#if i go inside when the headache hits i can prevent everything else

[fizzigigsimmer]

The Wish Your Heart Makes

Part 1/2

I love Halloween and was thinking about how I wanted a body swap fic.This idea bit me and wouldn’t let go so I wrote this instead of cleaning my house.

Summary: Billy Hargrove goes to sleep a 15 year old omega in sunny California and wakes up someone else in Chicago. The man everyone thinks he is has everything Billy ever wanted, and everything he never let himself want. Including an adorable little hell raiser and the alpha of his dreams.

Warnings: Neil Hargroves greatest hits, child abuse, racism, sexism, and homophobia.

~San Diego, 1982~

Billy hunched over in his seat, cradling the bruises hidden beneath his sweatshirt and tried to ignore the kid in the yellow raincoat. He looked about seven he thought, but what Billy knew or cared about kids could fit neatly inside a condom. So the kid could be ten for all he knew. Point was, the boy hadn’t blinked for at least twenty minutes and Billy was sure that could not be healthy.

He bounced his knee up and down to prevent himself from biting his nails; and just ended up hunched over in the uncomfortable plastic chair, jiggling his knee like an addict and biting his nails down to the beds anyway. 

‘Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?’

The canned Christmas music pumping out of a speaker on the ceiling of the bland waiting room was giving him a headache. Billy had been sitting there long enough for it to transition from the over produced bubble gummy covers of pop stars singing ‘Jingle Bells’, to stiff churchy sounding hymns. His very catholic mother had loved those. Used to fill the house with the sound of angels bringing in the good news before the dishes had even dried after Thanksgiving dinner. So it was inevitable that he think of her, even though he had a rule never to do that. He hated this time of year. A whole holiday designed around the lie of happy family, goodwill, and a merciful god. What was not to hate?

Besides the creepy kid, there wasn’t much to look at in the waiting room. Brick walls painted the color of oatmeal covered in peeling posters with muted calming colors, depicting heavily pregnant women and smiling doctors. Trust US To Help You Plan Your Family. A bold black headline demanded. Billy felt like giving it the bird, but that would just make him look crazier than he already did.  

“William Hargrove?”

Billy jerked in surprise. Winced as the bruised skin beneath his sweatshirt stretched. But he stood and followed the tall thin woman with the blue scrubs holding open the door into the back hall where the exam rooms were. The nurse introduced herself as Susan and lead him to the second in a long row of square rooms with tightly closed doors. He supposed he would be glad for the privacy himself soon enough, but he still thought it made the place look like a prison. 

Susan got Billy situated on one of those motorized chair/bed things and grabbed a backless gown from one of the upper cabinets that lined the wall above the desk. It was next to a large metal sink. There was a stain near the drain, too faint to discern what had caused it, but for a moment Billy was captivated by it. Was it blood? Bile? Maybe chemical wash had corroded the metal?

“Mr. Hargrove?”  

Billy jumped again. Snapped, “It’s Billy.”

“Billy. The doctor will need you to get into this.” She set the folded gown on the seat beside his leg and gave it a pat. Her eyes dragged over his ratty jeans and the oversized sweatshirt he wore despite the practically balmy sixty degree weather they were having. “You’ll probably be more comfortable.”

No. Billy thought of the bruises covering his stomach and the excuses he’d have to make now to a nosy doctor and thought, no. No he fucking wouldn’t. But he needed those meds, and there was no way to get them without going through this circus. So here they go.

He changed into the gown. Ignored the nurse’s cluck of concern when she got a good look at the job his father had done on him the night before. All because he could smell Billy stronger than usual. His glare dared her to say anything about it. It was a toss up who that worked on. Some people got even pushier when they sensed a locked door. Susan was not a pushy woman. She avoided looking directly at Billy as she prepped the doctors tools and filled out his chart.

William Hargrove, fifteen, male, omega. And what brings him in today?

“I need stronger blockers. Mine don’t work worth shit right now.”

His doctor’s name is Dr. Mehta. She’s a short curvy Indian woman (strike one) and even though her scent is sterile and chemical with perfume, the no nonsense look she gives him is all alpha. And that’s strike two. Billy’s father would hate her. Would probably kick the shit out of him again just for the insult to his sensibilities. Say some shit like, ‘you going to let that curry monkey tell you what to do?’, because the only thing Neil Hargrove hated more than his omega son, were job stealing immigrants and female alphas.

Dr. Mehta pursed her lips and looked down at his chart. Flipped a page. Then another. Billy knew what she was about to say before she even said it, but it still comes as a shock to his system. Like a slap.

“Mr. Hargrove, this is the third time you’ve been here in under six months. It’s natural for traces of an omegas scent to linger, even on blockers. Especially around what would otherwise be a normal heat cycle.” Her grip tightened on the clipboard. The corners of her mouth pulled back like she was bearing her teeth. Billy locked his muscles in place, resisting the urge to curl up on himself and hide from the angry alpha.

“Giving you a stronger prescription so soon will likely have adverse psychological effects, as well as cause irreparable damage to your reproductive – ”

“I don’t care!” Billy snapped. He clenched his hands, fisting the thin cotton gown between his fingers and tried to breath through the feeling of rising panic. She had to give him the meds. She had to, or Billy’s dad was going to kill him.  

Nothing set him off like having to smell Billy and be reminded that his son was a wet assed sissy boy omega. He didn’t care that Billy’s scent and his heat were natural functions that he could not just turn off and on like a light switch. Neil would yell, slap, kick, and punch until Billy was obedient. Until Neil had knocked the bitch out of him and Billy remembered how to be a man.

“I don’t give a fuck about kids or heats or any of it. I won’t fucking regret it someday or change my mind, or – Christ.” Billy grabbed fistfuls of his hair, tugged until his scalp stung, trying to ground himself with the feeling. He was going off the rails and he doubted Dr. Mehta was going to listen to a hysterical omega. Who would?  

“Mr. Hargrove –

“It’s Billy!”  

He wasn’t helping his case he knew that. Knew it was unusual for an omega to hate their own name so much. The reminder of family bonds should have brought him comfort, might have if Billy were normal. If he’d been like all those smiling omegas on the posters, with loving fathers and protective mothers. He’d heard a story on the news about a woman who’d died trying to save her baby from a gang of traffickers. She could have lived, traffickers were only ever interested in unbonded omegas, only she wouldn’t let go of the stroller.

“Billy.” Dr. Mehta amended, softer. “I’m obligated to ask if there is any reason that you do not feel safe at home.”

She paused but it was obvious that she did not expect Billy to be truthful. He shook his head and she nodded. “Right. But am I correct in assuming that for a personal reason it would be unsafe for you to detox from prescription suppressants and allow your body to go through a natural cycle?”

Billy shuddered. With his eyes closed he almost forgot to nod. Only did so when her soft voice prodded him once more. No. No Billy could never let himself go through heat.

~*~

After having burned through most of the morning Billy left the omega free clinic twenty minutes later with a little brown bag full of white pills. ‘These are much stronger than you’re used to Billy’ the doctor had warned him. ‘You’ll need to wait a full twenty-four hours to make sure your system is clean before you start them. Absolutely do not double up on dosage and I’m going to schedule a follow up in week to check your progress.’ Billy sneered at the memory. Yeah right. Like he was going to give his scent even more time to get stronger and then go home to Neil.

He stopped at a corner store near the bus stop and bought a bag of chips and a soda with the last of his money. Billy cleaned pools and mowed lawns to make money when he wasn’t in school since he didn’t get an allowance like the rich kids and the idea of Neil giving him omega pin money was laughable. He was saving up for parts to fix the car his grandpa had promised to buy him when he turned sixteen.

He felt sort of bad that his grandfather was using part of his pension to buy Billy a car (even a used one) but Pops wouldn’t hear no. He said it was because he worried about Billy traveling downtown to the free clinic without an alpha, but they both knew it was more than that. Pops was old and wouldn’t be around forever. Having a car of his own meant that no matter how bad things got Billy would always have a way out.  

Billy washed his first pill down with a mouthful of Dr. Pepper on the city bus and ate half a bag of chips because the label recommended taking the drug with food. And for about ten minutes he felt fine. He sat slumped in the uncomfortable seat with its torn cushion, his head resting against the window and watched the colorful streets of San Diego pass by. Glazed eyes took in brightly lit shop windows decorated in silver, gold,red and green tinsel; couples walking arm in arm with their shopping bags, bouncing children with drippy noses trailing alongside them. A pair of old men ambled along the sidewalk together bickering, even as one helped guide the other with an arm snugly around his friend’s back. Billy blinked back tears… we two have run about the slopes and picked the daisies fine… and frowned. This fucking song again.

He looked up toward the front of the bus, thinking he might beg for the driver to change the station to literally anything else, but his head swam with the movement. He did not feel so well anymore he realized as a pounding set in. He gave up any thought that wasn’t laying his head down and slumped down again, letting the motion of the bus lull him. By the time he got to his stop in the burbs Billy was sure he was ill and all he could think of was getting to his bed.  

He forced his tired legs to put one foot down in front of the other, glad that he knew the way home well enough that he didn’t have to pay much attention. His head felt like it wasn’t attached to his neck, like it was liable to roll right off if he didn’t hold onto it with two hands. Distantly he thought that if someone were watching him now with an eye to snatch him and sell him on the black market he’d be easy pickings. He’d be a story in the newspaper that the omega wives would cluck their tongues about and the alphas would sigh over. ‘What was he doing out by himself when he should have been in school? Drunk too, by the sounds of it.’

Billy might have looked drunk stumbling down his street in the early afternoon but he didn’t feel it. He mostly just felt sick. It was strange but he could almost feel something pulling at him. The feeling reminded him of being caught in a riptide. He tried to push against it but it was a struggle just to keep his eyes open long enough to reach his house and find the extra key they kept under the pot with the dead plant in it on the front step.

When the door opened to the empty living room a sob caught in Billy’s chest. This might be the first time he could remember in years that he wished his father were home. He was scared he’d fucked up with the pills and poisoned himself and there was absolutely no one to help him. Falling onto the sagging couch in the middle of the living room, Billy told himself he just needed sleep. That it was a bad reaction, because he should have waited, but he’d be fine… he’d be… for auld lang syne, my dear, for… for the love of god! He fucking hated Christmas.

Billy tried to shout for the driver to turn off the radio but he couldn’t get his mouth to move. He was caught, and the tide was pulling him down, down, down, into the dark. The chorus of singing voices were still echoing in his head as he passed out.

~ Chicago 2002 ~

The first hint Billy had that he was not in Kansas anymore was the softness. It felt like he was laying on a bed of clouds, so fluffy was the pillow resting under his cheek and comfortable the mattress that cushioned him. He couldn’t help burrowing deeper into that warmth and softness. He’d never been allowed to make anything approaching a nest, but he imagined that if he had it couldn’t have felt better than this. The comforter lying over him was buttery soft… but it smelled strange.

The smell was the second clue. Because it smelled like omega. Ripe. Dense. Like he’d sweated out his blockers and rolled around in the sheets for hours. And that wasn’t good. That was dangerous. Billy had jerked awake and already started to scramble out of bed tearing the blanket and the sheets off the bed thinking, get them in the laundry and get in the shower right now right now, when he froze. Because it wasn’t just his scent that wasn’t what it should be.  

That couldn’t be right though. Could it? His heart picking up pace in his chest Billy tentatively brought a corner of the comforter to his nose and sniffed.His senses were flooded with the scent of a strange alpha. It was so strong he couldn’t figure out how he’d missed it until now. The whole room smelled like toasted almonds and and…Billy kept sniffing. At first it was to try and identify what else it was making that scent smell so good, so masculine and warm, but he kind of forgot about that along the way. Fuck he’d never smelled anything so good.

A low rumbling sound filled his ears and Billy yelped, dropping the blanket. He whirled around to face a threat that wasn’t there. The room – this big ass room that wasn’t his – was empty. He’d been startled by the sound of his own purr. Fear began to numb Billy as he realized that he was in a strangers house, with an alpha off his blockers. His frantic brain kept screaming that he’d been trafficked and that any minute now some huge ugly asshole was going to burst in here and try and knot him whether he wanted it or not. No. Fuck no. He was big for an omega. Hadn’t spent all that time bulking up and honing his body just to wind up a sex toy. If he stayed calm he’d find a way out. Billy forced himself to breathe and to look around the room for an escape route.

The room he was in was… well strange. There weren’t chains on the bedpost or anything weird like that. It was the ordinariness of it that was off putting actually. It was like he was Goldilocks and he’d stumbled into the house of some unsuspecting alpha and fallen asleep in their bed. Maybe he had? Billy strained for a moment to remember. He’d been so out of it, had he accidentally gone to the wrong house? Picked up the wrong key from under the wrong potted plant?

But no, even as he thought it Billy knew he hadn’t. This bedroom was the size of his living room. There weren’t any houses on Battle Creek road that could accommodate a room like this. The big four poster bed looked like it had been bought out of a catalogue. The heavy oak furnishings were obviously well made and the carpet beneath his toes was white. Only rich people had the time or the money to keep white carpets clean.  

He noticed there was a rack of dumbbell weights tucked in the corner near the closet and a pair of running shoes had been left haphazardly near the closed door of what was presumably the bathroom – if the sound of running water behind the door was anything to judge by. Oh fuck oh fuck – Billy wheezed, realizing that the sound of the shower meant there was a naked alpha with very big feet behind that flimsy looking door. Some sick pervert who had to kidnap underage omegas just to get his knot in.

Billy shook his head sharply and made himself focus. The door was sure to be locked but there were large windows on either side of the bed. He hurried over to the one on the right side, shocked to find it not only unlocked but cracked open to let in a biting breath of air. Billy pushed the window open as far as it would go and stuck his head out, dismayed by the sight of the ground too far below to jump and covered in a white blanket of snow.

“What the fuck?” he stumbled back from the window, struggling more and more to keep the panic at bay because that was fucking snow outside! Where the fuck was he? Drugs. It had to be drugs. They’d have kept him unconscious while they transported him across state lines, or god fuck, maybe even out of the country! That would explain why the blockers were gone and his scent was so strong too.

Abandoning caution Billy ran to the bedroom door to try the knob. He couldn’t believe it but it turned easily under his hand and the door opened to the hallway beyond. He saw the flight of stairs at the end of the hall almost immediately and made a beeline for them. But when he reached the top of the stair a soft sound made him stop. It was music, slightly tinny in that way it got when it was being pushed through a speaker, and it was coming from a bedroom near the stairwell. The door had been left open just enough for Billy to glimpse pastel blue walls dotted in daisies.

It was just a tinkling tune without words but Billy already knew them by heart. He heard them in his head as he crept closer to that door and pushed it open, pulled by the distant memory of his mother singing in the kitchen some Christmas long ago and her scent blooming bright with happiness. Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne?

Billy had walked into a nursery. There was a changing station next to a white wardrobe that bore small colorful footprints up the side, marking the growth of a child. There were toys and books lining a stack of shelves near a window covered in gauzy curtains, and an old rocking chair set beside it. Billy blinked, taken back by the sight of the big purple octopus that had been shoved onto it. The stitching on one of its eyes was mostly gone, giving it the appearance of winking. Someone had taped a small red squirt gun to one of its arms and pointed it at the door. What the fuck is going on? He thought even as his feet carried him to the edge of the toddler bed overflowing with pillows and stuffed toys. In the center of what was obviously a tiny nest even to Billy’s untrained eye, was a small girl.

Honey colored lashes rested against a round cheek. Her hair fell down her back in soft blond waves that curled a bit more in the back. She had a lot of it. Billy didn’t think kids that size usually had so much hair. Did they? He wouldn’t know. Didn’t like kids! But something about the pup asleep in the bed had grabbed ahold of him and wouldn’t let him go. Was it her scent, milky and baby powder soft with a hint of omega sweetness? Was this some kind of weird omegean baby fever because he was off his meds?

“Hard to remember why we set the limit at two when they’re asleep like this isn’t it?” A voice said softly behind him and it was only years of living with Neil that kept him from jumping out of his skin. He froze like a deer in headlights because that was the key to survival sometimes. If he didn’t move (didn’t breathe) Neil might not find anything that needed correction. But Billy could feel the alpha’s eyes burning into his back and the weight of his expectation. His skin was crawling thinking about having some strange guy behind him so…

Billy turned slowly, and gaped at the man – because it was decidedly a man – he found leaning against the door frame in nothing but a towel. Blushes and shy glances were for sissy omegas and girls, but he found his eyes darting away from the sight of the slick hair clinging to the alpha’s well defined chest and then back again for another look; because fuck me, the guy was hot.

“Babe?” Mr. Chest hair asked, that single word imbued with so much significance that Billy’s fear started to resurface. There was just no good reason for some old guy to be standing there calling Billy ‘babe’ like they’re in a sitcom and Billy’s June Cleaver. They’re strangers to each other and the guy has to be at least forty. Billy doesn’t see any grays but he’s from California sacred home of implants and hair dye so that means nothing.

“Where am I and who the fuck are you?” Billy demanded. He didn’t know what sort of reaction he expected from the alpha; but it wasn’t for the bemused smile on his handsome face to disappear and for his eyes to narrow on Billy in speculation. The alpha had pretty eyes Billy noticed, if only because they were rounder and softer than was typical for alphas. Billy didn’t think it detracted from his appeal one bit, but then again Billy wasn’t the typical omega either.

Disturbed perhaps by the sharpness in Billy’s tone and the scent of omega distress filling the room, the sleeping pup shifted in her bed drawing both their gazes. Billy held his breath and prayed the kid wouldn’t wake up. He didn’t know why, but whatever this was going to be he didn’t think a pup that young should see it. The alpha seemed just as relieved as he was when the girl settled and slept on.

“Well that’s one crisis averted.” He muttered before looking back at Billy again like someone gearing up for a chore they weren’t particularly fond of. “Why don’t we get dressed and then we’ll sit down and talk. Okay? I’m sure you’re very scared right now and have lots of questions.”

He knew it wasn’t a logical response but Billy resented that look and the implication that he could be handled like he was the one who was three-years-old.

“I’m not scared of you old man. I’m pissed and I’m leaving!” Billy declared, lowering his voice halfway through when he remembered the kid. But he wasn’t going to wait around either. The guy was taller but Billy had him beat for muscle, plus he was younger so that had to count for something. He barreled his way past the alpha but the guy didn’t try and stop him. Probably because he seemed more concerned with shutting the door of the kid’s room and making sure she wouldn’t see or hear whatever was about to happen next.

Billy took off down the stairs at a run.

“Damn it. Billy! Billy wait!”

He ignored the guy calling after him and took the stairs as fast as he could, hopping the last two to land at the bottom and bolt toward what he hoped was the front hall, judging solely by the brighter daylight he could see spilling across the stretch of wood floor beyond the archway. Thankfully he had guessed right. Dominating the short little hall between the stairs and some kind of living room was a set of big doors with fancy window cutouts.  

“Billy!” He could hear the alpha behind him over the drumming of his heart. He made a desperate break for the doors, praying, praying, oh please god please.

Billy stumbled out into the blindingly bright snow, his saint Christopher’s medal swinging and slapping against his skin from the momentum. That was when it sank in that he was without a shirt or shoes. Fuck, fuck fucking fuck! Billy took several hopping steps as the chill speared its way through the pads of his feet and up his legs. It was so fucking cold!  

A dog barked and Billy looked up to see an elderly woman in a set of pink hair rollers walking a fluffy white dog on the sidewalk passed the drive.

“Help!” Billy called out, waving his arms. “I need help!”

The woman looked up startled, her wary expression melted away into one of recognition and then scandal. Her face scrunched up disapproving, as if the sight of half dressed teenage omega in obvious distress was some kind of stain on the neighborhood.

“Mr. Harrington! Does your alpha know you’re outside in your underwear?!”  

Billy ran. He had no idea who this Harrington guy was that the old bat had mistaken him for, but he knew the woman would be of no help to him. She didn’t have a single question about why a teenage omega would run out of a house barely clothed making a scene besides did his alpha know. If that alpha caught up he could say whatever he wanted and that old woman would take it as gospel.

So Billy ran as best he could in his bare feet down the drive and into the street, ignoring the woman’s increasingly frantic calls.  

“Mr. Harrington?! William!”

Billy bit his tongue to stave off the knee jerk instinct to turn and correct her. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.  

‘Your name is Billy.’ He told himself, bare feet pounding against un-shoveled sidewalks as he ran. ‘You might be an omega but you won’t be a victim. So fucking run.’

Billy ignored the pain in his feet and the cold gripping his body as he ran down the street, passing block after block of picture perfect homes with pruned shrubs, long driveways, and two-car garages all covered in cotton cob webs, pumpkins, spiders, and ghouls. What the fuck was going on? He’d heard of people holding onto their Christmas décor but who kept their Halloween decorations up past November?

Billy slowed as he reached the intersection of what looked to be a main street. The cookie cutter houses had given way to shops, and he could see what looked like a gas station two blocks down to the left. Billy stood at the intersection unsure of which way to go, watching the cars pass while he waited for the light to change. It was an odd thing to do maybe, wait for a light to change when you were being chased, but Billy’s thoughts were no longer on what was behind him but what was right in front of him.

The cars were all wrong.  

He couldn’t explain how in so many words. They were just off. He saw too many models and makes that he just didn’t recognize. It seemed excessive even for a rich neighborhood that so many people would be driving foreign cars. And the ones he did recognize looked weird. A slimmer body here, a rounder trunk there. And the ones that were the same, that should have just rolled off the factory floor for some Bob or Ted to show off in, they all looked old. Well used and ready to be handed down to some eager teen.

The light turned green. Shaking, Billy crossed the street. He was no longer thinking of running but of reflections. He needed to find his, because the cars were all wrong, and maybe it was just in his head but he thought that maybe his voice was wrong too. He’d been so scared before that it hadn’t registered, but his voice sounded different in his ears. Still recognizable but off. Just like the cars.  

A book store was the first shop on the strip. The window had been decorated in fake cobwebs and a paper witch riding a broom hung from a hook in the ceiling along with a trio of ghosts. But the window was clean and just lit enough that he could see his reflection in the glass.

Billy bit his lip, cringing away from the glass. The stranger had the same colored hair as his, but it was cropped short till it was longer in the front than the back, one annoying lock of hair still long enough to curl across his brow. Crawling over abs that looked like the ones Billy worked so hard to develop were a network of thick scars on the stranger’s abdomen, like he’d been in a fucking knife fight and come out the loser. But honestly it wasn’t the scars that Billy found the most upsetting. It was the fucking stretch marks on the man’s stomach, fuck, and the lines on his face. The stranger in his reflection was old.

A car pulled up to the curb behind him, it’s engine purring softly, and Billy just stood there. He was too numb to run. Too numb to do anything but stare down at the legs of the body that was somehow his but not his and wonder how he could have aged so much in a single afternoon. He had to be dreaming, he decided. There was no other explanation for it. Dr. Mehta had warned him increasing his prescription might have psychological effects right? Boy did he have a story for her! He started to giggle despite everything. Because it was kind of funny when he thought about the doctor asking him if he’d noticed any adverse side effects.

“Billy?”  

One of those side effects was a tall handsome alpha, now dressed in a long coat with smart looking buttons. He had a ratty pair of shoes in one hand and the coat was unbuttoned. He’d also left the car running and the door open, Billy noticed, as if he thought he might have to leap back in again at a moments notice. He needn’t have worried. Billy wasn’t going anywhere. It was fucking cold and this was all a dream so…nowhere to go.

“I’m old.” Billy said the only thing he could think of that seemed to matter in that moment.  

The alpha’s mouth quirked a little, like he might smile and replied softly, “Yeah. Fucking ancient.”

He waited, but when Billy didn’t say anything else and made no attempt to move he heaved a sigh and ran a trembling hand through his thick head of dark hair. “What’s the plan here B-Billy?” the alpha asked, stumbling in a way that made Billy think he’d been about to call him babe again. “I know you’re scared, but you’re gonna freeze out here. Will you at least put these on? They’re your favorites.”  

He held his arm out and wiggled the tennis shoes like somebody would wiggle a steak in front of a hungry dog and Billy rolled his eyes.

“You give me shoes and then what? Are you gonna let me go home?” Billy thought he should ask, on the off chance that this wasn’t a dream. Maybe he was having some kind of psychotic episode. Fuck for all he knew he was wandering around downtown San Diego right now talking to himself.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me get you somewhere warm and dry – your choice!” he added hastily when Billy tensed and looked liable to bolt again. “We don’t have to go back to the house. We can go anywhere you want, this bookshop even, Billy, anywhere. Just let me get you warm and I can explain.”

Billy shivered. If this were one of those dime novels they made for omegas he’d be saying some shit about how it was the quiet intensity in the alpha’s eyes that did it, or the way he said ‘just let me get you warm’ and so clearly meant ‘let me take care of you’. But the truth was, Billy was really fucking cold and these shivers were bonafide freeze your balls and shake em off shivers. He was probably going to start crying like a little bitch if he didn’t get warm soon.

Stiffly he reached out and took the shoes from the alpha’s hand. It fucking hurt to lift his feet and slide them inside the trainers. The soles of his feet had long since gone numb. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d torn them up until they were raw and bloody. Bad as it stung, Billy had suffered way worse and wasn’t about to be a sissy about it so he forced one foot in after the other.

The alpha watching him swayed a little, and Billy noticed the way he had to physically stop himself from trying to  stop him. That intense focus on him was a little unsettling, but not as scary as Billy would have imagined it would be. It was kind of nice in a strange way, watching the alpha bite his lip and wring his hands, all to keep himself from touching a distressed omega. Nobody would have blamed him for trying to help. Nobody would have stopped him either. A few, I’m sorries, it’s just my omega having an episode, and everyone would crown him alpha of the year and go about their business.

Shoes on, Billy stood up as straight as his stiff bones would allow. “How about we go to a police station?” he suggested just to be an asshole, but the brown haired alpha nodded easily and almost immediately agreed.  

