#I have. 510 words right now but that’s better than what I had before- and I’m writing it whilst allowing myself more freedom

[plugnuts]

Huh. I guess what got me actually writing my fic was 1. Be really tired and 2. Be really bored

[nhularin]

WHATS YOUR ETA ?

PAIRING sunghoon x reader GENRE lovers to exes, angst no comfort, highschool AU, newjeans as ur bffs LOL SYNOPSIS your friends have warned you about him, will you listen to them now? WARNINGS infidelity WC 510 words EXTRA i wrote this drabble like an hour after the song came out

❕series masterlist

July 21, 1998

YOUR HEART POUNDED IN YOUR CHEST as you entered the bustling party. the dim lights and thumping music created a mood that momentarily distracted you from your worries. But as you walked further into the crowd, your eyes locked with a sight you hoped youd never see.

there he was, sunghoon, surrounded by a group of people, laughing and enjoying himself.

He stood at the center of attention, surrounded by friends, his charm undeniable. your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the girl everyone had warned you about, whispering in his ear and casting flirty glances his way.

It was like a knife to the heart. you felt a mix of anger, disgust and betrayal wash over you as you watched him flirt with her, completely disregarding you existence. your messages and calls went unanswered, drowned out by the chaotic noise of the party. you beat yourself up for not noticing the red flags sooner: when he forced you to watch him play his video games on your best friend's birthday, or the time he was dressed suspiciously well at the news of your classmate's presence.

tears welled in your eyes but you quickly wiped them away as you plucked up the courage to approach him, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. you navigated your way through the crowd, your gaze fixed forward. you may have been cheated on, but you knew better than letting it consume you

" sunghoon" you let out coldly, trying to conceal the wobbliness in your voice. though it was barely audible over the lively chatter and loud music. his eyes met yours, a flicker of guilt that passed too quickly for anyone else to notice.

"y/n..! let me explain-" he started, but you were having none of it. you scoffed to yourself. all the times your friends have warned you about his infidelity, you just dismissed them, because that wasn't your sunghoon. the one in front of you wasnt either.

In that moment, you made a silent promise to yourself. you wouldn't be defined by his actions, nor would you allow his betrayal to consume you. Instead, you would rise above it, to a place where my worth was undeniable. A place where his deceit would be a mere blip on the radar.

Without another word, you turned away from the party, feeling the weight of his absence grow lighter with each step. As you walked into the night, a rush of freedom coursed through your veins, a sense of clarity that had eluded you for far too long.

you pulled out your phone, the colorful wallpaper of your chat contrasting the chilly and dull summer night, and opened your group chat.

"you were right" you started, "you were so damn right". you didnt realise that tears, now filled with anger instead of sadness, dripping onto your screen. with a shaky breath you sent your last message before leaving the boy you thought you loved behind

"i've reached my ETA"

[afterdarkprincess]

I see you're taking little requests... 1, 11, or 19 for the kiss prompts for hartbreak. I will die. 💞💞💞

Sorry this is so late!!! I got a little creative with the prompt but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!! 💕

between comfort and chaos Pairing: Shawn Michaels/Bret Hart Word Count: 510 Rating: Mature tags for @harmshake @imabillyami @southerngirl41 @elementaldoughnut12 @feelschicken @jeysbvck @ambreignsfan4life (If anyone else would like to be tagged in fics please let me know)

💕💕💕💕

Rain pours outside, drowning out anything that Shawn might need to be worried about. He’s warm, tucked into soft hotel sheets. Deft fingers work their way through his curls, detangling the mess that was left after he washed it. He’s always loved getting his hair played with- not just the hard tugs that most guys do in the moment, but this too. Soft, like he’s precious.

Bret’s been the only one to treat him this way, with any kind of softness and decency.

Shawn can hear the soft rhythm of breath behind him, the heat Bret emits warming his skin. He’s always so warm, runs hot like a furnace.

They’re both bare, with nothing between them. It’s comfortable, no expectations, rush to do anything. Their legs tangle at the foot of the bed.

Bret’s fingertips move to the hollow behind Shawn’s ear, tucking the stray tendrils, revealing the delicate skin of Shawn’s neck. Soft lips press slow butterfly kisses all along his throat, and it feels better than any high he’s ever had.

There’s a pause. A catch in Bret’s throat that he clears before his lips return to their work. His free hand finds Shawn’s hair again, moving him gently to reach every inch of skin he can. “Mine,” He whispers between breaths. “My pretty boy.”

Words that have been spat at him in the ring before, by Bret himself even. But there’s no malice now, only sweet honesty.

He turns his head, attempting to catch Bret’s kiss. Their lips meet, as much chemistry here as in the ring, each motion met and countered in a coordinated dance.

Bret’s not always great at expressing how he feels with words. He’s a physical guy, better at using his body to communicate than anything else.

Thankfully it’s a language Shawn is fluent in.

Each hot press of their mouths has meaning. Bret’s fingers curl and cling to the soft give of Shawn’s skin like he can’t bear to let go. The way Bret’s eyes stare into his when they break apart, sharing breath between them.

They’ve never said a word about it, what this thing is between them, the emotions that simmer under the surface, but Shawn knows. He understands all these things that Bret might as well be screaming at him. He couldn’t be any clearer even if he was in the middle of the ring cutting a promo.

And he gives it right back, but not with the honey-sweet words and played up moans that he’d give to any other John. He mumbles Bret’s name between soft kisses, cradles his strong jaw between his palms, mapping the planes of Bret’s face under his fingertips.

Shawn nuzzles himself into the slopes of Bret’s neck and shoulders, fitting in like a puzzle piece, kissing each tiny freckle he can find. He prays that Bret truly understands, that he’s being clear enough in their secret shared language.

It’s love. What he feels is love, pure and messy and honest and good. And the craziest part is that Bret loves him right back.

[cantaloupe-draws]

El Chico del Apartamento 512

Irl! Quackity x Female! reader

Summary: Nothing interesting ever happens in the apartment complex you live in. It’s the same old routine for you. Constantly turning down your neighbor and heading too and from your apartment. Well that’s up until you meet the very cute boy that lives in apartment 512 that you can never seem to gather the courage to talk too. To make make matters worse, he shows up to the cafe you work at

Switches from Reader’s s POV to Quackity’s POV at the very end

Genre: Song fic, fluff, somewhat cafe trope, strangers to lovers, crushes

Warnings: use of Quackity’s real name, creepy neighbor, cursing, and I think that’s about it

Song :El Chico del Apartamento 512 by Selena

Lyrics are in bold

—

Every day is the same down the corridor

Every day it’s the same old thing. I pass the same old doors as I make my way towards my own at the end of the corridor. Counting the room numbers as I pass.

“508, 509, 510,-“ I count and but as soon as I reach room 511 the door suddenly swings forward and I’m greeted by both a whistle and Chad, my neighbor.

“Y/n baby I keep on waiting for you to go on a date with me like you promised,” Chad said as he stood in front of his door frame, right arm resting on the door. “I need to show you around town,” he said with a smirk as he rested his face on his fist.

I scoffed as I moved away from him, “The only thing you need right now is an urgent shower. You stink like a pig and it’s absolutely disgusting. Besides, I never promised you anything” I said, trying to continue on my way, but Chad just kept getting more and more persistent with every rejection. His nagging was getting annoying.

“Come Y/n I’ll take you to this bar across town, I’ll even pay for your drinks” he kept persisting.

You would think that any decent guy that’s asking you out on a date would obviously pay for them himself. It’s a given but this is Chad we’re talking about. I was sick of his terrible date ideas and I had to face him once again.

“Listen, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this and how many times I’ll have to repeat it but, I don’t want to go on these stupids dates with you,” I told him as I rejected for what seemed to be the millionth time. And as soon as I said that the door beside us swung open.

Out came a young man wearing a navy blue cap that was covering almost the entirety of his hair but still managed to expose small tufts of dark brown hair from the sides. He looked up at the predicament Chad and I were both in and I was able to get a good look at him.

He had almond-shaped eyes that were a dark brown color and had various beauty marks scattered around his face. He was attractive. Very VERY attractive. Oh no I’m in deep shit, I thought to myself as I quickly turned away when I felt that I was staring at him for too long. He turns away from us and heads towards the elevator doors.

I stayed stunned for a few moments then turned to face Chad again, completely red in the face, dumbfounded, and at a complete loss for words. But before Chad could get another word out I quickly rushed to my apartment and leaned my back against the door once I got inside. My heart is beating fast and my chest feels tight and constricted. I quickly got myself a glass of water from my faucet and though it helped with my fast heart rate, it didn’t help the butterflies swarming around in my stomach. It might sound crazy but I think I’ve just met the man of my dreams.

Ever since then, I’ve made sure to take my sweet time walking down the corridor in hopes to see the cute boy from apartment 512 again. I’ve gone as far as to purposely make small talk and fake my interest in Chad in hopes to see him once more.

—

The boy from apartment 512 the one who makes my poor heart beat fast.

I walked into the elevator quickly pressing the button towards the first floor when I heard someone yell “HOLD THE DOOR PLEASE!”

Loud footsteps came barreling towards the elevator. The yell of itself was enough to get my blood pumping but, to make matters much worse it was the cute boy from apartment 512 who was coming towards me.

“Thank you so much,” he said out of breath once he got inside. He offered me a smile of gratitude as the elevator doors closed. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing a cap this time but, instead he was sporting a grey beanie with red and blue stripes.

‘He’s the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my entire life’ I internally screamed to myself.

“Yeah, no problem” I responded quietly in hopes I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.

Even if there weren't more than two pieces of dialogue uttered between us, it was enough for my heart to beat faster than the speed of light.

—

The boy from apartment 512 who causes me to stutter like I've never done before.

I was manning the cashier station at the cafe I worked at. It was filled to the brim with people who were either typing away on their laptops or having a conversation with their friends.

But on this day, I had finally learned his name.

The busy atmosphere had me tackling customers' orders from left to right, “Hello, may I take your order?” I said as the next customer approached me.

But surprisingly enough, I was greeted by a familiar face.

The cute boy from apartment 512.

“Yes, hello I would like a caramel macchiato please,” he said and I felt my face go red instantly.

Oh my god, it’s him again, I thought as I knew that my brain would start to scramble once more. “O-of course. Coming right up, n-name?” I asked him as I completely stumbled on my words.

“Alex,” he said, “Okay A-Alex your name will be called out when your order is ready,” I tell him as I continue on with my work.

My coworkers had never seen me lose composure like that. It was clear that they would never let me live this down but even if I made a complete fool of myself in front of him, a huge part of me also just wants to keep talking to him both night and day.

—

But today I have finally truly decided to confess my love to him

I mentally prepared myself for the next time I interacted with Alex. I’ve finally decided that the next time I would run into him, I would finally ask to get to know him better in hopes that one day friendship will blossom into a wonderful relationship. A giddy laugh escaped me as I thought of the idea.

The cafe was busy as usual, with the same groups of people coming in. As it hit peak rush hour the line of customers just kept getting longer and longer and I was attempting to quickly attend to them to the best of my ability. Somehow, this was not enough to deter the feelings of butterflies in my stomach.

I knock on his door and I get goosebumps,

a blonde answers the door and my heart breaks

As I heard the bell above our door ring once more I raised my head and saw him, Alex. He was holding the door open for a woman as she walked in. They stood close together as they waited in line. This might seem like a bit of an exaggeration but when I saw them conversing together waiting in line the butterflies that were once fluttering disappeared and were replaced with dread. As my heart dropped, I realized that one thing was wanting to be friends with him but, that doesn’t change the fact that I had grown feelings for him. If he’s in a relationship then, what now? I felt lost as to how to handle this.

As the line in front of me kept getting shorter and shorter, I was becoming anxious as his turn was approaching. Though as it was almost the pair’s turn to order, Alex suddenly turns around and leaves the line and when his turn arrives he still wasn’t there. Despite this, I still went ahead and tended his apparent girlfriend.

I truly felt my heart breaking into pieces when suddenly she asked:

"Were you looking for my brother?"

“Hello, may I take your order?” I asked her, “Yes, can I have a vanilla latte please? But um, can we wait a couple of minutes for my brother? He went to the restroom and didn’t tell me his order,” she asked. Then the realization hit me like a ton of bricks, this was his sister. I’m so dumb, how could I’ve not realized the resemblance between them?? “Yeah that’s no problem” I finally responded.

Soon enough Alex came rushing towards his sister, “I’m so sorry for the wait” he said once he reached the both of us. “Just hurry it up. I’ll be waiting for you at the table” His sister said as she turned her back to the both of us.

Turning my attention to him as I rang up his order he then speaks up “You’re one of my neighbors aren’t you?” He asks me with a grin. I stop in my tracks as if I’m a deer in headlights.

“Yeah I am actually” I smile at him trying to muster enough courage to continue our conversation.

“I thought so, you were the one who held the elevator door for me the other day right? Also, the one who was yelling at my neighbor.”

My face instantly goes red as I thought back to the first time I met Alex. “In my defense he deserved it. He’s been harassing me ever since I’ve moved in” I shudder at the thought of Chad.

“Yeah I’ve realized that he really is a douche, he enjoys banging on the damn walls at three in the morning” he said as we laugh together at the stupid things Chad has done.

“Okay, okay you’re order will be out shortly,” I tell him with a smile, feeling my heart skip a beat. But Alex doesn’t move from the line.

“To be honest the whole reason I even came here wasn’t really for a drink or anything.” He said gazing towards the floor and rubbed the back of his neck.

“This might be a bit sudden because we’ve barely met but I wanted to actually ask you for your number since you seem really nice and you’re very pretty. If you’re not interested then that’s fine, I’ll just take my drink and go” Alex said sheepishly.

After I heard these words I found myself dumbfounded. At a complete loss for words. ‘DID HE JUST SAY THAT??? HOW DO I RESPOND???’ and from there my mind was absolutely speeding to the point where I just stood there. ‘HURRY UP AND DO SOMETHING!!!’ I yelled at myself, but yet still nothing managed to escape. Alex began to fidget more and more playing with his hands as I just stood there without a response.

“It’s okay, I’ll just go now.” Alex quickly said leaving.

—

Alex’s POV

‘SHIT. FUCK. MOTHERFUCKER. STUPID IDIOT.’

I cursed at myself while I walked towards my sister. Laying my head on the table, covering it in utter embarrassment.

“That didn’t go well, did it?” My sister said while casually scrolling through her phone. “And here you were boasting about how much of a smooth talker you were. You sir, just got rejected.”

“Will you shut up?” I groaned at her not raising my head. I’m already embarrassed out of my mind and she is not making it any better.

“Fine fine, you big baby I’ll go get our drinks and then you can go home and cry.” She said standing up as our orders were called.

‘God, why did I think it was a good idea to bring my sister along? How had it not crossed my mind? I hadn’t even given it a second thought as to what I was gonna do if I did get rejected. And to make matters much worse I just got rejected in front of my sister. I will never hear the end of it at family reunions. I’m already mentally digging my grave when I heard my sister come back.

“I think this one is yours” She said as she placed my drink in front of me. I raise my head slightly so I would be able to see what was in front of me. I looked at my cup as it said:

‘To the cute boy from apartment 512’

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx -Y/n’

—

A/N- So this is the first time I’ve ever wrote fan fiction before, I mainly stick to drawing so please excuse any mistakes I tried my best. But I hope you liked it over all. Also the lyrics in English don’t make as much sense as they do in Spanish, and it’s was bugging me so if they seem a bit odd you know why.

A special thanks to @tofuyami she really helped me with the brainstorming and editing process <3

@hungoverhellhound @cherrysirin @tofuyami @nealocus @struggling-with-time @bugsinmycoldsoup @venusacrossthestars @galaxygnf

Also stand Selena always -🍈

[entishramblings]

It’s Not That Bad [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: I’m so sorry I have not been writing as often. I’ve had zero time. But anyWaYS...here is a fic that has been requested by someone who has always been into my writing so thank you for supporting me and here is a fic for you! Additionally, I did some research on herbs and stuff so I could make this at least a little accurate!

Request: @quilledinkpen — Hellooo i hope you're having a good day ^-^ I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader? Something like she's travelling with the fellowship and is kinda the unspoken "mom" of the group, like she's always doing her best to make sure everyone's safe, and reminding Pippin and Merry to be careful and stuff like that. Just an all-around motherly person lol (mainly to the Hobbits bc they're her babies but she looks after the other guys too) I think it'd be cute ^^ Thank you!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N), a healer, travels with the fellowship. She takes care of everyone and is basically “the mom friend.”

Word Count: 2, 510

Warnings: battle wounds that are kinda graphicish?

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule.....well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.

(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.

“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”

The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”

Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.

“Let me have a look.”

The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”

The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.

(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.

She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”

He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.

(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”

He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”

A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”

He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”

She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.

The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.

“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”

His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”

She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.

“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”

They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.

“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”

“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”

“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”

(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.

The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.

Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.

(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.

“Legolas?” She questioned softly.

He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”

He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“

She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”

She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.

“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”

“(YN)—“

She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”

The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.

“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”

Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc....” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “...who—who slashed downward.....with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.

(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.

She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.

“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.

(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.

Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.

(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.

During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.

Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an oppenent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.

As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.

“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.

Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.

Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.

(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.

“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”

Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”

“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.

Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”

......

As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).

It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.

“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men....and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”

A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”

(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“

“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”

These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”

“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”

(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”

A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.

The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”

Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“

“(Y/N)...” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”

The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“

“(Y/N),” he whispered.

Something about his tone made her freeze.

Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”

Oh....

Now she understood.

The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.

.......

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @wellfuckmyexistence

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back

If you want to be tagged lmk!

[thescreamingraven]

Promise 3

Dabi x reader

Genre/warnings: Fluff and angst, mentions of injury, swearing.

Words: 7 510

Summary:  Trying to fix what’s broken is not always easy.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Hey, hey, so sorry this took so long I had a bit of a writers block but here it is, I’m thinking of doing part four soon. I think this turned out pretty well tho.

≿————-　❈　————-≾I

It was already quite dark  outside, bright street lights added to the scenery as small snowflakes began to slowly decorate the sidewalks. Inside the cozy home, the smell of deliciously cooked food still lingered. It would’ve been a peaceful night if it weren’t for your loudly pouting son, who refused to listen to you.

  “Enji told me I’m strong enough to come…” your son pestered you.

  You put back one plate in the sink, looking down at the boy in front of you if you could call him that… he was soon going to be fourteen and in agreement with Endeavor will be starting U.A in only a couple of weeks. He was so eager to get into action that he wouldn’t stop pestering about letting him start patrols early.

You saw Hawks walking out of the bathroom with his hero suit on.

  “Give the kid a chance Y/n, it’s not like he will be doing it alone.” he chirped.

  “See, even Hawks agrees with me.”

  You crossed your arms, and leaned on the kitchen counter, giving Hawks a death stare, which he tried to soften up with his casual smirk.

  “It could be an early birthday present?” Your son suggested.

  You sighed and let your hands fall in defeat, his puppy eyes taking a toll on you.

“Be back by midnight or you’re grounded.”

  You could see his face light up with joy as he gave you the tightest hug imaginable.

You gave him an encouraging smile, before gesturing him to go get ready, as he was rushing to his room you shouted. “Don’t forget your jacket angel, it’s quite chilly tonight.”

  “He’s grown up so fast…” Hawks walked closer to you and leaned on the counter.

  “That he did…” you smiled before looking back at him. “Are you sure it’s safe? Criminal activity has skyrocketed recently and-”

  “He’ll be fine, we won’t let anything happen to him… promise.” He gave your hand a light squeeze.

  You both stayed silent for a moment before Hawks spoke yet again.

  “So… when are we going to tell him?”

  Your smile slowly faded away as you slipped your hand away from Hawks.

  “Soon…”

  “You’ve been saying that for almost 5 months now-”

  Hawks was interrupted by an opening door from your son’s room as he quickly rushed back to the kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting Hawks, you ready to go?”

  Hawks concerned look was replaced by his usual wit and charm as he yammered.

  “Always ready for you, kid.” He turned back to you. “We’re heading out.”

  You nodded, saying a quick goodbye and getting back to the dishes you were doing.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Hawks quietly closed the front door and caught up to S/n, who was casually standing near the sidewalk. “Ready to fight crime?” Hawks asked as he approached him.

  “Hell yeah I am, I still can’t believe she allowed me to go.”

  “Your mom’s just worried about you, kid.”

  “I know, but she can be a bit overbearing sometimes… I’m not five years old anymore, I can fight now…”

  “It’s better to have that kind of parent than none at all.” Hawks murmured.

  “I know.”

  “Anyway… ready to go?”

  “Hell yeah.” your son grinned.

  “I like your enthusiasm, kid.”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  It’s been fourteen years since that day….

    You were sitting on a nearby chair near the receptionist, patiently waiting for Endeavor to arrive with your daughter. You thought about your conversation with Dabi and silently prayed that he would only make the right choice. Your thoughts were interrupted by your daughter’s excited screams as she dragged the tall figure across the hall.

She let go of Endeavor’s hand when she saw you and leaped into your arms with a huge grin on her face.

  “Mommy, daddy’s not asleep anymore.”

  You gently brushed strands of hair from her face, softly purring.“I know angel… and he can’t wait to see you.”

  You looked up at Endeavor.

“Will you-”

  “I think I’d be better if I stayed back for a bit…. I don’t want Tou—Dabi to get the wrong idea.”

  You gave him a nod, setting your daughter down on the ground, taking her hand in yours as you took a deep breath before opening the door. Your eyes wandered to the bed Dabi was lying in moments ago, but yet you found nothing.

Your daughter stood there confused, tugging on your hand and asking for her father.

Endeavor saw the way you froze and came to investigate, when he saw the bed empty he called the nurses to ask if they’d seen him leave. But you assured him you were sitting near the door the whole time and didn’t see him leave, the window wasn’t open either.

You walked over to the nearby stand and found a brief note with only two words on it.

  I’m sorry.

Ever since that day, your daughter changed. She became closed off and cold, whenever you tried talking about her father you were met with silence until one day you mentioned his name, and she responded with a shocking answer.

  “Dabi… who’s that?”

  The doctors said it was something called dissociative amnesia, and that’s why she couldn’t remember her father, her brain blocked him out, it being a traumatic event. You were scared that she may forget everything else, but the doctor quickly calmed you down.

