentino’s claws digging harshly into the soft flesh of Angel’s cheeks. The overlord forcibly lifting Angel’s body upwards with his tight grip. The pornstar whimpering but knowing better than to retaliate.

“You look me in the fucking eye when I’m talking to you!” Valentino snarled, eyes flashing before his expression relaxed, melting back into a saccharine sweet smile.

“You just can’t do anything right can you dollface?” A drop of blood sliding down Angel's cheek where Valentino’s claw pricked his cheek. “So fucking useless huh, that dumb royal bitch didn’t know what she was doing picking your pathetic ass to be a part of her stupid pet project.”

The bitter taste of copper filling Angel’s mouth as he bit harshly into his lip to stop himself from spitting in the overlord's face. Surprised by the force of his own anger as Valentino mocked Charlie’s dream. Girl was as naive as they came but she genuinely wanted to see the best in everyone, she truly believed demons could be redeemed. She believed Angel could be redeemed.

The overlord noticed the defiant spark in the pornstar's eyes, his grin growing sharper until he was baring his teeth more than he was smiling.

“Oh this is rich,” The pimp laughed through his teeth, still gripping Angel Dust’s hair. Valentino smirked over his shoulder at Vox, shaking Angel roughly by his hair. “This little bitch actually believes in this redemption shit.” Vox’s snickering joined Valentino’s own cruel chuckling.

“Let me make one thing clear, Angel.” Valentino’s voice dropped to a hiss, his face inches from Angel’s. Close enough that Angel could taste the other man’s alcohol tainted breath. “Even if redemption wasn’t a load of horseshit, you’d never have a chance in hell. You wanna know why angel cakes?”

The overlord drew back to his full height, sneering down his nose at Angel. “Cuz your nothing. You ain’t worth nothing to nobody. Even your own family down here doesn’t want you. The only reason you’re not dead in a fucking ditch is because of me.”

Angel winced as the nails pricking his cheeks dug deeper into the soft flesh. “Who do you belong to Angel cakes?”

“You.” Angel’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“That’s right, and I’ve got your contract to prove it.” Valentino releasing his intense grip on both Angel’s face and hair sending the pornstar toppling to the floor again.

“Now get out, I’m sick of looking at your face.” The pimp spun on his heel, returning to his seat without a backward glance at the trembling demon struggling to stand. Angel tottered dangerously but managed to get his legs underneath himself, one arm still cradling his slowly mending ribs. Angel was half-way out the door hand hovering on the door handle when the sound of Valentino’s voice caused him to pause. “Oh, and Angel?”

Angel Dust glanced warily over his shoulder. “Next time, you answer me when I call, got it, babe?”

“Yes, boss.”

The door closed with a click.

Angel kept his head held high, marching to the elevator. The moment the doors slid closed behind him, Angel all but collapsed against them. Exhaling deeply, wincing as a sharp jab of pain from his protesting ribs, Angel groaned. Valentino had really put him through the wringer this time. Angel knew he’d be sore for weeks but the pimp always made sure he’d still be able to work. Never leaving an injury that couldn’t regenerate in a few hour's time. Didn’t want to damage the merchandise after all.

Mutilation wasn’t Val’s style anyway, the sadistic roach preferred to aim for where the skin was thinnest. He always knew which bruises to dig his fingers into. Valentino was equally as fond of emotional abuse as he was of inflicting physical pain. The pimp overlord was able to ascertain someone's most emotionally vulnerable cracks and once he did, he’d ruthlessly pry those cracks open until whatever was left was practically unrecognizable.

Angel moaned softly as the elevator jolted, his sore body complaining at the rough treatment. He silently willed it to descend faster, he was itching to get the hell out of there before he suffocated under the weight of Val's overwhelming presence.

This wasn’t his first time getting on his boss’s bad side. He’d seen the back of Valentino's hand more than once. It was rare if he was without a bruise or two, either from his clients or his pimp. It was one of the unfortunate side effects of being covered entirely in velvety fur. A lot easier to hide bruises, which Val seemed to take as a challenge.

Angel could handle pain, he even enjoyed it in the right scenarios. Even as Valentino’s punishments grew more and more brutal. Angel could handle him.

Vox was a different story.

Vox was the kind of demon Angel hated the most, though Valentino was a close second. He even preferred Alastor and his creepy smile over the TV demon. Despite Angel’s previous unawareness about the radio demon, Vaggie’s very vivid and detailed story of other demons ventures painted a clear picture.

Alastor was direct, merciless and efficient. Alastor slaughtered demons but his bloodlust was simple and honest. The radio demon even seemed to have some weird moral code about who he killed. Despite his terrifying abilities and rumored cannibalism, he wasn’t a mindless killer.

Unlike Vox and Valentino who enjoyed causing pain just for the sake of pain. Heedless of who they hurt as they made an overblown show of power through senseless and gratuitous killing.