“Sure. I can drive us there, only… you’d have to get in the car.” Hands dove inside his pockets looking for his keys before he seemed to remember he’d left them in the engine. This was definitely a dream Billy decided. Because this was starting to feel like a fantasy. A gorgeous alpha who didn’t posture or immediately try and put Billy in an omega’s place, who was so worried about him apparently he couldn’t even think straight? Billy snorted. He wasn’t born fucking yesterday.

“Here’s fine.” He jerked his head toward the bookstore and turned to walk inside.

“Wait! I uh –” The alpha turned and darted back to the car. Billy watched shivering as he turned the engine off and slammed the door behind himself. He came running back with something slung over his arm and Billy saw that it was a coat, similar to the one the alpha wore but in a darker coal grey. Billy snatched the coat warily from the alpha’s extended hands.  

“You had a coat the whole time?” he accused once he’d wrapped the stupidly soft thing around himself like a burrito wrapper. He immediately felt better in it. Like the sheets it smelled strongly of Billy, but it also smelled like the alpha too, and Billy had to resist the urge to rub his cheek against the collar to saturate his face in it. It smelled so good. Fuck. Why?!

“I figured if you did another runner the shoes would be more useful?” The alpha grinned sheepishly and shrugged. He was trying to subtly edge Billy toward the door of the bookshop, practically squirming in place, and Billy could smell the anxiety twisting through his scent. The guy was clearly going to pop if Billy didn’t get inside where it was warm, and yet he’d brought Billy running shoes instead of a coat…

He was so cute. And Billy was so screwed.

Neil had made it clear what would happen if Billy ever even thought about letting an alpha close to him. So it was probably for the best that the alpha of his dreams was just the product of a very vivid drug dream.

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Brothers + Royals

Word Count: 1K Each

A/N: Lesson 21 was not enough for me. Also let me know if I should do one for Solo and Simmy?? I don’t know if the syrup would affect angels but I could write a different aphrodisiac for them?? (also breasts is used gn!!)

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It’s been a long day for him. His limbs are sore and he can feel a headache approaching as he walks into the house. His steps are met with silence, not a single sound coming from the house, the only thing that he can hear is you rummaging around in your room. He reaches the kitchen, a batch of cookies served on a silver platter, covered by a glass casing. Your name is scribbled on a sticky note and underneath it is a sticky note that reads “do not eat” but he’s hungry and tired. He debates with himself, wondering if maybe he should eat something else- surely there has to be something else in the fridge- but then again, you made these. You must have added love to it, something so sweet that he can taste your emotions.

He gives a cautious look over his shoulder, wondering if you’re standing behind him, almost wanting to have you there so you could let him have a baked good, but you aren’t there. He can hear your music, muffled by the walls and your light steps as you walk around. It’s just one cookie. Besides, you’ve forgiven him for much worse. The glass is stained with his fingerprints, the cookie bitten between his teeth and he moans in pleasure. It really does taste like love- something so sweet and heavy on his tongue that his body tingles in excitement. His tongue wets his top lip, his eyes closed for a brief moment until something settles on his tongue, a bittersweet taste replaces the initial sweetness, his tongue feels as if it were dipped in tart, his brows scrunching together for a moment.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten something that you had marked as “do not eat”. Did you trick him? Play some sort of prank on the unsuspecting person who would eat your food? To be fair, you do live with demons- it would only make sense. The music stops, and you call out to him, and it’s then that he realizes that something is too familiar about this taste. His eyes widen, his hand clawing at the tabletop leaving claw marks in its wake. His pupils dilate and there’s a burning desire deep in him, leaving his chest feeling as if something heavy were resting on it. He walks to your room, arousal making his mouth salivate and heart beat against his chest as his cock begins to harden under the fabric of his pants and briefs.

Lucifer:

The prideful demon staggers to your room, paintings askew in his wake, his breaths heavy and when he’s in front of your door, his mouth is dry. Lucifer doesn’t remember knocking on your door, but you open it, and when he sees you, the scent of you rushes to him. Just by the way that he leans to you and kicks the door close, his body hunched over and hands at your side, it is evident that something is wrong. He’s much heavier than he shows, his body pushing you until you hit the bed post, and when you hiss, he presses himself against you. For a moment, he can pretend that he’s rutting against you, that your sounds are purposeful and caused by him.

He confesses that he doesn’t know what’s wrong- it takes more than a simple snack to drug someone as powerful as him, his voice slowly becoming bitter as his nails scratch against your body. You question him- a simple snack? He shakes his head in response, a cookie- yours, he admits. He wonders what you placed in it? A spell? A prank? Something so devious that it’s making him of all demons act so- so vulgar and odd. Your reply makes his blood run cold- Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. It has no effect towards you, but it has all the effect towards him. He swallows nervously, his head resting on your shoulder and the room is still, his breath held as he listens to your heart beat. His voice is low- strained and told in a hoarse whisper that he just needs a command- any command, he doesn’t care what it is, just tell him something to rid the effect, it’s too much. Any hint of motion makes his cock rub painstakingly sweet in his pants, and all that he needs is to be told something, given an order to do anything. He’ll go away, he’ll give you his card and let you buy whatever you need, just tell him something to stop the pain.

When you call his name, he lifts his head, his face flushed and shame evident on him. Your voice is gentle, your hands cradling his head as you peck his lips. It only makes him want more, his tongue running over his lips, tasting your chapstick on his tongue. You’re careful with your words, giving soft suggestions and guiding him towards the bed, but never an actual command. You let yourself be beside him, your leg slipped between his legs, your thigh resting against his crotch. His cock is hard against you, pressed against your plump thigh as you cradle him close to you. His nose presses right above your collarbone, his lips wet as they touch your skin. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth parted and hands fisting the back of your shirt. He can feel your shoulder blades press against his knuckles. Your hand snakes between the bodies, shimming his tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt. The cool air hits his burning skin, his body twitching further into you. He hisses at the feeling of your thigh squished between his legs, his cock rubbing against it.

Shame fuels him, burning his skin off and leaving him bare as he breathes onto you, begging for you to touch him. Sin weighs heavy on his shoulders, his mouth pressing deep kisses against your body. He can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips, the way that the fire in his stomach simmers down with every thrust. His face is hidden, your hands knitted into his hair as you twirl a graying strand around your finger- he is quite literally wrapped around your finger as he humps your leg like some sort of degenerate. He is the embodiment of pride, taking the sin as his own, and yet, here he is, humping a human’s leg while he hides his face that burns with shame. However, you aren’t just some measly human, you’re his, his master and his everything. You know what you’re doing to him, making him hump your leg but his mind is too fuzzy with arousal. All that the demon can think of is feeling your body, the soft press of your thighs, the way that you coo his name as you begin to move your own leg, your hand fisting his hair and yanking on it causing him to spill in his pants, red in the face from either his still ongoing high or from shame, he isn’t quite sure, but he’s sure that he can hear your teasing voice as you pull his head back, giving him a fleeting kiss.

His eyes are a deep red, darkened with his current state as he looks you in the eyes. In a swift movement, he hovers above you, his tie slipping down your neck, curing over and an inch away from your bedsheets. There’s a loud crackling sound, his horns jutting out and his clothing replaced and removed just as quick, your body buzzes with electricity, goosebumps pricking your body and making a chill run down your spine. Lucifer begs you to touch him, to let him just indulge himself, his lips over yours, a hand slipping under your shirt, to cup over your chest. His wings are stiff, a few feathers ruffling as you shift under him, grabbing his hand through your shirt and keeping it place. Your smile is wide, your heart beating erratically and when you nod your head, his lips are on you, wings creating a small breeze that makes you press yourself deeper into him. Your hand is held tenderly in his, your palm wrapped around his cock as he begs for you to relieve him. His pride has slipped, vulnerability bare on his face that it's almost angelic compared to who he is; his cries are loud, hands that grab at you and beg for release. His climax is against your chest, wheezing and panting, his face adorned with a flush that makes him appear even more lovely.

Mammon:

He isn’t entirely sure why he rushes to you so quickly, his eyes already half-lidded and jacket slipped off and clutched in his hand. Mammon is barely at your door, and he’s already burning with heat, sweat slick against his back and face burning. If he wasn’t so focused on seeing you, he’s sure that he would’ve believed it was melting off with every step. He knocks rapidly at your door, breathing heavily and jiggling the door handle before you can. He’s begging for you to open the door, his speech slurred as he tells you that it’s important- something about his charger or his cologne, even he can’t decide what to say. He might not know exactly what’s affected him, but he’s aware that it’s not something natural- at least given how sudden the change in his nature was. He’s calling your name, pressing his forehead against the door, hissing when the wood cools him off. His hands stay firm around the doorknob, a crack in his voice as he begs for you to let him in. He's unaware of how much time has passed since he’s come knocking at your door, but it’s far too long for his taste.

When you open the door, you are met with a disheveled demon- his hair is messy, strands that stick to his forehead from sweat, his cheeks a deep hue and his eyes nearly closed as if he were exhausted. It’s a normal occurrence for you to have him make himself at home in your room, erasing boundaries between the both of you until they’re nothing more than blur. The door closes behind you and his stomach is in a knot, every step that he takes inside of your room is sluggish, a weight tied around his ankles and pulling him back with every step. He tosses his jacket onto your chair, not bothering to look to see if its slipped. As he lies on his side on your bed, a neatly folded blanket at the foot of it, covering his already feverish body. He’s shaking despite the heat, his erection almost painful and a part of the blanket stuffed into his mouth to prevent himself from moaning out. Whether it be pain or pleasure from the smallest of movements, he doesn’t care enough to think about it. All his mind can focus on is you laying beside him, your lips pressed against his as he holds you down and fills you with his cock. It’s much easier to think about that than thinking about anything else at the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have laid himself on your bed- something that you use every night, something that holds your scent in.

Your bed dips as you sit upon it, your hand curved over his shoulder, a deep frown set on your lips. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, he’s only focused on trying not to pleasure himself as your hand curves from his shoulder over to his neck- where you hiss at how his skin burns, no doubt- to his cheek, and finally over his forehead as your other hand turns him onto his back. He stares at you through bleary eyesight, his blue eyes squinted as they stare at you, your body illuminated by the light behind you making you appear as if you are glowing. He reaches for you with open hands, pulling down above him. He murmurs how hot his body feels, your weight crushing above him, and his voice grows hoarse. Yet, no matter how much he tells you how much it hurts having you so close to him, he does not let go of you, keeping you pressed against him with his hands digging into your sides, holding you down as if you’d leave him given the chance. His lips are dry, scratching against the curve of your neck and brushing up to your jawline, and you can feel a kiss against there, his lips pursed, pulling away with a heavy gasp.

His leg twitches, soft movements turned into constant ones that press deeper against you. You realize with wide eyes that he’s grinding himself against you. Not normally so open with his feelings, you ask him what’s wrong and he answers that he only started to act this way when he ate something of yours. You turn your body, laying beside him, his eyes never leaving yours and hands reluctant to let go of you for even a second. In a hoarse whisper, you confess how you placed Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup in them. His chest trembles as he lets out a breath, his hands covering his face as he realizes what that means for him. He turns to you, a pout on his lips and his leg placed above yours, trapping you there. Your heartbeat quickens and you’re sure that he hears the difference but if he does, he chooses not to comment on it. There’s a minute of silence, and he stares at you through the gaps in his fingers, his rings shining under your light. You blink and he’s above you, his hands placed on either side of your head, the comforter pulled under his hands.

With a shaky breath, he asks for you to indulge him- to take care of him in the way that he needs you to. Mammon leans close to you, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath still sweet with the aphrodisiac, as he guides your hand to cup his erection. He begs that he’ll be good- that he’ll listen to what you have to say as long as you let him relieve himself in your room. Surely, you could have stopped his suffering with a simple command, but that’s not important right now- what’s important is that he got himself into trouble, and he’s seeking you out to help him. Your lips meet his, a tender kiss that soon turns passionate, clothes removed and tossed, his erection springing to life and already dripping with his seed, spilling onto your thigh in syrupy strands. He wastes no time, wanting to spill inside of you- a part of him hoping that that will be all there is to the damned aphrodisiac and another part of him hoping that it won’t, that he’ll continue on until he's completely spent. Inside of your warm walls, he spills, pumping in and out, the base of his cock stretching you until you’re arching your back and calling his name. The sight is enough for him to pull you into an intense kiss where he spills yet again. Any and all stimulation is welcome, your hands tugging on his silvery hair, your teeth pressed into the soft spot of where his neck and shoulder meet, to your words sweet and silk, praising him with every thrust.

Leviathan:

Leviathan feels sleazy, rushing to your room for some odd reason with his shirt being pulled down in an attempt to hide his erection. Perhaps this is what the otaku deserved for eating something that wasn’t his, but he couldn’t have known that you would have added some sort of trap into it. It was just his luck to eat something that was cursed. His ears are tipped red, his face no doubt beet red as he rushes to your room, hoping against all odds that you’ll spare him a cure. He knocks rapidly at your door, bouncing in place and hissing for you to hurry up, his words slowly being slurred together as his anxiety rises. He doesn’t even know why you would put this type of humiliating curse onto a simple treat. He calls your name again, only to be interrupted when your door opens, revealing you with raised brows. His frantic words and worry get stuck in his throat, his erection now throbbing at the sight of you. It was a bad idea coming to you, he concludes. He’s debating turning around and hoping that dealing with the matter himself will be the end of it all, but then you call his name and hearing you say his name in such a sweet tone nearly makes him spill into his pants. He groans, doubling over, your hands now on him and pulling him into your room. Your hands both feel fantastic and horrible on him.

His eyes are on the floor, unwavering and when you call his name, he flinches. He would rather not tell you what’s going on, but he needs the cure because the longer that he’s around you- and in your room no less- the longer he wants to pleasure himself. Shame floods him as he confesses that he ate something of yours- a cookie to be exact. He would have rather not told you but he wants the erection gone because the sooner it's gone, the sooner he can go hide in his room until you’ve forgotten this image of him. You voice confusion, and it’s until he clarifies what exactly he ate, that he hears you hiss between your teeth. When he looks up at you, you have a sheepish look on your face, clearing your throat and looking away from him, a hand rubbing the back of your neck as you confess that you used a certain ingredient when baking. He presses further, standing up, his worry for his erection fading as he presses further, hoping that perhaps hearing it will cause him to find the curse on his own, but fear also settles in, and when he hears the words “Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup,” do his fears have become reality. His stomach drops and he falls onto your bed, shaking his head.

It’s humiliating for him to be put under such a dumb effect of a simple thing, but he can’t change it. Thankfully, he knows what he’s dealing with and how to fix the entire thing. He looks at you for hope, begging for you to give him a command, something to simply ease the erection so the effects will wear off. However, he notices the glint in your eyes, the sly, kittenish smile that curves your lips as you approach him. Your hands cup his face and with the aphrodisiac still heavy on his tongue, he leans into your touch, swallowing nervously with his eyes stuck to how your lips move. You’re allowing him to relieve himself with you. He doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a sick joke, but his cock seems to love the idea, leaking heavily and making his briefs stick to his skin. There has to be some sort of catch to this- why would you want him- especially in such a deprived state. However, he can’t deny how appealing your offer is, his face inching closer to you with every second, his legs bouncing and your body already so close to him, your chest pressed against his and when you pull him into a kiss, he only deepens it.

You bring him onto the bed, your hands knitting into his hair, twisting the hair around your fingers and tugging on them hard enough for him to whimper into the kiss. Your touch burns him, clothes removed, your bare skin making his chest ache and mouth salivate. He lays beside you, his body bare and cock leaking against your thigh. His eyes are clenched tight, colors appearing behind his closed lids as he grinds himself against you. Your voice is sweet even if your words are less so, names being told lovingly in his direction, ordering him as he ruts against your bare thigh, begging to at least have your thighs pinched around cock. He’s sloppy, his mouth parted as he spills against your thigh. He inches closer to you, pinching your thighs around his cock, giving out a moan when you pinch at his skin. Your body is warm, soft and plush as he spills once more, a thin strand of drool spilling from the corner of his mouth.

It isn’t fair that you aren’t letting him slip inside of you, Leviathan whines. He can feel your sex press against his, his face hidden in the crook of your neck and his hands gripping onto you. He isn’t sure how much longer he can last, already feeling his demonic form press against his skin. When you tell him in a soft voice that he can finally slip inside of you, he kisses you harshly, the smell of the ocean strong in the air, and when he pulls away, his tail presses against your sex as he he enters you. The scales in both his cock and tail add a sensation that makes you clench around him, enough for him to spill inside of you. He lets the tip of his tail curl around your sex, rubbing against the slit and brush against your chest to have your nipples go pebbled, to wrap around your neck in a heavy necklace. His cock is buried deep inside of you as he ruts inside of you. He whines into your chest, cooing about how good you feel, begging for you to touch him, his cheeks a deep red as you tighten yourself around him. There's a lovesick smile on his face, his head bowed as he thanks you, burying himself inside of you.

Satan:

The one time that Satan decides to indulge himself in something of yours is that time that he chooses a cookie that has him desperately trying to his erection. He goes to your room and he isn’t sure why. He has an inkling of a thought on what you might have used for the recipe, but he still goes to your room. He knocks on your door, clenching his hands in an attempt to stop them from creeping towards his cock and teasing himself. You're taking far too long to open the door- he can hear your footsteps, the way that you shuffle and try to catch your breath. The logical part of him wants to believe that you’re simply cleaning or putting something away but the more aroused state of his mind is picturing you with your hand touching tenderly at your sex, bringing your fingers up to taste your own arousal. His canine sinks into the inside of his cheeks, something bitter filling his mouth as your doorknob turns. You stand at the door, a smile on your face, as he stands before you, red in the face and a cock that strains in his pants. He is wrath, but he is also someone desperate for attention, wanting to lay on your lap and try to keep all your attention on him.

He enters your room, not waiting for your reply, already so close to creaming himself just from your look and his imagination. Your voice sounds as if it's in the distance, a mere whisper compared to his raging thoughts that don’t seem to end. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, and despite the layers, he can feel the warmth of your hand. His eyes glow as they dart to your figure, a crackle of energy sparks out of him, popping against your skin and if he was hot before, he’s burning in hell as he takes in ragged breaths. Despite being in his demonic form previously, he can feel every sensation burst out as his horns emerge from inside his head, the way that his tail pushes against a barrier and curls around his leg, the sharp claws of his hands that jut out. He turns to you, his brows knitted together and lips pulled into a thin line. His arms wrap around you, his tail uncoiling itself from his leg and wrapping around your waist, the small edges pressing against your skin as his arms tighten around you. With you so close to him, he can feel every small movement of your body- your heart beating, the sharp intake of breath when his nails glide over your skin, and even the way that you try so hard to stay still for him.

Being so close to you is slowly making him grow groggy, thoughts muddled as his erection pokes against your thigh. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, his breath hot as he speaks in a strained voice. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That has to be the reason why it’s so difficult to control himself around you, isn’t it? Why he can’t think straight nor why he can’t seem to get the image of you out of his mind. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his hands clammy as they wrap around your wrists and beg for you to do something about the state that he’s in. He needs you to do something. His tail is attentive as it slides under your shirt, tugging on the skin and when you hiss, his lips press against your neck. His tongue is sharp, pressing the tip of the muscle against you, savoring you as he thrusts lightly against you. He’s pleading for you to give him a command- to do anything to get rid of the ache that’s in his pants.

You pull away from him and he whines, shaking his head and inching closer to you, stumbling on his feet and his eyes wet with tears. You cradle his face in your hands, his lips in a pout and hand clutching at the front of his shirt. His tongue peeks to wet his lips and in the same breath, it’s hidden inside his mouth. When your lips press against his, he lets out a whine, shifting in place and holding your hands, his tail still around you as he guides you to the bed. His moans muffle out any noise from the outside. The aphrodisiac does it’s work well, your tongue swirling around his, brushing against the roof of his mouth that leaves him melting against you, his whines low and his hands guiding you to touch at his cock. He doesn’t know how it’s come to it, a demon so powerful as him being reduced to such a weak mess with a simple ingredient. He never thought himself to be so sensitive to touch, your lips pressed against the curse of his horns leaves him rutting against your sex, his hands clawed at your back as every touch just sends him closer to his high.

He’s always been a giving lover, wanting you to feel pleasure before he’s had the chance to and even just seeing your climax is enough for him to start dripping in thick strands. However, now, Satan is selfish, pulling you in for a kiss, slipping his cock inside of your hole, the head of his cock stretching your rim and when you whine, tears pricking your eyes and his name nothing more than a mess of syllables, does he release inside of you. His lips are tasted with salt, kissing your tears and thrusting wildly into you, his tail curling around your legs and keeping you situated above him. He latches to your breast, leaving marks behind with every kiss and suckle, begging for your hole to clench around him, the soft walls that wrap around his cock and pull him deeper despite being nearly at the base. He pants and pulls you close, letting your hands roam throughout his body, pull at his nipples and curve around his horns.

Asmodeus:

He knows what it is the minute he arrives at your door. If there’s one thing Asmodeus is excellent at, it’s identifying his sin- no matter the shape it comes in. It’s just a surprise he hadn’t noticed that it was in your baking- perhaps there’s a level as to when aphrodisiacs can become apparent to him. No matter, he knocks on your door, clicking his tongue when he notices that his erection has begun to show itself. He knocks at your door, the inside of his cheek bitten as he awaits for you to open your door. He can handle lust just well- it's who he is, it's the entirety of his being- but he also knows that you’re on the other side of the door. Lust is a fickle thing- a strong desire that overpowers even the strongest of minds, and he’s mastered it, he’s been the one in control but now, he isn’t sure. He stands outside your door, his first two knocks, polite but after a moment of waiting, his knuckles burn as they continuously knock against your door. He needs you to open your door, he needs to see you and to just take you in. His erection pulses and he can’t risk staining the inside of his pants with his seed. His forehead is against the cool wood of the door, begging you in a cracking voice that he simply cannot stay outside, not like this- not when he needs to see you so badly.

When you open your door, he’s pushing past, falling into the grace of your arms and burying his head into the rook of your neck. Somewhere in the distance, your door closes, the click echoing throughout his entire body. He chuckles lowly, nuzzling himself against you, replacing your scent with his. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. What a little minx you are. Surely you had to have an idea on what you were doing. There’s a lovely aroma in the air- vanilla and roses mixed, a lingering scent of perfume that fills your lungs and his horns press against your plush cheeks. He pulls away, a lovesick smile gracing his features as his face fills with a blushing shade of pink. Was it some sort of joke? Or were you perhaps hoping that it would get his attention? His lips hover over yours, the smell of your baked goods thick on his tongue, as he guides himself closer to you, attracted to your entire being. His hands rest on your waist, pulling you close, trying to close the gap as slowly as he can. You have his attention, if that’s what you wanted. His lips meet yours in a breathless kiss, your hands curling around his neck and grabbing his face, pulling him closer to you. A kiss from lust themselves is sure to make anyone’s knees buckle. It takes a simple kiss for him to nearly stain the inside of his pants and he pulls away quickly, his lips bruised and the clear balm that he wears is now resting faint on the inside of his mouth.

Your bed is soft, pillows fluffed under him as he relaxes, his mind now drunk off of lust and the taste of you. He simply can’t think at this very moment. He’s torn between wanting to take you and wanting for you to give him a command. A command will surely snap him out of it and push him to go do something- anything else that isn’t staying here and potentially resulting in him jerking off in your bed from a mere kiss. He looks over to you, a heavy blush across his face, ears tipped hot and chest rising and falling slowly. He appears almost lazy in your eyes, but still beautiful as ever. His hair is slightly askew, small curled strands that stick out of place, his eyes half-lidded but still looking at you with lust, and his lips parted, the balm that wears gleaming off the to the corner of his lips, small hints of glitter that shine across his bottom lip. Give him an order, he begs. He’s felt lust before- something so heavy and thick that it made him completely lose his mind and focus only on pleasure- but it's never been like this, never been with you. He wants you to kiss him. He wants to feel your body grind against his. He wants everything that he’s ever felt before with you because he knows that with you, it’ll be amplified. He wants your body to rest beside his, to touch your bare skin with his sinful hands and let him take over for the both of you. But he also wants to stop himself, to let the lust wash over for a moment. He can’t think, he wants to different things but he also just wants the one- he wants to have sex with you while his mind is thick with lust.

The bed creaks as you weigh it down, shifting and moving close to him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he makes a note to get you a new one that won’t make noise. Your body sits perched above his, his head tilted upwards and his gaze dark. His hands find themselves at home against your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as you press yourself close to him. Your chest presses against his, your heart beating loud enough for the both of you, echoing in your chest and vibrating against his. His mouth moves in a quiet whisper, begging for you to touch him- to at least kiss him once more before he truly loses his mind. Your lips meet his and as opposed to the more passionate one early, this one is softer, your lips moving against his in a slow embrace, your hands freeing his cock. You pay special attention to each fold of his cock, the petal-like ridges that flare around his tip, your hands working softly around him. The kiss is intense, heated and breathless, your lungs burning as you need to pull away, your face on fire and darkening with each lasting second until he pulls away, licking his lips as if to savor you on his tongue.

Rather than letting him take the lead, you do, your hands knitting into his silky hair, threading your hands into his hair and tugging lightly, breaking the kiss as you catch your breath. His lips, on the other hand, don’t leave your body. His wings flutter and tense, his teeth prick at your neck and when something warm burns against your skin, the flat of his tongue wipes it away just as quick. It isn’t long until Asmodeus is buried inside of you, his face contorted to pleasure, tears forming against the corners of his eyes and sliding down his face. He isn’t ashamed to admit that the kiss was enough to send him over the edge, spilling inside of your warm hole, pumping inside of you until he floods out and warms the base of his cock. He gets to feel you orgasm just as quick, the way you clench around him, pulling taut and fluttering your walls against his already sensitive cock just makes him hold tighter onto you, begging for you to continue your movement.

Beelzebub:

He really hadn’t meant to eat something of yours. Well, he did, but he felt guilty afterwards when his body became engulfed in flames, his tongue heavy and his mouth salivating with every movement of his tongue. Beelzebub knocks on your door, a pout on his face as he tries to ignore the aching sensation in his stomach. It’s familiar, but he can’t quite place his tongue on it- his mind too rattled by guilt and shame to do anything more than think about how the cookie practically melted into his mouth. When you open the door, he’s greeted by your smile, your head tilting as you step back and welcome him into your room without a word being said between the both of you. A guilty smile crosses his features, his eyes downturned and hands fiddling with each other. Once inside your room, does he take notice of how much more prominent you’ve been.