After her amnesia started she became her old self again, the same warm, hopeful person you once knew. She never asked for her father’s whereabouts, she just enjoyed life, spending the days with Endeavor, completely forgetting about her father's quirk.

Endeavor had suggested for her to become a hero like him, but your daughter just brushed it off. Instead, your daughter left the country  to follow her dreams, she got into a good college and made her own life… she even met someone special...

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  After you had your son, life became a bit more complicated, him being born with your quirk and having the number one pro hero as his grandfather really boosted his confidence; he began to train in secret when he was only seven years old, but it didn’t stay hidden for long. At first, you were a bit skeptical about the thought of him becoming a hero... but when you saw how your son’s face lit up when Endeavor suggested training him, well how could you say no?

  Your son hated Dabi, ever since he first saw one of his victims appear on the news he vowed to himself to at least destroy him if not all villains.

So when he asked about his dad…it got a little awkward, you would brush it off saying you’d explain it to him when he’s older. After a few years, he just gave up accepting the fact that he didn’t have a father… well, not a biological one.

  Ever since Dabi left, Hawks stayed glued to your side like a magnet, attending to your every need and satisfying your every craving. He even took some time off work, of the last few weeks of your pregnancy, whenever you would ask him about his generosity he would just brush it off with “I guess it’s my bird instincts” But you knew it was something deeper than that, he never had a normal family before maybe this was his way of establishing one.

When your son was born, Hawks didn’t leave his side, you didn’t know why he did what he did, taking the father role in his life as he did, he was there when he said his first words and took his first steps. He used to get up in the night to feed him and babysat him while you worked. While his actual father was doing god knows what... you tried calling him and texting him several times yet to no avail. Endeavor suggested to go out and find him, yet you declined the offer. If a villain is what he wanted to be, then so be it.

  You were furious at him for being such a stubborn person that he was, if only he would’ve stayed and actually solved the problems together rather than taking them on himself… maybe things would’ve been different...

Your thoughts were interrupted by a notification from your phone, you stood up from the couch and walked over to it and were met by a concerning message from Hawks.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Hawks and S/n were walking through an empty valley, dim street lights barely lighting up their path.

“So… this is patrolling, huh.”

  “You don’t sound very excited, what... is this too boring for you?” Hawks leered.

  “I just thought there would be more action is all.”

  “The league has been really quiet recently, they’re probably planning something big.” Hawks stated before he caught a glimpse of curiosity from the boy beside him. “Don’t look at me like that…if your mother learned that I put you in danger in any way, she would make me a flightless chicken with that death stare of hers.”

  “You’re such a sap, ya know.” S/n chuckled.

  “Sorry?”

  “Y/n this, Y/n that… just go kiss her already.”

  “I don’t think you understand how relationships work.” Hawks scratched his head nervously.

  “You’ve been doing this for years, Hawky it’s time to make a move.”

  Hawks coughed, speeding up his pace, trying to hide the embarrassment so clearly written all over his face.

  “Is it because of him?” S/n wondered, catching up.

  “Him?”

  “My dear old dad… you shouldn’t be discouraged, he’s probably dead, anyway.”

  “Wh—why do you think so?”

  “Well, I assume since neither one of you are telling me about him.”

  “He’s—it’s complicated-”

  “And we’ll tell you when you’re older, right, right. I know the poem.” S/n mocked.

  “But isn’t it the perfect reason to confess soon? If the guy is still alive, who knows she might get back with him… so you should make a move while she’s still single.”

  “Ya know, when I thought about what I’d be doing with my life, I certainly did not imagine getting dating advice from a kid. Have you ever even seen a girl?” Hawks teased.

  “Of course I have, you ass…”

  Both of them walked in silence for a while, before S/n mumbled. “I think you’d make her really happy… and I-” Hawks saw the way S/n hesitated before continuing. “I wouldn’t mind having you for a father.” he quickly added.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll make sure you suffer a worse fate than being a flightless chicken.”

  “Kid I-”

  Hawks stopped himself from speaking any further when he heard a noise coming from behind them. He turned around shushing S/n and trying to listen in to the noise, which now became clearer...

At least 10 figures appeared from the shadow covered corners surrounding the two of them.

Hawks stepped closer to S/n, pulling him against himself, and mumbled.

“Stay close kid.”

  The pursuiters stayed quiet, letting out a few maniacal laughs.

  “Why are we not attacking?” S/n whispered, his question being ignored by the hero as he scanned the situation thoroughly.

  Suddenly another shadowy figure appeared, yet this one was a bit taller and muscular than the others.

  “Well, colour me impressed, here I thought you were dead already.” Hawks remarked as the figure slowly stepped into the light.

S/n froze upon seeing the scared men clearer, he looked even more monstrous in person.

  “The league wants to have a word,” Dabi spoke, looking at Hawks who was trying to keep S/n from his piercing eyes.

“They always do, sadly I don’t have time for a tea party at the moment… how does next Tuesday sound?”

  Dabi only rolled his eyes and gestured to the goons. “Get the bird, I don’t care what you do with the kid.”

  The ten figures let out several chuckles before slowly beginning to walk closer.

“It seems it’s your lucky day, kid. I’ll take the right side and you take the left.”

  “This will be fun.” S/n grinned.

  It all happened very quickly, the five figures on the left attacked S/n. He could tell they were inexperienced, so it didn’t take that long for him to defeat them, yet Hawks had a more tough time fighting, trying to dodge Dabis attacks which were thrown randomly for his amusement, no less.

Yet he wasn’t careful enough, one single slip up, caused Hawks to lose balance as he tripped and landed near S/n. He tried to get up again, but his muscles weren’t complying. He looked back up to Dabi who’s blue fire seemed to get uncomfortably closer by the second. He closed his eyes, shielding himself with his wings for the upcoming attack…. And yet nothing came, he quickly let his wings fall onto the ground and saw S/n standing before him with his arm raised, fresh steam coming from it, his hand burnt, now purplish and Dabi standing there frozen.

Dabi let his flames dive down, slowly walking forwards.

  “You’re-” S/n mumbling was interrupted by sharp, throbbing in his hand, he fell to the ground screaming in pain as Hawks rushed to his side.

Endeavor must have heard the commotion as S/n could hear his voice in the distance yelling something he couldn’t comprehend. He saw Dabis eyes hesitate before he slowly backed away, back into the shadows he came from; he saw Hawks who was shouting for Endeavor to hurry and restrain the remaining goons and he slowly fell into darkness.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  The two heroes quietly sat in the waiting room, anxiously looking at the staff that were passing by, before a familiar voice casually spoke. “He’ll be fine mister Endeavor, whatever caused his hand to burn up like that did some serious damage but with some stitches, we were able to fix it.”

“Thank you, doc we appreciate it.” Hawks sighed. “Could we… see him now?”

  The doctor gave them a quick nod before walking away, both of them followed close behind as Hawks tried to calm down his shaking heart.

They walked over to one of the rooms on the right wing before the doctors opened the door.

  “He should be awake soon, and whatever you have the time, there are some forms that I need you to sign.”

  “That’s fine, just give us a minute?” Hawks asked, walking over to the boy’s side.

  The doctor mumbled something under their breath before walking out.

Hawks scanned the boy’s hand, which was now heavily bandaged. “Y/n is going to kill us.” he looked back at Endeavor. “Did you call her already?”

  “No… not yet.”

  “Good, let’s… just wait a little while longer…”

  Both were quiet for a moment before Hawks mustered up the courage to ask.“Do you think he knows…?”

  “I’m sure he does, it isn’t that difficult to figure it out.”

  “So what do we do about him ? If he tells the league-”

  “He won’t, you and I both know that.” Endeavor cut him off.

  “We don't, he isn’t a very predictable person Enji and even if he doesn’t, those goons of his will. Didn’t you tell me one got away?”

  “Yeah… I’ll take care of it, in the meantime...I think we should postpone his U.A training…”

  Hawks looked down on S/n unconscious body remembering the endless tiring training sessions the two of them had.

“There has to be another way… he worked so hard for it, maybe we can take certain precautions-”

  “We’ll talk about this at home… I better go and tell Y/n,” Endeavor declared, pulling out his phone.

  “I’ll do it, you’re not exactly too subtle with words, you stay here.” Hawks stood up from his seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Endeavor sat there quietly, thoughts racing of what he should do, a thought of moving you two out even further away from the city flashed his mind, but he quickly shook it off. When he lifted his gaze from the ground he saw S/n laying awake, examining his hand.

“It’s good to have you back, son… how are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine… can we go home?” He asked with a gloomy sigh.

  “I don’t think that’s…”

  The door suddenly opened, revealing a slightly irritated Hawks, with the doctor following behind him.

“He’s all free to go if he wishes, just try to be careful with that hand of yours… it will sting for a while…”

  “Thank you, doc.” Hawks asserted. “What would we do without you?”

  “Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

  Hawks chuckled, walking over to S/n bed and giving him an apologetic smile.

“Ready to go home, champ?”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  You sat patiently waiting on the couch as the door finally opened and your son walked in holding his bandaged hand. You rushed to his side, pulling him into your arms, trying not to squeeze too hard. “S/n… are you okay? Does your hand hurt?”

  “How… how could you keep this away from me….” he mumbled, pulling back.

  “Kid-” Hawks tried putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

  “Don’t touch me, don’t you fucking touch me.” your son choked.

  “Angel...”

  “Shut up, you’re no better.” he snapped. “I need an honest answer and you’re going to give me one.”

  “Is he—Is that sociopath, murderous bastard, really my father?”

  You and Hawks looked at each other before murmuring “I… yes he is....look I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I just-”

“We didn’t want you to overreact,” Hawks added.

  “Oh… oh… you thought I would overreact? Yeah, okay, so instead of just straight up saying hey you have a sociopath for a father, you hide and keep it a secret from me. Well, you got your overreaction, I hope you’re happy, bursting with fucking joy no doubt.” S/n mocked.

“So for how long were you planning to keep this to your deary selves?”

  “We-”

  Endeavor finally decided to join in the conversation.

“As long as we had to… if the public found out--if the league found out you’d not be only putting all of us in danger but yourself as well. The league could use you as their trumpet card.”

  Your son stood silent for a minute, thinking if he should continue to stand his ground or walk away, he decided he needed to cool off first before continuing this conversation and walked away, shutting himself in his room with a loud slam.

“I need to go talk to him…”

  “No, what you need to do is give him some space… he’s confused and hurt, adding more fuel to the fire won’t make it go out faster.” Hawks reassured you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and leading you into the kitchen.“Let’s sit down and I’ll make you some tea, alright? Enji do you want some?”

  “Can’t... I need to go to my agency, explain what happened and all.”

  “I… alright try not to take too long.”

  Endeavor only hummed before walking back to the entrance.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  “I’m sorry…” Hawks said with a sense of guilt.”I should’ve listened to you. I feel like such an asshole for convincing you to let me bring him along.”

  “You’re not the one to blame, I should have told him sooner.” you stammered.“What if he never forgives us… what will we do… I’m so scared Keigo… I-”

  He pulled another kitchen chair beside yours, wrapping his wings around and holding you close. “He will... just give the kid some time.”

  “How can you say that so confidently, look at Endeavor, and… he never forgave him.”

  “Different situation.” Hawks assured. “What’s the saying? Time heals all wounds.”

  You hugged him tighter and mumbled into his shoulder. “How did—how did he look?”

  Hawks sighed. “He hasn’t changed much… maybe a bit more scarred.”

  “I see… did he… you know...”

  “No, he didn’t say much.”

  “Why was he even there? You told me that area was secure.”

  “The league really wanted to have a word, whatever that means.”

  You pulled away from his warm comforting embrace and cupped his cheek

“I’m… I’m glad that you’re okay, you are okay, right?”

  “Yeah, a few cuts and bruises here and there but I’m fine… I should probably go clean up now that you mention it, don’t want them to get infected.”

  “I’ll help,” you muttered.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  When S/n slammed his door, he immediately fell against it. He sat there, his hands on his knees, staring at the mirror in front of him, his mind racing empty but at the same time full of thoughts.

He sat there for a long time, listening in on your conversation with Hawks. He sighed, finally getting up, and walked up to the mirror. Standing there, he looked over his features. He looked at his face and couldn’t help but finally see how similar the two of them actually were; he remembered Dabi's sharp eyes smiling at the amusement of Hawks struggle... how did he not see it sooner . He looked down at his hands, flashbacks coming back, the blue flame consuming it, consuming him.

You’re just like him.

  How could you ever be a hero?

  Murderer…

  Monster….

  His mind raced to every possible possibility of his future, is he destined to become like him?

  It’s in your blood…

  That will be you someday, and everyone will hate you.

  Your family hates you, that’s why they lied.

  They fear you...

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud shattering noise, as he looked up, he saw his fist covered in blood, the mirror shattered, shards all scattered around the room. But yet there was still one small piece hanging up. He looked at it, and when he did, he didn’t see himself; he saw a broken, battered figure that so clearly resembled him.

S/n stumbled back, his breathing becoming quicker and quicker. He reached for his phone that was laying next to him on the ground and tried calling the only person he thought could help. It was already almost two am, so he could only pray to get a response in return.

After a few tries, the person finally picked up, with a sleepy undertone in his voice.

“Hello?”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  S/n walked through an almost empty street when the playground finally came into view. On the swings sat a slouched figure, slowly rocking back and forth, his head was fixated on the ground, as he tried to push the sleepiness away.

The figure’s gaze quickly left the ground as he heard someone's footsteps approach his direction. He gave S/n a small wave and gestured for him to take a seat at the swing next to him, and so he did.

  “I’m sorry I called so late…” S/n mumbled.

  Shoto looked over at the kid, who was tapping his boots nervously. His eyes quickly made their way to the freshly bandaged hand.

“It is quite alright, you didn’t sound good on the phone… Did something happen?”

  S/n shook his head as he stayed quiet, trying to muster and find the right words to say.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  “And done…” you chirped, gesturing Hawks to stand up from the chair.

  “Thanks… see I told you it wasn’t that bad,” he replied, putting his shirt back on.

  “Yeah…”

  You put away the bloodied towel and looked back in the direction of your son’s room.

Hawk’s eyes softened as he approached you. “I’ll go check on him, okay?”

  Your eyes snapped back to Hawks as you let out a sigh.

“I’d appreciate it,” you muttered.

  Hawks mustered a smile as he stood up and gave you a few pats on the head, before walking away and heading to your son’s room direction.

It was only but moments before he was standing at your son’s door, trying to listen in on any movements from his side. Not hearing a sound, he took a deep breath in and slowly turned the doorknob.

  “S/n…”

  He stopped, freezing up as he scanned the room. The window was open; the mirror laid shattered, shards scattered around everywhere, he saw S/n phone lying on the floor, and a few drops of blood on it.

  “Y/n we have a problem, ” He yelled, running back to the kitchen to pick up his phone.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  S/n told Shoto everything that happened in great detail, trying to muster the strength against his bottled up emotions. After the whole story was told, the both of them remained silent, before Shoto finally spoke.

  “I know how you feel.” he trailed off. “I’m sorry this happened to you S/n… But you have nothing to fear, the two of you are nothing alike, you might have his quirk but you’re still your own person.”

  S/n stayed quiet as he kept his eyes on the ground.

  “You should go home now, the others might worry where you’ve gone.”

  S/n sighed before, humming in agreement, he got up from the swing, stretching out his arms. He turned back to Shoto.

“Can you… not tell them that I was here?”

  “I don’t think-” Shoto stood up and glanced at S/n who seemed exhausted from the evening’s events.“I… alright, let’s go I’ll walk you home.”

  “Nah, It’s fine, it’s just 10 minutes away I’ll be fine,” S/n reassured.

  “It’s still quite late. I don’t think that it would be safe to let you go home alone.”

  “Oh cmon, I have a murderer’s quirk on my side, what can go wrong?”

  “S/n…”

  “I’m just joking Sho, trying to brighten the mood a bit, anyway I’ll be fine.”

  Before Shoto could disagree, S/n was already walking away and waving him off.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  He walked on a nearly empty street, the cars around him rushing, while he kept his hooded head down on the road.. His mind became a little calmer, like an ocean after a storm everything was calming down. He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice a quiet figure following him like a cat. He stopped near a crosswalk, looking up and waiting for the light to change, before he suddenly got grabbed and pulled roughly, a hand covering his mouth, he didn’t have any time to respond, everything became fuzzy as he was fastly pulled into what looked like a portal and thrown out the other side.

He moved onwards before quickly getting up into his fighting stance, ready to use his quirk on whatever or whoever grabbed him. Yet he wasn’t met by his kidnapper, only by a white haired man, who had some sort of hand on his face. S/n stood there for a second, trying to figure out if he should make a run for it or attack.

The quiet man poured another glass of whiskey, lifting one of his fingers from it, careful not to dust it. After the glass was half full, he murmured something under his breath before taking off his mask and giving the kid a creepy grin.

  “Come, take a seat…” the man gestured to a nearby bar stool.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” S/n hesitantly asked while he looked around the room.

  The man stopped his drink halfway to his mouth.

  “Ah, where are my manners, I’m Shigaraki… and you are?”

  “I’m-”

  “I’m joking, I already know who you are, you’re Dabi's little creation…” Shigaraki grinned. “You know, as Endeavor's grandson, he didn’t do a good job of protecting you… I mean you were just wandering around like a lost puppy.”

Shigaraki once again gestured to the empty seat next to him.

  “It’s not nice to reject a drink ya know.” Shigaraki looked at him, his grin slowly being replaced by a frown “Anyway, you must be thinking, why are you here? Well, I have a very appealing proposition for you, a deal of some sorts.”

  “Let me guess, you want me to join your evil boy club, is that it?”

  “Don’t call it that, ” Shigaraki snarled. “But yes, I want you to join the league ... now I can tell you’re hesitant, but think about it you’ll be accepted here.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Why do you think they kept it away from you for so long?”

  “How do-”

  “They’re afraid of you like everyone else will be when they learn the truth…”

  That will be you someday, and everyone will hate you.

  “Shut up.” S/n hissed.

  “What about your dear old dad? You wouldn’t want to disappoint him now would you?”

  “He’s no father of mine.”

  You’re just like him.

  Shigaraki spun around on the chair, drink still in hand.

  “You might deny it now, but you’ll be crawling back here in no time… it’s in your blood, the hero society is broken enough, help me make it better.”

  It’s in your blood…

  “Shut up.”

  S/n wanted to walk away, he tried blocking out every word thrown his way, his eyes desperately looking for the exit, Shigaraki only stared at him, wondering what the kid will do next when the door of the hideout suddenly opened and an irritated Dabi walked in the room “Shiggy I’m back from-” he spotted his son in the room and immediately hissed. “Why is he here?”

  “Oh, him? I just wanted to have a brief chat with the kid, welcome him into the family.” Shigaraki grinned, turning back to face the bar.

  “I’m sure you did.” Dabi scoffed, making his way to S/n, grabbing him by the color and dragging him away while he struggled.

  Before Dabi could open the door, he heard Shigaraki quietly mumble to him.

“Didn’t think you were so soft Dabi.”

  Dabi rolled his eyes while his son kicked him and babbled. “Let go of me you freak.”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Dabi followed S/n close behind, stealing glances at the unfamiliar place he was leading him to, before he suddenly stopped on some old bridge, not budging to go any further.

  “Why did you stop?” Dabi asked, looking around at the old factory.

  “I’m not going to show a villain where I live.” your son returned going near the rails and leaning on them. “So leave me the hell alone, alright?”

  Dabi took a deep breath in, feeling slightly irritated, yet he couldn’t contain the drip of proudness rising in his chest, the kid might be stupid but at least you taught him well he thought. He approached S/n calmly, not trying to start a fight, as he could see the kid was on edge before he leaned against the rails next to him.

  “Listen-”

  “I don’t want to hear it…” S/n responded immediately.

  A painfully awkward silence filled the air as the two stood under a poorly light street light looking at the slowly moving water.

“I hate you”  S/n murmured.

  “I know.”

  “So that’s it? You won’t say anything else?”

  “I don’t think it will change much even if I did,” Dabi said casually.“You look… a lot like Y/n… is she—how is she doing?” he added, gripping the railing a bit too tight for comfort.

  “She’s doing good, a lot better without you no doubt.” your son smeared.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Dabi's heart painfully ached, after so many years the memories of your warm touch still lingered in his mind. A few days later after he left the hospital he came back to your old burnt house, your future home as you used to call it, he walked around the ashed trying to calm down the stinging feeling in his chest, he could’ve gone back, hell part of him screamed and begged him to, but he was too much of a coward, running away seemed easier them facing his father and facing the reality of crimes he committed, going back to that house filled the shadows of the past. Part of him also knew that betraying the league never ended well for anyone, and no matter how far or how long he would run, they’d always catch up. So he decided to suffer in silence and finally do something else than be selfish with his life.

  He walked around in ruins of what was once his home, spotting a cabinet that was badly burnt but still standing in what seemed to be your bedroom. He carefully opened it and shivered, looking at the slightly burnt photo. He recalled the event like it was yesterday; it was your daughter’s sixth Christmas; she was babbling and rambling all day, while you both tried putting up Christmas decorations, Christmas music played in the background and the smell of cookies filled your small little home. At the end of the day, you pestered him into taking a photo with the three of you. He so desperately wanted to disapprove but your daughter’s puppy eyes convinced him otherwise. You printed it out, and kept it close, calling it a good luck charm, and here it was still okay. Dabis hands trembled as he reached for it, carefully wiping the ashes from the photo, trying not to make it dirtier than it already was, and put it in his pocket, walking away with his lost treasure.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  “I’m glad,” he whispered, a sad smile plastered on his face, before looking back at his son. “Whatever you think of me, it wasn’t easy for me to just leave.”

  “Mhm, right, because you care so much.”

  “Watch it,” Dabi growled before softening up once more. “How’s… D/n?”

  Your son froze, looking back at him before mouthing. “Wait… you’re her father too?”

  Dabi didn’t say anything before pulling out and carefully showing him the photo.

S/n hesitantly took it and mouthed, looking over it. “Are you kidding me…?”