Angel had always found Vox’s unique brand of torture was invasive, cowardly, and unrefined. The TV demon wielded the numerous cords connected to his body and at the slightest inclination could bury them deep in his victims' flesh. Vox’s powers granted him the ability to forcibly search someone's mind, which was painful in it itself. But he could also forcibly create a recurring nightmare of traumatic memories that played on a loop.

Angel had one of Vox’ victims who’d been plugged in for over a week, reliving their darkest moments again and again. They’d been barely more than an empty husk of a demon, eyes empty and blank, completely unresponsive. It had scared Angel badly enough at the time he’d behaved for an entire year.

This wasn’t even the first time Valentino had felt Angel’s disobedience merited Vox’s intervention, but it wasn’t usually as unbearable. Normally Angel was so strung out on whatever cocktail of drugs he was offered it was barely more than a, particularly bad nightmare. A bad dream that would be forgotten easily enough as soon as Angel Dust got his hands on more of his namesake.

But this time Angel had been completely stone-cold sober.

Each excruciating second had been in agonizing clarity. The feeling of Vox forcibly entering his mind had felt like his head was being split open from the inside and left his brain feeling like it’d been scraped raw with sandpaper. Painful memories lingering too close to the surface after being buried underneath the haze of drugs and sex for so long.

Angel shuddered, moments of his past life that he’d tried his best to forget flashing behind his eyelids. Shaking his head, trying to rid himself from the lingering horrors Vox dredged up from his own mind. He only succeeds in further agitating his throbbing headache.

The elevator dinged and Angel stumbled backward as the doors slid open. Catching himself on the wall with a groan, Angel whined unhappily as he clambered back to his feet. Brushing off imaginary dust from his jacket and smoothing back his hair, only for it to bounce forward again.

Beginning his trek down the hall, eyes brushing over familiar faces of other demons trapped underneath Valentino’s thumb. Some offered him sympathetic looks but otherwise didn’t approach. Angel couldn’t bring himself to be offended. After all, they all knew Valentino would only use it as an excuse to punish him again.

Angel took in the tired faces of all the demons that passed him, everyone looking a little worse for wear since he’d been here last. It had been a few days since he was released from house arrest, or would it be hotel arrest Angel wonders, after his little territorial genocide stint with Cherri. Charlie (only after Vaggie’s very loud protest) had insisted there be some kind of punishment for his actions. If it could be called that, Angel would take a few days of lazing around with his pig over Valentino’s punishment anytime.

Angel sure as hell didn’t believe in redemption or any of that “being a good person” bullshit Charlie was always trying to sell him. But looking at the haggard faces of the demons around him he felt a twinge of concern for them. They weren’t good people that was for damn sure but a lot of them weren’t exactly bad people either.

Angel huffed, cursing Charlie for infecting him with her mushy feelings and empathy. He shuddered just thinking the word. This would be so much easier drugged out of his mind and completely unaware of anything besides his own high.

Drawing closer to the rear exit of the studio Angel straightened his hunched posture, the ache in his ribs finally having subsided somewhat as the bones mended. It would ache like a bitch for a few days at least but nothing Angel wasn’t used too. He’d just have to avoid his left side when he was on the pole.

He exited the studio quickly, striding down the alleyway, eager to get as far away from the building as possible. He wanted to get back to the hotel, where he at least had a room that wasn’t monitored 24/7 and he didn’t have to worry about anyone trying to sell Fat Nuggets for drug money while he was gone.

He paused mid-step, eyes catching on a garishly colored image splashed across the alleyway wall. Angel glared up at, what was no doubt the work of one of Valentino’s, admittedly talented, goons. An enormous portrait of Valentino’s sleazy face splashed across the alley wall. It practically dwarfed him, nearly twice Angel’s height and wider than his arm span.

Standing there, glaring up at the pimps painted likeness. Skin tacky from the cold sweat drying on his skin, breathing slowly growing more ragged with each breath. Angel felt a powerful tidal wave of emotion well up inside him. All four of his hands curling tightly into fists, his claws digging painfully into his palms.

A sudden familiar, grating voice boomed over the loudspeaker causing Angel to jump in surprise. Grimacing in disgust as one of Valentino’s many degrading “reminders” that played on an hourly loop echoed through the studio, leaking into the alleyway.

“Remember to serve your customers with a smile, a happy customer is a paying customer. Now go out and make daddy his money you worthless whores.”

Valentino’s voice wrapping tightly around Angel, slowly constricting around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. Just another reminder of who he belonged to.

The thin thread of Angel’s temper finally snapped.

A loud crack reverberated through the alley. Angel’s fist burying itself in the brick wall, directly in the center of Valentino’s smarmy painted smile. Long, jagged cracks spidering across the surface obscuring the image of Valentino’s grinning face entirely.