His sin is gluttony, and while the others- and even other demons alike- might have a stronger noise than humans, his nose is even stronger. He could always smell you from a mile away- your aroma, the difference of body wash or cream that you use, what snacks you’ve eaten if your mouth is freshly filled with mint- he can smell it all. Yet, even with his sin, your aroma has never been so heavy, so potent and filling his lungs with something that makes him feel as if he were about to implode. He sits on your bed, his stomach churning as if he had eaten something awful, and he just stares at the floor. He doesn't know what to think, he doesn’t know why he’s acting as if his mind is muddled, his mouth stuffed with cotton making him unable to speak. But, it isn’t stuffed with cotton, it’s flooded with his saliva, threatening to spill from the corners of his mouth and he’s forgotten how to swallow. Your hands are lifting his head, a plea for him to look at you and when you do so, his mouth parts, drool spilling from his mouth and landing onto your floor. He mumbles an gargled apology, even more of saliva spilling out. He can smell your cream- citrus that makes his lungs fill with the sweet air of it, grapefruit that leaves the lingering bitter sweetness that still rests on his tongue and the freesia petals that make you smell so sweet that it's making his jaw feel as if were being pricked by pins and needles. In a slurred speech, he confesses that he ate a cookie of yours, his arms wrapped around your body and pulling you close to him, his head resting on your chest as he apologies. He just wants whatever curse you placed on it to go away.

There’s a crackle in the room, building and sparking inside of him, his wings pushing against his back as they're begging for release from the confines of his more human appearance. He doesn’t know what’s going on, only that there's intense pressure coursing through his body, making him feel as if he’s slowly going insane. His hands clench, dragging your shirt into fistfuls as he can hear your beating heart echo against your ribs. Your hand runs through his hair, a soft shushing sound and he subconsciously nuzzles closer to you, his breathing ragged and heavy, his cock aching in the confines of his pants, a thick strand of pre-ejaculate staining him. You confess that it wasn’t a curse, just an ingredient you used that perhaps you shouldn’t consider who you live with. The ends of his hair are pulled gently as your fingers wrap his strands in a soft taunt. You used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. He groans, tears in his eyes as he lowers his head, pressing himself against your stomach, his hands moving lower until his pinkies tease at the curve of your rear. He repeats the words back to you, his mouth growing heavier with each syllable, and when he pries away, your shirt now sports a dark spot of where his mouth had pressed against you.

It wasn’t a curse then? Just an odd ingredient to add to your baking? Relief floods throughout him, a brief pause to his current heated self, and his shoulders drop. With the guilty feeling now out of the way, he has to focus on how to relieve himself, his erection making a noticeable tent in his pants as he falls to his back on your bed. The action is akin to pollen that floats off of a flower, your bed drenched in your entire essence, dripping and sticking onto his skin and when he closes his eyes, he can only focus on the faint scent of your sex, the arousal that dripped onto your bed covers and laid there. Your hand curves over his breasts, his nipples pert and he stares at you through half-lidded eyes. He’s in pain- the good type, the sore muscle type that lets him know that he’ll wake up feeling a certain type of way. He’s under your command, his hands covering yours and pulling your hand to his mouth where he kisses at your knuckles. Please, he’s begging in a hoarse whisper, to give him a command so he can leave or allow him to be a toy for you. He won’t mind either option, just let the aching pain in his stomach- the twisting and turning that doesn't let him think straight.

Feeling your lips on his is enough of an answer. He returns the kiss eagerly, his tongue filling your mouth, twisting and turning, thin trails of saliva that spill between the open gaps and drip on your chins. He cries in the kiss, his hand palming at his cock, his seed staining the inside of his pants. Beelzebub is one to give into his sin, so eager and giving despite his intimidating appearance. Your clothes are discarded, thrown show here to the empty room as he pulls you up to his face, his mouth parted as your sex rests on his tongue. Your arousal is heavy, thick and sweet like honey as it slips down his throat as his tongue wraps itself around your sex, licking at the slit as your nectar fills his mouth. One hand is curved over your breast, teasing at your nipple until your hand is covering his, tears in your eyes at how it’s all too much, while his other hand is wrapped around his cock that is gleaming with his seed and burning in his palm. He continues past the overstimulation, mumbling into your sex, suckling on you and pushing himself close to you, letting the tip of his canine glide against your pulsing sex.

Belphegor:

His knuckles knock against your door, a deep frown on his features that makes the middle of his brows crease. Belphegor doesn’t offer a moment of explanation when the door opens, simply pushing past you and resting on your bed. His arms remain open, his expression solemn as he stares at you, waiting for you to join him in bed. He’s always been one to rest with you, telling you that you’re so warm and soft, a perfect body pillow for the Avatar of Sloth. He doesn't know what is wrong with him right now, all that he’s aware of is that he’s restless, his mind too fuzzy and chest too tight. He’s coming to you, asking for a nap, hopeful but pessimistic that that will cure him of his current ailment. However, for whatever reason, being in your room proves to be a horrendous experience. Has your natural scent always been this strong? Has your heart always beat so loud that it makes him feel as if he’s going crazy? Has your hand on his chest ever felt this heavy?

He’d never describe your room as the attic- the loneliness, the cramped space, the emptiness of it all except for red eyes that were filled with regret- but right now, as he lays on your bed with you at his side, he feels like he’s back. Or rather, he wishes that he were back. Your room is cramped, every inch of it thick with your and your presence, your beside him, your index finger drawing organic shapes over his abdomen and he’s reminded that he isn’t alone. He’s with you at this very moment. He confesses that he ate something of yours. A cookie that was left out. He apologizes in the same breath, his hand over yours, gripping it tighter and tighter with every uneven breath. What was in it? Why is it making it so difficult to breathe and why can’t he stop focusing on how frail you are compared to him. He turns his head, eyes meeting yours, his blown out and face flushed with an almost lovesick look on him. Why is it now that you’re making him act so tense around you?

Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That explains so much and it leaves him with a heavier weight on his chest. Just give him a command, let him be done and over with it. The effects of it are too painful- too much pressure that rests on his stomach and he’s suddenly aware that his erection isn’t due to whatever he had hoped it was, but it’s due to your little treat. There’s crackling in the air, a sweet scent of chamomile and honey in the air as his horns grow and tail elongates, the end of it wrapped around your wrist, tickling at your palm. It pricks your forearm, a sharp breath between your teeth when he tightens around you. He inches closer to you, his chest pressed against your and his eyes half-lidded- he asks you to give him a command, to let him sulk off to the attic and bury himself under the covers with a hand around his cock. Your lips meet his and his tail tightens around your wrist. You let out a muted whine between the closed lips and he nearly climaxes in his pants, his tail slowly loosening it’s grasp.

Your hands move from the side of his face, slowly creeping up until they hook over his curled horns. He presses closer to you, hands so desperate to hold onto you- wanting to touch every inch of your body and memorize every rise and dip. Your shorts are thin enough to feel what lies hidden, the way that your own sex throbs and aches from him with just a simple kiss. If it were any other day, or at least a day when he wasn’t aroused by some aphrodisiac, perhaps he would have teased you- played with your sex and make you edge yourself on his thigh, but right now, he’s bratty. He wants to feel good, wants to actually touch you and get off like that rather than some fantasy. He pushes closer to you, his hands spread on your back, a leg nudging into your, a silent plea to remove your clothing. He’s eager for sex, but he won’t show it, so desperate to have you do all the dirty work and slip yourself onto him. Just the thought of falling asleep as he’s been drained with every ounce of his semen makes him buck his hips, his cock rubbing against the fabric and tight space. A nail drags down your back, straight from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, your clothes tearing away. You bite his tongue and he spills inside of his pants.

The air in the room is mixed with your scent, the thick arousal that drips between your slit and onto his stomach, mixed with his own arousal, his cock that throbs, the base of it thick and the hottest part of his entire cock. He’s ended up with you below him, his cockhead pressed against your pubic bone, a hand squeezing at your chest as he pulls away, a trail of saliva still connecting you to him and him to you. His cock slides down, meeting your sex and he hisses almost painfully, bowing his head and burying himself into the crook of your neck. His head shakes, his cock not even inside of you yet as he begins to thrust himself against your body. He breathes heavily, panting and groaning as he reaches his high, spilling himself against your sex. Your legs are bent, his smile wide and almost unnerving as he leans over, his cock pressed against your rim. His tail feathers around your abdomen, tickling your sides until the rest against your nipples, the fluffed end feathering until you become pert with the attention. He leans for a kiss while his cock is hugged by your warm walls.

Barbatos:

Every step to your room feels as if pins and needles are shooting throughout his body, every step painful and uneven breaths that puff out as sweat sticks to his brow and a fever burns his body. Barbatos knocks against your door and he hates to admit it, but when you open it and greet him, all he can think of is pressing you against the floor and letting himself let go for just a moment. But, he clears his throat and asks to be let in, wandering inside with staggered steps. He sits on your bed, fully aware of just how much of you in your room. You invade every nook and cranny of it, your entire essence drenched in the room. His mouth salivates when he can hear your blood pump and heart echo against your chest. When he meets your eyes, he can see your lips move but the only sound is ringing in his ears. He can’t seem to focus on anything- eyes constantly moving to every feature of you, watching as your eyes mix with color near the pupil, and how your lips are cracked near the inside of your mouth, the way that your tongue licks at your lips and he has to force himself to look away.

He shakes off your worry, telling you that he had something- he doesn’t want to say bad, it’s quite the contrary to that- he decides to go with something new. He lets out a low laugh, short and breathless as he confesses that he had one of your cookies. There’s a part of him that already knew what it was- the intoxicating taste, the way that it lit him on fire and made him act so... irrational. When you give him a look of surprise, he can only nod his head. You tell him that you used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup- just as he expected. He almost wishes that you had placed an alcoholic drink, something that wouldn’t make him feel so hot around you. He can’t be with you right now- not this close, not when he’s so drunk off of lust that the only thought that swims in his head is how pretty you look. This is a situation that he got himself into, one that he should have known better than to take something of yours. He had only visited to retrieve something, or perhaps it was to drop something off, he can’t remember, not when his erection aches and pulses in his pants. Truth be told, he’s surprised you haven’t commented on it, but maybe that’s his only saving grace when he’s in your presence.

Your hand presses against his forehead and he leans into your touch. The dutiful butler is gone, replaced by a demon so drunk off of lust that he’s whimpering and palming himself through his pants, mumbling apologies as he keeps your hand stationed against his face. He’s weak under you, loyal to one but so desperate, so distant from everyone that he falls before you. Your hand pulls away and he can hear you mutter, your breath close to his and he falls into your embrace. Your breath is cool, smelling like mint and your perfume faint, lingering against your skin like a kiss given by the sun. Your heart beats, your neck pulsing as you cradle him close to your body as he palms himself. Static is thick in the air, his head tilting just at the right moment, his horns pressed against the side of your head. He promises that if you tell him to leave, he will, his hands knitting into the back of your shirt, his erection aching in his pants as it’s lost touch. Just tell him to leave, let him be gone from your sight.

There’s no warning when you push him further onto your bed, your hands pressed against his chest, his eyes dilated with arousal and mouth open. His tail slithers out from under him, poised above you, the split ends of it standing straight as you rest above his stomach. His hands rest on your hips, and he’s hoping that you’ll allow him to indulge, for just a moment, he watches as your tongue wets your lips and he wishes that it were him touching your lips. He calls your name, his hands curling against the fabric of your shorts, and when he begs that if you tell him to leave, he’s silenced with a kiss that he reciprocates. The touch of your lips makes his body heat up, everything in his mind screaming and silent all at once, enough for the poor demon to whimper against you, his hands shaky as they go to grab at your body, desperate to feel any type of warmth. Your hands cradle his face, sliding up until his horns are teased by your fingertips, playing dangerously close at the barbs and thin spikes. His hands feel around, his breaths heavy as he pulls away, spit shining on his lips and his hair askew from the constant movement.

He removes his clothing, tugging at the hem of yours, pleading with you to remove the fabric, begging with his lips and tongue, his tail wet as it teases the base of your spine. Your hand is soft compared to his, wrapped around his cock, your lips against his neck as his tail wraps around your neck, the ends of it just below your bottom lip. Barbatos begs for more, pleased for you to do something more than just a steady pace that leaves him wanting more. His back is arched as he climaxes against your covered stomach, his seed an opalescent color that lingers with hints of blue. Your ruined clothing s removed and you sit bare chested above him, your nipples pert and his hands come to cover your chest, rolling the pebbled buds between his clawed hands, his cock rutting against your clothed sex, already so close to yet another high but the aphrodisiac is still flowing through him, begging for more until he’s satisfied. His tail flexes, a part of it catching in the light, gleaming with color as if slides to your sex, breathing out a halfhearted apology before his lips move to your neck.

Diavolo:

The prince knows what is on his tongue right as he’s standing in front of your door. His cock aches, calling for his attention. Right behind the wooden door, he can smell you. Diavolo can smell your shampoo, your body wash, your cream, the way that your cunt is already slick. If he could focus on his hearing he could probably focus on how you rummage throughout the room, the way your footsteps are much softer than those of demons’ or even how you clear your throat. He’s had his ruts before, always satiated with demons and others alike coming into his room and taking care of it for him, but it was only that- a rut. He’s dealt with the common fling, never anything romantic as he never had the time, so it was easy for him to simply let his mind be filled with desire rather than something more intimate. It was anything like what he’s feeling now; something so strong that it's propelling him to knock against your door, his vision bleary and mouth wet as your scent- already so filling- grows closer. When you open the door, he leaves his mark on the wall beside him- four deep, jagged lines that stretch from the wall to the doorframe.

You open the door to him, the straps on your shoulders loose- one already slipping off and stopped by your bicep. He welcomes himself in, toppling over and breathing deeply. He’s on his hands and knees, his mouth open as spit drops onto your floor. While his body burns hotter than it’s ever done before, your hand on the back of his neck and cradling his face burns him even more so, igniting something in him. He is focused on your eyes, the way that they crease with worry, how your emotions are so clearly written. A part of him feels a tad guilty- he knew what he was doing when he entered your room, he could stop himself, he’s sure of it, but if you kept touching him so tenderly, the way that he’s always craved, then he’s sure he’d grovel at your feet and stain the inside of his pants.

On his knees, he’ll joke about it, looking towards you as sweat begins to form, his mind focusing on your hands, the soft grooves and how they’re small compared to his. He has to forcibly stop his thoughts from straying any further. He’ll make a small joke of it, an easy way to ease your worry while also answering your questions. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup, huh? You really couldn’t pick something else, could you? His smile is crooked as he slowly rises, removing your hands from his body- you should know to ask him if you need anything else to substitute the flavor that it brings to you. The knees of his pants are dirtied by your floor, your lips parted and he’s sure that he can see your pink tongue that rests in your mouth. There’s various ways to rid the symptoms of the aphrodisiac- you must know that- and he wants you to give him an order, a helpless attempt to finally ease the tight knot in his lower belly. Inching closer to him does nothing but make him recoil, his body shaking and brows knitted, ears tipped with heat. It was a mistake to linger at your door when he realized what he had consumed- he should have walked away, dealt with this on his own, but he’s here now. He’s stuck in a room that mocks him with your being.

With every attempt that you make to get closer to him, is a step that he takes back, moving with the heels of his hands, his legs kicking at the floor beneath him. His back meets the wooden edge of your bed, the back of his face comforted by your blankets. You rest between his parted legs, his hands still when yours lingers on his knees. He wants you to give him an order, just to whisk him away so he doesn’t succumb to his desires. Your lips are ghosted above his, a phantom that pulls at his heartstrings like the ghost of wishful thinking. He leans closer, wanting the gap to close, needing to have you kiss him. But you pull away and he’s whining, shaking his head, a plea under his breath as his hands finally move, gripping at your shoulders and begging for you to come closer. Tell him to kiss you, he’s begging on the floor beneath you, wanting to just taste you once and even if he’s so drunk on arousal, he’s sure that he’ll remember the feel of your tongue.

He’s asked a simple question. Does he really want this or is it simply the aphrodisiac making his judgement cloudy? His kiss is enough to answer your question. He wants this- he needs this. He wants to feel you wrap around his cock and moan that it’s too much to take it. He wants to feel your gummy walls hug tight around him and milk him for his cock. It’s all a blur of the moment for the future king- his clothes are off and you rest above him, your sex leaking onto him, sweet and making him salivate with just the scent of it. His cock pulses in your hands, throbbing, the thick veins that burn under your fingertips, the ribbed rings around his cock that leaves him throwing his head back, his semen already staining your hands. Diavolo pleads with you to stop the teasing, to just do what you want, use his body while he’s still too drunk with lust to fully take control over the situation and let his cock stretch your pretty hole. His hands grab at your breasts, kneading the muscles and pulling taut on the nipples, grinning when you let out a yelp. His mouth is filled with your tongue, something bittersweet fills his mouth, his tongue desperate to suck every last of the taste into his mouth.

[oyasuminto]

mayhaps m!kylar with a bully!fem!pc where our soft yandere boy finally snaps and drags the pc in the school closet nd,, breeds her? and as much as she hates to admit it she got addicted to his cock and keeps dragging him in the same closet for a quickie? 🥵👉👈

It’s just too easy to pick on that creep. He’s so tiny that she can lift him clear off the ground and slam him into lockers, he flinches at every sudden movement, and he’s such a fucking crybaby.

Some may call her cruel, a bully, and they certainly wouldn’t be wrong, but it’s not like Kylar doesn’t deserve it, especially after a pair of her underwear disappeared from her gym locker. She may not have solid proof that it was him, but who else would be creepy enough to steal a girl’s panties!?

The way he reacts when she teases him in other ways just cements it; he shudders if she gets a little too close while threatening him, just a brief flash of her panties leaves him awkwardly tugging his hoodie down.

God, he’s a loser.

Is she playing with fire? Perhaps, she’s heard stories about that little freak pulling knives, but he’s way too much of a coward to actually do anything.

Right?

She doesn’t even notice the storage closet opening, nor the small hand reaching out, until she’s grabbed and pulled with enough force to send her to the floor.

The freak is grinning as he pins her wrists in place and secures them with a zip tie. She could probably break through the cheap plastic with ease, but a slowly approaching headache and the glimpse of a knife make her reconsider.

He’s just trying to scare her. That’s it. He’ll wave that shitty little pocket knife around, act all big, and then run away all terrified.

Just like he always does.

She tenses when the metal blade is held just inches away from her throat.

“Y-You’re so mean to m-me,” he mutters, “but i-it’s okay, I can f-fix that...”

There’s a loud rip sound, followed by a sudden coldness on her pussy.

The remains of her panties are tossed into the corner of the closet, and it’s only then that the bully really notices the lack of light in Kylar’s wide eyes.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

She begins trembling and squeezes her thighs together, only for Kylar to pry them back apart and kneel between her legs, preventing her from trying again.

Kylar shushes her, two slender fingers forcing their way past her lips and pressing down on her tongue. “I n-need to teach you a le-lesson.”

He places his knife on the floor, blade still pointing towards her, and traces his now-free hand down her shaking body, over her breasts, stomach, and thighs, before finally dipping between and brushing against her pussy.

“You’re n-not a virgin, are you?” Kylar doesn’t wait for an answer before roughly thrusting a finger inside. “I’ve h-heard stories, seen t-things.”

She sniffles, trying to fight back tears. She can’t cry in front of the creep, can’t show him weakness. Maybe he’ll leave her alone if he realizes she won’t break.

“Still t-tight...” He’s talking to himself more-so than her, entirely enthralled in her pussy.

Christ, what a fucking virgin.

He withdraws his finger and licks it clean with a quiet moan. “...So sweet...”

With a lopsided grin, Kylar shoves his shorts down his thighs and pulls out his hardened cock, precum already leaking from the tip.

It’s bigger than she thought it would be.

The head of his cock rests against her pussy, threatening to penetrate.

He leans over her, forcing her knees against her chest and leaving her muscles burning. “Y-You’ll look beautiful f-full of my children.”

With that, he thrusts forwards, burying his entire cock inside of her.

Kylar’s movements are erratic, hips snapping against her ass as he watches every little change in her expression.

She hisses out something about it hurting, but the fingers in her mouth turn her words into nonsense gibberish. She doubts Kylar would care even if he could hear. The freak’s too far gone at this point.

His knife is still within his reach, one wrong move and the blade could end up buried in her chest. She wouldn’t put it past him, not when she’s realizing that the stories about him threatening people for the smallest things are all true.

Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut and pretends to be literally anywhere else. Pretends that Kylar isn’t whining and rutting against her.

But she can’t.

Every desperate thrust brings her crashing back down to Earth and slaps her with the reality that she’s trapped in a storage closet with some psychopath, one who seems intent on fucking his way into her womb, like some shitty hentai made for horny virgins who’ve never even seen a real pussy.

Of course he’d read that crap.

Her snarky thoughts are the only thing keeping her from breaking down, the sole thing keeping her sane.

“Gah!”

By some miracle, Kylar’s cock strikes that one bundle of nerves that has her seeing stars.

“Th-That feel good? Make...make that f-face again.”

He angles himself in just the right way to hit her g-spot again and again and again.

She can feel her eyes roll back and her body go limp. The sudden rush of pleasure mixing with fear and pain is too much for her brain to handle.

And her mind goes blank.

When she comes to, it’s just in time for Kylar to pull her down on his cock, allowing him to cum deep inside her pussy.

He’s breathing heavily as he straightens up and pulls out. It seems like only then that he realizes what he did.

“I’m...I’m sorry! P-Please don’t t-tell anyone!”

Then she’s alone.

She doesn’t even bother to clean the cum out of her pussy or check her locker for a spare pair of panties, instead heading straight to the school roof, where all the other delinquents hang out. Several of them notice how disheveled she is; hair tangled, shirt partially untucked, wrists bruised, gait awkward, but none comment on it.

Whitney looks her up and down with a snicker. “What? Did you get shagged on the way here?”

“Something like that,” she replies, snagging a cigarette from Whitney’s packet.

Whitney lightly shoves her and mutters something about owing them a smoke. She just gives a noncommittal grunt.

The next few days are unsettlingly normal, and she fucking hates it. As much as it disgusts her to admit it, Kylar hasn’t left her mind, and it’s not in that I’m-gonna-beat-the-fucking-shit-out-of-you way that she thinks about most perverts. She’s addicted, to that fucking freak’s cock. One rough fuck in a storage closet was all it took, and now she wants more. Just one problem;

Kylar’s back to running away with his tail between his legs.

She ends up having to threaten a few people to get him in the right place at the right time.

The greasy creep is trembling when she slams him into a wall, obviously expecting some kind of violent vengeance.

Instead, his lips are captured in a bruising kiss.

“You’re comin’ with me, freak.” Kylar doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s being pulled by the collar of his shirt.

Any students present in the hall move out of the way, assuming that the resident outcast is about to get his ass beaten again.

She grins when Kylar is thrown on the closet floor, much like she had been. He’s whimpering, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

“Quit bitching,” she says, straddling the petite boy, “you’re gonna shut the fuck up and let me cum, got it?”

Kylar doesn’t resist when she pulls his cock out of his shorts, but his eyes do widen when she lifts her skirt to reveal a lack of panties.

“Not such a big fuckin’ man now, huh?” She spits into her hand and uses it to lubricate Kylar’s cock. “You’re some loser virgin! It’s not fuckin’ fair!”

Her head falls back as the loner’s cock finally slips inside of her. Kylar’s hips are already trying to hump upwards, but she holds them down.

“You’re my toy, that means I call the shots.”

Kylar ends up leaving the closet with a limp, a luminescent blush, and some very conflicted feelings.

It becomes a dirty little secret between the two of them. She makes it clear that Kylar’s body will never be found if he tells anyone, and there’s not a chance in hell that she’ll admit to becoming addicted to that fucking loser’s dick.

She has to keep up appearances, of course, so Kylar’s still being shoved around like always, but now there’s an added layer of sexual tension to everything she does, and Kylar knows that he’ll get to empty his balls in a warm, fertile pussy at some point that day.

It’s an odd dynamic, but it works.

[dracowars]

sacrifice | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 4,1k

summary: where y/n has to sacrifice everything in order to save anakin

a/n: i'm so proud of this, i hope you enjoy reading it <3 also i really want to write more for anakin (& other male sw characters), so feel free to send in requests!! ♡

warnings: angst, torture, violence, mentions of severe injuries

universe: star wars

Exhausted and plagued by a painful sting pulling through your whole body, you slowly flutter your eyes open which turns out to be difficult at first due to the bright light. Your limbs feel sore and incredibly weak, you can hardly feel your arms anymore and an uncomfortable tingling sensation runs through your legs. Your head is extremely heavy and the world around you rotates, getting faster in each second that passes and thus disenables your ability to think clearly.

Still blinded by the light, you narrow your eyes to at least be able to see something and as you do, your breath gets stuck in your lungs right away. Your gaze is directed at a black steel door with red and white switches and lights flashing on the right and on the left. A steel door which most likely allows no escape.

"Sir. The Jedi is conscious again", you hear the mechanical voice of a droid and you turn your head in its direction to your right. You see two Battle Droids next to you, one of them now aiming his weapon at you alarmed, the other standing at a control field.

Only now do you notice that you are much taller than these droids and you quickly discover why. Surround by a bluish light, you float in the air, your wrists and ankles chained in stuncuffs, making you unable to move even a tiny bit. You helplessly hang in the air, the tight handcuffs already painfully straining your skin.

"Do not let her out of your sight until I get there", you suddenly hear another voice through the comlink one of the droids is holding. A voice that unmistakably belongs to none other than the Supreme Commander of the Separatist Droid Army General Grievous himself.

However, there was something else in the background. Something that made your breath get stuck in your throat again.

Screams. Full of pain and suffer that can only be produced by incredible agony.

"Where should she even go?", one of the droids asks annoyed and gets hit on the back of his head by the other after his statement immediately.