A revengeful thought came to him as he looked it over, still trying to comprehend it. He could see this little picture meant a lot to the poor villain who was carefully observing him, anytime S/n would move it, he could see him grow a bit on edge. Yet he took pity on the monster standing near him and shoved it back into his hand.

  “Well, you can be happy then, she doesn’t remember you,” he murmured, returning his hand on the railing.

  Dabi froze, giving him a doubting look.

“Yeah, she has some sort of traumatic amnesia or so I’ve heard.”

  “Amnesia… what happened?”

  “I don’t know I wasn’t told much,” S/n remarked. “But hey now you have one less burden to worry about, don’t want to mess up your future plan.”

  “Is that why you think I left?” Dabi spoke, tightly gripping the photo which remained in his hand. “I did it to keep all of you safe and give you a good shot at life, not because you’re some burden.”

  “No, you left because you’re a coward, stop trying to justify it with some sacrificial bullshit.”

  “Listen here-”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Hawks has been flying around the city for almost 2 hours now, frantically searching every nick and cranny he could think of, he felt like ripping his feathers out, how did he not pick up the mirror breaking, how could he let S/n leave, or worse, maybe he was taken?

So many thoughts were rushing through his head as he finally allowed himself to breathe. He landed on a nearby rooftop pulling out his phone with intention of calling Endeavor to report the update, before he spotted a familiar figure on a bridge near an old factory, the bridge was on the brink of collapsing so no one bothered to light it up properly. Two figures were standing under a badly cleaned street light, which now began to frantically flicker.

Hawks quickly dialed Endeavor, explaining his suspicion and telling his location. Endeavor asked him to wait, not knowing if it could be a trap, but Hawks with a foggy mind and his protective instincts didn’t listen, he murmured a simple “see ya soon” and hung up the phone. He looked back in the direction of the bridge and let himself glide off the rooftop.

Dabi stopped talking when he saw Hawks approach them, he only looked at S/n, stuffing the photo back into his pocket, and mumbled. “Looks like our time is up.” before S/n was fastly carried by Hawks feathers away from the dangerously close villain.

Hawks landed near S/n, surprising him as he frantically searched for any kind of injuries.

  “You okay kid?” he looked back at Dabi with a nasty look. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  S/n pushed himself out of Hawks grasp. “I’m fine.”

  Hawks looked at him with sadness and guilt in his eyes, which turned into fury and hatred when they fell on Dabi, who was now casually leaning on the bridge railing. Hawks pulled away from S/n and approached Dabi with a feather blade in hand and pointed it at his throat.

  “Why did you take him?” Hawks barked, trying to search Dabi's cold demeanor for any kind of tricks.

  “I didn’t take shit, he was the one that found me.”

  Hawks looked back at S/n, who only looked away with guilt running across his face. Hawks gave him a disappointing glare before turning back at Dabi, who was unfaced with the deadly weapon pointed at his throat.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

  Dabi cocked his eyebrows. “Do you now?” he jeered.

  “S/n doesn’t need a screw up like you for a father nor does he need your baggage, leave him be.”

  “Playing the father role well I see,” Dabi responded ignoring Hawks’ sudden outburst.

  “I couldn’t let a child be fathered by a scoundrel like you, now could I?”

  How Dabi wanted to tear down the oversized chicken limb from limb, finally take his revenge for ruining his family, for taking you away from him. His hands were beginning to itch and beg him to give in to his little temptation. He looked past Hawks at his son, god he looked just like you , his mind replayed your voice trying to calm him down as the temptation quietly disappeared into a pile of mush.

Dabi furrowed his eyebrows, turning around from the confrontation, and stepped back.

“I don’t have time for this.” He stoically stated, trying to hold back any kind of resentment towards Hawks.

  “Running away like always?” Hawks remarked, getting no response from the grim figure who slithered away in defeat.

  After he disappeared from view, Hawks turned back to S/n, who was standing nearby, tapping his feet nervously. Hawks approached him, throwing his jacket over the boys shoulders, and growled.

“We’re going home.”

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  You were pacing around the living room, phone in hand, waiting for any news on S/n whereabouts, when suddenly the front door opened up. You rushed to the door.

  “Did you—Angel hey are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?” you blubbered, scanning his face for any cuts or bruises.

  “How’s your hand?”

  “It’s fine, mom,” he responded shamefully, looking at the ground.

  “You really scared me sweetheart… where were you?” you hugged him tightly, massaging his back, and mouthed a quiet “thank you” to the heroes patiently standing nearby.

  “I don’t want to talk about it… can I go now? I’m really tired,” he mumbled, pushing you away.

  “I…”

  “Good night.” Your son said as he walked off to his room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You looked back at Endeavor and Hawks, who moved over to the couch.

  “What happened? Where did you find him?”

  “He was with Dabi.”

  “Dabi… what? Why? Did he kidnap him?”

  “No, it seems the kid found him first.” Endeavor tried calming you down.

  “Why would he-”

  “We’re not sure...but right now we should all go rest it’s been a tough night.” Endeavor stated.

  Hawks stood up and got ready to head to S/n room to give him the speech he thought of in the car before Endeavor stopped him.

“I’ll talk to him, you go rest.” He looked back at you, nodding to Hawks, who hesitantly took a seat next to you, wrapping one of his wings around you, slowly massaging your back.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

  Endeavor approached the door and knocked a few times, not hearing a response he pressed on the handle and the unlocked door opened with ease.

He stepped inside closing the door behind him, spotting your son, laying in his bed with his back turned, as he was slightly shaking behind the covers, clearly trying to calm himself down.

Endeavor sighted, not bothering to turn on the light, and sat beside him. He sat there for a while, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say, or should’ve said, yet nothing came up.

  “You won’t be going to U.A.” he finally stated.

  Your son froze, and quickly sat back up, now facing Endeavor. “You can’t do that.”

  “I already called the school.”

  Your son ran his hand through his hair trying to come up with a valid argument.

“I also think that you should stay homeschooled for a while, seeing as there is a high chance of probability that the league knows you exist.”

“I know you worked hard, but your safety is far more important,” he added tapping S/n gently on the shoulder.

  Your son was too tired to answer but gave Endeavor a little nod.

  “Good, now get some sleep.” Endeavor said as he stood up from the bedside. He walked over to the door and looked back with a serious gaze.

“Don’t run away again, am I understood?”

  “Yes sir” your son responded letting his head fall onto the comfortable pillow.

  “Good.” Endeavor muttered closing the door behind him.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

It’s been almost a week and your patience was starting to run out, six days with only blunt responses from your son, him denying to eat your food or even come out of his room, and tonight you decided enough is enough and walked over to your son’s room with Hawks following close behind.

You turned back to him, trying to justify your sudden outburst. “I just want to see if he’s doing alright…”

  “I’ll go with you,” he reassured, giving your hand a light squeeze.

  You gave him a thankful nod before gently pressing on the handle and cracking the door open. Your son was sitting on his bed, with his earphones on, listening to something, paying no mind to your sudden entrance. His cheerful demeanor now became grim, dark circles under his eyes were too big for comfort, his bandage hand now bare.

Hawks hand fell on your shoulder as he gave you an encouraging glance. You took a deep breath in, before approaching his bedside and sitting next to him. Your son immediately looked up to you and Hawks who was leaning against a nearby wall, looking at him with his soft eyes. S/n took off his headphones and mumbled. “Please leave, I really don’t want to talk to any of you.”

“It’s been a week, kid, you can’t just keep ignoring us like this.” Hawks lilted.

  “Honey…” you tried reaching for his hand but he pulled away instantly. “I know--it's hard and I shouldn’t have kept something like that from you… and I’m deeply sorry.”

  “Good to know, the doors right there you can leave now.” your son jeered.

  “Can you at least come out of your room and eat something? I don’t like when you hurt yourself like this,” you said, once again reaching out to him.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said, pulling away. “You kept it from D/n as well didn’t you?”

  “D/n… her situation is different from yours…”

  “How?” he asked, not sparing you a glance.

  “She knew who he was… but after your d—Dabi left she couldn’t handle it, so her brain locked him out of her memory,” you explained in a simple manner.

  “And you let her leave just like that... “ your son scoffed as he got off from the bed. “Were you going to do the same with me?”

  “We-”

  “You know what, don’t answer that… I don’t think it’s good for me to hang around you two right now.”

  Your son walked towards the door but Hawks moved, blocking it. “You need to calm down, kid.”

  “Get out of my way Hawks.” your son warned, his sleep deprived, and angered mind getting the best of him.

  “You need to stop throwing tantrums and listen-”

  Hawks was interrupted by a loud explosion, he felt like he was falling before he hit something hard, his ears began to ring, he felt limb trying to gasp for air and he desperately fought to keep his eyes open as he felt warm like wood liquid falling down his face. He could see you desperately run to him, tripping over the fallen door, your soft touch masking the terrible pain he felt, he slowly reached for your cheek, accidentally smearing it with his blood, trying to wipe away your tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

He slowly shifted trying to spot the boy he carefully tried to father throughout his life, only to see him, standing there in the smoke of a now destroyed corridor, dark smoke surrounding him, as his sight got worse he could swear the little boy turn into a monstrous shadowy figure, who was now darting away. Hawks tried reaching out to him but he seemed to be getting further and further away by the second, he mumbled something under his breath as he let his body and mind succumb to the dark slumber he so craved.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 74

BLACKOUT!! @badthingshappenbingo​​​

Honor Bound 2 - 74 (more expendable than you) - requested by @my-whumpy-little-heart​​​​ and @omega-em-z-02​​​​

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: thoughts/discussion of death, noncon mention, death threats, gendered slur, death, broken bones mention, blood, gunshot wounds

~

Gavin told Isaac to count for ten minutes after he’d been taken back to his cell. Ten minutes, and the guards would be back at their posts after dropping Isaac off. Ten minutes, and then it would start. Ten minutes and the family would make a break for freedom, or die.

Isaac had ten minutes to explain the plan and convince the family to follow it. He was already seven minutes in.

“She…” Tori’s voice shook. “She said if I… if I take it off, she’ll… she’ll kill Vera, I… I can’t…”

“I know she did,” Isaac said softly, counting in his head. 434. 435. 436. “I know. But… she won’t make it here. She won’t make it in time. Gavin will beat her here and get us out.”

“I don’t trust him,” Tori whimpered. “I don’t, I don’t trust him. He’s different. He’s… he’s changed. He hurts me, I can’t… please… he hurts me…”

“I know he does, babe,” Vera said softly. “But… it’s only because he has to. If you do this, he won’t have to anymore.”

“But what if he’s lying?” Tori said weakly. “What if he really likes this? What if he just wants us for himself now, and he’s lying?”

“Tori…” Isaac’s voice broke as the flicker of a memory gripped him, a memory of Gavin’s hand gently cradling his face, pulling him close for a kiss and then pulling back at the last moment… 461. 462. 463. “He doesn’t want to hurt us. You just have to… trust me on this. Okay? I was with him last night. We were up all night planning this, going over contingencies, filling holes in the plan… If this plan doesn’t work, nothing will. Believe me. Please.”

“Why today?” Tori sobbed. “Why not weeks ago? We’ve been kept here for, for weeks, and he’s been torturing us this whole time…”

“Tori,” Vera said, a hint of firmness in her voice. “He had to. He had absolutely no choice. I know it hurts, babe, but—”

“We’re doing this now because he can help us now,” Isaac said. “He’s trusted. It’s why I got to stay with him. Colleen trusts him. She thought he’d fuck me last night, like he’s meant to.” 508. 509. 510.

“He still did,” Tori whispered.

Isaac swallowed hard. Gavin did fuck him, with Leo holding him down, Leo’s hand in his hair, Leo forcing him down to the bed as he screamed… Isaac shuddered and forced the image from his mind. He forced away the pain as his body locked down at the memory, at the feeling, of Gavin forcing himself on Isaac. Not gently, not tenderly like he had before. Gavin played the game so well that Leo believed it.

And then Gavin had nearly kissed him. Why had he pulled back? If he felt nothing for Isaac, why hold him at all? Why not push him away?

539. 540. 541. Isaac cleared his throat. “It had to be today because she’s going to kill him today.”

“And if she’s killing him today…” Sam spoke for the first time, shivering with terror, cowering towards the floor. “…then we’re dying today, too.”

“I know it’s terrifying,” Vera croaked. “I know it feels like you’re killing me. But… Tori�� if this doesn’t work, I’m dying today anyway.”

“No,” Tori sobbed. “Don’t say that, don’t say that… Please…”

“If you don’t do this, I don’t get Ellis back,” Finn whimpered from their cell. “Please, Tori. I… please. This is how we get out. This has to be you.”

“Gavin’s done this for us once before,” Isaac rasped, a smile playing across his lips for a fraction of a second. “And that was back before any of us trusted him.” 553. 554. 555. Please, Tori. Please. Do this, or we miss our chance. Please.

“Tori, please,” Vera said softly. “I won’t take it off you myself. But… please. Please do it.”

Tori heaved a sob, the sound muffled by her hand. There was a rattle of chains and the sound of a body moving across the floor.

“I love you,” Tori whimpered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Vera said back, conviction strengthening her voice, evening out the tremor. “I love you so much.”

“Okay.” A sniff. “How long do we have, Isaac?”

567. 568. 569. “Thirty seconds,” Isaac croaked.

“Oh, god,” Tori sobbed. “Oh, Vera, no no no no…”

“It’s okay, babe. I got you. Gavin’s got us. It’s okay.”

576. 577. 578.

“Vera, p-please, what if he kills you, what if he kills you…?”

“He won’t. Just breathe, babe. You can do this.”

585. 586. 587.

“I-Isaac, when…?”

“Ten. Nine.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

“Eight. Seven.”

“Okay okay okay.”

“Six. Five.”

“Oh, Vera, I love you…”

“Four. Three.”

“I love you too.”

“Two. One. Do it, Tori.”

There was a clink, and a short beep. A clatter. Tori heaved a sob.

“I took it off,” she whispered. “No no no no no, she’s gonna… Oh, god, Vera, I’m so sorry, please, no…”

“You did it, babe,” Vera said softly, pride warming her voice. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You remember what I said?” Isaac said breathlessly, his heart pounding in his chest. No stopping this now. “Get to the side. Get out of sight of the door. Stand still, don’t move.”

“Yeah,” Tori breathed. There was a scramble of hands and knees on the floor. “Oh, god. Oh, shit.”

“Steady, Tori,” Isaac said gently. “You’re alright. Breathe. Slowly. In, out.”

“Right,” Tori gasped. “Breathing. Good.”

“Keep breathing. And when they come, stay perfectly silent. Stay out of the way. Don’t let them see you.”

A whimper. “Okay. I can do it.”

“You can do this,” Vera said, intensity crackling in every word.

Isaac strained his hearing to try to pick up the pounding of boots, of shouts. He knew the cell block was soundproofed. There was no point in trying to hear anything. He tried, all the same.

He jumped when the door to the hallway burst open.

Three guards jogged in and went straight for Tori and Vera’s cell, guns already drawn. Three’s better than it could have been, but more than we were hoping for. One of them was the one who had nearly shot Isaac against his sergeant’s orders. Isaac shivered as they all stopped moving, probably taking up position around Tori and Vera’s cell.

“Where the fuck is she?” one of them snarled. That was him. Simmons.

There was a clink of a chain moving against the floor. “Beats me,” came Vera’s voice. “I haven’t seen her since last night. Didn’t you guys get an alert or something?”

“Bullshit,” another snapped. “She’s probably just… hiding in that damned corner.” There was a jingle of keys.

“She’s not here to put the muzzle on me so…” The sound of keys stopped for a moment. “Come on in here. I dare you.”

Isaac had to suppress a smile. That’s right. Keep them talking. Give Gavin time.

“We put her down now, and look for the other one once she’s dead,” one of them murmured.

“Go right ahead,” Vera snapped. “That’ll help you find her.”

“Shit.” There was a rustle of uniforms. “Do we tell Mrs. Stormbeck? Or…”

Someone banged on the door to the hallway.

Isaac could have sobbed with relief. Colleen would have had someone with her with keys. He beat her, for now.

“Go see who the fuck that is.”

Simmons passed in front of Isaac and Sam’s cell with a withering glance in their direction. He holstered his weapon as he did. The door opened, and the guard gasped quietly.

“Oh. Ga— Mr. Stormbeck. What—”

“Move, Simmons.” Gavin stepped past the guard and stalked past Sam and Isaac, his face pulled into a mask of fury.

“Mr.—”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Stormbeck. I get it.”

“Sir, what—”

“That one’s bitch took off her collar, didn’t she?”

“Um… yes sir.”

“Fucking hell. We fucking told her…”

“Sir, we were just… did you want us to put her down here? Or take her back to your moth—”

“Fuck that,” Gavin hissed. “Jones, give me your fucking gun. I’m going to put her down. Fucking animal killed my father and put me in the hospital for weeks.”

“S-sir—”

“Jones, give me your fucking gun.”

Isaac held his breath. This worked once, with two idiots who had one gun between them. These guys are trained, and wearing body armor. Please, Gavin, please don’t miss… I can’t listen to you die when we’re so fucking close to getting out.

There was the sound of a weapon being unholstered. “Yes, sir,” the guard said heavily. Isaac let out his breath.

Simmons took a step back and into Isaac’s view. He through a poisonous look at Sam, then Isaac. “What?” he sneered. “No drama? No begging? Thank god we’ve finally beaten that shit out of you. Now—”

Bang.

Simmons jumped, his head snapping towards Gavin. He reached for his gun.

Bang.

He had the gun out of his holster and was bringing it up to shoot.

Bang.

Simmons jerked backwards and fell to the floor. Dead.

Isaac gasped. His ears rang with the sounds of the gunshots. He did it. He fucking did it.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the jingle of keys.

“No, no no no,” Isaac said, lunging forward against the chains. “Make sure they’re dead, Gavin. Headshots. Don’t touch the keys yet.”

A sigh. “They were headshots, Isaac.”

“Okay,” Isaac croaked. Gavin stepped into view and threw a wry glance in Isaac’s direction. “Sorry.”

Gavin yanked the keys from Simmons’ belt and went first to Isaac and Sam’s cell. Isaac felt something give way in his chest as the door swung open.

Gavin stumbled in and fell to his knees beside Isaac. He threw his arms around Isaac and buried his face in his neck.

“Isaac,” Gavin breathed. “It worked. Holy fuck…”

Isaac pressed a kiss into Gavin’s hair. His stomach lurched in the same moment. He doesn’t have to fuck me now. I don’t get to touch him like that anymore. He looked over Gavin’s shoulder and saw Sam weakly pushing themselves up to their knees. Gavin pulled back and fumbled with the keys, reaching for the shackles around Isaac’s wrists.

Isaac yanked his hand back. “No. Start with Sam. Get them out.”

“N-no, Isaac,” Sam gasped. “If more guards come, you need to… you’re more…” They winced.

Isaac’s mouth went dry. “I’m more… what?”

“I’m…” Sam panted and wrapped their arms around their chest, splinting the cracked ribs from when they’d been kicked yesterday. “I’m, um…” Their voice dropped to a whisper. “Expendable. It’s okay if I—”

Isaac all but shoved Gavin away from him. “Free them first,” he growled. His hand snapped in Sam’s direction. “Now, Gavin.”

Gavin swallowed hard and turned to Sam. He unlocked the chain from their collar. They slumped to the floor, wheezing.

“Now you,” Gavin murmured. He scrambled over to Isaac and unchained him from the wall.

Isaac leapt to his feet, trying to force down the wave of nausea and dizziness that gripped him for a moment as he stood. He stumbled out of the cell and went to one of the guards lying splayed in front of Vera and Tori’s cell. Blood was slowly leaking out of the bullet holes in their heads. His hands shook as he yanked the keys from the guard’s belt and lunged for Finn’s cell. He unlocked the door and tossed the keys inside. Finn grabbed the keys and immediately reached for the chain locked to their collar.

Isaac went to the last guard and ripped the ring of keys from his belt. He unlocked Tori and Vera’s cell and passed the keys to Tori, standing just behind the bars. He turned back to the guards and reached for the nearest one.

“Gavin,” Isaac said, his voice falling into the harsh tone it always got on missions. “There’s blood. Cover your, your nose or something.”

“Already on it,” Gavin said, his voice slightly muffled. Isaac turned and saw Gavin supporting Sam, a cloth tied around Gavin’s face. Isaac’s jaw clenched shut at how pale Sam looked, at the pain in every line of their face.

Gavin set Sam gently against the wall. “Can you stand?” Gavin said softly. Isaac blinked tears out of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam gasped. “I’m, I’m fine.”

Gavin crammed the ring of keys into his pocket and turned to Isaac. “You all good here?”

Isaac glanced around at the others, all free of their chains, a fierceness in each of them. Even Tori. “Yeah,” he said. “Go get Ellis.”

Gavin met Isaac’s gaze for a moment, something behind his eyes that made Isaac’s chest ache. This is the most dangerous part for him. I’m sending him back out there with no protection, no weapons… Isaac swallowed hard. He jerked the gun out of the guard’s holster and held it out to Gavin.

“Here,” Isaac said weakly. “Take this. I can’t let you—”

“We talked about this, Isaac,” Gavin said heavily. “You need that more than I do. If they find you, they’ll just shoot you dead. Me, at least…” Gavin shrugged, a choked laugh leaving his throat. “If they catch me, they won’t shoot me. They’ll just take me back to my mom. And if they catch me, it’ll be too late anyway.”

Something scratched at the back of Isaac’s mind, something about what Gavin said that didn’t sit right. Something that clenched Isaac’s gut. He opened his mouth to protest. We’ll all go together. We’ll all get Ellis out. We’ll figure something out. Please, please don’t go.

Gavin turned to leave. “I’ll get Ellis. You guys get out, get to where I told you to meet me. I’ll see you there.” He pulled the door open and ran, dragging the cloth away from his face. The door closed heavily behind him.

Isaac felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Vera at his side. She looked stronger than she had in weeks, her eyes blazing. “Come on, Isaac,” she said softly. “Let’s get them out.”