Angel’s entire form trembled with rage, the fury burning inside him climbing higher and higher. A small flame of indignity that had spent centuries growing into a blazing inferno of hatred and savage determination.

Angel wanted his freedom. The freedom that Valentino had stolen before Angel even knew what freedom was. He’d spent his whole lifetime being trapped under someone else's control, first his father’s, then his drug dealers, then his clients. Now that he was dead he’d only traded one pair of shackles for another.

As long as Valentino had power, Angel knew he’d never have more than a gilded cage. And Angel was fucking tired of cages. But the overlord wasn’t going to just give up his throne willingly.

Angel tugged his fist free from the brick and mortar wall, unflinching despite his now bloodied and broken knuckles. They would heal quickly enough anyway. Angel wanted his freedom, but there was only one way to get it. It wasn’t going to be easy, and Angel knew he might die trying, but he’d already made up his mind. A sharp, determined grin spread across Angel Dust’s lips.

He was going to kill Valentino.

[hiddendreamer67]

Borrower Analogical (13)

Chapter Summary: November 23rd, 2019. Patton decides to bring Virgil a peace offering. 

...Wait what? Okay somewhere those dates definitely got off whoops my b. I’ll have to look into that. The summaries are correct though. Also I’m counting this as 2. Cage for my October Prompts.

(Check my reblog for links to the previous chapters)

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Patton had been avoiding his bedroom, to the point where he had spent last night on the couch. When Roman found him there Patton lied and said he must have fallen asleep after a movie, but this was not the case. Patton just didn’t want to face Virgil yet.

Patton didn’t know what to do about it. Virgil could talk. Virgil had a name. What kind of creature- what kind of person- was Virgil, anyways? How could Patton respect Virgil and get to know him without letting the little guy get hurt?

Meanwhile, Virgil was a nervous wreck. He had taken to pacing back and forth, his mind racing to try and guess at what the humans might be doing. Patton hadn’t been back since he had overheard Virgil’s name. And now Virgil was going to suffer for it. Surely Patton told Roman about him by now. The two were probably conspiring some way to torture him into talking again. That night was where Virgil went wrong, wasn’t it? He was so stupid, thinking the human was asleep-!

The bedroom door creaked open, and Virgil whirled around to meet his fate. His frantic eyes met Patton’s surprised ones.

“O-oh!” Patton exclaimed, not expecting to see Virgil up and about. Usually he was so reserved, sitting in his corner. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Patton walked towards his desk, but with every step he took forward it seemed Virgil took a step back. Soon Virgil was pressed against the back bars of the cage. Patton sighed, taking a seat.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Virgil.” Patton’s use of Virgil’s own name caused the borrower to wince, remembering his failures. 

Patton noticed Virgil’s response. “Do you...I mean, is it alright if I call you Virgil?”

Virgil paused for a moment. He slowly nodded. After all, if he was going to die at least he’d die not being called something like Angel.

“Okay.” Patton reached forwards, putting his key into the lock. Before he could even turn it Virgil flinched, covering his face.

“No!” Virgil protested, hearing the creak of the cage door. He waited for those gloved hands to squeeze around him.

“It’s okay!” Patton tucked his arms back under the desk, leaving the cage open. “I’m not going to grab you, I promise.” Patton hadn’t even brought his gloves this time.

Virgil slowly opened his eyes, noticing the lack of crushing pressure on his ribs. He peeked out. Sure enough, the cage door was wide open and Patton’s hands were out of sight.

“I...figured you’d still like some time out.” Patton explained at Virgil’s confused look. “It’s probably not very comfortable in there.” 

No, it’s not. Virgil thought to himself, but he was still wary of this situation. It was definitely a trap. Virgil just couldn’t figure out how.

Still, if he knew it was a trap, Virgil would just stay on his toes. He couldn’t waste this opportunity. At the very least, some time to walk around would allow Virgil to better map out an escape plan. And if Patton got distracted, maybe he could even execute that plan?

Patton watched, transfixed as Virgil approached the cage opening and poked his head out to look around. Apparently deeming it safe, Virgil climbed out onto the wooden surface. 

The moment he was free Virgil quickly backpedaled towards the back of the desk, keeping as much distance between himself and the human as possible. The distance was still far too short for his liking.

“That’s it.” Patton said in a soft encouraging tone, glad that Virgil had come out despite the fact he was afraid. “I just want to talk to you, kiddo.”

...oh no, it’s a conversation trap. Virgil groaned internally, looking around out of the corner of his eye at the various textbooks sat pressed against the back wall. Would he be able to duck behind any of them? He wanted out of this interaction now. Unfortunately there were no large enough cracks anywhere, so Virgil just sunk to the ground in front of the books and tried to appear small.