"Don't ask, work."

Not saying a word, you try to shake your hands to maybe loosen the handcuffs a little, but to no avail.

"No chance, lady. You will not get out of here that easily", the Battle Droid laughs while the other joins in. Throwing them an angry look, they quickly stop and get back to their work, ignoring you.

Using the moment of silence to your advantage, you close your eyes and try to feel the Force that surrounds you so that it can guide you the way. Because of your severe headache you do not succeed, but you also do not give up instantly and at least try to concentrate enough to remember what exactly happened.

The terrifying image of a battlefield on Ryloth appears in your head, droids and clones brutally fighting each other. With your ignited lightsaber you run between them, giving the clones cover while taking down several Battle Droids and Droidekas with one slash of your elegant weapon.

"General Y/L/N! General Skywalker has just informed us that he has advanced further at the front and has almost reached Grievous", you hear Fives tell you in your blurred memories when you hide behind a tree to seek protection for the split of a second.

"Anakin", you softly breathe, not noticing that you said his name out loud, and your eyes shoot open when your memory cuts off all of a sudden.

All you remember is that you followed him after Fives' words, but you do not remember what happened after that and you do not know where Anakin is now or if he was even captured as well.

In any case, you are not allowed to think about it any further when the door in front of you opens and you are greeted with the shadow of a large robotic figure, two Magna Guards on either side of him.

"Grievous", you hiss disapprovingly when he comes up to you with slow, heavy steps, his face - if you can even call it that - at eye level with you. "I sould have guessed that only you would be able to carry out such primitive captures."

His smoky laugh sounds at your words, which is quickly interrupted by a subsequent cough. In the next second, however, he tightly grabs your neck with his mechanical hand all of a sudden and forces you to look into his fleshy eyes. The pressure on your throat causes tears to well up in your eyes.

"You have a very important piece of information that Count Dooku would love to have, General Y/L/N", he mentions and you try to hide that he is currently blocking your windpipe. "All methods are fine with me as long as I get what I want."

"And I suppose you will only let me go if I tell you this very important piece of information?", you state ironically and take a quick breath in as he releases his strong grip from you.

"That would make things much easier for both of us", Grievous agrees and looks at you intensely, almost expectantly. "Where do the Jedi keep the holocrons?"

"What do you want to do with it? Even if I told you, which I will definitely not do by the way, you could not open it anyway", you mockingly point out and raise an eyebrow.

A second later, you have to fight for air again.

"That is something you should not worry about", he aggressively snaps at you and squeezes his hand harder, making you gasp for air even more. "Tell me where they are kept."

"You could kill me and I would not tell you", you choke out and his creepy-looking eyes sparkle with anger.

"I will let it depend on that", Grievous states and lets go of you again, but with a subtle gesture he gives his Magna Guards a sign and they suddenly approach you, their dangerous electrostaffs now activated.

Shortly afterwards you already feel an incredibly terrible pain that makes you cry out loud. A painful electricity shoots through your entire body that would force you onto your knees if you were not currently chained to stuncuffs in the air. It only takes a few seconds, but it feels much longer until they stop their torture, staying in their position.

"Where. Are. The. Holocrons?", Grievous asks you again, this time more angry and somehow stressed, putting strong emphasis on each word.

"You would like to know, huh", you slightly grin and although you know that such a cheeky answer will cause you to suffer again, it rolls of your tongue anyway.

Again, several electric shocks run through you at the same time and an increasingly unbearable pain forms in your body, but your head remains unwavering when they stop again.

"Tell me where they are, Jedi scum! Now!", the merciless General shouts at you and you can sense how he is getting more and more impatient by each second. He will not stop torturing you until you tell him what he wants to know and until you stop holding it back, but you have sworn a vow to the Jedi Order that you can't and will not break, no matter how much pain you have to endure.

"I guess you have to kill me then, because I will never tell you, Grievous", you respond breathless and you can already smell how your skin, your flesh, has slightly charred because of the burns.

Giving his Magna Guards another command with a simple hand gesture, they continue to torture you, but this time they only shock you briefly with their bright purple electrostaffs before stopping abruptly. Your muscles still tremble from the impact and the unbearable ache persists.

"Uhm, Sir. I hate to interrupt you, but the other Jedi just managed to take down one of the droids", one of the droids next to you reports and you, although you only understood half of what he just said, too weak to focus, you immediately know who he must be talking about.

General Grievous must have already tried to squeeze something out of him, that is why you heard screams earlier.

"Anakin", you groan in pain as the Magna Guards go back to their task of torturing you out of nowhere and put you into a state of absolute pain.

"Interesting", you hear Grievous utter through your own screams as your body writhes in pain in the air, the handcuffs pressing deep into your skin. Until the pain suddenly fades and you fall to the hard ground in front of his feet the next moment when the droid freed you with the push of a button.

"Sir, is that not too risky?", one of the droids ask, but you can't even get up from the floor by yourself because you have been weakened so much by the electric shocks. You are not even sure anymore whether you might even have passed out at this point.

However, you quickly realize that you, in fact, are still conscious when you are roughly pulled to your feet, a firm grip on both your upper arms as the Magna Guards pull you up.

"She is so weak, she can hardly walk. And without her lightsaber she can't do much anyway. It was a fine addition to my collection", Grievous laughs in your ear devilishly, and a lateral push in your ribs makes you realize that you should move forward. Having no other choice, you obey and stumble forward on shaky legs, losing your balance with almost every step due to the fact that your hands are still tied together with stuncuffs.

Losing any sense of orientation, you get pushed forward right behind General Grievous, your vision blurred and your head continuing to spin until you finally come to a stop in a corridor that is no different from the previous one.

The door to another cell opens, at least you recognize the same sound as your cell door did before, and you are suddenly rudely pushed inside after Grievous has entered, meeting the hard and cold surface of the floor.

Trying your best to get up again, you notice that their dangerous weapons are no longer close to your body. Yet, you are prevented from doing anything at the sight in front of you after you managed to lift yourself up from the ground a little bit with your hands and looked up.

"Anakin!", you exhale in shock when you see your almost lifeless husband floating in front of you, the same handcuffs on him as on you, stunning him.

He immediately stirs when he hears your voice and lifts his head up, only to discover your trembling figure lying on the ground in front of him.

"What did you do to him?", you shout at Grievous with all your might and manage to fully get up due to the sudden adrenaline rush, but soon are shoved back onto the ground by Grievous and the Magna Guards pull you into a kneeling position by your arms.

"The same I did to you", General Grievous explains with a laugh and trudges back and forth between you and Anakin. "Verily, the will of a Jedi is strong, but I have already cracked the toughest will."

Admiring himself, his gaze slides on you and you immediately avoid the contact, looking at the ground.

"If you touch her even once, I swear you are already dead", Anakin angrily snaps at him, but Grievous does not even react to it, not even when Anakin manages to throw one of the Battle Droids against the wall in his anger with the tiniest movement. Grievous just stops in front of you and roughly lifts your chin up, indeed touching you.

"How many more electric shocks will she endure before her will breaks, what do you think?", Grievous asks into the room and you remove your chin from his grasp with all your leftover strength.

"J-Just leave her alone", Anakin mutters weakly and briefly looks at Grievous with a hateful expression before his muscles give up again and his head sinks down again in exhaustion.

"Tell me where the holocrons are and I will let her go", Grievous declares and turns to your husband, who is about to pass out.

"No! Don't listen to him, Anakin!", you interrupt him right away and try to, although you know that it will not be possible, to loosen your bonds, but the Magna Guards are quick to hold their electrostaffs threathingly close to your body again. "N-No matter what he does to me, you must not tell him- ouch!"

Feeling the burning imprint of the metal back of Grievous hand on your now throbbing cheek, the impact throws you to the ground and tears shoot into your eyes because of the sting, but you suppress them quickly.

"Well, if you do not want to talk, I know who will", Grievous threatens and you press your eyes shut in defeat to mentally prepare yourself for the torturing pain.

A pain that does not come.

At least not in the way you expected, because all of a sudden you hear something that is probably much worse for you than thousands of electrical particles shooting through your body.

They are shooting through Anakin right now.

Excruciating screams escape his throat and you have to watch how he is tortured, how his body winds in pain, how he slowly breaks apart.

You both expected that he would attack you.

"NO! Stop!", you yell at them and desperately shake at your bonds, tears flowing down your cheeks at the sight of the love of your life being hurt in front of your own eyes.

"Y/N-"

"Please stop! You will kill him!", you screech over his screams, but Grievous does not let his Magna Guards stop, rather he induces them to continue.

"Don't, Y/N. Do not tell- argh!", Anakin tries to tell you, but is interrupted by his pain and you can clearly feel how he is getting weaker by every second and how his strength and will are leaving him more and more.

With every further shock that electrifies his body and puts his muscles out of action, he groans in unbearable pain while thin billows of smoke are already emanating from his upper body. The skin on his neck and hands is reddish, a sign of an already severe burn. Yet the worst are still his inevitable screams that are fully soaked in suffer.

"The Jedi Archives!", you shout out loud while your tears keep streaming down your face, a feeling of guilt building up inside of you for just having betrayed the whole Jedi Order.

But you have no other choice.

"T-They are in the Jedi Archives!", you stutter out and General Grievous finally brings the torture to an end, but Anakin's body is now just lifelessly floating in the air.

"Well, that was not that hard, was it?", Grievous says, amused, and turns around to step out of the cell, his Magna Guards close behind him, leaving you alone. Before the door closes, however, one of the droids presses a button on the outside of the door, causing Anakin to fall to the ground with a loud thud.

"Anakin!", you cry out and quickly crawl over to him, his body still trembling as a result of the numerous shocks when you turn him on his back to get a better view of him and as soon as you touched him, you shortly get electrocuted as well.

"Do you hear me, Anakin? Please, please don't do this to me. Open your eyes!", you basically yell at him in his passed out condition and very carefully place your hands on each of his cheekbones, caressing them tenderly.

Lowering your head after he shows no reaction, your heavy sobs rock through your body and you whimper quietly, gasping for breath over and over again.

"I am so sorry", you sniff sadly and wipe your tears away with your hands, which are still tied together, before gently placing them back on his burning hot upper body.

"Y-You should not have- Should not have t-told him", Anakin utters all of a sudden and his eyes flutter open a tiny bit, weakness and pain covering his handsome face.

"W-What should I have done instead?", you desperately ask and can't help but feel a little bit relieved that he is able to talk to you despite his bad condition and despite the terrible torture method he just went through.

Seeking support and security, you grab his hands and he gently squeezes yours, trying to reassure you that he will be fine.

"That is- That is w-why it is forbidden- ugh forbidden for us to love and- and-", he groans as he tries to sit up, but he is too weak and even with your help, you do not manage to get him up so you gently lay him down again, his head in your lap.

"A-And to make us dependent on some- argh, damn! Someone", Anakin finishes his sentence anyway and if you did not know better, you could have sworn to see a small smirk scurry over his chapped lips.

"Ani, I betrayed the Council", you supress your crying and brush his brown locks out of his face while looking down at him with affection. "They are going to exclude me from the Jedi Order.."

"What are y-you even talking about? You s-saved me, babe. I will not let that happen", he hisses in pain, the last words nearly inaudible as his eyes slowly close again, his body becoming limp.

"We will not let that happen either", another voice suddenly speaks up and you look up startled, only to see Ahsoka standing in the hallway in front of your now opened cell.

"Ahsoka?", you mutter under your breath in disbelief and widen your eyes as she steps into the cell, not sure how much of your conversation she was able to hear. After all, nobody knows that you and Anakin are a thing, let alone married.

"Master!", Ahsoka breathes in shock and falls onto her knees next to you as she speechlessly takes in Anakin's fragile figure.

"I- They have-"

"It's okay, Y/N. Take it easy, slow breaths, in and out. We will get you out of here in no time", she affirms and gives you a gentle, encouraging smile before she quickly severes your and Anakin's cuffs with her green lightsaber. "Obi-Wan is chasing after Grievous and Captain Rex-"

"Master Tano, I found the lightsabers and am now on my way to the prison wing", Rex's voice interrupts Ahsoka through the comlink.

"Can you walk on your own?", she asks you concerned and helps you on your shaky legs, even though you nodded.

"I knew- I knew you would come, Snips", Anakin coughs out of nowhere, and you are not sure whether he is conscious or if the Force just allows him to feel what is happening around him right now.

"You always have to be bailed out, Skyguy", Ahsoka chuckles and at this moment Rex enters the cell with more clones, immediately handing you back your lightsaber, which you attach to your belt.

"Rex, please help me out over here", Ahsoka asks him and together they lift Anakin up from the ground and carry him out. Following them into the corridor in front of the cell, Fives quickly meets you and puts your arm around his shoulder to help you walk until you arrive in the hangar and get onto the Twilight.

They place Anakin in one of the small cabins and you let Fives guide you there as well. You sit down in front of your husband and do not let him out of your sight.

Holding back the sad and re-emerging tears that come up while looking at his distorted, unconsicous body, you bite down on your lower lip to prevent you from crying and take his rough flesh hand in your own. You gently stroke over the back of his hand with your thumb while the clone trooper medic puts an oxygen mask over his face.

It does not take long for Obi-Wan to join you in boarding the ship and as he does, he straightly goes to you when they start the Twilight and fly out of the hangar and into the vastness of space. When you feel his hand on your shoulder, you flinch.

"Sorry. How is he?", Obi-Wan asks you with great concern in his voice and face. After all, Anakin is like a son to him.

"The clone trooper medic said that he suffered severe burns and bruises, but apparently no permanent serious or consequential damage. Nevertheless, he urgently needs professional treatment when we arrive on the Negotiator", you sob and inconspicuously remove your hand from Anakin's to not let Obi-Wan see. "I have to- uhm I have to tell you something, Obi-Wan."

"I know. But better keep it to yourself a little bit longer for now until we report to the Council together, alright? Then you only have to tell it once", Obi-Wan calms you down and gives you warm smile.

"Thank you, master", you lower your head and turn your gaze back to Anakin, whose chest moves up and down regularly and whose breath is sounding through the room.

"Don't worry, Y/N. You did what everyone would have done and I am very grateful that you did so. We all have to make sacrifices at some point", he assures you before carefully patting your shoulder one more time and leaving the room, leaving you alone with Anakin again.

After you have finally arrived on the Negotiator, you do not leave Anakin's side when a few clones bring him to the medical bay, where the meddroids take professional care of him right away. While they are treating him, you wait outside, your body full of tension while nervously tapping the floor with your foot and playing with your fingers. They checked up on you as well, but because you were only briefly subjected to torture it only took them a few minutes to treat your wounds.

When the door finally opens automatically, you look up with hope in your eyes and stare at the medical droid expectantly.

"He is stable. You can see him now", the droid announces and guides you inside. At the sight that greets you, your heart stops beating for a moment.

There your husband lies, with cables connected to all the beeping machines, his eyes closed and his breathing light and regular. You unconsciously quicken your pace in order to get to his side faster. As soon as you stand next to him and neither say anything nor touch him, Anakin immediately opens his eyes as he senses you through the Force.

"Hi, beautiful", he weakly smiles at you and grabs your hand, causing you to directly surround his with your own, looking at him with worry, the load suddenly falling off your shoulders all at once.

"I was so worried about you. How are you?", you openly admit and gently run one of your hands through his messy but soft hair.

"You should not have done that, you know?", he clears his throat, ignoring your question as he feels the conflict within you, a serious expression while staring in your eyes. "I mean saving me. You have put yourself in danger. If something had happened to you.."

Tears well up in your eyes as you unintentionally review the recent events in your head, taking Anakin's words to heart, but you quickly catch yourself again.

"Anak-", you want to answer, but abruptly get interrupted when he pulls you into his strong arms out of nowhere, hugging you tightly like his life depends on it.

"Thank you for saving me, love", he softly whispers into your ear and you smile into the crook of his neck before he guides your face with his hand on your jaw right in front of his own. His blue eyes scan your face and then switch between your eyes and lips until he gently places his hand on the back of your head and leads you into a tender kiss.

Feeling his lips against yours suddenly feels so surreal to you. After everything that happened, you almost did not believe that it could still end, well, like this.

Leaning more into the kiss, he eventually breaks the kiss, just to place one gently between your eyebrows. His thumb softly runs over your cheek as he gives you a warm smile.

"I love you."

"I love you more. And I would always sacrifice everything for you", you return his smile and connect your lips again, feeling like nobody can harm you anymore.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

[yongiefilms]

FILM | Bound At The Start

BASED ON | A Taste of Winter collaboration feature done by @pastelsicheng​ and @dearyongs​

STARRING | Lee Donghyuck and Gender Neutral Reader

GENRE | Teen, Drama, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Winter themed, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | (upon release not all in teaser) Thematic elements, suggestive references, sexual innuendos, crude humor, strong language, lots of banter, lots of arguing, and Donghyuck is simply an annoying shit 

PLOT | Everyone knows how the best friend to lovers story goes, the typical caught feelings and confession cliché with a dash of unwarranted spice. Except at the same time that is not how the story goes for everyone, especially for you and your own best friend. Feelings? Out of the picture. Sickening romantic love? Nonexistent. Drama? None, unless you count that one time Lee Donghyuck tried to sneak wine out of the cooler when you both were sophomores and he was grounded for three weeks since he got caught red handed. So life was simple with no complications for the two of you, but sometimes life works in mysterious ways that are not always welcomed. Maybe feelings were not as out of the picture as you believed them to be and if they wanted one last chance to have something more before being forced to rot away, then everything got a whole lot tricker during the winter season. OR The unforetold pact between two best friends is finally broken. 

ESTIMATED RUNNING TIME | 10k words

RELEASE DATE | February 2021

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Send an ask or private message to be featured in the credits (tag list) for this upcoming film release.

▸ CLICK BELOW TO ROLL CLIP FOR FILM PREVIEW...

“Here we are, kids! Get up, get up!” 

Another shrill voice to wake up to besides Donghyuck’s was not a pleasant sensation, especially when you could feel a headache coming on from one remark. 

“Ugh, Dad! Why do you have to be so loud?” You groggily whine in response, clenching your eyes firmly shut since you knew if you opened them you would be met with the blinding light from the sun, which reflected across the white snow. You shift in your seat, a supposed bony body preventing you from comfort in your desperate approach to get back to napping.

You hear him scoff way too dramatically followed by the sound of the car door closing shut. He knocks his knuckles on the glass of the window while he maneuvers around the vehicle, yet you remain unmoving despite the beep of the trunk opening. “Why do you have to attack my volume of voice? How else do you expect me to get you up when I know you can sleep through a fire?”

He does not let you answer him before he proceeds in a rise of voice. “Exactly!”

You huff and cross your arms like a young child, not giving in to share a piece of your mind. 

“Make sure you both get inside within the next couple of seconds or I will drag our bundle of joy here inside myself. Oh, and get your bags from the trunk. Do remember to close it.”

Donghyuck’s head shifts in the form of a nod targeted towards your father and you hit his forearm to stop him from moving so much, not even acknowledging the previous words spoken.

“Damn, sunshine. Even your parents can’t stand you...that's kind of sad,” Donghyuck snickers loudly, purposely wriggling his body to get you off of him.

“Shut the fuck up and stop fucking moving,” you retaliate with one eye open, peering down at his black combat boots to raise your clad foot down on his in hard motion. 

His knees knock with your own and it is now a battle of who will admit defeat first after countless attempts of shoe stepping. 

“Okay! Okay! Dammit, you heathen. I can’t catch a break from pain over here...ever,” he sighs and scoots away from you as far as he possibly can, leaving your head hanging in the process, his shoulder no longer there to provide support. 

“Ow! I just got neck pain, you jackass. Warn me next time you move so abruptly!” 

You crane your neck upwards and move the entirety of your head in circular motions, making sure to roll every joint to get back feeling. You bring your hand to massage the tenseness in the skin further and throw in a stink eye at the boy still sitting besides you, rolling his eyes at your theatrical efforts. 

“You okay, you big baby?” He questions with a pout, not that he truly cared since he knew it was just a try to make him feel bad as it always tended to be. 

“Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you for caring,” you respond with clear emphasis on the latter word. 

He rolls his eyes again and nods, placing his ring adorned hand on the car handle to push open in order to exit. “Let’s go then and remember I’m not carrying all your bags inside this time. Be a strong bitch for once.”

You wave your hand in the air, following suit. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, but need I remind you that it was only one time and I was tired.”

He mocks you, raising his own hand in the air to move about. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, sunshine.”

You huff, but keep your lips sealed, taking hold of the handle of your luggage and duffle bag once Donghyuck takes them out of the trunk in one swift motion. Once his own pieces of luggage are secured, he closes the trunk and the obnoxious ring of the car alarm echoes into the surrounding, most likely the cause of your dad inside locking the car up from inside.

“Adventure awaits!” Donghyuck declares, stomping ahead with lightness at the thrill of a much needed vacation after the long, painful times at school. 

You giggle at his youthfulness, but still follow in his footsteps because adventure did await as long as you were with him. Hopefully that would never change.

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  if you are interested..! i’ve always been wondering what happened to jon once he was finally able to get treatment for his hand. burns get infected the most easily, is all i’m sayin, yknow? (love your work! have a great day)

I can finally write this because I finally got to that point in the podcast, lol

Set directly after episode 92, AKA the episode where the archives squad is finally reunited, Elias confesses, and general insane shit hits the fan that, as Tim so nicely puts, is the usual around here.

Little soft JonMartin just because 

Jon’s rummaging through the archives, briefly scanning statements he wants to take with him back to Georgie’s, the only distraction from his otherwise reeling mind. It’s almost funny, he thinks, how his mind has taken to an endless, internal monologue despite the very obvious pain drumming almost rhythmically against his temples. He’s lost in a whirlwind of how’s and what if’s, and the statements, he thinks... well, the statements may be the only drug that can temporarily take him away from himself.

“Jon?”

Jon jumps, not having heard the door open over the sound of his deep, frantic inner voice. He whips around, one file clutched a little too tightly to his chest, and sees Martin hovering in the doorway, almost as if he’s afraid to enter.

“Sorry,” Martin sputters softly. “I did knock.”

“It’s... fine,” Jon sighs out, the initial anger of being startled dissipating along a low breath. He studies Martin, eyes flicking all around for any sign of injury or distress, but Martin just looks hesitantly worried for him, and Jon finds that he has kind of missed that look.

“Are you alright?”

Though soft in tone, Jon can physically feel the weight behind each word in the short yet not so simple question. He debates on what he should tell Martin, or rather, if he should tell Martin anything, but his present, physical well-being comes back by a burning twinge across his burned hand from where he’s gripping the file too tightly. He hisses sharply between his teeth and lets the file fall from his hand.

“Jon! What’s wrong?” Martin’s already starting toward Jon, both hands reaching outward, and Jon quickly finds that his feet do not actually want to move, so, carefully, he extends his burned hand out away from where he’s had it cradled to his chest.

Martin’s fingers are incredibly gentle around Jon’s thin wrist, such a drastic contrast from the fear and worry so evident across his face.

“Oh, Jon... This... This doesn’t look good at all. Have you gone to get this looked over?” Martin’s careful as he twists Jon’s hand around, eyes sinking the more he takes in the angry red welts of what appears to be a rather aggressive burn.

“I haven’t had time,” Jon admits, detailing, to himself, the events of the last week that have taken up the time he should have been spending on looking after himself. “It’s been... Well, it’s been a week.” He laughs at this, small, bitter, yet alarmingly overwhelmed, and if not for Martin’s steady presence, he thinks he may just crumple to the floor. Still, his knees begin to shake, and Martin’s quick to catch on and guide him down into a chair.

“I’m going to get a first aid kit.”

“Martin,” Jon calls out, stopping Martin at the door.

Martin freezes and looks over his shoulder, his face an undistinguishable mess of emotions, and Jon swallows back the practiced words of “I’m fine,” saying instead, “thank you.”

The panic that flicks across Martin’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed, and Jon quietly berates himself for always worrying his staff as Martin quickly disappears down the hall. He sinks back against his chair with a groan and cradles his hand to chest once more. For just a moment, he allows his head to tilt back against the chair until he’s starting at the dusty ceiling. He feels weak. He thought, considering Elias’s confession, that he would feel better now that he’s physically inside the archives, but he still feels relatively weak and slightly panicked. There’s a tightness pressing against his lungs, and he can only pin that on the apparent need to record statements.

“You’re still here, Jon.”

Jon musters up as much energy as he can to cast a sharp, dangerous gaze to Elias, who’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed casually.

“What do you want, Elias?”

“I didn’t see you leave. I was curious to know why you’re still here.”

“I’m-”

“He’s here for me.”

Jon’s jaw snaps shut, and he leans forward, eager, curious, for he’s never heard Martin speak with a tone of finality such as that. He watches, both brows raised, as Martin squeezes past Elias to get into the archives, and he’s unable to pry his eyes away as Martin drops to a crouch in front of him and opens the first aid kit.

“You’re hurt-”

“Will that be all, Elias?”

Martin looks over his shoulder toward Elias, and Jon can make out the tension tightening Martin’s muscles through the sudden defensive, stiffness of Martin’s back and shoulders. 

Jon holds his breath, almost afraid to see the scene play out, but Elias lets his arms fall to his side in a visble show of defeat.

“Of course. I’m sure you’ll see that Jon is tended to.” He disappears down the hall, and Jon swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat. 

Martin’s uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls supplies out of the first aid kit, and he wordlessly holds his hand out, prompting Jon to drop his burned hand atop Martin’s outstretched palm.

“I’ll do what I can, but you should still probably go to a clinic.” Martin says, pulling out an antiseptic cream. “This is going to sting, but we need to try and prevent infection.”

Jon can only nod with eyes shut tight and grit his teeth as Martin begins smoothing the cream over his hand. It burns terribly, but, it’s an almost nice distraction from everything else that invading his thoughts. And, he thinks, at least the clear presence of pain means he’s still somewhat human. The bandaging that follows doesn’t hurt as bad, and Jon manages to pry his eyes open to watch Martin’s delicate yet thorough work.