He shot a glance at Sam, sagging against the wall, sweat beading on their forehead. His throat went tight. “Yeah,” he rasped. He turned back to the guard on the floor in front of him.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “Three guards. Three vests. Vera, Finn, suit up. Tori and Sam, you stay behind us.” He ripped the guard’s shirt open down the front and reached for the guard’s knife. He cut the rest of the shirt off and began undoing the straps on the vest. He glanced to both sides and saw Vera and Finn doing the same.

“Babe,” Tori said softly. “Do you… I mean… do you have to…”

Vera didn’t look up. “Yeah,” she said curtly. Mission mode. “Isaac has the training, I’m ex-law enforcement, Finn’s ex—”

“Barely ex-military,” Finn snorted, a sort of fevered energy in their eyes. “Ex-military prep school? And I was bad at the military stuff.”

“Whatever,” Vera said. “We’ve got the training. We go in front.”

“But—”

Vera turned and looked at Tori. “Sam’s going to need help walking. Stay behind us. Keep your heads down. Help Sam.”

Tori bit her lip. “Okay.”

Isaac pulled the vest free and swung it up over his head, settling it over his shoulders and expertly pulling the Velcro straps tight. He grabbed the gun and checked it as Finn and Vera finished putting on their vests.

“Six rounds, plus one in the chamber,” Isaac said.

“Same,” Vera said.

“Same,” came Finn’s reply.

After another moment, Isaac yanked the belt off the guard and buckled it around his waist, sliding the guard’s knife into its sheath.

“Ready?” he said, his voice low. They all nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s go.” He took point and pushed the door open.

Finn and Vera fell to either side of him, with Sam and Tori so close behind him he could feel them against his back. They quickly made their way down the hall.

“Left,” he said softly. He cleared the hallway, and the others followed behind. He could hear Sam’s labored breathing behind him. Each gasp punched through his own chest. He shook his head and focused on the hallway in front of him. They paused just as they were about to pass another hallway.

“Vera—”

Vera stepped out and cleared the hallway. She motioned, and they all moved silently on.

Another hallway to the right. Vera cleared it, and they moved again.

“Right here,” Isaac whispered. Again, Vera stepped out to clear it. She gasped and brought her gun up. Isaac lunged forward, his own weapon held out in front of him.

Two guards were walking quickly in their direction.

“Right,” Isaac said.

“Left,” Vera said at the same time. They both took shots. Both guards went down. Finn scrambled around the corner, their own gun held up into the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Finn panted. “I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” Vera said, her voice harsh, her eyes focused. “You’re not used to this. Isaac and I are.”

“I’m sor—”

“Hush,” Vera snapped. “Not now.”

Finn swallowed and fell silent.

They moved quickly down the hallway, sidestepping the bodies of the two guards. Sam whimpered as they passed. Isaac reached one hand behind him for a moment, searching for Sam’s. Their hand slid into his and squeezed.

They reached the end of the hallway. Isaac cleared the way left, and they all moved.

“It’s another right, then a straight shot to the doors,” Isaac hissed.

A guard rounded the corner.

Finn, Isaac, and Vera all snapped their weapons up to point at him. His hands shot straight up into the air and he fell to his knees. “Please,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, fuck, please don’t…”

Isaac swallowed hard. It was the young guard, the guard from before, one of the ones who’d dragged Isaac into his cell and trembled as he did it. He’s Sam’s age, or younger. Isaac’s hand shook around the gun.

Vera’s stance tightened as she took aim.

“No,” Isaac whispered. “He’s a fucking kid.”

The barrel of Vera’s gun dipped. She blew out a slow breath between her lips. “Gun on the floor,” she snarled at the guard.

The guard drew his weapon and placed it on the floor. He slid it towards Isaac.

Isaac snatched it off the floor and passed it behind him, not taking his eyes off the guard. “Tori,” he whispered. She took it from his hand.

“Knife, too.”

The guard drew it from its sheath and tossed it over. Vera grabbed it and passed it back to Sam.

“Please,” the guard begged. “I didn’t, I didn’t want to do this, they, they told me it was just security, they… please, no…”

Vera dragged in a gasp beside Isaac. “Shit.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Isaac growled.

“I won’t,” the guard sobbed, tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks. “The d-door is, it’s, you walk past me and take a right and it’s—”

“We know,” Isaac said darkly. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

“I won’t, I—” The guard glanced behind Isaac. “No no no WATCH—”

Isaac spun, keeping his weapon down so it wouldn’t point at Sam and Tori. A guard was barreling down the hall towards them, weapon drawn and pointed right at them. Isaac aimed for the guard’s center mass.

Bang.

There was a spray of blood and Sam fell back against Isaac, just as the bullet punched into Isaac’s vest. He collapsed to the floor with Sam on top of him.

Bang.

The shot came from directly above him.

Isaac couldn’t breathe. He felt like he’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. The bullet had to have gone through. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe…

The world was fuzzy at the edges. Isaac dragged in a ragged breath, nearly screaming as his ribs creaked in his chest. The pain made him dizzy. His eyes rolled back in his head. Something wet was spilling into his lap. He looked down at Sam. They were covered in blood.

“SAM! NO!”

Isaac dropped the gun, his hands fumbling at Sam’s chest, at their neck, desperately searching for where the blood was coming from. He heaved a dry sob. His hands were slick with blood.

Someone pushed his hands away from Sam. “No!” Isaac screamed. “No, let me…”

There was a flash of chestnut hair and Finn pushed Isaac away again. “Let me,” Finn snapped, focused.

Finn’s hands moved over Sam, the same way Isaac had seen dozens of times. Head. Neck. Chest. Their hands stuttered and stopped as they found the bleed: the bullet had torn through Sam’s upper arm. Blood was pulsing from the wound.

“Isaac. Belt. Take everything off of it.” Finn’s voice was steady as they pressed their hand into the wound. Sam gasped and whined softly.

Isaac tore the belt off this waist and stripped it of its holster and sheath. He passed it to Finn. Finn wound it around Sam’s arm at their shoulder. They pulled it tight, then tighter, then tighter. Sam screamed. Isaac’s hands jerked towards them and then back.

“No, I need your help,” Finn said. “I’ll pull it tight. You buckle it so it stays.”

“And that’ll—”

“Not for long. But we’ve got to move. Now, Isaac.”

Isaac’s hands were wet with blood as he forced the belt to buckle around Sam’s arm. There was a black spot growing in his vision as every breath stabbed through him.

Finn’s voice was at his shoulder. “I’ll carry them. Vera—”

“I’ll cover,” she said from above Isaac, her voice shaking. “Isaac, can you walk?”

“I’ll carry…” Isaac swallowed. He swayed as he pushed himself to his feet.

“No,” Finn snapped. “Your ribs might be cracked. Not risking it. I’ve got them.” They quickly gathered Sam into their arms and lifted. Sam cried out as Finn cradled them against their chest. Sam’s skin was deathly pale.

“S-Sam,” Isaac sobbed.

“Let’s move,” Vera said. Her free hand closed around Isaac’s vest and jerked him forward. He stumbled after her as she cleared the next hallway. Tori and Finn followed behind, both supporting Sam. Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps. Isaac staggered forward, gasping.

“Gavin said… he… would have a car… said… just outside…”

“I know, Isaac,” Vera said, her voice strained. She reached the doors and shoved them open. They all rushed through and down the steps. There was a black, nondescript car at the bottom, already running. A valet stepped out of the car, a look of surprise and concern on his face. Vera took aim.

“No…” Isaac heaved.

“Necessary evil,” Vera said darkly. She took a shot. The valet jerked and toppled over into the driveway. She dashed down the stairs and pulled the car doors open for the others.

Finn and Tori stumbled on the steps and Sam nearly fell from their grasp. Sam let out a shriek of agony.

Isaac glanced up and his stomach clenched in panic. The young guard was barreling down the steps towards them. The gun Isaac had been carrying was held tight in the guard’s hand.

“V-Vera, Vera!” Isaac rasped, his voice raw. Vera turned and gasped, raising her gun to point it at the guard.

“No no no no! Don’t shoot! I…” The guard shoved the gun into his holster and raised his hands. “Just… just let me…” He knelt beside Sam and pulled them roughly into his arms.

“NO!” Isaac screamed. “No, no!” He fumbled for the gun he knew wasn’t there, he knew it was in the guard’s holster, and he was taking Sam…

The guard staggered down the steps towards the car with Sam in his arms. Isaac’s mouth fell open.

“Come on!” the guard yelled over his shoulder. “Come on, I… I want to help, please…”

“What the… fuck…” Vera breathed.

“Please,” the guard sobbed. “Please, I… I just want to, to help…”

Finn and Tori ran towards the guard and helped support Sam to the car. “We need to fucking go,” Tori hissed. “If he wants to help…”

Finn and Tori helped the guard as he carried Sam into the back seat and laid them across it. Sam whimpered, blood soaking into their clothes.

“Hey,” Vera barked at the guard. “The fuck is your name?”

“Zachariah,” the guard panted. His hands shot into the air as soon as his hands left Sam.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Vera snarled.

“H-helping,” the guard whimpered. “Please. I… I’m sorry…”

“Get the fuck out, then,” Vera snapped. Isaac glanced up at her and saw concern, not hatred. “Get the fuck out. Go back to the house. If they find you with us they’ll kill you. Go. Now.”

The guard fell backwards out of the car and scrambled up the steps. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry… I… I don’t want to be this anymore,” he sobbed.

Vera paused and looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Then head north,” she said heavily. “Keep heading north until there are no syndicates. You’ll reach a town. You’ll know you’re there, trust me. Tell them you’re a refugee and we sent you. You know our names?”

“Yes,” the guard breathed. “Thank you.” He turned and ran back into the house.

Isaac stumbled down the rest of the stairs. He eased himself into the middle seat and immediately reached back for Sam.

“Finn,” he gasped. “How do we, how…”

“I don’t know,” Finn said, their voice on the edge of a sob. “I don’t know. But we’ve got to switch out this tourniquet. And I… they’ve lost so much blood already, I… I need to…” Finn’s voice broke. “I can’t fix this without my med kit…”

Isaac turned his gaze back to the house, his vision blurred with tears. Sam was dying, and Gavin might be dead. If we go, can Finn save Sam? We’re hundreds of miles from friendly territory. And… Isaac’s stomach heaved with the amount of blood on Sam’s clothes, on his, soaking into the seat of the car. Finn can’t fix this here. But if we go, if we go, if we go…

“We just have to… wait for… Gavin and Ellis,” Isaac said almost to himself, his chest aching with each word. “They… they just have to… to make it out. And then we can go.”

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts​​​, @womping-grounds​​​, @free-2bmee​​​, @quirkykayleetam​​​, @walkingchemicalfire​​​, @inpainandsuffering​​​, @redwingedwhump​​​, @burtlederp​​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​​, @insomniacscoprio​​​, @cursedscribbles​​​, @whumpywhumper​​​, @stxck-fxck​​​, @omega-em-z-02​​​, @whumps-the-word​​​, @slaintetowhump​​​, @finder-of-rings​​​, @cinnamonflavoredhugs​​​, @thatsthewhump​​​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump​​​, @orchidscript​​​, @this-mightaswell-happen​​​, @newandfiguringitout​​​, @whumpkitty​​​, @pretty-face-breaker​​​

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sorry!! Mind went empty after I typed the word & so I sent it without thinking what I was doing! 🎶best with Klaus!

A/N: Totally understandable, we all have our mind-fart moments. So this was a tricky prompt because of the song that came up being very short and very angsty in context, but I found a secret route to fluff anyway. Song: Best of Wives and Best of Women ~ Hamilton Word Count: 510 Rating: G -  references to past drug abuse

“Klaus?” you asked the darkness. “Is that you?”

You had been woken by sounds of crashing and shuffling from the other side of the room and a cold and empty bed. 

“Shit, sorry, Y/N,” he slurred, “I didn’t mean to wake you up baby.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, sitting up and rubbing your eyes blearily before letting them adjust to the darkness. You could just make out your boyfriend rooting around near the door.

“I...there’s someone I have to go meet but I can’t find my pants,” he whined.

“Clearly that’s a sign you should come back to bed and worry about it later. It’s not even really morning.”

“I can’t. I have to go now.”

“What is so important that you woke up in the middle of the night to go do? Is it drugs? Are you using again?” You tried to keep both the hurt and the suspicion out of your voice as your mind jumped to the worst case scenario and the memories of all the hell you’d been through both while he was addicted and while he was trying to get clean.

“What? No! No, no, no, I promise, it’s nothing like that. I just...have an appointment to keep.”

“An appointment? At…”you glanced over finally at the digital clock beside you

“Five twenty-seven am?”

“No, it’s at like seven, but it's across town and it’s really important so I want to make sure I’m there in time. And I can’t find my damn pants.” You heard the sound of his hands slapping against his bare thighs in frustration. 

“You’re being ridiculous Klaus,” you sighed. “Just come back to bed.”

“I told you, I can’t. You’ll understand later, I promise.”

“Fine, whatever. Just keep the pants hunt down then, because I’m going back to sleep.” You flopped back, rolling onto your side and pulling the covers over your head to block him out as best you could.

He sighed and gave up, grabbing the first garment he could find instead (the bright blue floral skirt you had been wearing the day before). I really wasn’t his color, and you might be mad at him for borrowing it, but anything was better than being late. He had finally found the perfect ring, and he couldn’t miss out on it for a little thing like fashion. Still, he found himself glancing back at you, already asleep again, curled up with your own breath fluttering your hair in front of your face and felt his heart twist with the temptation. But there would be time for that later, the rest of his life if he played his cards right...which meant going and getting the damn ring, he had to remind himself again. 

“God, Y/N,” he muttered. “You’re amazing. You’re the best. I don’t deserve you.” He dashed back over to the side of the bed to press a gentle goodbye kiss to your forehead before exiting the bedroom and easing the door shut behind him. “I’ll be back later. I love you.”

[ajokeformur-ray]

An old soul with young eyes // Lilith x others 💙💜💚💙

This is a comfort piece and gift for @jokerslilhyena​​ who is going through a tough time right now and deserves the entire world. I love you so much, darling, and I'm here for you. We all are, and we all love you so dearly and deeply. I hope that you like this, I, ah... pulled out all the stops for you and I hope you enjoy all of this. I’ve been working on it almost constantly for about a week and I’m so, so nervous to post this. There’s a surprise at the end 😊 If there's anything you dislike or want changed then please let me know, I got'cha! I love you, we all do, and we're all so proud of you!💜💙🥰

Summary: You just want to be taken care of with no worries. 

Total word countttt: 7, 510.

Arthur // wc: 1, 903.

A natural caregiver was Arthur.

It was one of the things which you loved the most about him; the way that he could just look at you and know exactly what you needed and even how you needed it. So emotionally intuitive and so driven was he to do and to be good, to do and to be everything that you needed him to be, that Arthur only ever had you in his mind. Everything that he did was for you, his Hyena. 

You were his only everything. His only kind face in a sea of apathetic, callous and cold, soulless citizens. His only audience when he practiced his shows as Carnival, your personal party clown. His only reason to do his best, to work as hard as he could. His only friend, his one companion, his one and only person who understood him. You loved him so deeply. Carnival was your smile and your laughter and Arthur, oh... he was the protector of all which Carnival held dear.

Arthur lived for you and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. 

So when you were so worn down that it took everything you felt like you no longer had to even get out of bed, Arthur was devastated. He knew what it was like to be forced to work hard, to have no time to yourself and to feel suffocated by your home situation and by the responsibilities you had been forced to shoulder with little to no consideration for your own feelings by the very people who had given you those duties. Arthur knew and he understood exactly how you felt and it broke his heart. He would never have wanted you to go through the things that he went through every day and though he felt helpless, he also knew what would be best for you.

When you came home from work this night, so tired that you felt wide awake, thoughts of cooking yourself a steak, cracking open an ice cold, ripe Monster and having a shower before you went to bed were both right at the front of your mind and so far away; you needed to take physical care of yourself but you were just so tired. You would probably just grab some goldfish, a Monster, and shower. Or you could just skip food, you could do with the weight loss anyway... your physical exhaustion only fed into your weighted mental state and as you slid your key into the worn, slightly rusty lock, the delectable smell of a steak cooking reached your nose and your mouth began to water instantly. You heard the gentle padding of socked feet on worn carpet and Arthur almost came skidding around the sharp corner, his hands working on cracking the tab of an ice cold Monster.

“Lilith ~ !” Ecstatic was he to have his best friend home with him! The can was pressed into your hands and you giggled at Arthur’s enthusiastic greeting. He swept a hand through dark romantic curls which bounced against the tops of his shoulders as he did so. “How was work?” Arthur spoke as you drank heavily from the can and his eyes never once left you; he wondered how you could drink so much so quickly, but he also took pride in how well he was looking after you! He was the man of the house after all and that was his job! And he was making you even a little bit happy and oh, how Arthur thrived under such loving conditions! For every loving action he afforded you, you returned it tenfold. Both of you were such warm souls, and the warmth you both exuded was only returned by the other person and when you were together, why, it seemed as if neither of you would ever be cold again.

“It... was work.” You shrugged, slightly breathless from drinking more than half the can in such a quick time. Oh, but you would be relieved when it was finally time for you to leave your job. You so hated it and the way that you were treated by staff and customers alike. Arthur hummed in sympathy and quickly but hesitantly pressed a kiss to your forehead; he loved to lavish you in affection. He had little understanding of social boundaries and what was socially acceptable within certain types of bonds, but with you it didn’t matter. You always guided him and you always protected him and helped him and he loved you so deeply for not only being you, but the things that you did for him. You were his best friend, his one and only.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur shrugged with one shoulder, a light smile on his face, unhappy though it was. “And - oh! Dinner’s nearly ready - I made you steak.” Green oceans seemed to beg you for the approval which had always been his and you smiled.

“I - really?” Excitement ran through you even as your eyes stung with tears which you refused to shed. Affection was so rare a thing in your day to day life and the fact that Arthur never made you question his feelings for you or the way that you belonged with him never failed to make your heart swell in your chest. “Thank you. You take such good care of me.” You made sure to praise Arthur, knowing as you did that he needed that praise. It was something else which the two of you had in common with one another.

Arthur shrugged again as he feigned a casual attitude but you could see him practically glowing from your praise. “Of course. Why don’t you go shower, sweetheart? It’ll be done when you come out.” Arthur was almost frantic to take care of you now, before you got too tired to really function. You never realised how tired you were until you were finally home and Arthur knew better than most what that felt like. You nodded, already too tired to do much, and when you got to the bathroom, you found that there was a towel already waiting for you, and pyjamas had been laid out. They were mismatched, but the effort made you smile and your heart squeezed in your chest as you carried out your shower routine and got yourself settled and sorted.

Dinner was waiting for you on the small coffee table in the living room. So late in the evening was it that The Murray Franklin Show was playing, and you tiptoed quietly around the sofa, going across the back so that you didn’t get in Arthur’s way, and you eased yourself down beside him, your plate in your lap. “Thank you,” A quiet murmur and Arthur nodded absentmindedly, his green eyes trained on the television screen. The harsh blue light of the television gave his beautiful weathered face an eerie glow, and this moment felt perfect to you, all except for - “Have you eaten, Arthur?”

An impatient shake of the head. “Not - not hungry. Eat, Lilith. You need to eat.” Arthur’s voice was soft and gentle despite the slight bite in his actions, and you felt guilty. How could you eat a steak in front of someone who was clearly hungry? Still, you set to work with cutting up half of the steak; and with one hand did you rip into the steak with your teeth, a true Hyena were you with her teeth and ambitions bared, and with the other hand did you feed Arthur forkfuls of the steak. He tried to protest but oh, you took such good care of each other. 

When at last, at last, were you finally ready to call it a day and go to bed (though you would be up in only a handful of hours and you could already feel how tired you would be when tomorrow was over, too, though there was a little chance of reprieve between one day and the next), The Murray Franklin Show was over and Arthur grabbed the plate from your lap with one hand. The other hand caressed your cheek gently; so considerate and so affectionate a friend was he. He was truly so touched by the way that you had shared your food with him, even after he had said no had you seen him and you had acted accordingly and it only made Arthur love you more, it only made him more protective of you. 

On his way back from the kitchen, Arthur reached down for you and his fingers curled around yours, his thumb stroking gently over the back of your hand, “Come on, dance with me.” You went with your clown gladly and he swayed with you on your way to the bathroom, and as you turned into the door, which shut and then locked firmly behind you, did Arthur stand to watch the white wood; his strong dark brows furrowed as he knew not how to help you. Oh, but he could see you and he was terrified by what he saw. He wanted so badly to be there for you in every way that he could be, it was why he often asked if you wanted to spend the night with him. He wanted to take care of you the way that no one else ever did, for he knew well what it meant to have to look after so many others and to be left with no energy for your own self; you suffered for others’ gains and he hated that for you. 

You deserved so much better and Arthur was determined to give that to you, so while you were in the bathroom, he went and got the bed all ready for you. Arthur didn’t have much in the way of economic and material gain, but he had a heart full to the brim with love which had been sat within for a month shy of thirty six years with no one and nothing to give it to, and now you were the recipient of all of that love, so, really, you were the richest person in Gotham; a gift was it to be loved by Arthur so wholly and so completely. Whenever you stayed the night with Arthur did you sleep on the side closest to the window, that way could Arthur make sure that there was a final defence between you and any threat which may come into the bedroom. He was extremely protective of you, his best and most special, only friend, and Arthur would be there for you no matter what. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you and Arthur did his best to show you this every single day.

Arthur waited for you in bed, all snuggled up was he with your side of the duvet pulled back. So well had he prepared the room that you only had to slide beneath the sheets and sleep. That was all Arthur wanted for you now that you were clean and fed, and when at last were you in bed and snuggled into his side with his lips at your temple as he softly sung you to sleep, his arms tightly around you and his dark curls fanning across his pillow like a halo, a fallen angel was he, Arthur made sure that you stayed asleep.

It was the best thing he could do for you.

J // wc: 1, 916.

A joker he may be but nothing was more serious to J than taking care of you, his hyena.

You were being worked to the bone day in and day out with little to no reprieve and nothing you did was ever good enough for the people in your life. No one praised you. No one checked in on you. No one asked if you were okay. You were being pulled every which way every single day but like an elastic band would soon you snap if the tension within you and around you was not released.