“Oh, and I brought you some food.” Patton pulled his hand up over the desk just long enough to set the plate down on the desk before returning his hands to his lap. It was pancakes, just like Patton had made the other day. Except these pancakes were as small as Patton could make them. They also weren’t burnt.

Virgil looked at the food, still able to see steam rising off the top. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yesterday. Unfortunately, going to get food meant getting much closer to the human. 

“They’re best when they’re still warm.” Patton said, noticing Virgil’s hesitation.

Slowly, keeping a careful eye on Patton, Virgil got up and began to inch closer to the plate. When Patton didn’t move, Virgil quickly grabbed one and dashed back to his spot. Only once he was there did he allow himself to take a bite.

Virgil bit back a groan. This was delicious. The borrower never had warm food before. This buttery treat melted on his tongue, leaving him feeling warm and satisfied. All too soon the pancake was gone. Virgil looked forlornly at the rest of the pile, still so far away.

“Oh, go ahead!” Patton, noticing Virgil’s gaze, nudged the plate closer to Virgil. “Take as many as you like.”

So Virgil did. At first he kept running back and forth with the pancakes, but after a while Virgil realized that was pointless. Patton wasn’t moving. The only thing Virgil was doing was tiring himself out and making it take longer for pancakes to get in his mouth.

Virgil sat down next to the plate, sitting cross-legged as he grabbed the little fluffy disks. Each one was only as big as his face. Virgil always thought they were bigger. Had Patton made them small...just for him?

As his belly slowly filled up, Virgil wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Though the pancakes were appreciated, Virgil was still suspicious of Patton’s attention towards him. But should he be? Even after Patton had learned his name, all Patton had done so far was give him space and fed him warm food. 

“...thank you.” Virgil said quietly, deciding Patton at least deserved manners. 

“You’re welcome.” Patton gave him a small smile. Virgil had eaten a lot, he must have been starving. Or he just really liked pancakes. Patton made a mental note to make him as many pancakes as he desired. 

“So...Virgil…” Patton tried to approach the topic gently, hoping Virgil would be more cooperative now that he was fed. “If you don’t mind me asking … what exactly are you?”

Virgil tensed, immediately clamming up again. Of course Patton wasn’t just being nice; Patton had just been buttering him up. 

“It’s just, I’ve never met something-er, someone- like you before.” Patton continued, trying not to feel discouraged as Virgil got up to stalk back to his corner. “And I don’t want to be rude and pry, but if you just told me about yourself I could-”

“No.” Virgil’s boldness surprised even himself as he interrupted the human, sulking with his arms crossed. 

“No?” Patton repeated. “Come on, Virgil, please stop shutting me out. I’m just trying to help you.”

“No!” Virgil stopped his foot, feeling enraged. “You, you can’t just feed me food and, and let me walk around a few feet and expect me to spill my life’s story, alright? I don’t…” Virgil trailed off, remembering he was still talking to a giant human bean. He gulped, hugging his chest.

“...you don’t what?” Patton prompted gently. This was the most Virgil had ever spoken, ever, and Patton was desperate to hear what he had to say.

“I don’t...want to talk about it.” Virgil finished lamely. He had originally had a few choice names in mind to call the human, but now that just felt foolish. Virgil knew better than to purposefully anger a human. 

“...okay.” Patton sighed, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice but failing. He had been so close to learning more about Virgil, and then he screwed it up at the last second by asking the wrong question. “Sorry.”

Virgil froze, for a moment confused by the sincerity in the human’s apology. It was almost...Virgil grit his teeth. No, it was just a trick, intended to get Virgil to open up. He was so stupid, letting his emotions get the better of him like that to the point where he almost spilled everything. He had to protect Logan, as much as he could, and make sure that nobody else suffered the same hell they both been dragged into and left to drown.

No, Virgil assured himself that the human wouldn’t be getting another word out of him. Instead the borrower stalked back into the cage, not in the mood to be manhandled into submission again. At least the cage made sense. The bars were a good reminder of where he was- trapped at a human’s mercy. It wasn’t like that was going to change any time soon.

Virgil could feel the human’s eyes on him, obviously. It sent an icy feeling down his spine to turn his back to him, so the second Virgil was inside he hunched up his shoulders and gave the human a defiant glare. 

Go on then. Virgil challenged him mentally. He knew the kindness was just an act. Any moment now the door would lock, shutting Virgil back into his personal hell. 

Patton opened his mouth, looking torn and ready to say something. He closed it, then open again. Over and over, caught in indecision. His hand stretched out, slowly, and frankly Virgil wished he would just get it over with; in a strange way, Virgil felt more vulnerable with the cage door open. Exposed. At least when Virgil was locked in, the world was locked out.

Finally, Patton gave a sigh, clearly having made up his mind. 

The cage door closed with its signature click.