When Martin’s sure he’s finished, after having studied every inch of Jon’s wrapped hand, Jon doesn’t pull his hand away, and Martin doesn’t let go.

“Are you alright?”

It’s the second time Martin’s uttered that single question, and Jon shakes his head, his hair slipping from where he’s had it tucked behind his ears to now frame darkly around his face. “Are you?” He asks, voice cracking slightly.

“Christ no,” Martin laughs, nervous, and his fingers thighten just a fraction around Jon’s hand. “We’ve been doing our best to get on without you here, but...” Martin drops his free hand atop Jon’s knee. “It’s just not the same without you here. Tim’s been absent more than he’s been here, Melanie... well, she’s great actually, but now she’s bound to this place like the rest of us. What’s with that anyway? Our hearts out now connected to this place?” He realizes, a breath too late, that he’s rambling and that Jon’s grimacing before him, and he stops himself with a low sigh. “Sorry, everything’s just really screwed up right now.”

“I know,” Jon manages, voice barely above a whisper. He shivers slightly, feeling suddenly cold, and Martin frowns at him for the umpteenth time in the fifteen minutes they’ve been together.

“Cold?”

Jon nods, feeling an odd chill washing over him, and Martin leans forward to brush the back of his hand to Jon’s cheek.

“You’re quite warm actually. I think you’re running a fever.”

“That would explain the splitting headache,” Jon mutters, wincing when Martin cups his palm over Jon’s injured hand once more, a little less gentle than he’s been thus far.

“Your hand is really hot. This may already be infected. Jon, you should-”

“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon says, though even he can’t quite believe himself. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Every time I try, this overwhelming feeling of dread washes over me and constricts my lungs. I think...” He pauses, eyes dragging toward the pile of statements he’s handpicked so far. “I think having those nearby will help.”

“Jon, that’s not okay. You’ll work yourself to death.”

“I have to work, Martin,” Jon says, voice low, leaving little room for argument, and Martin nods and slowly gets to his feet.

“Fine, but promise you’ll sleep first. And that you’ll get yourself to a clinic for your hand. I’m not above following you to wherever you are staying and taking you to a clinic myself, you know.”

“I know,” Jon mumbles, a hint of a smile trying to creep at his lips. He grabs the files, careful of his hand, and starts toward the door, stopping when Martin calls out to him.

“Jon?”

He looks back, one brow raised in silent question.

“Could you... Well, do you think you could...”

“Go on, Martin,” Jon presses, voice sounding more demanding than he means for it to.

“Can you text me?” Martin flushes at the look Jon shoots him. “Not like that! Or... Well... It’s just... You disappeared, Jon, and I was really worried. Could you just text me every now and then so I’ll know you’re okay?”

Jon can feel a similar flush burning up his neck to his cheeks, and he looks away quickly and clears his throat. “Sure,” he stutters out. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Jon forces himself out of the room, fleeing the weight of those two words that are threatening to squeeze his rapid heart into thousands of fragments. He keeps his eyes cast to the ground, moving on muscle memory alone, and he doesn’t look up, doesn’t even breathe, until he’s standing outside in the chilly air. He turns around and cranes his neck to view the building in its towering entirety, and as if it means anything or holds even the slightest inch of power, he mumbles quietly into the cold air.

“Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt any of them.”

[spunkpunx]

Are Friends Electric? (Alex Turner)

Multi Part Series

Part 1: Dreamy Days

Sheffield 2002

"Is that a fookin' United shirt?"

"Yeah, so what? It's not mine, you know I support Owls."

"Am honestly disappointed in you, consortin' with the enemy an' that," Alex shook his head, refusing to look at the offending football shirt that I'd been forced into wearing.

"It was in lost property, an' you know what the PE teachers are like, they threatened to suspend me, Mam would kill me if they did," I replied, rubbing her legs in an attempt to warm them.

"Only 'cause you've been suspended before."

"Yeah well I don't want to do it again, she'd have me bloody guts for garters," I told him. He rolled his eyes. We were sat on an old bench around the back of the school, dressed in PE kits and smoking B&H cigarettes I had stolen off my mother. My football shorts were no match for the harsh January weather, but I was wearing a parka, hence why Alex had only just noticed the Sheffield United t-shirt. We couldn't leave school grounds yet, because in order to get out from behind we'd would have to go past the French classroom, and as the bell hadn't yet gone, there would still be Miss Kelly and a class of year 7s ready to catch us out.

"I'm fookin' freezing," Alex whined, putting out his fag on the wall and dropping it onto the floor. "At least you've got that bloody big coat."

I sighed and flicked my cigarette butt onto the floor, stomping it out with the toe of my trainer. "If we go over the wall you know you have to give me a leg up," I explained bluntly. He nodded along almost eagerly, likely desperate to get out the cold and home as soon as possible.

"I don't mind Jack, I just wanna leave."

"Right then," I replied, standing up, picking up my bag and putting a foot into a crack in the stone, grabbing the top edge where my fingers could just about catch grip on the rough stone. Alex came up behind me and put his hands on my shin, and using his hands to push against, I pulled herself up. Unfortunately, my foot slipped, and I began to fall back down, but my fall was stopped by the feeling of hands holding me up. Alex's hands, on my bum.

I felt my ears burning red, but not willing to have to try again, I pulled herself up using my arms and jumped down the other side. As soon as my feet touched the ground I climbed on top of the large wheelie bin that sat against the wall and grabbed Alex's arm as he clambered over as well. He was a lot taller than me now, he'd grown in a way only 15 year old boys do, all long limbs and clumsiness. I'd barely even noticed him shoot up. I helped him over and we jumped into the street below.

"Um... I'm sorry that I touched your..." Alex stuttered slightly, his cheeks going uncharacteristically red. I cut him off.

"Al, it's fine."

"I mean I-"

"It's fine," I repeated, more firmly. He shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk down the alley toward the road. I followed him, jogging slightly to catch up with his long strides.

"Am gonna join a band you know," he told me as we turned the corner onto the street. I looked at him in surprise.

"A band? Who wiv?" I questioned, confused.

"Matt."

"Matt Helders or Matt Sheppard?"

"Matt Helders of course! Av'e never even spoke to Matt Sheppard why on earth would I be talking about 'im?"

"Well I dunno do I? I didn't even know Matt Helders played an instrument, he's not singing is he?" I queried, scuffing my shoes along the floor.

Alex shook his head slightly. "He plays drums, I'm the singer."

"But you play guitar?" I could sense my brain was really struggling to keep up.

"I can do both, like Bowie."

"Don't compare yourself t'Bowie unless you go to your gigs dressed in a catsuit an' heels an' bat away crowds of lads and lasses who want to sleep with ya."

"I'm not against the crowds of lasses, but I don't think I could commit to the rest," he laughed cheekily. I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're full of shit, you are," I grinned, as he rubbed his arm over-dramatically. Cars whizzed past as we reached the main road. Cars that caused slight rushes of air as the pair of us continued to walk, that's how close they drove past the pavement.  "Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours, yer mam won't be back from work yet."

"Fairs."

A silence lulled in the conversation as we continued to walk down the street, Alex was scuffing his trainers along the floor. It was annoying as fuck but I didn't say owt.

"Did you hear what Rory Pike did today at lunch?"

"No?"

"He got his cock out on the school field," Alex divulged me, a laugh spread across his face. I couldn't help but join in the joke.

"Rory Pike is a world class minger," I told him, and soon we were both in stitches, adding extra gross details to the story to the amusement of each other.

"Did Cook finally ask tha' girl out then?" I changed the subject, catching my breath back from my laughing fit.

"'Course not, he jibbed again, then Simmo asked her instead," Alex explained.

"Simmo? Did she say yes?"

"Why would she? She clearly fancies Jamie."

"He needs to get his act together and ask her."

Alex nodded, momentarily in thought. He then very suddenly turned around and gave me a playful shove.

"First one to yours!" he exclaimed, quickly speeding off around the corner.

"Bastard," I muttered, beginning to run after him. I sprinted to catch up, but the awkward coat prevented me from getting anywhere near the speed his long limbs could get him. He legged it off and I was forced to slow my pace back down to a walk. The boy was clearly going to win and I had the house key so he'd have to wait outside for me anyway. I decided to take me time knowing I'd probably bump into Alex around the corner when he came back to see where I was. He'd probably be a bit moody about it, telling me off for being a fun sponge, and I'd apologise insincerely and then he'd give me an awkward side hug and tell me he couldn't stay angry at me, there's no way I'd let him. Then we would probably walk back to mine and be done with the matter.

This wasn't the case. I got round the corner, then the one after that, and didn't see any sign of Alex. There was no way he would still be running, he was too lazy and he would look like an idiot, racing against no one. He was a dafty but not that much of one. I began to get confused after I rounded the third corner and there was still not a sign of him.

"Oi Jackie!" Alex exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders from behind. I yelped in surprise and he burst out laughing.

"Fook you Alex Turner," I scolded him. "How did ya even get behind me?" He said nothing, and just tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Sheffield 2003

He knew everything there was to know about Jackie. He knew her favourite colour (red),her middle name (Arabella), her handwriting and everything else in between. Alex had known this for ages, but it had never weighed on his mind as much as it had recently.

It was the way he'd seen her the other night. There was a small gaff at someone or another's and Alex had gone with the boys. Jackie had showed up a bit later, dressed very differently to how he normally saw her. She had a leopard print mini skirt on and a tight, cropped t-shirt, along with her trainers and Adidas jacket. Of course he noticed her, lighting one of her L&B blues and trying to smoke it subtly; she was the only one smoking.

He had gone over and said hello, and she'd grinned when she saw him, glad of some company, he expected. Some 90s rave hit was playing, and cheesy lights flashed across the room. Trying too hard, he thought. She picked a beer off the counter she was leaning on and gave it to him. A Corona, lukewarm but still alcohol.

"D'ya wanna come for a spliff?" she asked him, patting her pocket, and he said yes. Her top was very tight, although he tried not to look, but he saw her bra, visible through the fabric. They went outside onto some kind of shitty balcony. She got what looked to be a large gram of weed and some Rizlas out, making an L and then ripping open a cigarette to get the tobacco out, she carefully sprinkled in some of the spliff and rolled. Alex didn't say anything, he just watched as she deftly rolled the joint. She lit the end and took her time, sitting down on a breeze block. He found himself a seat on the step.

"So how's t'band going, Arctic Monkeys i'nt it?"

"There's a gig coming up, at The Grapes," Alex told her, proudly. In fact, he puffed up slightly with pride. Jackie had never really got involved with the band, she said it weren't her business, but Alex still felt remarkably pleased whenever she showed an interest, especially if they were doing well.

"D'ya want me to come?"

"'Course! I thought you already were."

"Yeah I just... weren't sure, that's all," Jackie responded, unusually quiet. She was acting off with him.

"Is summit up?" Alex asked. She shrugged, taking another drag on her spliff and then handing it to him. "Jack?" he prompted further.

"It's nothing Al, jus' summit stupid," she replied. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. He decided to leave it, pushing her wouldn't make her tell him, it would just annoy her. He took a toke of the joint and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Wanna find some White Lightning and get hammered?" she asked and Alex grinned.

"Are you sure? That stuffs pretty lethal."

"Well fook it all we're not going home tonight," she replied, laughing slightly. Alex nodded, smiling, then passed her the spliff back. It was a still and cold night. Jackie let the smoke seep out her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

They finished the spliff and went back inside. Alex found the rest of his mates and together they all got steaming. Simmo was acting strangely all night. Then Jackie started acting strange too. She was all quiet and snappy.

"Why were you being such a mardy bum yesterday," he asked her the next day. They were lounging about on the sofa at his, nursing two horrible headaches. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not now Alex, I'm too hungover for this," she answered, misery clear in her voice.

"Just tell me and I'll stop naggin'" he told her, shuffling a bit closer so she couldn't turn over and ignore him.

"Your mate Simmo," she replied simply.

"What'dya mean? Look, I know the joke was a bit insensitive but tha's just what 'e's like," Alex began to explain, for some reason unknown to him, in Simmo's defence.

"It's not tha' you bloody great nit, he kissed me."

Alex couldn't explain why that came like a twist in the gut, but it did nonetheless. It made him stumble for his words for a moment.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out. "Did you kiss him back?"

"Of course not, he's funny, but a bit gross," Jackie replied, pulling a face, and Alex laughed. A strange sense of relief was felt somewhere in his system, although nowhere near enough to dull the queasy thud of his hangover. "'Sides, Chris asked me out the other day."

"Who the fook is Chris?"

"Chris Maher, from the garage."

"Him? You've lost your mind Jackie, he works at fookin' MotorWorld."

"He's funny! And he knows loads about cars, plus he can drive," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Why does it matter 'e can drive?"

"So I can get places, obviously," she responded dryly.

"I've almost passed me test!"

"Al, you're not even close to passing, I spoke to yer Dad an' he says you drive like you're drunk. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to get on your nerves, always cadgin' a lift." she explained, to Alex's disappointment.

"I didn't expect your type to be a guy who walks around in trackies, how desperate are ya?" Alex jabbed, a little cruelly. Jackie shot him a scathing look.

"Alexander, what is up with you? You were fine last night, an' now you're acting like I'm makin' you suck bloody lemons," she reprimanded him. She was trying to draw him into an argument, he could tell. He wasn't about to start a fight.

"Oh, it duen't matter," he said offhandedly, hoping to diffuse the issue, which seemed to work.

"He's actually a really lovely guy," Jackie added after a long pause.

"Ay, I'm sure he is," Alex replied halfheartedly.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

QUARANTINE

Pairing: FFXV!NYX ULRIC x MALE!READER

Words: 2.140

Warnings: fluff

A/N: @slowkib - here you go :) I hope you like it. Thanks for this request

A/N II: This is a loosely sequel to MESSAGES. So, if you wanna know how these two have met, you can catch up on it but it's not necessary :)

Synopsis: Yn got hit by a virus what means he and Nyx have to be quarantined. But Nyx finds a way to 'sweeten' the time for YN to recover quickly.

Nyx and YN were dating for a few months and so, YN’s sister was determined to meet the man who had stolen her brother’s heart like a thief with the promise to never give it back. She stayed over the weekend. Two whole days, all three had a lot of fun together. YN was happy to see how good Nyx and his sister got along and all too fast, the time was over again and YN’s sister had to go back home.

While Nyx cleaned up a few plates and glasses, he looked at YN who had a content smile on his lips even if he seemed to be a bit pale, “Your sister is nice. I like her.”

“I'm happy to hear that because she already loves you. She threatened me to treat you right or else she would ... Well… trust me, I wouldn't have a good life anymore.”, YN said and coughed softly.

Nyx blinked several times, staring at YN, disbelieving that his boyfriend, a skilled fighter and great soldier of the royal Kingsglaive, would be intimidated by his sister who was two heads shorter than he was, "You... She can threaten you? I mean, for real?", Nyx asked amused.

"Always had, always will. She might be younger and smaller than me but she can be a beast if she wants.", YN answered with a grin, remembering what kind of troublemaker she had been in their childhood.

"Good to know.", Nyx said grinning.

"Don't you dare to-", but YN stopped as a coughing attack prevented him from speaking further.

Concerned, Nyx laid his hand on YN’s shoulder, checking on him as he became even paler, "Are you alright?"

YN just waved with his hand, "Yeah, yeah", he said hoarsely, slapping against his chest, "I just choked on something.", he whispered.

But the next day, YN laid in bed, coughing violently and fighting with the full aftermath of the virus that held Insomnia in its iron grip for a few months. Obviously, without knowing it, YN's sister had been infected and now, he was the one with all the symptoms: fever, fatigue, muscle aches, headache, sore throat and nausea saying, the whole package.

While caring as best as he could for a suffering YN, Nyx did what the citizens were encouraged to do: he called a doctor, YN got tested and the result was clear: positive.

Nyx was tested negative but still, because they lived together, they had to be both quarantined for two weeks. As the next step, Nyx had to inform their Captain. Drautos wasn't pleased about the information that two of his men were out of service because of some ‘common cold’. As the Captain asked why they had to be both in quarantine, Nyx saw himself forced to tell the truth and revealed the relationship he had with YN. But, somehow, Nyx got the impression that the relationship itself wasn't the biggest problem rather the fact that the Captain had been completely unaware about it during the last months.

But because the Captain still wanted to have the upper hand like always, he sent Nyx and YN a big pile of documents and paperwork that got postponed because of the last battles. Nyx wasn't pleased about the boring 'office' work but as long as he and YN were quarantined, there was no way Nyx could say anything against it … or run away from it to fight a small, cozy fight against some demons which he would prefer more in this moment.

Luckily, YN recovered quickly and so, after one week, he was almost the old one. Almost. He was still a bit tired, was coughing and needed to rest but at least, he was fit enough to help Nyx a little bit with the paperwork. Especially, YN did it to prevent a raging war inside their apartment. While YN had been forced to stay in bed, he already had heard Nyx cursing while working.

First YN thought Nyx was just annoyed about the work itself but then, one afternoon as they sat together to work through the piles of documents, YN realized that Nyx wasn't just 'annoyed' rather, he was frustrated and even kinda aggressive.

"This stupid thing!", Nyx called out while pressing keys randomly on his PC.

YN raised his glance questioningly from his own PC and papers to look at the hero, who obviously got defeated by a bunch of wires and circuit pressed into a plastic case, "Everything's good over there?" he asked, grinning as Nyx slammed his whole hand on all keys he could find at the same time.

"Sure! Fuc- it works pretty wonderful!", he hissed through gritted teeth. Once again, Nyx pressed a bunch of keys he had no idea of their functions. As the PC finally just gave up and shutted down, Nyx leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with closed eyes while sighing deeply, completely defeated.

YN tried his hardest to keep the grin out of his face but it wasn't working. Nyx heard the muffled sound of suppressed laughter and the moment he looked slowly up, his beloved boyfriend burst out with laughter. Even tears of joy were running down his cheeks.

Nyx gritted his teeth, "Good to see that you’re feeling better again. At least one of us has fun here.", he said annoyedly, standing up from the chair to look out of the window to become calmer again. It was cold, raining and all in all not the worst weather to be forced to stay inside.

YN felt guilty for laughing. He hurried over to Nyx and from behind, he snaked his arms around Nyx' waist, pressing a soft kiss on the outer rim of Nyx' ear, one of his weak spots, "Come on. Don't be like that. I didn't mean to laugh at you. It was just ... you fight against demons and whatsoever and then, you get defeated by a PC? Seriously?", YN chuckled.

Nyx scoffed, "I tell you, this thing has a will on its own. And it's mocking me. Besides, we're Glaives. We fight. We don't do 'paperwork'.", he said, quoting the Captain's words in a silly voice.

"So, what? You wanna disobey and ignore the Captain's order? Again?", YN asked amused, knowing how rebellious Nyx could be from time to time.

Nyx grinned, turning around in YN's arms and lying his own around his neck, glad that YN already had some color back in his face, "What shall he do? We're in quarantine. We're not allowed to leave this place or to invite someone in ... at all.", he said with a low voice.

YN raised an eyebrow, knowing this kind of mischievous glance already from the hero, "You have something in mind then?"

"Oh, yes. Indeed, I have.", Nyx nodded with a grin.

Ten minutes later, Nyx had collected everything he needed while YN just had watched him, sitting in an armchair. Nyx had prohibited him to do anything else than just waiting because even if YN felt better he was still stricken. On the other hand, Nyx wanted to have his idea as a small surprise. So, he collected all the pillows and blankets he could find and threw them into the living room which was quickly turned upside down. Nyx took some chairs, arranged them with the couch and had built something that represented a cozy fort. The couch was the fort's backrest. Chairs left and right were holding up the blankets while the carpet was covered with pillows and bed covers to make it even more comfy. As Nyx was done, he stepped next to YN, lying an arm around his shoulders, "What do you say?"

"That looks pretty perfect. You have done that before, don't you?", YN asked and looked up. There was already a melancholic smile on Nyx' lips.

"Yeah, I did this often with Selena. Mostly, when she was feeling sad or when she was sick. Then, I built one of these, stole some ice cream and cookies from the kitchen and then, we hid there the whole day. We were talking or watching TV until we fell asleep.", Nyx remembered, pulling YN closer to his side before he pressed a soft kiss on his boyfriend's crown while inhaling his scent to feed the painful memories with sweet new fuel to make them comfortable again.

YN enjoyed the affection with closed eyes, "So, you stole ice cream, huh?", he asked softly to light Nyx' mood up again. He was happy that it worked as he heard him chuckling.

"Well, stealing would mean no one knew about it. I'm sure our mother knew it. I mean, back then, as a kid, I felt pretty smart but now, I know that someone had to buy the things, so I'm sure she knew when we would build our little cave and prepared the sweets for us."

YN frowned. Everything was perfect except the fact that they had no sweets in the kitchen, "Shall we order-", but he got stopped as someone knocked at the door.

"Not necessary. I already took care of that, too.", Nyx said with a grin and went to the front door, opened it and came back with a paper bag full of stuff Crowe had brought after Nyx had texted her.

"What's that?", YN asked curiously, closing up on Nyx.

"Everything we need to get you back on track.", Nyx said grinning.

"But I'm already feeling better.", YN argued half-heartedly as he saw the colorful labels of the bag's contents.

"Yes, but 'better' is still not completely recovered. So, here, the ice cream will help you with your sore throat. Cookies are great in warm milk with honey to fight against the temperature of your fever. And the chocolate will just make you happy.", Nyx listed while pointing at the different items.

"And the gummi bears? Are they for my running nose?", YN asked chuckling, pulling out the bag of sweets.

Nyx snatched it out of YN's hand, "Oh, these are for me. At last, I need something to throw at you when you say stupid things again. Gummi bears for a running nose... never heard such a silly thing.", Nyx mumbled while rolling with his eyes and bringing the bag in the kitchen.

YN laughed, took his laptop and crawled into the pillow fort to get comfortable already while waiting for Nyx to come back.

Ten minutes later, Nyx appeared with a tablet which was laden with bowls full of ice cream, sweets and two mugs with warm milk. YN received the tablet, placing it in the middle. Nyx crawled next to YN's side before he closed the door made out of a blanket to enclose them with coziness. Pressing on a switch, a chain of light went on which was installed around the chair and illuminated the fort in a soft warm, romantically light. Nyx leant against the couch with his back, raised his arm to give YN the space to cuddle against him, using Nyx' upper body as a pillow.

YN was just about to start the movie he had picked out on Netflix as Nyx got a call on the headset he had still in his ear out of habit. Cursing under his breath, he answered the call, "Yeah? Hey, Captain. Yes, we're still in quarantine. One more week, that’s correct, Sir. Yes, he's feeling better but he's still not recovered completely. He still has to rest.", Nyx answered the Captain's questions. To underline Nyx' statement, YN coughed slightly.

Nyx had difficulties to keep the amusement out of his voice and nudged YN's side in revenge because the coughing was so badly acted, "What did you say, Sir? Oh, yeah, the paperwork. We're working on it. Yes, at this very moment, we're sitting in the living room and looking at the screen. Yes, Sir. Alright. Good da- huh, he hung up already.", Nyx said with a smirk, taking the headset out of his ear to lay it aside where he wouldn't notice it at all for the rest of the day.

"You lied to the Captain.", YN stated with a smirk.

Nyx looked him in the eyes while shaking his head, "No, I said the truth. We're in the living room, looking at some screen. The paperwork can wait. First, I want to make sure that you're fit again.", he breathed before he kissed YN softly, "And now, we should hurry with the ice cream or we will have just soup left."

"You could put some gummi bears into it to keep the consistency- hey!", YN called out as a gummi bear hit his hand.

"I warned you.", Nyx said grinning before YN cuddled back against Nyx' side, the best place in the world to recover from whatever virus there might ever be.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Day 19: Vines

When Steve dropped into the Upside Down, he took a minute to look around in disbelief. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t looking at a dark, burned out version of Hawkins, with the familiar moving vines and ash floating in the air. Instead, he was staring out at a set of rolling hills, covered in vibrant green grass. Off in the distance, he could see the highest tower of a castle. There was a dark haze around it. 

“Steve, do you copy?” The radio in his hand crackled to life. 

“Yeah, I copy. You guys aren’t going to believe this.” He explained what he was seeing and the nerds insisted that he stay put while they had a quick emergency meeting to talk it out. He walked a little further out of the tunnel he was in to get a better look around. A dark line of forest was visible off to his right, and he thought he heard the sound of waves off in the distance to his left. He had no idea what to make of it. 

“Ok, are you there? Steve?” Dustin’s voice was anxious when Steve didn’t respond immediately. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Ok, so our working hypothesis is that the Mindflayer is affecting your perception in some way. Have you touched anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Ok, so close your eyes, and then reach down and see what you feel.” Steve closed his eyes and reached tentatively for the ground. He felt the vines he had expected to see slithering away from him. The ground was cold. When he opened his eyes, he saw only grass. The disconnect started to give him a headache, but it disappeared as soon as he straightened up.

“What,” he whispered. 

“Did it work? What happened?” Dustin’s voice demanded. 

“Yeah, it worked. It’s definitely still the Upside Down.”

“Ok, so it’s messing with your head.”

“How?” Steve asked. “I’m not possessed. Right?” He was suddenly nervous about it. 

“No. Well, probably not. It’s just stronger there, so it can affect you without possessing you first.”

“Ok, but why bother?” There was a long silence. 

“We’re working on it. In the meantime, be really careful, and tell us everything that you see.” Steve nodded and then remembered that they couldn’t see him. 

“Got it.” He tucked the radio back into his pocket and left the goggles and bandana on. No need to take unnecessary risks. He took a deep breath and walked out into the expanse of grass. 

He headed for the castle, since it was the only actual landmark that he could see. As he got closer,  the haze around the castle resolved into thick, twining vines covered in thorns. Steve shook his head and got the radio out. 

“Hey guys?” he asked. 

“What’s up, buddy?” Dustin asked after a brief pause. 

“I’m looking at a castle surrounded by vines.” There was a pause. 

“Are there thorns on the vines?” 

“Yes?” Steve said. “I’m not sure why that’s relevant.” There was a longer pause. “Dustin?” Steve finally asked. 