The proverbial hands which held you tightly and had you outstretched between then were steady and their grip was unrelenting. Though your plight was obvious did no one see you. No one eased their grip as they forced you to stretch yourself too thinly. You ran on a handful of hours of disturbed sleep every night, taunted both by sleep paralysis and nightmares when you did get to sleep, and with each passing day did your exhaustion only increase, a vicious cycle of stress, sleep deprivation and a lifestyle which was too busy for your body had you found yourself in.

It was getting so bad that J was almost worried, you thought. He clung to you at night just as tightly as you held onto him, his entire body aligned with every plane of your own, his arm in a squeezing grip around you as if easing his hold by even the tiniest amount would reveal to him that in fact was he holding nothing but the cold and empty air. You were wrong in thinking that J was almost worried, however, because he was worried and, oh, how he hated what you were being forced to endure every single day. It was for this reason that when at last, at long last did you get off work, too exhausted to even think about what you still had to do when you got home, were you very pleasantly surprised by a familiar presence in your car. You thought you had seen one of his getaway cars speeding down the road when you were on your way to your own car... As you slid into the driver’s seat, two purple leather clad hands seized your face roughly, fingers curling behind your ears and massaging the scalp there absentmindedly as warm, sticky full lips captured your own in a kiss so fiery that within seconds did you lose your already shaky grip on reality.

J allowed you to fall into him until he picked up on your body’s need for oxygen now, and he chuckled as he pulled away from you, the noise not quite reaching the dangerous light in his dark brown eyes. “Well, hel-lo beautiful. And you are - beautiful.” Fingers slid from behind your ears and grazed your cheeks as J sat back in the passenger seat, looking pleased with himself for a moment before his face settled into something you couldn’t read. He made a show of putting his seat belt on and then clasped his hands together in his lap; he played the part of malicious innocence a bit too well, you thought. “Wasn’t, ah - fun today without ya’, babydoll. Daddy’s bored without his Hyena to tor-ment.” You heard what J said, his voice quiet and his words soft, but you listened to what he didn’t say, for everything J said was veiled in half-truths.

He missed you.

You put on your own seatbelt and started your car, looking over your shoulder as you pulled out of your parking spot to finally head home. “Yeah,” You sighed, too tired to fight your pleased smile, “I missed you too, J.”

J grunted quietly - you knew him so well that you could almost hear him say, don’t say it too loudly in your mind. Something was very obviously bothering him but you knew that your car wasn’t the place where J would drop his guard and unlock his heart, so you rode home in tense silence. Your tried and tired mind was racing the whole time as you sought to find answers to questions you knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t voice. You got home after your usual time and J almost launched himself out of your car, picking your lock to let himself in with a pin which seemed to come out of nowhere. Nothing surprised you when it came to J; he carried around blunt pencils just for the fun of killing someone with it later. You both knew that J had your house key on him at all times, safe and secure in one of his many inner pockets, but J did as he wanted and honestly, as long as he didn’t entirely break your front door down, you didn’t much care about how he let you both in. You had learnt long ago which battles were worth picking and this wasn’t one of them. Besides... you both knew that you were too tired for that.

As you crossed the threshold of your home and allowed J to shut and lock it behind you, his eyes darting about everywhere and his jaw muscles ticking as he watched, waited, for even the hint of a threat to his inner sanctum but, more importantly, to his you, you got yourself sorted and removed your unnecessary outer layer. Satisfied was J with your safety for the time being as next did you hear him banging around in the kitchen. You swore to yourself, fresh out of the shower, and braced yourself as you followed the noises into the kitchen - for nowhere could J go where you would not follow - for a mess, for the chaos J so dearly loved to strike into the very heart of the city of Gotham. But instead you found -

Dinner.

“Ta-da!” J’s voice was almost a growl as with a flourish which spoke of untold truths of J’s love for you did he present you with a plate. It was almost thrust into your face, so enthusiastic were J’s movements, and you blinked and took a step back instinctively. You didn’t like having things directly in your face without a warning. J frowned. “Whas’sa matter? Just food, doll. Ya’ know - stuff ya’ need.”

You looked at the food - J had really gone all out. He had cooked you a steak just the way you liked it, and next to it was a massive pile of goldfish; he’d literally upended an entire bag onto the plate and then tried to keep it separated from the steak so that the juices didn’t make the goldfish soggy. “I - thank you, J.” Your eyes stung with tears and you bit your lip against the wobble you knew was coming, so emotional and so easily overwhelmed were you. Your physical and mental exhaustion were reaching dangerous heights now, and of this you were both aware.

J shrugged, as if to say, it’s nothing, but you both knew that it was. “C’mon, take it, I want ya’ to take it.” J shoved the plate at you and with a whooping cackle did he rip open the fridge and grab a ripe can of Monster. He pulled the tab and handed it to you kindly - you’d have his head if he spilled even a drop of it. “A Monster for my monster, hm?” J ruffled your hair affectionately and you closed your eyes to enjoy the almost tender touch. Led were you to the sofa and though didn’t make it obvious, you knew that he was going to make sure you ate all of it. The goldfish could be saved for later so J wasn’t too worried about those, but he wanted you to eat all of the steak. He watched you carefully as you ate. It was a well known game that after every bite, you would show J that you had swallowed it with a mischievous glint in your dark eyes, and with a knowing gleam in his own chocolate eyes would J kiss you as a reward. Soon, you could taste J in every bite and it only made you more hungry, and you ate the steak and some of the goldfish before you knew it. 

You felt almost embarrassed for how you had eaten so much, but J was practically glowing with pride for you. “Atta’ girl,” He praised you easily, knowing how badly you needed praise, for no one in your life ever appreciated you or your efforts. But J did - J saw everything and he was always so, so proud of you. he took the plate from and walked backwards from the room, kicking the door open with one solid kick. He was gone and you knew that he had fris-beed the plate into the sink from the resounding crash which sounded from the kitchen. You moaned in irritation and rolled your eyes, yelling his name in exasperation. You were answered with a cackle as J came back as quickly as he had left,

“I can’t keep replacing plates every week, J!” You were truly irritated even with how tired you were and J frowned; this wasn’t the mood he had wanted to set. He had only wanted to get back to your side, where he belonged, quicker. There were twinges deep within him. He was definitely worried for you, but there was an almost urgent need for him to help you and to be there for you as much as he could be. He had fought it at first, angry and irritated with the way you made him feel, but the longer your relationship went on for and the more milestones you crossed and the darker the shadows under your eyes became, the moreJ wanted to support you the way that you always supported him. Yes, he wouldn’t ever say out loud that he loved you, but J knew deep within his soul that he did.

Still frowning, J literally waved your irritation off and eased himself down on the sofa beside you. As the weight of him on the sofa fully settled, you slumped to the side and automatically did J lift his arm up to pull you closer into his side. Full lips peppered the crown of your head with kisses and J nuzzled his face into your hair, breathing you in. “M’ so proud o’ya, little one. Don’t’cha see ya’self? Ya’ a force to be reckoned with, just like I taught’cha. But don’t forget to look after this, hm?” A hand came up and tapped your temple, and then he laid a hand across your heart, his grip firm. 

You knew what J was saying and you smiled serenely as you tipped your head up, up, and caught J’s lips with your own. You kissed him long, slow and deep as you poured all of you into the gesture, knowing as you did that J would catch you, his hands and arms open, ready and waiting for you. “I love you, Jack.” You whispered against his lips, a sign that you were tired, and he grunted quietly in acknowledgement. As you drifted off, safe in the arms of your clown, safe in your home, J carried you to the bedroom. He got you ready for bed, barely waking you, and he held you tightly for the entire night, for there was nowhere he would rather be than with his Lilith.

Pat // wc: 1, 972.

This one contains sexual elements; nothing explicit though.

Pat was no stranger to hard work or to all the ways in which life could and would wear you down, even with and sometimes because of your best efforts. He was no stranger to things piling up, to duties and responsibilities becoming too much even with how hard one could work. He was no stranger to stress, to fear, to worries and to anxieties and to questioning even how you would get through the day, unable was he often to see past today into tomorrow. That was an illusion, something promised but not guaranteed, and Pat didn’t trust it. He lived in and for the moment and right now, Pat could see you and your efforts and everything he saw only made him love you more, so determined and so strong a soul were you, but also made him worry more, for everyone had their breaking point.

He had been through so much for one so young, as had you and in the very early days of your relationship had you only bonded over your pains, your traumas and your fears. For many people was the honeymoon phase of a relationship short lived or full only of the superficial things which meant little in the long run, but the two of you had dived right in to the deep end, not bothering to even test the temperature of the unexplored and uncharted waters. The level of trust which had always existed between you, even when you were only just on a first name basis with each other, had brought the two of you ever closer to one another. For every time that one of your heads inevitably slipped too far beneath the surface of the water was the other person there with an already outstretched hand to pull the other back up from being wholly submerged beneath the murky depths of your own rocky psyches. Pat may have known how hard life could be even in the best of times, but this... oh, but this was something which was unprecedented even to a young man who had as much life experience as he did. 

He was well and truly stumped when it came down to how to help you and the only thing which he knew how to do was to just be there for you. So every night, when you stumbled home from work, so exhausted that you weren’t even yawning, Pat was there at the door with an ice cold can of Monster which he cracked the tab of for you before you drank from it long enough for the carbonated drink to begin to burn your throat, longing were you for even the tiniest amount of pain if only so that you knew that you were still alive. Dinner would always be ready for you, a gentleman was he, and the bathroom would be ready for you to take a shower. Pat did everything for you that he could, running his hand through those errant dark curls in frustration and in worry, his dark brows creased even as his eyes darted around the apartment, looking for other things he could do for you. Every single night was it the same, and his emotions only heightened and grew with each one which passed with no sign of a break for his dearest one. There was nothing your koala wouldn’t do for you and he showed that to you day after day, night after night. Pat’s concern only grew with each passing day, and when at last did you almost fall through the door on your way in from work this night, two large, warm hands were there to steady you, waiting had he been by the door. “Whoa,” Pat’s chuckle was slightly strained with worry, his dark brows creased with the same, “Easy, moon child. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, starshine” You swept a hand over your face and sunk into Pat, who hummed in understanding and pulled you into his embrace, his arms the safest cage around you. Pat pressed a series of kisses to the top of your head, his full lips warm and familiar against you, and you pressed into him, tucking your head under his chin. He smelled of apples, very faintly of cigarettes, of leather and of something which was just so Pat. You could only find his natural scent when you nuzzled into his neck; the hollow behind his ear smelt most like him and it was your favourite spot when it came to cuddling.

Other people may have been fooled by the mask you put on every morning, by the brief smiles you flashed which hid your gritted teeth, but Pat saw you. He saw you and even when you were on your best behaviour, you couldn’t fool him. Pat shook his head. “No, you’re not fine. C’mon, love, let’s get you ready to go to sleep, hm?” Despite his kind words, Pat’s tone was firm and he wasn’t going to take anything other than a yes as an answer. Pat was all for living separate lives and for just coming together at the end of the day, but when it came to you and your self-care, or lack thereof as was most often the case, Pat did not allow anything other than what was best for you. In this case was it dinner, shower and then bed. Everything else and anything else could and would wait until the morning. Nothing was more important to Pat than your well being and general health and any suggestion to the contrary of this was almost met with horror. What could be more important to him than you, the love of his life?

Dinner was already prepared for the both of you. Pat had waited until you got home to eat his own, not wanting to feel like he was reliving the summer that he had looked after his dying grandfather by eating dinner alone on the sofa watching television, and he had taken a shower with you, as well. The two of you had slowly and reverently washed each other’s bodies and hairs, your touches upon each other sensual but nothing sexual; a subtle but important distinction and a line which Pat toed every single day. Your body was his temple and daily did he lay worship at your altar. Truthfully did you do the same for him, for you were equal in every single way. You physically and emotionally leaned upon Pat as you got out of the shower, truly beyond exhausted, and his face was set in stone as he tidied up after you while you brushed out your hair, got into your pyjamas and took care of yourself. Pat was so worried that he was almost scared for you and it was all he could do to just take care of you every single day. He was one of the reasons you were still here, though of course this was an unspoken and terrible truth, and Pat would do anything to continuously add to that reason, so deeply and so unconditionally did he love you.

So tired were you always that even before you were out of bed each morning could you already feel how tired you would be when you came home that day, and on did the cycle continue, for never could you get all of the desperately craved rest which you needed before you were again being pulled in all directions with no choice or chance to catch up with your own self between one day and the next. Pat was there for you through it all, and never did he make his worry clearer to you than when it was finally time to go to sleep. You collapsed onto the bed with a long drawn out and weary sigh and Pat chuckled, the sound somewhat strained, as he eased himself down into the bed beside you. He was just as tired as you were from a lifestyle equally as hectic, and the nights were truly just for the two of you. You went to him gladly and Pat wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders as he tucked you tightly into the side of his body. His lips pressed tender kisses to your temple and your cheek, his fingers stroking along your arm with long, slow and lazy drags of his nails against your skin. Goosebumps were raised and you shivered under his careful touches, making the young man smile languidly as he spoke his thoughts aloud, staring at the ceiling and knowing that right here with you was where he wanted to be for the rest of his life.

“You could never disappoint me, marshmallow.” Pat squeezed you to emphasise his name for you and you smiled lovingly. His voice was rich and deep with his need for sleep and it made longing stir within you. Dampness pooled between your thighs but you paid it little mind; if an orgasm was what it took to make you feel anything then it may as well wait until the morning. It gave you something to wake up to, in any case, and you were sure that Pat would be more than willing to help you out. You turned your face and pursed your lips so that you could gift Pat with a series of gentle and reverent kisses, your touches slowing down the longer you laid there. The duvet seemed to perfectly fall over your weary body and you fit so snugly against Pat’s side. It was like you were always supposed to be there, like you were made for him; though of course were you whole individuals outside of your relationship. He was firm against you yet soft and so warm that it was like cuddling a heater. “I’m so proud of you,” Pat pulled you even tighter against him as he tucked your head beneath his chin, both of his arms around you now as you both got comfortable to sleep. “And I love you, Lilith. You’re so strong and I don’t know how you do it.” Another tender kiss was dropped to the crown of your head, a queen were you, and then Pat closed his eyes with a sleepy hum.

“Me neither,” Your words were spoken in an exhale and Pat only held you tighter. Your tongue was heavy with exhaustion, your mind telling you that there was something malicious and nefarious hanging from the ceiling above your mirror. You shut your eyes tightly and bid your Aussie good night. “I love you too, peppermint,” was what you thought you said. You were unsure, however, for already were you slipping into sleep. It greeted you gladly and though you would only be gifted with a maximum of six hours, it was still something and Pat would always be there for you when you awoke; he lived his life for you, with you, and there was no mood so dark, no sky so cloudy, no ocean so rocky, that he would ever leave you. 

If Pat was a koala, then you were his tree and always would he cling onto you for dear life, even and most especially when you bent and swayed with the wind. You were strong and you stood tall, and if ever were you chopped down would Pat be there with a loving, gentle hand to attach splints to your trunk as he patiently and quietly waited for you to grow to stand tall once more. For Pat were you the very embodiment of love and it was for this reason that he sometimes thought of you in only the most natural of terms. Your love was as natural and as easy as breathing and like a flower would it blossom and bloom when it was nurtured and cared for.

Hanni // wc: 1, 719.

(This GIF is 👀🥵🔥💦)

I haven’t written for Hannibal since October 2019 so if this is bad, I am extremely sorry omg this one wrote itself so hopefully it’s not too rusty! 💞

Oh, but the feeling you experienced whenever you even thought of your darling Hannibal was unlike anything you had ever or would ever experience again. You loved him so deeply and so completely that even just his name filled you with hope and with comfort. He was your protector, your guiding light, your safe haven. Hannibal was everything you ever needed or wanted him to be, and therein lay the danger, though of course at this stage in your unconventional but cherished relationship were you more than aware of him and his dietary requirements and of all the things he did to maintain and to conceal who he was and the acts he committed without much of a thought. Most especially if it was for you would Hannibal act in increasingly aggressive ways, for no one hurt his Hyena, and that included you. Hannibal couldn’t abide even the idea of you being harmed, even by your own hand, and on this night would he begin to address that which was obvious but left unvoiced. To voice your daily feelings, numbness and unspoken wishes would be to make them collectively real and of the two of you was Hannibal the most willing to do that. To make it real would be to give it power, but he would quickly render your demons powerless, so skilled a psychiatrist was he. 

For starters, to say that you were tired was a very severe understatement. You were... exhausted. You felt constantly sleepy and the shackles of your continued fatigue only grew heavier and heavier as the days passed. Delicious did you smell to Hannibal, the cloying sweetness of your deteriorating emotional state filling his nostrils every time you walked past him, but the fun of seeing you being pushed right up to the brink of what you could take had grown old fast, concerned was Hannibal from a psychological and even physical point of view. 

You were not taking care of yourself. You barely ate and you drank Monsters like the energy drink was going out of fashion. You fuelled yourself on caffeine and sugar, the crash inevitable but never did it land due to the sheer volume that you drank. Hannibal trusted you to know your own limits and though his lip curled up in distaste when he caught you grabbing yet another out of his large, industrial fridge, he said nothing. He did nothing. He only watched you with growing concern and increasing curiosity.. You barely got any sleep, though this was not your own fault, taunted and tormented were you by sleep paralysis and nightmares. Hannibal, caring and loving was he in his own ways once one understood how to speak his love language, always stayed with you. 

When you laid in bed together, the way that you were right now after yet another long, tiresome day, Hannibal made sure that you knew that he was there for you. Not only was it to further his own agenda, for you were less likely to ever even consider turning him in to the FBI if you trusted him so implicitly and depended on him so wholly, and you wouldn’t leave him if you truly needed him, but also was Hannibal always there for you because he wanted to be, for nothing did Hannibal do unless it so amused him. You were laying tightly against his side, his strong and firm arm around your shoulders. His fingers gripped the flesh there, naturally reassuring you was he in the way he was pressed so solidly against you. Your arm was slung around his waist. Barely had you put your weight down on him, scared were you of being annoying or of touching him in a way which he disliked. Hannibal had only said that you could do as you wished but he hadn’t said how and so you struggled with it in a way, for what if you did it wrong? Hannibal, knowing you as well as he did, used his spare hand to keep yours where it was on his body. Every time you moved your hand away in a way which suggested you were unsure or uncomfortable, warm fingers would creep into the spaces between your own and Hannibal would raise your now joined hands to his lips, pressing kisses along the back of your hand. “Stay, dearheart. You are wanted.”

You wanted to ask Hannibal if he was sure. You wanted to ask him why he kept you around, why he hadn’t killed you. Did he ever think about it? You wanted to know the methods he had thought of, the displays he would use to honour you, which parts of you he would choose to carry within him forever... but in two minds were you and so you did not ask. It was wiser to never ask questions you didn’t want the answer to. You stayed silent, your body tense where previously had you almost been melted into your love’s side, and Hannibal chuckled quietly. A tender, reverent kiss was pressed to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your flesh. “You’re practically screaming inside your head, Lilith. Why should that be, hm?” Hannibal tilted his head so that he could nuzzle the side of his jaw against your hair, his breaths controlled so that he could breathe you in properly. “You are safe with me. I shall not harm you and nor will any others.”  You closed your eyes to better feel Hannibal around you. He was completely surrounding you in this moment. His scent was in your nose, his voice rumbled through his chest and gently caressed your ears, his heart pounded steadily in your ear and it never went above eighty five beats per minute. His body was closely touching yours and everything that you knew was Hannibal. It was how you wanted it all to be for now and for always; never again did you want anything else than this... just this.

You sighed heavily, the sound saturated with the true depths of your exhaustion. “I’m just so tired of feeling bad, Hanni. I never get any time for me. I always have to be working or sorting out stuff for university or going out into town and I stay up so late every night just for a chance to breathe. So I wake up more tired and then it continues, and - “ You felt yourself wanting to cry and Hannibal inhaled deeply, smelling your budding tears so that he could put the composition together... anger, sadness, frustration, tiredness, love... the last one didn’t surprise him, not really, but his lips did quirk upwards in satisfaction and in unspoken affection for you as well. Hannibal wouldn’t address it this time, but before you went to sleep would he say those three little words you so cherished. It was a night time routine for the two of you just like everything else was. “I’m just really tired.” You pushed yourself into Hannibal, your head going beneath his chin more securely, and Hannibal hummed as he rolled with you so that you were both lying on your sides facing each other, your foreheads pressed together in a familiar and intimate gesture. You had an arm around each other’s waists, though Hannibal was extremely careful to not touch you anywhere where you couldn’t or wouldn’t handle it, and Hannibal tipped his head upwards to press a kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose, your left cheek, your right cheek... your chin and then your lips. His kiss was slow, gentle, and his hand came up to cup your face as hannibal put as much care into this good night kiss as he could, not wanting you to doubt any part of him. 

You had the rarest gift of all; the gift of seeing Hannibal. You wanted it, you always had, and it had been practically gift wrapped for you upon the realisation that you wanted it as much as Hannibal wanted you to. Hannibal saw you just as easily as you saw him and he kept you safe within yourself even when your demons were screaming at you at such a high pitch that you could no longer truly hear them, white noise were they in your background thoughts. “You are killing yourself for other people, my dear. Think very carefully about who you give your energy to - once dampened, this energy cannot be returned. You must live your life when it is safe to do so, and not before.”

You hummed to acknowledge Hannibal, not wanting to be rude. “Yeah. I just...” Hannibal made no noise as he tipped his head to kiss your tears away, finally getting to taste them for himself. Positively delectable, my love. “I’m really tired.” You leaned forward to spoil Hannibal’s own flesh with kisses, wanting to give back to him as much as you could, and he allowed you that time and space, appreciative was he of your reciprocation. He truly did enjoy you and your company and he was very protective of you, whether you actively knew about it or not. Right now, Hannibal needed for you to sleep, it was imperative, and so he directed the conversation to its inevitable conclusion a little faster. Your physical health had to come first so that when you were well rested could he attend to your soul; your beautiful, radiant, warm and ethereal soul.

“I know.” Hannibal sounded almost smug. “I wondered when you would tell me. I can only be there sometimes to help you but I know you can stand up enough on your own. Your teeth as a hyena remain. You are not yet bested by that which so commands you. I am proud of you. You’re resilient and strong. But you must rest now, darling. It is important.” You allowed your eyes to drift shut. Hannibal, already knowing what you wanted, held you tightly, his forehead against yours, his arms around you, and he continued to talk to you until you were sleeping. In the morning, he would address the things you had opened up to him about but for now... oh, for now, you were as safe in the lion’s den as it was possible to be. 

Or were you?

[bandzrus]

The No Fun Tour (Part 2)

The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // This is Part 2 of this one-shot here.  You’ve been working as a roadie for Motley Crue for a number of years because of your interest in the music business and family connections with Doc.  The boys are touring with Ozzy and things are looking promising for them, but they’re under strict orders to keep the shenanigans down or else their deal with Elektra Records is in jeopardy.  After Doc assigned you to watch Tommy for a night and you woke up wrapped in his arms, you’re starting to realize you have more feelings for the drummer than you thought.  Ozzy’s wife Sharon has also been cracking down the on the boys, leading them to nickname the tour the “No Fun Tour”.  You’re still on babysitting duty for the band, but you’ve decided they can have a little fun just for one night.

NOTE // oml I can’t believe you guys liked this one-shot so much!  It’s the first one I’ve ever written, I was lowkey only expecting a couple of likes, not a whole bunch of comments saying to write a part 2! My requests are still open if you guys want me to write other stuff btw.

WORDS // 4006

TAG LIST // @brooklyn-antiques @queens-rose-garden

***

You were surprised Tommy kept his mouth shut after what happened.  None of the guys could be described as humble, so you were surprised he hadn’t bragged to Vince and Nikki about you sleeping in his bed.  You were thankful though.  If Doc ever found out, you’d probably be fired because your position as roadie would be compromised.  You were content to act as if nothing ever happened, and it seemed like Tommy was at least on board with the idea.  The week continued as usual, moving from hotel to show, you carrying instruments back and forth and doing booze runs for the band.  Things were still rocky with Elektra Records; the one smooth night at the hotel hadn’t solved that just yet.  Doc was hoping to finish the tour with minimal damages, and Ozzy’s wife Sharon seemed to share his passion for keeping the band from having any fun.  She’d police Motley Crue around like she was their mother, and while you were glad there was less work for you to do, it was obviously taking a toll on the band.

              Nikki was even grouchier and angry than usual, Vince kept claiming he had blue balls, Mick was sulking, and Tommy wouldn’t stop whining to you.

              “We’re out of booze again,” the drummer grumbled, letting the last couple drops of the gin bottle fall onto the table of the bus.

              “That’s your second bottle, Tommy.”

              “So?”

              “Maybe try being sober for once?”

              Tommy crinkled up his nose.

              “This really is the No fucking Fun Tour.  Can we pleeeeease go out and get something?  At least a pack of cigarettes?  Vince stole mine,” he said.  You rolled your eyes and put a hand on your hip before turning to the driver.

              “How much longer until we get to the hotel?” you asked.  Doc looked up from his newspaper and raised an eyebrow.

              “Mmm maybe ten minutes?”

              “Thanks,” you said, turning back to Tommy who was giving you his signature pout. “Can you wait ten minutes?”

              “No.”

              “Too bad.”

              The drummer let out a huge sigh and chucked the bottle across the bus where it thankfully landed in a pile of dirty clothes and didn’t smash.  You really didn’t want to be cleaning glass off the floor right now.

              “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to go out and get cigarettes with you once we get there?” you asked, sliding into the booth opposite Tommy.  

              “Only a little.”

              “I’ll take that,” you said, leaning back against the window and propping your feet up on the table.  Tommy gave you a funny look.

              “What?”

              “Shouldn’t you be like… I don’t know, doing something around here?” he gestured around the bus vaguely.  

              “Like cleaning up after you guys?”

              “Yeah.”

              “I already picked up all your guys’ shit from last night this morning and I can’t do laundry until we get to the hotel, so no.  Now that Sharon’s around you guys are so much easier to manage,” you smirked, knowing that mentioning Sharon’s name would piss Tommy off.

              “I can’t believe Ozzy puts up with that bitch,” the drummer muttered darkly under his breath.

              “It would be like if one of us married Y/N,” Nikki agreed, sliding into the booth next to Tommy.  You tried not to flinch at his comment.  Had Tommy said something to Nikki after all?  Or were you just being paranoid?  Whatever the case, Nikki didn’t seem to notice your movement.  The dark circles under his eyes were evidence that he hadn’t been sleeping much at all since the start of the tour.  Despite how whiny Tommy was, he didn’t look nearly as worse for wear as the rest of the band.  The fact that he was shoveling less coke up his nose than usual was probably part of it.

              “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I can’t wait until we’re off this dumb tour,” said Nikki.  “I haven’t screwed any chics in over a week and we’re out of blow.”

              “And booze,” Tommy added.

              “Fuck, are you serious?”

              “Yeah dude, and Vince has my last pack of cigs.”

              “This is the worst fucking tour ever.”

              “Well we can at least get off this bus in about five minutes,” you put in.

              “Thank god.”

                Thank god was right.  Even you were starting to get sick and tired of being on the bus.  It had been a long haul between stops, and with the boys less wasted and high as usual, there wasn’t much to keep you busy.  When the bus pulled up outside the hotel, it took all your skills to stay out of the way as the band pushed and shoved each other out the door and out into the parking lot.  Following after Doc, you sidled up next to Tommy and waited for Doc to give his speech.

              “Alright, you’re rooms 508, 509, 510, and 511.  I’ll be down the hall in 504 if you need me.  I don’t think I have to tell you boys that if anyone so much as lights a match or thinks about throwing anything out the window, we’re back on the bus. Elektra is on my ass about our budget, and you’ll be back on the street if you screw this up.”

              “Finally no fucking babysitters,” growled Nikki.

              “We’re still going into town, right Y/N?” Tommy leaned in to you.  

              “Yes,” you promised, patting his shoulder like a cliché parent.

              “What’s this about going into town?”

              Vince’s blond head popped up from over the drummer’s shoulder.

              “Town, what?”

              All four boys were around you in a second looking like a bunch of starving puppies.  You couldn’t say no to them if you tried.

              “I’ll call a cab,” you said.  You left Doc and the boys out in the parking lot as you asked the receptionist to call a cab for five.  You glad when it showed up in less than five minutes.

                Squeezing in like a pack of sardines, you were wedged between Tommy and Nikki because Vince had snagged the front seat and Mick was giving death glares to anyone who threatened to go in the back with him.  You were once again very thankful that neither Tommy nor Nikki wreaked of alcohol, cocaine, cigarettes, piss, and hairspray yet today.  They would by the end of the night, but that you were used to.  Letting the driver know to take you to the nearest gas station, you settled into your seat, folding your hands in your lap.  You cast a glance up at Tommy when his hand bumped yours.

              “What?” you asked him.

              “Nothin’, just trying to get comfortable in here because somebody doesn’t want to share,” answered Tommy, looked over his shoulder at Mick.

              “I don’t want your chicken legs back here, drummer,” said the guitarist, flipping Tommy off.  Tommy stuck out his tongue and turned back around, letting his arm fall around your shoulder.  You hated to admit that it felt nice.  Usually it was you making the physical contact with Motley Crue, whether that was helping put on makeup, adjusting outfits, patting them on the back, or holding their hair.  It felt good to have the gesture returned in some way.  Nobody else could tell since you, Nikki, and Tommy were so squished together, but you leaned into the drummer.

              It was only a seven minute drive to the gas station, and it was just as much of a hassle to get the boys back out of the cab as it was to get them in. Jostling to be the first in the door, the little bell on the gas station door signaled your entrance.

              “Tommy, pick me up some cigs,” Nikki said, following Mick towards the alcohol at the back of the store.  Vince was about to follow them when he spotted a leggy brunette in the chip aisle. You knew you’d be waiting an extra few minutes for the singer to rejoin them in the cab.  Letting out a breath, you and Tommy made for the counter to inquire about smokes.

              “Uh, how many of the Marlboros do you have?” the drummer asked, pointing for the cashier.

              “Two up here, but I think I’ve got more in the back.  Give me a minute?”

              The two of you nodded.

              “Want anything, Y/N?”

              “Come on Tommy, you know I don’t smoke,” you said.  “I’ll drink whatever you guys pick out, but I draw the line at lung cancer.”

              “You’re a better man than I,” teased Tommy.  “But smokes aside, do you want to talk about the other night?”

              “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, running a hand through your hair.  

              “The other night at the hotel, and just now in the cab.”

              “We’ve been to lots of hotels, drummer,” you diverted.  This was going to be the start of a very awkward conversation and an even more awkward relationship that you didn’t want to happen.

              “For the record I wasn’t trying to get in your pants, I just didn’t think you’d want to sleep on the floor in those pants.  You’re the one who destroyed the pillow wall.”

              You let out a huff of breath and faced the drummer.

              “You were hogging the blankets, but it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m your guys’ roadie, I’m not just some chic you can hook up with and dispose of whenever someone prettier comes along.”

              “Can you at least admit that you enjoyed it?” Tommy asked.

              “And if I do what does that mean?”

              Tommy was about to answer when the cashier came back with a box.

              “Seven please,” the drummer told him, reaching into his back pocket for cash. He gave you a look as he handed over the crumpled pills and grabbed the cigarettes off the counter.  The two of you waited by the door until Nikki and Mick finished loading cases of booze into their arms and paid as well.  As you had guessed, everyone else was loaded into the cab before Vince finally reappeared, hair looking a little more disheveled then when he had gone in and with a lipstick stain on his collar.

              “I should tell Sharon,” joked Nikki, punching the blond in the arm. You and Tommy both snickered from the back seat as Vince got in the cab.

              “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he warned, adjusting his collar to hide the lipstick.  Divvying up a six-pack of beer between you, Nikki leaned over the seat to you and Tommy.

              “You grabbed my cigs right?”

              “Got ‘em right here, man,” Tommy replied, handing over three of the packs to the bass player and taking a sip of his drink.  You were struggling to get the cap off; usually you had a counter or something to help.

              “Need a hand?” asked Tommy.

              “Yeah,” you admitted, handing the bottle over to him in defeat.  Not breaking eye contact, you watched the drummer pop the cap off with his teeth.  Giving you a big grin he handed the bottle back.

              “Very subtle,” you said with a laugh.

              “It impressed you, didn’t it?”

              “Impressed isn’t the word I’d use.  Maybe entertained?” you replied cheekily.  “The only thing impressive about you guys is how stupid you can be.”

              “Oooo ouch Y/N, harsh!” winced Nikki, him and Vince turning around to join your conversation.

              “Yeah, but I’m not wrong though,” you said.

              “If anyone other than you said that about us I’d bash their friggin’ skull in,” Vince commented, sipping on his beer.

              “She is mean, isn’t she?  Almost as bad as Sharon,” said Nikki.

              “Cuter though,” Tommy defended, patting your thigh affectionately.  Part of you didn’t want him to lift his hand.

              “It’s like having an annoying sister,” Vince concluded.

              “You guys would be so dead without me.”

              They totally would be dead somewhere in a ditch without you and Doc. Mostly Doc, but you’d like to think you’d helped Motley Crue a lot too.  You’d been travelling with them for years now, helping them get ready for shows, interviews, music videos, everything.  You could tell if one of them was about to puke way before it happened, and you could handle all of them pretty well when they were drunk and or high. Even though your job was supposed to be just loading and unloading equipment, you had taken up the roll of babysitter long before Doc suggested it.

              Taking a long swig of your beer, it was only a couple more minutes before you were all back at the hotel.  Pushing and shoving each other, you found Doc in the lobby still, waiting.

              “Hey, Doc,” you called, giving him a wave.  The four boys were trailing behind you guffawing about something.

              “I see you found what you were looking for,” Doc said, gesturing at the armfuls of booze the band was carrying.  He didn’t look amused.  

              “I’ll make sure they make it to their rooms,” you promised, putting an arm on Tommy’s shoulder and leading them all towards the elevator.  This hotel was fancier than the last one you had been at, and the elevator was made of glass.  Herding Motley Crue inside, you pressed the button for the 5th floor.  The sight that met your eyes when you turned around was one you should have seen coming. They were only one beer in, and they already had their pants down with their asses up against the glass, mooning everyone in the lobby.  You put a palm to your face and shook your head.

              “You guys are fucking ridiculous,” you muttered.  They were all laughing hysterically and looking over each other’s shoulders at the started on-lookers.  You couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself.  They were wild, but you loved them.  When the elevator arrived on the fifth floor, you gave them all the keys to their rooms.

              “No babysitting tonight, but you heard what Doc said earlier.  If there’s any kind of mischief, you can kiss your record deal goodbye,” you warned, slapping the room keys in each of their hands.

              “Yeah yeah,” promised Nikki, shooing you away with his free hand, the other clutching the almost empty beer bottle.  Waving goodbye, you watched them all go into their rooms, and when you were satisfied they were staying put, you went back to the lobby to join Doc.

                He wasn’t reading a newspaper anymore, but instead had a series of spreadsheets and notepads sprawled out over the table.

              “Can I help with anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at one of the complicated looking spreadsheets.  

              “A coffee would be nice,” Doc replied, scribbling something and pulling out a calculator.  “Trying to figure out how we’re going to make any money off this tour is proving more difficult than I’d like.  Everything is just going straight to damage claims.”

              “I’ll get that coffee,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.  Doc was a real trooper.  You knew firsthand that managing Motley Crue was no easy task.  Wandering into the breakfast room of the hotel, you spotted the coffee bar.  Black with one sugar, the way he always like it.  You grabbed a cup for yourself as well before you walked back to Doc and handed him the cup.

              “Thanks, Y/N, you’re a saint.”

              “I try,” you smiled, sipping.

              “The boys give you any trouble?”

              “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

              “It seems like everything went good with Tommy the other night.”

              You choked and spat a little of your coffee back into the cup.

              “Sorry?”

              “Well he didn’t cause any trouble so everything must have gone well,” Doc said.

              “Oh… yeah, everything was fine.  We watched TV.”

              “Yeah, he mentioned something about Gilligan’s Island to me.”

              “Did he mention anything else?” you asked, worrying that Tommy might have said something else to Doc.

              “Nope, that was it.”

              You let out a sigh of relief and took another sip of coffee.

              “Only a few more weeks of this tour, right?”

              “Yep, thank god.  I don’t know how much more of their bitching I can handle.  I’m surprised they’re not at each other’s throats yet,” muttered Doc, rubbing his temples and exchanging his pen for the cup of coffee.  “You’ve been a real help, especially with Tommy.”

              “I really don’t know why you think Tommy listens to me more than anyone else,” you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

              “He’s got a bigger heart than the rest of them.”

              “And what does that have to do with anything?”

              “He’s got a bit of a soft spot for you.”

              “Did he tell you that?”

              “Nikki told me.”

              “Ahh,” you sighed, taking another sip of coffee.  So Nikki knew something was up between you and Tommy, at least as far as Tommy’s end was concerned.  People had started nick-naming the two of them the Terror Twins, so you shouldn’t have been surprised Nikki knew more about Tommy.

              Absorbed in your coffee, you and Doc hung out in the lobby for a while. The peace and quiet was nice, since you didn’t get it very often anymore.  You read through a bunch of magazines, and then around 9pm you decided to go check on the band.

                Mick was lying in bed with his eyes closed and his hands crossed over his chest, looking very much like a gothic ancient Egyptian mummy.  You didn’t think he was asleep because his guitar was on the bed next to him and some papers were scattered around.  He’d probably been working on some new material.

              Vince’s door had the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on it, but that wasn’t enough to stop you.  It was the not one but two female voices from inside that made the decision to keep the door closed very easy.  You’d walked in on enough of the blond’s sexual escapades to know what kinds of sights would greet you on the other side of that door.

              You didn’t hear anything from Nikki’s room, which surprised you a little, so you checked inside.  No Nikki, just a bunch of empty bottles and his base.  His jacket had a new rip in it, and wherever he was, he was barefoot because his boots and socks were near the window.  Great.

              There was a shout from the room next door, Tommy’s, and you mentally braced yourself for whatever was coming next.  Letting yourself in, the first thing you saw was a half-naked Tommy with a tie around his forehead.  Where the tie had come from you had no idea.  Nikki was cackling away on the bed, a vodka bottle in his hand, mostly empty.

              “For the love of god, you two, what’s so funny?” you asked, closing the door behind you and assessing the rest of the damage.  Nothing seemed to be broken yet, but most of the bedding was on the floor and the sink was running.

              “Tommy thinks he does a good Elvis impression,” chuckled Nikki, taking a long swig out of his bottle.  Tommy also had a bottle in his hand you noted, and there were about a dozen more littering the carpet.  You shut the sink off.

              “Come on Tommy, do it again for Y/N!” begged Nikki before collapsing into hysterics again.  The drummer gave you a big goofy grin and cleared his throat before beginning to sing the lyrics to Hound Dog.  

              “You ain't nothin' but a hound dog

              Cryin' all the time

              You ain't nothin' but a hound dog

              Cryin' all the time

              Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine,” he sang.  He was certainly no Elvis, but it was funny none the less.  You were halfway through laughing yourself when you caught the tell-tale sign that Tommy was about to puke.  

              “Tommy,” you said.  “Hand me the bottle.”

              “No,” he whined, lifting it above your head where he knew you couldn’t reach.

              “Give it.”

              “Noooo you have to come get-“

              One dry heave, two dry heaves, you pushed the drummer into the bathroom right before he threw up into the toilet.  While he was barfing his guts out, you slowly pulled the bottle out of his hands and put it back in the fridge.  Turning to Nikki, you let him polish off the rest of what was in his bottle then shooed him out the door.

              “Go back to your room Nik,” you said, watching to make sure the bassist made it back before you returned to Tommy’s side.  Holding his hair back, you patted him on the back.

              “This is what happens when you drink too fast,” you scolded lightly.

              “Shut up,” croaked Tommy, heaving once more into the toilet before standing up and wiping his mouth.  “I’m just outta practice.”

              “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you shrugged.

              “This tour fucking sucks, the only thing good that’s really happened was you sleeping in my bed.”

              You paused.  You knew Tommy was very drunk right now which meant very little of what he was saying was to be taken seriously, but this seemed different than the usual drunken banter you two had.  There was a good chance he wouldn’t remember this conversation the next morning so you decided to indulge him.

              “Doc seems to think you have a soft spot for me,” you said, hoping Tommy would give himself away so you could stop overthinking things.

              “Mmm Nikki snitched on me, fuck.”

              Tommy leaned against the counter while you grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchen and filled it with water.  Handing it to the drummer, you continued.

              “So it’s true then?” you inquired.

              “Nikki was supposed to keep his damn mouth shut.  I know nothing will ever happen between us because it’ll fuck things up for you.”

              “You’re not wrong about that,” you said.  “It’s probably not a good idea for the roadie to hook up with the rock star.”

              Tommy downed the cup of water in one gulp.  He tried to walk over to the bed on his own, but he was wobbling so you steadying him with your arm.  Pulling his boots off for him, you let him roll into the middle of the bed before you threw one of the blankets back on.  

              “I never wanted it to be just a hook up anyway,” grumbled Tommy into his pillow.  “But you don’t want that, so I’ll just keep pretending I don’t feel anything so I don’t fuck shit up for you.”

              His words were muffled, but they were bringing a tear into your eye.  How long had this been going on for?  How long had Tommy had feelings for you?  And the bigger question, how long had you had feelings for him?  There was no way this had just started a week ago.      

              “Tommy,” you started.

              “I’m sorry for being an ass last week Y/N, I shouldn’t have made you sleep in my bed.”

              He looked so cute with his head buried in his pillow, hair splayed out across it. You didn’t even mind the fact that he smelled like vodka, you were used to it anyway.

              “You didn’t make me do anything,” you said, slowly letting your jacket and shoes fall to the floor.  This was one of your worst ideas and you knew it, but you climbed into bed with Tommy anyway. Wriggling into his side, you caught just a little bit of the Tommy smell you loved so much under the vodka odor. You felt him nuzzle his face in your hair and wrap his arm protectively around your middle.  You could feel his heart beat on your back and wondered if he could tell how fast yours was beating.  Part of you wanted this so bad, but the other part knew it was only going to wind up causing you trouble.  Maybe even costing you your job that you’d worked so hard for.  But being curled up in Tommy’s arms felt so good and it wasn’t long before your eyes drooped shut, the two of you almost asleep.  You felt Tommy pull you closer to him and whisper against your shoulder.

              “I think I love you.”

***

AHHHH I still can’t believe how much you guys like this I really hope I didn’t disappoint with part 2.  I have a few fics that I’ll be working on the next couple days, but my requests are still open.  Let me know if you want me to tag you in anything!

[moonlight-screenies]

[ h.w ]

prompt: “i just want you to be safe. that’s all i’ve ever wanted for you.” pairing: harrison wells x reader warnings: none word count: 510

“What the fuck was that back there?” Harrison hissed, barely in the room before he started lecturing you. “Do you not realize what could have happened to you? If Matt wasn’t there to save your ass, like usual.”

“But I’m fine, aren’t I?” you scoffed, struggling to sit up properly but too stubborn to show any signs of pain in front of him.

Harrison paced around the small space, formerly just a weapons room, but Matthew had set it up so you could rest. “Fine?” he laughed bitterly. If he was being honest, he’d never been so terrified before. All he remembered was appearing at the scene to find you covered in bruises and your own blood, on the brink of conscience. In that moment, he realised that despite trying to convince himself that he hated you, it terrified him you might not make it. “You’re not exactly fine right now. The only reason you’re here and not a hospital bed is because we can’t blow our covers.”

“I can’t believe you,” you muttered, looking down at your hands and messing with the bandages. “Go lecture someone else. I’m so over your shit. All you ever do is treat me like a child, or like I’m incapable, when I’m just as capable as everyone else.”

It was true. Since you met, he gave you a hard time. Although he tried to pass it off as a distaste for your reckless and stubborn behavior, he couldn’t quite grasp it himself. Not able to understand the knot in his chest every time you went out alone on a dangerous job, or the slight jealousy every time he’d walk past you and Matt practicing together. And the way he treated you, only pushed you further to rebel. Making you much more frustrating to him.