“Yeah, we’re here. Uh. Ok, so this is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out—we think you’re in Sleeping Beauty.” Steve stared at the radio, where he could hear Max hissing something in the background. 

“Run that by me one more time,” he said. 

“Ok, so apparently the Mindflayer is trying to prevent us from rescuing Billy, and our hypothesis is that it wanted to try something new since we got Will back last time, and…” Dustin cut off and Steve heard another short, whispered conversation. “And so it’s using Billy’s memories to keep us away from him, and Billy’s favorite book is—seriously?” Dustin said to someone else, and then he was talking into the radio again. “His favorite book is The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales, apparently.” Steve raised an eyebrow, and then a thought occurred to him. 

“Isn’t there a fucking dragon in Sleeping Beauty?” he asked, looking around uneasily.   

“Uh,” Dustin said, and then there was a pause and a thump. When the radio crackled to life again, Steve heard Max’s voice. 

“Steve?” she asked.

“What’s up, Max?” She sighed heavily, and Steve could picture the accompanying eye roll perfectly. 

“You’re probably not in the Disney version,” she said, “so no dragon. Billy likes the original fairy tales, so this is much more of a Briar Rose situation.” Steve paused for a long moment. 

“I have no idea what that means, Max.” She sighed again. 

“It’s the original. It’s different. I have to go home and get the book so we can figure out exactly what we’re working with, but I seem to recall it being less dramatic than the Disney version.” 

“Ok,” Steve said. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Dustin says go ahead and approach the castle, but be careful. Also,” Max lowered her voice, “Billy’s kind of sensitive about the liking fairy tales thing, so when you find him, just…be cool about it?”

“I wasn’t going to be a dick about it, Max,” Steve said a little defensively, and it was mostly true. He hadn’t been planning to make fun of Billy for it. Not much, anyway. 

“Ok. Well, be careful,” she replied.  

“Will do.” Steve stowed the radio and kept walking. He arrived at the castle faster than it seemed like he should have. He stared up at the impenetrable forest of thorns ahead of him and wondered what to do next. He settled on making a circuit around the castle, just to see if there was any break in the wall of thorns. There wasn’t, though Steve did discover that the vines started moving threateningly if he got close enough to touch them, and he barely avoided being impaled by one of the massive thorns at one point. He kept his distance after that. 

By the time he finished his circuit, the radio was crackling to life again. 

“Hey buddy, you there?” Dustin asked. 

“Yeah. It’s not going well. There doesn’t seem to be any way to get past the vines.”

“About that,” Dustin said, and Steve didn’t like his tone. “There’s good news and bad news.” Steve sighed. 

“Hit me with it,” he said. 

“No dragon, so that’s good. Briar Rose is kind of surprisingly anticlimactic, so you probably don’t have to fight anything.” 

“What’s the bad news?”

“The vines open by themselves…after a hundred years have passed.” Steve let out a long breath. 

“What the fuck?” he said, before he could stop himself. 

“It’s kind of genius, if you think about it—“

“Dustin, I do not need to hear about how genius the Mindflayer is right at this moment, ok?” Dustin’s voice was quiet when he responded. 

“Sure, yeah. Sorry.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Steve eventually asked. “I assume it’s something crazy.”

“I don’t…we don’t really have a plan, Steve. I don’t know that there’s anything we can do.” Steve took that in, and then he thought about Max’s face when Billy had fallen at Starcourt. He thought about the terrible, burning hope in her eyes when El had called to say that someone was trapped in the Upside Down. They knew, by then, that it wasn’t Hopper. Steve wondered what Max’s face looked like right now, as she listened. He stood up and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was firm.  

“Ok, well, I’ll wait here until you make a plan, because we’re not leaving Billy here.”

“Steve, he’s—“

“Dustin, I don’t care how that sentence ends. He’s Max’s brother, and he saved El, and we’re not leaving him here.”

“But—“

“You guys are smart—figure it out.” Steve’s tone left no room for argument. There was a long silence. Finally, the radio crackled again. 

“We’ll get back to you,” Max said a little breathlessly. “Thanks, Steve,” she added, in a softer voice. 

Steve went back to pacing around the castle, the thorns just as impenetrable as they had been before. Steve poked at some of them, and then lunged backwards as the thorns poked back.

“Fuck you,” he muttered at them the third or fourth time it happened. “You don’t get to win.” It took a long time for the kids to get back to him, and when they did, Dustin didn’t sound happy. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Dustin sighed. 

“I want it stated at the outset that I hate this plan,” he said. 

“Understood.”

“Ok, so we talked to El and Will. The Mindflayer is messing with your perception, which means it’s kind of messing with reality. Which means that reality is a little flexible there, right now. Does that make sense?”

“Nope. But keep going.” 

“Time is one aspect of reality, which means that time is also potentially flexible.”

“Ok,” Steve said, “but I can’t do anything about that, right?”

“Right,” Dustin said, “but El could.”

“Dustin, El’s not even in Hawkins. And there’s no way in hell that either Joyce or Hopper is going to sign off on sending her back into the Upside Down.” Steve said. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“You’re down there,” Dustin pointed out. 

“That’s different?” Steve said, but it came out as a question. “Anyway, it’s not an option.” 

“Yeah, we know,” Dustin said slowly. “That’s not the plan.” He sighed. “El’s going to look for you and get inside your head. Then she’s going to help you try to push back on the Mindflayer’s version of reality. It’s possible that the two of you together can reshape that reality so that we meet the time limit.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

“All you really have to do is believe, very firmly, that time is a construct,” Dustin said. 

“Got it,” said Steve, though he didn’t, really. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“No, Steve! That does not sound like a good plan!” Dustin replied. 

“Why not?” Steve asked. 

“Because you’re taking all the risks! Trying to manipulate reality in there makes you vulnerable to the Mindflayer. It can’t get to El through you, but it can get to you.”

“And do what?” Steve asked after a pause. 

“I don’t know, melt your brain?”

“Wait, really?”

“I mean, yeah, maybe. We call it the Mindflayer for a reason.” Steve thought about it. 

“I’m assuming there’s not a backup plan,” he finally said. Dustin didn’t reply immediately, and then he sighed heavily. 

“There is not.”

“Ok, then we’re doing it,” Steve said decisively. There was no response. “Dustin?”

“Don’t die, ok?” Dustin finally said. 

“I’ll do my best, buddy.” 

“Ok. El’s going to reach out to you. Be careful.”

“Always.” Steve sat down to wait. He felt it when El made contact, like a tingle at the back of his mind. He felt hazy, like he couldn’t quite tune in to what was happening in his head or what was happening in front of him, but after a few minutes, it started to clear. He found that he knew exactly what it was that he was supposed to do, and he felt the power to do it, the potential, shimmering through him. 

“Okay, kiddo,” he said, “let’s give it a shot.” There was no direct response, but Steve felt something like amusement from the back of his mind. He approached the wall of thorns and stopped a safe distance away. Then he closed his eyes and pushed on the reality around him. He could feel how thin it was, how artificial. It wasn’t real, and he could work with that. 

He was so absorbed in his task, painstakingly rewriting reality to conform to his needs, that he almost didn’t notice when the Mindflayer lashed out. The world simply changed around him, and he opened his eyes to find that he was back in the Upside Down that he had initially expected. 

“Nope,” he said, and reached out for the reality he had just left. He could feel it bleeding back in around the edges, the grass and the castle solidifying in front of him. “Come on,” he said through gritted teeth, “come ON.” He gripped harder and felt an oppressive darkness pushing back at him. He shoved back as hard as he could, clinging to an absolute conviction that the world was what he wanted it to be. He took a step closer to the vines around the castle, and one lashed out. He ignored the stabbing pain in his arm and slapped a hand to the vines. He gathered all of his strength for a final push and shoved all of his conviction out in front of him. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then reality rippled around him, starting from where his hand was pressed to the vines. The thorns vanished, replaced by blooming flowers. A path opened up in front of him, leading straight to the front door of the castle. Steve felt a surge of victory, and then he felt the presence at the back of his mind disappear. All of his strength suddenly deserted him. He tried to cling to consciousness, but he dropped to his knees as he felt it slip away from him. 

When Steve came to, he was laid out on the grass a little ways from the castle. He wasn’t wearing his goggles or his bandana. He sat up with a jerk and looked around a little frantically. He was startled to see Billy stretched out next to him, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. Steve looked back at the castle and saw that it was now covered in flowering vines. There was no sign of the Mindflayer, inside or outside of Steve’s head. 

“So you’re alive,” Steve said to Billy, rubbing his temples, which were throbbing. 

“Looks that way,” Billy said casually, but Steve could see the relief on his face. Upon closer inspection, Billy looked rough. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he had lost weight in the time that he had been in the Upside Down. Steve saw that there was a faint tremor running through his body. 

“How do you feel about getting out of here?” Steve asked. 

“Pretty good,” Billy replied, eyes still on the sky, “but there’s something we should do first. Just in case.” Steve’s brow furrowed. He looked around. He opened his mouth to ask what they could possibly still have left to do, and was caught off guard when Billy leaned in and kissed him. Steve froze for a moment and then relaxed into it, one hand coming up to Billy’s face. Billy pulled back and looked at Steve, fear and hope written all over his face. 

“So that’s how the fairy tale ends?” Steve asked, and Billy nodded. He glanced over at the castle. 

“The castle looks the way I always pictured it. I don’t know why the fuck it’s here, but I do know how the story goes.”

“We should probably be absolutely sure,” Steve said slowly, and leaned back in. Billy smiled into the kiss. It was only Steve’s radio crackling to life, and the frantic yelling coming from it that finally drove them apart. 

“Time to go,” Steve said, and hauled Billy to his feet, “but we’re circling back to that once we get out of here.” Billy sagged a little in his grip, struggling to make his limbs cooperate, but his grin was the same predatory one that had always made Steve a little too warm.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he said.

“Pretty sure you’re the princess in this scenario,” Steve pointed out, as they made their slow way toward the exit. Billy scoffed, but he didn’t argue. He did, however, blush a delightful shade of pink.  

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Seven | Dogsong (Part 1 of 2)

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A strong and persistent, ticklish feeling on your nose wakes you up with a sneeze. 

Albeit, your face is far too puffy now for you to even see what's going on, not including the fact that you're not wearing either contacts or glasses presently -- and not that you even remember where your glasses ended up on after you passed out yesterday. It's all one big blur both in terms of your eyesight and your mind. The only few things you remember after waking up in a hospital bed was Sans at the very beginning of it all, along with your aunt arriving with some fresh clothes plus basic toiletries for you to use and change into after a shower. The rest of your memories are muddled to a point where you can't even remember where your belongings are, how long you've slept, or what hour it is.

The pressure you feel on your chest paired up with a few energetic woofs and a lick at your face let you know who's the product of your allergy. Thankfully though, the dog understands when you tell him you have to stand up. He barks again and jumps off of you, giving you freedom to move and try to feel around for your phone.

Doubt hits you when you find it, and you start to wonder if calling anyone's even necessary, keeping in mind that your emergency's mostly a puffy face and an itchy nose, coupled with blurry eyesight.

Surely, you could find your medicine just as you did with your phone, and worst case scenario, you could wait until a nurse or a doctor came around; your allergy wasn't that bad, anyway.

You try to search for the medicine all on your own first, though it results in you having to question the very same root of your problem for help. "Could you help me find my bag?" you ask, facing down with a smile at where you assume the dog's at. How he got inside a hospital room's left unknown to you, but now's not the time to be worrying about that. "It should be around-"

Before you can even finish your sentence, the dog barks once and runs off, becoming an even fainter, white blur as he leaves your side. Soon enough though, he returns with what you assume are your belongings, based on the colour of the bag's material alone, its dark brown contrasting with his white fur. "Thank you," you say, taking the bag from his mouth. You then sit down in bed and rummage through your belongings until you find some allergy pills and a half-drunken, lukewarm, bottled water, plus the new bottle your aunt had brought you. Compared to the one you packed up for yesterday, it's still ice-cold to the touch, and it's twice the size as a regular one.

A yawn, a headache, and a painful stretch intervene with your mission, so you decide to wash up first before taking any medicine. Countless hours of sleep meant lethargy was just around the corner were you to be tempted to lay down again, so you stumble your way to the bathroom and freshen yourself up, a daily routine adjusted to go by quicker when you hear the door of your room open and the dog bark at the new visitor. Happy woofs inform you you're not in any sort of danger, though you could still use whatever company there's waiting for you with how long it feels since you've last had a talk with someone unrelated to how your health was doing and what happened back at the bus.

"Hey, bud. What're ya doing 'ere? You know (Y/N)'s allergic to you."

"Woof-woof!"

The exchange between the new voice and the dog are the first few words you can hear while you wrap things up, though the dog runs back to your side as soon as you open the door and return to your bed.

"Don't," the visitor warns, whistling for the dog to approach him and chuckling when he runs off to his side. "You're gonna get 'em hospitalized again if you keep doin' this."

The dog distracts himself with the visitor while you take your pills and down them with some water. All that's left is to find your glasses while your face recovers, though as much as you try searching for them or your other alternative, you can't find them among all the other items scattered inside. Most first aid items are felt tampered with, bringing forth the unwanted memory of what you'd been through yesterday and how you were still well under recovery.

"Good mornin', (L/N). Dunno how that doggo got here, but I'll make sure he doesn't break in again."

Another recognizable blur -- made up mostly of blue, black, and white smudges -- shows up in front of you and crouches to meet with your face. Weren't he so used to wearing such similar colours and casual outfits all the time, you would have a harder time distinguishing him beyond that of his low voice and New York accent. He scoots a bit closer and reaches out for your face, hands brushing with your ears as he slips on your glasses for you. It's as clear as day he's already regretting what he's done, judging by the way his gaze averts from yours when you're able to see clearly again.

"You alright? Your allergy's lookin' worse than yesterday's." While it's initially unclear as to why he hesitated after putting on your glasses for you, just one closer look through all the puffiness of your face lets you see a faint, microscopical hint of red on his cheekbones. "...Sorry 'bout touchin' you like that, by the way. Dunno what got into me, but, uh-"

"You mean you putting on my glasses for me?"

"Yeah -- That was way outta hand of me. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable."

You take a second to think over what he means with that -- mind still processing everything as quickly as an old desk computer -- until you remember how his brother tried to set you both up a while back. 

If that was enough to get the one being set up all worked up around you even for the most trifling matters, you can't imagine how the monster's feeling now that he's taken such an intimate initiative with you, considering he could've simply offered you the glasses rather than slip them on for you. "That's okay." You snicker, dismissing his worry with a smile. "It's no big deal, really."

"Still, that was wrong of me." He smiles back at you, though that expression soon fades as he dwells deeper and longer into what's happened. "I did that without your knowledge, and we're not even friends yet. I took that, uh, incident back at the park too close to heart, so I'm not really sure what to do anymore or how close I should act with you." Sans takes a hand to the back of his neck, sighs, and rubs at it, inadvertently sitting next to you in bed as he contemplates the situation while facing the floor. "I need to tell Paps to stop settin' us up anymore in the future. Not only is it unfair for you with all the stuff you have goin' on. But well... I'm not too sure about what being in a relationship entails, either. I mean, seriously -- Being set up like this's really not my thing. Maybe it's different for others, but I just can't date a person or go out with 'em unless I'm real close to 'em." His shoulders stiffen, and he looks up at you with widened irises and a meek grin. "God, I'm… I'm not even sure why I'm tellin' you all this, though. It's-"

Remembering Papyrus's request, you intervene with, "Can I kiss your cheek, uh… bone? Maybe you could sort out your feelings a bit more if you try it."

Seemingly at a loss for words, the skeleton nods as a response.

You move a bit closer to him and press a quick kiss on his cheekbone, keeping all other limbs aside to prevent touching him anywhere else. His face turns a bit hotter now, similar though not as noticeable as when humans blush, so you assume he's going through the same thing despite those subtle differences. He looks away when you move back, though he faces you again when you ask, "How did that feel?"

There's a long beat of silence between you, until he eventually breaks it with, "It felt nice."

"Like in a platonic sort of sense, or otherwise?"

"...I'm not sure."

You hum and lose yourself in your thoughts, motivated by the kiss and his reaction to it. His body language is either good enough to mask any further embarrassment; that, or he just really didn't feel anything out of the ordinary when being kissed on the cheekbone. You try to think back on past experiences and remember how Jerry was a lot shyer than you when it came to being upfront and honest about your feelings with each other. Both your appearances deceived in that aspect, as your roles in twelve grade were like those of a high school movie clique: Jerry was a popular soccer athlete back then, while you were the quiet and lonesome nerd in charge of the library. You kissed him first though, and you were the first to admit your feelings for him after you discovered you liked both boys and girls alike.

"Well, how about this," you speak up, gaining his attention again. "Could you imagine yourself doing anything romantic with any of your past crushes, like kissing, hugging, or just… full-on making out?"

"Hard pass on the last one. Don't think I can imagine myself doing somethin' like that with someone -- unless I'm maybe really, really close to 'em. Other than that, well… I guess I wouldn't mind doin' all that other stuff." 

"So if we both had a crush on each other, would you see yourself on a date with me? If you can't use me as an example, imagine someone else you're more comfortable with."

He looks away again. Still, he nods. "Just with none of that steamier stuff. I've heard some of my co-workers up here say they're all about this and that, and how often they do stuff like that with their partner, but I just can't really see myself in a situation like that one -- Or just… Not yet, at least."

"That's normal, then. Intimate stuff like that isn't for everyone." Your smile grows at the feeling that you're making progress with Papyrus's request. "Some are just fine with what you said, and others don't even have a need for romance in their lives. Just like marriage and children aren't for everyone, romance and sexual intimacy aren't, either."

"Thanks," he says, meeting your eyes with a less tense gaze of his own. "How did ya learn 'bout this kinda stuff, by the way? I think maybe Alphys and Undyne know a bit about this themselves, but, uh… I never had the guts to talk to 'em."

You grin. "So you ask a complete stranger about it?"

Thankfully, he knows you're joking and follows up to it by jabbing your side with his elbow. "You caught me in a vulnerable state."

"How so?" you ask, scooting closer on instinct.

"Things are different here at the Surface," he replies, suddenly wistful. "When you passed out yesterday, that reality hit me, and so I kinda just… froze at the thought of losing you."

"How's it different down there? Does… Does that mean if I were there, I wouldn't die as easily as I would here?"

"Not exactly. There's just a different system down there, and it helps strong-willed humans have a second chance and more at life."

"But strong-willed could mean both good people and not, right? How would you deal with bad ones, if it came to it?"

"That's where the whole situation with your kid takes place. It's not that we wanted to hurt 'em, but that there were plenty of factors that made us view humans as a threat back then. It was them who taught us there's another way around it. But then again, I think those points you've made're important, and that you really shouldn't just forgive us outta-"

"Time's up, mister Serif. The patient has other people who want to see them."

Nearly disheartened by how time runs short, you end it on that and make a (metaphorically) telepathic note to continue with the conversation during your tour, something you both agree on with a nod. There would be plenty of time to talk about that there, though that's not to say you don't want to have all that information discussed right here and now. "I don't think I've said this before, so… Thank you for all your help. I'm not sure I'd even be here if you hadn't been there at the bus for me." You pause and smile. "Friendly hug?"

Sans chuckles and sits down again. "Friendly hug." He takes up your offer faster than the first two times since you first met him. It feels far more natural now, almost as if the previous two had been reciprocated to, but with that doubt still on his mind, weighing him down. "This's probably really damn weird, but you're kinda… comfortable to hug."

"Okay, yeah. That's kinda weird." You laugh. "Comfortable as in soft or warm or-"

"Comfortable as in I could easily fall asleep on you if you keep huggin' me like this. But yeah -- That's probably the reason why."

"So you'd say you like cuddling, then?"

"Definitely better than all that other stuff."

"See that?" You let go of him and let your smile grow. "You're understanding yourself more already. That's good!"

"Is it? I thought I was too old for that."

"Oh, come on." You judge him. "You're a science wiz, aren't you? People all experience things differently and at different stages. You're being rude to yourself. Just give yourself a chance to grow and understand yourself a little more!"

"I'd hate to break you two up, but people are waiting outside."

You both freeze at the sound of the nurse's voice being so close now. She's standing nearby now rather than simply waiting by the doorway, an observation that makes you question just when she'd come closer and how much she'd heard you talk as a result. Still, she doesn't appear fazed nor bothered by anything, so you take it she'd either just arrived at your side or had found a way not to overhear while she waited.

"The doctor should be here soon, so we have to cut your visits short."

In compliance to her words, you wrap your conversation up with the skeleton and tell him you'll message him over your next tour date. You would need a little more time to recover now, so it would only be common sense to check through your schedule, sort things out with your job, and manage how you would deal with Frisk's school days and homework. The monsters were already doing you plenty of favours, and yet you only knew two of them in person, three if you counted how often you talked with Toriel through phone and video calls despite not visiting her home to this day. Asking them for any more help than what they were already giving was out of the question. 

Even if such fantasy-like beings existed, that didn't mean they were as magically potent as most books made them out to be. At the end of the day, they were living, breathing beings just like you, with lives of their very own and troubles just like any other human being you knew. What made you different were your appearances and customs, and even then that was something that could be overlooked with due time and mutual understanding, as it isn't as important as who they are and what they do to live each day like you did with your own.

"Let me know if ya need help with Frisk's school," Sans says, already standing near the doorway. "You can't recover if you don't look for help."

And with that, he leaves.

Whether you were an open book or he a mind reader, you can't tell for certain, but if there's one thing you could use presently, it's words like those.

You barely have a chance to say thank you as other visitors step inside, some familiar and some not.

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The holidays are now over where I'm from, so expect updates to return to their usual Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday schedule (depending on the chapters' lengths) starting from the 16th of this month!

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[themurphyzone]

If I Can’t Love Him Ch 4

AN: I do eventually wanna write out an entire BatB AU, it’s just that it’s kinda on the backburner compared to Nova and Pinky the Snowmouse right now. Decided to finish this story before working on anything else in BatB AU. Unlike the other chapters, this one’s not based off any scene in the 1991 movie.

AO3 Link

Ch 4: Hints of Kindness  

Two days since the West Wing incident, and there was still no sign of the Beast. His servants all said not to worry, he was always reclusive until it was time to give orders, but Pinky still worried for the Beast’s arm. He didn’t seem like the type to take it easy.

“Hey, if the scratches get infected, that’s on him,” Rita reassured Pinky as she escorted him down the corridor for breakfast.  

The servants were on a rotating schedule of helping him get around the castle to prevent another incident of wandering somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. Pinky appreciated the company, but part of him also wanted to sneak around too. If he was going to be here for the rest of his life, then he wanted to know every nook and cranny of the castle.

At least the nooks and crannies of the places he was allowed to go in.

But sneaking around would have to wait. At least until the world stopped spinning around. It was throwing him off-balance.

“So what do you want for breakfast?” Rita asked, her halo bobbing above her head as she glided along the floor. “Cream? Fish? Or the gray stuff again? That’s always a hit.”

The moment breakfast was mentioned, Pinky’s stomach flip-flopped and churned. “Quiet, tummy,” he scolded.

“You good? You’re pale,” Rita asked. “Not exactly a healthy shade of white.”

“I’m...narf...I’m okay!” Pinky tried to smile at her, but Rita’s eyes only narrowed. “Don’t worry about me!”

A shiver wracked his body. Was it just him, or was the castle draftier than usual?

“Nice try, mouse,” Rita crossed her paws over her angel robe. “But a little tip about castle living? If the boss can’t pull a fast one over Hello Nurse when he’s sick, neither can you. Try it, and the results ain’t gonna be pretty.”

He was fine though. Pinky was used to hiding any signs of sickness from Papa. He couldn’t worry his father like that when there were other things to worry about. All he had to do was cover his mouth so all the icky stuff wouldn’t get out and run over to Slappy’s tree for help.

He didn’t like lying. It made him feel awful inside. But he had to, just so he wouldn’t scare Papa.

"Sorry," Pinky whispered, his throat tight. "I'll go back to my...I mean, the room you all gave me. I don't wanna make anyone else sick. Poit."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Rita said. "Only the boss is affected by that sorta thing. Rest of us are immune. Now c'mon. I gotta tell Hello Nurse so we can get some chow into you."  

o-o-o-o-o

Secrets never remained secrets in the castle for long. It took a grand total of thirty seconds before a crowd of servants gathered outside the bedroom door, from the littlest dinner fork to several heavy cabinets that clinked with dishes and silverware as they moved.

A tall coat rack lifted Pinky back into bed. And while Pinky didn’t mind climbing to reach the strange, huge mattress that was cozy when he was tired and not so cozy when he thought of Papa and home, he was too dizzy to climb up himself right now.

Though he wanted to snuggle into the blankets more than anything else, he couldn’t until the stethoscope finished checking his heart and lungs. He shivered as the cold bell pressed into his chest and back, but tried to breathe when he was asked to.

When it was finished, the stethoscope firmly knocked twice against the mahogany bedframe and wrapped itself around the coat rack’s thin wooden arm.

“So what’s the verdict?” Rita asked from the doorway.

“Well, his heart and lungs are strong. And nothing’s inflamed either,” Hello Nurse said. “Pinky, are you having trouble breathing?”

Pinky shook his head.

“Any chest pain?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, everyone! It’s just a fever. I’ll be fit as a fiddle soon!” Pinky said, trying to reassure them. “And I can clean some rooms or dust the staircases or anything else you want then!”

“Nope, that won’t do at all! You’re our guest and we insist you get some rest!” Yakko protested. The fire on his head burnt intensely, and the flammable servants hastily scooted away from him. “Ya know, that’s not a bad verse for Be a Pest now that I think about it. But still! Don’t even think about getting out of bed ‘til Hello Nurse okays it!”

“Only for a day or two,” Hello Nurse added. “And tell someone immediately if you have trouble breathing or the fever gets worse. You came back soaked to the bone, and I don’t want this developing into pneumonia.”

Okay, at least he wouldn’t be confined for too long. He wanted to move around and explore. What was the point of being imprisoned in a castle if he couldn’t explore?