“Well, an adult wouldn’t almost get themselves killed.” He rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Shut up!” you raised your voice, staring at Harrison once he stopped pacing, noticing that he seemed a little startled by the change in your volume. “I-I’m sorry but I’m not a child, okay?” you mumbled. A small part of you felt guilty. Nothing compared to how frustrated you’d become; it was almost as if he didn’t believe you were able take care of yourself, even though you’d tried to prove yourself time and time again.

Harrison glanced at you one last time. It dawned on him how far he’d pushed you. Deciding it was better to leave you alone than push you any further, he headed towards the door. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, eyes set on the ground, unable to gather the courage to see your reaction to his next words. “Listen, Y/n, I just want you to be safe,” he admitted, just quiet enough for you to hear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” Without another word, he walked out.

[zoe360568]

LADIES GUIDE TO CELIASTAL MECHANICES BY OlIVIA WAITE

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She was a complete confection, a richly, roundly luscious, perfectly domestic delicacy. Like the Renaissance Madonna Stephen had once copied from an Italian gallery.

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You could never mistake the sound of true grief, once you had felt it yourself. It made the mettle of the soul ring in sympathy, like one bell softly chiming whenever its neighbor was struck.

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You could take a robin, put it in a cage, and carry it with you around the world—but if you never opened the cage door, how much of a difference would you have made to the robin’s life? All it would know was the view through the bars.

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Catherine’s eye traced anew the vines and flowers of the bodice, and an envious ember flared briefly in her belly.

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“My father was also a musician, sir, before astronomy diverted him. He always said music and mathematics were two sides of a single tongue.” Mr. Frampton’s smile was slight, but sincere. “I would agree, but my father would turn up his nose and insist that music is an art, not a science.” Miss Muchelney laughed in recognition.

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Words like embers danced on her tongue and she feared the lightest breath would kindle them into flame.

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Catherine lifted one hand and brushed the tears away. “I wish you had fewer reasons for it.” Lucy’s eyes were star-bright. Her lips parted on a breath that was far too soft for a sigh. Catherine’s whole body went tight and liquid—how easy would it be to just lean forward, and press her mouth to Lucy’s, and taste that sound on her own tongue?

Chapter Four

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Catherine and Lucy passed the next two weeks orbiting one another like a double star: ever moving, never touching, never truly separating. Between breakfast and luncheon they worked

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companionably in the library. After luncheon Lucy

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Catherine was not an outside observer, no more than a sailor clinging to a spar in a wreck was an outside observer of storms. She felt lightning-struck. Every conversation, every joke, every blush and averted glance sent another bolt through her. Whole territories were beginning to burn in parts of her soul that she’d always kept carefully darkened.

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propriety.

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ubiquitous

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Lucy’s shoulders relaxed in visible relief. “It’s a little unusual, I admit.” Catherine’s lips quirked. “Most beautiful ideas are.”

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It was as though someone had taken the case off the universe, and let the reader peer at the naked machinery that powered the stars.

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Falling in love with a genius was a daunting thought.

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decrypt

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As she watched, the light flickered and shifted, the blurred lens of a young girl’s notice sharpening into the more precise view of mature adulthood.

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“They don’t let you have anything whole, you know. If you don’t follow the pattern. You have to find your happiness in bits and pieces instead. But it can still add up to something beautiful.”

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bemoaning

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Aunt Kelmarsh snorted genially. “The ways of the world aren’t so permanent as they say, my dear. It was quite different in the last century. There were times and places one could be open and free about such things.” Lucy’s smile was knowing. “And there aren’t now?” Aunt Kelmarsh pursed her lips, amused. “If you know where to look for them.” “Or who to ask, apparently.” Aunt Kelmarsh put on her most mysterious air, humming innocently. Lucy laughed.

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but she had never openly acknowledged that the reverse must be true as well: love could exist—could even thrive—quite apart from the paper forms of marriage and classifications of sex. It was all at once appalling that she and George had been bitterly bound to one another in the sight of the world, while these devoted souls had had to cloak their joy and hide it behind walls and walks and secret gardens.

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Catherine made herself comfortable in the opposite seat and finally opened up the box with the thoughts she’d been hiding away for most of her existence. The inescapable truth: women could fall in love with other women.

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Strange indeed that an idea could change your life so completely, and yet fit in so perfectly with all that came before. She felt the force of it in her very bones. It was less as if her biography were being rewritten, and more as though Catherine were suddenly able to read the other set of lines that lay crosswise on the familiar page.

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was desire, the same as she’d felt for the attractive men she’d known, and some sly part of her must have recognized this all along because she had put a great deal of effort into keeping these thoughts and impulses from seeing the light of day.

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She’d believed she could bear a widow’s loneliness more peacefully than the misery of a bad marriage. But that was like choosing whether hemlock or belladonna was the better poison. In the end, they both sapped the life from you.

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But that kind of restrained flirtation was one thing. A seduction was quite another.

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Catherine was going to have to go about this carefully. One step at a time. Inviting, rather than pursuing. Always leaving Lucy the chance to retreat, or reject. It would sting, but that was nothing. Catherine valued Lucy’s freedom in this as much as her own. I want more; I understand if you don’t.

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Turning someone into a project was a terrible way to woo them.

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and inspiration slipped in like a breath and exploded in her body like a lightning bolt.

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Catherine wanted Lucy, but more than that, Catherine wanted Lucy to want her back. And Lucy wouldn’t, if she were still pining for the girl she’d lost. So Catherine let the days flow by like water while she put in stitch after stitch after stitch, as though each one were mending a small rent in Lucy Muchelney’s heart.

Chapter Five

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Let Future Lucy make the ultimate decision during revisions to the text. Future Lucy was always so much more decisive, somehow. Maybe because she was ever-so-slightly closer to death than Present Lucy?

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It ought to have been agonizing, living and working in close quarters alongside a woman so beautiful and yet so unattainable. But Lucy’s heart, newly mended, was prepared to bask in any

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sensation that was not the sharp pain of loss—so unrequited fascination for her benefactress came not as a trial, but rather as a pleasurable seasoning to any day’s difficult work. And if the feeling occasionally stole her breath and her wits and kept her awake into the small hours of the night, well, nobody had to know. Really, it was much safer and more convenient than any actual love affair would have been.

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Perhaps this was how her future could best be managed: devoting her days to scientific work and spending her nights silently, secretly pining for a woman with golden hair and clever hands.

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“I’d be delighted to show you.” Then the countess smiled. A new smile, shy and hopeful. A smile like the first ray of dawn. Lucy was enchanted.

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And now Lady Moth had made her a shawl as a gift. With her own hands. If Lucy was right, every stitch might as well be a caress.

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“I don’t think love works like that. You might as well ask the earth whether the sun or the moon is more important.”

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“You can’t always judge by what came before. Sometimes, there is a revolution.”

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“May I kiss you?” Lady Moth held her breath, then let out a sigh that formed a single word: “Please.” Lucy leaned down, as the countess leaned forward, and the kiss exploded where they met.

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Just a simple brush of one mouth against another, but it sent heat and light and stars through every inch of Lucy’s frame. She pulled in a breath and tried it again, the same way, repeating the experiment. The same result: sparkling fire.

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When the kiss broke, the countess laughed a little, sounding surprised, and Lucy couldn’t blame her. She was beyond words herself. She wanted to sink her hands into the lady’s hair and hold her in place and kiss her until the sun went dark and the moon

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went dim and the stars blew out like spent wax candles.

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A new knowledge hummed between them, taut and arresting as the note of a violin.

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Then Lucy smiled, and for a moment her gaze darted down to Catherine’s lips. It was all the countess could do not to put her fingers up to feel the heat that gaze had left there.

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The afternoon’s tender delicacy was gone, replaced by a kiss that tasted lush as wine and scorched like fire. Catherine drank pleasure from Lucy’s ready mouth, the girl’s encouraging gasps firing her newly bold impulses. She hadn’t been dizzy from the wine at dinner, but she was giddy now, the room spinning around her and the only solid thing the skin and heat and feel of the woman in her arms. The kiss went

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But Lucy’s hands were careful and soft as they unlaced the back of Catherine’s gown, loosened her

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stays, and pulled all the pins from her tousled hair. It was closer to how Narayan would have undressed her—though Narayan would never have dropped a kiss on the back of Catherine’s neck, or combed fingers through Catherine’s tumbling hair in that luxurious way. It was—it was like every touch of Lucy’s hand was a silken thread, painting a sunrise one skein of warm light at a time. At the end, Lucy wrapped Catherine’s favorite velvet bed jacket around her shoulders and kissed her once more, sweetly. Catherine couldn’t help melting a little. “Good night,” she whispered. Lucy chuckled. “Good night, my lady.” “Catherine,” she corrected the girl. Lucy paused. “Catherine.” Her tongue lingered over the name, and her smile widened with pleasure. “Good night, Catherine.” She slipped out the door, leaving the countess feeling equally comforted and abandoned and thoroughly, thoroughly perplexed.

[sumcvivus]

welcome back to woodshore -- 

underneath the cut is what each muse awoke to find in woodshore upon returning.

ASHLEY BROWN; room 401, 1:24am -- never capable of sleeping through the night, awaking with a fright and curling into a ball in the dead center of her bed. it took a moment to notice the box nearby but opening it, she discovers her senior class yearbook, filled with the love and words from all of her friends and photos of them all together. it’s hard to go back to sleep so instead she just cries.

DOMINIQUE WEASLEY; room 608, 9:19am -- after the first night in a long time sleeping comfortable, dominique awakens well rested in their room at the woodshore resort. noting a box not there before, she lifts the lid to find the enchanted mirror gifted to her by harry potter right before leaving for hogwarts the first year. a present he once received that was given to ease the nerves, offering the option to see and speak to fleur and bill at any point should she become homesick. of course, it doesn’t work as it once did but they tuck it away safely all the same.

FAYE CHAMBERLAIN; room 731, 11:11am -- the time on her phone alerts faye that for the first time in a very long time, she’s managed to actually sleep without interruption. she doesn’t even note the box until her readjusting in bed nearly knocks it toppling to the ground. inside, she finds the chamberlain family book of shadows, filled with all the magic she once knew that had been left in the abandoned house, last she knew; her only true link to the circle, or her parents now. it’s hard to put it down.

HANNA MARIN; room 716, 2:51am -- nightmares of the dollhouse bring her lurching up with a scream lodged in her throat. if they had been getting any better, clearly that’s over now. hanna takes a moment longer than normal to realize that she’s no longer on tatooine, but surrounded in a familiar, safer space. when she finally notices the gift, inside is the friendship bracelet from alison, her name embroidered in the center. it’s faded and ratty, but she tugs the purple bracelet on instantly. a small piece of comfort connecting her to friends long gone.

HANK ANDERSON; room 316, 5:19am -- hank is woken by his son leaping onto his bed, causing sumo to grumble and let out a weak bark in his sleep. his son’s excitement is clear once he opens his eyes and realizes they’re no longer on alderaan. cole notices the present first, still excited and chattering away and hank opens it to find what was once framed at his desk in detroit: every article & the signed force photo discussing his success with the red ice task force, praising him as the youngest, most successful lieutenant in detroit history. his one point of pride in life, aside from cole himself.

HARRY POTTER; room 240, 8:45am -- it’s hard to sleep soundly through any night since the war (hell, since cedric) so it’s with a relieved sigh as his body shudders from the weight of a nightmare that harry realizes where he is. opening the present near his bed, for a moment there’s a pang in his chest as he recognizes the photo album once gifted by hagrid, the pages filled with james and lily, glowing, alive. he misses hagrid more than ever then, the images more precious now than ever before.

ISABELLA SWAN; room 1233; 2:15am -- never one to sleep, it’s disorienting to once again . . . wake up. woodshore (well, washington), is a welcomed sight. noting the new present in her room, bella opens it to find her engagement ring, an heirloom she can’t believe ever having been without. sliding it back onto her finger makes her feel a little better. more connected to edward, even if he isn’t here.

JOSIE SALTZMAN; room 440, 9:00am -- the bed is much more comfortable than the one she’d grown used to on alderaan. it’s nice to be back, even if she’s no clue how any of this happened. she opens her present to find a locket she’s positive that she’s never seen, but it feels familiar. there’s no way of knowing hope mikaelson gave it to her in order to make quiet things heard, but she feels connected to it and slides it around her neck all the same.

JULIA WICKER; room 533, 7:34am -- she never was an early riser before, but things have changed a lot in recent years. waking back on earth isn’t surprising, given history with fillory, but it is strange. she knows it’s dangerous to open mysterious boxes, but she does it anyway, breath catching in her throat at the sight of fillory and further, the complete series nestled inside waiting for her. opening the first book, quentin coldwater’s childhood scrawl is on the inside, marking the set as his own. it’s more than she could imagine, having another way to keep her late best friend with her.

KARA; room 510, 9:45am -- when systems reset, kara recognizes that she’s back on earth. not only from the view, but suddenly all programs are functioning just as easily again. it’s curious to see a present awaiting her, and the sight makes her cry as alice’s stuffed animal stares up at her. it had been lost so easily the night they ran away, but now it’s as close as she can get to seeing her little girl again.

MEREDITH GREY; room 501, 6:54am -- children wake her, as they always do, which is fine. hospital hours have made meredith’s sleeping patterns a wreck for years. it’s a bit of a surprise to see that she’s back in woodshore, but one that she’s okay with. inside the box near her bed, meredith finds the framed post-it note that contains the wedding vows she and derek once made to each other.

MICHAEL MUNROE; room 1231, 3:33am -- honestly, fuck sleep. it’s not like he ever gets any of it to begin with, the memory of jessica screaming, josh screaming, so much screaming pull him up every hour, anyway. at first, mike doesn’t even realize he’s in woodshore, wolfie whining as he wakes up yet again. once he does, he finds the box, containing senior prom & graduation pictures. the last time that all of his friends were together, happy, and alive. 

NORTH; room 847, 11:11am -- grateful to be back in woodshore, north doesn’t think much of it other than relief. reaching for the box beside her bed, she finds a video copy of markus’ speech from that day at stratford tower. it’s as close as she can get to him now. his voice, the words this message is the hope of a people, ring in her head for the rest of the day.

REBEKAH MIKAELSON; room 350, 7:51am -- upon waking, rebekah was ravenous - for human food, such a relief - she threw back the covers to hopefully find something edible. instead, her sights are set on a gift, inside of which is her necklace, once given to her by ester centuries before. 

SLOAN RILEY; room 717, 10:15am -- it’s a damn relief to be somewhere familiar. sloan doesn’t think of much else, or really much of the box in her bedroom now - maybe she ordered something and forgot? it’s so much more than that, when sloan opens it to discover the first ultrasound for her son, a keepsake that she never even told her father she kept. something to connect her to him, even after his adoption.

SCORPIUS MALFOY; room 648, 8:15am -- he wants to be grateful to be back, but if all scorpius can think is, if i could stop waking up on different planets, that’d be fucking great. but it is good. earth is familiar. when he opens the gift, it’s to find his wand. even without the memories of magic, as he takes hold of it a warm current goes straight up his arm as the magic recognizes him instead. 

VERONICA SAWYER; room 203, 12:45pm -- veronica doesn’t make it a habit of sleeping in, knowing there are plenty of other things to be doing, but she wakes up late today. the bed is familiar, and far too comfortable for the hotel she’s slept in for the past month. pushing herself out of bed, veronica discovers a gift waiting and inside is the red scrunchie that once caused so many problems. 

[doumekiss]

soft (good omens fanfic)

Crowley/Aziraphale // G // 510 words //  "So did you slept for bit too or did you stare at me while I was sleeping the whole time?"

During the night Crowley went from one of the armchairs to the bookstore floor. And it was on the floor that he woke up that morning.

It wasn’t so bad, everything in Aziraphale's bookstore seemed to be made for maximum comfort and that included the rugs. Although now beyond the rug below he had a blanket covering him and some pillows around him. And the angel who was surely responsible for such items being placed there was in one of the armchairs looking at him, he soon averted his gaze to a book on his lap but Crowley thought that probably before Aziraphale was looking at him for a long time. (although it should be noted that such an opinion came not so much from evidence as from hope).

"Good morning angel" Crowley said stretching.

"Good morning Crowley"

"We drank a lot last night"

"A little more than we probably should. I told you the couch would be a better accommodation but you were very insistent on staying where you fell."

"I fell ?"

"Slipped would probably be the best term. It was quite... comical"

And it was the way Aziraphale said comical that made Crowley decide what to say next:

"So did you slept for bit too or did you stare at me while I was sleeping the whole time?"

"I wasn't staring at you"

"You were when I woke up, I saw you"

"I wasn't staring, I was merely looking in the direction you happened to be."

"Right. So what were you thinking when you were looking in the direction I happened to be?"

"Many things"

"Give me an example"

"I should probably open the bookstore, it's late, you know?"

"Bullshit. You don't give a damn about the hour. Come on angel tell me what you were really thinking"

"You will not like it"

"Try it and we'll see"

"I was merely thinking I wish I had met you before the garden"

Crowley laughed.

"Really? Isn't six thousand years of me enough for you angel?"

"What I meant was that I wish I had met you when you were still an angel"

Oh. Right. Now Crowley saw why Aziraphale thought this subject would bother him.

"I'm not sure if you would really like it, you know how things were before, a bad influence and guaranteed eternal doom. If you had known me before you might have fallen too."

"Or maybe I could have saved you"

If there is anyone who could have done it, it would be you Crowley thought but didn't say, that conversation was already too heavy for that early in the morning.

"Breakfast ?" Crowley said and snapped his fingers and suddenly surrounding him  were trays with juice, coffee, bread, jellies, fruit and many other things he knew Aziraphale liked.

Aziraphale came to him and sat on the rug beside him. He seemed quite pleased with the food selection but still he said:

"We could have gone out you know, I know this lovely place that recently opened serving a divine breakfast"

"Next time"

"Alright next time"

Also available on ao3

[sol1056]

the bar was already so damn low it was practically underground

Well, I guess I’ll start with this quick correction, with thanks to @jeannettegray, who pointed out I mixed up days (for S1-S6) and weeks (S7) which would explain why it felt wonky when I was looking at it. Here’s the corrected chart of time in-the-tail versus not-in-tail: 

I included S8 in this version, but without a season coming after it, the only thing to track is the tail itself... and unless something truly wild happens between now and tomorrow, we’re already out of the tail. S4 and S5 had tails lasting 14 days each. I guess S8 isn’t the worst, since its tail looks likely to be 17 days. Yay, three more days of elevated viewership than the two worst seasons. 

Unfamiliar with the expression ‘long tail’? Here’s a reference image showing the rise and fall of a season’s viewership stats. More info in this S7 post, or you can just check my data-cronch tag. 

Or for a more pointed visual, here’s the past six months: S6, SDCC, S7, and S8... the last of which shoots up and comes right back down. Like a rock. 

For S7, I included IMDB rankings per season, and the range was wide enough I had to take good/average/bad and split it into four: great, good, okay, poor -- and S7 had more episodes in ‘poor’ than any other. That’s what I mean when I say the bar was so low the damn thing was underground... and yet amazingly, S8 utterly failed to hop over it.  

In fact, S8 did worse. Much worse.

viewer feedback via IMDB

Here’s all eight seasons, with their respective episodes averaged into each season’s value. It’s... well. Look for yourself.

For comparison, I also did a breakout, where the full seasons got split into 6 and 7, so we're comparing apples to apples with S3-S6 split seasons. The  pattern is pretty consistent, between first-half and second-half, in that the season-half (or half-season) with the ‘finale’ is usually the one with the higher score. People like big finale set pieces, and those tend to get highest ratings. 

Unless, of course, you’re season 8. Then people hate you. 

S1, S2, S5/S6 (as a two-part season), even S7, all have higher ratings for the finale-containing half. And then there’s S8. I usually try to avoid a word as strong as hate, but... there’s really no other word that fits when the difference is that stark. People really, truly hated S8, in case the Rotten Tomatoes score wasn’t enough to tell you that. 

Given the scores for S8, I had to create a new, even lower level to see how the seasons broke out in terms of ratings per episode. Now we have great (green), good (blue), okay (yellow), poor (red), and... terrible (maroon). 

Yeah. So. There you go. Remember when I said last season that The Voltron Show had lost its title as worst episode ever, unseated by the Feud? 

Well, the Feud has been unseated... by ten episodes in S8. Take your pick, there’s plenty to choose from. As of the time of this posting, the current three worst episodes are The Zenith (5.2), Uncharted Regions (5.3) and Clear Day (5.5). I’d list the ten worst but then I’d just be listing all but three episodes from S8, anyway. 

However, it’s interesting to see the pattern form when you put the split-seasons back together. You can see how in some ways, there’s a certain level of audience approval gradually building, I guess as people got used to the story’s vagaries, err, style.

The number of ‘great’ episodes (8.6 or higher) slowly climbs; the number of ‘okay’ episodes gradually declines. S7 breaks that pattern, with only one ‘good’ episode, a few ‘okay’ and the rest at poor. S8, well. Yeah. 

Okay, moving along, to the IMDB traffic. This is another viewership-style stat, since a site’s page tends to get hit the most when people want to know about the show they’re watching. 

The color-dot indicates the ranking for the week of release. S6′s biggest interest was the week it released, which tells me people were going direct to IMDB on the day of release or the next day. When that happens, it seems to correlate with viewers coming to rate every episode, often with a strongly positive slant. They want to get right in there and make their happiness known. 

S7, the leap upwards came a week later, and the utter wildness of the rating (plus the delay) seems to be related more to rubbernecking and controversy, rather than viewers reporting in. S8 not only debuted lower than the previous two seasons, it also had a delayed reaction (indicating more controversy)... and it dropped right back down, in one of the biggest post-peak drops I’ve seen yet.

viewer feedback via twitter

About six hours after S8 appeared on Netflix, I caught this sentiment analysis of the twitter stream for ‘voltron’ as a keyword. This is from midnight California time (point of release) to about 6am California time.

This is the tracker where I can’t review sentiment, and judging from the other tracker I use, the negative is higher... but more negative than positive is never good, no matter the totals. 