“What about Pharfignewton?” Pinky asked. “She fell in the river too. And...she’s all I’ve got now.”

His mother’s cape was in shreds. He didn’t know how Papa was doing. Pharfignewton was the only member of the family he could see now. The blue dress was his only remaining possession from his life in the village.

“She’s okay!” Dot piped up. “The stablemaster is one of the best in the province! He’s got her covered in a pretty violet blanket.”

“She really likes apples!” Wakko exclaimed.

Pharfignewton adored apples, and while Pinky trusted the servants to take care of her, he also wanted to make sure she was alright in-person.

But that would have to wait for a few hours.

Sapped of energy, he yawned and curled underneath the blankets. Only his head poked out, and his vision blurred as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

The crowd dissipated with promises to come back with food and medicine later, until only Yakko lingered in the doorway.

“Keep an eye on him, Marita,” Hello Nurse told the purple and white wardrobe, which had a hippo’s face carved into the top. She hummed her agreement. “Now come along, Yakko. Pinky needs his rest.”

“But-”

“I’m sure Dr. Scratchnsniff misses you. It’s been a busy past few days,” Hello Nurse suggested, and Yakko hopped away, his spirits restored as he hollered about all the news he wanted to deliver to the psychiatrist’s couch.

Soon they were gone. As Pinky’s eyes drooped shut, he thought he might’ve seen the end of a cape and a zigzagged tail dart behind a crouching gargoyle in the hallway. But the door swung closed before he could be sure.

o-o-o-o-o

Despite the fever, or maybe because of it, it was the best sleep he had in ages.

“Wakey, wakey, Rip Van Winkle!” Dot shouted. “Got your hot tea and soup here!”  

Pinky rubbed his eyes, stretching his limbs and tail as he sat up against his large pillow. His forehead was hot to the touch, and his throat was a bit sore. He breathed in fine, warm steam from the tea and soup, and while he didn’t have much of an appetite right now, he’d at least try to eat what he could. He was sure it would taste wonderful anyway.  

A tray slid onto his lap. A steaming bowl of chicken and vegetable broth, a flower patterned teacup full of warm liquid, and a spoon and napkin laid on top of it.

“It’s lovely. Thanks so much!” Pinky said, smiling at the Warners, who sat atop a rolling cart next to his bed.

“Make sure you gobble it all down like a turkey!” Wakko exclaimed, doing his best impression of a turkey call just as Pinky took his first sip of the broth, which included several small pieces of carrots.

Pinky couldn’t help but laugh, which was a huge mistake with food in his mouth. He sputtered and coughed, quickly pounding on his throat as he snatched up the teacup and took a huge gulp of tea to wash it down.

“Well, don’t make him choke on it!” Dot scolded.

“Careful, dearie,” Marita said as she shifted a lovely green dress to a hanger on her front.  “My darling Flavio puts lots of love into his food. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“I will,” Pinky promised. He ate more slowly, trying to savor every bite. Not that he really needed to chew. Everything just slid down his throat like melted butter.

“That didn’t go into your lungs, right?” Yakko asked, who’d been strangely silent during the visit.

“I don’t think so,” Pinky replied. “And no agonizing, excruciating, stabbing, or writhing pain?”

Pinky stretched his limbs, careful not to jostle the tray too much. “A bit sore, but I’ll be alright.”

“It’s only a fever, Yakko,” Dot muttered, rolling her eyes as Yakko’s flames burst sporadically. “He’s not suddenly gonna drop dead or anything.”

Wakko shuffled his wooden legs awkwardly as Yakko and Dot burst into an argument over their guest’s health, and Pinky found himself nursing a headache that developed at his temple.

“Children, I think our guest wants some peace while he eats,” Marita suggested, her front drawer opening to reveal a lavender letter that was sealed with a heart-shaped kiss mark. “In the meantime, would you do me a favor and deliver this letter to my sweetheart?”

“For true love!” Dot squealed in joy, forgetting that she didn’t have hands to grab it by as she strained to grab it from Marita’s handle. Wakko reached over and grabbed it for her, and Dot hopped to the other side of the cart in a huff, muttering that she could’ve gotten it for herself.

“Hi-ho rolling cart, away!” Yakko shouted, and the cart sped across the room and slammed into the slightly ajar door, and the Warners were nearly thrown off the cart from the impact.

“GAH!” there was a surprised shout from behind the door as it crashed against the wall.

That wasn’t a normal door crashing into the wall sound.

To Pinky’s surprise, the Beast stumbled into view from behind the door. He clutched one shoulder with his bandaged arm, an irritated growl building in his throat.

The Warners whistled innocently and gave the Beast extremely wide, guilty smiles before zooming away.

“Ooh, that sounded like it hurt,” Pinky said, and the Beast looked at him in annoyance. Then Pinky remembered that they hadn’t spoken to each other in a few days, and he didn’t really know where he stood with the Beast right now. “Did they catch you on the arm?”

The white-collared shirt was new though. It was a high quality piece of clothing, even though it was a simple design.  

The Beast stood in the doorway, the bandages outlined against his sleeve on his injured arm while he held onto the doorframe with his uninjured arm. He also wore a wine-red cape and a pair of black trousers, and both clothing items were much less worn and ragged than when Pinky had first met him in that tower just a few nights ago.

“They didn’t,” the Beast grunted, staring at the floor like he’d seen a very interesting dust bunny. The silence was only broken by Marita’s blissful humming and the clink of Pinky’s spoon against his bowl.

The Beast wasn’t the best at conversations. It was either too much roaring or stony silence with no in-between with him.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Pinky asked.

The Beast huffed. “I was napping behind the door.”

“Strange place to nap,” Pinky said. “Wouldn’t you be better off in a cozy bed? Less back problems that way. And you wouldn’t be smashed in the shoulder by a door.”

“I’ll...keep that in mind,” the Beast replied, still not making eye contact with Pinky.

Though his responses were short and blunt, it seemed to be more out of awkwardness than anything. Still, Pinky wished the Beast would come up with a topic. It wasn’t exactly 20 Questions if the other party wasn’t asking anything.

Pinky chewed a piece of chicken, even though he didn’t need to. “Is Yakko okay? He seemed kinda scared cause I’m sick.”

“Oh, he can’t help it, dearie. An illness almost took-” Marita trailed off as a growl rose from the Beast’s throat. “-well, nobody wants to see your fever grow worse. Especially Yakko.”

Had the Beast been severely ill for a time and didn’t want to admit it? Pinky wanted to ask, but from the way the Beast’s claws dug into the doorframe, he decided that maybe it was better if he didn’t.

“Sorry if it’s a sore subject. I can ask something else if you want,” Pinky said.

The Beast’s large ears lowered, and his growl tapered off. And for the first time, shadowed pink eyes met Pinky’s.

“The fabric you used as a temporary bandage...was it important?” the Beast asked.

Pinky dropped his spoon into the bowl, surprised at a question that involved his mother’s cloak. No harm in being honest though.

“That cloak used to belong to my mother. It became mine after the accident,” Pinky admitted. The two fabric scraps from his cloak had been laundered, scrubbed of blood, and neatly tucked away in one of Marita’s drawers. He figured he could still use them somehow, but hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

The Beast looked distinctly uncomfortable, averting his eyes once more. “Sorry about your mother.”

Though awkward, it was a more sincere condolence than what some who’d attended her funeral had said.

“She wouldn’t have minded though. I think she’d be happy to know her cloak helped you,” Pinky said.

He didn’t have any doubts about that. He remembered his mother as a generous, lovely soul, even though he was a child when she passed away.

The Beast placed a hand over his bandaged arm. Then he turned to leave.

“When you’re healthy again, I’ll personally make sure that you know your way around the castle,” the Beast said. “But only to ascertain that you won’t barge into the West Wing again.”

It would be nice not to get lost. He always had trouble finding the kitchen so he could thank Chef Flavio for his meals.

“Alright,” Pinky agreed as he pushed his tray aside. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “And Beast?”

The Beast was a few steps away from Pinky’s door. He paused and looked back, stumbling over his feet like he wasn’t used to walking on two legs.

“Thanks for checking on me,” Pinky said. He snuggled into the blankets once again, ready to sleep off his meal. “I’m sure I’ll recover twice as fast cause I know everyone wants me to feel better.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re welcome,” the Beast finally said. Then he was gone.

And strangely, Pinky was looking forward to the promised tour.

Fun fact: Stethoscopes were invented in 1816, which isn’t in the French Revolution era of Beauty and the Beast, but this is Animaniacs and I am allowed to be anachronistic.

Before the curse took hold, Dot was severely ill for a time (same deal as Wakko’s Wish), and Brain doesn’t want this info getting out cause it could potentially reveal the curse to Pinky. Yakko is just spooked by any type of illness as a result, even a temporary mild fever.  

[ambersock]

On the Edge of Forever

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lucifer (Cassifer)

Summary: Sam has a plan to deal with the Darkness. Dean is definitely not going to like it.

Word Count: 4095

Warnings: Angst, Minor Sam Whump, Swearing, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues

A/N: Takes place in Season 11, after 11.10 The Devil in the Details. More notes at the end.

Now: Dean

Baby’s tires squeal in protest as Dean uses up a month of tread taking yet another turn too fast, her back-end fishtailing with only intermittent traction keeping her from spinning out. He’ll apologize to her later. Dean slams the accelerator down as he exits the curve and hits 90 on a straight section of the backwoods road on the outskirts of a town probably called Where The Fuck Are We We’re Lost. He starts to recognize landmarks from the last time he was here almost three years ago; he’s close. Not close enough.

He hurtles towards his destination, praying to who the hell knows what (because, really, there’s nothing out there that gives a shit, is there?), that he makes it in time to stop his idiot brother from doing an idiotic thing. Because he idiotically let his brother go to talk to fucking Lucifer, and of course Lucifer got inside his head. And here he is again, wracking his brain to figure out what the hell he can possibly say to convince Sam to abandon his insane plan.

Five days ago: Sam

Ever since the train wreck that was supposed to be a “safe” visit to the Cage to ask for Lucifer’s help against the Darkness, Sam has been replaying the Lucifer-guided tour of his worst fuck ups over and over on an endless loop, hoping that repetition and whiskey will numb him just a little more each time. For the hundredth time Sam curses his hubris, thinking he would even register on God’s radar, let alone that He would answer his prayers and send him visions. For the hundredth time he curses himself for being so naïve that he never suspected that the visions were just a lure from Lucifer to reel him in, break him down, and use him as a ride out of the Cage. And he hates himself for how close he had come to caving in. More than once.

On his third shot of whiskey and his umpteenth rerun through his trail of regrets, it hits Sam: within the chain of events of disaster begetting calamity begetting catastrophe, there is one moment in time where it could have easily all fallen apart. One small delay, one broken link, would cause a cascade failure and drastically alter everything that came after. He can’t help fantasizing, over and over, about all of the different little things could have happened that would have changed the entire outcome. If only.

On his fourth shot of whiskey, Sam remembers the sigil that allowed Henry Winchester to travel through time, and he huffs out a laugh.

On his fifth shot of whiskey, Sam staggers to the archive room and starts pulling books.

******

Sam continues to stare at the passages describing the Enochian time travel spell. The task he’s set himself is a flame that has both sustained him and consumed him for days on end. There’s a tree’s worth of paper covered in notes scattered across every horizontal surface, held down by mostly empty coffee mugs distributed randomly around the cramped space. His eyes are dry and red, an eyestrain headache thrums in the back of his skull, and his back is aching from being hunched over musty tomes for hours at a time attempting to deconstruct and reverse engineer the spell, to adapt it to his specific purpose. He’s not sure when he slept last, and Dean has started to give him those sideways I-know-something’s-eating-you looks which means he’s got limited time before Dean drags him out of the bunker “for his own good”. Sam forces himself to clear his mind of everything except the patterns of Enochian writing in front of him. He’s close, he thinks he’s found the right figures, he just needs to understand how to combine them with the original blood sigil. As Dean would say, he’s on the one-yard line and it’s time to push through it.

Hours later something finally clicks like a circuit closing in his brain, and suddenly the pattern of the lesser symbols within the larger whole makes sense to Sam. The solution is simple and elegant, and it’s so obvious to him now that he can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. He adds the figures to a drawing of the original blood sigil and he knows, just knows, that this is going to work. He allows himself to luxuriate in the endorphin rush that accompanies success, the feeling that he’s about to score a win. For the first time since he threw himself into the Cage, he feels like he’s finally doing something right.

The only problem now is finding the right way to tell Dean. He’s going to need some time and distance, a head-start to get out in front of Dean’s inevitable knee-jerk reaction, because Dean is definitely not going to like this. Even if it was his idea.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

It was a stroke of luck, really, that Lucifer landed Castiel as a vessel instead of Sam as he had originally intended. Dean might have caught on to Lucifer-wearing-Sam, but it was just too easy to pass himself off as the besotted pet angel when Dean had caught him tearing through the records. A contrite little “I’m sorry Dean” coupled with a soulful look and Dean was sold. It is surprisingly so much easier to masquerade as someone else topside than it ever was in the Cage. He never could fully convince Sam that it was Dean who was carving out his organs.

Fun aside, there is now a possible monkey wrench in Lucifer’s carefully laid and, so far successful, bid for freedom. He stares at the disarray of notes decorated with Enochian symbols strewn all over the small bunker storage room by his erstwhile vessel, and can’t dismiss the growing possibility that everything is about to unravel.

“Oh Sammy-boy, what are you up to?”

His vessel has been mucking around with a time-travel sigil, and it seems like he’s pretty far along. Logically, Sam would be looking to prevent the release of the Darkness, which also certainly means undoing the events leading to the damage to the Cage that allowed Lucifer to escape. There are two lessons he files away for later: one, never speak Enochian in front of a chew toy; two, sending Sam Winchester on a guilt trip tends only results in a manic attempt on his part to fix things, which is exactly how Lucifer ended up back in the Cage the second time. He takes a moment to appreciate the irony of how tormenting Sam with his past regrets might now colossally backfire on him. He questions whether it was really worth it just to see Sam squirm like that once again, but then he can’t keep a smile of contentment from spreading across his face.

Yes, yes it was. Definitely worth it.

So now to the problem at hand: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel has other important, and definitely more amusing, things he needs to attend to, such as feeding Crowley his own intestines. But this potential threat to his plans is not something he can abide. He mulls over the merits of just disintegrating Sam—not very satisfying, but efficient—when he feels a tickle from a small, dark corner of his consciousness. He sighs in irritation.

“What do you want, Castiel?”

I believe I can help.

“Yeah, not really buying that.”

Give me five minutes, and I promise that Sam will no longer be of concern.

Lucifer is loath to cede control, but at the same time his curiosity is piqued. He can always return to Plan Disintegrate later. Or maybe he’ll think of something more entertaining while he’s waiting.

“Five minutes.”

Castiel takes out his phone and picks Dean out of his contacts. As Dean picks up, Castiel reaches for the page holding the altered blood sigil.

“Dean… I’m afraid your brother is planning to do something very foolish…”

Earlier: Dean

“You’re going to what?”

“I’m going to fix this. Fix the Darkness. I figured out a way to take Abaddon off the board in the past. No Abaddon, no Mark of Cain. No Mark, the Darkness stays locked up. Kevin lives. Charlie lives. It’s a no-brainer.”

Dean is standing in the room where Sam had been doing his clandestine research, now devoid of the notes that Castiel had described. After 17 frantic, unanswered calls to Sam, who had gone missing all night, Sam has finally called back and Dean knows that something’s seriously off. He sounds eerily upbeat, which immediately sets off Dean’s alarm bells given how shaken and preoccupied he had been after coming back from the near-disastrous visit to the virtual Cage. Whatever Sam’s planning, Dean is pretty sure he’s not going to like it, and Sam’s not exactly forthcoming with details. Either Dean needs to get Sam to spill, or he at least needs to get a trace on his phone and figure out where he is.

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to screw with time? Mothra Effect, or whatever? And if you go back and meet yourself, won’t the universe, like, explode or something?”

“Butterfly Effect. And I’m not going back, I’m sending something back. Seriously, Dean, do you really think I can possibly screw up the time line any worse than The End of Everything?”

Dean doesn’t have a good response to that, so he switches the topic to keep Sam talking. “So how, exactly, are you gonna take Abaddon out without the Mark and the First Blade? You planning to send her one of your documentary podcasts and bore her to death?”

There’s a huff of exasperation on the other end and Dean swears he can hear Sam roll his eyes. “Hilarious. Look, I’ve found another way.”

“Then tell me where you are and I’ll come help.”

Silence.

Then, “Don’t worry Dean, I’ve got this. It’s an easy spell. You should keep researching the Darkness in case this doesn’t work.”

Sam being evasive confirms that Dean has good reason to be suspicious about this plan, but the trace is still going and Dean plays for more time.

“Don’t worry? Might as well tell me not to breathe. Let me guess: you’re sending a bomb back to blow Abaddon to fucking bits so we can’t sew her head back on.”

“…Huh. Interesting idea, but there’s too much risk that I’d end up blowing up one of us. Anyway, it’s a blood spell. Whatever goes back has to be infused with DNA so that it can latch onto the same DNA. I’m just sending some cloth back. Like I said, it’s simple.”

Dean gives in to his growing irritation at Sam’s caginess and decides to go for the direct assault.

“Sam. What aren’t you telling me?” Dean already has his suspicions of what Sam isn’t telling him; there’s only one way he can think of that takes Abaddon out of play and saves Kevin. He’s hoping he’s wrong. He’s also dying to know how time travelling cloth comes into this.

“Don’t get mad.”

“Sam.”

“Look, just promise you’ll hear me out, okay?”

“SAM.”

Dean can hear Sam take a breath, like he’s getting ready to plunge into deep water. “…I’m going to make sure I finish the third Trial.”

There it is. Damn it.

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE.”

Click.

Sam disconnects before the trace finishes, but Dean doesn’t need the trace to know where to find him. He hauls ass to the garage where the Impala is waiting.

Now: Dean

Dean stands on the brake and Baby skids to a halt next to the car Sam had appropriated, sitting in front of the old, decrepit church. It’s exactly as he remembered it last, like it’s been frozen in time waiting for their return. Overgrown bushes still cling to the rotting siding, and stained glass still litters the ground from the blown-out side window. The only thing missing is the shower of angelic fireballs cascading toward the earth with Sam dying by his side, an image that perversely reminds him of watching fireworks in a field with next to his little brother.

The last time they were here, Sam was half out of his mind with fever and remorse, and Dean’s desperate I’m-Your-Big-Brother-You-Have-To-Do-What-I-Say tone had actually, thankfully, gotten through to him and Sam had backed down. He can’t believe that he has to talk Sam down from the same fucking ledge again, only it’s worse this time because Sam is laser focused on his mission to fix the problem. This time, emotional pleas and yelling and demanding aren’t going to work. This time, so help him, the only way Dean will be able to talk Sam out of this will be to throw logic at him.

Dean launches himself out of the Impala and bursts through the doors of the church to see Sam sitting, chin in hand, in the chair that once held a nearly human King of Hell. A crimson stain is spreading on a strip of cloth that he’s holding to his arm, and there is a bowl of already-mixed spell ingredients on the floor in front of him. Sam has clearly been waiting for Dean.

“Well, that was quick.”

Dean, bent over huffing, heart still pounding from breakneck drive here, is seriously tempted to punch Sam.

Before Dean can take a deep enough breath to start in on forcefully explaining to Sam how idiotic this is, Sam launches into his sales pitch. “Look Dean, I know what you’re going to say, but just listen. I’m not throwing my life away on some impulsive, reckless act. I need you to understand that, that’s why I waited for you. I’ve had days to think this through. This endless cycle of crossing lines we’ve got no business crossing, of throwing away the world to save each other, this is where it all started, and I can stop it before it starts.”

“Damn it Sam, are you even capable of coming up with a plan where you don’t die? Closing up Hell wasn’t worth your life then, and it’s not worth it now—”

“Isn’t it though? I mean, my insides were going to be deep fried whether or not I finished it. You were right when you said you shouldn’t have pulled me back. Look at everything that came after—Kevin, you becoming a demon, and—and the things that I had to do to get you back, to remove the Mark… getting Charlie killed… and how many people died when the Darkness infected that town? I mean, how can you tell me that saving all of them isn’t worth it?”

Dean feels a knot growing in his stomach because he knows damned well that it wasn’t Lucifer who got into Sam’s head. It was the Mark that told Sam that he should have been on the pyre instead of Charlie. It was the Mark that told Sam he should have died finishing the Trials. It was the Mark that told Sam that he was evil. It had said all of this to Sam for his crime of saving Dean from an eternity of suffering.

But it was Dean who never apologized, never tried to set things right.

They have both said and done abhorrent things to each other while under the control of some entity or force, and there has always been an unspoken understanding between them that they don’t take it personally. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, Dean usually gets mad, leaving Sam to trail after him afterwards apologizing profusely. But Sam always brushes these incidents aside and moves on without a word. Hell, the first thing Sam had done after the hammer episode was to go out and get Dean a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and three different pies.

But this… this has really gotten to Sam. He didn’t just dismiss it like he did when they were under the influence of the Siren. He buried it instead and let it set down roots and infest every corner of his brain. And when Sam gets like this—like after he set Lucifer free, like after he found out what he had done while he was soulless—he just can’t let it go until he does something to atone for it. This is ironically what Dean both most admires and most infuriates him about his little brother: his unwavering determination to make things right and his absolute faith in their ability to do so. More than once he has carried Dean along in his wake by sheer willpower when all Dean wanted to do is crawl into a bottle. But these crusades never end well for Sam, and the one thing that Dean will never be able to protect Sam from is himself.

Sam crosses over to the oversized wooden double doors at the entrance, already adorned with the augmented blood sigil. He winds the cloth through both handles and ties it securely as blood continues to ooze from the cut on his forearm. Dean gets what Sam is doing now. He’s using the spell to send the blood-infused cloth back in time, homing in on his own blood in the past, to hold the doors shut back then. Dean had barely gotten to Sam in time to stop him from curing Crowley, and if it had taken him just a few more seconds to push through the door it would have been over. Will have been over.

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil on the door starts to glow dimly, and the reality that This Is Happening hits Dean like cold water in the face. He had every intention of trying to talk Sam out of this with a reasonable, adult discussion, because he knows damned well that Sam doesn’t respond to orders being yelled at him. It all flies out the window at that moment and he’s barking at Sam like a drill sergeant, because if he doesn’t, he’d be breaking down instead. He grabs Sam’s arm and spins him around.

“What the hell, Sam? You know that nothing I said while I had that thing on my arm counts. You can’t seriously believe that I meant any of—”

Sam cuts him off, his gaze intense, his voice fervent. “It’s true, Dean, what you said. Mark or not, it’s the truth. I chose to cross those lines; I chose to let the Darkness out. You told me not to, and I did it anyway. So this is me stepping up and taking responsibility. If I’ve got a chance to undo all of this, I have to take it. And right now, it’s the only play we’ve got.”

Angry words propelled by desperation shoot out of Dean before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you said about your visions of the Cage, and how did that work out for you?”

Sam visibly flinches and pulls away from Dean as his expression hardens. “Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil blazes.

This is not at all what Dean intended. He came here to talk Sam back from the edge, and instead he’s pushing him toward it. Dean swallows his anger and it tastes like acid going down, and all that remains is panic.

“Sam, just stop. I don’t care what came out of my mouth when I had the Mark, it’s all bullshit. Sam, you don’t need to do this—”

“Yeah, Dean, I really do. I wasn’t strong enough to make the right choice then, but I can do it now.”

Dean flounders for whatever magic words he needs to get through to Sam and comes up empty. He does the only thing he can think of to shock some sense into him or, preferably, to knock him cold so that he shuts the fuck up and can’t finish the spell. Dean’s fist connects with Sam’s jaw, propelling him backwards. Sam goes down, sprawling on the floor, but he’s not out. He sits up, hand to jaw, and Dean expects to see shock or anger on Sam's face, but all he sees is compassion. And Dean knows that he’s lost.

“Sammy, don’t—"

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

A blinding light envelops the cloth holding the doors shut.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

Castiel ends the call after warning Dean about Sam’s intentions. He takes a marker to one of the added symbols and alters it slightly. He freezes as Lucifer gets back in the driver’s seat.

Lucifer asks suspiciously, “And what exactly are you doing with this, Castiel?”

I’m just disrupting the sigil. The change I made will prevent the spell from accounting for the current position of the Earth relative to its position within the—

“Summarize, Poindexter.”

With the change I’ve made, whatever object Sam is sending back will end up in space. Sam will think that his alteration failed, and he won’t interfere with your plans. You would know if I was lying.

“So… I’m trying to understand this. You’re helping me by sabotaging Sam’s work… why, exactly?”

To eliminate your motivation to kill my friend.

Lucifer considers Castiel’s response. “Huh. We’ll see.”

I can still expel you.

“Now Castiel, we both know that’s an empty threat.”

Castiel is silent for a moment. Then:

It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world—

“Alright, alright. Just kidding. Grow a sense of humor.”

Now: Dean

The cloth binding the door handles is gone, but as far as Dean can tell, nothing else has changed. Sam is still on the floor, a stunned expression on his face that would be comical under any other circumstances, and all Dean can think is thank fucking God, and he starts to wonder if maybe there isn’t something out there intervening on his behalf after all.

“I don’t… it should have… it didn’t work.” Sam looks around in dazed confusion for a moment before pushing himself to his knees, and he looks up at Dean, eyes filled with defeat. Dean can’t stop the memory from superimposing itself in his mind of Sam kneeling in front of him, resigned in his acceptance of Dean’s judgment of him, waiting for the scythe to swing.

“I’m sorry...” Sam apologizes for not being dead.

Dean thinks he’s going to be sick.

He drops to Sam’s level and doesn’t know whether to shake him or maybe hit him again. He pulls Sam to himself instead and holds onto him like he’s going to blink out of existence if he lets go. Sam doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t respond.

Dean knows that there is something that Sam needs to hear, something he should have said weeks ago. Dean hasn’t been able to tell him, because it’s selfish and the good guys aren’t supposed to be selfish. The good guys are supposed to put the rest of the world first, and happily throw themselves into oblivion for “the greater good”. He keeps his grip on Sam because he doesn’t want to see Sam’s reaction to what he’s about to say; he’s not sure what Sam will think of him afterwards.