Twelve hours after release, I checked the other tracker. Traffic overall was pretty low compared to previous seasons (and nowhere near what S7 had prompted, not even in the same county). Sentiment was running about 3:1 negative --- that is, for every for-VLD tweet, there were three against. 

(If it makes anyone feel better, #Allura was the center of the maelstrom, with Shiro a not-quite-close second. No, despite the impression on tumblr, people weren’t sitting back and accepting Allura’s fate.) 

But seriously, the response was otherwise pretty subdued. This is a general traffic pattern + predictive, for #voltron as of two days after release:

Which is pretty much... nothing at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d think no season had been released at all. It shouldn’t look that flat when a season drops, and it sure as hell shouldn’t be predicted to fall within the week. 

And back to the sentiment analysis, showing the trends over the first week and a half after release. It’s continued to fall in a semi-regular pattern, so this is a fair-enough idea of what it looks like. (It hasn’t changed much; it just keeps gradually dropping.) 

24 hours after release, negative-to-positive was nearly 1:1; since then, it’s stayed pretty consistent with two positive tweets for every one negative. Which, okay, you might say, two-thirds of people expressing an opinion seem to be somewhat okay with things, right? 

Except I think there might only be like a few hundred of them. I mean, the peak up there, of total mentions? Maybe 1200, total. Sure, it’s great that 510 people had something nice to say while 498 were unhappy, but... that’s practically three people in an empty auditorium, if you go by twitter’s usual traffic levels. 

And no one’s sticking around, either. Once again there was a post-release bump thanks to the simmering controversy... and then everyone hung up the phone, left the building, went on vacation, but they sure checked out. 

That leap upwards? That’s not the week of release. That’s the week after. The week of release (second bar from the right) is flat for just a bit, before spiking upwards. And just like the wiki-extrapolated viewership stats, it falls promptly afterwards. Like a rock. 

(I so want to crack a joke about rocks fall, everyone dies, but... #TooSoon?) 

There’s one last chart to explore, but this one’s a bit of a doozy to explain. Once you see what it’s saying, though, hopefully you’ll find it as interesting (and illuminating) as I do. I’ll leave it here for everyone to ponder, and get into it in the final S8 installment. 

Coming in the next few days.

[destiel-love-forever]

The Statue

Prompt: King John discovers his son Dean is part Demon destined to be married to Lord of Hell. Unwilling to let that happen he turns Dean into a statue. Centuries later a young explorer by the name of Cas finds the statue and accidentally frees Dean. So it's like marriage will go through the only problem is Dean has had his heart stolen by the cute explorer.

- @longkissgoodnightbatmanandtwofac

Read Below or on AO3: The Statue

The Statue

Castiel checks his compass for the fourth time, then squints at his map. He marks the spot he’s at with the red marker and decides to stay there for the night, putting his equipment away. After he pitches his tent, Castiel goes looking for firewood. He’s hoping to make a fire, eat a quick dinner, and get to bed early. If all goes well, he can finish his exploration tomorrow.

Two minutes later, things are already off track. Castiel has found something tangled in the branches of an overgrown bush. He hacks away at it, his explorer curiosity getting the best of him. Once it’s uncovered, Castiel steps back and looks at the mystery object. It’s a statue. A statue of what looks like a man, about the same height and size as Castiel, with a crown on his head.

It’s not strange to find old statues as an explorer. Castiel has found plenty of artifacts since he started doing this. What is strange? The fact that this doesn’t look as dated as it should. The last documented civilization to exist in this area was 200 B.C, before the rainforest began to take over and no one could sustain life long term. This statue can’t be more than a few centuries old.

Castiel leans forward, noticing that there’s a green jewel over the man’s heart. Around it is a script. Latin. He rests his fingertips on the stone and whispers the words, his brain translating it into a broken english. Before he has enough time to fully comprehend what he’s saying, the statue is vibrating.

“What the-” Castiel stumbles back, eyes going wide.

The stone seems to melt away, leaving behind nothing but flesh and bone. The man gasps and stumbles forward, straight into Castiel’s arms.

“No!” he screams, fighting against Castiel immediately. “You can’t do this! You can’t-”

The man stops yelling, eyes blinking a few times as he realizes the person in front of him is not his father’s magician, but a stranger. He stares at the young man in shock. His clothes are… rather strange. The pants look as if they’re the same material as a heavy canvas tent, and the same color too. His shoes are weirdly shaped, almost like the boots of a soldier, and seem to have leather on them in uncommon places. He’s wearing a hooded coat and a shirt beneath it that seems to be missing it’s neck and chest. A strange purse like bag is on the man. And the thing on his head? It looks like the hats the princesses wear to the tea parties.

Castiel isn’t even able to care about the man-that-was-the-statue’s clothing. He’s more concerned about the fact that this statue just turned into a damn man. A statue. Rock. Covered in vines and leaves. Now a man. A man who yells and gasps and has freckles and muscles and blushing cheeks and the most gorgeous green eyes.

“My apologies,” the strange statue-man says in a steady voice. “I’m afraid I’m not aware of your name.”

“My - my name?” Castiel looks around, waiting for some TV crew to come say this is a joke. Then he looks back at the statue-man. “I’m - uh… I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel? That’s it?”

“I guess?” Castiel takes a step back, feeling uneasy. “What’s your name?”

The statue-man mumbles ‘he guesses?’ under his breath, then states in a normal voice, “My name is Dean Winchester the Third, First son of John, Prince of Campbell.”

Castiel squints at him. Campbell. Winchester. That’s the name of the civilization and prominent ruling family that was located nearly 300 miles away from this location.

Dean.

Prince Dean Winchester. Of Campbell. Why does that sound so damn familiar?

“My apologies,” the statue-man - well, Dean -  says again. “Do you have information on the whereabouts of Gabriel?”

“Gabriel?”

“Gabriel, yes.” When Castiel continues to just stare at him, Dean clarifies. “The royal magician. Gabriel. Surely you know Gabriel.”

Giving Dean a strange look, Castiel says, “Magician’s aren’t real.”

Dean huffs. He’s not in the mood for this strange man and his idiocy. “Magic is well-known in Campbell. The royal family has allowed it for generations now, Castiel. I do not have time for this nonsense. Tell me what you did with the magician Gabriel, or I will have you sequestered.”

“Oh boy.” Castiel rubs his forehead. Maybe magic is real. He did just see a statue turn into a man. A man that’s now talking to him. Interacting with him. Speaking to him like he’s from another time and place. “Okay, Dean. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Gabriel and I arguing. He was - he was attempting to harm me, upon my father’s orders, but I had been speaking with him. Reasoning with him.”

“And then?”

“And then this. You touching me.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “And when was that? The argument with Gabriel.”

“Today? Perhaps yesterday? There’s a chance I lost consciousness and-”

“No, the date. The date on your calendar. What was the date. The year?”

Dean looks at him as if he’s crazy. “1509.”

“Wow. I - wow. Okay. Yeah. That - that makes sense.” Castiel puts his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. He came here to explore the area for an ancient underground temple that documents say should be here somewhere. Not to find a statue that turns into a man that’s really the prince of the royal family of Campbell, a civilization that crumbled in 1511 over 300 miles from this very spot.

“What year is it now?” Dean asks, for the first time looking afraid instead of just confused and annoyed.

“2019.”

“20- no. Certainly - no. That cannot be.”

“I mean, you’re the one that says magic is real. From what I’m gathering, Gabriel turned you into a statue and left you here. For, well, 510 years.”

Dean stumbles back, hand going to his mouth. “But - but then - my father. My mother. Sam. Is Sam - no, he must - oh my gods.”

Feeling guilty, and hating that he’s the one to deliver this news, Castiel rips the band-aid off. “Your family all died in 1511. Your brother murdered your father after accusing him of killing you. Campbell split into two factions, one in support of Sam Winchester and the other in support of your dead father. By the end of the year, the entire civilization had crumbled.”

A rough growl tears from Dean’s chest. Then he grabs the shiny gold crown from his head and swings his arm, chucking it as far as he can throw. He screams. Kicks a tree. Falls to his knees and tugs at his hair. Then he bangs his fists on the ground and yells at the grass, “You bastard! You ruined it all! You ruined everything!”

“Woah! What’s - who are you talking to?” Castiel tries to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, but he shrugs him off. After Dean is finished pounding at the ground, Castiel tries once more, without touching him this time. “You must be hungry. Come with me and I’ll take care of you. We can figure this out.”

On shaking legs, Dean stands. He avoids looking at Castiel in case the rules of men crying are still the same in 2019. It’s not his father that he’s grieving, though he had always looked up to the man in a way, but his mother and brother. Sammy especially. Sammy had defended him. Died defending him.

“Yes,” Dean mumbles, wiping at his face before turning to give Castiel a false smile. “Food. Food would be great.”

----

“Sir! Sir!” the demon Crowley nearly falls over himself, waving his hands frantically as he approaches Lucifer.

Lucifer sneers. “What?”

“Dean Winchester! The prince! He’s on the radar again. He’s - he’s no longer missing!”

Sitting up in his seat, Lucifer demands, “Tell me where he is.”

Crowley gulps. “We - we aren’t sure yet, sire. But soon. We will find him soon. His presence was sensed, and that’s a - it’s a start. We just need to find him now. It won’t take long at all. I swear, sire.”

“You have one week to find my boy, Crowley. Or I’ll eat your soul for a bedtime snack.” Lucifer stands, hovering over him with a glare of literal fire. “Do I make myself clear?”

----

Having no idea what else to do with a 500 year old prince who spent his life as a statue, Castiel brings him home. Immediately. They’re back in America by the next morning. Dean is terrified of all things. The computer. The phone. The airplane. The airport. The taxi. The apartment complex. The TV. The fridge. The bathroom. The only thing Dean feels comfortable with is the four poster canopy bed that Castiel has in the bedroom. It’s where he is at almost all of the time. Just sitting there, staring at the floor. It takes Castiel four hours to get Dean to drink some tea and talk. It takes him six to convince Dean to take a bath and change into some of Castiel’s clothes. It takes him nine to get him to sleep.

Dean says the only way he’ll sleep is if Castiel promises to stay by his side. He’s afraid, but he won’t tell Castiel of what. It doesn’t matter. Castiel promises to be there the whole night. And he keeps that promise. For seven perfect hours, Castiel lays by Dean’s side and just watches the man sleep. Breathe. Mumble under his breath. Shift under the blankets.

Then Castiel falls asleep himself, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer. He rests his hand over Dean’s, tangling their fingers together on the mattress between them. It feels right.

----

When Dean wakes up, he’s feeling well rested and better about his situation. Especially when he finds Castiel’s hand in his. He slowly turns to his side and studies the man beside him. He’s gorgeous. If it had been allowed in his time, Dean would have married this man. Absolutely. The moment he set eyes on him, he knew he would have. But Dean was supposed to marry a woman.

Well, according to destiny, Dean was actually supposed to marry the Lord of Hell Lucifer. Hence his father’s hatred for him. His father’s plan to turn him into a damn statue. Not only was he supposed to marry a man - a huge no-no - but the man was a demon. The king of the demons. Add on the fact that this all meant Dean was part demon? That his mother had cheated on his father with a demon, making Dean both illegitimate as well as a constant reminder of Mary’s infidelity? Of course his father didn’t want him around anymore. John Winchester would have murdered him and been done with it, but then Dean’s soul would have gone to hell. Straight to Lucifer. He needed a different plan. Gabriel and his stupid green jewel was the solution.

Now, 500 years later, Dean is alive. Fatherless. Living in a world where he saw seventeen different same sex couples openly, safely loving each other between where the statue was held and this place Castiel lives.

Seventeen.

Eighteen, perhaps, if Castiel is willing to try.

Dean needs to stay away from Lucifer. Stay hidden. He’s hoping the charm is still working somehow, because otherwise Lucifer would have him already, wouldn’t he? Maybe Gabriel’s spell did something. Or maybe Lucifer has been killed and someone else is king. Someone who has no interest in Dean as a husband.

Slipping out of the bed, Dean goes to the kitchen. He pokes at the thing Castiel called the stove a few times, trying to figure it out. When he turns a knob, flames erupt around black metal spokes. Dean yelps and steps back, but the flames dim until they’re small and low. Manageable.

Carefully, Dean places a pan on it, just as he would over a normal fire in his home. Next, he looks in the fridge. There are eggs - though they are in a strange insect shaped container. Dean ignores that, taking the eggs out and cracking them into the pan, smiling when they sizzle just as they would in his day.

As he stirs them, he gets ambitious. There is bread and butter. Once he has figured out how to spread the butter onto the two slices of bread, Dean wants to warm them. Usually Dean, or his servants if he didn’t feel like cooking, would place the bread over a flat metal plate that would hover over the fire. Just until the butter got melty and the bread crisped.

Since there’s none of that here, Dean turns knobs until another fire appears, and places the bread on the weird black metal over the flames. He looks for a second, then shrugs. Turning away, Dean focuses back on the eggs.

Moments later, a terribly loud noise fills Dean’s ears. He stumbles back, knocking over a vase full of flowers, and looks up to find smoke filling the room. Then Castiel is running by in a blur, carrying something large and red in his hand. Dean gasps when the red thing starts spurting white foam over the flames. He watches in amazement as the fire goes out.

Castiel turns back to him, clothes crumpled and hair a complete mess. He looks at Dean with wide blue eyes and laughs. “First day and you start a fire.”

“My apologies, Castiel. I was attempting to cook you breakfast.”

“Really? Me?” Castiel perks up, grinning. “You were cooking for me?”

Dean frowns. “I was attempting to. Yes.”

After looking at the burned to ash bread and the overcooked eggs with wisps of foam on them, Castiel has to bite back a laugh. He turns his back to Dean so he doesn’t hurt his feelings by whatever his expression is. “I really appreciate this, Dean. This makes me really happy.”

“I ruined it.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Castiel turns again, giving Dean a goofy smile. “Want to try again? I could teach you.”

Dean’s frown turns to a beautiful smile. “Yes. I’d love that.”

----

On their second full day together, Castiel brings Dean to the ocean. He had never seen it - the kingdom of Campbell too far away from any sea and without any technology to reach one - and the look on Dean’s face when he sees the body of water is worth the two-hour drive.

After explaining beaches, sand, swimsuits, sandcastles, motorboats, jetskis, surfers, and life guards, Castiel sits in silence on the beach blanket and just watches Dean. He’s like a small child as he plays in the sand, using a bucket of water they brought to make mud so he can build structures near Castiel. From time to time, they talk about nothing important, but mostly they just enjoy the sounds of the beach together.

They stay until the sun sets.

“It’s still just as beautiful,” Dean tells Castiel as he sits beside him, their shoulders pressed firmly together.

“So are you.” Castiel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture he printed offline. He unfolds it and hands it to Dean. “I thought maybe you’d like to have this.”

Dean smiles softly as he brushes the pad of his thumb across the photo of the scanned family painting. It pauses over Sam Winchester’s face. The sadness that washes over Dean is obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says quietly. “I thought it’d make you happy to have it.”

“It does. Of course it does. I just miss him. My brother, I mean. He would have laughed so hard yesterday when I burnt that food.” Dean laughs, wiping at his eyes. “And this,” he adds, gesturing to the ocean. “Sammy would have loved this.”

Nodding, Castiel looks out at the ocean. “Dean, can I ask something personal?”

Dean chuckles. “You saved me from being a statue, Cas. Ask whatever you want.”

And that’s when Castiel finds out why Dean was the statue. What had upset his father. The part-demon situation. The issue of Lucifer. All the impending danger lurking.

That’s when Castiel promises Dean that they’ll figure it out. Lucifer won’t touch him. Not if Castiel has anything at all to say about it.

----

“Sire! Sire!” Crowley storms into Lucifer’s chambers with a grin. “We found him! We found the Winchester boy.”

Lucifer gets to his feet, leaving the book he had been reading on the table beside his bed. “Bring him to me immediately.”

“Yes, sire. Unharmed?”

“Yes. Of course.” Lucifer looks at him like he’s an idiot. “He’s to be my husband. Harm him and you’ll wish all I had done is eat your soul.”

Crowley nods. “Y - yes. Of course. Of course, sire. Yes. I - no harm. I swear.”

“As for anyone with him? Don’t spare them.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sire,” Crowley says with a smile. “I won’t.”

----

Castiel’s colleague, and great friend, Chuck Shurley meets with Dean and Castiel on their fourth day together. He’s an occult professor at the local university, and his office shows it. There are three different spots he needs to adjust symbols so that Dean can even be near them, starting with the devil trap beneath the rug in front of his door. Once Dean is finally inside, and everything is safely back in place, the three of them sit together around Chuck’s desk and begin.

There are many options for them, but none are guaranteed. Some have the possibility of trapping Lucifer. Others have the possibility of hiding Dean. There’s one spell that could maybe extract the demonology from Dean’s soul - but the risk is that it would kill him, so Castiel shoots it down immediately. Another choice is to try to trick Lucifer into believing Dean is dead or a statue again, which would involve some magic with Gabriel’s jewel, but Chuck isn’t at all confident about it.

“In my opinion, the best option is this.” Chuck flips the book around, pointing to a symbol with foreign words scrawled below it. As Dean and Castiel lean forward to look, Chuck explains. “It’s a way to close hell temporarily.”

“Close hell?” Castiel asks, frowning. “I feel like if it worked, someone would have done it already.”

“Not many people have the ingredients needed, or the skilled witch, or the willingness to sacrifice what needs to be sacrificed.”

“What needs to be sacrificed?” Dean asks. “And do we have the ingredients and the witch?”

Chuck nods. “I have all the ingredients except one, but I know how to get that. A friend owes me a favor. As for the witch, I know a coven nearby. Their leader is extremely powerful and highly skilled.”

“And the sacrifice?” Castiel prompts, noticing Chuck is conveniently avoiding the fact Dean asked about it.

“Well,” Chuck rubs the back of his neck. “Hear me out.”

“Oh, that sounds like a great start,” Castiel grumbles.

“The person who conducts the spell binds their life to it. That’s why it’s only temporary. When that person dies, the spell is broken, and hell opens up.”

“And let me guess. You want me or Dean to sacrifice ourselves.”

“Yes. You, Castiel. Because Dean isn’t able to with the demon blood in his body.”

“What does that mean, then? My soul will go to hell when I die?”

Chuck looks away from Castiel, which is answer enough. “I know it’s not ideal.”

“Not ideal?” Dean barks. “He is not going to hell. It’s bad enough I’ll be stuck there for eternity. I won’t let-”

“I’ll do it,” Castiel interrupts. “I don’t mind.”

“No!”

“Yes, Dean. I want to do it. It doesn’t matter. My soul will be going where yours goes.”

Dean shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You can still experience things. Feel pain. Be tortured. Lonely. Bored. I - when I go down there, after I die, I’m sure I’ll be miserable. Punished beyond belief. What if they punish you too?”

“Then they do.” Castiel looks away from Dean, dismissing him. He locks eyes with Chuck and says,  “I’m doing it. It’s my choice. What do we do next?”

----

The spell is surprisingly anti-climatic. Ingredients are put together. The witches show up. Castiel is put on a chair in the center of a huge symbol - the same from Chuck’s book - that’s painted on the wooden floor. Words are recited. Castiel’s soul lights up, a bright blue emanating from his body.

When the light fades, Castiel is left looking exhausted and slightly shocked. They all stare at each other for a minute or so. Then, awkwardly, Dean asks, “What now?”

“Nothing. It's done,” the witch Rowena announces.

“But,” Dean looks at Castiel, then at Chuck. “But how do we know it worked?”

“Trust me darling, it worked. I do not fail.” Rowena begins to walk out with her other witches, but she doesn’t leave before throwing over her shoulder at Chuck, “Now we’re even!”

When it’s just the three men again, Chuck assures them, “It worked. You’ll find out in a day or two if it didn’t, but I’m sure of it. It worked.”

Castiel and Dean weren’t exactly convinced, but Chuck never asked for money or anything else that could have made this a scam, so they go home. They wait.

----

“Sire! Sire, please! I don’t - we don’t know how he did it!”

“You should have found him faster!” Lucifer roars, leaning forward and looming over Crowley. The other demons on his staff are in the large room, watching in terrified silence. Crowley already pissed himself. Lucifer doesn’t care. That won’t affect the taste of the useless demon’s soul.

Not that he’ll be eating his soul anytime soon. Lucifer has much better plans. The man who closed Lucifer’s gates is only 25. He has a long life ahead of him. Lucifer will spend every day of it with Crowley on his rack.

----

When a day goes by, Dean feels ready to explode. When two more pass, him and Castiel start to hope. Then a week. Then a month. A year.

It worked.

It actually worked.

Dean struggles with that in a certain way. He breaks down one night in Castiel’s arms as they sit on the couch together. Between sobs, Dean talks about how his father never even looked for something like this. Never tried. His father didn’t care enough to. There was an answer out there somewhere, and his father didn’t look for it. Dean wasn’t worth it.

“Shhh, Dean,” Castiel whispers as he holds Dean’s head to his chest, softly rocking back and forth. “Shhhh.”

“He hated me. It wasn’t my fault - I didn’t - I didn’t even know my mom cheated! It wasn’t my fault. I - hated me but - but it wasn’t my fault!”

“I know, babe. I know.” Castiel strokes Dean’s back. “I have no idea how he hated you. I can’t imagine someone hating you.”

Dean laughs softly. “Stop.”

“I’m serious.” Castiel moves so that he can look Dean in the eye. He cups the man’s face with both hands and wipes his tears away. “Dean Winchester, you are the most kind, compassionate, funny, stubborn, beautiful man I have ever met. Your father was wrong. It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

“But-”

“No, Dean.” Castiel presses their foreheads together. “No. I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life. I will prove to you that you are worthy of love.”

Dean gulps. “Like your love?”

“Yes.” Castiel leans forward, their mouths so close Dean can feel the ghost of Castiel’s lips haunting his own. “I love you, Dean Winchester. I am so unbelievably in love with you.”

“Me too. I love you too. I - ngh,” Dean grunts, his words cut off by Castiel’s lips smashing against his. He melts into the kiss and smiles. It’s been centuries since he’s kissed someone - anyone - and he doesn’t mind.

Castiel Novak was so worth the wait.