“What you said… after you risked the world for me, when you said that you’d do it again in a second…”

Sam tenses in his arms, and Dean takes a breath.

“Sammy, that wasn’t evil. That was the best fucking moment of my life.”

The statement hangs there for a few heartbeats. Then Sam relaxes, lets his chin drop to Dean’s shoulder, and tentatively folds his arms around him. Dean feels him starting to shake.

“I wanted to—I couldn’t save them.” Sam’s words fall out of him between hitched breaths.

“I know Sammy.”

“It should have been me up there instead of—”

“Don’t.”

All of the mourning that Dean hadn’t allowed Sam to express as they watched Charlie’s body burn, all of the grief that Sam has held bottled up ever since pours out of him then, and Sam clings to Dean like a drowning man to a life preserver. He doesn’t know how long they stay there. His knees are aching and his legs are falling asleep but he doesn’t care because Sam is still here and he’s alive. He waits until the tremors slow and finally stop, then slowly pulls back.

“Hey, you don’t get to put this all on yourself. I’m the one who took the Mark without reading the warning label. We’re in this together. We’ll figure this out, both of us.”

Sam just nods numbly.

“Now let’s get out of here before we hit menopause.”

Sam rewards Dean with an expelled almost-laugh and a flicker of an almost-smile, and Dean chooses to count that as a win.

~~~~~~~~~~

More Notes:

I have this nagging need to address all of the drama from 10.23 Brother's Keeper that the writers just decided to drop on the floor.

The title is named after the ST:TOS The City on the Edge of Forever. The theme of the story, at least from the original script, is that it is possible to love someone so much that you would throw away your whole universe for them. I can't help but notice the parallel to SPN.

This is exactly what Dean wants from Sam throughout seasons 8 and 9, and when Sam does it in season 10, Dean calls him evil for it. Sam just can't fucking win.

[lovelikedestiny]

6. Nicky: I've run out of time

I want to take care of you.

Will you be mine?

Watching Joe sleep has always been one of Nicky's favorite things to do. In sleep, everyone has an extraordinary vulnerability that covers them like a second skin. Nicky loves to watch Joe when he is slumbering peacefully next to him, far from everything the world has in store for them. Freed from worry and fear, anger and sadness, safe from the dangers of life in his dreams.

Those precious moments when Nicky watches the sunlight pour gold over Joe, forming a halo over his soft curls and throwing shades from his long eyelashes on his cheeks are like a little bubble of peace just for both of them.

Nicky knows exactly how many seconds pass before Joe wakes up to the delicate touch of Nicky's fingers on his face. Just as he knows that Joe gives a cute, low grumble when he reaches the brink of awakening and that he always stretches his left arm first and then his right arm.

Kozak took this treasure from them.

For that, Nicky detests her almost more than the serum, which destroys his body from the inside out. Almost. Most of all, Nicky hates the immoral doctor for hurting his family so much with her test. Every day he experiences how badly the people who mean so much to him suffer from being unable to help him. Knowing that he is responsible for it is the worst for him.

As they are doomed to watch the serum hurt him, he is doomed to endure as their postures become more and more tense and their eyes more and more haunted.

His greatest fear after Jerusalem and the horrors there, was to become a destructive sword again and to cease to be a protective shield.

Please don't let me be the sword that hits my family.

Due to his worsening condition Nicky couldn’t watch his soulmate sleep for a long time and he cannot remember the last time he had the chance to enjoy cozy, peaceful togetherness in bed with Joe. Either exhaustion pulls Nicky into the dark depths or the icy cold inside him spreads and transforms him into an ice sculpture, unable to move but feel for any heat sources nearby.

He is all the more surprised when he slowly comes to, rises to the surface through the fog of pain, which takes his sight from time to time and suffocates him with fire and ice, and discovers Joe sleeping next to him. He is facing Nicky, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other resting possessively on Nicky's upper arm.

They are not in their usual sleeping position, which shows Nicky that they didn't have time to position themselves or something else prevented that. To be honest, Nicky doesn't remember much from last night, just the white hot flames that burned his throat and breathed ash particles into his lungs. He thinks he can remember Joe's blurry face hovering over him and words in their language that were drowned out in the rustling of his own ears. Even the dull, throbbing pain in his limbs, which is even more violent than usual, says Nicky, that he must have had a violent episode yesterday.

Damn it...

Still, he can't stop his heart from skipping a beat, considering the fact that he has woken up in front of Joe for the first time in what feels like an eternity and can soak up the sight of Joe like divine ambrosia. Joe's face is so beautiful that Nicky could not possibly describe it with all the compliments in the world and he enjoys the touch of familiarity as if this were a piece of bread and he was starving.

However, Joe's dark circles and worry lines destroy the peaceful image and it stings Nicky in the chest because he is responsible for it. I am your armor in battle and your blanket in peace, Nicky promised him centuries ago and it was never his intention to break this promise. How much one can be wrong.

Now he is the weight that pulls the corners of Joe's mouth down and his shoulders arches in a way that shows Nicky how much the situation is gnawing at Joe and that he still fights with all his might. For both of them. For Nicky. His great love is stronger than Nicky himself would have been in Joe's position and he feels nothing but deep regret for burdening Joe with all of this.

Raising his hand feels like the greatest Herculean task and his fingers are visibly trembling, but the urge to touch this soft Joe and indulge in old familiarity is insurmountable for Nicky. Unlike usual, the first contact of his fingertips on Joe's cheekbones jerks Joe out of his sleep and he opens his eyes in alarm, his muscles hard under his shirt from tension.

This Joe, who is frantically scanning Nicky's face and body with one glance, is in such stark contrast to the sleepy, grumpy Joe, who needs several cups of coffee to know his name, that Nicky wants to cry.

He doesn't.

Because even if he has no more control over anything else in his life, his feelings still belong to himself. He is aware that Joe knows exactly what he is doing, but none of them name it.

“Nicolo? Do you need the bucket? Are you sick? Can you breathe?” The wild bedhead - Joe's lovely tousled curls - when he half sits up, facing Nicky, used to be a heartwarming picture, which Nicky would have gifted with a kiss and more. Now they only represent the tension that electrifies all members of the team and the unrestrained concern of his partner.

"Good morning," Nicky croaks instead of answering Joe's questions and the tone of his voice hurts even his own ears. Each letter feels like a shard of glass in his throat, pointy and sharp, cutting without mercy, but damn Nicky if something like that would prevent him from trying to calm Joe down.

The tormented expression on his face, which can be seen for a split second over the sound of his voice, almost bursts Nicky's decision like a soap bubble. But then Joe smiles tenderly and Nicky can breathe again despite the cement blocks on his chest.

"Morning," Joe says, gently cupping Nicky's cheek. Nicky lifts his head slightly and meets Joe as far as possible until Joe's lips lie on his and everything else disappears in the background. The body pain and the cold that has not let go of him for a few weeks, despite the heat that burns his insides, have been extinguished. The stabbing headache and the paralyzing tiredness have disappeared. Joe's warm lips, which Nicky could blindly feel and taste, give him a momentary break from the exhausting effect of the serum.

Nicky can't say exactly what sound he's making, but it ensures that Joe deepens the kiss and closes his arms around Nicky like a protective cage. And Nicky, with everything he has, clings to the intimate touch that they have exchanged so often, but which is like an enlightenment, a resurrection every time. Joe's lips and arms are so warm that the heat gradually sinks into Nicky's body, distorted by the serum, like a small stone in deep water - at first slowly but steadily until it hits the bottom.

Joe catches his quiet, liberated sigh as Nicky basks in the warmth of Joe's body, and drinks it in so desperately as if it were the only thing that would keep Joe alive. And Nicky kisses him back, putting all the words in it he told Joe a long time ago. I am your shelter against storm and rain and the breath that fills your lungs when you are drowning.

Now Nicky is drowning and all he wants is not to let Joe drown with him.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

[seagreen-meets-grey]

The Last Slide (Disco, Disco)

This fic is part of the b99 fic exchange organized by @b99fandomevents and I wrote this for @feeisamarshmallow :)

I combined a few prompts and hope I did them justice.

Read on ao3

_______________

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

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Of all the feelings the human body is able to experience, the first one greeting Jake when he comes to is pain. If he had a choice, he would choose something happier, more exciting and, well, less painful.

It rises on the back of his head, almost at the top, like the source of a river somewhere high in the mountains. High in the mountains – that’s what he feels like.

It then wraps around his skull, pulsating behind his forehead, and trickles down into his neck. Sleeping on the floor of his first apartment for two weeks because he had yet to buy a decent bed or mattress was nothing against this, at least that’s what his tense muscles are screaming at him right now.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he turns his head and winces. His whole body feels sore. He wonders if last night ended in a few rounds too many but comes up short. What did he do last night? The mere attempt at remembering sends a sharp pain through his skull.

He’s on the floor. That’s the next thing he realizes. The surface is cold and hard, not concrete, not wood, not tiles, certainly not carpet. Where is he? How did he get here?

Hard as he tries, he just… He can’t remember. The pulsing in his head gets louder and he groans. Slowly, carefully, he blinks one eye open, bracing himself against any glaring light. Then opens the other one. It’s dark. Everywhere, all around, deep, dark blackness. Is he blind? He blinks a couple of times and sees shimmers. Can blind people see shimmers?

The hand raised to the back of his head comes away warm and moist. He immediately knows it’s blood but sniffs at it anyway. He was right. Because what else would it be? “Bring a fancy bottle of lavender shampoo,” he hears Charles in his head, “because shampooing a woman’s hair is the most erotic thing–” Jake groans again to drown out the voice. No, it’s definitely blood.

But seriously, where is he? His chest tightens as he feels the panic rising. He can’t see, he has no idea what’s going on, he has a bleeding wound on his head and he’s sure there are bruises all over his body. He could poke all the places he suspects, but a disapproving face appears in front of him before he can move a muscle. It’s Amy. Amy… Something tells him he’s supposed to call her. Did he forget to call her? Does she know where he is? Oh god, is Mac okay?!

An overwhelming sense of longing hits him and the panic returns not a moment later when he realizes he can’t call her because his phone is gone and so are his keys and his wallet is not in his pocket either and– His breathing becomes shallow, his chest feels tight, lungs filled with vacuum; he presses the balls of his hands against his eyes and the shimmers get worse.

“Breathe, Jake.” It’s her voice. “In… And out… In… Through the nose, Jake… And out…” Gradually, he regains his composure. His head still hurts and he still can’t see a thing, but he’s calm again. Well, calmer.

He tries to sit up but sees stars as soon as he raises his head too much. Okay, cool, cool, cool, the floor it is, then.

You’re a detective of the NYPD, he tells himself. You’ve been in situations worse than this. Remember, you survived several months in Florida. And prison.

His blood turns to ice. He isn’t back there, is he?! Back in solitary, alone, in the middle of the night, for two long weeks–

No, you idiot, the rational voice in his head immediately scolds him. It sounds a lot like Amy.

Once again, he tries to remember what happened, but... Nothing. Nada. Niente. Nichts. Only a worsening headache. So he goes back further, imagines he’s walking down a road inside his brain, passing blurry corners and intersections, until something appears before him, sharp and clear.

There. He can start there.

***

The sound of a file landing on his desk pulled Jake’s eyes from his paperwork. It was a case file, evident to him by one single glance. But what really piqued his interest was who had delivered it to him.

“Ah, look who’s spending one of her last days at the Nine-Nine in her favorite bullpen! To what do we owe this honor?”

Amy Santiago, about to kick-start her career in her very own precinct as the youngest female Captain of the NYPD, looked down at him proudly and nodded at the folder on his desk. “Check the file.”

Intrigued, Jake did so, scanning the forms inside. He gasped, eyes wide and twinkling. “A murder at the water park? Ames!”

“Did you read the details,” she asked, leaning down and eagerly pointing at the page, “about how the victim died?”

His eyes flew over the paper, soaking up every bit of important information in record time, the glee in his chest threatening to bubble over. “Oh, Amy, please tell me this case hasn’t been assigned yet.”

“It has.” The glee cooled down to a simmer at her words, but as he looked up, the little smirk on her face turned the heat up again to boil. (Maybe he was a bit hungry.) “I asked Holt if I could have it and he said yes. And he let me pick a secondary.”

Ants were crawling through his veins as he waited for her to confirm what he could already read on her face.

“Jake Peralta,” she said in a voice cornering on solemn, “pack your bag, because we’re going to the water park!”

“Yes!” He celebrated by taking the pile of paperwork he’d been working on all morning and throwing it in the air. It scattered all over his desk, on his lap, on the floor around his feet. A few sheets slid under his desk, Scully’s chair, Holt’s shoes – oh. Whoopsie.

“Peralta, please clean this up,” the Captain ordered in a stern voice. “You’re taking on the case with Santiago, but I still expect your paperwork to be done on time.”

Jake nodded as he stood. “Will do, Sir. Trust me, I won’t water anything down for you!” A single raised eyebrow was his answer before the Captain returned to his office. “Yeah, that was kind of lame, wasn’t it?”

Amy scrunched up her face in that adorable way of hers and nodded.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re going to the water park!”

“It’s for work, Jake,” she reminded him, “we’re not there to splash around. When I said to pack your bag, I meant your work bag.”

“Right.” He sobered a little, but then he remembered the details of the case. “Time to pack the real work bag that I definitely have and hit the road with the best former detective and soon-to-be Captain of the NYPD!” He grabbed his jacket and had taken three steps towards the elevator when he heard someone call his name in a reprimanding voice from the vicinity of Terry’s desk.

He turned to meet the expectant eyes of both his Lieutenant and wife. “Huh? Oh, right, my mess.”

Scrambling to pick up the scattered sheets of paper, one hand preventing the badge around his neck from hanging into his face bending forward, he could practically feel the combination of eye-roll and fond smile directed at him.

“We’re not going until this afternoon,” Amy explained, “we both still have paperwork to do and the movers are coming back around noon for the rest of the furniture, remember?”

Charles chose that moment to invite himself into the conversation, rolling over in his chair. “I can handle that for you two so you can go work the case together because you’re an absolute dream team!” He grabbed the file from Jake’s desk and scanned the information. “Oh daddy, this is a good one!”

“Oh daddy?” Jake repeated while Amy shook her head.

“This is our last day at the apartment and I already cleared everything with Holt. You’re welcome to help, Charles, but Jake and I are handling this.”

Charles shrugged apologetically at Jake and rolled back to his desk.

“Wow,” Jake said in a low voice, “he didn’t even protest this time. You really have him under control these days.”

Amy quickly raised a hand to shush him. “Psst, don’t jinx it.” She fished a sheet he’d overlooked from the hood of his jacket. “See you later, babe!”

***

The rest of the morning is all but a blur. He remembers Rosa showing up late for work, remembers Terry settling a lasagna-related feud between Hitchcock and Scully, but that’s it. Mama Maglione, his head still hurts…

There were movers. There were boxes, a few shelves, the fridge. And there was Amy, finding one of her favorite pens behind the wardrobe when they lifted it, beaming with joy.

He tries to roll over but the movement makes him dizzy again and his stomach queasy. His ears ring. He has a concussion, no doubt.

Did one of the movers drop a shelf on his head?

No, something at the edge of his memory tells him they’re long gone. Wherever Jake is, though, he’s not been here long enough for his blood to dry.

If only his ears stopped ringing, then he could listen for anyone, anything – “Hello?” he croaks out and clears his throat. “Hello!”

He listens, calls again, louder, the volume of his own voice hurting his head. There is no response.

Letting out a string of swears that would make Holt gasp out loud, he massages his temples in an attempt to relieve some of the pain.

It just so works enough that he can muster up the concentration needed to dive back into his memories.

***

Amy wiped a few beads of sweat from her brow and stepped back to examine her work. The parts of the walls still occupied by a last piece of furniture up until an hour ago now glistened in a crisp, pristine white, just like the rest of the apartment’s walls.

She dropped the paint-brush she’d just cleaned into the bucket with the paint roller and the other brushes, took off her gloves and went to wash her hands with the piece of soap she’d brought in forethought like the everyday-wizard that she was. She’d also brought a towel, a big bottle of water, snacks for lunch, a painter’s smock, old shoes, and everything else that Jake would never have thought to bring.

He was sitting in the middle of the living room, patting the space next to him when Amy returned from the bathroom. Her steps echoed in the empty space, loud and foreign on the laminate floor. She sat down next to him, a hand on his arm as she studied the bare place.

Moving a shoe across the floor, tapping a finger against a zipper, even exhaling, it all made so much noise in the silence. At the same time, the apartment couldn’t be louder. It was crawling with ghosts trying to make themselves heard.

There was the TV blaring the news or cartoons or Die Hard, there was the squad gathered around the table at Thanksgiving, there was Victor Santiago briefly interacting with Holt and creating an impact still reverberating in every corner, there was Pimento contemplating his professional future, Hitchcock justifying his choice to go shirtless during dinner, Charles getting mauled by a live turkey, his father cutting off his other thumb.

There was Mac taking his first steps, saying his first words, there was Jake realizing he never ever wanted his life to be anything but this. Realizing how much he’d grown in the past years. He had a wife, a child, a much stabler balance in his bank account. He was wearing a tie to work most of these days. This morning, he hadn’t even made a fuss about cleaning up the mess he’d made. Just a few years ago, he’d have simply left it for someone else to clean, maybe Terry, maybe Amy, probably Charles.

During all this time, this apartment had always been there, even before Holt had joined the precinct. Even before he’d figured out the reason behind his instant mood change whenever Santiago smiled or yelled at him or did or said something he immediately wanted to tease her about. Even before he knew what he really wanted from his life.

“This is it,” Amy whispered, but she could have screamed it, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

“Yep,” he said, popping the p. “Time to leave.”

Neither of them moved. It seemed almost rude to disrupt this rowdy silence, to pull the plug and close the door, forever sealing the many lives that met here, happened here, were quite literally created here, within these walls. Some time in the near future, a completely different life would fill up the space, change the personality of every nook and cranny, cover the walls and floor with new memories.

“Remember the time my dad and Holt met, right over there?” Her voice almost sounded hoarse and his hand instinctively covered hers.

He turned to her with excited eyes. “That’s what I just thought!” She grinned, interlaced their fingers and squeezed. “Hey, you know what they say: Great minds think alike.”

When her eyes met his this time, they conveyed a meaning much deeper than a simple saying. Theirs were great minds that thought alike, in so many ways. It was a connection, a meeting of souls, a clashing of personalities that mended and merged and completed the other on a level that just made sense. Maybe it was because they’d known each other, worked with each other, had been such an integral part of each other’s lives for so long. But he couldn’t deny that it felt like magic.

Magic. That was a good descriptor, he thought. He knew that a part of her would try to explain mating hormones and brain signals and psychological influences and genes and evolution. But the part of her that loved, the part that laughed at his jokes and fell asleep next to him every night, it knew he was right. Whatever they had, it was magical and it was real. Permanent.

She leaned over to kiss him, soft and slow. It was a moment he’d call perfect, if it weren’t for the lack of interruption by a hyperactive toddler demanding attention. Jake almost expected Mac’s small body to jump between them, crawl over their laps, and ask for his dad to play airplane with him again.

But today, in-between work at the precinct and the apartment where a three-year-old would just get in the way, Mac was spending the day with his grandparents while his parents took care of everything. Now that Amy was making more money and with their decision to have more kids, the old apartment just wasn’t enough anymore, a toddler with an abundance of energy not even factored in. It only made sense to move to a bigger place, and that meant saying goodbye to these familiar old walls.

With a sigh, Jake got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on.” In the end, they weren’t leaving the treasure chest behind, they were taking it with them, in their hearts, in all their stuff waiting to be unpacked in the new place, in their memories. In a way, they were leveling up. Bam, Mario reference.

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, taking one last deep breath before patting the pockets of her jeans. “Keys are all here. By the way, I promised Rosa I’d help her with something tonight, you’ll have to meet with the landlord alone. Is that okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” Normally, it would feel weird to him to finalize this whole thing without her, but they’d just said their goodbye together. Everything else was already part of the next level. (He started to get into that Mario analogy. Or was it a metaphor?)

Looking around one last time, hand in hand, they turned around and opened the door – to the next part of their lives.

***

There’s someone else nearby. Jake can hear steps through the ringing in his ears. He tries to speak, call for help – but decides against it at the last second. He’s not sure the heavy boots he can make out approaching him are housing particularly friendly feet.

“Where is he?” The voice is sharp, male, vaguely familiar. “Where is the son of a bitch?”

Jake has no idea. About anything. A bright light is shone in his face, a small flashlight maybe. He tries to turn his head to see the person the voice belongs to, but as soon as he moves, a dirty boot presses down on his face. He can feel the footprint marking his skin, hears his head throbbing.

“Where the fuck is he and how did he do it?!”

The boot presses down harder and Jake’s lips touch the floor. Something smells familiar as well, but he can’t concentrate on that. He tries to speak but his voice only comes out muffled. The other man realizes and the boot disappears.

“Answer me! How the fuck did that bastard pull it off?!” The man spits on the ground, only inches away from Jake’s face. The saliva is foaming in the middle. Jake registers the flooring but his brain can’t make sense of it.

“I don’t know,” he gets out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boot connects with his shin, hard. He cries out in pain.

“WHERE!” The boot kicks him again, this time right in the old gunshot wound back from Florida. Jake clenches his teeth and hisses. “WHERE IS HE!”

“I don’t… Ugh…” He has to close his eyes against the light. Bright spots are dancing behind his lids. He can’t think. “Who even…”

This time, there are three consecutive kicks in his stomach. He coughs and splutters, curling his body protectively around himself. He feels like throwing up, breathless, dizzy. Another kick hits him in the ribs and for a moment, there’s only pain. He’s disoriented, searing hot fire spreads through his chest, he can taste blood on his tongue.

“I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he did! NOW TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW OR I WILL–”

Jake prepares himself for another kick, but it doesn’t come.

“Shit…” the man hisses and the light goes out. Somewhere, faintly, Jake hears a door opening. But before he can even think about calling out, horrible pain explodes in his abdomen. This time, it’s too much. He can’t speak, he can’t think, he can’t breathe, and before he knows it, he’s out.

[openheart12]

Don’t Let Go

A/N: I finally found the courage to post this. It’s literally sat in my drafts for almost 3 months lmaooo but I’ve wanted to write this fic for years (no I’m not exaggerating 😭) I always wondered what it would be like if Michelle and Nina had met so this is my take on it.

Set during day 3

Word Count: 890

After Tony finished interrogating Nina, he left her with the guards who were going to escort her to prison. He met Michelle’s eyes for a brief second, but brushed right beside her to head to his office. They had fought enough for one day and neither of them had any energy left.

He walked up the steps to his office, leaving Michelle and an analyst in the room.

As the guard was escorting Nina out of the door, she was able to break free and grabbed his gun before he could react and the closest person to her was Michelle and she pressed the gun against her head.

It happened so fast that Michelle wasn’t able to react enough and when she felt the cool metal of the gun, she froze. Nina pushed her towards the bullpen where everyone looked up in shock and Michelle’s eyes went to Tony’s office where he was on the phone, still unaware of the situation below.

When Tony got off the phone, he felt the beginning of a headache and wished for the end of this day. He looked down at the bullpen to see Nina holding Michelle at gunpoint. He grabbed his gun and ran down the stairs.

“Put the gun down, Nina,” he said as calmly as he could.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She replied with a smirk, tightening her grip on Michelle’s arm.

“Let her go.”

“What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“Don’t give her anything, Tony,” Michelle said. She wasn’t going to let Nina use her as leverage against her husband.

“Shut up,” Nina said, her grip tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I swear to God if you hurt her.”

“Why is she more important than everyone else in this room?” No response. She remembered his ring and sure enough when she glanced down at her left hand, there was a ring there too. “Ah, I see. This is the lucky woman so I guess you would do anything to keep her safe, I’m assuming?”

“Let. Her. Go,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

“I want immunity.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands.”

“Oh, but I am,” she smirked. On the inside he was panicking and on the outside, he was calm and collected and she could tell he was putting on a front and was going to use it to her advantage.

“You can do whatever you want with her, but you’re not getting out of here,” the words tasted vile coming out of his mouth because he would do anything to protect her and he has proven it before.

Out of the corner of his eye, there was movement and when he saw the blonde hair he knew immediately who it was, but his eyes had lingered for a second too long because Nina had noticed it too. “Get down, Michelle!” He yelled at her while Nina was distracted and she dropped down on her knees while Tony took his shot, hitting her in his shoulder. Missing any major arteries to prevent death.

Jack came over to detain her while Tony went to Michelle. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered over and over while hugging her to his body. He didn’t care if others were watching them. They had never seen the couple so affectionate before, they were always professional at work and it was a shock to see them like this.

After a few minutes, he helped her up to her feet and led her to his office, with him walking behind her. She took a seat on the couch and he sat beside her, neither of them saying anything. The silence was broken with his cries.

Michelle moved him to lay his head on her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair in a show of comfort. She didn’t say anything, giving him time to get his feelings and thoughts together.

“Seeing you like that… I’ve never been so scared and with everything else that’s happened today… I’m so, so sorry, Michelle. I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re here now, we’re both fine and that’s what matters. I love you and I know you would do anything to protect me and as much as that thought terrifies me, it also makes me less worried when I’m in danger.”

“I love you.”

“I think after today we deserve a nice dinner,” she smiled down at him.

“As long as you’re not making it,” he earned a soft slap on the head from her.

“Shut up! Our deal is you cook and I’ll go anywhere with you, remember?”

“How could I forget? We wouldn’t have a house if you even as much as picked up a spoon.”

“Tony!” She threw her head back laughing and he joined her. It amazed him how she was able to make him go from crying to laughing, something only she could manage.

“As much as I hate to ruin the mood, we have to get back to work.”

“I know, you’ll be okay?”

He brought her head down to kiss her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’m better now, thanks to you.”

“You can repay me with tacos,” he shook his head with a laugh and one more kiss later, they went back downstairs to get back to work.